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tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016 · 3 months

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Till Death Do Us Part Yandere! Captain Price x Ex Wife! Reader. Chapter Three

Authors Notes- And here I am with Chapter Three. And this is where things get real. As you can gather by now I like to mention any triggering warnings in my Authors Notes. So this chapter will feature stalking, breaking and entering, panty stealing, and so much more. If none of this is your cuppa tea then this is where we part ways but I'll remember our time fondly.

And now onto the third chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Three.

This was perfect. Price thought, as he sat in his office, a sly smile on his face as he leaned back in his seat. Days had passed since he and and his lieutenant had come up with a perfect plan to get you back. Sure, it wasn't the most ideal plan he had ever come up and if he was being honest? Price had been running out of ideas. Or had been until Simon had asked him how he could help. And it was that moment an idea formed in Price's exhausted mind.

Perhaps there was a way Simon could help him get you back, perhaps the entire 141 could help him. Granted he knew he really shouldn't get his men involved, this was his problem. But still... Price lit a cigar he had no other choice, and as he stared up at the ceiling. But whatever choice did he have? He couldn't live like this, not without you.

But now he had come up with the perfect plan. One that would have you back in his arms where you belonged. And when you were he was never letting you go. His plan? Was to have his men follow you, stalk you where ever you went, make you feel afraid, was it cruel of him to get his men involved like this? To frighten you? Perhaps, but it meant you'd come back to him the it was all worth it.

***

Days passed, and you were slowly but certainly getting used to living the life of a single woman. Sure, it took sometime, and there were some lonely nights and nights where you woke up searching for John. But as time went on you eventually got used to sleeping on your own. Well, not on your own as Zipper had long since taken the place where John used to sleep, purring happily as he did so since he was so used to being kicked out of John's spot and forced to sleep on the floor. Now he didn't have to worry about that.

And listening to him purr beside you certainly helped during those sleepless nights. But sometimes you wished you could be with someone. Fall asleep in someone's arms again, as you had before, you always felt the safest then, asleep in John's arms. You missed that. Huffing a sigh you got up from your bed, glancing at the clock as you did so, noting that it read 8:00 AM the time you normally got up, letting out a yawn you headed to your bathroom intent on getting ready for the morning. Stepping out a half an hour later in nothing but a warn out faded pink towel around yourself as you milled about your room.

And perhaps you should have remembered to close your curtains before you went to bed last night, as you walked through the living room, unaware of hungry eyes watching you. Sure, Price was allowing the rest of the 141 to take the reigns and stalk you, terrify you, but he couldn't help but come out and see you. Price shook his head, he and told you time and time again that to close the blinds, however it seems that no matter how many times he did you still always left the blinds open. Making it easy for people to see you go about your day, and for him to see you in that ratty old towel, still wet from the shower. His cock twitching as he took in the sight of you.

You were beautiful. And he couldn't wait to hold you in his arms again. Leaning back in his seat of his truck he continued to watch you from the street. He then turned his gaze to where he knew Simon and the others were, smirking as he saw Gaz lurking near the porch of your apartment. Soap was milling about in the cafe you liked to frequent whenever you had time, and Simon? Price looked to the dark alley beside your apartment, and while both Gaz and Soap would do their very best to help him get you back it was mostly Simon that would be following you. And sure over the years you had met the rest of the 141. Had liked them all, and you especially liked Simon.

But you had never met Ghost. What would you think when you realized you were being followed by a large man clad in a balaclava you would come running back to him. Eventually. There was one thing Price hoped would happen. Guilt gripped him as he thought of what he had resorted to all just to have you back, but it would be worth it, and when it did he would do everything to make you happy. Wanted him home more often? He would find a way to make it happen, wanted to go on vacation? Sure, he could find time. Kids? Price chewed on his lip as you finally closed the curtain, not that it really mattered now he had seen more than enough. But he recalled you guys having conversation after conversation about the two of you having kids, you had always wanted kids, but- No!

Price shoved these thoughts from his head, as he put the key in the ignition, he wouldn't dwell on that, not until you were truly his again. Then they would think about having kids. Pulling away from the building he returned home, trusting in his men to do their best.

Funny, you thought, as you closed your living room curtain, you could have swore that you saw someone watching your from your window. A feeling you quickly brushed off when the feeling disappeared. You're just being silly. You told yourself as you shook your head and turned away from the window. Watching too many crime shows before bed. You told yourself as you entered your bedroom once more, Zipper at your feet. Meowing continuously, and would not stop until you filled his food bowl, so better get on that before anything else. You had planned to meet with your sister-in-law for lunch around noon, so you had plenty of time before your lunch date. Perhaps you would wear something nice for it.

And then perhaps when it was done you might take a walk around town, you had always wanted to get out more. Sure, you loved being home but sometimes it was nice to get out and about, perhaps you would go to the mall. You had been meaning to get some new shoes and other such things. Nodding to yourself you fed Zipper and got dressed before killing time before your lunch date.

***

Perhaps this would lead to nothing. Perhaps he was wasting his time. Gaz thought, as he leaned against the railing outside your apartment. Sure, he had been a little uncertain about this plan of Price's and Simon's, a little reluctant. But in the end both he and Soap had given in. Anything to get their Captain back. He was tired of walking on egg shells when it came to his Captain. Anger swelled in his chest as he thought about what Price had been through because of you. You hurt him. If it had been him he would have forgotten you and had gotten on with his life. But that was not the case with Price.

"You ready?" Soap's voice cut through Gaz's thoughts.

"I am." Gaz spoke.

And what perfect timing too. As the moment he spoke you stepped out of your apartment. A faint smile on your face, as you walked down the street, Gaz following behind you, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the hood pulled up, obscuring his face as he kept his eyes glued on you. And while he and the rest of the 141 followed you, Price leaned back in his chair, listening in on all of this.

A cold grin on his face as he lit up another cigar.

***

Hours had passed since you had met your sister-in-law for lunch and had gone to the mall afterwards. Now you would admit you have never intended to spent this much time at the mall. But, well, it has been a while since you've gone to the mall, and, oh they just had so many things you just couldn't help but be there longer than you had intended. Though to your credit you somehow managed to not spend all your money and needless things and getting out had been so fun. And now it was dark out.

Looking up at the night sky you sigh and head for the train station, your arms filled with bags. Unbeknownst to you of the large man clad in black, wearing a balaclava with a skull on the front, dark eyes glued on you as he followed you through the darkened streets to the train station. Taking note of the fact that the station itself was quite empty, not a soul to be seen. And if Ghost had been so inclined he would have grabbed you right here and now and delivered you to Price himself. But orders were orders Price wanted to give you the chance to choose to come back to him, even if that meant scaring you back to him.

Shaking those thoughts from his head he followed you on to the train, standing uncomfortably close to you as you peered out the window, unaware of him, until after what seemed like forever when you turned to face him, and Ghost was unable to keep the smirk from his face as he saw the concern shining in your eyes as you looked up at him. Watching as you took a step back, before offering him a shaky smile and moving to the recently vacated seat, trying to ignore him as he continued to watch you. Did you think he was after you? Did you know you were being followed? Watched? All because your ex-husband needed you back?

No, of course you didn't, how could you? Ghost was silent as he followed you off the train, keeping a safe distance from you as he followed you, not wanting to alert you, but close enough to make you feel concerned. Every time you looked over your shoulder Ghost would melt into the shadows, disappearing from your sight, watching as you would glance around before continuing on. Watching as you finally reached your home, he hoped both Gaz and Johnny would be done in your apartment before you got back. Little did Ghost know was that Price was also there finding himself unable to sit still, unable to stay away from you no matter how hard he tried.

***

So this was where you lived, huh? Price looked around your rather small apartment, before exhaling smoke billowing around him as he did so. Earning a look from Gaz as he stood in your kitchen. Cute. Price sighed as he continued to mill around your home, taking in the little knickknacks and other various things you liked to keep around the house, before moving to your bedroom, and looking around, noting that the bed was neatly made, and a book lay open on the nightstand. Obviously you still kept up your nightly habit of reading every chance you could.

But Price wasn't interested in that. As he looked over his shoulder, seeing that neither Soap or Gaz where watching him before going to your closet, eyes fixing on the hamper, and casting one final glance behind him he snatched up a pair of plain white panties that sat on top the growing pile of dirty laundry.

"All done, Captain." Gaz spoke, as Price quickly pocketed his prize before turning to the Sergeant. A smile on his face as he nodded to him before leaving the bedroom. Leaving behind him the lingering smell of smoke as he did so, casting one final glance around your one bedroom apartment, noting the little changes Soap and Gaz had done to the room, nothing major just certain things moved around, things he knew you would notice, and something he knew you would notice were missing excluding the panties tucked in his pocket that is. And that included your watch and other such things.

Looking to Soap and Gaz he headed for the door. And not a moment too soon either. As the moment the three of them left your apartment did Simon report that you were returning. The three men disappearing into the nearby crowd, just as you stepped into your apartment, and as you did you could already tell that something was off. Placing your many bags on the floor by the door, and looked around your apartment.

Closing the door behind you as you looked around. At first nothing seemed out of place as you moved around your apartment, Zipper meowing at your feet as you did so. Standing in your living room you looked everywhere, hoping to find an answer to why you felt this way. Was it perhaps because of that strange man you saw following you? As you thought that you moved back to your front door, making sure it was locked before continuing on.

It was then it hit you, the all too familiar smell, a smell you both loved and hated then smell of those damned cigars John smoked. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was not being with John messing with your mind? You would admit you missed him, and there were times when you wished you could go back in time and take it all back, but still you made your choice. And despite that you hoped he was well. Perhaps you should call or text him. See how he's doing, but right now you need to make sure you place is secure.

Looking around you could see that things had been moved, not by a whole lot, but you could tell that things had been moved, had someone been in your apartment? No that was just silly perhaps you have moved them when you had cleaned in here, you tried to tell yourself, but you were not convinced as there was still a thin layer of dust around said objects. Glancing around your apartment once more you moved to your bedroom, when you caught that familiar whiff of smoke once more, had John been here?

No, that was impossible he didn't have keys to your place. Given his profession. A voice whispered in your head as you took stock of what you had in your bedroom. That would have never stopped him if he wanted into your house. Nodding to yourself you reached for your phone and typed a text to John.

"Hey, John it's Y/N I have a question for you."

You stared down at your phone, waiting for a response if he decided to respond, he could be busy with work. However, as you thought that you heard your phone chime.

"What is it?"

Okay. That was far faster than you had thought it would be. Perhaps he wasn't working to day, or he was at his office. You chewed on your lip suddenly feeling a little nervous. This would be the first time the two of you had spoken since the divorce so you were feeling a little uncomfortable, remembering how eerily silent John had been during that whole thing. A sign that John had been mad at you then.

And why shouldn't he be? You divorced him...sorta without warning. Wouldn't you be pissed? You thought to yourself as you struggled with coming up with what you wanted to say. Then decided to bite and bullet and just say it.

"You haven't been in my apartment, have you?"

You bit your lip as you waited. Then your phone chimed again.

"No, why?"

As you read his messages you bit down on your lip, suddenly feeling a tad bit silly about this. You knew that nothing was missing, and when you had arrived home but you just couldn't help but think that something was wrong.

Ever think you're just being paranoid? You asked yourself. Continuing to chew on your lip you looked to your phone once more, before moving to your living room window. And nearly dropped your phone when you caught sight of that very same man from before staring at your from the street, face obscured by a black balaclava and clad in all black, dark eyes looking up at you! Gasping you backed away from the window, and nearly trip over the damned rug as you do so, fuck texting you need to call John!

Dialing his number you are thankful when he answers after the first ring. "John." You choke out after his hello. "Someone is watching me..."

***

He knew it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before you called him for help. A smirk form on his face as he leaned back in his seat, phone to his ear as you listened to tell him about some strange man lurking outside your apartment. Good ol' Simon he knew his lieutenant wouldn't disappoint, sure Soap and Gaz did well too but it was Ghost stalking you, and currently lurking outside your apartment scaring the wits out of his poor little wife.

"John? Are you there?" You spoke.

"I'm here I'll be right over, love." He told you getting up from his seat and grabbing his jacket before going to the door. "Everything is going to be fine, don't you worry."

Muttering a shaky thank you John listened as you hung up the phone, a smirk returning to his face. Things were going according to plan. Just a little more and you would be his once more...

Authors Notes- Okay firstly sorry this took forever to post. Life y'know? And sorry it's not overly interesting but I assure you the next chapter will have all the saucy stuff in it. Stuff I WAS going to cram all in this chapter then call this story done, but there is just too much I want to put in. So this fic is going to be four chapters rather than the usual three. And I'm rambling but I hope you enjoyed it! Have a goodnight!

#Yandere! Captain Price #ex wife reader #Tw stalking #Breaking and entering #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #141 makes a brief appearance

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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - Epilogue

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨

Rating: General audiences for pure fluff, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Pure fluff with just a passing mention of pregnancy kink. It *is* Marcus, after all. Pregnant reader with mentioned cravings. Summary: Glimpsing a few years into the future, the life of the renewed Pike family is rocked by a new adventures at every turn. Notes: This little story has brought us so much joy, and hopefully it has brought you some as well, dear readers 🧡🧡 Thank you for coming with us, and check out the writing schedule that went up a little while ago to see what’s coming next!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

French court has been distinctly different from the one time you ever served on jury duty in a US court, and if you weren't uncomfortable from the hard benches, needing to pee constantly, and the very tiny foot currently lodged in your ribs, you might be more inclined to pay attention to the differences to chat to Angie about it when you get back the DC again.

You and Marcus have been giving witness testimony for over a week in Henri Aubel's criminal trial. It's been a long time coming, since you went undercover for that auction two years ago, but justice apparently takes time. This time you're staying in a moderately priced hotel in Montmartre and enjoying your down time at a more leisurely pace, while Marcus fusses over every step you take to make sure that you and his little boy always have everything you need. He's sitting beside you holding your hand as you listen to the lawyers give their final statements, smoothing his thumb over your hand and wishing just as hard as you are that this afternoon could be over so that you can go back to the hotel and order some room service to just have a little quiet time to yourself.

