This Is Too Sweet - Tumblr Posts

WIP sneak peek: zekina kiss

There in 8th grade

Here's regular size Rudy talking "platonicly" of course about his best friend 😉

sweet dreams

roronoa zoro x reader

kiss me through the phone

1.2k words

a/n: this was inspired by this haikyuu fanfic (pls read if ur a sakusa enjoyer, i promise you it's worth the read!!). anyways, i feel like zoro is always the one i write for as my first fic back from a hiatus hehe

sleep usually comes to zoro quite easily, greeting him like an old friend. tonight, however, it evades him like he’s offended it. he’s restless, tossing and turning, back and forth, until he finally gives up.

he looks at the clock.

it’s been 2 minutes.

ugh, fuck it.

he sits at the edge of the bed, reaching for the snail sitting on his bedside table. the receiver rests between his ear and his shoulder as he dials, leg bouncing up and down as he waits for the voice he’s so desperate to hear.

purururururu-

“hello?"

your voice is a little fuzzy through the phone, and zoro presses the receiver even closer to his ear.

“hi.”

for a second, there's only silence and zoro frowns. nami did warn him that there was a storm hitting the island. it’s also really late.

maybe it wasn't such a good idea to call-

and then your laughter comes through, finding him like a ray of sun peeking through dark clouds.

“zoro, what even- i have so many questions!”

at the sound of your voice, he can feel a wave of comfort wash over him. he sinks into his bed and, instinctively, he smiles.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah!” you giggle. "where did you get a den den mushi? why are you calling? shouldn’t you be asleep?”

before he can answer, you gasp. “wait,” your voice drops to a whisper. “did you… did you steal a phone?”

you sound so horrified and zoro laughs — earnestly, truly, and oh-so easily. somehow, happiness is so effortless with you.

“zoro!” you chastise him, scandalized at his laughter. “tell me you didn’t!”

he nestles into his pillows. with you in his ear, it almost feels like you're right next to him.

“i'm a pirate, not a thief.” he huffs. “nami was hoarding a couple in her room and with a little - ahem - negotiating, she let me use one.”

“oh boy,” zoro can hear you shuffle in bed. “i hope you didn't trade the rest of your life savings just for a snail.”

“life savings? you mean the 10 berries i hold to my name?”

“uh, have you seen your bounty? you hold a lot more than 10 berries to your name.”

“you keeping tabs on me?“

"of course i am," you say it so matter-of-factly that zoro can't help but grin. he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror — god, he looks as lovesick as the stupid cook.

but he doesn't hate it.

“i know it's late but don't act like you weren't still up. i know you don't sleep.”

“maybe i can't sleep because i don't have my white noise machine here with me.”

he scoffs, “is that what i am to you? just white noise while i sleep?”

“please.” zoro smiles; he can practically hear you roll your eyes. “you're lucky you can't hear yourself snore. and you should consider it a compliment! it means it's useful to have you in bed.”

“just useful, huh? i feel like mind-blowing might be a better way to describe my performance in bed.”

you click your tongue and zoro laughs. it's truly amazing how you can still make him feel so weightless from across the seas.

“always so cocky,” you tsk. “is that a job requirement when you sign up to be a pirate or something?”

“if it was, chopper and usopp would've never made the cut.”

“don't pick on them!” zoro hears a soft thud! as you fall back against your pillows. “gosh, it feels like forever since i've seen them.”

“because it has been. they miss you."

after a beat, he adds, “i miss you.”

“i miss you too.”

for a moment, neither of you speak. all he hears is the patter of rain in the background and when he closes his eyes, he can imagine you cozy in bed with a window open. you always love the sound of rain at night.

“i'm excited to see you all tomorrow,” you say quietly.

“yeah, but me the most, right?”

“of course.”

he sighs, looking out the window at the night sky, moonlit and cloudless. he wishes that it was rain instead — because that would mean he’s not so far away.

“i wish i could see you right now.”

you laugh and zoro can picture the way your eyes crinkle when you do, “i think you can wait a few hours.”

“actually,” he says. “accounting for the storm, it'll take us another 16 hours. but who's counting?”

“definitely not you.”

“definitely not.”

“you're just always impatient.”

“correct.”

“patience is a virtue, you know.”

“i'm not virtuous.”

“no, you're ridiculous.” the affection in your voice makes zoro's heart ache. there’s more rustling, and he wishes for nothing more than to be under the covers with you.

tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

“go to sleep.” it's like you can read his mind. “i promise time will pass by a lot faster if you do.”

zoro stares at the moon, wondering if it knows that it'll never come close to outshining you.

“tell me a story first.”

“what?”

“tell me a bedtime story.”

“now?” you sigh. “but it’s so late. my brain cells stop working after business hours.”

“yeah, but i’m a vip client.”

“sorry, we don't do after-hours services.”

“if you do, i promise to give you a present tomorrow.” he reaches over to grab the aforementioned gift from his bedside, as if you’d be able to see it through the phone.

“a present?” curiosity colours your pretty voice. “wait, it better not be something lame, like a... kiss or a hug.”

“i dare you to call my kisses lame to my face.”

“or what, big boy?” you tease.

“oh, you don’t wanna know,” he warns. “i am a pirate after all.”

“ooh, so scary. i better do what the scary pirate says.”

and with that, zoro smiles to himself. he opens your present, playing with the contents as he gets comfortable, eyes closing as he waits for you to start.

you're not even halfway through your story before his snores travel through the snail, and you shake your head with endearment. your heart longs for him the way his wants you. you were only half-joking earlier; it really is that much harder for you to sleep without him.

there is nothing more comforting than the sound of zoro’s gentle slumber, the feel of his breath against your skin as he snuggles close, chest against your back, an arm snaked around your waist.

a sigh echoes in your lonely room. you should really take your own advice; tomorrow will come faster if you sleep.

you choose not to hang up. instead, you place the receiver next to your pillow and you pull up the covers, ready to join zoro in dreamland.

