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satoruhour · 8 months

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While I know Suguru is the og girldad, there’s something so endearing about Satoru with a daughter.

First time she’s in his arms and it’s like somebody put the sun into his palms. She has his white hair and six eyes but in shape of your facial features, his loud and boisterous personality and his sweet tooth, and there’s not a thing on this planet he cherishes more than her. Spoils her, wants to be her “superhero” dad children look up to, you best believe everything she draws for him is kept secure in a folder in his room. He never lets anyone treat her as inferior to boys (knowing the misogyny in jjk universe), and both of them love you to piecessssss🥹

Like I just randomly imagine him baking a cake with his little daughter for your birthday and MY HEARTHNSJ😭

WHEN US MEANS MORE THAN ME & U

a/n: literal tears. bye. i love dad gojo sm. wrote this through tears while listening to this. tagging @crysugu @jabamin @hyomagiri @seeingivy ✶

wc: 3k plus?? man idfk cant see thru my tears

✶ dad!gojo . . .

. . . who ages so well the more he grows older. if you think he looks good at 28, just wait until he’s 34, or 40. although he still has a baby face, his features have matured way more, now, crinkle lines on his forehead and around his lips that accentuate his dimples even more. he just looked… so damn good, truly keeping his physique well into his thirties, except you wouldn’t have known if his hair is turning grey, though, since it’s already white, but you can tell he’s happy when his body hair is not just white upon white.

. . . who has the palest skin, so when he starts to grow a noticeable moustache and goatee he shows you the short strands excitedly, pointing to the various parts of his face with an excited finger and a beaming smile. he annoys you by rubbing his chin and cupid’s bow along your skin in the morning or when he returns home — it’s a little funny seeing you jump in surprise.

. . . who only lets you dictate whether he should keep the facial hair and when you hesitate even one moment (“nope! let’s shave it!”) you’re pulled into the bathroom and handed a shaver and shaving cream. he hums when the blade glides along his skin, knowing you were too afraid to be too rough. gojo liked the tenderness of these moments, you perched upon his lap and bottom lip caught in between your lips as you focused on his chin and cupid’s bow. the grip on your waist is firm, loving the way your thighs close around his own so snugly.

“okay — last one,” you voice out softly, eyes squinting because it was so difficult trying to see white hair from skin. gojo simply giggles at your struggle and you tsk, telling to stop moving! before you’re yelping and the shaver leaves your hand, the soft, plump lips of satoru moving against yours. behind you, there’s a plop! of water, and gojo just laughs when he sees the shaver lodged into the toilet. “ah. well, let’s use yours.” and your mouth twists, “no! i use that to shave…” you trail off and you swear you can hear gojo’s grin and the insult of pervert on your lips. “well! all the more to use it!” ✶

. . . whose vision from the start is slowly turning true. the jujutsu world is in the good hands of his students that he’s able to spend time with you and the (unborn) baby more. he smiles more freely now that he works less missions, but still as cheeky and playful as ever, squishing your cheeks and moving them around as he plants kisses on them. he also shows his feelings more, not afraid to bury his face in your neck and ask for head rubs or tell you he might be thinking about suguru a little too much; the first time satoru put his head to your swelling belly and heard the kid kick he teared up right away, baby talking to the baby bump like the sap he is.

. . . who at first hated his family name because it was only ever associated with his powerful father and then him, with both of his renowned techniques, how it pointed straight to him being the strongest and a cog in the machine to overwork. but now, gojo rather likes it, referring to you as “my wife” and “mrs. gojo” more times than necessary. you gave him his surname meaning by saying your vows and slipping his (rather expensive) ring on your fourth finger. you gave the family name a sense of warmth and homeliness whenever he’d come home to you humming a tune from high school and cooking up some dinner. you gave ‘gojo’ a worth that means more than just the six eyes and limitless — that it’d mean that gojo was the penthouse in some far off tokyo district coupled with you and the baby growing in you.

. . . who when first handed his baby girl, cried full on tears in the hospital, both arms wrapped so snugly around his baby because he was afraid he was going to hurt her or drop her in some way. gojo is generally pretty large in stature that he makes your baby girl look so small that it’s endearing. your cheeks hurt from smiling so much at them, not having the energy to capture the moment since you just quite literally delivered. but satoru much rather have his girls in the picture, handing the baby back to you before he reveals his phone to snap a picture.

“w-would ya look at her?” satoru coos, rocking and bouncing his body gently to ease your baby back into slumber. there’s an ugly show of a mess on his face — snot falling everywhere and tear stains lining his cheeks. but there’s one final thing that has gojo choking up all over again; the baby is curious and feels up his hand, your husband letting a finger out before she curls her small fist around his finger. “oh my god.” it’s cute seeing gojo so distraught as tears spring to his eyes again and he can’t even form words. it makes the baby laugh and he sobers up a little, sniffing and raising a brow. “love seeing your papa cry, huh?” and the baby sputters again and giggles and satoru swears he ascends to heaven and mutters a promise more to himself than your darling girl. “i’ll protect that little smile for as long as i live, okay?” ✶

. . . who is entirely enamoured with his baby girl, carrying her a little too much when she should be in the crib, singing her little songs or pointing out the colours of the sky in the nursery. you watch the scenes like a proud wife and mother, still not used to the beautiful scenes and childlike decorations of the room — only because satoru would not let you in after learning why ellie from up couldn’t conceive even if the paint now was safe. but you don’t have the heart to turn away your husband when this is what you get out of it, reminiscent of when gojo had playfully done to tsumiki and megumi before (“the scenery is beautiful today, gojo-san!” vs. “i already know what colours are, dumbass.”).

. . . who only asks you to rest while he takes on most of the diaper-changing and feeding duties. you weren’t even that old to begin with, but it seemed like just like you were pregnant, satoru found it offensive that you’d think of even lifting a finger. you let him, for a while, until you find out he’s putting on the diaper wrongly and putting a little too much formula in the bottle, but you simply pat his cheek when he tears again. by god, he doesn’t want to mess this up, he doesn’t want to mess you up, he doesn’t want to mess her up, but you show him with your hands wrapped around his. one, two, three, and a half cups into the bottle; wrap around her right, then her left and secure it with the provided adhesive.

“satoru, baby,” you sigh, going on your tippy toes to kiss away the tears spilling from his cheeks, “you’re not a bad dad because you didn’t know how to make her food or change her diaper.” your fingers are as light as dewdrops, always in awe of his flawless skin and looks, and now, in awe of his consideration and love of your baby girl. “but—” you put up a finger, “no buts— remember? we promised each other not to be sorry if we can’t help it. you are human, my love.” gojo heaves a shaky sigh and swallows away the sobs, nodding against your hand as he covers it and leans into your touch. “i am human,” and a little later after quelling the baby’s cries in bed, “thank you.” ✶

. . . who, when she’s old enough, takes her on flying mishaps, hands tucked under her arm pits to guide her through the house in exaggerated flight. it feels like dad is superman, the sofa, high chair, even mama is all too far away from her and she’s onto her next exciting adventure. the bubbly giggles from your darling girl is the only sound that matters to satoru, alongside your laughter as you watch the two in play while dinner simmer besides you. higher! higher! she asks when she can speak and he does just that with his imposing height, but gojo’s tallness never intimidates his baby girl; no, not when gojo satoru is her hero and you, her solace.

