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angelsfalling16 · 3 years

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5 Times It Doesn’t Mean Anything and 1 Time It Does

Chapter 4 is here! | Read from the beginning

Rating: E

Fic Summary: What starts out as a one-night stand becomes an awkward weekend snowed in together as Simon and Baz deny their feelings for each other while getting each other off at every opportunity.

Word Count: 2775

A/N: It’s hard to believe that I’m back after abandoning this fic for a year, but here I am! I hope you all like the newest chapter!

***

Baz

Waking up in Simon’s arms is better than I ever could have imagined. Where I usually wake up freezing, I’m comfortably warm. His arms around me make me feel safe, and the way his legs are tangled with mine brings us so pleasantly close that I never want to move.

So, I don’t.

I lie there in his arms until I feel him shifting against me, stirring from his sleep. He presses himself up against me, and his arms tighten around my waist.

“Good morning,” I whisper, glad that he can’t see the soft smile that crosses my face as he brushes his lips against the back of my neck.

“Morning,” he murmurs sleepily into my skin.

I sigh as he continues to kiss my neck, one of his hands rubbing over my stomach in a way that has me melting into his touch.

I feel myself growing breathless from so very little, and it’s wonderful and terrible at the same time. I should be pushing him away, reminding myself that this doesn’t mean anything, but instead, I turn in his arms and kiss him, swallowing the moan that escapes him as our lips meet.

I cradle his face with one hand as I kiss him softly, the way that I’ve dreamt about kissing him for so many months. I never thought that I could have this.

In reality, I still don’t.

This is only going to last so long. My feelings are one sided, and I’m going to be absolutely wrecked when this is all over.

Despite this, I lean farther into him when his lips move from my mouth to my neck.

“We can’t keep doing this,” I murmur, even as I allow him to suck a particularly rough mark into the side of my neck.

I’m going to have to wear turtlenecks for the next week to cover the marks he has left all over my body.

“Why not?”

Because I think I’m falling in love with you, and this is just fun for you.

Simon pulls away to look at me when I don’t immediately respond.

“Is something wrong? D-did I–?”

“No!” I say, much too quickly, interrupting him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are just very distracting, and I need to focus on my schoolwork.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but I obviously can’t tell him the truth. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to face him again after all of this, and if he knew how I really feel about him, it would be even more difficult.

“So, what you’re saying is that once the roads clear and we have to go back to school, this has to end. But until that happens, this is fine.” His smile is trouble, but I fall for it anyway.

Leave it to Simon to find a loophole in my words. He’s right, though. I’m not going to be able to say no to him so long as we’re stuck here together.

“I suppose,” I say slowly.

“So, we still have today?”

I nod. Classes were cancelled because of the snow, so we don’t have anywhere to go. Might as well fill the time with something.

“Then, let’s make the most of it.” Simon’s grin is wicked, but I stop him before he can start something up again.

“Okay, but first, I need a shower.”

“I’ll join you.”

I bite my lip. I should say no, but I don’t think I can.

“We don’t have to do anything in the shower,” he says quietly. “We’ll just get clean. I won’t even touch you.”

“Okay,” I breathe. I’m not sure how well the no touching thing will go over – because of me, not him; apparently, I have no self-control when it comes to being around Simon – but I won’t deny him this. I would give him everything he wanted if he would let me.

Simon

I am desperate to get anything that I can from Baz, even if it’s just staying near him for the rest of the day.

He tried to put a stop to all of this, but I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. If this is the only chance I will ever have to be with Baz, I’m going to make the most of it. I’ll take whatever he’ll give me, including showering with him while I fight every urge to reach out and touch him, tracing the movement of the water as it runs down his chest.

We had an agreement, though, so all I do is look, taking great pain to avoid even the most accidental brushes of skin against his.

It takes all of my self-control and more to accomplish them, but I won’t do anything to make him uncomfortable. I would never do anything to push him away, despite the fact that that has been all he has done to me even as he allows me to pull him closer.

It’s all so confusing and hot and sweet, and nothing will ever be the same after any of this. I just wish that things could end differently, with the two of us together rather than me being unsure that we can even go back to being friends. I’m not sure that I would want that even if we could.

Baz

We dance around each other in the shower, taking turns under the spray as we rinse our hair and skin. Simon keeps to his word and doesn’t touch me, even if that means he has to rub up against the wall of the shower to avoid accidentally bumping into me.

We don’t talk as we clean ourselves, but I can’t keep my eyes off of him. My eyes slowly drag down his body, taking in every mole and freckle that adorns his body. My gaze catches on the sparse hair on his chest, and I can clearly remember the way it felt against my back as we slept, Simon’s body curved around my own. My eyes follow the stretch of his neck as he tilts his head back to rinse out his hair, and I remember the way that my lips felt pressed there.

I was the one who told him not to touch me, but now all I can think about is hands running over my body, pulling me tight against him, and giving me a reason to need to clean off again.

With a brief reminder that this doesn’t have to mean anything, I make a decision about what I want.

“I need–,” I start but it comes out strained, so I clear my throat and try again. “I need you to touch me.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, but I can tell from his expression that he’s struggling not to just do it.

“Yes.”

He wastes no time after that, pulling me close to him and kissing me like he’s starving for my touch.

His mouth is insistent against mine, pushing my lips apart so that he can press his tongue inside, running it along mine and over my teeth, determined to taste every bit of me.

Swallowing a moan, I back him against the wall, out of the spray of the water, kissing away from his mouth and catching the droplets of water running down his face with my tongue.

“Turn around,” I murmur, and he complies easily.

There isn’t enough space to fuck properly in here, and I’m worried that one of us will slip and fall, but I have an idea.

I keep a small bottle of lube in the shower, sat behind the store-brand soap that I don’t use. I grab it and squeeze a generous amount out into my hand and spread it between his thighs before rubbing some over my cock.

“Legs together,” I command, hoping that I don’t really sound that breathy. Again, he does as I say without question, and I step forward until my chest is pressed against his back and the side of my face brushes against his.

Wrapping one arm around his waist, I slide my cock between his thighs, letting out a choked moan at how good this feels.

He tilts his head back until it’s resting on my shoulder, and I turn my face to brush my lips along his jaw before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I let my mouth stay there near his, our breaths mixing as I begin to slide in and out.

My cock slides along his perineum, rubbing up against the backs of his balls before sliding back and rubbing along his arse cheeks.

This feels so good. I never would have thought that I could derive so much pleasure from being between Simon’s thighs.

I mean, I’ve imagined it before, but the real thing is much better.

My cock slides easily between his legs with the lube, and the sound of his quickened breaths in my ear pushes me close to the edge faster than I would like.

He reaches for his cock, but I push his hand away and place it against the wall, holding it there and letting my fingers slide into the spaces between his.

He groans and tightens his legs, and I moan loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the shower. I bite down on his shoulder in an attempt to hold the noises inside, and it’s his turn to moan.

As I start to pick up the pace of my thrusts, I have the urge to murmur filthy, dirty things in his ear.

I want to tell him how good he feels. I want to tell him how perfect his arse is, and how much I love the feel of his muscular thighs constricting around me. I want to tell him how good he makes me feel.

But, I’m afraid of what might slip out if I start talking. I worry that I might end up telling him just how much I want him. I worry that I’ll tell him that it’s more than just a physical want, that I want so much more of him, that I want all of him.

So, I choose to keep my mouth shut as I fuck in and out of his thighs until I’m close to the edge of orgasm. It is then that I finally let the hand that was on his waist trail down to wrap around his cock and start wanking him in time with my thrusts until his orgasm is ripped out of him, his come hitting the wall in front of us, dripping down to swirl with the water at our feet and washing away down the drain, washing away the evidence of what we’ve done.

As his body shakes with the force of his orgasm, Simon’s thighs tighten even more around my cock, pulling my orgasm out of me and sending me over the edge with him, my come coating his thighs and balls and running down his legs, as I groan with pleasure and collapse against his back.

As I start to come down from that high, I kiss his shoulder and the back of his neck over and over again, never wanting to stop touching him.

I don’t want this to end. Not the sex, but the simple act of being close to him, of being the person who makes him feel good.

It’s an unrealistic wish, so I let my lips drag up the back of his neck until my nose is buried in his damp curls, and I inhale the scent of him mixed with my shampoo.

It’s perfect.

We’re both spent and panting now, using the slick shower walls to hold ourselves up, and when my cock slips out from between his legs, covered in my own come, I reach for the washcloth, ready to scrub away the remnants of such a beautiful act.

We begin to wash off all over again, but this time, I allow myself to touch Simon, using the washcloth to rub soap all over his body.

This is what people who only have sex do, right? They clean each other off?

It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m just helping him, and he doesn’t seem to mind, if the soft sighs and small smile are any indication.

I start at his shoulders, rubbing over them gently before sliding down his arms, taking my time to clean each finger. I’m still standing behind him so I start washing his back next, taking my time as I wash over his shoulder blades, down his spine, and into the dip of his back, stopping just before I reach his arse.

I pull at his hips, carefully turning him around, and move on to the front of his body.

I can feel him watching me, but I don’t look at his face as I scrub his chest, watching the suds catch in the curls of his hair there before it runs down his abdomen and gets caught by his belly button.

I follow the soap and water running down his abdomen until I reach his groin. I carefully run the cloth over his softening cock, then over his balls before I drop to my knees, wiping at the traces of my cum that linger between his thighs.

I stand and start to turn to rinse off the cloth before washing the rest of him, but Simon stops me by placing his hands on either side of my face and pulling me into a kiss that is so soft that it takes my breath away.

The kiss doesn’t last long, but it has me practically swooning as he releases me, and it takes me a full minute to recover from it.

Once I’m done washing him off, he gingerly takes the cloth from my hand and does the same for me so that when he’s done, I’m shaking with how amazing it all feels. Who knew that something like this could be so intimate?

Simon

I swear my heart is going to stop it’s beating so fast, threatening to beat right out of my chest. I can barely breathe as we step out of the shower and Baz hands me a towel that smells of him. I can barely even formulate thoughts after what happened in there. The sex, the gentle touches, the cleaning of each other.

All I can think about right now is pulling him into my arms and kissing him softly. I just want to hold him and pretend like this moment will never end. Just for a moment, I want to believe that this thing between us is real. That he feels the same way I do, even if I know it isn’t true.

But it’s hard to remember that when he looks at me like that, like I’m the most important thing in the world.