“good night,” you whisper to the rain, the moon, and your lover.

“i can’t wait to be with you.”

and from across the ocean, zoro sleeps soundly with starlight illuminating his room, catching the edges of a ring falling out of his hand — one with glittering diamonds, that he's spent days picking out, that he'll offer on one knee as he confesses,

i can’t wait to be with you,

for the rest of our lives.

a long, long time (zoro x reader)

timeskip reunion fic <3 artist!reader, but as always, can be read as a standalone

ft. making out, heartfelt reunions, soft zoro wc: 899 masterlist

tagging: @eelnoise

A wave of bright, soft sunshine casts across the floor of the bar, spreading like wildfire as the heavy wooden door creaks open.  Bottle of sake in his hand, Zoro turns towards the source of the light illuminating the dim and moody bar.  His heart stutters at the sight of your figure, silhouetted by the light pouring in behind you; radiance, confidence, and strength oozing from your aura, you’re a fallen angel, kissed and smothered by sunbeams in one last blessing before being cast from heaven.  Doe eyes soften at the sight of him, resoluteness replaced with fondness and affection.  

“Had a feeling you’d be here soon.” he says with a lopsided grin, setting his bottle on the table.  Nearly vibrating with anticipation, you rest your bags on the ground and walk towards him; there’s a sense of hesitation hanging in the air as you approach, attempting to partially mask your unadulterated glee, but you can’t help the way your feet start to fly across the floor with increasing velocity.  Dropping all pretenses, you fling yourself into his arms, grinning from ear to ear and burying your face into his neck.  “You look great.” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead before nuzzling his cheek into yours.

“So do you… I missed you.” you mumble, the vibrations of your voice spreading underneath his skin.  Smothering your senses in the familiar scent of sweat and steel, a veil of comfort and security falls over you like a warm, clean blanket straight from the dryer.  Both of your bodies have been molded and changed over the past two years, but your skin still melts into his as if the two of you were never separated—as if no time had passed at all.

“Missed ya’ too.” he says quietly, rubbing his thumb rhythmically across your cheek.  Nestling your face into his palm, head tilted, your eyes stare back at him with dreamy reverence.  During your separation, in his dreariest moments, he had wondered if you would mind his missing eye and the assortment of new, small, white scars across his front; however, the love and adoration brimming in your eyes crushes all hint of fear or apprehension—you were simply ecstatic to be in his presence once more.

Leaning forward, he smirks at your eagerness as you mimic his motions and attempt to brush your lips against his; it’s been over two years too long, and yet he can’t help but tease you for just a moment longer, delaying the kiss you were both yearning for by softly dragging his thumb across your bottom lip.  Seeing the overflowing want pouring from your gaze is worth the seconds lost and then some; cupping your face, he gently pulls you towards him and presses his lips to yours, sealing your reunion.

It’s soft and gentle at first, and a smidgen clumsy as a result of time spent apart, sparks spreading and stomachs fluttering at the intimacy you both had been deprived of for far too long.  Zoro’s hand travels up along your jawline, every movement filled with passion as the kiss deepens; his fingers eventually reaching your hair and tangling into your tresses.  The heated drag of your lips against one another is a long-lost song heard once more, satiating both a feeling of nostalgia and a craving for more.

He pulls away for a moment to admire the pink blush covering your face, the one that he’d imagined creeping across your cheeks for years.  The long, sleepless nights spent pining and waiting dissipated with a blink, flung away like weightless grains of sand; all that mattered was that you were here, with him, again.

Zoro’s lips meet yours once more, both of you smiling into the kiss; thumb running along your jawline, he pours his heart out to you, each swipe of his tongue conveying his yearning.  You reciprocate in turn, and he accepts each silent confession of emotions greedily, drinking them in and committing them to memory.  There was nothing outside of the two of you, as your mouths parted, still wet with the remnants of unspoken words, the only world that mattered was in the warmth of your connected gazes.

He loved you; he loved you so much that he could barely speak, despite spending over two years craving the sound of your voice.  He’s rendered you lovestruck and speechless too, unable to do anything but smother his face in kisses, giggling softly between each press of lips to skin. 

A dark, amused chuckle snaps both of you from your trance—Shakky had returned behind the bar, the click of her heels against wooden floorboards had fallen on deaf ears.  Snapping apart as Zoro nearly drops you on the floor, both of your faces turn red with embarrassment, gazes fixed at the floor.  “Aren’t you going to buy her a drink?” she asks Zoro with a smirk and motioning for the two of you to sit at the bar. 

“Got any infused sake?” he asks her as he returns to his bottle, blush fading as he regains his usual confidence.

“I’ve got mango, yuzu, strawberry…” she lists, index finger tracing along her collection of spirits behind the bar.

“Still strawberry?” he asks you with a ghost of a smile on his face as he admires you.

“Still strawberry.” you reply with a soft smile, cheeks still pink and rosy.

it’s your scream that wakes him up. a shrill cry that has zoro jerking upright and latching onto the hilt of his swords. 

it takes him barely a minute to get to you, calling out your name as he enters your shared room where he finds you wide eyed and backed into a corner.

“what’s wrong?”

a quick scan of the room comes up empty for intruders so he returns his attention to you, closing the distance between you two with a few steps. 

there were intruders. just not the human kind. 