. . . who gives nothing but a multitude of praises when his girl is leaning more into the artistic side, asking for colour pencils and crayons and paint to explore her creativity that with each drawing she shows him, he gasps, falls to the floor, and cries out how it should belong in a museum! gojo is doing the most — hands on his chin and pointing to various parts of the drawing and discussing the “meaning” behind it when all your girl wanted to do was draw the three of you as a happy family. he’s buying the frame, making a plaque for the artwork to be hung; when he’s making copies of the artwork to keep in a folder, he’s crying his eyes out (“she just wanted to draw us, us! as a family!” you giggle, “yes, satoru, that’s what we are.”)

“girlssss! i’m home!” satoru grins when your baby runs up to him, swooping her up before she can crash into his legs and twirls her around. “papa! look at what i drew today!” you’re emerging after cleaning up her very passionate creative space after she swore on finishing it before your husband came back, smiling when she bounces on her heels. “woooow!” he clutches his heart, one knee and then the other before he croaks out “ooouhhhh! why isn’t this masterpiece in a museum yet?! it’s a crime!” if you were in high school, the gojo then would definitely barf at how cheesy he was being at the moment, “very compelling use of colour, here, miss gojo. hmm, yes, yes, i see how you used multiple colours for the sun — very effective in showing the many colours of the sunset!” you’re cheesing so hard at the display because he does this every. time. and it never fails to make her yell in excitement, running over to you as she gives you a big fat kiss on your cheeks, “mama helped me!” a raise of the eyebrow before you finally get your well-awaited kiss to your lips, “i’m sure she did, honey.” ✩

. . .who teaches her the basic things, not shying away from the harsh realities of the world and jujutsu society. he tells her about boys who make fun of girls and think it’s acceptable, or teachers that would only like the strong boys to carry the chairs to the centre of the classroom. he thinks that if he’s going to do this parenting shit, he’s going to do it right, not the way his parents did it, not the way the higher-ups “looked” over young sorcerers. he covers self-defense, verbal comebacks as well as a rejected raise of her hand to threaten a punch (you were the one to stop him from teaching her that — you could only thank it wasn’t a middle finger instead), praising and rewarding her with candy and blown raspberries into her skin.

. . . who teaches her mama is as important as he is, but your darling girl already knows the value of her mother who holds her tight when she has a nightmare, or the airplane on mama’s airline that always holds delicious food. she knows how much her mother loves her when you’re sharing a smile with her at the dinner table as satoru chokes again on his food, and when you pat her to sleep while telling the story of how you and gojo met. that’s why she was the one to suggest that they both bake you a cake for your birthday — with her as the head chef and satoru as her sous chef.

“it has to be perfect, papa! no more burning the pancakes in the morning or putting too much sugar.” gojo stifles a laugh at that; it seems that his baby girl had heard the many trivial mishaps that had happened in the kitchen, snapping out of his daze when his daughter lands a light slap on his cheek. “pay attention!” satoru fully laughs now, okay, okay! he says and they read through the recipe together — a family recipe passed down to you — and they try their best. the flour is a little messy, the sugar is a tad too much and satoru thinks he may have preheated the oven too high a heat, but then there’s the familiar smell of the vanilla extract and the rise of the cake in the tin. your baby cheers, collapsing into gojo’s arms in front of the oven and together on the floor, they watch the cake ascend.

“careful, baby, it’s hot.” gojo brings her away when the cake is finally done, dramatically smelling and letting out a sigh at it, “it smells really good, ain’t it?” she purses her lips and points to herself, “all due to me!” and gojo hums in agreement. he’s content to let his baby girl take all the credit when she’s looking as adorable like that, finding that her confidence is looking more and more like his while your kindness shows when she’s propped up on the kitchen island and saying, “but papa was the one who helped me pour everything! so maybe it’s because of both me and papa.”

the “thank you” that satoru whispers into his girl’s temple is a whisper, and the house falls into a comfortable, more calm atmosphere as they work on the icing together. it’s clear that all her excitement has caught up to her and she’s now feeling a little sleepy in between, only shooting up when gojo’s announced the icing’s all mixed properly. “happy . . birthday . . mama,” she draws out in the air with satoru’s finger clutched between her fist, a clear layout in her young mind that he had no choice but to listen (he would always listen), lathering first the white base icing before the pressuring job comes and his darling girl is looking at him with narrowed eyes, “don’t mess it up, papa!”

“i won’t—” and before gojo can start on the lettering, you’re depositing the house keys into the bowl your husband gifted you in high school, letting out a chuckle at the scene before you: the sorcerer’s face caked in white, vanilla extract and broken egg shells on the island and in the middle of it, your husband and your daughter looking like deer caught in headlights.

“hi, mama,” they say in unison and your grin only widens. you could hardly be mad when this doesn’t happen often, already knowing the occasion, but they seemed to be a little bummed out from being found out so you only hope your hug can make it up. your baby girl goes first: she squeals when she’s scooped into your arms, smile so bright it could mirror any angel in heaven. while she still pouts, she’s more than happy to wish you a happy birthday. “thank you, baby. was baking with papa fun?”

she nods so hard her whole body moves in your arms, “papa is very bad at measuring stuff, though.”

you burst out laughing while your husband falls into a greater pout than your daughter did, brushing off the flour from his arms and taking the both of you into his embrace, “she’s so mean to me, sweets.”

“i’m not, just telling the truth. mama, i was the head chef, so i get to say what he’s bad at.” gojo’s pout worsens and you coo, pulling him closer.

“yes, but daddy did help with everything, didn’t he?” you whisper, brushing away the strands that fall over her face. you’ve never really taken the time to take in everything: her white hair, those blue eyes that are a little darker, the lines at the side of her smile that look like yours. instinctively, your forehead rests against hers and upon feeling her nod, you think that this is all you need. “thank you, darling.” and your girl grins again when she feels your peck on her forehead. gojo only can look at his girls with a content smile, pout stretching into his face while his hand never stops caressing your back. “can daddy have a kiss too?”

that night when she’s put to sleep after much protest (you both give in and end up watching your favourite movie together as a present), you’re drawing circles on gojo’s bare chest which also has grown a little bit of hair. his lips upon your hair feels like a divine blessing; he speaks.

“happy birthday again, baby,” a kiss, “only if you came home a liiittle later, though.”

you laugh softly, “actually, i sort of heard your shenanigans when i was standing outside the front door.” satoru jerks from the comfortable position, prompting your head to hit the headboard in a loud ‘thud’.

“oops sorry, baby— but what?!”

you shake your head, roll your eyes, pull him back to tuck yourself under his chin, “you’re so damn dramatic. i just didn’t want to interrupt the both of you. you mean a lot to her, you know.”

gojo sighs, moving away a bit for your head to tilt up and his heart still pulls and tugs like so many years ago. if he recalls correctly, it’s just exactly like this that you shared your first kiss together, the line between friends and lovers blurring so much that all it took was your eyes staring into his to make him notice he never had infinity on around you.