I’m not sure why he changed his mind about touching each other, but I’m glad he did. It was the first time since I walked in the door of his flat that Baz had instigated the sex. It’s ridiculous how happy and wanted that makes me feel, and I hate that it fills me with useless hope.

Baz will never think of me that way.

Whenever the snow finally lets up, he’ll cast me aside like some plaything, and I will be left to pick up the pieces of my stupid shattered heart. He’ll never even think twice about it, and I think that’s what hurts the most.

Baz

Simon and I make breakfast in our pants, moving around each other at the stove like a well-oiled machine, and it is so utterly domestic that it hurts.

He starts the coffee as I pull out cheese and eggs for omelets. I find some sausages in the freezer and pass them to him so that he can get them going in a pan.

He smiles at me and kisses me lightly before he starts cooking.

Fuck, I love this.

I love him.

Which is why this all hurts so much.

My heart aches with how much I like him, and it also aches with the knowledge that this doesn’t mean anything to him.

He bumps my hip with his, and I think he’s humming something under his breath.

I haven’t been able to stop smiling all morning, and my cheeks are beginning to hurt because of it, but I don’t care. I love every bit of this, and I am determined to enjoy it for as long as possible.

I know we’ll have to stop eventually, but just for a while, I would like to pretend like I mean something to him.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #any way the wind blows #the simon snow trilogy #rainbow rowell #5 + 1 smut fic #my writing

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 4 years

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Hard to believe it’s been almost a year since I posted this gift fic for @vkelleyart and since the glorious surprise of her creating art for it in return! I was going through my fic folder and it sermed a good day to share it again.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17684684

https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/post/183325372922/happy-friday-or-friends-across-the-pond

Baz

I wake up to an empty bed and the smell of bacon and baking.

Simon’s always been an early riser but most days he’s content to stay close and keep me warm. Or whatever we’re calling it at the moment.

I get up and twitch aside the curtains to see snow still falling.

It started snowing last night, soon after Bunce left, and it hasn’t shown any sign of stopping. It seems we aren’t headed to see my family today after all

I wander into the kitchen and am met by the glorious sight of a barefoot, pyjama-clad Simon Snow making breakfast. I lean against the doorway and drink in the sight of him. He’s humming to himself, not quite in tune with the music drifting through the kitchen from the tinny speaker on the counter, his bronze curls disheveled and springing up in every direction (I love his hair long) (he lets it grow out now because he knows I like it.)

“Good morning, love.” I move to the stove, where he’s frying the bacon and slide my arms around his waist.

He startles and waves a fork in the air. “Merlin, Baz, your hands are cold!” But he puts a hand on mine and rubs my knuckles.

“That’s what you get for leaving me in that chilly bed by myself, you nightmare.”

“I was making you breakfast in bed, you twat. Spoiled the whole thing, you have.”

I bury my face in his neck, ghosting my breath along the moles there. There’s a trail of them that I follow all the way to that spot behind his ear. He shivers when I reach it.

“Penny’s right. You’re such a distraction when I’m cooking.”

“I’m wounded. Just when you’re cooking? I need to up my game it seems.” My lips trail kisses down his neck until I reach his collarbone.

His head falls back, exposing more of that expanse of tawny, freckled skin. He sighs and then exhales a huff of air. “Baz, I’m going to burn our breakfast.”

“That would be a tragedy of epic proportions as it’s too snowy to get to the shops.” I press a single kiss to his cheek and then move away to stand next to him, leaning against the counter.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to prove Bunce right and allow Simon to have another grease fire incident. I am not a distraction. Simon is just eminently distractible when I’m near.

Which is perfectly fine with me.

I call my father after we eat. He informs me that the roads around the lodge are near impassable with the amount of snow that has fallen overnight. “Stay where you are, Basilton. No use trying to brave the roadways. It will likely take all day to get them cleared.” He pauses and then gives a small cough. “I’m sure you and Simon will find something to occupy your time.” He clears his throat in a suspiciously amused fashion but successfully hangs up on me before I can even splutter out an appropriate response

If there even is an appropriate response to that.

Simon lifts his head from where he is sprawled on the sofa to give me a curious look. “Alright, then?”

“Fine.”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“You’re fuming about something. Trust me, I’m familiar with that look.” Simon waves his hand at me. “Come on. Get over here.”

“I’m not fuming.” But I go to him. Because I’m weak, what can I say? I sit by his feet, at the far end of the sofa and cross my arms.

He kicks me in the leg. “What then?”

“We’re not going to visit today.”

Simon snorts. “I’d gathered that, you great git. You wouldn’t take the Jag out in this.” He kicks me again. “What was that at the end? You’re usually much more eloquent. You literally squawked. What did your father say?”

“Nothing.” I can feel my face heating up. By the grin on Simon’s face it’s clear he’s noticed it too.

“Come on, Baz! What did he say to get you all worked up?”

“I told you. Nothing of consequence.” My face betrays me by flushing more. I can’t help it. My father certainly was just poking fun but it’s unexpected. It’s thrown me off a bit.

More than a bit.

Father has become quite fond of Simon. Surprising development. He’s also come to terms with the fact that Simon and I are a package deal. A welcome and unexpected development also.

But what is utterly mortifying and quite startling is the fact that my family has become quite blasé about it all.

About us sharing a room. Sharing a bed.

They’ve also made some assumptions, which is in all certainty Fiona’s fault. She’s in Prague most of the time, thankfully, but she returns with startling frequency and very little advance notice.

Which is probably why my parents presume Simon and I are sleeping together.

Which we are. Just not in the manner they assume.

It’s complicated.

Intimacy issues. Trust issues. Vampire issues.

Complicated.

But nothing we can’t handle. We’re going at our own pace and it’s something we are both comfortable with at this point.

This is just the first time my father has remarked on it so openly. He seemed quite pleased with himself actually.

Fiona is a terrible influence on anyone who comes into contact with her. I had thought my father was immune after all this time but it appears I’ve been proven wrong.

She makes suggestive comments constantly, to me and to Simon. I think she likes to shock him.

She’s just trying to irritate me.

Simon is exceedingly, frustratingly stubborn and his pestering finally overcomes my better instincts and I tell him what my father said. I am gratified to see his face flush.

And then he starts to the laugh, the ridiculous muppet. Throws his head back and roars. I just drink in the sight of him.

He stops laughing and grins at me. “He’s right. We’re snowed in for the weekend and I can think of all kinds of things to keep us occupied.” He waggles his eyebrows at me in that completely vexing yet adorable way he has.

My mouth goes dry at his words. I can think of a few things myself.

My heart begins to race, partly from arousal at the thoughts going through my head and partly from sheer alarm at those same thoughts. I’ve not thought this through adequately. Moments ago, being snowed in with Simon sounded like bliss but now my worries start rising to the surface.

We’ve not gone much past the groping stage at this point. Expert groping I’d say, after all these months, but groping just the same. I’ve been hesitant to go further and Simon has been as well.

But the long stretch of uninterrupted time this weekend is certainly going to put my resolve to maintain my decorum to the test. Damn this weather.

I’m pathetic really because the next words out of my mouth are a whispered question. “What kind of things?”

Simon leaps up from the sofa like an eager Labrador retriever and scurries to the bookshelf. This is not quite the response I expected. He kneels down by the bottom shelf.

Oh no. Fuck. I should have known. Of course, Simon isn’t plotting an elaborate snowbound seduction.

There is a part of me that regrets the fact that no one is seducing a vampire today. A significant part of me.

He’s plotting to torture me with Normal board games all day instead.

Crowley. I’m going to destroy him, just on principle, no doubt of that.

Read the rest here.

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fight-surrender · 4 years

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Thanks to @penpanoply for the beautiful cover art and to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta read. I haven’t posted this fic to Tumblr in awhile because. Mental Health. But I’m in a better place now, so. Read if you want & don’t if you don’t want. That’s fine too.

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: A Proper Date?

Word Count: 1453

Summary: Simon and Baz have been dating for close to a month now. They're a couple of horny, in love seventeen-year-olds? What do you think they'd get up to? (I don't write actual smut, though, it's just implied. I’ll leave the smut to the experts. Sorry. )The boys enjoy their new relationship. Simon suggests a romantic adventure.

*****

Baz:

Dating Simon Snow is exactly the erotic grope fest I’d always imagined.

He’s currently on top of me, in his bed this time and working his way down my neck with lips and tongue and sometimes teeth. I’m hoping there isn’t some kind of world happiness quota because at this point, I’ve far exceeded it and should be getting struck by lightning or otherwise smote by the universe at any moment. In bed with Snow has become my favorite place to be. So far, we’ve kept our relationship for the most part secret. I mean, we’ve always been obsessed with one another, so that hasn’t changed. The fact that our physical altercations have become more amorous than violent is something we’re holding for ourselves. For now, at least. This is for us.

Because I can’t leave well enough alone, “We should at least tell Bunce,” I say as Snow is exploring the intricacies of my collar bone.

“Please don’t talk about Penny right now,” Snow murmurs, kissing the hollow at the base of my throat. Then he licks a trail of fire around my nipple and I decide I definitely don’t need to talk about Bunce right now.

***

Snow has fallen asleep again, his head resting on my chest. I’m idly playing with his hair while thinking about all the things that can go wrong now that we’re boyfriends. It’s too good to be true, all of this. I Don’t deserve any of it. Sooner or later, Snow will come to his senses and this dream will come to its inevitable end.

Not today, though. Today is Saturday, we’re having a lie in…well a lie in punctuated with periods of…activity. Simon’s cheeks are still flushed, and his hair is just sweaty enough to accentuate his bronze curls. He’s huffing softly. I count his eyelashes. Then his freckles. Then his moles. I trace the ones on his back with my finger.

These last few weeks have been like an alternate reality fifth year, when Simon was following me around like a lost dog. Lurking outside my classes, glaring at me from afar. Only now, instead of picking a fight, he pulls me into assorted nooks and classrooms for a snog. Not that I’m complaining, I’m a more than willing participant, but perhaps I should set some boundaries before this affects my grades. I’ll be drawn and quartered before I let my romantic life cause Bunce to pass me up for first in class.

Bunce. She’s on to us. I know Snow has been avoiding her, I’m still not sure why. I think she believes I have Simon in a thrall. (Do I? Maybe that’s why Simon developed feelings for me. Not my good looks and charm after all, just another side effect of my vampirism. Perhaps I should focus on un-thralling him, to be safe. Maybe not.) Anyway, every time I turn around, Bunce is there, staring daggers at me. I’m used to her scorn, but this time it isn’t even my fault. Well, not entirely.