“Are you doing okay, sweetheart?” Marcus notices you squirming slightly, knowing the baby is more active right now. He doesn’t seem to like you sitting for too long before he starts beating you up from the inside.

“He’s bored,” you whisper back, nodding that yes, you’re okay, it’s just the baby moving around. Gently, you move his hand to the side of your belly so he can feel where his son’s other foot is pushing insistently. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Just like every time he feels his son kick in your stomach, Marcus softens. His eyes turning warmer and even more loving as his hand brushes over your bumping flesh. It feels like he’s trying to play soccer or have a party. “Calm down buddy and I’ll take you and mama out for ice cream after this.” He promises softly.

To your absolute lack of surprise, that seems to soothe the baby more than anything, and you always tease that he’s going to own an ice cream shop one day due to the way it has been your number one, never ending craving for the last seven months. Of course the baby is just responding to Marcus’s soothing voice, but you like to imagine that childhood years full of ice cream truck adventures and inventing new flavours at home are in store for all of you. “Works every time,” you hum under your breath, trying not to grin in the middle of the court room.

“Mhmmm.” He smirks slightly, curling around you. “I know what my wife and son want.” He’s been so proud of where you are during this trip to France. Enjoying when Aubel’s lawyer had tried to discredit you by calling you ‘Madame’ Pike to insinuate that you held a personal grudge over his client. The entire courtroom had tittered when you had very sternly corrected him with ‘Doctor Pike’ and an introduction into your qualifications to speak on this case beyond your own undercover involvement. Marcus had been a peacock during the next break, so proud of you.

When the courtroom is dismissed nearly an hour later, you stand to stretch your legs and give Marcus an apologetic pout. Before you run off to find ice cream, you need to use the bathroom. Again. “I’ll be right back, my love.”

Marcus stands and moves over towards the agents who were crowded around the prosecutor. "We are going to slip away." Marcus tells Ducasse, aware that you and he could be called back for more questions, but it wouldn't be today. He holds his hand out to the agent. "Baby needs a walk and some ice cream."

“We will see you again Monday morning.” Ducasse gratefully shakes Marcus’s hand and glances behind him, smiling knowingly when you’ve already disappeared. His wife was the same way during all three of her pregnancies. “You have plans for the weekend?”

"I think we are going to do whatever my wife wants." Marcus grins. "This is sort of being used as our 'baby moon' since in a few weeks she won't be able to fly anymore."

“We would love to have you over once more before you leave.” Ducasse’s wife had been very fond of you when you visited last time, and he and Marcus have always gotten along well. The four of you had played cards for hours after their boys went to bed. “Chloe has asked if I would invite you, so please. Anytime.”

He nods. “I’ll talk to her and let you know.” He promises, knowing that you would say yes. Either tonight or Sunday night. “Hopefully you have a good rest of the day.”

“We are near the end.” He nods, shaking Marcus’s hand once more. “It will be good to put this behind us. Although I hope it will not keep you from coming to Paris again?”

"No, never." Marcus chuckles at the mere thought of never coming back. "My wife honestly wishes we could move to Paris. If only the FBI operated outside the US beyond special cases." He muses. "She would have our house packed up tomorrow."

He can see it, knowing how you love France, and chuckles softly at the image. “La Louvre would be lucky to have her.”

“What about the Louvre?” You sneak up behind Marcus, slipping your arm into his as he stands with René. That bathroom trip was very necessary, but you feel rejuvenated.

“How much you would be an asset to work there.” Marcus answers easily, shifting his shoulder so he can throw his arm around you. “And if INTERPOL would hire me, you would be packing us up to move to Paris in a heartbeat.

“It would certainly be a conversation to have.” Just because you would love it doesn’t mean Marcus would, and your lines of communication have smoothed out considerably over the years. “I wouldn’t mind, but our families might riot if we cross an ocean with this little boy being so new in everybody’s lives.”

The Frenchman laughs and nods. “I can imagine. It is your first. So it is especially sweet.” Marcus nods and Ducasse steps back. “Enjoy your afternoon, I am getting a coffee before we have to go back in.”

“Ready for ice cream?” It’s summer in Paris, so when you step outside the streets are packed with locals and endless amounts of tourists alike.

“Of course I am.” Indulgently smiling, he casually leads you away from the government building. While he wasn’t as confident in his ability to move around the city like you, he was becoming more acclimated. “You know, that could be something we look at down the road.” He offers, slipping his hand into yours. “Moving here.”

“Would you really want to leave the US?” He’s happy here, you know. He likes Paris and his French has improved measurably with every trip. But you’ve never talked about living here - it’s just your favorite vacation spot. “We’ve never discussed it, so I’m honestly asking.”

“It could be interesting.” Marcus admits, shrugging slightly. “Obviously not something we do now, but it could be something to talk about if the right opportunity came along.”

“We definitely wouldn’t consider it without the right work.” It does make you smile, though, and you lean into his side as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He wouldn’t continue to pose the question if it wasn’t something he was considering. “Is it…maybe worth enough thought that we give an extra thought to how the babies’ names would sound with a French accent?”

Marcus laughs and he knows that you are intrigued by the idea. “We can do that.” He promises. “Although let’s not name the baby Henri.” He teases with a wink.

“Oh god no.” You cringe at the very idea. “I’m not saying give them French names. I’m just saying…if it’s difficult to pronounce or unattractive with a French accent…maybe it gets bumped a little further down on the list?” Considering you haven’t had any luck whatsoever in narrowing down your son’s name, it might actually be helpful. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, so that you don’t get too excited.

“I can agree with that.” In a perfect world, he would try to find a way to move over here now, but his father’s health is failing and he wants to be stateside for the time being. “I still like Archer.”

“And I still say that Archer Pike sounds like a position on a medieval battlefield.” It’s never escalated to so much as a disagreement in your entire pregnancy, but your and Marcus’s very different taste in baby names has made for some interesting conversations. “This week I think I like Jonas or Elias best.”

“Jonas.” Marcus winces. “That sounds like our son is going to be in a boy band.”

“Alright, maybe not Jonas.” Both of you laugh as you turn down the bustling street. “Adrian is good. Or Elliott.” Trying to stay away from what you’ve termed the ‘normal’ names like Charles, Daniel, William, Thomas, Alexander, Jonathan, or anything like that has made naming more of a conversation. And more of a challenge. But that’s the good kind of challenge.

“Maxime?” Marcus suggests. “We can call him Max? Max Pike.” He rolls the name around and looks over at you to see what you think.

“Is that a French name I hear from you?” Pretending to be shocked, you gasp audibly and clasp one hand to your chest in mock shock. But something in the back of your mind makes you pause, and your laughter turns to a soft sigh just a moment later. “You know what Maxime sounds good with?” You tilt your head back to look at him and bite your lip, unsure how he’ll feel about the suggestion. “Theodore.”

“Really?” Marcus swallows, aware that his hand tightens around yours. He’s aware that his father doesn’t have many more years left and he hates that he won’t see his grandchild grow up so this is something to honor the man who had taught Marcus how to be a man. “I— baby, I would love that.” He had been careful not to voice that before because he doesn’t want you to agree for him alone.

“Do you like the names together?” He looks like he’s going to cry, which wouldn’t be a surprise from Marcus. As his father’s health declines, he’s been more open with how the impending loss is affecting him. “Theodore is a great name, even if you don’t like Maxime with it. Maybe…” you hold his hand tightly in support. “If you like it for a first name, we could call him Theo?” His father has always gone by Ted, and it’s a way to pay homage to the man without forcing an identity on your son or putting pressure on him the way family names so often can.

“I think –” Marcus exhales roughly and blinks, trying to get ahold of his emotions. “If you like it, I think that we have found our son’s name.”

“Then I think we have it.” After so much debating and searching and consideration, to actually have agreed on a name makes your heart feel like it’s grown three sizes all at once. “Because I actually love it.”

“I love it too.” Marcus smiles dreaming, imagining calling to his son when he comes home from work. “It’s fitting.”

“We can spend the next two months working on a middle name.” The look of immense joy on his face is all you need to see to be sure that you made the right decision. “We should call your parents this weekend to let them know that we finally decided on the first name.”

“Why don’t we do that in person?” Marcus suggests, knowing how proud his father might be to learn that his grandson is named after him. “Maybe have a little onesie made? And a shirt for him?”

“We can do that.” The wheels in your mind are already spinning about how to get it done before you have to stop flying. “What if we order them tonight and have them shipped to your parents, and we can change our flight when we’re done here to be to Florida instead of DC? Take a couple of extra days to see your folks before we go home?”

“Yeah?” He lights up at the idea and nods. “The case should be done by the time the shirts get there and I can tell mom not to open the package.”

“It would be nice to tell them in person.” You agree, reaching up to touch his cheek as you both pause on the sidewalk outside the patisserie that you know makes the best ice cream in this part of the city.

“It would be.” Your mother has been a little better since the wedding last winter, and excited when you announced you were expecting. Marcus rubs the back of your hand. “Maybe we can invite your mom out? See the baby’s room?”

“We can have my folks come to us once I’m grounded.” That’s how you had been referring to it, at least a little bit. “My sister said she’d wait to bring her crew out to visit us until after the baby is born.” With your free hand, you caress the side of your belly and nearly tear up. “Until Theo is born.”

He will defer to you on this, nodding in agreement. “Whatever you want baby, I want this to be as easy as possible and a good experience for you.” He grins and presses his lips to your temple. “I kinda like you pregnant.”

“Oh yeah?” Although you raise your eyebrows at him, you’re not surprised by it. Marcus hasn’t exactly been subtle in the way he’s heaped affection and indulgence on you since the day you came home from the doctor with the news. “Thinking you might want the second pretty quickly, or maybe a third?”

“Doesn’t matter how many you have.” Marcus promises. “I do love you just like this.” His hand slides across your burgeoning belly. “But if you don’t want any more, I will be happy with you and Theo.”

“And Cat Benetar.” The highly opinionated Siamese kitten you had adopted after returning stateside from your first joint trip to Paris has turned into an even more opinionated grown up cat, who also happens to love her namesake’s music. “No, baby. The only reason Theo won’t be a big brother is if the doctor advises against it for something medical. I…actually kind of like being pregnant. Which is something I never thought I would say.”

He snorts and moves closer, pressing his lips to your jaw line. The past two years have been the best of his life and the idea of having even more happiness makes his heart soar. “You like being treated like a Princess.” He scoffs playfully. “Foot rubs every night. Ice cream whenever you want. Doting husband ready to make you cum whenever you need.”

“And in exchange I have said goodbye to my ankles, given up my entire body to the growth of a tiny human, and gladly sacrificed increasing amounts of my own independence for that same tiny human.” The first day you had had to have Marcus help you out of bed was a very rude awakening, but right now you just sigh in contentment at the feeling of his lips on your skin. “I think that’s a fair trade.”

“You will get your ankles back, I insist on at least one ‘me day’ for you a month, where I take care of the kids and you go pamper yourself, and your body is even sexier.” Marcus insists.

With your arms around his neck and his hands gently cradling your sides, the two of you are the perfect picture of a couple very much in love. These last seven months of being married again have been such a blessing and you wouldn’t trade them for the world. “I think you might have a little bit of a pregnancy kink, babe. Not that I’m complaining.”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he finally shoots you a smirk. “Maybe a little bit of one, but you can’t blame me.” Marcus huffs. “The woman I love, carrying my baby that I planted inside her?” He groans quietly and knows you are aware of what does for him. “Good shit.”

“Suddenly feeling a little less like ice cream and a little more like you want to be back at the hotel?” You know you are, but that’s mostly a side effect of the way his voice has dipped down so low it sounds like it’s coming from his toes.

"I always want to be back at the hotel with you." Marcus chuckles. "But I promised our Theo ice cream and I'm not going to start breaking promises now." He hums playfully, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Besides." He moves his mouth over to your ear. "I can always eat your pussy while you eat your ice cream." He whispers softly, aware that it will make you drip with need.

“How do you expect me to act normal when you say things like that?” You pout at him fiercely, but only because you’re too big now to just climb him like a tree anywhere you want. “Inside. Right now. Before I decide to drag you into a cab and order ice cream from room service.”

His laugh trails behind you as you both enter the shop, groaning when the smells hit him. Nothing smells as good as fresh pastries and ice cream. "We can have it to go." He poses, his hand on your back sliding down to rest innocently on your ass.

"Yes. Yes we absolutely can." It's possible that Marcus has grown to love real Parisian patisseries as much as you do. There's nothing quite like it in the world. "Do you want to bring some things back to the room for our breakfast tomorrow since we're here?"

“Unless you want me to run back here while you are asleep?” Marcus offers, knowing how amazing everything is fresh. You have taken to lying in just a bit longer because of the baby.

"If you're willing, I'm never going to say no." Not that you would ever ask him to, but Marcus does like to make a fuss. And it's not just for you - he loves fresh bread and pastry with a fiery burning passion. "Pan au raisin right from the oven is almost as sexy as some of the dreams I have about you."

“You have dreams about bread that are sexier than me?” He pouts playfully and huffs at you.

"I said almost as sexy." You promise him, stepping up in line with him so that the two of you are next. "I know you eye the curves on those croissants, Monsieur Pike. No shame in loving carbohydrates in our family."

“It’s because they match your curves.” Marcus teases, sliding his hands lovingly along your sides.

"Mmhmmm." Your expression is dubious and fully amused. "And it has nothing at all to do with all those flaky, buttery, beautifully light layers in the croissants you love?"

“Mmmmh.” He ducks his head and kisses your neck. “You have buttery beautiful light layers.”

"I'm going to totally bypass how silly that sounds and go straight to sighing lovingly." Not that it's much of a stretch. Marcus putting his lips on any part of your body always makes you sigh. "But we should probably order," you nudge him away reluctantly, not trusting yourself to behave with the way pregnancy has you craving him even more than usual.

Snickering slightly, Marcus moves up to the counter and orders your ice cream and one of the pan au chocolates that he knows you will want, along with his own order. He’ll come back tomorrow for your breakfast and some tea.

The creamy, dreamy caramel ice cream is worth every single second you spend fighting the hot summer sun to lap it up before it melts on the walk back to your hotel. Marcus's free hand tangles with yours as you walk and even though your feet are going to be killing you by the time you get there, you're enjoying just being able to soak up the beautiful weather with him.