“you made me forget what i was gonna say,” satoru mumbles, a laugh cutting through his features when you smile sheepishly. he copies your outburst, “you’re so damn beautiful.”

“and you mean a lot to her, too. we mean a lot to her — it’s the least we can do when you’ve brought such a beautiful baby into the world,” gojo mutters — it’s late and he’s slurring his words from the fatigue. his eyes glow under the night light and he holds on to you just a little tighter, “to give her a normal life.”

his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there’s the sheen of his tears again. “we will succeed, don’t you worry.” you silence his doubts with a kiss, “you’re doing a great job of a father, ‘toru. i will keep reminding you until my voice turns hoarse and i can’t speak.”

normally, he’d tease you but all it does is make the tears full spill over; but they’re happy this time. satoru only lets you catch his lips in a deep kiss, quietening his sobs as your hands fumble at his undercut and his face. you can hear the faint “thank you”’s he mumbles and you’re also close to crying, pulling away to admire him — god, you loved him so much you feel like you could collapse. he loved you so much he would do it all over again if it meant having you in every life.

“thank you for having me. thank you for loving me, baby,” satoru whispers, wiping at your tears as did you and he laughs, “dunno why we’re cryin’. s’pposed to be a happy moment.”

you huff (of course, he’d say something funny now), but that’s just one of many things you love about him. all you do is hold him closer that night and mutter a prayer — to virgin, to buddha, to anyone who would listen.

it might get difficult along the way: one of you may need to take on more missions, your baby will be growing up and heading to school. there will be difficult talks, puberty, tantrums, none of you were truly ready. and yet, despite it all, you’d still have your satoru, the one who made tsumiki and megumi into what they are today. despite it all, you’d still have each other and your darling girl, your family of gojo’s whose definition changed from suffocating to belonging. despite it all, as long as galaxies are created and supernovas happening and the planets revolve around the sun, it’d take light years for your love to diminish even one speck.

your love for each other could surpass the cosmos — that in itself is enough.

part two

#asks #anon #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader

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goddessofmischief · 6 months

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can i request anything mihawk related and him pining after y/n

— I CAN SEE YOU (YOUNG MIHAWK X READER)

A/N: this is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately.

He'd been thinking about you a lot lately.

You, the pretty girl who sailed with the Roger Pirates and made port in the same towns he did from time to time. You, who seemed to always be flanked by the boy with the red nose and the other boy with the red hair.

You. You. You.

You were clever - he noticed that at once - you had to be, to hold your own with so many men stronger and older than you, and he watched as you navigated through one dangerous situation after another, always escaping unscathed. The other boys tried to help, of course, but you didn't need them at all. Mihawk noticed that, too.

He liked the sort of clothes you wore - usually a bit oversized, which made sense, so you didn't have to buy new ones every time you grew, an unfortunate practicality for anyone growing up at sea - and often velvet, or satin, or with embroidered patterns, and usually in dark shades of olive, maroon or black. Sometimes cotton dresses of the palest ivory, which he also liked.

Mihawk had made a habit of always noticing the appearance of others, and judged them quite harshly on it - not their looks or dimensions or things they could not change, but how well they presented themselves. Living the way he did, the way you did, did not lend itself to luxury or composure or cleanliness, so he noticed whenever anyone paid special attention to how they looked.

You did. He never caught you without loosely wound curls, brushed out, or loose buns, or intricate braids that he sometimes heard the red-haired pirate protesting at doing for you. Mihawk noticed all of these things because they were things he liked about himself, and he liked them about you, too.

But even after all this liking and appreciating, which had gone on for many months now, he could never have the strength to talk to you. It wasn't for his own insecurity, although Mihawk was a good deal less boastful and more shy than most of the pirates his age, but more for fear of what he might say when he actually spoke to you for the first time. He had never struck out with girls before, but that was mostly for lack of trying. They found him, most of the time, and either liked his Hawk-Eyes or they didn't.

It was on one of those days, where Mihawk had made port at a small island and was sipping on a flute of wine at a small bar, that he found himself gazing at you again. You'd just stumbled off Roger's ship, and seemed in awe of your surroundings. Your friends already held drinks far too big for them and had wandered off, staring at the skyline, but you were clearly unsure of what to get. Mihawk watched as your fingernail dragged against a small menu, tracing every option, hesitating around the ones with dried flowers in them. You liked dried flowers, evidently, and he would remember that.

The thought crossed his mind that he might go get a drink for you, and perhaps begin some sort of conversation-

No. No. Stupid.

You could get your own drink.

And you were about to, it seemed, when a rather terrifying-looking mercenary pressed a blade to your back. Mihawk immediately reached for his own, which he had fondly nicknamed 'Yoru,' and had not yet seen much action.

"How'd you find me?" you said, voice trembling.

"Followed you," said the mercenary. "You owe us. We know you only gave us half of what you found when you raided that vault."

"That's not true," you said, and Mihawk felt you were telling the truth, although he may have been biased. "It just wasn't as much as you thought it would be-"

The mercenary forced his blade closer, and Mihawk decided he couldn't allow this to go on for one more second. Moving quietly, he removed Yoru from his scabbard, and drew the blade against the mercenary's neck.

"Move aside," said Mihawk, trying to make his voice more steady than it felt.

The mercenary stared him down.

"Who are you?"

"Dracule Mihawk," he said. "And I'd like you to step away."

"I refuse."

What happened next was completely uncalled for and also fated. Mihawk simply moved the sword very quickly to the side, and the mercenary fell, and that was the end of it.

It was not the first blood Dracule Mihawk had ever spilled. It was, however, the first blood he had spilled with this particular sword.

This sword, which would live on in infamy long after he was gone, this sword, which would become synonymous with not only his name, but swordsmanship itself.

First blood, this sword, and it had all been over you.

History would forget.

...But you would remember.

#mihawk x reader #mihawk #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader

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stray-kaz · 3 months

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Sunshine : a Cha Hyun-su x f!reader two shot : Part One

Summary: As Hyun-su's best friend, you refused to let him move away alone, so you left home and followed him to the Green Home building. Certain situations lead to feelings being revealed and you're not just friends anymore.

Thank you, @writingmysanity for helping me work at this and get it out. I finished it sitting in the dark.

Some adult behaviour, mind yourselves, mind your p's and q's.

Bright morning light burned through the gaps in the thin curtains, but it wasn't that which woke you. The persistent hammering of thumbs on a controller breached your sleep and forced you to open your eyes. Rubbing the sleepy dust from the corners, you could now see more clearly the dark haired boy sitting facing away from you, headphones set firmly in position.

"Hey" you said, to no response. "Hyun-su!"

Still nothing. You looked around and spotted your oldest favourite stuffed animal, a black bear named Paws, and flung it at his head. He whipped the headphones off, twisted round to see you and glowered.