“Stop.”

“What?” I ask.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” Simon says, rising onto his elbows. “You smell like intensity and Earl Grey and you’re going to get a wrinkle right there between your brows.” He taps between my eyes for emphasis. “Stop thinking.”

“Darling, I—” It slips out of my mouth before I even realize I’ve said it.

“Ohmygod,” Simon blurts, “You did not just call me darling.” He moves to straddle me, pinning my hands by my head. He’s grinning like a madman.

“You are an insufferable twit.” I squirm, but he’s got me pinned, and frankly I’m not sure which of us is stronger, given his were strength.

“It takes a proclamation from the Queen for you to call me Simon, but a good shag and I’m your darling.” Simon is laughing. “Say it again,” his voice is low in my ear, his breath hot.

“Absolutely not, you knob, you’ve ruined the mood,” I try to snarl, but he kisses me then and my brain shorts out. Because it’s so good, every time.

“Now, darling,” Snow says, dragging out the ‘r’ and still grinning like a fiend over me. “I know what we’re going to do today.”

“What?” I’m trying not to sound petulant. “I thought this was what we were doing all day.”

“Well, we can do this for part of the day, but I’ve got plans for later.” Snow leans in. Thick bronze stubble blooms across his jaw like velvet.

“You need a shave,” I say.

“Mmm, I always need a shave,” he laughs, rubbing his face into mine.

“Get off me, you mongrel.” I push him away, but not far. Simon Snow is beautiful. He always has been, but now, with his condition, he has a wildness about him. A ruggedness. Not an ounce of wasted flesh, every muscle and sinew defined and vital.

Snow kisses me again, long and deep, then pushes away and off the bed. “Come on now, you lazy sod. Get up. We’re going camping.”

“Pardon?” I say, propping myself on my elbows. I feel Simon’s absence from the bed like a phantom limb.

“Camping,” Snow chirps, like he’s being perfectly rational. He’s shuffling around the room, putting on a pair of jeans. “Wear layers, it’s chilly outside.”

“Are you insane?” I sputter, sitting up. “It’s winter.” There are about a hundred thousand reasons this is ludicrous; I settle on the most obvious.

“We’re mages,” Simon says, rifling through his wardrobe. He pulls out some kind of knapsack. “Weatherization spells exist.”

“Furnaces exist,” I reply. “Indoors, where there are beds, and toilets.”

“Come on, Baz.” Snow throws a plaid shirt at my head, thick flannel. It smells like him, Marlboro and cut grass. “Where’s your sense of adventure, get dressed, let’s go.”

“I’m a vampire, dating a werewolf. My life is adventurous enough.” I pick up the shirt, holding it in the air with two fingers. “Am I supposed to wear this? I’m not a lumberjack.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting to get your posh togs dirty.” Simon is rifling through his bag. He pulls out a knife roughly the size of a machete.

“What the hell is that, Snow? This isn’t the Amazon.” I’m growing alarmed.

“It’s leftover from one of my missions. Asp-sassins, I think,” Simon replies thoughtfully, scratching his chin. He tosses the blade back into his bag. “Can’t be too prepared I suppose.”

“Prepared for what?” I stammer, “Grizzly bears?”

“Come on,” Snow urges, “Let’s get out of here. Consider it a proper date. We haven’t been on one yet.”

“Proper dates involve things like restaurants, cars, and theatres, Snow. Places with climate control.” I slowly drag myself out of bed and sulk to my wardrobe. I commence shuffling for something to wear in addition to Snow’s lumberjack shirt. (I’m totally wearing his shirt.)

Simon slides behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Think about it, Baz. You. Me. Under the stars. I want to see the firelight dancing in your eyes.” He turns me around so I’m facing him. “It’ll be romantic.”

Snow is looking up at me. His eyes are soft and he’s currently biting his lower lip. He’s being sincere. I think my heart has melted all over my feet. I sigh. “Fine. At least we’ll freeze to death together.”

Snow’s smile is radiant. “I won’t let you freeze, you wanker.” He gives me a gentle shove. “Now get dressed.”

***

“Baz…,” Snow’s eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather) (My mouth breather)

I’ve just emerged from the ensuite, drying my hair with a towel. Not much use for product on this little adventure. “Yes?”

“You’re—you’re wearing jeans.”

I look down, then back up at him, “I am. Is that a problem?”

“What?” Simon stammers. “No—just, ah,” he hassles his curls, looking at me sideways, lips curling into a smile, roses blooming on his cheeks, “Well, you look really good in them, yeah?”

“Oh—thanks.” I say, quietly, trying not to grin like a fool. I’m so in love I could die.

“Yeah, so—” he stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “First stop, kitchen.”

“Of course, it is.” I shrug on a thick, weatherproof jacket and wool cap (Apparently Simon has a stash of all-weather gear for his missions.) “Can’t start an expedition without provisions.”

“That’s right,” Simon proclaims, jabbing his index finger into the air for emphasis as he heads for the door. “Off we go on our wild romance excursion.”

“Oh my god, you insane sap.” I grumble as I fall into step behind him.

“You love it.” Snow says as he skips down the stairs.

I love it.

#howlin forever #simon snow #baz pitch #werewolf fic #my fic #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #werewolf simon

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mageicalwishes · 4 years

Text

Bournemouth Beach - Chapter 2

Read on AO3: here

Read previous chapter (on Tumblr): here

Summary: Simon, Baz, and Penny escape the stress of their upcoming exams with a day-trip to Bournemouth Beach. Contains happy times in the sun, a splash fight in the ocean, ice cream, and of course … Fish and chips.

Chapter: 2/2

Words: 3,194

Simon

When we get to the beach, I immediately start running towards the nearest ice cream kiosk, grabbing Penny and Baz’s hands and dragging them behind me.

“Crowley, Snow! Slow down! You're going to rip my arm out of it's socket!" Baz calls.

“Yeah, Simon. I’m going to trip in a second!” Penny shouts.

Ignoring them, I carry on, refusing to slow my pace in the slightest. I laugh, joy bubbling up inside me. “Not my fault you two are so slow!”

Despite their protests, we keep running until we reach the back of the kiosk’s queue, slipping in behind a small family of three (A mother, and two curly-headed toddlers dressed in matching neon green swimming trunks).

“What flavours are you guys going to get?” I ask, resting my chin on Baz’s shoulder.

“I think I’m just going to get Salted Caramel and Vanilla,” Penny answers, squinting over at the board of flavours.

I turn my head towards Baz, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not sure that I want any,” he murmurs.

“Baz, come on. We’re at the beach, you have to get an ice cream!” I protest.

“I don’t think that that’s actually a rule, Snow.”

I pout, displeased. “Why not?" I whine. "It’s part of the fun." I'm fully aware that I probably sound like a petulant toddler, but I just really want Baz to have the full beach experience. He's never been to the beach before, which is honestly ridiculous, considering that even I've been before (The Wellbeloves used to take me to Weymouth sometimes during the holidays). So, I want to make sure that his first experience is a good one.

“I’m concerned about the - You know,” he mumbles, gesturing towards his mouth.

“It’s ice cream, Silly. Nothing happens with them when you drink - So, just don’t get a cone and I’m sure you’ll be fine. You shouldn’t miss out just because of that.”

“Fine. You win,” he says, sighing dramatically. “I’ll just get a scoop of Espresso.”

“Ew, grim,” I laugh, scrunching up my face in disgust. “I meant for you to get a proper flavour - Like Chocolate or something.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at me teasingly. “There is nothing wrong with Espresso, Snow. That is a proper flavour.”

“Not really.”

“Oh really," he drawls, disbelieving. "What 'proper' flavour are you getting, then?

“Bubblegum and Banana Fudge Swirl,” I say proudly.

“Merlin, Snow! That’s abhorrent! Those flavours don’t go together at all ... It’s a bit hypocritical of you to criticise my choice when you’re seriously considering eating that.”

“Shut up!" I moan. "It’ll taste nice! Trust me.”

“Simon, you know I love you. But, I won't lie - I’m with Baz on this one. That sounds disgusting,” Penny adds.

"Thank you, Bunce," Baz says, flashing me a pleased smirk. "I always knew you were a woman of good taste."

Exasperated, I throw my hands up into the air. "Traitor," I tease, poking her arm lightly. "You two are just boring."

————————————————————————————

We all eat our ice cream laid out on our towels. The beach was totally crammed, but luckily we managed to find a spot near the back of the sand (Which actually works out quite well, as it’s a little shadier here, so Baz is much less likely to burn).

“Here,” I say, sticking my cone out towards him. “Try this. It’s good, honest.”

He turns to me, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose slightly, and raising an elegant brow - Clearly unconvinced by my assurances. It’s irritating really. He’s lying on his front, his face shaded by my silly froggy umbrella (which he’s spiked into the sand beside his head) - So, he should look ridiculous, yet somehow he still manages to look frustratingly suave. His expensive shades, and loose, linen shirt ensuring that (even with the stupid umbrella) he still manages to look like a bloody model.

“Whatever you say, Snow,” he laughs, taking the cone from my hand, and giving it a tentative lick. Almost immediately, he recoils, his face twisting into a disgusted grimace.

“Unsurprisingly, I was right. That is vile,” he says cockily, thrusting the cone back into my hand.

“Drama Queen,” I grumble. “It’s not that bad.”

“Debatable.”

“Whatever,” I tease, pushing his arm softly. “Penny. Do you want to try my ice cream?” I call over.

She doesn’t even bother lifting her head up from the book she’s engrossed in (Some huge leather-bound, tome Baz lent her), instead shaking her head curtly, and murmuring out a quiet “No way".

Baz chuckles lightly besides me. I turn to face him again, confused.

“You’re pouting, Love,” he explains, reaching forwards, and swiping a thumb along my bottom lip. “I wasn’t really serious. If you like it, that’s all that matters. I doubt you'd like mine either.”

“Hmmm,” I hum in agreement. “Let me try it, then.”

“Okay,” he says, passing me his tub.

Hesitantly, I take a small spoonful of the beige cream into my mouth. It tastes awful - Filling my mouth with an unpleasant, earthy bitterness. I knew I shouldn’t have let him pick his own flavour (I should’ve known he wouldn’t pick a good one). Next time, I’ll just have to pick one for him - Maybe, Chocolate Brownie or something.