“c-cockroach!” you cry, pointing towards the corner of the room where sure enough, there’s a cockroach scuttering past. 

zoro turns to you, unimpressed. it’s a tiny thing that hardly called for this level of reaction. it most definitely didn’t warrant cutting his mid afternoon nap short. 

“seriously? i thought you were dying.” sleep still clings to his voice making it more rough than usual. 

your frenzied eyes move back and forth from the cockroach to the swordsman. “please zoro, if you love me you’ll-“ a squeal cuts off your pleading when another one decides to make an appearance. with nowhere left to run, you just push yourself further into the corner, shutting your eyes. 

before your scream comes to an end, zoro’s taken care of the situation, disposing off the offending creatures before returning to you. 

“god, such a crybaby.” he grumbles, pulling you towards him. a warm palm settles on your back, rubbing up and down between your shoulder blades. “it’s gone now, okay? it’s dead.” 

you peer at zoro through your lashes. “both of them?”

“yes, both of them.”

although his words comfort you, you seek further solace in his embrace, grabbing the fabric of his t shirt and nestling into his chest as he continues running up and down your back. 

a few seconds pass before zoro pulls back, remembering something. “i thought you were going out?” he asks, recalling the lively chatter over breakfast as the straw hats made plans to explore the port town they were docked in for the next few days. 

“I decided to stay in, thought you might appreciate some company.” you grin, mood perking up now that the cockroaches were dealt with. 

zoro rolls his eyes, sassy man that he is, and you suddenly find yourself thrown over his shoulder. 

“what i would appreciate is going back to my nap.” he huffs, making his way towards your shared bed. 

giggling, you give his firm bottom a few pats. “of course, my hero deserves some rest.”

zoro tolerates it all with a smirk playing on his lips, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze. when he reaches the end of the bed, he drops you onto the mattress, chuckling mildly at the disgruntled noise you make. he makes quick work of removing his swords, resting them on their usual spot against the bedside table, before joining you. 

it’s only when you’re tucked into zoro’s side that you pipe up again, lifting yourself to rest on your elbows, feeling playful. “zoro?”

he can already tell this isn't about to be a normal conversation just from the mirth dancing on your lips but he indulges you anyways.

“hm?”

“would you kill all the cockroaches in the world for me?”

zoro snorts at your absurd question. “that’s ridiculous.” he scoffs, fixing an arm behind his head and using the other to have you lie on his chest before answering, only because he knows how this goes with you. “yes, i would.” 

he’s rewarded with a chaste kiss on the lips and the melody of your laughter. its enough to fill his entire body with warmth. 

half an hour and several questions later, sleep still calls to him but his smile remains, content to humour you until your words begin to jumble into one and your breathing evens out into a familiar rhythm, convinced he could do this for an eternity with you.

:)

crescendo — chwe hansol | 1,042 words | fluff

boinon! chwe! hansol! back on my marriage agenda because it's ME. song taken from vernon's playlist from weverse magazine. also i'm a firm believer that vernon is the kind of guy who looks at two of anything and just goes "us." please enjoy me simping for him.

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

you notice vernon's not sleeping anymore.

he's looking up at you from where his head is resting on your chest. he always does this thing where his gaze is focused on you till you acknowledge it, whether it's by asking him what's up, or blushing at how intense it is.

this time, though, you don't do anything to shake the moment. so it's just you looking down into his eyes that are looking back at you, and it's not the first time you've paused to admire his eyes.

before vernon, you didn't really understand how you could be lost in someone's eyes. but his eyes? hazel brown, shining when they catch the light just right, a hundred thoughts running through them. streaks of light you wish you could decode.

there's a soft love song playing in your ears while your hands rest on his chest, tracing the shapes of the stars on his shirt. he manages to look good even when he's upside down, somehow.

soft. vernon would shake his head if you said that to him out loud, but he wouldn't deny it. not anymore. he likes when you call him nicknames. he likes when you call him, even. content to listen to your self-professed rambling about whatever's on your mind.

just like you're content to listen to him ask you ridiculous questions out of the blue. ridiculous to anyone who doesn't know him.

"do you believe we're made of the same stuff stars are made of?"

you'd blinked out of the show you'd been watching. "i...yeah? technically? hydrogen and all."

"does that mean we found each other all those years ago? and not just now?"

vernon has a way with words, really. he doesn't downplay it, but that's because you don't let him know how much it affects you in the first place. you could be talking about two seeds in a segment of tangerine and he'd say it was the both of you. two moths flying around a lamp? you.

and then there's times you think his humour couldn't get any worse.

"hey, you dropped something."

you'd looked around to find nothing out of place. "what?"

"my jaw."

suffice to say, vernon didn't get a single kiss from you for the next few hours.

(of course, you'd had to make it up to him with a ton of kisses and cuddles later on.)

right now, he's still looking at you, and the song has changed. you don't know the name of it, having picked it from the playlist vernon made for you, that he keeps adding to.

i hope you like this, he'd said shyly, when he'd sent you the link to it.

it's not surprising that you've liked almost every song you've heard so far. of course, there's a few that don't match your vibe, but when you close your eyes and think of vernon enjoying the song, lost in his own world, it makes you like them a little more.

back to the present. your fingers are tapping along to the rhythm of the song, something about love and self-doubt, upbeat yet heart-wrenching with a guitar riff that's so painfully vernon that you have to lean down and kiss his head.

vernon grabs your fingers where they're dancing on his chest and presses a kiss to your thumb. then your index finger. then the rest of your fingers. and then your palm.

you stop the song, amused at how affectionate he's being.

"what's up?" you ask, taking off your earphones.

he shakes his head. you push at his shoulder lightly.

"keep listening to your song."

you frown. "am i ignoring you?"

vernon sighs. "not at all. it's just...you'll stop doing it if i point it out."