"What?" he mumbled, a tiny smile twitching at his lips as he noticed your bedhead and sleepy expression.

You sighed and flicked one of the headphones now hanging around his neck.

"You woke me up" you complained.

Hyun-su squinted at you and shook his head.

"It was the sun" he argued.

"It wasn't the sun, sunshine" you persisted. "It was your noisy thumbs on the noisy controller."

He rolled his eyes at you.

"Would you rather hear the screams in the game?" he asked dryly.

You flopped onto your back and nodded against the pillow.

"Yes. I would rather hear the screams."

You stretched languidly and he found his gaze drawn to your body, to the soft cotton straining over your chest and the pair of his boxers you had stolen the night before, when he hadn't been able to speak to ask you why.

He blinked and turned away, spying Paws still lying on his side next to him on the floor. He picked him up and placed him carefully on your stomach, so you could wrap your arms around him. You smiled and kissed the bear's head.

"Thank you, sunshine."

"Welcome" he mumbled back, before turning around to face the TV again, slowly easing his headphones back into place.

Hyun-su turned the sound right down low so that when he heard you start shuffling around to find your clothes and get dressed, he wouldn't turn by accident. But his ears burned all the same, hidden by the headphones. Years of being by your side hadn't dampened his heart any.

Hyun-su didn't remember how late it was when he finally went to bed last night, but when consciousness flooded back in, it became clear that you had moved over in your sleep. Your back had been to him when he fell asleep, but you had rolled, and now, one of your arms was stretched across his chest and one of your legs was hitched to his hip, his same boxers on you riding up your thigh.

He glanced at the window above the bed and saw it was only just dawn, the palest fingers of the sun reaching down out of the sky. He slowly lifted the arm you weren't lying against and gently touched your shoulder, trailing his fingertips down to yours and back up, eyeing the goosebumps that erupted in his wake.

He did it over and over, the corners of his lips beginning to turn up in a faint smile. Your breath hitched slightly and he stopped his hand, holding his breath to see if you would wake up and scold him.

You woke up the second time he danced his fingers down your arm, your own fingertips tingling. It took all your self control not to let them twitch, not to let your breathing quicken. And then he heard you, and stopped.

You yawned dramatically and stretched, slowly pulling your leg away from him and then nuzzling into his shoulder, peering sleepily up at him.

"Morning, sunshine" you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes.

"Hey" he replied.

The sound of his early morning voice sent a hard shiver up your spine; it was deeper, rough around the edges, apparently designed for your ears and yours alone. Hyun-su felt the shiver but chalked it up to early morning chills and reached down to pull the blanket up over you both, tucking it below your chin. You burrowed closer and he felt your leg drift back up, slinging across his waist.

"Hey" he murmured again, but there was no response.

Hyun-su said your name, and nothing. He glanced down and was once again met with your sleeping face. He sighed and patted your head. He supposed that now you had dropped out of school with him there wasn't much else to do but sleep.

He was sorry. He hadn't told you that.

Three o'clock hit and you were stretched out over the couch, your head resting on Hyun-su's lap while he was gaming. You were always struck by how remarkably still he was, the only movement coming from his hands. He didn't jostle you while he played and the warmth of him would almost be enough to make you fall asleep if it weren't for how nice it was to lay like this and see him from a different angle, in the quiet.

You reached up to idly touch his jaw, sweeping your fingers along the cut and touching your thumb to the point of his chin. His dark eyes flickered, but he gave no other detectable reaction. You kept going, back up his jaw until you could tug on his ear, catching the lobe between two fingertips and pressing gently.

Taking you by surprise, Hyun-su caught your wrist, pulled it back around and pressed a brief and lazy kiss to the palm of your hand, before letting it drop back onto your stomach. You curled your fingers onto your palm, as if you could hold onto the kiss, while you stared up at him, heart slamming against your ribs.

Hyun-su didn't glance at you again, but the faintest kiss of pink touched his cheekbones and his mouth tugged to the side, as if he was in thought. You studied the shape of it, and the set of his jaw, and wondered what would happen if you grabbed him by it and dragged him down for a kiss.

You wondered. But then the noise started through the wall and the blush on Hyun-su's cheeks spread to his ears and infected your face, too. Something, a body presumably, thudded against the wall, followed by a whine and a low moan of pleasure.

You bolted off Hyun-su's lap, knocking the headphones off his head. You looked at him with wide eyes; he stared back, his eyes equally wide, shock tethering you. You collapsed into giggles first, covering your mouth with your hands and falling against his shoulder as the moans from the next room grew steadily louder. Slowly, you felt Hyun-su's shoulder begin to shake, soon followed by the rest of him, and then his rough giggles were falling as readily as yours.

Suddenly, you stood up and went over to the wall. He tracked you with watchful eyes, and they widened again when you smacked the palms of your hands against the wall and fake moaned, rolling your eyes back. You stepped forward and slammed back into the wall; the noise next door paused.

So you did it again.

Hyun-su stared at you, at your flushed face, closed eyes and lazy grin twisting your lips. He took a step towards you, then stopped when he felt a familiar tightness in his jeans. He sat down abruptly and fumbled his headphones back on.

He could have died when you wandered back over and lay down again, once again settled yourself in his lap.

A couple of days later, you were first to open your eyes, enveloped in warmth and cosier than you'd been in a while. You blinked and realised the reason for your warmth was Hyun-su curved into a question mark around you, his much taller body somehow slotting neatly into place with yours.

Then you moved round a little on the mattress before suddenly going still, stoppered air burning in your lungs. He was hard, pressed insistent against you, his breath falling sleepy and soft against your hair. Your face flooded with heat, so you pressed it into the pillow. Your hips twitched back of their own accord and you bit into the pillowcase to muffle a strangled moan.

You had slept in the same bed so often and this had yet to happen, to your knowledge, and you were suddenly yearning to do something about it, but he was asleep. And your best friend.

You rolled over to see his face, black hair fallen across his forehead, his mouth relaxed and soft. You reached up and gently smoothed his hair away.

"Hyun-su" you whispered. "Hey, wake up, sunshine."

He mumbled, his lips pursing slightly and eyes moving behind their lids. He murmured your name, tipping up in a quiet whimper at the end.

"Hyun-su..."

You lightly touched his mouth, trailing your thumb over his bottom lip. His hips shifted towards you, but the second you gasped, his eyes flashed open wide and he scrambled back, falling over the edge and pulling the covers with him.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, sorry sorry" he mumbled hastily, still scrambling away from you.

"Hey, wait!" you tried, fumbling off the bed to follow him, but he was already disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut, vibrating it on its hinges.

You banged on the door with your palms.

"It's okay!" you called through the narrow door. "It felt...nice, Hyun-su."

Dead silence greeted you. You sighed and slumped back over to the bed, picking up a discarded bar of chocolate and chewing on it absently. The bathroom door opened slowly and your eyes flicked up to see Hyun-su shuffle out and throw the blankets in your direction. You dodged and let them fall next to you, still eating. His face was flushed pink and he was looking everywhere but at you.

"What did you say?" he asked very quietly, his voice barely an octave above the floor.