“Ice cream is supposed to be sweet, Baz,” I chide, handing the tub back to him. “That is just wrong.”

“I did tell you you wouldn’t like it. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

Unsure of how to respond, I stick my tongue out at him childishly. He laughs at me unabashedly, small crinkles popping besides his eyes. Naturally, I mirror him - A huge grin breaking across my face, hopelessly besotted with him. I love seeing him like this - So unguarded and openly joyful. It used to be quiet rare, but luckily for me I'm seeing it more and more nowadays.

“What are you laughing at,” I whine.

He pulls himself up, shuffling so he is sat upwards, opposite me. “You look ridiculous,” he chortles, taking my chin into his hand. “Your tongue is bright blue, you disaster.”

I stick my tongue out, trying to look down at it.

Baz chuckles, leaning forwards, and pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. “Hold on. One second,” he says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Okay, Okay. Stick your tongue out again. I’ll take a picture so you can see it.”

I oblige, sticking my tongue out and scrunching up my nose slightly.

“Perfect,” he says, snapping the picture, and turning the screen towards me. “See, Snow. You’re all blue.”

I smile over at him. “You should probably delete that now. I look stupid," I mumble.

“Nonsense," he tuts. "You look sweet. I’m keeping it, whether you like it or not. I may even make it my home-screen, Snow. You can't stop me.”

“Prat,” I grouch, jokingly.

“Oh absolutely,” he agrees, flashing me a wicked grin before flopping back down onto his towel. “You love me anyway, though.”

————————————————————————————

Baz

I’m just coming up to the end of the chapter, when I feel Simon flop down onto the towel besides me. He shuffles, resting his head against the small of my back, and sighing softly.

“What’s got you in a strop, Snow?” I ask, my tone teasing.

“I’m bored of the phone, and I’m bored of you guys reading. I’m gonna go for a swim,” he says, standing up. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I’ll go with you,” Bunce chirps, slapping her book closed. “A swim would be nice.”

“Uh uh uh, you two,” I interject. “Neither of you are going anywhere until you put some sun cream on.”

“What? Why not?” Simon asks, sounding unnecessarily peeved. “I don’t burn. I never burn. I just tan. And, tans look good. The sun cream is for you. Not me! You’re the one who's basically allergic to the sun.”

“Yes. I’m perfectly aware of that,” I deadpan. “Don’t fret. I was going to ask you to put some on me too. But, there is no reason you two shouldn’t be careful as well. You don’t need to tan, Love. You need to not get burnt."

“Fine,” he groans, dropping himself down onto the floor in front of me.

“Thank you,” I breathe, reaching into my bag to retrieve the bottle of lotion.

I splatter a glob onto my palm, rubbing my hands together to spread it out evenly. Gently, I rub along the freckle-dusted plain of his back, being sure to pay particular attention to the back of his shoulders where (Despite his argument that he 'never burns'), the skin is already slightly tinged a light shade of pink. Once I'm satisfied, I tap his shoulder slightly, prompting him to turn around and face me. The sight of him leaves me awestruck. The sunlight beaming behind him, surrounding his head with a halo of warm light, and lighting his bronze curls a glowing gold. He looks positively ethereal. Entranced, I reach forward, wrapping a soft curl around my finger.

“Earth to Baz,” he laughs, shoving my shoulder.

Jolted from my trance, I feel my face flush, heat rising across my face with embarrassment. Shyly, I continue my ministrations, patting the cream onto the remaining portions of his face and chest. I press a light kiss to my favourite mole at the base of his neck, pulling away and spreading the remainder of the cream there. "All done," I whisper, turning towards Bunce (who has resumed her reading, apparently too impatient to wait unentertained). “Your turn.”

————————————————————————————

When I'm satisfied that we are all sufficiently coated in sun cream, Snow marches us down the beach, expertly weaving us through the throngs of people laid out on the sand. Coming to a stop at the edge of the ocean.

“Just to warn you guys … It’ll be slightly cold. Okay?”

“Yes, Simon. We know. Come on,” Bunce complains.

“Okay,” he says, gripping my hand tighter, and breaking out into a sprint once again, pulling us into the waves with him.

Immediately, the temperature of the water hits me, and I realise that Snow describing it as 'Slightly cold' was probably the understatement of the year. It’s freezing - A cold sting invading my muscles, and chilling my bones. Snow doesn’t seem to mind at all though - Which makes sense, considering that he’s practically a human furnace, even without all of his magic. He’s sploshing about happily, giggling quietly to himself. So, I decide it’s worth the potential hypothermia.

We wade out further into the water, hopping slightly with every wave that crashes against us, until we’re submerged up to our chests. It’s slightly difficult to breathe at first, the chill of the water paralysing my chest, so that my breaths come out in shaky, laboured huffs - But, I soon adjust.

I’m floating, rubbing my thigh gently to try and restore some feeling in it, when a huge wave crashes over my head, drenching me in salt water. I splutter, my mouth filled with putrid flavour of the overwhelmingly saline water, as the sound of Snow’s mad cackling reverberates around me. Of course. He is so dead.

“Snow!” I shout, clawing my hair back from my face, and slicking down smoothly. “What the actual fuck?”

“Duh. Water fight,” he shrugs, grinning over at me. “It’s fun, Baz. Trust me,” he says, the smile audible in his voice.

“How did you even make a wave that bloody big?”

He turns around, pointing his thumb towards his back. “They’re invisible, not non-existent!” Of course - The wings. I should've known he wouldn't play fair.

“So do you want to-” he starts, spinning around to face me once more. But, before he has time to finish his sentence, I retaliate. Scooping my arm across the surface of the water, sending a splash of water hurtling towards his face. He shrieks, shaking his head like a wet dog.

“You prick! I’m so going to get you back!”

"Bring it on then, Snow!" I shout.

And, bring it on he does. We fight for almost an hour, relentlessly battering each other with wave after wave of salty water. Even Bunce joins in. And, I must concede that Snow was right - Water fights, as it turns out, are incredibly good fun. We keep going, until I catch Snow gawping at me, his brows furrowed deeply with unconcealed concern.

“Shit, Baz! Your nose,” Simon calls, paddling over to me quickly.

“What about it?” I ask, absentmindedly lifting my hand up to touch it.

“Don’t touch it!” He scolds, batting it away from my face. “It’s gone all grey ... Like all charred looking. It must’ve burnt. Why didn’t you say anything? We would've gone back into the shade if I'd have realised. We could’ve just gotten more ice cream or something.”

“I didn’t realise. I was a bit preoccupied with thrashing you in our little water fight,” I tease, trying to reassure him. He doesn’t smile though, worry still etched on his face.

“Pen!” He calls out. “Throw me your hat, will you?”

She obliges, tossing the hat towards him, and bounding towards us.

“Hey, you. Stop fussing,” I reprimand, taking his face into my hands. “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt. It’s just a tiny bit of sunburn - I’m not going to disintegrate into a bloody pile of ash. Everyone gets sunburn. It’s nothing you need to get all worked up about. Honest.”

“Shh you,” he huffs, tugging Bunce’s floppy, green sunhat down onto my head. “It’s still not good.”

“What’s wrong?” Bunce (who is standing besides us now) asks.

“It’s nothing, Bunce. Just a tiny bit of sunburn,” I say, gesturing towards my face vaguely.

“Oh, I see,” she says, her voice flat.

“Do you know a spell that could fix it, Pen?” Simon asks, anxiously tugging on his curls.

“Yeah. It’ll be easy to fix - Don’t worry. We probably shouldn’t do it here though, Simon.”

“Okay. Come on then," he says. "Let’s go back into the shade. I think my legs are going to fall off in a minute anyway, I haven’t been able to feel them for like half an hour. It’s so fucking freezing in here!”

I laugh, reaching out and taking his hand in mine, earning me a soft half-smile. “Sure. Let’s go.”

————————————————————————————

The sun is setting now, the sky painted with glorious shades of pink and orange. I’m lying on my back, reading aloud to Snow. He's laying with his head resting against my chest, an arm slung around my waist, as his fingers trace small, smoothing shapes onto my side. I’m not entirely convinced that he’s actually paying attention to what I’m saying, but he seems content - So, I carry on. Carding my hand through his curls lazily, a soft, in-suppressible yawn escaping me.

“Baz,” he mumbles, the vibrations of his talking tickling my bare skin.

“Hmmm,” I hum.

“Do you want to go and get some Fish and Chips and then maybe go home? I'm kind of tired.”

“Sure, Snow.”

“Do you wanna wake Pen up?” He sighs, stretching his arms out exaggeratedly.

I tilt my head over to look at her. She’s still laid exactly how I left her - Her book sat in the sand besides her arm (she fell asleep with it in her hand, so I bookmarked it for her), and a towel draped over her back (to prevent her burning).

“Bunce,” I whisper, shaking her arm gently. “Wake up.”

“Hmmm,” she grumbles, peeking an eye open to look over at me. “What?”

“Me and Simon were thinking of getting some Fish and Chips. Do you want anything?”

“Just chips,” she sighs, snuggling her head back down against the towel.

I chuckle quietly, turning back to face Simon.

“And what about you, Love?” I ask, my voice hushed.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. We can’t leave Bunce here alone if she’s asleep, it's not really safe. And, it certainly doesn’t look like she’ll be waking up any time soon. I’ll go and get it. Don't worry.”

“You sure,” he murmurs.

“Positively,” I assure.

He smiles up at me then, his dimple popping handsomely. “Hmmm … Well you might want to get a piece of paper, cause I want a lot."

I chuckle, endlessly charmed by him. “Of course, Love. I expected no less.”

————————————————————————————

When I return to our spot on the beach, dinner in hand, I’m not surprised to find them both passed out asleep. Amused, I drop the bag onto the sand, and start packing away our belongings. When I'm done, I squat down between them, and attempt to wake them up.

“Simon, Love,” I coo, stroking a hand through his hair. “Wake up. It’s time to go home.”

“Five more minutes,” he whines, burying his face into the crook of his arms.

“No way," I giggle. "Come on, you have to get up now. Otherwise you never will. You can sleep in the car, I promise. I’ll drive."

“Fine,” he sighs, sitting upright, and rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Bunce,” I call, shaking her arm once again. “Come on we’re going to go home.”