“What do you want to do when we get back to the room?” Marcus asks, knowing that despite your need for him at times, the baby sometimes makes the need for a nap greater.

"Dream scenario?" You bite back a grin and lick some ice cream off your finger. "Exhaust ourselves, take a nap, and have room service in our pjs later tonight."

“Reality?” Marcus asks with a grin.

A small laugh of admission passes your lips, and you shrug. "Reality is that I'll get exhausted a lot faster than you will, but it still sounds like a fun night."

“Doesn’t matter. Although, I told Ducasse that I would let you know that Chloe wants use to come over sometime this weekend.” He hums. “You let me know when you are feeling up to it.”

"How about I call her in the morning and set up dinner for Sunday night?" The last time you had had dinner with René and Chloe Ducasse and their kids, you had spent leisurely hours upon hours at the house enjoying their company. Somehow that seems like a perfect Sunday night to you.

“I thought you would choose Sunday.” It sounded like a perfect way to end the weekend and Saturdays have been reserved for just the two of you if work doesn’t interfere.

“As long as that’s okay with you.” Of course you would never pressure him, but if he didn’t want to have dinner with his colleague - your friend - and his family, then he would have said so.

“It sounds like a great way to end the weekend.” He assures you, happy to see the hotel in sight. He knows you love walking around Paris but you get so tired now and he doesn’t want you hurting yourself.

“Perfect.” Both dinner and the hotel on the horizon qualify as perfect, in your mind, and you hum contentedly. “I can’t wait to get out of these shoes.”

“I’ll give you a massage.” Marcus promises. The room has a small sitting area and he likes to sit on the love seat with you and rub your feet while you watch tv.

“What kind of massage?” You throw him an exaggerated, salacious grin and raise your eyebrows like a Marx brother.

“Well….” His own gaze turns lecherous, and he licks his lips in anticipation. “I was going to say foot massage, but I think your pussy looks really sore. Sitting down all day.”

“Oh yeah?” If you could, you’d practically be skipping up to the hotel in eagerness. “Is that more up your alley? Giving my poor little pussy some attention?”

“If you want.” Marcus leans in to nibble on your shoulder lightly. “Spread you out on the soft pillows and see how long I can slowly lick you until you cum. Soft and sweet.”

“And maybe more?” It’s less frequent than it used to be, with you more often being uncomfortable as the baby - and therefore your belly - gets bigger. But tonight, you know you wouldn’t be satisfied with just his tongue.

“Oh baby, I want to lay you on your side and put your leg over my hip.” Marcus promises you. “Let you feel how much I always want you.”

"Then why are we still two blocks away and not in our room?" The grin splitting your face is incorrigible, and you tug on his hand. "You know, exercise is very important for pregnant women."

His laugh is light and easy, happy that this is still palpable between you. He had heard that some women hated being touched during their pregnancy and he would have respected it, even if he hated not being able to touch you. Your pace speeds up, but he makes sure you aren’t trying to run back to the hotel. “Have to make room for dinner tonight.”

"Yes, exactly." You nod wisely, giggling as you shorten the distance between the two of you and your hotel with every long stride.

He can’t believe his luck. Here in the city where you had proposed to him, where you had conceived Theo on your honeymoon, you are now rushing back to your hotel room to spend another evening in each other’s arms. He grins at the street performer playing for tips and wonders why he ever thought it wouldn’t be Paris where you end up. He should have followed you then, but you could be damned sure he would follow you now.

******

It's supper time by the time you pull your car into the garage, tired from an extra day at work that wasn't supposed to happen. Since leaving the photography department of the Smithsonian to a director position that dealt with preservation of paintings, there have been significantly more 'emergency' days just because of the increased size of the collection that you oversee. But it doesn't matter that your back is screaming from bending over a worktable. It doesn't matter, because as soon as you get inside you'll have dinner with your husband and your kids and hop into your Halloween costume to take Theo and Amelia trick-or-treating. The fact that your kids' favourite holiday is on a Saturday this year means that the family is going all out, and even Marcus is getting dressed up to come out with you.

“I hear Mommy.” Marcus whispers to the kids, watching them giggle and their eyes widen happily, knowing you would be surprised. Even if Marcus knew that you knew the kids would be in their costumes, the kids felt like it was a surprise. Especially since Daddy had decided to dress up like Prince Charming to their Mommy’s princess costume.

Coming in through the front door, you sigh as you drop your purse on the table in the entryway and pull off your coat to hang on the rack. "Anybody home?" You call without turning around, never even seeing the house full of decorations. The only thing that's caught your attention is the smell of Marcus's homemade beef stew and possibly fresh bread - unless your nose is lying to you, which it never does when it comes to baked goods.

“In here!” Marcus holds up a finger to his lips to quell the torrent of giggles coming from the three- and two-year-old. “In the kitchen!”

His voice is coming from the opposite direction that you are facing, and you happily trudge a few steps in that direction before finally realizing what you're looking at. There are cardboard pumpkins decorating the archways, construction paper ghosts hanging from the ceiling fan, orange and black electric candles everywhere, and fake spiderwebs on the stairwell banner as well as dotted around the doorways with little plaster spiders inhabiting them like beacons of the holiday. When you turn the corner into the living room, Marcus is dressed head-to-toe in a full Prince Charming costume, little Theo is dressed as a bonafide medieval knight, and Amelia is wearing her sparkly red and orange dragon costume that will have a matching fire-themed trick or treating bag when you go out after dinner. Everyone is dressed to the nines and giggling with excitement when they shout "Surprise!", and you nearly fall over with delight at the sight of your beautiful little family. Even Cat Benetar is wearing a little cat-sized witch hat, though she is currently lazing in her bed in the corner.

"Ohhhh, look at all of you!" Your little girl is the first to leap forward, arms up and begging for a hug before you even get all the way into the room. "You all look amazing!"

“I a dragon – RAWR!” Amelia growls in your face, her little expression twisted up to be menacing but she just manages to be adorable. Marcus laughs and judiciously grabs the sword Theo is waving around so he doesn’t knock the flowers off the table.

"You're my favourite dragon in the whole world, baby girl." You promise her, laying a kiss on her cheek since her costume's head dress is covering the customary spot on her forehead. "And your brother! Such a valiant looking knight, Sir Theo."

The little boy beams at you despite temporarily losing his sword, seemingly unbothered by it at the moment. "Daddy matches you, Mommy!" He informs you excitedly, in case you haven't noticed.

"I can see that." When you turn your smile on your husband it's nearly blinding. "Prince Daddy looks very handsome in his costume."

“Hey sweetheart.” Leaning in, he gives you a kiss that has Theo huffing territorially and Amelia squealing in your arms. “Kiss me, daddy! Kiss me!”

“Kid swap.” You grin, pecking Marcus’s lips again before letting your wriggling daughter climb into her father’s arms and leaning down to pick up your pouting son to smack a kiss on his forehead. The sound of it always makes him giggle, and your children’s’ laughter is undoubtedly the best sound in the whole world. “The house looks amazing, guys! Did you have fun helping Daddy decorate?”

The chorus of “yeahs” are enthusiastic and loud enough to make your ears ring but Marcus had grown used to it. Not upset with his kids for being kids, loud and excited. “Now, we have to eat dinner before we go trick or treating.” That inspires pouts but Marcus winks at Theo and kisses Amelia’s cheek again. “Good thing too because I heard Mrs. Johnson is giving out fudgesicles.”

“Weawwy?” Amelia squeals in delight, as the toddler seems to forget that she was ever upset in the first place.

“Thank you for this, honey.” The dining room is barely seven steps away but you all take them slowly, both kids hanging on to their parents as you and Marcus move. “A museum visitor poked a painting with their glasses before the guard could stop them and a flake of paint came off. The staff panicked and went straight to calling me instead of any of the other staff.”

“Baby, how many times have you had to shoulder doing things because I got called in on a case?” Marcus scoffs, and sends you a reassuring smile. You are a team and sometimes it means he picks up the slack, sometimes it’s you, “all that matters is that you’re here for dinner and the candy haul.” Theo cheers at that, having been assured he can pick out a few pieces to eat tonight. Candy anytime is a celebration to a three-year-old.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t say thank you. This is exactly what I didn’t know I needed to come home to.” You lean over to kiss him before telling both kids that it’s time to wash up. All three of you wash your hands together in the big kitchen sink and you carry the tray of dishes and silverware into the dining room. It’s a long-practiced dance now, and within five minutes you’re all sitting down to Marcus’s amazing meal.

“After dinner, Mommy’s going to change into her Princess outfit while you guys and I get the wagon ready.” He tells the kids. They had insisted they didn’t want to look like babies with a stroller, but he knew that they would be tired within a few blocks. So the solution was the wagon.

“We’re going to go all around the neighborhood tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to Auntie Angie and Uncle Harry’s house to watch movies and have dinner.” Your best friend said she didn’t want to do anything major for her birthday, but sitting the kids down in front of a Disney movie and making a stack of grilled cheeses with a vat of tomato soup for dinner was good in everybody’s books.

“Kick off for soup season.” Marcus grins at you, eager to tell you his news, but he wants to wait until the kids are distracted. Get your honest opinion.

"And birfday cake?" Theo's eyes widen at his father, not because of the small portion of beef stew that is being ladled into a bowl for him but because of the promise of cake tomorrow.

“I’m sure that Auntie Angie will have the most delicious cake for you to have a slice of.” Angie and Harry had been amazing friends to have close by and it was going to be sad to have to say goodbye.

"Yaaaaayyyy!" Both two little cheers make both you and Marcus laugh, and you tear a fresh roll in half for the kids to share before putting one in front of Marcus and taking one for yourself.

"So you guys had a good day?" Once your children start eating they are hyper focused, so it's a short chance for you and Marcus to talk.

The kids grunt, too busy eating to answer so Marcus decides to broach the subject. “I got a call today.” He tells you quietly “From Ducasse.”

"Oh?" Sometimes it's work and sometimes it's pleasure when you hear from René or Chloe, but either way it's nice to hear from friends. "Business or pleasure?"

“Business.” Marcus squirms slightly, adopting a slightly guilty look.

"Do they need you for a case?" It would be a shame for him to be away from home for a little while, but it isn't the first time he's had to travel for a case since the kids were born. He had brought back a Paddington bear stuffed animal for Theo from London while you were pregnant with Amelia, and goodies for the kids from Rome just six months ago. He was working more and more with INTERPOL and seemed to really enjoy it, so you fully encouraged it every time. Even if it meant missing him for a little while.

“More than a case.” Marcus draws out slowly, wishing that he had more time, but the kids will be done with their food soon. “René has been promoted.” He reveals softly. “And he wants me to join INTERPOL to help him.”

"Oh my..." You can barely keep yourself from cursing or shouting or even exclaiming, knowing that if you do the kids will immediately start asking questions. "Are you serious? Is it...is it a good position?" Breathless, you feel absolutely breathless. "Do you want to take it?"

“I would be the assistant director of the Paris INTERPOL division.” Marcus nods. “I’m never going to advance past my position here and it’s good, but the position is a twenty percent increase and we can live in Paris.”

"It's how much?" Practically hissing to keep your voice down, you can feel your eyes widen and the excitement start to build, and a quick glance at the kids shows that they couldn't care less about paying attention to you. "Baby, th—that...that's amazing." You place your hand on this thigh under the table and give it a gentle squeeze. "But do you want to take it?" If he says no then it's the end of the discussion. Even if you had spent plenty of time dreaming about living in Paris together over the last few years, the reality of anything is always different from the dream.

“I do.” Marcus has given it a lot of thought since the call, especially since the kids are still young enough to soak up a second language quickly. The idea of being able to travel across Europe on the weekends and let the kids live in historic places is a heady thought. “If you still want to go. I know you have your own career to think about.”

"There is a lot of work for conservationists in the area." It's not as though Paris doesn't have its fair share of museums and galleries, and private collectors to boot. But you bite your lip a little and squeeze his leg again, excitement starting to leak through. "But I've been thinking about going back to teaching." He knows that you loved the classes that you taught at GWU a few years ago, but you hadn't really brought it up recently. "The munchkins will be school age soon and I could have summers off with them. Even if the Sorbonne is a pipe dream for a professorship, American University of Paris has a wonderful art history program."

“I do think that professorships pay more in Europe.” He jokes. “Plus we will be able to travel around the continent on the weekends.”

"Look at you." He is lit up, giddy happiness written all over his face just like both times you told him you were pregnant. He's beaming with barely contained excitement. And although your voice is quiet, you know you're smiling a lot harder than you were just two minutes ago. "You've already been looking at real estate, haven't you?"

“No.” He huffs defensively, giving a small shrug. “René already said there is an apartment that’s about to go on the market in his building. I just asked how much it was going for.”

"René is trying to sweeten the deal." The building that the Ducasse family lives in is a converted mansion that has been split into three family-sized 'apartments' that are basically good-sized condos. They're stunning. "And he knows how much I love that building."

“He really wants me.” Marcus admits with a grin. “Even hinted that if I pushed, a housing allowance would be thrown in to sweeten the deal.”

"Holy...sugar." You swallow thickly and lean over to press a kiss to your husband's cheek. The gears are turning in your head, and you know what a move of this magnitude will take a lot of organization. "How soon does René need you? It will take a little while to get everything squared away here."

“Honestly?” Marcus grins. “I was thinking about us ringing in the new year in our new home?”

The smile that spreads across your face is gleaming, and when you glance at the kids you get just a snippet of their very involved discussion of whether or not knights ever ride dragons into battle or if dragons are strictly fellow soldiers. "Then I guess I better update my resume," you murmur, feeling the pull of undeniable excitement. "And we should start teaching these monkeys some French."

“Yeah?” Marcus’s matching grin gets even brighter. “It’s a good thing my own French has improved. As well as my Spanish.” He knew it wouldn’t take much to convince you, but he’s still excited about the prospect of starting a new adventure with you.

"It means the holidays will be a blow out this year." The last American holiday season will be one that both of your families will want to make a big deal out of. Especially if you're going to be moving before New Years. "It's going to be an amazing new chapter."

“I am thinking we invite mom and your parents here?” Marcus’s dad had passed away while you were carrying Amelia, but he was happy that his father got to meet his namesake.