It was your turn to blush then, your cheeks pinkening as he continued to avoid looking at you. But you had dug this hole; might as well fall in.

"It felt nice" you repeated. "I...liked it."

You thought he might have choked, but when you glanced at him again, Hyun-su was looking straight at you, his throat working furiously and his eyes wide. You stood up, snapped off a piece of chocolate and handed it to him; his fingers brushed yours as he took it, pocketing it inside his cheek to suck. You smiled a little.

"You look like a chipmunk" you murmured.

Hyun-su scowled and bit down on the remaining chocolate.

"Don't scowl at me" you grouched at him. "Chipmunks are cute. Like you."

He rolled his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at you.

"Why do you keep saying stuff like that?" he demanded, his voice cracking a little.

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers fiercely with his. He stared at his hand in yours and then back at your face.

"Because I love you, dumbass!"

His eyes widened, and he didn't blink for several slow moments, until you cleared your throat and coughed, awkwardness flooding back in. You let go of his hand and slapped your hand to your own forehead, growling a sigh.

"What did you say?" Hyun-su asked quietly, blinking slowly.

"Absolutely nothing. You're hearing things, sunshine."

You spoke so fast you were surprised you didn't somehow trip over your own tongue, but he understood you just fine. That was the thing. He always did get you.

He shook his head, hair flicking out of his eyes. You tapped your fingers against your thigh to keep yourself from moving it out of the way for him.

"I know I mishear you sometimes, but not this time. What did you say?" Hyun-su asked again, taking a few steps closer until he was towering over you; right then, you were feeling all of his six feet and change.

You bit your lip, thinking.

"I love...food? Dumbass?"

Hyun-su simply shook his head again, and moved another step. All he'd have to do is touch you and you'd be done for. Did he know? Was it obvious?

"While that is something true, that's not it."

You closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh, the bar of chocolate once again forgotten in your grip, slowly melting in its wrapper.

"I love you" you said softly.

He leaned down so you could feel his breath on your cheek, so close you swore you could see his soul, bright and twisting, behind his eyes.

"I love you, too."

Startled, you giggled abruptly, taken aback.

"As friends, right? Love as friends, yes? Love as friends because we've known each other for so long?"

Hyun-su blinked again, unsure.

"Is that what you want from me?" he asked uncertainly, taking a single step backwards.

You blinked back and felt your face turn hot.

"No?"

"Tell me what you want then."

"I want…not just friends. But I don't want that to go away either. I don't want to lose it" you admitted slowly, lifting your head to look him properly in the eye.

Hyun-su slowly shook his head.

"You wouldn't lose that" he promised quietly.

You reached out a shy hand and tugged on the neck of his t-shirt, revealing flashes of collarbone.

"Okay, Hyun-su" you murmured. "Okay."

He leaned forward and knocked his nose gently against yours, soaked in your soft gasp of surprise.

"Okay?" he asked. "What does that mean?"

"You can…"

Your words disappeared as you tipped your head up just enough to touch your lips to his. Hyun-su closed the gap, kissing you slowly, one hand rising to touch your cheek to stabilise himself. You pulled back quickly, fingers pressed to your lips and your eyes wide.

"Was that okay?" Hyun-su asked nervously.

You nodded slowly.

"Yes."

You lowered your hand, lips tingling. Hyun-su shifted on his feet, sudden adrenaline waking him all the way up.

"Can I...again?"

"Yes."

Your fingers white knuckled on his t-shirt, crushing the soft fabric. He leaned down quickly, pressing his lips to yours again, fingers curling in the t-shirt you slept in, palms molding to your hips.

You were ready then, going to meet him and letting out a soft sound as you closed your eyes, as he kissed you gently, his hands an anchor holding you to the floor.

You broke away to breathe, dragging in quick gasps of air before grabbing at him again, this time sliding eager hands into his hair and whimpering softly. Hyun-su groaned quietly when you tugged his hair, slowly backing you up against the wall and kissing you back just as eagerly. Your back hit the wall and you gasped at the sudden impact, clutching at the back of his head.

His tongue traced your bottom lip lightly, beggingly, as he pressed a bit closer. You shyly let him in, the air warming around the two of you, becoming thick and heady, a little dangerous. You mewled when his tongue touched yours, and pulled tighter on his hair, trying to get closer. He was too damn tall.

Hyun-su huffed a quiet laugh at your transparent frustration and bent a little more to appease the disruption. It wasn't enough and you lowered a hand to tug hard on the front of his t-shirt.

"Not good enough" you mumbled. "Sit down?"

He nodded and spun you slowly so that his back was to the wall, and slid down it to the floor, helping you onto his lap and waiting for you to adjust. You hid your face in his neck so he couldn't see how much the position affected you and how badly you were struggling to sit motionless.

Hyun-su ran his hands gently up and down your back, also pleased you couldn't see his face. Your weight was sweet and pressing just perfectly where he needed it.

"Hey" he murmured, sliding his hands down onto your hips. "If you like...you can move. I - I can take it."

He flushed when you whimpered softly in response and shifted your weight slightly in his lap, turning your head to press your mouth to the side of his neck to muffle soft sounds as you dragged yourself over the growing hardness beneath you. His hands tightened on your hips, long fingers reaching down onto your ass to hold you firmly as you rocked on and off of him.

You removed your lips from his skin, a faint mark left in your wake you hadn't realised you were creating, and pulled back to look him shyly in the eyes. His were a little heavy and hooded, peering dazedly back at you.

"Is this okay?" you asked him, voice a little broken from the friction, and uncertain.

Hyun-su nodded and kissed you gently, desperate not to get too caught up and scare you off; he would keep you here for hours if you'd let him, just a slow grind, enough to turn his mind blank. Then you moved your hands to cup his jaw delicately, as if he might break like glass, and carefully nudged at his lips until they parted slowly.

When your tongue brushed his, his hips stuttered and he wrapped his arms tightly around your back, muffling his unquiet sounds in your mouth as he wrestled with his body to keep it under control. You slipped a hand into his hair, soft on your fingers. You gave it a curious tug, maybe a little too hard, and Hyun-su jerked up against you, sucking mindlessly on your tongue.

You moaned against his lips as he rubbed up between your thighs and then he was moving under you like he'd die if he didn't, rutting up to you. Your arms hooked around his shoulders to hold on for dear life, the kiss becoming more and more desperate as you rocked down to meet every upward roll of his hips.

You pulled back to breathe again, your mouth hovering scant inches from his, inhaling him, mixed breaths shuddering between you as your mind was consumed by the ache you felt. Your forehead rested against Hyun-su's, still pressing your hips down, quiet pants falling from your parted lips. His lids fluttered briefly as he moaned your name, hoping he didn't seem too desperate to you.

"Did you do this with that idiot you dated before?" he panted suddenly, slipping his hands underneath your t-shirt and splaying them across your bare back.

You shook your head, sighing at his touch.

"No" you admitted, shaking your head, dizzy. "I never wanted him this bad. Have you...ever...?"

Hyun-su shook his head, too, brushing his nose against yours.