"stop doing what?"

he takes your hand and places it on his chest, trapping it in place with his own. "you do this...thing. you tap out a song on me when we're not listening to it together. and then i try to guess what you're listening to. and i almost always get it wrong. it's...silly."

your heart feels too big for your chest. "vern? have i ever told you how much i love you?"

he shuts his eyes, a smile on his face. "yeah. 'course you have. love you, too."

squeezing his hand that's holding yours, you resume playing the song. he lets go of your hand so you can continue tapping out the beats.

"can you guess what it was?" you ask, once the song ends.

"hm. kinda fast paced, and there's only a few of those on there. breaking the law?"

"nope."

"rock with you?"

you shake your head. "did you really add one of your own songs on there?"

"hey, we make good music, too."

"never denied that."

vernon shrugs. "i don't know."

"marry me."

vernon freezes noticeably under your hand, before pushing it away and sitting up, staring at you.

it's just you and him and the silence in the room. his eyes have you trapped in place, unable to look elsewhere.

"by ellegarden!" you blurt out, suddenly realizing how your words could be misconstrued. "it's..." you scroll through the playlist. "the first song you ever put in there."

"oh," is all he says, but he's blushing. he's blushing. you made your famously stoic boyfriend blush.

"vernon? did you think i..."

"...maybe?"

you let out a small laugh at that. "do you really think...have you ever thought about getting...y'know?

"married?" he asks, smirking. "you shouldn't ask me about it if you're so shy."

"i didn't—!" it's a losing battle. of course you've thought about it, and of course you're shy about it. spending the rest of your life with the person who means the most to you sounds like a dream, and you're living in it right now. halfway there.

"if it's any consolation," vernon says, slotting his fingers with yours, "i've thought about it."

"and?"

"i like it."

it's nearing six in the evening. vernon has his head on your chest again, listening to a song with you this time. you're going to have to listen to it again, the way your brain is clouded by thoughts of him and you.

it can't get better than this.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi

Jeez, you guys are just phenomenal people

Singleness and Sickness

I was struck by single parent drarry vibes and... here we are. Sickfic. Thanks to @rockmarina for all the incredible help! Also on AO3

The floo chimed at precisely 14:27, and if he hadn’t been so preoccupied preventing a human pile-up in his living room, Harry would have jumped for joy.

It was Saturday. A day of no school. A day for family. A day—theoretically—for lie-ins. But, as with every other Saturday since Albus had begun school, within only a few hours, his youngest son had crept up on him—this time whilst he was using the little boys room; he’d almost missed the toilet he'd jumped so badly—and lamented the fact he missed his best friend, bottom lip dangerously aquiver. So, once again, Harry had been forced to call Malfoy to ask if Scorpius could come to tea. He really should start pre-arranging these things. But thankfully, at long last, Scorpius was arriving, meaning Harry could finally stop worrying Albus was accidentally going to set James’ head on fire… Like he'd done last time...

The green flames had barely receded before Albus had surged forward and grabbed the hand of the still dizzy Mini-Malfoy.

“Hi Mr Harry!” Scorpius chirped, barely sparing Harry a glance as Albus dragged him away. “Thank you for having me! And thanks Papa, see you later!”

“Honestly,” Harry smirked, shaking his head as the pair scurried away. “You’d have thought they’d been apart for a month, not 17 hours.”

“It's eighteen, actually,” Malfoy muttered so quietly he was barely audible.

“Oh, of course, how silly of me. That extra hour makes all the difference.”

“It does, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, a bone-weary exhausted sound that was nothing like the sarcastic remark he’d usually make.

“What’s up with you?” Harry rounded on him. “Oh my god, Malfoy, you look like hell! What are you doing here?”

“I’b fide,” he rasped, watery eyes shuttering closed as he pinched the bridge of his ruby nose.

“Sure. And I’m tall and blonde. Sit down, for heaven’s sake, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“It’s just a cold, Potter,” Malfoy protested, shuffling towards the sofa all the same. “I just deed sobe Pepper-up add I’ll be right as raid id do tibe—ohhh.” He all but crumpled into the sofa.

“You know, when you sound like you’re having an orgasm from just sitting down, it slightly undermines your claims, Malfoy,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow to the pathetic excuse for a glare being shot his way.

“I’b—”

“An idiot, yes, I’m aware. Why didn’t you just say you were ill? I’d have come and picked him up. You know what,” Harry waved his hand as Malfoy opened his mouth. “Don’t answer. It’s not worth it. Just stay there while I make you some tea and grab you some Pepper-up, and then you can go rest in the spare room until you’ve recovered.”

“I dod’t deed—”

“This is not a discussion, Malfoy. And for the love of God, put this on, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Throwing a blanket his way, Harry rolled his eyes once again and set about collecting everything he needed, muttering under his breath the whole time. If it wasn’t for the fact that the twat looked like he was about to permanently melt into the sofa, Harry would have happily hurled the vial at his head.

“Here,” he thrust the tea and Pepper-up none-too-patiently at him. “And don’t you dare think about protesting.”

“Fide,” Malfoy grouched, accepting the potion with a wince. “Thadk you, Potter.”

“You’re welcome. Now be a good boy and drink your tea.”

Smirking at the watery glare Malfoy gave him, Harry left to set up the spare room—double checking the boys were playing nicely along the way—before returning to collect his now coughing and spluttering charge.

“Would you mind dying a little more quietly? You’re kind of ruining the happy aura I’ve worked hard to create in my home.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy gasped.

“I’d say ‘fuck me yourself, you coward’ but you definitely won’t have the energy for that.” His smirk widened to a grin as splutters anew abounded. “Come on; bedtime.”