"Definitely." In your seat it's easy to lean against him, breathing in the promise of something new. An adventure you'll take as a family. The family you were always meant to be. "I love you so much, Marc. And I'm so proud of you. Being headhunted by INTERPOL is a huge deal."

“It’s a notch in my professional belt for sure.” He won’t deny that. His time at the FBI has been very fulfilling, but he wants to balance work and life a bit more than the Bureau allows and INTERPOL allows for that. “But nothing is as important as the three of you.”

"The three of us are with you." You promise him. "Always."

He reaches for your hand, a habit that he has no interest in ever breaking. “Just one question.” He poses, staring at you seriously. “Do they have tequila in France? Or are we going to have to smuggle it in?”

"No, my love. We won't have to smuggle it in." It takes everything you have not to burst out laughing at the table, and you barely stifle it long enough to lean over and press a kiss to your husband's lips. "They definitely have tequila in France."

“Good.” Marcus winks at you. “Because you know I’m supposed to stop smuggling, not participate in it.” For a long time, he hadn’t been able to touch it, too much of a reminder of you. Since you’ve stormed back into his life like you had the first time he met you, Marcus loves the taste of tequila again. Almost as much as he loves you.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

tCIGtDYE: @missmarmaladeth @afro-hispwriter @rosmarinus @mythrielofsolitude @jxvipike @avaleineandafryingpan @hnt-escape @supernaturalgirl20 @scorpio-marionette @bobafvcker @midnightevermore @dinoflower @pearl-aqua-tears @itsbaehyungbitch @pepperminticedcoffee @anticipayosbot @girlofchaos @speedynana @loveslide @noisynaia @just-here-for-the-moment @goodgriefitsawildworld @curiouskeyboard @iarellanouus @mymistery09-blog @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thenightdreamsballad @pondsofravenclaw @sherlock221b114679797 @pimmyxyone @theredwritingwitch @ghostinhours @timpletance @strawberryjamcheesecake @amb11 @a-little-shade-of-kiki @wildemaven @tuquoquebrute @supernaturalgirl @ellenmunn @iceclaw101 @toxicfrankenstein @catsandgeekyandnerd @missmarmaladeth @theincredibleinkspitter @agiroflee98 @lyonessofnarnia @we-could-have-been @totostits @scorpio-marionette @kikis-writing-world @trappistmonksofthefuture @danichz @88dragon06 @scorpionerd @myrealmofchaos @movievillainess721 @firekissed13 @qseomik @acollectionofcells1 @captain-of-my-game1992 @alician87 @lovesbiggerthanpride @justgonewild @hiyorinatsuki @pinkrosethorne @apocalypticwafflekitten @groovycass @rebel-fanfare @d0cthunder @gooddaykate @purplerain04 @astridflowers @frasmotic @dornish-queen

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Agent Marcus Pike #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic #ex wife reader #CURRENT WIFE reader!#we love paris

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oceantornadoo · 2 months

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protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your purse. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. “hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, lovie. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, purse strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still my wife.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

----

idk why im obsessed with the break-in and simon to the rescue trope but its fueling me lately

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley wife #ghost call of duty #tornadothoughts #ex husband ghost #fluff

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hypnos333 · 3 months

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My Heavens

Lucifer Morningstar x Ex Wife Reader Gabriel x Wife Reader

Pt 1- left her behind

Synopsis: You moved on and had a kid with another archangel

You gave birth throughout those centuries to twins, Caelum and Kailani. A boy and girl both have your color hair and eyes but your husband personally a shyness. Also both archangels.

You happily watch them grow with you husband as you both teaches them how to guide people into hopefulness and into following God.

Now they’re one hundred and ninety five years old in age and you are proud of them even though there still kinda of teenagers. You and gabriel were still proud but now with the extermination coming up you had to put your family first no matter the cost.

During the meeting with Charlie Morningstar that’s when you started feeling under the weather making you children go with their father instead of you going sick.

Charlie went up to your daughter mistaking it as you, “Woah Dad was right you are beautiful but you looks so young, Oh Right i’m Charlie you must be ___. My dad has been talking about you nonstop” Charlie rambled making Kailani raise her eyebrows.

“Sorry to burst your bubble but ___ is actually my mother” Kailani stated, “Both of our mother” Caelum add making Charlie look at the twins in shock.

“W-What?” Charlie asks as Vaggie approaches her.

“Yep sweetheart, we’re twins, Shocked? You are the only one that is” Caelum said rolling his eyes the princess stupidness. Kailani slapped her brother on the back of his head before laughing it off.

“Haha ignore my brother, it’s just your the only one who doesn’t noticed our similarities” Kailani said more kindly.

Vaggie pulls a still shock Charlie back to there seats but before they even made it Gabriel landed in front of them. “A-Ah Charlie, Vaggie I see you have met my children, my apologies about them they’re about bit of a hand full like they’re mother” He joked making Charlie gape at him.

“You and ___ had kids???” She questions him trying to get answers for her dad.

“Well of course married and have a new child on the way” Gabriel chuckled making Charlie feel bad about her dad not having this future with his first love.

“Ah I see well congratulations” She faked a smile as she congratulated him and his family.

“Thank you Miss. Morningstar and I hope you have the future you want” Gabriel said before flying away to his children.

After the meeting, Lucifer waited impatiently to hear the news from Charlie.

“What did ya hear Charlie? Did she accept me back to her life?” He asked his daughter hopefully making her looked down before grabbing his hand and slowly putting her wedding ring back into his hand. His smile drop looking at his daughter in fear.

“I’m so sorry dad but she’s married to another archangel named Gabriel and had twins the same age as me with another one on the way” Charlie explained to him.

Lucifer tried to hold into his tears but couldn’t as he sobs falling down to the floor. Charlie hold her dad as he sobs in her shoulder. “I-It’s all my f-fault” He cries out making Charlie console him.

#lucifer morningstar x reader #gabriel x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x you #Lucifer x ex wife reader

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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 11 months

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The List (1)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Not Beta’d. I was going to conclude this with an actual ending, but it was getting long so I’ll let the readers decide how it ends. If enough people are interested, I might do a part 2. Comment if you want a part 2.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Rumors spread through the underground of New York like the plague. Four murders of New York's most elite in the past 72 hours. Floating around the city was a list of names, a hit list for anyone involved with the mafia. Bucky was no stranger to a threat on his life. Being a mob boss, he constantly walked a thin line, a trapeze artist always one slip away from falling into the hands of death. Bucky had the resources and power to not be taken out so easily. If his name was on the list, he’d be toward the end, but no one knew home long the list was or who was on it. His team had spent the past 3 days searching the city for any information on the list. He had to know who was on it.

“Mr. Barnes, sir,” Peter Parker stammered, catching his breath in the doorway. Peter was a prospect, a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. Bucky couldn't understand why such a gifted kid was so eager to join the mob. Regardless, Bucky couldn’t be happier to have such potential, but the kid picked the wrong time to join them. “We have a lead.”

Bucky’s head snapped up from his desk. He had been engrossed in his own research on his laptop that he had forgotten about his men’s quest. Peter’s spine went rigid under the mob boss’s intense stare. He had yet to get used to it. Peter was certain that was why Bucky’s right-hand man, Steve Rogers, had sent him to retrieve Bucky. Well, that or it was part of Sam Wilson’s attempt at a joke to haze the new guy. Either way, Peter had been a fan of Steve growing up. Steve usually was the face while Bucky worked in the shadows, which only made Bucky more intimidating to Peter. He respected Steve though which is why he found Bucky without hesitation.

“Follow me, sir.”

Standing abruptly, the chair Bucky had been sitting in crashed into the wall behind him with a loud bang. He smoothed his rough palms down the front of his pristine white shirt before straightening his black suit jacket. Without a word, he extended his hand behind Peter, encouraging him to lead the way.

Peter anxiously peered over his shoulder the entire way down the hall. He thought he might have been walking too fast, but Bucky’s pace never faltered. Bucky was hot on his heels, always one step behind him. Stopping unexpectedly outside of the boardroom, Bucky hissed nearly crashing into the teen. Before Bucky could reprimand him, Peter explained, “Before we go inside, Steve told me to give you a message.” Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a bit leaving Peter relieved his boss wasn’t going to chew him out. Still, his own dress shirt began to cling to him with the amount of sweat he was producing. Bucky may have relaxed a bit, but his posture was always disciplined, predatory, and intimidating.

“Spill it out,” Bucky huffed, his hands resting in the pockets of his slacks.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter nodded, “Right, um- He said don’t do anything stupid and that we need her.”

The jaw of the boss twitched before he stormed past a confused Peter. His hands pressed into each of the double doors using his full force to slam the doors wide open. All eyes snapped to Bucky as he strode into the room, confidence and determination oozing off of him. Peter ushered in behind him, awkwardly failing to close the doors several times before succeeding. A string of apologies escaped his lips as he stepped further into the room. The serious look Steve shot Peter had him clearing his throat and adjusting his dress coat.

Sam and Steve stood side by side on one end of the room, their arms crossed. They were cautious, guarded rightfully so. Any one of their lives could be on the line. For all they knew, everyone in the room was on the hit list. Spying the woman sitting at the middle of the conference table, Bucky stalked across from her. With his eyes trained on the floor, he dragged the chair away from the table but made no move to sit down as he stepped up to the table.

When his eyes met hers, he puffed out his chest. His arms remained at his sides, his hands burrowing in his pockets. Without so much as a greeting, Bucky began his interrogation, “Who created the hit list.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, a frown etched on her crimson-painted lips. “Right down to business, huh Buck?” A smirk replaced her frown. “I should’ve known, you never were one for much foreplay.”

Bucky pressed his tongue to his cheek. He had expected this, her teasing. It was always a dance between them, one he wanted to avoid by cutting to the chase. She always knew how to rile him up, in more ways than one.

“Princess-”

‘No,” she stopped him with her hand raised, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Bucky snorted, leaning forward, “Isn’t that what you are now?”

“Who is she?” Peter attempted to whisper to Steve, but everyone heard him.

Taking pity on the clueless teen, Sam answered, “She’s Bucky’s ex-wife, Y/N.”

Ignoring the other men, Y/N flashed her diamond engagement ring at Bucky. The light reflected off of the ring making it impossible to miss even from where Steve, Sam, and Peter had been standing.

“That title is pending, followed by queen,” she sassed.

It started out as a term of endearment. Y/N always had a taste for the finer things in life, Bucky’s lifestyle satisfied that craving. He enjoyed spoiling his princess, but that was all she would be. A princess, someone no one would take seriously. It had been an ironic twist of fate that she had met an actual prince after her divorce from Bucky.

Examining the rock on her finger, her signature red nail had been replaced by a nude shade. She was no longer accepting his blood money; she had a good man and clean money now. His eyes traveled back to her face, zeroing in on her red-painted lip. Her hands may be clean now, but her lips were still tainted. The secrets she could talk about his business alone could ruin him which reminded him of why she was here in the first place.

“Who created the hit list, Y/N,” he tried once again to control the conversation.

Pursing her lips, she let him.

“I don’t know,” her gaze dropped to the table, “but I know who has it.”

Finally getting somewhere, Bucky reached back pulling the chair behind him. Once he was seated, he snapped his fingers. Not a moment later, a pen and paper were placed in front of him.

“Give me a name,” Bucky demanded, pen in hand.

Y/N raised her head, the man twirled a pen between his fingers tempting her to sign a deal with the devil. Shaking the image from her head she placed her hand over his, ceasing his movements.

“It’s not that easy. He won't meet with just anyone.”

“He?” Steve asked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Bucky isn’t just anyone,” Sam called out.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “He may very well be suspect number one. It would be bad for anyone to meet with Bucky alone.” Feeling Bucky’s hand turn beneath her own she went to pull away, but he grabbed her hand.

“What about a future queen?”

Eyeing him beneath her lashes, Y/N pulled her hand back to her chest. Noticing the hesitant look on her face, Bucky leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a fool to think she was here willingly. She wanted something; she needed something.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Bucky asked, “What do you want?”

Thumbing the ring on her finger, she contemplated lying. She didn’t want to need Bucky, but she did. One look at Bucky and she knew he would see through any lie she would come up with, so she told the truth, “I need protection.” Suddenly she felt exposed with everyone's eyes on her. “If my name is on the list,” her voice shook. She wasn’t Bucky’s dirty little secret. People knew she was his wife, well ex-wife. She had ties to the mob and if her name was on the list or if her fiancé found out, the engagement would be called off.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke, “Get me access to the list and let me worry about the rest.”

Relief flooded Y/N. He could have turned her away. He could have blackmailed the information out of her, but he didn’t. Bucky was a rough man, but he was also kind. She had seen it first-hand for many years. Guilt ate away at her for her earlier actions. He knew she had been engaged but she didn’t need to rub it in his face. She wanted to hurt him but only because he had hurt her. A small part of her hoped he would protect her not because he was kind but because he still loved her.

Y/N was able to request a meeting with the man not even 24 hours later. His assistant had sent her an invitation, but it wasn’t for what she had been expecting. Instead, the man had invited her to a gala. He was a businessman after all, and her appearance would be good for business. At a time when she should be laying low, she was about to attend a high-press event.

It wasn’t long after Bucky was notified that he insisted he escort her. Y/N protested but he had argued that he couldn’t protect her if she was dead. That had convinced her, on one condition, they arrive separately. She was still engaged.

The event was beautiful but high glass windows had Y/N on edge. Anyone could see her. She tried to distract herself by searching for the host. There were so many bodies and no sign of the man who had invited her. In the middle of her search, a hand circled her wrist tugging her in the opposite direction. Y/N began clawing at the man’s wrist, an attempt to pry him off. When he stopped and spun around, she crashed into his chest. With her face in his chest, the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne hit her. She shoved his chest putting enough distance between the two.

“Bucky,” Y/N hissed, “you’re supposed to be laying low.”

Surveying the crowd, Bucky muttered, “I am. It’s you who is running all over the damn place.”

Y/N shook her head glaring at him. Not only did he smell good, but he looked good too. He had shaved since she had last seen him. He had traded in his white dress shirt for a black one, forgoing a bow or tie. The top button of his shirt was open, relieving his collarbone. Instead of drooling over her ex-husband she continued to glare at him. It was easier to hate him than to pine over him.