"No. I was waiting for, um, for you."

You looked up at him, groaning quietly before kissing him again.

"I'm here" you said softly.

He blinked cautiously at you.

"Do you want to?" he asked, barely a whisper. "Because we don't have to. You know that, right? I'm happy to sit here and kiss you."

"Really?"

Hyun-su nodded.

"Yes. I've been wanting to for years. You don't know how hard it's been whenever you lay down in my lap not to kiss you stupid."

You felt your cheeks heat up again.

"I always wanted to pull you down to kiss me" you admitted, playing with his hair.

He blushed, lifting a hand to drag the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

"When the couple next door had sex and you started fake moaning and banging on the walls, I wanted you to make those noises for real."

"Yours to hear, later."

He offered up a hopeful grin.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He sighed, content.

"I love you" he murmured. "My life sucks except for you. I'm gonna look forward to that."

You closed the gap between you and kissed him soundly, only pulling back when he whined quietly, desperate for something in between breathing and kissing you some more.

"I love you, too, sunshine."

#sweet home #sweet home fanfic #liss writes #cha hyun su #cha hyun su x reader #cha hyun su x female reader #sweet home x reader

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ohsunnyboy · 4 months

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against everything | shen quanrui ˚₊‧⁺˖

you know nothing about shen quanrui, duke of the north. all you do know is that you're getting married and you're winning this sword fight.

TAGS: royalty!au, cold duke!ricky, gn!reader, rivals/enemies/strangers to lovers, arranged marriage, sparring!!, a little mean!ricky for the sake of the au, gets angsty in the end v sorry haha

A/N: this has been in the drafts since debut lmao it's v long but enjoy!!! as always, purely self indulgent ! (pls imagine historical manhwa level visuals iykyk)

WORDS: ~1900

Could there be a worse fate than this? Marrying Shen Quanrui, elusive Duke of the North and Lord of Yuehua.

You knew that marriage was coming. Being the youngest in the family and the rest of your brothers off to the capital to play bachelors and sisters bartered off for titles. One by one, marriage invites piled up over your desk until it finally came time for you to write your own.

Yet still, you have yet to meet him.

What you do know of the duke, is that he exists and is not mere fragment of your imagination — according to your mother. It’s his estate you’re getting married at, but he hasn’t shown his face once in your week here. Not a letter, a word, anything! Anything would be better than this silence that plagues the grounds.

You pull your coat tighter around you as the northern chill slides under your bones. You want to begin to rethink all your feeble decisions right then and there. Or rather, the lack of your decisions that's brought you here. Wandering the Shen gardens like a ghost with an intent to haunt someone you’ve never even met.

Though, it seems like a calling of fate when you turn to an open yard.

Here, the snow clears away to worn cobble leading to a snow spackled dirt and a sparring platform. Swords line the training ground and gleam in the moonlight as you make your way towards them. Clearly standard issue and worn beyond ware, but swords, nonetheless. You can’t help but feel a little giddy, no one should be about at midnight like this, and no one should be out looking for the training grounds either. You clamber up the stairs to the wooden stage. Each board creaks lightly under your feet, almost like the decks of the galleys you used to run about on. From above, it’s easy to become entranced watching the snow spiral down as it settles.

You really could stand in marvel all night, but a figure watches you from where you came from. A bolt of fear strikes through you, dark eyes watching you freeze. Is it fate? Another ghost that haunts this place?

"Who are you?" the boy ask – or rather, demands.

You almost blink twice to make sure you aren’t dreaming. His hair is the palest of whites, rivalling the light of the moon and the falling snow itself. You’d stay in your stupor for longer, but he stares with a hard set in his eye that you know only means trouble.

"Oughtn’t you introduce yourself before you ask?" you snap.

“I asked first.”

“And it’s rude to ask and not offer your own name first.”

Your reply only ticks him off further it seems as he reaches for one of the sabres on the rack. "Then we fight for it,” mystery man says simply.

"Now? anyone could see us plain as day if they look out the windows! are you insane!" You can hardly believe it when he kicks another sabre across the stage to your feet. "What if the duke sees us?" you hiss, but it only makes him smirk further.

"Then let him," he counters with a flourish of his blade. "Or are you scared, peasant?"

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you swipe it from the floor with indignation. Honestly, he’s nothing impressive. What’s a pretty face when he’s built like a sheaf of paper? Your brothers are easily bulkier and taller compared to him, and you've swept the floor with them before. With him? it’s a matter of deck scrubbing him into the snow.

The sabre fits into your palm with a comforting weight. It's a far throw from duelling on ships and jagged seas but it's the song of duelling that sounds like home.

"Done playing with it? Or do you need a sword lesson instead?" and oh, that smirk is infuriating. "First to yield divests their name and title – should they even own one," he drawls.

All you can do is nod and settle into stance. Low and wide for balance, steady as an anchor in tide – all the more important with the ice. He mirrors with his own, a little taller, a little more forward, and with a whole lot more ego than what he should have.

A moment, slow and quiet, is spent staring down the edge of your swords. His steps, closer and closer, the howl of the air—

Then, he lunges.

When you meet, it’s mean, forceful and utterly demanding. Though, would you expect anything less of him?

It’s a game of darting and pushing. In and out of each other’s reach by just a breath. When you circle each other, his eyes follow you everywhere. It’s a gaze that would crumble you if you weren’t running on sheer adrenaline right now. You could count the sweat on his brow each time he tries to brute force his sabre down on you, but you parry just as strong.

Every strike you sweep, you channel all the pent-up nerves behind them. A week of restlessness, of anger all coming down an a willing, taunting target.

The next sweep that he dives for cuts from his left to right, instead of parrying, you decide to lunge again. You go low, essentially diving under his blade and entirely into his space. You seize your chance, blood rushing in your head and mouth twisted in a horribly cocky grin and shove him to the floor. When he lands with a thud, lips parted in surprise, you waste no time in pinning him down, forearm barred across his chest and sword staked into the wood next to his neck.

"Do you yield?" Your breath ghosts across his face, twining with his own in this cold air.

The moon illuminates his sweat like shattered stars across his skin, pale as the snow and flawless as the sky. You want to sneer it into his skin: his gorgeous devastation. Perfection and arrogance wrapped into one.

"Out with it,” you glower over the pound of your heart and the silence between you two.

He must see something because you have no idea what’s got him smiling like that.

"Shen." What? " Warden of the North and Duke of Yuehua." A thousand thoughts, and a million more revelations. No way, this isn't possible. "Shen Quanrui, though, I thought you would have known already – with your attitude and all."

You feel the heat of the situation pour into you like the sun projecting a thousand-fold upon yourself. You scramble back, desperate for some decency because you've effectively just sat on the duke, warden of the north, and, least importantly of all, your soon-to-be husband. Quanrui rises as you fall backwards into the snow, the sword clattering next to you as he reverses the position.

“My lord,” you’re babbling now. The grin on his face is sly and all too prideful but it brings an angry red to your face that would have your brothers rolling in laughter. “I…I had no idea.”

