SnowBaz I Explicit I 6k - ongoing I Flower shop & tattoo parlour AU, fluff and smut, language of flowers, tattoos, mutual pining, thirsty Simon.
Summary: There’s a knock on the door, and I’m pulled out of my memories.
“Come in!” I shout, and I immediately freeze when I realise who has just entered my tattoo shop.
Even with those black sunglasses and that blue scarf over his head that makes him look like a particularly posh grandma, I would recognise him anywhere.
Tall, ruthless, annoyingly handsome.
“Good evening,” he drawls, closing the door behind him and unceremoniously sitting down on the sofa in front of mine.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Baz?” I ask.
This is a little present for @bubble-gumhead, who is one of the loveliest people in the fandom, a wonderful artist and writer, but most of a person with a heart of gold. I really hope you enjoy this silly fic, K!
Harry doesn’t know how to be gentle, how to be tender when he sinks inside Draco’s perfect heat. He hasn’t learnt how to touch without bruising, to tame the flames of his need. He wraps his hand around Draco’s thin wrists and pushes, wild and hot.
No one has taught him how to be kind, how to not want everything all at once.
He wants to drape Draco in his warmth, swallow up all the precious sounds he makes every time Harry is on top of him, to make him his and his alone.
Harry knows there’s something wrong with him, that he’s damaged beyond repair, unable to speak or explain or simply ask. But he wants to be good, he desperately does.
Draco pants under him, his eyelids heavy and pink lips parted on a moan, and then Harry pushes a little deeper, presses a little harder, thinking that it’s all too much, that Draco will have enough of him like this; soon he will tell Harry he is too much to bear, that he’s found someone else.
Harry groans, squeezing his eyes shut to bite back the tears as his hips move faster and Draco makes a perfect little sound, so soft and vulnerable, setting Harry’s blood on fire.
“I…” Draco murmurs, a stuttered breath, “I love…this…I love this so much–I love…you.”
Harry still, eyes opening to stare at Draco’s blown up pupils, at the lovely curve of his Cupid’s bow.
Harry’s breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches Draco’s eyebrows crease, his lips trembling, goosebumps on his skin.
He loves him.
Dracoloveshim.
“Fuck,” Harry sobs overwhelmed, claiming Draco’s lips for a bruising kiss that leaves them both moaning and rocking against each other.
Harry lifts Draco’s hips, pushing a little deeper, then moves slowly, sinking all the way in.
“I love you,” Draco repeats, then again, softer. “Love you, Harry.”
Harry sobs into the crook of his neck, against his heated skin.
“You’re mine,” he mumbles, pressing the words into Draco’s flesh, wanting them to sink inside him. “Mine.”
“All yours,” Draco echoes, threading his fingers sweetly through Harry’s curls. “Yours.”
Here’s a NSFW snippet (post tattoo) of chapter 2 of On your skin:
I’m so happy I could probably float like a butterfly all the way home. It still hurts a bit, got very sore towards the end because my skin was getting really sensitive after that long, but I was super still for him and he kept on praising me, which nearly made me melt into a puddle on the floor.
He said that I was good, that I was keeping so very still for him, and my mind went elsewhere. I imagined him pinning my wrists with his strong hands, telling me not to move as he fucks me deep, his eyebrows scrunched up as he takes his pleasure from me, calling me a good boy, telling me that I’m his, only his, that he will make me come so hard that I’ll see the stars.
“Are you alright, boyo?” Fiona asks after I open the front door, my cheeks probably on fire.
“What the fuck are you doing in my flat?”
And here’s a bit of a Ronarry fic that I suddenly felt the urge to start writing:
When he wakes up in the morning, Ron finds Harry in the kitchen having breakfast, a blush on his face when their eyes meet and the memories of the kiss they shared clearly evident on his face. Harry drops his slice of toast and it lands face first onto his plate.
“Shit,” he murmurs, and Ron casts a spell his mother taught him, fixing his breakfast and making Harry gape at him.
“What spell was that?” he asks, and Ron shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at Harry’s mouth, at the red jam still smeared on his top lip.
“Something my mother always did when we were children,” Ron replies, noticing the way Harry’s eyebrows crease, reading him like an open book as his mouth quivers. He’s probably thinking about his own parents, about all the spells his mum didn’t get to teach him, about all the times he dropped his toast and his awful relatives told him off for it instead of giving him some more. Ron feels his blood boil at the thought of that, of all the times he begged Molly to go and take Harry during the summer.
He wishes he could have done more.
He stares at Harry instead, taking a step towards him and dying to kiss him again.
SnowBaz I Explicit I 6k - ongoing I Flower shop & tattoo parlour AU, fluff and smut, language of flowers, tattoos, mutual pining, thirsty Simon.
Summary: There’s a knock on the door, and I’m pulled out of my memories.
“Come in!” I shout, and I immediately freeze when I realise who has just entered my tattoo shop.
Even with those black sunglasses and that blue scarf over his head that makes him look like a particularly posh grandma, I would recognise him anywhere.
Tall, ruthless, annoyingly handsome.
“Good evening,” he drawls, closing the door behind him and unceremoniously sitting down on the sofa in front of mine.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Baz?” I ask.
This is a little present for @bubble-gumhead, who is one of the loveliest people in the fandom, a wonderful artist and writer, but most of all person with a heart of gold. I really hope you enjoy this silly fic, K!