“If someone takes pictures of us together and my fiancé finds out-”

His cerulean eyes shot down to meet her eyes, “Where is he anyway? Shouldn’t you be asking him for protection? Surely, he has the resources.”

Y/N froze, her hands clutching the sides of her silk gown. “He doesn’t know,” she mumbled, then her voice grew. “He doesn’t know about the list, my past, or about you.” Bucky’s eyes softened. He had his doubts before, but he was certain now that she wasn’t happy. He wanted to gloat, to rub it in her fiancé’s face. He knew Y/N better than her fiancé did, and even better, she wanted to tell him. Bucky wanted to make a joke about how keeping secrets in a relationship was unhealthy, but he kept his mouth shut. Y/N sighed, running her hands down her dress to smooth out the wrinkles she had created. “He’s out of the country right now.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around herself. His gaze dropped to the floor, but Bucky’s remained on her.

He recognized a lonely soul when he saw one because he was one himself. His lifestyle left few people he could trust. He hadn’t always been lonely though, and neither had she. Bucky’s hand twitched to reach out and hug her, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that with cameras around. He took in her appearance and couldn’t help the squeeze he felt in his heart.

“You look beautiful.”

A giggle escaped her lips, “Thanks, Buck. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He had meant to cheer her up, but her giggle was unexpected. He missed it, he missed her. Everyone he knew in the mob lifestyle had died in the mob. It was poetic in a live by the sword, die by the sword type of way. No one got out, but she did. With his status, he’d never get out and a selfish part of him wanted to pull her right back in.

“You got out, you got away from the life,” Bucky hummed, admiration in his voice, respect.

Y/N shook her head. “No, I just got away from you.”

It was his turn to laugh, “Now if that were true, I wouldn’t be standing here with you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. I am standing here with you, not you are standing here with me. He meant it. Even if she was here because of him, he was here for her, to protect her. He put her first.

“You of all people know once you’re in there’s only one way out.”

That was it for Bucky. He wasn’t pulling her back in. She never left. They might have been divorced but they had both meant it on their wedding day when they said, “Till death do us part.” Bucky’s calloused hand cupped her jaw just below her ear, pausing. She didn’t push him away. With both hands, she cradled his jaw pulling his face down to meet hers. Their lips brushed one another, slowly at first, testing the waters. Then his other hand slid up the length of her neck, sliding back to tangle his fingers in her hair. It was a dance they were all too familiar with.

The flash of a camera penetrated Y/N’s eyes beneath her closed lids and it was like pouring a bucket of cold water over her. Quickly, she pulled away shoving Bucky’s chest when his lips tried to follow her. She was fucked, royally.

“Y/N?”

Wiping her smudged lipstick, she ignored Bucky’s lingering gaze before turning to face the new voice. A woman in a blue silk dress approached the pair.

“Virginia?” Y/N asked.

The woman waved her hand in the air. “Please, call me Pepper. We spoke on the phone yesterday. Mr. Stark is ready to meet with you. Follow me.”

Without looking back, Y/N followed Pepper through the crowd. She knew Bucky would be right behind her. She would deal with him later. Right now, she needed the names on the list. Upon their arrival, Pepper exited the room, pulling the door shut behind her. On the other side of a glass desk was one of the wealthiest men in the world, Tony Stark.

“Did I interrupt something?” Tony asked eyes darting between Y/N and Bucky. “I swear there wasn’t so much tension before you two walked in.”

Y/N sent him a tight-lipped smile holding up her left hand. “I’m engaged.”

Tony shrugged, “What you do is none of my business. Besides, something like this would be published on the front page.” Y/N’s stomach dropped. “You know what they say, all press is good press.”

“Says the man with a new woman every week,” Bucky grumbled.

Tony smiled. “Precisely, I would know.”

“Mr. Stark-”

Tony loosened the bow tie around his neck. “Call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Y/N corrected, “so you know anything about a list?”

With a raised eyebrow Tony laughed, “If it’s a list you want, I suggest you talk to Pepper. She handles all of that stuff.”

“Not just any kind of list,” Y/N took a step forward, her hands clasped in front of her, “a hit list.” From this distance, Y/N couldn't miss the way Tony’s eyes shifted to Bucky.

“Are you looking to assassinate anybody?”

Bucky held up his hands, “I’m just looking to protect the people I care about.”

Y/N stood still, watching the intense stare-off between the two.

Eventually, Tony sighed, “I don’t want to be in the middle of any of this.” He tapped a few keys on the computer on his desk before turning the screen. “You better get out of here before your fiancé sends someone.”

“What?” Y/N gasped, blindly clutching Bucky’s forearm beside her. Both of their names were written in green on the list. Beneath them were some of Bucky’s most trusted men; their names written in white.

Tony leaned back in his chair. “Green means active. You’re both next on the list and judging by the number of cameras here, someone probably already knows you’re here.”

“You knew,” Bucky growled.

Tony barely flinched. “Your names weren’t active until recently. Other people’s lives are on the line. I can’t get to everyone in time.”

“Wait, why would my fiancé send someone, he’s not even in the country,” Y/N asked, trying to wrap her head around everything.

Tony frowned. “Your fiance is the one who put the hit list out. What better alibi for your significant other’s death than being out of the country at her time of death.”

Y/N would have collapsed if it wasn’t for Bucky’s quick reflexes. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Why?” Y/N whispered wide-eyed.

Bucky wanted to drag her out of the building toward safety but was there even a safe place? People already knew their location.

Tony shrugged. “The New York mobs aren't the only mobs out there. They're all over the country, they're in other countries. There are some real higher-ups in the mafia in other countries. The mafia controls everything, it's one of the most powerful positions. Take out other mobs and you can control more area, more power.”

Y/N felt sick. When she said you never get out once you get in, she hadn’t realized how deep she was in life now. Turning to Bucky, he was already on his phone typing. “Bucky, we need to go.”

“No. I text Steve, he’s rounding everyone up. They’ll be here soon.”

Tony’s eyes widened, his eyebrows reaching his forehead. “You can’t be serious. There are cameras everywhere. This will be plastered on every news station.”

Bucky shrugged, lifting the back of Y/N’s hand to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, a quiet promise to protect her. “All press is good press.”

Next Chapter

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greenorangevioletgrass · 8 months

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give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

if you've reached the end of this page, thank you so much for reading! do tell me what you think, reblog, send me asks, thoughts, ANYTHING. i would LOVE to hear your opinion!!!

#will poulter #chef luca #luca the bear #the bear fx #chef luca x reader #luca x reader #chef luca x ex-wife!reader #chef luca fic #chef luca smut #will poulter fic #will poulter fluff #will poulter angst #will poulter smut #ava writes

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ceilidho · 8 months

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All the ex-husband Price content was top tier! I hope there's more soon because I've just been soaking it all up like a sponge, I wonder what he'll do when he realizes his ex-wife has a male friend who's a little too close to comfort, a neighbor or a coworker and he tires to convince her to completely move on from Price and instead be with him because he's around more often and if Price overhears the conversion 👀 say Price was dropping the kids of and she was coming in with the groceries so he goes to the door about to open it and he hears THAT over the top friendly neighbor on the other side trying to convince her and asks her out on a date.....

haha thank you so much!! i love complicated relationships and the twists and turns of love.

i actually think it would be so so funny if you were just as weird as price but in your own way. your bachelor neighbour stops by one day to give you a package that had been put on his doorstep by accident and you get to talking and he tries to convince you to go on a date with him, you know, start moving on. he sees price come by all the time and he's just concerned.

meanwhile you're just standing there, white knuckling the doorframe and getting progressively more annoyed with this dude. who the hell is he getting involved in your relationships? you can fuck your ex-husband if you want. who is this absolute stranger to lecture you about getting over your ex? you're about ten seconds from slamming the door in this guy's face when john pulls up and you melt a little when you see the stone cold look on his face.

#john “im not gonna let this divorce get in the way of my marriage” price #versus reader “ill fuck my ex husband whenever i goddamn want to” wife #“just because we're divorced doesn't mean we have to move on???”#ceil writing #price x reader

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entirelytoooobsessed · 3 months

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lucifer is a fucking BOTTOM

#have you SEEN that man???#have you SEEN his ex-wife???#mans was definitely getting pegged #fr tho he's prolly a switch #and when he's topping he's absolutely a service top #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

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𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

She was a good mother and a good wife. She always made sure to be there for her husband and son. Yet, he still left her, and the months of adjusting weren’t good. Especially when he treated her like shit, and her son would rather be with his father. Leaving her to slowly drift away, losing herself and hope. Pieces of her slowly dying, as she realises no one would miss her if she were gone.

18+ only please, do not copy, repost or translate our works. You are responsible for your own media consumption. headers are made by me.

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

!warning! This series will include heartbreak, divorce, assumptions of cheating, thoughts of suicide, mentions of drinking, feeling alone and unloved, being treated badly, and maybe smut?

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬:

part 1 - 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

part 2 - 𝐈𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

೫˚👩��👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

part 3 - 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐦

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

part 4 - 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝?

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

part 5 - 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧

೫˚👩‍👦❀ *ૢ💔೫˚👨‍👦

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toastedkiwi · 1 year

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Croissants

Summary: you have an interview after somebody had mentioned your name after it’s been a long time.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Wife!Reader

“We’ve finally got in the studio none other than Grammy award winner and platinum selling artist Y/n Y/l/n!” the host said. “You’re here to promote your latest album. But before we dive into the music… you’re currently with child. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said.

“Do you know what you’re having?” she asked.

“Hopefully a baby,” you said. “But the guy I’m with is huge.”

“You’re worried you’ll be having a big baby,” she said

“Yeah, I’m terrified. His mom was telling me all of her boys were like ten-eleven pound babies— each one of them,” you explained. “And these guys are massive dudes. I can’t imagine the pain she went through. I’m also smaller than her.”

“That’s frightening. I have that same exact fear for if I ever have kids,” the host said. “How far long are you?”

“28 weeks,” you said. “I had to have my heels buckled for me. It’s embarrassing.”

“How’s baby daddy taking the news of you being pregnant?” she asked.

“Well… not to brag but he’s obsessed with me,” you smiled.

“As he should be,” she said. “Speaking of people who are probably still obsessed with you… Henry Cavill, your ex-fiancé, name dropped your name in a recent interview.”

“As he should, I have a fantastic name,” you said.

“It’s been eight years since the two of you have ever been seen in a room together. It’s rumored that you’re the one who got away,” she said. “Have you seen him or heard from him after all these years?”

“Yeah, I have,” you said. “He promised me that he’ll have croissants with jelly when he picks me up from here. There might be a hoodie involved and I’ll probably cry.”

“You two have been seeing each other?!” she flipped.

“I need you all to take a deep breath—,” you said. “I baby trapped him.”

“Ah, there’s my baby trapper,” Henry smiled.

You broke out into the biggest smile seeing him stand by the Escalade holding a pastry box. You picked up your pace as best as you could.

“My baby daddy,” you said happily.

“The croissants you requested,” he said opening the pastry box.

You grabbed a croissant and took a bite. Henry opened up the passenger door. You came closer. He leaned down and kissed you. You smiled into the kiss.

“Get in, Darling,” he said.

You happily took his hand and get helped into the car.

“Hi, Kal!” you exclaimed seeing the pooch in the back.

Henry slid in after you. He shut the door. He looked at you. You’re already giving Kal a small piece of your croissant. You buckled yourself in.

“Give me your feet,” Henry said.

You swing your legs over the leather seats. He pulled your feet onto his lap. He unbuckled the little belt on your heels. He pulled off your heels and grabbed the pair of short Uggs on the ground. He slipped them onto your feet.

“There you go,” he smiled.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and scooted into the seat next to Henry’s. His right arm went around your shoulders as you buckle up again. He adjusted the seatbelt on your lap and then found his hand resting your bump.

“How was the interview?” Henry asked.

“It was good. I’m sure you listened to it,” you said.

“I did. You handled it a lot better than I would’ve,” he said kissing the top of your head.

“You would’ve choked, Henners,” you said.

“Probably,” he said. “Would you have save me?”

“Didn’t I already do that?” you sassed.

“Eat your croissant,” he said.

“Do I get a hoodie?” you asked.

“On the plane,” he said.

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” you said.

“I know you will,” he said.

#henry cavill x wife!reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x pregnant!reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x ex fiancé!reader #henry cavill x famous!reader #henry cavill x pop princess!reader #henry cavill x popstar!reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic

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barnes1031 · 7 months

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Me when I find the most Damn beautiful fanfiction written in the story and Tumblr automatically returns to the main page. Now I have to search for it by tags why didn't I give it a like.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #beef!bucky barnes #beefy!bucky #bucky barnes x latina!reader #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x ex wife reader #matt murdock x you #daryl x y/n #daredevil x you #negan x you #negan x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #rick grimes x you

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tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016 · 3 months

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Till Death Do Us Part Yandere! Captain Price x Ex Wife! Reader. Chapter Two.

Authors Notes- And here I am back again with yet another chapter of Till Death Do Us Part. Sorry, it's took me so long to update this fic. Life you know? But enough rambling as you know by now I like to mention any trigger warning in my Authors notes. So, this chapter will feature Obsessive thoughts, alcohol use, and stalking. If none of this is your cup of tea then this is where we part ways but I'll remember our time fondly.

Now, without further ado here's Chapter Two!

Chapter Two.

Months had past since Price had finally gave in to you and signed those godforsaken papers, after months of talks, or him trying to convince you to reconsider, hell he almost begged you to change your mind and yet nothing worked. And now here he was months later watching as you gathered up your belongs. Your plants, and countless books he had bought you years ago, to your cat. He swore you loved that damned thing more than you loved him it seemed.

He leaned against the wall as he watched as you and your brother packed up your belongings ready to take them to his place. He said nothing, he had told you that you could stay but you only shook your head, a faint smile on your lips. He was really losing you wasn't he?

Watching as you gathered the last of your things you looked over shoulder at him, a sad smile on your lips. Lips he had kissed countless times over the years and now you were gone. Sighing Price pushed himself off the wall and began to pace around the nearly empty house, his house now he guessed. Christ it was quiet too goddamn quiet. No sounds of Zipper meowing by his food bowl. No sounds of you moving around the kitchen humming to yourself, no ticking of that damned grandfather clock.