And Quanrui huffs a small laugh at you beneath him, scrambling for words. “You have made that quite clear, darling.” His silhouette eclipses the moon, and you swear the glint in his eyes twinkle along with the stars above.

“Darling?”

“Do you not like it, darling?” Quanrui says it like trying a new wine on his tongue. He tries to roll it, like one of those sopranos at the opera, all natural and beholding. Is it stupid to be so entranced in someone? You know nothing about him – no one does. But can you say that when he’s staring at you like this? Calling you darling like this? Holding you like this?

So blind to it all, isn’t he?

“No, not at all.” You shake your head getting yourself out of your stupor, trying to put your words together. “It’s just… you have not come to see me once in my week here. Why do you only turn up now, not even on purpose, when we’re to be wed by the end of the fortnight?” It comes out in a stream, past freezing lips and over piles of abandoned reasoning. “Is this the cruelty they speak of? Your empty coldness then a taunting heat? What then after this, my lord. Will you leave me to the cold another week, to haunt your palace like a fool? What then—”

An arresting hand presses over your mouth, stopping your stream of consciousness. Devastation paints Quanrui’s face when you blink past your anger. Long gone is his smirk, and all the stars in his eyes. It’s pinched with guilt.

“I never meant for it. Never – I never meant for cruelty. I’d thought you would want space, time to adjust and settle in by yourself! I thought—”

“You thought! But you never wrote, you never knew in the first place, my lord,” you sneer. “You never had a right to assume, when all you know are damned titled deeds and how many men my father will send for your blasted armies. Do you even know I’m from the eastern coasts? That I’d never even seen snow until I stepped foot into your land. And you think I wanted space!?”

“Enough.” He sits back on his heels, head facing to the falling sky; illuminated like a god ascended. What a waste of a pretty face when Quanrui looks down at you, eyes bared to confess. “I had no right. You are true, everything is true. I do not know you, but I will learn you,” he promises. “I won’t leave you to bear this cold alone. Leaving you to face against everything yourself was my first mistake and I will make it my last.”

You almost laugh, nigh incredulous at his claims. “Bold words, my lord. Are you rehearsing your vows as we speak in this moment?” Your temper ebbs and flows, this is cruel, you want to say, but you bite your tongue before he remembers that abandoned sword next to you.

“Nothing about this—“ Quanrui gestures to both your states “—is rehearsed, I swear.” The honesty is etched into his being. “You fought me – the real me. And beat me well at it too.”

Finally, you do laugh. “That I did! Doesn’t that make you even more unworthy of me?” It’s posed like a barb, but you say it with a grin. If he can fight for his honour, there’s a chance at the truth.

Infuriating as ever, his smirk is back in full force. “I don’t know. How about we settle the score properly?” Maybe you’ll come to love it – just one day. One day you’ll see past the snow and ice, remembering tumbling waves and open sun, to love a marriage wrought with him.

“Alright then.”

The night is long in the north, impossibly so. But time will come, and the day will thaw the love that was buried all along.

i ran away with this defo, but i'm glad i’m done :) thanks so much for reading!! Please leave a reblog and a like if you enjoyed ⭒ masterlist

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merrickthemyth · 14 days

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Random Jason Grace HCs bc he's my husband

(FYI: I do HC him as queer & trans, suck it up)

He is the palest out of the entire group, therefore they're constantly making jokes like "Jason, you're my sun, I get blinded when I look at you." (Speaking from experience ygs)

He once let the Aphrodite cabin paint his nails

He has a lightning bolt charm on his CHB necklace

He wears a CHB shirt over a SPQR hoodie

on his pants/shorts is a bunch of different patches

everyone assumes he's a cishet guy, so whenever he kisses Leo (Valgrace>>>>) everyone freaks out.

Whenever he fights, he fights in his binder. Good for him? No, but that's besides the point.

He rarely curses, so when he does, people are like "Jason Grace, is that a cuss word I just heard out of your mouth?"

Since he was LITERALLY raised by wolves, he walks on all fours going up steps (I'm sorry, but if he doesn't, I would be SO surprised)

He keeps his hair neat to keep up that Praetor professional profile, so in HoH when his hair is buzzed on the side from Cupid's arrow, at first he is distraught, but after seeing Nico he learns to like it.

He's a man smoocher

little lad lover

men kisser

boy admirer

He feels a need to buy any and all wolf t-shirts he sees

He'll scratch around his nails when he is stressed

#jason grace #valgrace #headcanon #headcanons #hcs #percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo toa #hoo #toa #Jason hcs #queer headcanons #queer #lgbtq headcanons #lgbtq

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severalforraelee · 1 year

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Getaway to Hawaii: Pierre Gasly x Reader

Photo credits to motorsport.com

Word count: 2,078

Written by raelee / Posted Mar 15

Masterlist

Formula 1 Masterlist

An arm wrapping around my waist wakes me up from a deep, much needed sleep. Running after two little boys all day isn’t easy- especially with a husband gone half of the year because of his job. I snuggle back into the arm, already knowing who it is and enjoying the limited alone time that I get with him. With my eyes still closed, I feel him lean over me, kissing me on the cheek over and over again. I giggle at the action, squealing as he rubs his scruff against my skin.

“Stop it, Pierre,” I roll onto my back to look into the Frenchman’s captivating eyes.

“You don’t really want me to stop,” he teases, “This is the first time that I’ve been alone with my lovely wife in two weeks. Let me keep kissing her.”

He leans closer to me and I let him, our lips connecting in a deep kiss. His body moves so that he’s straddling me and I raise my hands, tangling them in his hair and trying to pull him closer to me, as if that’s even possible. A warm hand sneaks up my- sorry- his shirt on my body, rising higher and higher.

Then the door’s thrown open.

“Mommy.” The boy with the palest blonde hair that I’ve ever seen- God knows where he got that from- stands in the doorway to mine and Pierre’s bedroom, meeting my eyes with a guilty and shameful look on his face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I push Pierre back gently so that I can sit up, concerned with his expression.

“I tried to go potty by myself,” Elliot responds, seconds away from crying.

It’s then that I notice the lack of pants and underwear on his lower half.

“Gross, someone got pee all over the bathroom,” his older brother decides that this is the best time to chime in, running to stand behind Elliot.

Elliot erupts into tears at Ayden’s words and I hurry out of bed, taking care to tug my shirt down before my kids can see anything. But it’s not like they haven’t seen it before.

“Sh, it’s okay, El, let’s go get you cleaned up,” I reassure the two year old, grabbing his hand. “Pierre, can you clean up the pee while I get him ready?”

I leave before he can respond, not wanting to hear his grumbling at being assigned pee clean up duty.

It’s an hour later, Elliot and Ayden playing together nicely in the living room, Elliot with his big boy pull-up on and Ayden showing off his big boy Spiderman underwear, when Pierre appears again.

He wraps his arms around me from behind, watching as I move the scrambled eggs around in the pan. His chin leans forward, resting on my shoulder as he murmurs gently into my ear.

“I can’t believe that you put me on pee clean up duty.”