“Potter, really, I do appreciate it, but I—”

“Never know when to ask for help and are too uptight of an arsehole to accept it when you need it?” Harry asked innocently. Malfoy just glared.

“Thought so. Get up the stairs.”

*

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep—he hadn’t even meant to lay down. He’d just planned to sit and enjoy the quiet for an hour or so before feigning a full recovery and relieving Potter of his nursing duties. Yet as soon as Potter had left him in the soft, cosy room, somehow, head had found pillow, quilt had become cocoon, and all had gone dark. Now, Merlin only knew how much later, the chinks of light framing the window had disappeared and all was quiet.

Bollocks. There'd be no escape from Potter's smug smirk now.

Still, he had to admit as he pulled himself up, out of bed, and attempted to tame his sleep-mussed hair—did those strands at the back need to stand on end every chance they got?—the sleep had done him good. Gone was the pressure in his sinuses and the aches and pains that had ravaged him, and no more did the thought of facing the exuberant Potter-brood fill him with dread. Though, given that he didn't have a clue where his son was, a rowdy James, sneaky Albus, and happily squealing Lily were the least of his worries. He knew Scorpius would be fine, of course—Potter was nothing if not an attentive and loving father. But even with Albus to distract him, he could be an anxious child, and he wouldn't have anticipated the sudden change of plans.

With a final ineffective smooth of his rumpled t-shirt, he descended downstairs—thankfully far quicker than he’d managed to ascend them— and was pleased to find the world no longer began spinning after 10 seconds. But after a thorough check of every room, he was no closer to finding Scorpius or any of the Potters.

The entire floor was deserted, silent as a mouse hiding from a prowling kneazle, and tidy to boot. Sure, there was evidence of a colouring session, an enthusiastic sword-fight, and a family meal having taken place, but everything had been stacked into little piles or already washed and left to dry, like someone had gone setting the house to rights. Like he did every night after Scorpius had gone to bed. Which could only mean the day was over. Which was ludicrous, surely. He'd barely blinked! And he had a child to take home and put to bed, and a chicken for dinner defrosting on the side, and a load of laundry to finish!

Tripping back up the darkened staircase, sounds of soft laughter drew him further into the house, towards a door decorated with baby hippogriffs; clearly the boys' room. If he didn't know better, Draco would have sworn Potter had convinced his sons to adore the things for a bloody good laugh. But as the unmistakable sounds of a bedtime story trickled into the hallway and he caught a glimpse of the scene inside, even his hatred for the hippoglets flitting to and fro dangerously close to his privates couldn't stop him from grinning.

In the middle of the floor stood a proud—if haphazardly thrown together—blanket fort, offering cozy shelter to the entire Potter family and his son. As Potter read from a book he'd never heard of, Lily snoozed on his lap, James gazed over one shoulder, eyes alight with wonder, and Albus and Scorpius curled together under the blankets on his other side, looking suspiciously like they were holding hands. Like every good story-teller, Potter was throwing his voice for each different character, much to the obvious delight of all around, and fairy lights gently glowed and dimmed softly overhead. But no matter how entertaining Potter seemed to be, Scorpius’ eyes fought to close, a gorgeous sleepy smile settling on his face.

Like the utter sap he was, Draco was caught, insolent feet fusing to the floor as Scorpius slipped to sleep before his eyes—though how he managed it to the tune of Potter's abysmal attempts at a Scottish accent, for apparently that's what Candice the caterpillar was, he would never know. For all the money in the world, he couldn’t have done anything but lean against the door frame, grinning like a loon. In fact, so entranced was he that even as story time came to a cose and James and Albus hugged and kissed their father goodnight, it didn’t even occur to him to move. Only when Potter himself was heading for the door did his legs finally come to life again. But not before they'd practically collided, of course.

“P—Potter,” he quickly stepped back.

“Malfoy! I didn't know you were—”

“Sorry, I—I should have… I didn’t want to…”

“No, listen, I’m sorry,” Potter rushed. “I should have asked if Scorpius could sleep over, but I didn’t want to wake you. You just looked, well, bloody awful earlier, actually, so I just thought it would be better to have a sleepover. But I should have woken you and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask, and—”

“Potter!” Merlin, but he was the living embodiment of a headache, Draco grinned to himself. “Thank you.”

“Oh.” A crooked smile slipped onto Potter's face.

“Besides, I should be the one apologising—”

“What? No, you—”

“I'm the one that just dumped my child on you and collapsed in your spare room for hours on end—”

“Malfoy—”

“I don't even know how it came to that!”

“Well you were—”

“I knew I was tired and had had a few restless nights—”

“And then came down with the worst cold in history—”

“But even so, I really shouldn't have just—”

“Draco!”

He blinked, cheeks suddenly feeling vaguely feverish once more.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh.” What an eloquent nitwit he'd become. “Right. Yeah.” And since when did Potter's eyes twinkle, for Morgana's sake? “Thank you… Potter.” He swallowed again, lips curling tentatively as Potter’s smile grew wider, setting his heart aquiver—definitely still feeling a little off, then. “Um, you should probably put Lily to bed…”

“You should learn to ask for help more often,” Potter said, moving towards another door all the same, this one decorated with brooms zipping around.

“Oh shut up, you wanker.”

“Ommm!” Potter mock gasped as he settled Lily in her cot. “You said a bad word!”

“You truly are a walking headache, you know that?” he snipped quietly, only to make Potter snort harder.

“Well, just remember that the next time you have a headache, you can call and ask for Scorpius to come over, alright?” Potter said, the hush of his voice in no way masking his distinctly dad-like tone as he adjusted Lily's door. “I'll even come and get him. You… you don't have to do everything on your own, you know.”