This isn't a home... Price thought, anger forming in his chest. Not anymore. However, this was far from over. He had t come up with a plan to get you back, one way or another. You were going to be back in his arms once again.

***

Another couple of months passed. And you were slowly adjusting to your life as a free woman as your sister-in-law had called it. And you were at a loss as to what you should do now? Should you take up a hobby? You always said you would like to take up writing, you had always wanted to publish a novel or two you loved reading in your spare time when you were married so why not? Sadly it was easier sad than done really. Sighing you got up and entered the kitchen, Zipper at your feet meowing, his big blue eyes looking up at you as if to tell you that his food bowl was empty.

And that was true...sorta. But you knew better you had fed him not even an hour ago. Shaking your head at him as you dumping the contents of your mug into the sink, before looking around your small apartment, you could unpack, but honestly you weren't really feeling it, perhaps a walk would do you good. Nodding to yourself you grabbed your sweater and tugged it on before heading out the door. Perhaps this fresh air would get you out of this slump. Grabbing your keys you stepped out of your apartment, and into the cool evening air.

Out for one of your little walks, Y/N? Price thought as he watched you from his truck, a frown etched on his face. Hadn't I warned before that going out at night was dangerous? And he had countless times and yet you always insisted on going for walks a night. And of course there were times when he would accompany much to your annoyance but he knew how dangerous the world was knew what lurked around every corner. Knew that if he so much as left you alone someone would take you away from him. So here he was watching you as you went about on your way. Completely unaware that he was watching you.

How were you fairing since the divorce? Did you have those lonely nights like he did? Sitting at the edge of his bed unable to sleep , his thoughts nothing of you, memories of the times the two of you spent together. You haunted him, and if he was being honest? It was driving him mad. He needed you back. Taking a puff of his cigar he continued to follow after you, scoffing at how unaware you were, if he so wanted he could snatch you up without warning. And maybe he should, snatch you up, lock you away so that you never leave him again.

Price watched as you disappeared into a little cafe. Obviously you needed a hot chocolate. Your favorite. Leaning back in his seat Price watched you through the window of the cafe as you talked with the cashier, laughing at something they said, his heart skipping a beat when he saw you laugh, he missed your laugh. God how he wished he heard hear it. To be the one that was making you laugh. He continued to watch you as you took your hot chocolate and moved to head towards the door, only to stop when the man sitting at one of the tables spoke to you, Price watched as the two of you continued to talk, anger swelling in his chest as he saw you laugh.

I think I've seen enough. He thought, before pulling away from the curve and driving home.

***

"You all right, John?" Laswell's voice cut through Price's thoughts the very next night, her eyes glued on her friend, noticing that he had dark circles under his eyes and he just looked exhausted. She knew the divorce had been hard on him, she knew he had done everything in his power to keep you, everything except dropping to his knees and begging you to stay, that is.

"I'm fine..." Price said. Taking a sip of the beer that was sitting in front of him. A lie, and he knew that Laswell knew that he was not in fact fine. Hell, the entire 141 knew that something was wrong with him he had been irritable a lot lately, snapping at Gaz or Soap without warning, hell, even Simon, who was currently sitting on the either side of him at the bar, watching him from the corner of his eyes was giving him a wide berth. And as for Laswell, she had been his friend for years, knew how absolutely devoted he was to you, and you to him, and she had been equally shocked when she had heard about the divorce.

"Have you heard from Y/N, since then?" Laswell asked.

Price shook his head. Funny, even when he tried to live a normal life, tried to bury himself in work you always somehow managed to find your way into his thoughts. He never knew how you could haunt him so. Turning to Laswell he shook his head, he knew Laswell was also your friend, and sometimes the two of you got together for drinks or dinner sometimes.

"I'm giving her space...for now."

Laswell frowned. There was something Price wasn't telling her. Something in his eyes as he downed the rest of his beer, all the while Simon watch him. No, Price was not fine, and he was going to get to the bottom of things as he watched as Price stood up, paying for his drink and leaving. Simon looked to Laswell, seeing the worry shining in her eyes. Before he too stood up and followed Price out. Intent on getting to the bottom of things.

Seeing Price disappear into his office he wasted no time knocking on the door, and was quickly greeted by Price.

"Can I help you, Simon?"

Simon said nothing as he stepped into the captains office, Price closing the door behind him as he looked to Simon.

"Funny, that's what I was going to ask you." Simon said. taking the seat across from Price.

Price looked to Simon, eyebrow arched. "What do you mean?"

"Lately you've seemed off since the divorce, snapping at everyone around you. So, here I am offering to help you in anyway I can." Simon said.

Price was silent as he looked to his lieutenant, opening his mouth he was about to help him that he was fine, that he could deal with this himself, but suddenly a new plan formed in his head, a plan that would have you back in his arms.

"Actually," Price said, taking his seat once more, lighting up a cigar as he looked to Simon. "I think there is a way you and the others can help me."

Authors Notes- Sorry this chapter is kinda dry, but I assure you think are gonna pick up in the next chapter.

#Chapter Two #Yandere! Captain Price #Ex Wife Reader #cod mw2 #tw obsessive thoughts #Tw alcohol use #Tw Stalking #Ghost wants to help

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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - ch 9

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Summary: Paris may be tumultuous at first, but it’s the City of Love for a very good reason. Guys, I have no defense for this one. I just really love Paris and want to go there so fucking badly... Notes: Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who came along for this wonderful ride with us! Next week we’ll be posting the epilogue for this story and then rolling right into something new immediately. The wheels of chaos in our minds never stop rolling so the fics just keep on coming. 🧡🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

Thanks to the overnight flight and the comfort of being able to sleep in first class, when you and Marcus touch down in Paris at 8:30 the next morning, you pretty much manage to avoid the fuzzy feeling of jetlag. It's been years since you've been back here but everything feels just the same, giving you a satisfying feeling of homecoming as you set out through the airport toward the taxi stand to ride out to his colleague's office.

"Sorry." Marcus tosses you a small, apologetic look as the taxi drives erratically through the city. "I'll see what's up and then if you want to go to the hotel, we can see about checking in." He knows you might not be up for hitting the ground running and he can carry this alone if he needs to.

“No, no, it’s okay.” As the city passes by the taxi windows you sink back and allow yourself an indulgent smile. You might be working, but it’s nice to be back. “Let’s go and be briefed for the case and all of that. Find out what we’re working with.”

“Thank you.” Marcus picks up your hand and kisses the back of it. “For coming with me. Saves me from having to choose an agent to bring with me.”

“I hope I’m half as effective as any of your team members are.” You kiss the back of his hand in turn and give it a supportive squeeze. The people you’ve met from his department have all been friendly and kind, and his stories paint them to be very good at their jobs on top of being nice people. “Plus, I’m infinitely more fun to play dress up with.”

“And I won’t feel exceedingly guilty if I had to pretend to be romantic with a co-worker.” Marcus knows there will be a time, but he doesn’t want to do that so early in your renewed relationship.

“Work is work.” Of all the problems you ever did have, jealousy or worry about infidelity was never one of them. You and Marcus are both loyal people to the core.

“I know.” The fact that your belief in him doesn’t waver is incredible. “But right now, work has you playing my wife.” He winks at you. “You might be good at that role.”

"It's almost like method acting," you tease, briefly sticking your tongue out at him as the taxi winds its way toward the nondescript office where his colleagues are waiting.

Marcus helps you out and tips the driver, hauling the luggage up the stairs after shooting you a dirty look when you protest that you can get your own bag. “Get the door.” He huffs at you.

“Stubborn.” You chide him teasingly, and slip past him to open the door. The woman at the desk seems pleasantly surprised that you speak much better French than Marcus, but switches to English for ease. She directs you to the second floor and gives you an office number, assuring Marcus that he is expected.

“Monsieur Pike.” The Interpol agent immediately greets you at the elevator, obviously being given a heads up about your arrival. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Marcus nods, adjusting bags so he can shake hands. “Happy to help, this is Dr. Pike. She is a director at the Smithsonian.” He introduces you, looking at you with quiet pride.

“Pike?” Ducasse looks between you, at the suitcases Marcus won’t let you carry and how you stand close together, keeping each other in your line of sight despite not always being focused on the same thing. Confident but not showing off. “I did not know you had gotten married. Welcome, Madame. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

Marcus catches your eye, tilting his head to communicate that he will follow your lead on how to explain your relationship to these people. Not wanting to embarrass you or to make you feel as if you are pressed to answer dozens of questions.

“We are divorced, but reconciled. A story for another time, perhaps.” Honesty, above all, especially when dealing with his colleagues, and you shake the man’s hand politely before allowing yourself to be ushered into a nearby office. “I am happy to extend my expertise to the FBI and to INTERPOL.”

“That will be a story to hear.” Ducasse’s brows shoot up in intrigue but he doesn’t press, instead motioning to you towards a seat and taking one of the bags from Marcus to stack the luggage in the corner of a cluttered office.

“What can you tell us about this case?” Marcus ask, shifting the conversation to the matter at hand. “How did you come to know about the art and this auction?”

"We had a tip that one of the warehouses that the local police were monitoring has seen some substantial movement and pursued several leads before finding the location of the auction. There is a mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain currently owned by an alias of Jean-Luc Poitiers." The quick-speaking INTERPOL agent begins to point out photographs on the pin board lining one wall of the crowded room. "Poitiers has been underground long enough for any of the heat from his competition to die down, and it appears that this is where he has been suffering his isolation." Ducasse rolls his eyes as though considering a mansion in the gorgeous Seventh Arrdonissement a place to suffer is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. "The auction is extremely exclusive, by invitation only, but we have taken care of that while you were in the air."

“You got us an invite.” Marcus grins. “Who are we pretending to be?”

"A married couple, conveniently." Ducasse pulls a file out from under several other things on the desk beside him and hands it to Marcus to peruse. "Mr. and Mrs. Luke Martinez of New York City. Second house in the Hamptons, eight figure annual income from real estate holdings and investments. You will be asked to submit banking details upon your arrival, we will supply you with the numbers and the false funds." He leans back, half-sitting on the edge of his desk. "We will surround the building, ready to lock it down for arrests and to seize the stolen art, but we need you to actually put eyes on those paintings."

“What I wouldn’t give to have that be our lives.” Marcus jokes as he flips through the files and skims the background on the couple. “We will need to buy some clothes that reflect this.”

"You can attend to that this afternoon. There is some budget to be spared for it." Ducasse had made sure of it, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

"Does Mrs. Martinez have a listed career or am I a housewife?" You don't peak over Marcus's arm at the file in case there are things that aren't meant to be shared with civilians. You just want to have your story straight. "Or, um...a first name?"

“There’s nothing here you can’t see as a consultant on this case.” Marcus provides and grins at you. “Your name is Penelope.” He explains as he hands the file over.

"Well of course, why wouldn't it be?" The file has pages of background information and numbers that you hope you can memorize, but as you start to flip through the pages you practically feel your heart stop. There is a photograph of two men walking down the street side by side, one talking into a cell phone and the other checking his watch. The man on his phone is tall and lean, with curly brown hair and bright green eyes, and a jawline only slightly less defined than Marcus's. The crisp, blue suit is nothing like you remember, but his face is unmistakable. "Wh—who is this?" You ask, pointing at the image like you're afraid the man might jump out of the photograph and attack.

“That—” Ducasse snorts and taps the photo. “Is Henri Aubel.” He informs you. “He has been in Interpol’s sights for a long time, but we have been unable to pinpoint the crimes on him, unfortunately.”

"I..." Looking between Marcus and Ducasse, you can feel your stomach drop and a wave of nausea hits you out of nowhere. "I know him," you murmur, reaching for Marcus's hand like a security blanket. "I mean...we—we dated. While I was living here...years ago." The man you had known then was bright and seemingly sincere. Incredibly charming, yes, but you had never had any kind of inclination whatsoever that he was a criminal.

“Shit.” Marcus immediately frowns, aware that your cover won’t work. “Then we need a new game plan. Because if he recognizes her, ‘Penelope Martinez’ will be in danger.” The last thing he wants or is willing to do, it put you in danger for a case.

“Was it a close relationship?” Typically not a man to pry for personal information from new acquaintances, the rules have just changed for Ducasse since this is related to his case. He flies around to the other side of his desk to sit down, immediately tapping away at his keyboard to bring up the file on Henri Aubel. “What did you know of him then?”

The irony isn’t lost on you. To have just left a case with Marcus’s ex-fiancée behind only last night and for this one to now include your ex-boyfriend? The universe is having a nice laugh at your expense. “I met him at a gallery opening while I was a student at the Sorbonne. We…we were on and off for about two years, but I never had any idea that what he was involved in was criminal. I just thought he was an artist with a wealthy family.” Although, now that you know that he is wanted by INTERPOL, you’ll be combing back through every memory you have of him to see what you can glean. You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently, feeling like a child who has been caught being naughty. “I’m sorry,” you murmur under your breath, knowing that you have made this all incredibly awkward.

Marcus frowns and shakes his head. “It was ten years ago.” He reminds you. “It’s hard to know who people will become when you are a college student.” The only thing he’s worried about is your safety. “But maybe this is better.” He offers. “We don’t go in as the Martinez’s, did— did Henri know about me? Or that Pike was your married name?”

“Yes.” Swallowing is harsh and almost painful, like the lump in your throat is very real. “But back then you were going to be in marketing. I never had any idea you would go into law enforcement.”

“Good.” Marcus flashes you a supportive smile, aware that your guilt is amplified right now. He turns towards Ducasse. “So we pose as ourselves, just— fictional images of them. Is that doable with the invitations?” He asks seriously. Neither one of you are on social media, so it wasn’t like accounts would have to be modified.

“It should be.” Ducasse is nodding as types rather furiously. “At the risk of being indelicate, Madame, this may work to our advantage. A surprise like this can throw off even the most careful of men.” He looks up at you, eyebrows raised slightly, and tilts his head. “Henri Aubel is a dangerous man. If you did not know that about him, then you did not know the real him.”

“Then I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.” There is an empty chair nearby, and you sit down in it with the case file still in your hands. “I think it will surprise him, though, to see me. We were…well, I thought we were very close. But obviously he was never entirely honest with me.”