“You weren’t here last time for poop clean up duty,” I wrinkle my nose at the memory.

He hums, hopefully in gratefulness, and rocks us back and forth gently. “I have been away a lot lately. I’ve missed the boys, they always seem like they’ve grown so much since I last went away.”

“They’re two and three, prime growing ages,” I respond, pushing the pan of scrambled eggs off the burner and pulling the one full of bacon onto the burner in front of me.

“Mm, I know who else is in her prime,” he flirts, kissing my neck.

I roll my eyes at his action but can’t help the little smile on my face.

“What do you say during summer break you and I sneak off to have a romantic getaway?”

“Pierre, summer break’s in three weeks. Where would we find a babysitter on such short notice? Where would we go? Where would we stay?” I question him, even just the suggestion sending me into a frenzy.

He turns me around, holding my hands in his own. “My mom already said yes to babysitting, you know how much she loves the boys. I know a little place in Hawaii, leave all of the other details to me to figure out.”

“You mean your assistant,” I raise my eyebrows at him.

He rolls his eyes but leans forward, placing a kiss on my lips.

It’s surprisingly passionate. I didn’t think he would want this romantic getaway this bad, but the kiss shows the emotions that he can’t put into words.

He pulls back, placing a final peck on my lips. “So? What do you say?”

I sigh, glancing over to the living room where Elliot and Ayden have somehow found markers and are drawing on each other with them.

“I hope your mom knows what she’s in for.”

He follows my sightline, sighing as well before beginning to walk towards the living room. “I’ve got this one.”

“Pierre, this is beautiful,” I gasp as we walk into the villa sitting atop Hawaii’s ocean blue water.

“Only the best for my love,” he responds, leaning in and kissing my temple.

I move to the bedroom, setting my suitcase down on a chair and pulling out my phone. One text to Pascale to check on the boys won’t hurt…

Just as I open my phone, a rough hand pulls it out of my own, setting it down on the nearby dresser. Pierre’s arms wrap around my body, caging my arms to my chest and lowering his head, resting his cheek on my own.

“None of that now, they’re in good hands,” he reassures me.

“I know, it’s just hard being away from them. I haven’t been this far away from them in three years, four if you’re counting the time that I was pregnant with Ayden.”

My body turns in his arms, his hands sliding to rest on my lower back as I wind my arms around his neck. My fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, wanting to do something to soothe the slight anxiety I’m feeling at being away from my babies.

“So we might as well take advantage of being away from them while we can, right?” He suggests, a smirk beginning to make its way onto his face.

I narrow my eyes at him, immediately picking up on the insinuation of his words. That doesn’t stop me from kissing him back when he leans in to place his lips on mine, and I don’t protest when he guides me over to the bed.

I smile at the waitress as she walks away with our breakfast orders, thanking her. My gaze turns to Pierre to see him already looking at me, a smile of admiration on his lips.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” I ask, sneaking a wishful gaze at a couple riding past the beachside restaurant on jet skis.

That looks so fun.

“I didn’t plan anything for today.”

His words have my gaze returning to him and his face drops at my expression.

“What?” He questions.

“Pierre,” I pause, the dots connecting in my mind. “Did you plan anything for this trip?”

“No,” he responds, now looking like he’s regretting that choice. “I thought that you would want this time off to relax.”

“Pierre, I’ve been running after two toddlers for the past three years, I need to have something to do,” I whine, “I can’t just sit around all day.”

I feel bad complaining, since this is a lovely trip. From taking initiative of wanting us to go on it to buying plane tickets to renting the villa, it’s clear that he did put thought and effort into making this a nice, romantic getaway for both of us.

But… how many times do you get to go to Hawaii?

“I’ll fix this,” he reassures me, reaching over the table to grab my hands in his own. “Do you want to go ride jet skis today? I saw you watching them.”

I give him a shy smile, being brought back to our first date. He held my hands just like this when telling me that his job requires a lot of time and energy, but he really wanted to have a relationship with me and asked if I’d be okay with that. I’m so thankful that I said yes that night.

“I would love that.”

The next couple of days go by in a blur. Pierre and I went to ride on jet skis the first day, hiking to a volcano the second day, tanning on the beach and swimming in the ocean (and maybe having sex in the ocean) on the third day, and snorkeling on the fourth day.

Throughout it all I miss my boys, sneaking texts to Pascale and smiling at the photos she sends me throughout each day. By day two Pierre realizes what I’m doing, which means that I don’t have to hide the check ins anymore, showing him the goofy photos and videos that his mom sends of our sons.

“It’s so beautiful here,” I breathe out, cuddling closer into my husband’s side as we watch the last sunset of our trip. The pinks and purples and oranges swirl together over the clear water as the sun wanes in the sky.

“You’re so beautiful,” he replies quietly, “I’m so lucky to have you. You’re the perfect wife and mother to our sons, and you’re the kindest person that I know.”

I smile up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for planning this trip, Pierre. I really appreciate it.”

“Thank you for coming with me. I know it’s been hard for you to be away from the boys, but I’ve really enjoyed this time together.”

We sit together in silence for a while, his hand stroking my shoulder delicately.

“I really do miss you guys, you know, when I’m traveling for races.”

“We don’t doubt that you do. We really miss you, too.”

“Do you think that you and the boys would like to come out for more races? You know, more than the ones that you do right now?” He suggests.

“Uh, Pierre, I actually want to talk to you about something,” I admit nervously, sitting up on the swinging bench.

I pull back from his grip, resting my back on the armrest of the bench so that I can face him. He gives me a concerned expression, obviously unsure of the topic of discussion and my anxious behavior.

“Uh, okay,” he lets out a nervous chuckle. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” I soothe, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just, I want something, and-””I want something, too,” he interrupts me, eyes lighting up at my words and the ideas of what I could want running through his mind.

“Okay, how about we say what we want together on the count of three?” He recommends.

I nod and take a deep breath. “One… two… three…”

“I want another baby.”

I squeal and he cheers as we say the same words. My hand reaches out for a high five and he connects it, pulling me into his lap with the grip.

“Look at us, we’re in sync,” he grins widely.

I laugh, leaning forward to press a sloppy and excited kiss to his lips.

“Is that why you wouldn’t come out for more races? Because you’d be pregnant?” He inquiries.

I nod. His hands rest on my hips as he stares out at the sunset, clearly trying to do some mental math.

“Well, if it’s August, and you get pregnant now,” he murmurs to himself, “You’d be due… in May, so you could still come to some of the races.”

“With two toddlers and a newborn, Pierre?” I raise my eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

He shrugs, pulling me closer to him. “We’ll figure it out.”

His lips meet mine again, one hand raising to tangle in my hair as he tries to push me even further onto him. My hands rest on his shoulders, traveling to guide along his back.

Once we run out of breath, me much sooner than him, he pulls away, planting a kiss onto my lips.

“We should get started like now, since it might take a while.”

“Of course,” I nod, smirking at him.

He can’t help but grin, pulling me in for a kiss once again.

Who knew a romantic getaway would turn into another baby?

Well, many people probably saw that coming.

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader

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