“Huh?” he mumbles, blinking up at me, her glasses laying on the bridge of her nose wonkily.

“It’s getting late,” I explain, reaching forwards and straightening them up. “I’ve got dinner, so you’ll have something to eat when you get home. Just use a 'Some like it hot', Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Baz," she breathes.

“No problem, Bunce. Anything for you two.”

————————————————————————————

The motorway horrifically is gridlocked, but I can’t find it within myself to care. I’m still floating - Residual joy from a wonderful day still coursing through my veins. I’m glad Snow convinced me to come. He’s always doing that - Leading me into marvellous new things. He’s like my own, personal Joy Sherpa. We’ll definitely have to come back, some day (Maybe when Wellbelove can come with us). I need more days like this is my life. More days purely dedicated to fun. More days with friends. More days with Snow.

I sneak a look at the rear-view mirror, and my heart swells. Snow and Bunce are fast asleep, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. Snow’s face is dusted a light shade of red - The sun’s rays seemingly having managed to catch him, despite my best efforts to keep him adequately sun screened. While Bunce’s hair is draped in a mad, frizzy mat (The ocean salt having done a real number on her natural waves). They look painfully sweet, all snuggled up together like siblings. Looking at them, I know I meant what I’d said earlier - I’d truly do anything for these two (Apparently, even volunteering myself to drive in the bloody endless traffic of the A31, which, I will admit, was probably selfless to the point of stupidity). Unavoidably, I feel a pleased smile shining across my face as I look at them, my cheeks aching slightly with the force of it. My friends. My family. My future. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #penelope bunce

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itsabluefloor · 5 years

Text

Snowbaz oneshot: prompt request.

Prompt request: Mordelia catching Snowbaz all loved up and teasing them with Malcolm. Loved writing this one, please send more<33 And tell me if you like this one.

“You know your eyelashes flutter?” Baz says, taking a good look at the boy beside him. Both of them are laying tightly wrapped in each other, covered in the warm morning light. Making Simons' skin even more golden than it already is as a canvas for his moles and freckles. They woke up over an hour ago, but none of them seem to want to wake up.

“Yeah." Simon lazily answers before even thinking. His curls splayed out on the pillow beneath them. "Or wait, what? They flutter?” He opens his eyes for and looks up at Baz.

“Yeah” Baz whispers back, holding back a yawn, "when we’re really, really close, they flutter"

“How do they flutter?" Simon asks again, sitting up in the bed, now curious. "Like ‘her eyelashes fluttered as he looked at her’ kind of flutter? Or like a bloody butterfly flutters his wings?” Baz shakes his head and holds back a laugh to answer the curiousness that is Simon Snow.

“Maybe the first one I think. What, you haven’t noticed before?” He answers sitting up straighter too.

“No, I don’t think so? No one has ever told me anyway. It's not like Aggs ever noticed stuff like that and no one has been as close to me as you two. Do it again!” Simon hurries through the sentence. His eagerness taking a slight hold of him where he sits.

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Get close, make them flutter.” Simon says, blinking his eyes to prove the point. Which only makes Baz smile even softer than before, if that’s even possible when he's with Snow.

“Make them flutter, wow” Baz repeats to himself before he moves one of his fingers slowly towards Simons' eye, as carefully as possible. It's not like he wants to stab them again. He did that once, by accident in third year, and as funny Snow looked with an eyepatch, Baz is not that bad of a boyfriend. Not this morning anyway.

“No, wait!” Simon stops him panicking slightly before standing up on his knees to find his phone and reaching it to Baz. “Film it”

Baz laughs again “You serious?”

He earns a decisive nod back. «I’m curious,” Simon explains as he lets his back hit the mattress again.

“You’re such a tosser,” Baz says, but takes the phone either way. He presses play on the camera and then with an American accent, explains the video like he is doing a magickal science project. Mostly because he knows that Simon loves his American accent...

“First try on the experiment; how does it look when Simon Snow's eyelashes flutter.” He says with a stern voice. Making Simon laugh out loud before he finally settles down. Too afraid to move and get stabbed in the eye. Cause that was not a good experience as he remembers it.

“You ready?” Baz asks with a smile and earns yet a nod from the boy beside him. He is just about to again, carefully touch the lash, when someone barges in the door. Immediately followed by a disgusted outbreak and the door closing harshly.

"What the fuck are you lot doing? Dad said no fucking in the house and you're making a porno?"

Baz and Simon jerk quick as lightning up from the pillows. Simon with cheeks as red as tomatoes and Baz with his usual, unaffected look. Both shirtless.

"What have I said Mordelia, if you don't knock you don't go in," Baz says, his voice as stern as his fathers.

“And for your information, we weren’t making a sex tape." Simon pipes in, his voice a little smaller. He still isn't sure that Mordelia is not a vampire herself as she looks and acts exactly like Baz did when he was here age. Like right now, she's just standing there with a big smirk on her mouth like she just found the best blackmail material ever.

"We weren’t even fucking,” Baz says, standing up from the bed and closing the window, earning a mine from Simon. “Now at least.” He adds, and Simon tries to hide the blush rising from the comment.

“What the hell were you doing then? With a phone, in the bed, you on top of him?” She asks. Giving suggestively looks at both of them as she speaks.

“Snow wanted to see how it looks when his eyelash flutters,” Baz answers for the both of them and Mordelia delivers a disgusting face again. "It was cute,"

“What even” Is all Mordelia answers, before quickly giving up on finding what weird thing they do when she’s not here and instead reaches into her pocket to get her phone. She plops down on the sofa in the room and Baz practically jumps up to shove her out again the second she does.

"I'll tell mom if you don't let me hang with you!" She shouts when he tosses her over his shoulders. Making Simon laugh out loudly. "I'll tell dad!" She tries again but has no chance of getting down from her vampire brothers’ hands before she is over the threshold and the door is closed between them again.

"You know that she will tell Malcolm, right?" Simon asks as Baz joins him on the bed again.

"I know, but he won't be home for a couple of hours, Daphne won't care and it's still morning and I don't want to stress any more than I have to." He says tiredly. Simon stares at him weirdly.

"What?"

"I mean, who are you and what have you done to my overthinking, emotional mess that is my boyfriend? Did you finally cave in and tried human blood or?"

“No, I did not kill anybody today Snow.” He would never bite a person for food and they both know it. "And are you calling ME a mess? You're the definition of mess Snow." Baz teases back, leaning in to tuck a curl behind his ear.

"Wasn't me who was pining after my roommate for years without telling them." Simon laughs, shoving Baz's shoulder playfully where they lay face to face.

"Wasn't me who took three years to realize that my girlfriend never really liked me in that way." Baz shoots back and Simon gives him another shove along with an offended look.

"Truce?" Baz asks and reaches out his hand for him to take. Simon cackles at that but shakes it nevertheless along with a soft: "truce"

Hours pass before Simon is too hungry to stay in bed any longer and needs food asap. Baz grudgingly joins him down to their grandiose, marble tiled kitchen and opens the fridge filled to the brim with different kinds of food, along with a couple containers of pig’s blood. Baz takes one out and then looks back into the fridge to find something to eat.

"Dinner leftovers?" He asks.

"Nah," Simon answers from his kitchen stool behind him.

"Okay, how about a sandwich?"

"´Yeah okay"

"What do you want on?" Baz asks again, finding some bread from the drawer.

"I don't know, normal sandwich stuff?" Simon shrugs back

"Normal sandwich stuff, you tosser." He insults back but still picks out some cheese and etcetera to make one for Simon. He is just about done when Malcolm enters the room.

Two hours too early.

"Good day boys" He announces as he picks up his paper at the table Simon's sitting on. "Or should I say morning for you two?” He asks, looking them up and down.

"Father," Baz greets back as neutral as possible. Pouring himself a cup of blood to go with the food. "Didn't think you would be home so soon. Would have put on some more suitable clothes if I had known" He tries to excuse himself.

"I did text you to say that the meeting went quickly, but you were probably too busy with Simons phone to see that message." He says, and Simon chokes on the food in his mouth. Baz can't hold his redness down this time either and stops in the middle of a sip. Malcolm just smiles smugly at himself.

"Ehm, what do you mean?" Baz finds the words to ask after a couple of seconds.

"Mordelia told me about how she found you two this morning, and you know what I said about these kinds of activities in the home when you're guests."

"Father." "Sir." Both Simon and Baz say in unison, desperate to tell the truth as quickly as possible.

"Calm down boys, just be careful right?" He answers smugly again and rises from his chair along with his paper. As he walks out the door he says behind him; " And use protection!" Both Simon and Baz are left completely stunned in the kitchen. Neither of them knows just what happened.

"Forget about you," Simon says after he has collected himself a bit. "What has happened to your father?" He asks, taking a big bite of the sandwich.

Before Baz has the chance to answer he hears through the wall a weak: "Did it work dad?" "Oh, you should've seen their faces" And then a high five.

"Mordelia happened to my father." He smiles to himself and leans in to kiss the mole on Simon's neck before going back to his cup. “That little devil.”

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #fluff #snowbaz fic #firstfic #writing prompt #send prompts #why am i doing this

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kraken-llamas · 6 years

Text

Vacation

Tyrannous Basilton Grimm-Pitch doesn’t know how to fucking relax.

They’re all at a lovely beach, the sun is shining, the water is sparkling, and Baz looks like he’s sitting uncomfortably close to a smelly person on the train. All tense shoulders and legs tucked together, hands clasped in his lap. Even his expression is all scrunched up in more general distaste than usual.

Penny and Micah are swimming out in the water, splashing and laughing and flirting. Simon was hanging out with them, but when he glanced back at the beach, he saw his boyfriend sitting despondently under the umbrella, his shirt and shoes still on, lanky body tucked up onto a towel.

So Simon returns to the shore, shaking water from his bronze curls and coming to stand in front of Baz, purposefully dripping water onto his grey feet.

“You wanna come swim? The water feels great.” He says, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back.

Baz glares at him, scooting out of the splash zone of his sopping boyfriend. “How could I swim when you brought the whole bloody ocean with you, Snow.”

Honestly, most things today are a pro rather than a con for Baz. His snarkiness isn’t totally justified.

The beach is beautiful, and the water does look nice to swim in. And Simon Snow in nothing but swim trunks and a smile is a thing to behold, truly. Tawny skin glowing in the sun, water sprinkled over it like someone placed individual diamonds among his freckles and moles. And Crowley, his eyes and hair are just radiant against the water and in the sun. But that’s the problem.