Marcus takes the file from your hand, turning towards you and giving you his full attention. “Listen to me, baby,” he begs you softly, seeing the hurt and turmoil in your eyes. “Men like Aubel have been taught from a young age to hide who they truly are. He never had any intention of you finding out who he is. Took advantage of you being unfamiliar with his family, with France. That makes him manipulative, you did nothing wrong.”

“Thank you.” Even though your voice is quiet it’s clear, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders to squeeze tightly and murmur a soft “I love you” in his ear. It feels heavy, and wrong, and like you’re in trouble, but you know that’s just the shock of discovery.

“So we say that I’m— fuck, I was a hedge fund manager who made it big and wants to indulge in art?” Marcus tosses out, looking over at Ducasse. “How does that sound? New money, and my wife knows art?”

“That will work.” The INTERPOL agent nods, looking back at his screen before looking over at Marcus again. “Use New York City as your base, but use whatever details of your past suit you. The banking details are an offshore account in order not to raise any red flags, and I will simply change the name on the false account to reflect your real name. There is jewelry in the evidence lock up that you can use as props.” He sees nothing on either of your fingers now, so obviously it will be needed. “When you are out today getting your clothing for tomorrow night, please be as obviously affectionate as you feel comfortable with. On the off chance that Aubel has been watching to see if Dr. Pike will come back to Paris, we want your cover to hold up.”

Marcus nods, looking back at you again. “Are you okay with this?” He asks softly. “I can still find someone else if you don’t want to see him again.”

“It would be slightly hypocritical to back out when you just had to spend three weeks with a case with your ex.” You remind him. “And…and Monsieur Ducasse seems to think it could help.” You shake your head, offering Marcus a smile when you can summon it up. “I’ll be okay. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay.”

"I won't leave your side." Marcus promises, sure that he will stick to you like glue in the first undercover op you've ever participated in. His own need to make sure you are safe wouldn't allow it, even if he thought this Aubel wouldn't hurt you.

“We will do everything in our power to make sure no harm comes to you.” Ducasse assures you earnestly. “If I thought this would be more dangerous for you for knowing Aubel, I would not send you in. But I must ask, Madame. Do you know how to use a gun?”

The question makes you shiver a little, not being a big fan of firearms, but you nod. “Marcus has taken me to the firing range. We have one in the house, so I’ve learned.”

Ducasse nods and his eyes flicker over towards the FBI agent. He can tell that the man who had previously worked on a case with INTERPOL isn't exactly comfortable with his wife being in harm’s way. Not that he blames him, but this is a fortuitous situation and he will use everything in his power to get Aubel behind bars. He's wasted too many hours on chasing him to give up because your ex is the suspect. "I doubt you will need to, but we always send in our operatives armed." He allows.

“Why don’t you tell us more of what we’ll need to know for tomorrow?” With a whole day and night to prepare, you know that there will be plenty to learn and plenty of time to ask questions, but also plenty of time to build an alibi by being seen in the city. If what Ducasse says is true, people may be watching.

******

Hours later, Marcus sighs in relief when you are able to get to your rooms. With the knowledge that people might be watching, the bags had been delivered and you along with Marcus had started a very loving shopping trip along some of the more upscale stores in Paris. Now he's happy to just be alone with you and not worry about someone photographing you or approaching.

“I never thought shopping on the Champs-Élysées would be stressful.” Wrapped up in his arms in the exquisite suite, you and Marcus both sigh heavily and absorb the calm of being alone for a little while.

"It doesn't help when you are wondering when your ex is going to pop out from behind a bush." Marcus pulls you into his arms and sighs. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't know. I wouldn't have put you in the middle of this if I had."

“You didn’t know?” You huff at him, perching your chin on his chest to look up at him. “I didn’t know! I feel like such an idiot never realizing he was lying to me for two whole years. And honey…” Fingers gently tracing his face, you cup his cheek in your palm and offer him a smile. “I would never let you face this alone if there is even the tiniest possibility that I can help.”

“I appreciate that.” He sighs softly. “So much for romance in Paris.” He can’t help but chuckle. “Not exactly turning out how I wanted.”

“René suggested we spend some of tomorrow doing romantic or touristy things, so we can still have some fun.” The INTERPOL agent had turned out to be a very kind and likable man, and by the time lunch came you and he had been joking together over tartine. “I know it’s not perfect, but maybe we can squeeze an extra day of paperwork,” you say the word in air quotes, “out after this is over and have a day to ourselves?”

“That would work.” Marcus admits, “taking in the sights before we buy stolen artwork.”

“I could take you to my old neighborhood?” It’s something you wanted to do anyway, and might feel a little less like being on display. “Walk around, grab lunch, maybe go in and out of some shops?”

"Whatever you want to do." Marcus promises. Despite the curve ball, he wants this trip to be one of fond memories when you look back on it years from now. Especially since he will be able to propose in the city that you had always loved.

“I had a couple of places that I always thought you would love.” And that just makes you hug him a little tighter, knowing that something good will come out of this trip no matter what happens with the case - although you know Marcus will see it through to the best possible outcome.

"I will love them." Marcus promises. "Because I will be with you."

“I love you, too.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring him down for a kiss and let it linger in the privacy of your quiet suite of rooms. “What do you want to do before dinner?” Ducasse had suggested a visible night on the town just in case Henri or his people were having you watched - either as his ex or as an attendee of the auction.

"I will leave it up to you." Marcus leans back and shoots you a grin. "This is your city, baby." He sends you a wink. "Show me the sights."

“Then we’re going to Harry’s after dinner.” Harry’s New York Bar is a legendary hangout of the Lost Generation, and given his love of all things F Scott Fitzgerald, it will be the perfect place for celebrating tonight. “You’ll love it. I mean, I hope you will.”

"Harry's?" Marcus looks at you skeptically. "That sounds like a nice place to drink." He hums and slides his hands down to caress your ass. "You want to get ready to go out?"

"You just want to get me into one of those slinky dresses we bought today." You wiggle your ass in his hand and grin, giggling when he raises an eyebrow at you like that should have been obvious. "Should we eat dinner someplace swanky to keep up appearances?"

"What is the swankiest place we can get reservations at the last minute?" He asks, smirking at you because there is nothing he wants more than you to put on a slinky dress and go have a fabulous meal before he proposes in one of the most romantic cities in the world. The ring in his pocket is burning a hole in it and he wants to see it on your finger.

“I bet if we had the concierge call it would do better than if one of us tried.” Your eyes flick up to his with mischief shining in them, wondering if you could even pull this idea off. “Madame Brasserie or Jules Verne? À la Tour Eiffel?”

"Whichever one you've never been too and always wanted to try." He tells you indulgently.

"Madame Brasserie is the newer of the two restaurants in the Eiffel Tower, so it might be harder. But I wouldn't mind eating at either one." There's something altogether too indulgent about the idea and you sigh a little dreamily. "I'll call down to the front desk and see what they can do."

"I'm going to jump in the shower." Marcus offers. "We've been going nonstop since we got here and I at least want to wash off the travel before dinner tonight."

"That sounds like a plan." You reach up to kiss him again before letting him out of your arms. "I'll shower after you. Otherwise we'll be having room service because we can't keep our hands off each other."

"You know that's exactly what would happen." Marcus winks at you and grabs his bag so he can get his toiletry kit out. "Make your calls and I'll be getting sudsy in there."

******

About an hour and a half later you're both finally ready and barely keeping your hands off of each other despite showering separately. The blue velvet dress you chose for tonight hugs all of Marcus's favourite parts of your body and the perfectly fitted charcoal gray suit he settled on is elegant and easy, making him look even more effortlessly handsome than usual. "The concierge said he would have a car waiting for us." You tell him, taking one step toward the door of your suite before he can pounce and trying to swallow down your nerves over the little blue box in the bottom of your purse. "Jules Verne had one reservation left for tonight and we got in just in time." And because you told the concierge about your plans, he had made sure to arrange for a few things to be waiting for you in your room when you returned tonight.

"Perfect." Marcus has heard of the restaurant and he wants nothing more than for this to be the perfect night. Regardless of what happens on the case, he wants you to have a night you can look back at dreamily. His first proposal had been sweet and earnest, not exactly fancy, but now the need for a grand gesture is almost compulsory. "We still have the elevator ride down to be handsy."

"Let's hope we get it to ourselves then." You throw him a wink over your shoulder before heading out the door, knowing Marcus will be close on your heels.

"Jesus, Paris you is saucy" Marcus chuckles as he hustles after you. "I like it."

"I've decided to enjoy the trip and make the most of it." The door clicks shut behind him and his arm slips around your waist as you walk down the hallway together, just a few feet to the corner and then the elevators, but still far enough for you to get cozy while you walk. "My favourite city in the world with my favourite person is not something to waste."

“Favorite person huh?” The proud grin stretches across his face and he edges closer when you reach the elevator, then he leans forward to call the car to your floor. “I am honored. Especially since you’re my favorite person.”

"I think honoured might be a stretch," you tease, leaning against the wall while you wait for the elevator together. "All I want is for you to be happy, baby. To be the one that makes you happy."

“Baby – you’ve always made me happy.” That is something that he can promise. Right up until you wanted out, Marcus had been the happiest he had ever been in his life. He reaches up and caresses your neck. “Always.”

"I love you so much." Wishing you could go back and erase the years apart won't change anything, but you lean up to kiss him now without hesitation. The future is what matters now. Your future together.

“I love you too.” The promise is simple, heartfelt and the look in your eyes has him wanting to drop down to his knee right now, but he knows it’s not time.

"Come on, love." The soft ding of the elevator interrupts you, but it doesn't matter. There will be plenty more sweet moments before the night is over.

Marcus allows you to pull him into the elevator and hums when he finds the car empty. “Should I wait to kiss you?” He asks, smirking slightly. “Don’t want to mess up your lipstick.”

The eyebrow you raise at him is incredulous, and you shake your head at him as the door closes to leave you alone for at least another minute. "Kiss proof," you inform him, as though it were ridiculous that you would wear anything else around him.

Thank God for whoever invented 'kiss proof' lipstick. Marcus has always loved you without makeup, straight out of the bed, but there is something so sexy when you are dressed up. Even if it's not technically for him, he feels like it is. Just like you love when he puts on cologne. Tugging you closer, he grins at you. "Well, we need to test that." He hums, "we haven't kissed with this lipstick color on."

“It’s a new brand, too.” He’s drawing you into him so easily you feel like a moth going to a spectacularly handsome flame. “How will know they’re telling the truth unless we test it?”

“Indeed.” Marcus makes it slow, gentle. Taking his time like the car isn’t slowing down as it reaches the ground floor.

It’s so easy to wrap up in each other. To let yourselves get carried away with affection and the romance of being in Paris together. The passionate kiss is intentionally and immediately intense – deep and luxurious and would probably be borderline pornographic if anyone was watching.

The doors open and there is a discreet cough before Marcus pulls away. Smiling apologetically as he finds a couple waiting to come onto the car. “Désolé pour ça.” Sorry about that. The apology is perfunctory, because he’s not sorry at all.

You can hear the woman muttering about Americans as you and Marcus stroll out through the lobby and it’s all you can do to contain your giggles. “Sorry not sorry.” You whisper, beaming at him. The concierge is waiting to load you into the car that he has ordered on your behalf, and you swear you feel like you’re in a movie. It might be a crime thriller, but it’s still elegant and passionate, and you love it.

"I'm not sorry either." Marcus keeps his hand on your back until you are sliding into the car and he is slipping in beside you. Allowing you to tell the driver where you are going since you are better familiar with the area.

Fortunately for tonight’s plans, you aren’t far from the Eiffel Tour. It’s an easy sight from the windows of your suite and a straightforward drive that only takes a few minutes - though the walk would be uncomfortable in heels. You’re grateful to have the driver and will certainly be tipping him at the end of the night even though it isn’t a necessity here the way it is in the US. When he lets you out at the edge of the park that surrounds the monument, Marcus slips out first and you happily accept his hand to maintain a little propriety while climbing out of the car in a skirt much shorter than your usual. “Now we go up,” you tell Marcus, practically sighing as you look up through the layers and layers of metal that compose the Eiffel Tower. Some people say they’re disappointed the first time they see it, but you’ve never understood why. It’s remarkable - an architectural triumph that stands out in the Paris skyline like a beacon.

“Did you know that the tower only took two years, two months and five days to build?” Marcus asks, nearly giddy as he climbs out of the car and offers you his hand. “Not bad for something that’s stood for over one hundred years.”

“I thought you might like to see it up close.” Yes, he has been to Paris for work, but you doubt he’s taken any extra leisure time for himself in all of that. “I came here my very first night in the city. I dropped off my bags at my little student apartment, and started walking across the city. Bought a crepe from a vendor on the street and sat on…” It takes you a second to find it, but as your eyes comb the area, they land on a bench a few yards away. “That bench, and looked up at the Tour Eiffel as I ate my dinner.”

“What did you think about while you were looking up at her?” Marcus asks curiously, wanting to know about your time here. Even if he wasn’t a part of it, you had history here.

"That she made me feel less lonely." You thread your fingers through his gently and give them a soft squeeze. It might sound like a sentimental answer, but you know that Marcus will understand. "If I was sitting here looking up at her, surely I wasn't the only one. So...it sort of became tradition. Any time I felt lonely I would come sit and spend time with her. And I knew that she was keeping other lonely people company. So I was automatically less alone."

“I understand that.” Marcus does, he had found plenty of little parks or monuments where he had been living to visit. Wanting to feel surrounded. It had always been that way since you had left.

"Come on, love." A small tug on his hand has both of you smiling at each other, but you nod toward the monument. "There's a special elevator for people having dinner at Jules Verne."

“How touristy is it that we are having dinner here?” He asks as you drag him closer to you. It might be incredibly cliché, but he’s thinking about proposing after dinner. Asking you if you will go up to the observation deck with him.

“Extremely.” And it doesn’t bother you in the least. In fact, it’s sweet. Sharing the city with Marcus means playing tourist in the best way possible. “But I think that’s a good thing. It’s a first for both of us and it’s going to be a beautiful meal.”

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” Marcus admits, staring at you like you hung the moon. “The last time I was here, I—I couldn’t make myself come here.”