His mouth ran dry as emerald eyes bored into his.

“I—” he spluttered. “What makes you think—? Of course I know that— Stop being preposterous, Potter!” he hissed, smoothing down his shirt once more. “I thank you sincerely for your concern, but I can assure you that Scorpius and I are…” Potter glared. “I mean, really, it was really just a… And—and we're perfectly— Oh, stop looking at me like that!” he sniffed as Potter—bloody scarheaded stupid Harry freaking Potter—put his hands on his hips. The bastard only raised his eyebrows in response.

“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “Scorp and I would really appreciate that, thank you,” he rushed.

“Good,” Potter clipped, before dropping the disapproving mother glare. “Don't make me make you pinky promise to call if you need it.”

“Oh fuck off!” he hissed, making Potter smile. “I will, I'm just… I'm not used to that being an option, what with being a single dad with no parents and being, well, me,” he sighed. “And I hope you know that taking you up on this could essentially mean Scorpius basically moving in.”

“And yet it still wouldn't be enough for Albus,” Potter chuckled.

“No, probably not," he grinned. "Or Scorpius, come to think of it. I think he'd riot if I tried to make him stay away on a Saturday.”

“Maybe we should just bite the bullet and move in together,” Potter sniggered.

“Can you imagine?” he laughed, shaking his head.

But as Potter glanced in at their peacefully sleeping boys once more—looking so besotted it was disturbed his still-sensitive stomach—Draco realised that that actually, he could. He could imagine it far too well.

Oh, fuck.

Incredible, but true: @koolvrr deserves to have a good day today.

Q: Have you changed since your debut | Jimin -> Hobi

Pass the happy! 💜 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications! :)

This is so precious ;; Thank you-

5 things-

•Chupa Chups

•*Cough*Reading/seeing @kiriwhore-sama’s ocs And everything in between, much love deserve yes*Wheeze* also @birds-have-teeth

Many others-

•Pomeranians

I MEAN

Look

LOOK AT THIS

Look AT HiM GO

•There isnt a lot, but it’s something, oh right

Music

•D o gs

That’s all-

I’m pretty sure :,3

"A promise that two hearts gladly make, a promise meant to be kept lovingly forever" - Quinn Hughes x Reader

Summary: It's the night before Quinn and your wedding, and nothing is going according to plan.

Notes: Kitties<3

_________________

"The band cancelled," Quinn says through a heavy sigh as he hangs up, confirming your suspicion that it was your wedding planner, who had called him. 

He runs a broad hang over his face, taking a sip of his just-opened beer and placing it back down on the wooden side table with a harsh clank. The sound echoes within you, bouncing around the walls of your skull, filling it up with a weird pressure. Tears, you realise, as one silently slips down your cheek. Hurridly, harshly, you wipe it away, not needing the people filling up the pool room at the lake house to pity you any more than they undoubtedly already do. Quinn says your name and you focus on your fiance. His thick brows are furrowed in anger, the annoyance in his gaze dwindling when he meets your eyes, instead filling with concern and a thousand unsaid apologies.

Reaching out to take your hand and using it as leverage to pull you into his warm embrace, Quinn wordlessly offers solace and shelter from the eyes no doubt watching the two of you. Strong arms encircle you, moving under your oversized t-shirt, golden bride-to-be letters adorning it, to draw soft shapes on your back, a loving voice in your ear telling you everything will work itself out.

"Less than forty-eight hours before? That's shitty, man," Jack is the first to break the heavy silence, taking a step closer to you and his brother, discarding his pool stick on the way, before a hand lands on your shoulder, rubbing it in a motion no doubt meant to be just as soothing as Quinn's.

You love your soon-to-be brother-in-law dearly, but all it does is remind you that this is just another obstacle standing between you, Quinn and the alter. It seems as if the universe simply refuses to let the union between yourself and the oldest Hughes be smooth sailing, conjuring up waves and wind and thunder in the hopes the ship would capsize. Whether it's a bad omen of what is to come or simply a test of your love for one another, you aren't sure.

All you know is that for the past two hundred and sixteen days, exactly two hundred and seventeen days since Quinn proposed, nothing had gone right. It had started the day after he had been down on one knee, your hand in his and tears streaming down both your faces when you said yes through your sobs. 

It had been perfect, his proposal, just the two of you in your apartment in Vancouver, but the ring, his grandmother's, had been a size or two too big. It isn't a big deal, they fix stuff like that all the time, Quinn had reassured you, as he left for the jeweller. 

And it shouldn't have been fine, but then the jeweller somehow messed up the stone and from then on the crack in the emerald had served as a metaphor for the bump in the roads that your wedding planning would be characterised by.

Because then your first choice of wedding venue in Michigan had double booked you, and the second hadn't been available on your dates. The third, your current, was fine, it was gorgeous, but the owner was a little sleazy and is definitely planning on selling the autograph Quinn had granted him during your visit.

Then, your caterer refused to make the menu you wanted, stating something about it not working well with his image, so you compromised with fewer and smaller courses. It was the same story with your florist, who, a week ago, suffered an allergic reaction to a plant and had to leave the responsibility of your wedding to her slightly frazzled assistant. How she didn't know she was allergic to a common house plant was beyond you.

The only things you are certain of are your dress, the simple white gown hanging securely in your closet, and your love for Quinn. Everything else constantly feels like a band just about to snap. 

"I'm sorry, lovely," Quinn mumbles only for your ears, tightening his grip on you. It's not his fault, you know that and you know he knows you know that, but throughout all this, he's been carrying the blame on his shoulders almost willingly, like he knows fate has some personal vendetta against him. "I just need a minute," you tell him, carefully slipping out of his hold, hurried steps carrying you past his brothers, Elias, Brock, Brady, your two best friends and ten or so of your closest people who's gathered at the house to help with the final preparations and such.