The sun.

The sun usually only bothers Baz in the mornings, mostly because he doesn’t like mornings. He supposes his eyes are just more sensitive to it than most people. You know, people who don’t have to drink blood to survive.

And that’s just it isn’t it? Baz and the fucking sun. He can wear sunglasses to take care of the eye sensitivity, but there’s just something about his skinny, lifelessly grey body being shown off in this sunny paradise that makes his insides twist and squirm anxiously.

He can see Bunce and her American boyfriend out in the water, their skin vibrant in the sun, two complementing shades of brown. And then there’s Snow, whose name does not match his skin tone at all. Simon looks like sunshine itself is beaming out of him.

Baz looks like a sad black and white film character next to them. He looks like he hasn’t seen the light of day for twelve years. He looks like a fucking vampire.

Which is why he hasn’t left the shade of the umbrella or taken off his shirt since they got here. He didn’t partake in the building of the small sandcastle city a few meters away from the umbrella, and he didn’t help Micah and Penny bury Simon in the sand. (Which had been a hilarious activity, as Simon’s wings and tail and squirming made it twice as more difficult than it should have been.)

The truly sad thing was, they were alone on this particular stretch of beach, and even around his boyfriend, who had giant red dragon wings and a fucking cartoon devil’s tail, Baz felt like the freak. Bunce wouldn’t judge, Baz knew that. And although he didn’t know Micah all that well, he seemed like a nice person. And Simon never cared about it after he realized Baz wasn’t going to drink all his blood and kill him. In fact, Simon thought Baz’s fangs were “wicked” and never seemed to mind his greyness.

Baz is the one holding himself back, and he knows it. But he can’t quite bring himself to push himself out of his own head and just enjoy the holiday at the beach.

Simon plops down on the dry sand beside Baz’s towel, still in the sun. “You okay?” He asks, squinting at Baz in a mixture of concern and the sun in his eyes.

Baz pretends to be totally indifferent. Insecure? Him? Of course not. He’s a Pitch. He has magic and fire running through his veins, he is totally not feeling like he should have just stayed at home.

Reaching around him to grab a water bottle from the cooler, Simon drips more water onto Baz, dampening his shirt a little. He smells like saltwater and sunscreen and that delicious sweet brown scent only Baz can pick up with his enhanced sense of smell.

“Stop dripping on me, Snow.” Baz snaps.

In response, Simon rapidly shakes out his hair like a dog, spraying water everywhere. Baz should have expected that.

“You should come swim.” Simon insists again, cracking open his water bottle and taking a long swig. “Then we could have enough people for chicken fights.”

Baz rolls his eyes and sneers a little. “What are you, twelve years old?”

Simon just shrugs. “I’m on holiday. And so are you. So pull the stick out of your arse and come play.”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass, Snow. I just don’t feel like getting a sunburn.”

Simon tilts his head to the side in thought. “Can vampires get sunburn?”

Baz doesn’t know, he just knows he doesn’t want to leave the safety of his spot under the umbrella. He doesn’t want to see his sickly pale chest in comparison to Simon’s golden one.

“Just put on sunblock and come out for a swim. You can swim, right?”

“Yes, I can fucking swim. I just dont want to.” Baz says, crossing his arms over his chest. He actually does want to swim. Even in the shade the day is warm, and a dip in the cool water would be pleasant.

Simon tugs on the sleeve of his tee shirt, smiling that infuriatingly pretty smile. “C’mon. Before the tide goes out.” He climbs to his feet and takes Baz’s hands, trying to pull him up. Baz makes his body go limp, refusing to move.

Simon let’s go of Baz’s hands after a few more useless attempts at getting him to stand, but in no way does he give up. He’s going to get Baz to enjoy this holiday, whether Baz wants to or not.

He has a vague idea of what’s got Baz all worked up. He knows that sometimes, Baz hesitates taking off his shirt around Simon. But Baz is beautiful and he deserves to have fun, so Simon isn’t going to let his insecurities ruin that.

So it is with the best intentions that Simon walks down to where the waves lap onto the shore and takes a huge glob of wet sand. Baz is too busy brooding to see it coming, and is helpless to stop Simon as he slaps the wet sand onto Baz’s perfect raven hair and scrubs it in like shampoo.

“SNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!” Baz shrieks, swatting Simon’s scheming hands away. He can feel water dripping down his neck and back, feel the grittiness of the sand on his scalp.

Simon dusts sand off his hands and smiles brightly at Baz. “Come swim. I think you have a little sand in your hair.”

Baz’s eye twitches, and that’s the only warning Simon gets before he lunges for him—a snarled “You’re so dead, Snow”—and then Simon is shrieking and running towards the water, Baz hot on his tail (literally).

Simon giggles maniacally as he gallops into the water. Baz is right behind him, swearing and promising to kill Simon as soon as he gets his hands on him.

They reach Penny and Micah, and Simon darts behind his best friend and uses her as a human shield against Baz’s wrath.

“Hey Simon, Baz.” Penny greets them nonchalantly, raising a brow at Baz’s sandy head. She doesn’t need to ask what happened. Micah struggles to hold back from laughing at the situation. He hasn’t seen Baz since third year when he transferred to Watford, and while he doesn’t know exactly how or why he and Simon got together after years of rivalry, he can’t argue that their back and forth as a couple isn’t entertaining.

“Bunce, if you would kindly move aside so I can drown my boyfriend, it would be much appreciated.” Baz says through his teeth, glaring daggers at Simon, who ducks lower behind Penny’s shoulder, still giggling.

Penny shrugs and wades away from Simon, knowing that Baz wouldn’t hurt him for the world. The worst Baz does is splash Simon in the face and curse at him a few more times.

“You are unbelievable, Snow.” Baz grumbles, running his hands through his hair with water to try and get rid of the sand embedded in the dark waves.

“Yeah, but I got you out here.” Simon points out. Baz realizes that he’s waist deep in water, and his annoyance grows.

“And you accuse me of plotting.” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Now that he’s in the water, there’s no point in going back, even if it does let Simon win. At least he still has his shirt on, since his dignity was left on the beach.

Simon floats onto his back and let’s his wings splay our around him, an extra balance. “See, Baz? This is fun!” He says too loudly, water filling his ears.

Out of spite, Baz presses his hand to Simon’s forehead and pushes him underwater. He comes back up sputtering and swearing, but it’s worth letting it happen to see Baz smile for the first time today.

After wiping the water out of his eyes, Simon starts chanting “Chicken fight, chicken fight, chicken fight,” until the others give in.

Micah laughs and kneels in the water to let Penny climb onto his shoulders, and Simon aims his bright smile at Baz until he lets him get on his shoulders.

Simon’s warm, muscular thighs around Baz’s neck make his annoyance at being forced into the water lessen just a little. And he feels a twisted satisfaction when Simon inevitably gets knocked over into the water by Penny (she is relentlessly cunning, even in something as simple as chicken fights).

Eventually, they tire of playing and return to the beach to dry off and eat lunch. Simon devours three sandwiches Penny packed just for him, and he coaxes Baz to eat in front of Penny and Micah.

And Crowley, Baz wants to be pissed at Simon. He wants to exact revenge and put sand in his hair, and make fun of the way seaweed is clinging to his tail. But Simon looks like a sun god, water droplets in his stubby lashes catching the light and skin just glowing in the sun. And he’s smiling and laughing and he’s Simon Snow. Baz just wants to kiss him.

Simon sees Baz looking at him and smiles through the food in his mouth (revolting) and then takes Baz’s hand in his. Simon’s hands are pruney, and gritty sand is pressed between their palms.

Simon doesn’t let go for the rest of the day. They go swimming again, and he holds onto Baz. They have a bonfire on the beach, wrapped in blankets and towels and roasting weiners. Baz uses his magic to start the fire, but his free hand stays in Simon’s.

At some point, Simon bumps his shoulder against Baz’s to get his attention.

“What is it, Snow?” Baz asks softly. The stars are out and the ocean is silvery and soothing. The group is bathed in firelight. Penny is taking about some obscure magical fact with Micah, who hangs off her every word.

“You finally having a fun holiday?” Simon asks, half-smiling at Baz. He earnestly waits for an answer. He’s been desperately trying to get Baz to have fun. Starting swimming races, finding sand dollars and hermit crabs underwater, starting a game of football (which was harder than expected on account of the sand).

Baz is caught off guard, realizing that he stopped being miserable a good while ago. Like always, Snow is a glorious distraction from his own thoughts.

He’s had fun, which he never expected to happen when Simon and Penny said they were all going to the beach. He thought the whole day would be him being miserable under the umbrella, but Snow dragged him out and made him participate and he hasn’t thought about his bitter insecurities since then.

He leans down and presses a short kiss to Simon’s lightly sunburnt cheek, right on a mole there. He pulls back to gaze at the boy he loves, and he can’t help the genuine smile that breaks on his face. Simon grins back, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

#rainbow rowell carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #micah is there #snowbaz vacationing #little fic #i wrote a thing

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carryonmylovelies · 6 years

Note

Heyyyyyyy my dude anyways can you write a fic that is literally just fluff and Simon spooning Baz? Cuz that's literally all I want in my life tbh (also you're lovely and amazing)

Hiiiiii my lovely anon!! Thank you so so much for being my first fic request, and I really, really hope you like this because I wrote it for you :D Let me know what you think of it! (I hope you don’t mind that I spiced it up a bit lol) I would also like to dedicate this to @bazypitchandsimonsnow because Theo is my best friend and she’s always there for me and this could not have been made without her. I love youuuu here on ao3)

Eyes On Me, Please

Baz

It’s been a long day. Two of my uni professors were late, arriving in a tired mess of coffee, ungraded papers, and the general mood of not wanting to be there, and one of them just didn’t fucking show up. I had to write a five page essay twice (I don’t want to talk about it), the students in my mathematics class wouldn’t shut up about communism, and the cafeteria didn’t have my salt and vinegar crisps.

I am very much ready to be home, in the flat I share with my best friend and my lovely, crazy hot boyfriend, and in said hot boyfriend’s arms, furiously making out with him. (I swear to Merlin, I should not be allowed to be in a relationship. Thoughts of the next time I can get Simon under me and in between the sheets of the queen-sized bed we share threaten to overwhelm every bloody rational thought I have throughout my day. I’m not going to lie; it’s a bit hard to focus on my professor explaining William of Tyre and the diplomacy of the Byzantine empire when all I can hear is the exact sound Simon makes when I bite the inside of his upper thigh.)