You turn back to him after hitting the button for the elevator, a soft but serious expression drawn on your face as you reach to touch his cheek. “Neither of us ever has to face anything along again, Marc.” You can promise him that. Wholeheartedly and without hesitation. “From now on, each chapter of our lives will have two main characters.”

“I love you.” Marcus whispers, knowing that down to the very fiber of his being. He’s never stopped, never. Not even when he convinced himself that he had moved on. You were just ingrained in his being like the hair color on his head or the way he has to lay on his right side to really sleep.

“I love you too.” Through all the ups and downs, the hardest struggles and the clearest days, it’s always been him. “Always.”

The ride up to the restaurant is shared with a young couple who are obviously on their honeymoon, making Marcus grin at the display of young love. “Don’t act like that’s not exactly how we are,” you murmur under your breath to him once the other couple has moved ahead of you to the maître’d stand. The couple are probably barely older than you were the first time you got married and you’re all the exact same level of handsy.

“Exactly.” Marcus steps up to the maître’d stand once they are being led off to be seat. “The couple in front of us?” He gestures towards the couple. “Champagne? To their table? And I will pay their bill.” He decides, wanting them to have a magical night.

“Oui, monsieur…” The gentleman provides ample space for Marcus to say his last name, and smiles in polite acknowledgment at the name Pike. He knows this reservation. Took it himself barely two hours ago. “Right this way,” he says in clear English, gracefully motioning for you to follow.

“After you.” Marcus lets you walk in front of him, so he can help you sit and so he can glance down at your ass in the gorgeous dress you are wearing. Reminding himself of exactly what is underneath.

The indulgent mood you’re both in extends to deciding on the seven-course menu with all the recommended wine pairings, and settling in at your table in the corner with a perfect view of Paris below from the window beside you.

“This is probably better than anything we could have imagined when we were their age.” Marcus had seen the surprise and delight in the younger couple’s faces when the champagne had been delivered. Looking around to see who had gifted them such a thing, Marcus hadn’t let them know. Hoping that one day, they would do the same to another young couple starting out.

“I hope they’re so excited for everything to come.” You reach across the table to link your fingers together and run your thumb over the back of Marcus’s hand. “They’re starting a whole new chapter of their lives.”

“Yes, they are.” Marcus looks down at your joined hands and smiles. Fully aware that the same can be said for you. The ring in his pocket is making him eager for the dinner to be over. You are wearing a ring that is a part of the mission tomorrow, but tonight, he wants you to wear his.

“Speaking of which.” The smile you flash him is bright and bubbly, and you hang onto his hand like a lifeline. “I want to talk to you about a dream I had on the flight over last night.” It’s just a silly thing, but it’s about sharing those silly thoughts and future plans with him. Something that you had trouble with years ago.

“Oh?” Marcus ticks his brow up in curiosity. “What kind of dream is this? I promise I didn’t leave the toilet seat up or cheat on you with your non-existent cousin.”

“No, it was nothing like that.” Although the idea of being cross with him over a dream about leaving the toilet seat up makes you laugh. “It was a coming-home-from-work dream.”

“Oh yeah?” He shuffles closer, getting the hint that this is one of those ‘want to make this happen’ dreams. “Coming home to me, I hope?”

“And the kids.” When you nod it’s with heated cheeks and a shy smile. “In the dream it was some kind of holiday? I couldn’t tell what, but I came home and you had been decorating the house with the kids all day to surprise me.”

“Halloween.” Marcus guesses, knowing how much you love the spooky holiday.

“Maybe.” The fact that he’s playing along has you lighting up as you smile at him. “But I came home, and you told me that before we had dinner, that the kids had a surprise for me.” In the dream you remember being incredulous until Marcus had supported this surprise - a fact which reassured you that it wasn’t a brand new crayon mural on the living wall or something like that. “And that surprise was a very cute and tiny little kitten.”

“A kitten, huh?” Marcus grins and shakes his head in amusement. He’s had a mild cat allergy but luckily the medications had improved since he was a child. “A smokey grey one or a black cat?”

“I was thinking one of the breeds that’s kinder to allergies,” you admit sheepishly, knowing he would probably be a little extra sneezy when the dear cat sheds seasonally. “In the dream it was a Siamese, but I don’t know how they are for shedding.”

“We can always look into that. I think they are better?” He tilts his head. “But honestly...” he twists his fingers around and pulls your hand closer. “I like the idea of having to introduce the baby to the cat when we bring them home from the hospital? Give them a little guardian from the start?”

“So you’d rather have the cat first?” For some reason that thrills you - as if it were a validation that the steps you’ve been taking to solidify your relationship ship are working. “We can do that.” You’re practically squeaking at the idea, so it’s fairly obvious that you like it. “Have our first baby be the fur baby?”

“Practice, right?” Marcus laughs. “If we can keep a cat alive, we graduate to a miniature human?”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.” Though you both laugh easily together, you’re practically vibrating with excitement in your seat. “I just think we aren’t home enough for a puppy. And cats are so sweet.”

“Cats are more…independent.” Marcus allows, grinning softly. “Maybe after we get back, we could visit a shelter. See if it’s kitten season? Or maybe even an older, sweet soul who wants a home for their twilight years?”

“We can absolutely start looking around shelters.” It was really just an idea that you were throwing out there - something that made you smile and gave you that feeling of making your house into more of a home. But in true Marcus fashion, he has turned it into something sweet and spectacular. “Although I insist that if we get a kitten, they have a silly name.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus grins, nodding in agreement. “Something that will sound adorable and be completely opposite the personality.”

“Bonus points if it is something will sound completely bizarre being called out at the vet’s office.” It absolutely tickles you that he’s going with you on this, knowing that his childhood dog was innocuously named Buddy. “Something long and elaborate that will be extremely silly when scolding them. We need to get all the comical naming impulses out of us before the kids are born.”

“Mr. Fuzzlesworth.” Marcus tosses out with a grin, enjoying the idea of planning with you. Obviously you would need to get home before choosing a pet, but this is what relationships are about, planning.

“Sir Fuzzbutt de Fluffington.” You nearly double over, giggling at the table. “Although, Mr. Fuzzlesworth kind of sounds like a Dickens character and I love it.”

Marcus chuckles, enchanted by your enthusiasm for this. Hating that the two of you have to break apart when the first course is served. It looks delicious and it's obvious that the waitstaff tries to make this an experience for those who dine with them.

"Cheers." Raising your glass to him when the plates have been set down and the wine has been poured, you have nothing but love in your eyes when you look across the table at Marcus. This is a far more eventful night than just this same time yesterday, and hopefully the food will be just as exquisite - if not even more so. "To us."

"To us." He will never not toast to that. "I think we are getting spoiled with nice dinners." He hums as he taps his glass to yours softly. "How will we go back to eating Thai takeout or Chinese on our couch?"

"Easy." You waggle your eyebrows at him salaciously and lower your voice. "The incentive is that we can do that naked."

"You got me there." Marcus smirks and nods. "That's a good incentive."

The courses are exquisite. Crab, scallops with caviar, langoustine ravioli, cod poached in consommé with fennel. Every plate is like a dance, and it genuinely might be the best meal you've ever had in your entire life. "We're coming back here," you tell Marcus when he groans happily at the chicken course that's been cooked with black truffles and wine you know for sure is too expensive for weeknight drinking. "The first night of our honeymoon, we have to come back."

"I have no objections to that." Marcus takes another bite and closes his eyes in pure bliss. "None."

Hopefully there will be a more sentimental reason to come back to this place on your honeymoon, but you have to keep that close to you for just a little while longer. Instead you just smirk and tilt your head at him. "Although the hotel might be a bit of a stretch. I'm enjoying that for what it's worth on this trip."

"That hotel room is a dream." He rolls his eyes dramatically. "I never get rooms that good on cases. We are stuck in something like a Days Inn. Not that they are bad, but it's not...this."

"Maybe I'm magic?" You tease, knowing that dealing with your former flame on a case isn't exactly magical. But at least it's come with something positive for him. "Like a flashy good luck charm you can keep on your arm."

"I'd keep you in my pocket if I could." He chuckles, winking at you playfully. "But on my arm is okay too. I guess."

"That would be a very big pocket to whole a whole adult person." Although the image is fairly adorable, you'll give him that. "But I'll tell you what. If you ever find one big enough, I'll hop right in."

"You know they make huge pocket blankets for being lazy on a couch all weekend, right?" Marcus grins at you, knowing he will order you one for Christmas now.

"I actually did not know that." You grin at him over the last few bites of this fifth course. "Sounds great for cuddling."

Chuckling softly, Marcus manages to get through the rest of the dinner without giving away that every course makes him even more jittery. Eager to get to the best part of the night in his opinion. Getting to propose to you and show you how much he loves you and wants to make this forever.

The last two courses are sweet - lemon and then chocolate - leaving both you and Marcus feeling more full than you've felt in ages but independently anxious and excited without the other having any clue. If you had known in that moment that you had the very same plan in mind it might have made you laugh or even rethink the occasion to try to surprise the other one all over again. But as it is, when you step out of the restaurant after your sensational dinner, you look up at Marcus and smile softly. "Do you want to see the best view of Paris you'll ever have in your life?"

"You read my mind, baby." Marcus answers with an indulgent smile of his own and he couldn't get closer to you if he tried as he leans in. Wanting to keep the moment as intimate as possible.

"Come here." There is almost no one on the observation deck at this time of night, and you've never been so grateful for coincidences in your entire life. The last two people looking out over the city in this area wander away toward the restaurant to enjoy their dinner as you and Marcus choose a place to stand, and for a moment you're sure that the strangers bolted from the scene because they could hear how hard your heart is beating. Surely if the pounding in your ears is as loud as your heart, then the whole world around you can hear it, too.

"It's a perfect night." Marcus has done this before and yet his heart still beats wildly and he can feel the slight moisture of nerves dampening the shirt under his suit jacket. Coming over to you and taking your hand gently as he turns to make a show of looking out over the city of Paris under the gorgeously full moon.

"It's the perfect view." Paris is secondary to everything, right now, although it's the perfect backdrop for what you're about to do. While Marcus is looking out over the city, and despite how hard you're shaking, you manage to hold his hand while carefully extracting the ring box from your purse and exhaling deeply. Kneeling down in heels is an exacting task, but your dress cooperates, and you manage to not make a sound as you do.

Sighing softly, Marcus knows that this is the moment. Sure there have been thousands of proposals right here, or on the ground below, but he wants to add one more. “I need to ask you some—” Turning, Marcus stops mid word when he sees you kneeling in front of him. “—thing. What—” he can’t even ask you what is going on, eyes wide and focused on you and the small box in your hand.

"Here's the thing, Marc." You're already on the verge of tears as soon as you open your mouth, but that's okay. This is the first time you've ever done this and hopefully it will be the last, and Marcus knows that feeling all too well. "I know this is...nontraditional. And you're a traditionalist in a lot of ways. But I need to ask you something. Because for ten years, anytime something big happened in my life, the first thing I wanted to do was call you. Whenever something bad happened, I wanted to find the doorstep of whatever house you were living in and make sure that you were okay. I thought about you every single day that we were apart, and now that we're together again I just can't..." you sniffle, breaking out into a smile at the overwhelming joy in your heart. "I can't help but be excited that I won't have to call you if something good happens. Or worry about you when something goes wrong as things inevitably do in life. Because you’ll be right there with me. I love you more than anything or anyone in the world, Marcus Pike. And there is nothing more that I want than to come home to you. To share our joys and sorrows with each other and to build the life of our dreams together." The little box in your hand is slightly damp with the nervous sweat from your palm but neither of you notice, too focused on the way the lid snaps back to reveal the stunning rung that you picked out just yesterday. "Would you do me the immense honour of marrying me again?"

He stares for a moment, the shock and warmth of you proposing to him curling into his chest and making his heart burst. Choking out a laugh, a happy one, Marcus hits his knees in front of you, staring at the little blue box that he certainly recognizes. “I— can’t— of course I’m going to marry you again.” He manages, reaching for your hand and digging into his jacket pocket with the other to pull out an identical box.

With both of you crying and laughing you would have looked slightly hysterical to anyone around, but you lean forward to kiss Marcus as he digs in his jacket. Nothing else matters except the fact that he said yes, and for a moment everything in the world stands perfectly still. It isn't until you pull away again that you see him holding an identical Tiffany ring box and you burst out into another round of sobbing giggles. "Of course we both did," you laugh, pulling the platinum band out of the box in your hand to hold out to him. "Can I, love?"

“Yes.” He can’t help the giddy, bubbly laugh that rumbles out of his chest. Watching as you start to slide the band on his finger. “I can’t believe this is what you were buying yesterday.”

"You didn't buy the 'lunch with Angie' story, huh?" The ring fits him perfectly and you can't help but stare at it a little. The last time you put a ring on his finger was years ago, and as wonderful as your first wedding was, this feels so incredibly right tonight.

“I saw you.” Marcus admits with a grin, his thumb rubbing the underside of the band. “I had decided to look for your new ring.”

"You saw us?" It takes a second to refocus, but your eyes flick up to his and you reach to wipe away the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yeah. I thought you were looking at something like a necklace or whatever.” He admits. “The associate kept bringing me rings so I didn’t have to turn around in case you saw me.”

"I was too focused. Although, the store manager now knows our entire love story." You lay kisses on both of his cheeks before you look down again, seeing the ring he's holding out to you in that same, now familiar, blue box. "Marc." The gasp that escapes you almost takes all of your breath with it. "Honey, it's absolutely gorgeous."

“I still have your other rings.” Of course he does and he’s pretty sure you know that too. “But I wanted to give you a new one, one for our new beginning.”

"Your parents will love this." As he slips that new ring onto your finger, it feels like your sense of balance has been missing that fine tuning for years. Without Marc's ring on your finger, you've been missing something this whole time. "I love you so much, baby. So much. And I can't wait to have our cat and our kids and our life full of dreams."

Marcus’s smile is full of all the love he has to give you. Bringing your hand up to press a soft kiss to the skin just above the new symbol of his commitment to you. “And tequila.” He adds, smirking at you as he reaches out to cup your face and draw you in for another kiss. “We can’t forget the tequila.”

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Agent Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x f!reader #ex wife reader #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic

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