As you open the sliding patio door, the hinges only barely covering the noise of everyone seemingly snapping into crisis mode, you quickly close it again behind you. Just so, you catch the beginning of Dylan Larkin offering to call a DJ contact he has in Detroit, your maid of honour, Nancy, no doubt springing into action and trying to do damage control as well. 

But then the patio door snaps shut and their hushed voices get drowned out by the silence of the lake, only the soft ripples of a faraway boat or a late-night swimmer disturbing the peace. It's dark, the only light coming from the occupied rooms of the house, casting a soft glow over the immediate garden. Leaning across the cold brick wall, you take in the lake before you.

Across the water, tiny flickers of lights reflect in the black, reminding you of your neighbours, none of them none the wiser of your whole world seemingly being about to shatter. A tiny, mean, voice is scolding you, telling you it's stupid to get so worked out about such a simple thing as the band cancelling. The kinder voice tells it to shush, that this is merely the last drop in an already overflowing glass. 

This wedding is the most important day in your life, one you've dreamt of for as long as you can remember, and sure, marrying Quinn is the important part, but you still want the whole show to be memorable. You want to tell your children about the day you married their dad, show them the pictures and reminisce with Quinn.

A few weeks ago, your mom had joked Quinn and you should just run off to a little white chapel, complete with an Elvis impersonator and a candy pop ring. You're starting to think she may have been onto something.

Chatter and the clinking of glasses and bottles being cleared bring you out of your thoughts, Quinn emerges from the yellow light of the house, one of his hoodies hanging from his hand. 

"Arms up, baby." You comply, letting the heavy blue fabric engulf you, not bothering to remove the hood from your head, content with the way it offers protection from the world. A quiet thank you leave your lips, chest squeezing with love and affection for the man you're soon to marry. If the wedding will even go ahead, the same mean voice from before snarls, shattering the illusion that you've managed to calm down and instead having the dam break.

A loud sob rakes through you, unable to hold it back and pretend you're fine. Quinn has you back in his arms in no time, pressing you up against the wall, keeping an arm behind your head so it doesn't hit the brick. Burying your hair in the soft fabric of his shirt, no doubt getting it wet with your tears, you cling to him hoping his presence might be a solid rock able to withstand the storm like it usually is. This time, though, wave after wave of insecurity hits you, telling you that maybe he deserves better than this. That maybe you shouldn't have been ignoring all the signs. That maybe, "Should we call it off?"

Quinn stills, entire body stiffening. His heartbeat picks up, adrenaline no doubt beginning to spread through him. Pulling away slightly, hands coming to rest on either side of your head, worried eyes searching yours, examining for even the tiniest tell that you're serious.

"I- what?" He breathes out, disbelief coating his voice, hurt washing over his face and you can tell it's taking everything in him not to pull away from you, not to retreat like a wounded animal. That makes you feel even worse. "What if it's just... not meant to be?" you ask, each word feeling like shards of glass in your throat. "What if what's not meant to be? The wedding? Us?" He whispers the last word, finally withdrawing his hands from your face, not quite stepping away, though. His hand lands in the pocket of your hoodie, grabbing on as if it'll stop you from slipping through his fingers.

"I just- why is this so hard, Quinn?" you wonder, voice cracking as the tears keep sliding down your face. He wipes them away with his thumb like he always does, but that only makes them fall faster, and harder, blurring your vision and making his pouty face look wobbly. "Why does it feel like we have to force an elephant through a mouse hole planning our wedding?" Quinn's face scrunches for a fraction of a second at your weird metaphor, but you aren't thinking straight, not speaking from your heart or mind. Right now, as the clock strikes midnight and the dew settles on your skin, the only option seemingly clear to you is the wrong one.

"Breathe, gorgeous." Voice stern, authoritative, Quinn recognises the signs of your anxiety, the way you disappear into your head and refuse to see other alternatives to the one your insecurity presents on a silver platter. Guiding your hand to his chest, just over his heart, Quinn forces you to breathe in and out with him, his heart rate having returned to normal and trying to get yours to do the same.

You're not sure if it's seconds or minutes, but slowly your sobs subside, your tears dry up and your breaths come out less ragged. 

"If you want to call this whole thing off, if you're sure you don't want to marry me, that's what we'll do-" 

"I want to marry you!" you rush out, interrupting him and silently cursing yourself for letting him think otherwise. Quinn is your whole world, and you can't imagine yourself without him by your side. "I'm sorry. It's just been getting to me, sometimes I wish we had just followed my mother's advice, or just go to the courthouse."

Reaching up to rest your other hand on his chest as well, you lean your head against his shoulder, his own immediately coming down to rest on top of yours. "You've always talked about the whole shebang, white dress, bridal parties, partying 'till sunrise," Quinn says, not judgemental or argumentative, never that from your boy, no, just curiosity and a question hidden in there. You sigh, shuffle closer and slide your hand up his body, fingers finding their home in the curls at the nape of his neck. His brown locks aren't as long as they were a mere three weeks ago during playoffs, but they're still curling around his ears and falling a little in his face. Just the length you love and requested for the wedding.

"I do, I want that, I want to celebrate with everyone. I just wish the pressure wasn't trying to crush me," you say honestly, and he nods into your hair, beard scratching your forehead a little. He knows this, he feels the same way, he told you once. 

"Maybe, we should go to bed, get a good night's sleep and figure out our plan tomorrow? Larks has already called the guy in the city and he says he can do it." You're so very grateful for your friends then, the way they never hesitate to be there for you throughout all these years. 