I am too goddamn thirsty.

I finally arrive at my door, exhausted, hungry, and a little turned on. I weakly hit my fist against the door. No answer. I knock again, more forceful this time, but I still don’t get a response.

“Fuckers!” I yell, digging for my keys in my bag and shifting my books to the other arm.

I jam my key in the lock, wiggle it, and push the door open, letting it slam against the wall with a dull thud. That will totally leave a mark, but it feels good to do a little damage.

I kick off my shoes and leave my bag by the door, the flat sounding unnaturally quiet. I walk into our light, airy kitchen and notice that Bunce has buried herself in a book that’s larger than her head again, and it looks so old I think she has a bit of dust on her nose. I flick the side of her pastel-purple head as I walk by, and she doesn’t even look up as she flips me off. I smirk, and make my way to the our living room, which is stuffed with chairs and pillows and a large couch, all surrounding the television.

I find my boyfriend lounging, one elbow propped up on the top of the couch, his long legs and tail dangling off of the end, and his wings falling lazily around his shoulders. His white earbuds peek out from behind his curls, and he’s looking at his phone like he’s about to throw it at the wall. His fingers furiously tap at the screen.

I stand in front of him and put my hands on my hips because this situation is very deserving of my signature hands-on-hips look.

He continues to play his game, and I can make out the sounds of violence and fighting spilling from his earbuds. How mature.

“Snow.”

He doesn’t hear me.

“Snow.”

Still nothing.

“Snow, I’m leaving you. I’m leaving you for that cute barista at Starbucks.”

He is so engrossed in his game he probably doesn’t know what day it is let alone who’s right bloody in front of him, trying to engage him in conversation.

“Snow, you hear that? I’m leaving you for a fucking barista. No one can make a pumpkin mocha breve like Dave from Starbucks can.”

“We’re gonna have six children and name them all after you.”

“I would bake him sour cherry scones every morning.”

“Snow, I’m going to go walk down to the Starbucks right now and have sex with Dave the barista all over our favorite table in the corner.”

Bunce yells at me from the kitchen, “Basil, as much as I want this one-sided conversation to continue because it is fucking hilarious to listen to, he cannot hear you, so you better think of something else.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” I respond, and she peeks around the corner and gives me a very reassuring thumbs up.

He has not acknowledged my existence in the 3 minutes that I have been home, and 2 of those minutes I spent physically speaking to him, so this calls for something a little bit stronger. I leave my stupidly attractive boyfriend (emphasis on the stupid) with his unruly curls and blue eyes glued to his phone, alone on the couch as I walk determinedly into our room.

I slip off my shirt and trousers and pull on the pair of jeans that I know are Simon’s favorite (plus they make my arse look illegal) and one of his worn jumpers. It’s a bit big for me; he has broader shoulders and more of a stomach, but the length of it is about the same. He knows that I know how much he loves it when I wear his clothes, so getting him to notice me should be easy now. And yes, I am going to all this trouble to get my very own boyfriend to notice me, and it’s because I am extremely petty and over-dramatic and because I really fucking love it when he looks at me like he’s starving and I’m the last sour cherry scone in the world. Sue me.

I saunter out, ready for the final part of my plan, and I suddenly can’t help but enjoy the sight for just a moment. The sun is slowly fading from the living room, but that doesn’t stop it from catching on the ends of Simon’s bronze curls, dousing them in a burnt orange, and the moles and freckles on his face and neck are just begging for lips to press against them. His blue eyes glow with the light from his phone and I just can’t take it anymore.

I cross the room in two strides and throw myself into his lap, promptly ending whatever game he was playing.

I expect Simon to be mad, or at least annoyed, but to my delight Simon just laughs, throwing his phone and earbuds onto the carpet and kissing my cheek. He slides back into the corner of the couch and takes me with him, pulling me to sit in between his legs. His arms snake around my waist, his fingers gripping my sides possessively and his chest is a solid warmth against my back. I sigh, and let my head fall onto his shoulder. He kisses the top of my nose.

“Hello,” he says, and I drown in his smile.

“Hi,” I say back, and then I pinch his arm. Hard.

“Owww! That hurt,” Simon whines, glaring at me.

I pout, “Well, you shouldn’t have ignored me when I got home! I’ve had a very long day.”

“I was busy,” he says sulkily, pushing his nose into my hair.

“Oh yes, you were very busy … playing on your phone.”

“… I was about to reach my high score.”

“And I was tired and stressed from school! All I wanted was some bloody love and affection from my adoring boyfriend but I guess that’s too much to ask from a prat like you.”

He growls and tightens his hold on me. I inhale sharply at the sound, and shift in his lap, cursing Simon for having growls like that.

He pushes his face into my hair and his hot breath makes the back of my neck tingle. Then he raises his head sharply, and squeezes my waist.

“Hey, is this my shirt?”

“Yes.”

He groans and falls back into my hair, “I love it when you wear my stuff.”

“I know,” I say, smugly.

He bites my neck (who’s the real vampire in this relationship?) and then presses a kiss to the same spot.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to you when you got home. And I’m sorry you had a hard day,” he mumbles. “Wanna talk about it?”

I open my mouth to tell him about the stressors of my day but surprisingly I’m not really bothered by them anymore. Hatching a plan to get your boyfriend to notice you is a great way to de-stress, with the added bonus of your plan working and now you just get to relax while he spoons you.

His arms are tight and hot across my middle, and his chest is practically forcing heat into me. Everywhere he’s touching me I’m burning up. And I love it. He smells like scones and my expensive shampoo even though I tell him not to use it and to use his own fucking shampoo. His legs are flush against the outside of mine, and I unconsciously snuggle closer to him, turning my head so I can press my lips to one of the moles on his shoulder.

“No, I’m okay, now.”

Penny

I watch them from the doorway of the kitchen, and I’m glad to see that they worked things out. They’re talking now, in low voices, sharing smiles and small laughs. Simon has draped himself all over Baz, and Baz looks like there is nowhere else in this world he would rather be. Although, they aren’t really in this world anymore; they’re both in a world all on their own.

They make each other so happy. Anyone can see it. It’s in the way Simon’s tail winds itself around Baz’s legs whenever he’s close by. It’s in the way Baz’s eyes light up whenever Simon walks into a room. It’s in the way they slowly built each other back up after the worst time of our lives, and it’s in the way they continue to hold each other when one of them feels like falling and not getting back up. I truly, only wish the best for them.

With their soft voices floating in from the living room and the hum of the refrigerator in the back of my mind, it’s easy to slip back into my book.

The next time I look up I’m not sure how long I’ve been reading for, but I can tell that something is … off. I set my book down on the counter and pop my head around the corner.

God dammit they’re at it again!

I swear the number of times I have caught them on that fucking couch doing what they are now two seconds away from doing is a number higher than any of us want to admit.

I clap my hands a few times, disrupting the quiet, and they slowly break apart. Simon looks a little sheepish, but Basil looks like he has no regrets, whatsoever.

“Basilton Pitch! Simon Snow! Now, I know this may blow your small, idiotic minds, but I need you to stay with me through this okay?” I ask, cheerily, with a bright smile plastered across my face.

They both stare at me.

“You two, have this thing, called a ‘bedroom’. Spell it with me, b-e-d-r-o-o-m. Do you know what bedrooms are for? They are for where all of THAT,” I gesture frantically at their tangled bodies, “belongs. Not. On. The. Fucking. Couch. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Penny,” Simon sulks, and he starts to get up but Baz yanks him back down.

“No,” Baz says, looking at me with a challenge in his eyes, “She’s not going to do anything.”

“Oh, shit. I wouldn’t test me if I were you, Basil. I really wouldn’t.”

Baz shoots me a long, cool look before grabbing Simon, pinning him to the couch, and kissing Simon like it’s the last fucking thing he’ll ever do.

I scream, and storm into the bathroom. I snatch up the squirt bottle I use for my hair in the mornings, and stomp back out to the eager 20-year-olds who are practically fornicating on. My. Couch.

I walk right up to them and unleash hell. I squirt water on them furiously, screaming at them to use their own fucking bedroom. They both shriek and roar with laughter, so I spray them harder. They stumble/fall into their room, and I personally slam the door closed.

I yell at them, “Fuck you both!”

They don’t answer.

#you ask raegan answers!!#raegan writes a story #carry on fanfiction #carry on rainbow rowell #fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #snowbaz #fluff #spice #oof i wrote this in one day #i am proud of myself #woot

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im-confusedandgay · 6 years

Text

As Luck Would Have It

A Snowbaz Fic Genre: a lil mix of angst/fluff (i swear its more of fluff at the end) Word Count: 4k Summary: Simon Snow does not know how lucky he is.

She ran. she ran so much, so fast. Her knees were throbbing so severely, she was afraid they might disconnect from the rest of her limbs. It was like everything lost meaning, every definition and motive, all gone to her.

and this was her only purpose. this right here. The running and the escaping. and the tiny little ounce of hope she carried with her, like a narrow light beaming in her chest. still, at the back of her mind, there was always that voice, that damnable voice that reeked of fear.

That voice said "This is the part where it all ends in flames." She couldn't tell if it was her own voice. couldn't tell if it were his. She turned a corner and nearly tripped on the jagged rocks. Every breath seemed impossible, incoherent. Her head was pounding, aching. numb. her arms wanted to give in, to let go. she didn't allow anything of that sort.

She ran. She didn't know how. She didn't know how it was possible. Her magic could be carrying her every step with some abstract energy, maybe. thats possible right? The last tendrils of her magic, at least, because she was so certain she gave all of it away.

Trees were fading past her, the ground tumbled beneath her. She did not think about the man chasing after her, did not think of the bare future laid before her. she did not think of anything else besides the baby in her arms. He wailed, a heavy shrieking noise. his tiny arms were reaching for her face, fists unclenching, clenching. reaching, always reaching.

She would never let go. she didn't allow anything of that sort.

this promise would carry her in her solemn grave. This promise, she thought, is the only thing that could keep my son alive.

And maybe this was why she ran.

"Simon, Im home."

Simon sprang to the living room, all giddy and vivacious ecstasy radiating off of him. He's smiling that amiable smile of his.