"Okay," you give in, following Quinn inside the house once more, melting into Nancy's awaiting embrace, ruffling Luke's hair when he makes a stupid joke to "turn your frown upside down" as you make your way to the stairs. "I'll be right up," Quinn promises, and you know he will. You fall asleep before he joins you, though.

_

"Gorgeous wake up. Come on, Lovely Girl" Your favourite voice in the entire universe whispers, lips inches from the skin on your cheek, hot breath fanning over your face, small pecks following his words. Stirring, you slowly squint open your eyes, only just able to make out your fiance's face in the dark. "What time is it?" You groan, your body feeling like you've only gotten a few hours of sleep. "Five."

"A.M.?" Quinn hums, ignoring your huffs of disapproval, and then presses a kiss to your pouty lips, then another, and another, both of you unable to help yourself from deepening the act of affection. When your tongue slowly slips into his mouth, he pulls away, groaning as he does so. "Come on."

Quinn offers no explanation as he lovingly pulls you into his arms, lifting you out of the king-size bed and placing you on his dresser, the cool wood hitting your bare legs. You shiver, then furrow your brows as you watch his back retreat to the en-suite, soon re-emerging with your fluffy white robe. Still brushing off your pestering, he helps you into the robe, tying it around your waist with a squeeze to the flesh there after he's done, before lifting you down. "Are we watching the sunrise?" You question as he leads you by the hand through the hallway of the lake house, down the stairs and through the living room. Quinn turns his head over his shoulder, a small grin on his plump lips, a sneaky glint in his eye. "Sort of."

"What do you mean sort of-" your words die in your throat as he opens the patio door, because there, in the backyard, thirty of your closest family members and friends are gathered. Rows of white folding chairs are unevenly placed on the grass, facing the lake, with your guests standing in front of them, looking back towards you with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes (mostly your moms and, surprisingly, Jack). In the middle, at the end of the rows, stands Elias, patiently waiting with his hands behind his back and a shit-eating grin, mostly likely brought on by the shocked expression you're no doubt sporting.

"Petey is still ordained from when he married his cousin and her wife, and I thought maybe if we got the official stuff and the actual marriage part done in a place we're comfortable, the rest would be easier," Quinn tells you, snapping your face to his uncertain one. All words die in your throat at the thoughtfulness, at the way he's no doubt been up since midnight to set this up for you, no doubt wanting you to have the sun come up as you say I do.

"If this isn't the way you want to do it we can wait until tomorrow, or whenever you want to do it, really. As long as I get to marry you, preferably sooner rather than later, we can do it whenever and how you would like," he rambles, spurred on by the way you still haven't said anything. "I'm not wearing my gown," you manage to croak out, afraid if you say any more you'll start crying. Good tears, this time, tears of love and gratefulness. "Um, I thought, if we still do the party tomorrow you'd want to wear it then and uh-" he points to your robe and your heart bursts, rendering you speechless once more and leaving you with no way of answering besides throwing yourself into his arms. "I love you," he mumbles into your lips. "I love you. Can I marry you now?" he laughs at the eagerness that's suddenly made its way into your tone, pressing a quick kiss to your hair before hurrying down the makeshift aisle, standing on the left side of Elias and in front of Jack and Luke. Nancy rushes to your side, handing you a homemade bouquet from the garden, your dad following close by and offering his arm.

Suddenly, a violin starts playing the wedding march, catching you off guard and having your eyes flickering around the yard to find out where it's coming from. And there sits the Hughes brothers' little eighty-year-old neighbour who's always asking to borrow sugar from the boys and telling Quinn he should "marry you before you get away". She shoots you a wink and you laugh, a tear slipping onto your lips.

"Much better than a Vegas Chapel," your dad whispers as you begin your ascent down the aisle, squeezing your hand. You nod, but you're a little distracted, your eyes having found Quinn's loving hazel ones. He sends you a cheeky wink, doing much more to your body than the little grey-haired lady ever could, no offence, Tina. His face turns soft, and that's when you spot the way his cheek is glistening, silent tears falling from his eyes as well as your own. He's wearing a blue t-shirt, no doubt a nod to his blue wedding suit, and as Jack claps him on the shoulder, and whispers something to him, you can't help but think that no matter what happened, what had happened these past few months, Quinn was your forever. Your forever and always.

I love you, he mouths when you're a few steps away from him.

"I love you," you whisper as you reach him. Quinn and your dad shake hands before Quinn grabs ahold of yours, lacing your fingers together and turning you both towards Elias.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today, before the crack ass of dawn, to gather one of my lovely best friends, and Quinn, in holy matrimony" he gains a few laughs from the jab at Quinn, but you can't quite focus on the rest of his words. Slowly, behind him, the sun is rising, casting red and orange hues over the lake and coating the whole ceremony in an ambience of golden. You're squeezing Quinn's hand, his hold meeting you every step of the way, never wavering, except for when he squeezes it three times. I love you, I love you, I love you, he silently says.

"And now, now you may kiss your bride," Elias announces after Quinn has said his I do. Quinn wastes no time, spinning you towards him and cradling your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours and pouring out all the love and relief over finally being your husband into it.

"Keep it pg!" someone yells from the crow, having both you and Quinn breaking into smiles, making it harder to kiss but still, it doesn't stop you. "My wife," Quinn mumbles against your lips when the hoots and hollers get too much to continue just short of French kissing in front of your families. "My husband," you mumble back, basking in the way the word warms your body like a fire on a cold day, soothes like honey tea down a sore throat. 

"Always." 

"Till death do us part?"

A kiss.

"Beyond even death."

Curtwen Week Day 1: Pre Canon/London <3 :)