Baz raised an eyebrow. "What?" Despite himself, he mirrored simon’s smile, that same easy and lively light aglow in both their faces. still, Baz felt his face linger in bemusement.

And still, simon wouldn’t say a thing except high squeals, tugging on Baz's sleeve like a five year old. Baz didn't mind. “Alright, Simon, whats going on?”

Simon then fished for something in his jeans pocket, retrieving what seems like a plain white sheet of folded paper. He passed it to Baz with excited hands. Baz took the sheet of paper with a confused glance. He gently unfolded it.

July 19, 2017

Dear Simon Snow,

We are pleased to notify you that, of the many proposals we received, we have selected your portrait ‘petite étoile’ , Your response to the RFP issued by Cambridge Art Association stood head and shoulders above the rest. We are looking forward to moving forward with the installation.

Thank you.

Baz blinked at the words. He read it again just to make sure. and again. He looked at Simon.

Simon, seeing the stupefy and awed expression in his boyfriends face, squealed, “I KNOW!” Baz hugged him in response, smoothing out his bronze curls, kissing his forehead, taking his face on both his hands and nuzzling his nose with his because he's a fucking tragedy when it comes to Simon Snow and both of them know it. “I knew you could do it.” he whispers, wiping the tears off Simons face.

They felt each others smiles radiate of their lips in smooth, lethargic bliss.

“we should throw a fucking party.” Baz announces.

“you don’t have to do that-“

“shut up, Simon.”

he already had his phone in his hand, calling penny’s cell. “We are celebrating the shit out of this letter.” Baz held the phone by his ear as he took his boyfriend by the waist. Simon leaned his head against his shoulder in response, breathing him in. Baz smelled explicitly of Cedar and Bergamot today.

“Hello? Penny? Guess who received an acceptance letter!?”

He could feel Baz’s piercing smile in those words. Simon laughed in response.

She didn’t know it was going to end like this. or maybe she did. maybe she did all along and denied it. She knocked on the cottage door twice. she was sure she lost him. he probably tripped over some twig and lost her tracks. maybe. hopefully. A nervous energy filled her veins as she continued to rasp at the door until an old women by the age of 50 opened it.

“Hello,” She greeted.

The old woman continued to stare, bored.

She shifted her arms so she could adjust herself to the weight of her baby, holding him close.

The woman still continued in silence.

“M-may we please stay here for awhile? We don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.” She could feel her teeth clatter in hunger. or fear. Fear, she thought. Its always fear.

Finally, the woman made the smallest gesture of glancing at her baby. the next thing she knew it, a closed door appeared in her face, inches away from the peak of her pale freckled nose.

A sob escaped her as she continued walking off into the distance, the wail of her baby traveling with her in a soothing presence.

She was sure she lost him. maybe. hopefully.

Its times like this when Simon Snow wakes up at 12:00am.

Times like this when he wakes to the sensation of arms around his waist. a body instead of space beside him.

He wakes, sullen and drowsy. patches of blue and silver moonlight teem down the window panes. His eyes travel to where Baz’s head lays down in the cushions, peaceful and quiet.

It was just 5 weeks into their relationship when Baz presented the thought of moving in with Simon and Penny just days ago. Penny, god bless her, approved. Of course Simon approved as well. Hell, he may as well rent a place of their own if he could.

It wasn’t official or any of that sort. But he knew they’d make it through that point.

They made it through watford, anyway. If they could make it through that, Simon’s pretty sure they’ll make it through anything.

He continued to gaze upon Baz’s sleeping figure.

“you know what would be a great idea?” Baz had said just the day before.”you could paint portraits. paintings. Just for a change.”

Simon scoffed. they laid in the couch. He was busy sketching some pieces he thought of that day, cross legged beside Baz, who was reading a thick pretentious novel.

“Nice one Baz,”

“Well, no offence love, but you sulking around all day with nothing else better to do is an image we’re all tired of”

He shrugged in response.

“So what if i’ll start painting and make pointless portraits? What could i make of it? what would change anyway?”

“well for instance,” Baz glanced at Simon’s sketchpad, a grin plastered on his face. he returned back to his novel. “Change is happening right now, Snow.”

Simon shifted in their bedsheets. he wrapped his arms around the sleeping boy beside him.

He’ll start painting tomorrow.

As luck would have it, She turned to the right direction after all. Now all she has to do is wait for a car ride. The street before her laid bare and remote, as if no venichle has passed by since god knows how long.

The baby she held in her arms grew silent and still. she looked at him, tracing a forefinger over his smooth rosy cheek. Her finger traveled down to his neck, where a tiny, indistinct mole lays there.

His eyes were closed in tranquillised sleep, not a single worry or doubt in the world in those closed lids. She smoothed out his blanket, tugging it this way and that.

It wasn’t far long ti'll she grew helplessly weary. She settled herself on the edge of the curb, waiting for a miracle. Her knees felt like heavy rocks dragging her body down, and she couldn’t help but think of herself as a statue, numb everywhere, inside and out and at this point it was a marvel she could speak, a miracle she could so much as utter a single word.

Her stomach growled. It was only when she pursed her dry sandpaper lips did she noticed how thirsty she was.

She looked at the baby in her arms, still asleep. Somehow, she held tighter.

in that sweet, lullaby voice of hers, she cooed, “I’m going to love you so much, no girl would ever be good enough for you.”

“But I do believe a girls going to love you so much. or boy. I wouldn’t care. As long as you love them and as long as they love you back just as much.” she reconsidered. “i’ll still love you the most though.”

she nuzzled her nose in her baby's neck. He smelled of smoke. Smoke and brunt trees. He smelled like everything she thought he would smell like. “I’ll always love you.”

“And if by some larger force separates us,”

she wrapped his tiny fist with her single finger. she squeezed. he squeezed back.

“Then know that i’m always with you okay? know that i’m with you no matter what and nothing could change that. nothing.”

The baby opened his blue eyes and as he did, a Camero’s headlights were headed their way. Lucy jumped, standing up, balancing herself. The sudden movement made the baby wail.

then she saw the plate number.

Dread filled her system like a slow, creeping snake.

Oh god.

But it was too late to start running.

Baz knocked on Simon's door again. And again. No answer. Only the sound of Simon's obvious sobs, sobs he tired desperately to hide then. It was useless to keep them in, anyway. "Simon," He didn’t know what he could possibly say. Assure him everything is okay? Tell him he'll move on? Tell him lies, lies they both know would do nothing, nothing but display themselves ostentasiouly in the air once they’ve been said.

Baz was not one for lying. So he told him the truth.

"This isn't okay. Your magic will never come back and we can't do anything about that." Inside the room, Simon grew deathly silent. From the living room, Penny shot him a treacherous glare that says what the fuck are you doing. Her eyes were gigantic plates and really, it was a marvel how she could manage to do that to her eyes. Still, Baz continued. "The mage is dead. Holes were made and holes were filled." no response from inside the room.

"Simon, love." Baz was surprised when he heard a choking sound leave his lips. Even Penny grew silent for once. He tried his best to carry his now trembling voice,

"You want the truth? Thats the truth. The truth is your the most alive being in the whole damn world. The truth is with your magic, you were fucking untouchable and I was scared Simon. You were the sun and i was crashing into you and the world revolved around you and it was like i couldn't even reach you, it was like everything depended on you and i couldn't possibly give you the satisfaction of knowing that i depended on you too. You were on the other side of the galaxy and you were so far away. The truth was i was so bloody scared Simon. The truth is with your magic, we would have never met in the middle." He laughed at that probable thought. "There was no fucking way."

Silence.

"Simon," Maybe he said enough? Maybe words were enough. it didn't feel enough for Baz though.

Simon's own words were still echoing in his head, words that nearly shot him dead at the spot, words that were so untrue, words said with sharpened tips -- "I don't feel alive Baz! I was alive with my magic! I'm nothing without it and theres no fucking point to all this a-and I --" Simon wiped his eyes then. "I just want to feel fucking alive again!" That was when he stormed to his room and shut his door, locking it with heavy breaths and trembling shoulders, looking for all the world like a precarious, fragile thing.

Baz softly says -- though not that softly so Simon could hear him through the door -- "Your so alive Simon Snow."

He thought he heard the door click. He goes on, "You got my share of it."

Before he could even blink, Simon’s pink swollen lips collided with his and at that moment it was as if words didn't matter. As if they never did.

"You can't just take him!" Lucy Salisbury was desperate, yes, though she was also many things indeed. Angry. Furious. Confused. Determined. But Davy didn't see any of this. Davy didn't need to see any of this. He's seen it a thousand times before, has seen desperation claw at peoples stomachs with hunger and the need to devour. He's felt it a thousand times too, but now looking at Simon, looking at his blue eyes...maybe he finally completed it. Maybe he actually finally did it.

The chosen one. Davy laughed. Its still hard to believe, even after all these months of waiting.

"Give me my baby back you bastard!" Lucy screamed. She was pulled back, carried away by Davy's men. She didn't even know he had men. "Simon isn't yours to take!" Sobs were leaving her like drool and she reached out with her arms towards her baby, she willed herself to reach out to Simon, and maybe she was close, maybe she wasn’t, but all she remembered was a blade, a sharp blade, a sharp and silver blade in Davy’s hands and she thought --

No. He wouldn't.

He thrusted the blade into Lucy's abdomen.

And thank god it wasn't her baby’s abdomen. She thought for a second there…

But then the last thing ringing in her mind was the fundamental issue of Simon.

Because even without that dagger in her boy's stomach, she had that nauseating feeling that he wasn’t safe with Davy, blade or no blade.

This was the last thought she could think of before The Mage willed the blade to go in for the kill.

Simon cried all the way to the Camaro, where the Mage cooed and cradled him as if he were a loving father who'd never let go of his son.

Baz was told he would have to end him in some way. Kill him. Maybe he could bite him, savour every drop of blood the notorious Chosen One has. He could place him in a stake. Burn him. Maybe he would do the classic blade in the chest move, or a spell powerful enough to end him.

He was told he would have to end Simon Snow in some way. People have been telling him this since he was five years old, small enough to walk, but also small enough to follow what the adults say, no matter what that thing is, even if it meant theft or murder.

as a result of this, he followed his instructions to kill the chosen one without question, followed it like a manual or a booklet. He kept it to heart and practised his spells to complete and utter perfection by the time he turned eight.

Because maybe then he could avenge his mother. Maybe then she'd come back to him.

then, of course, the crucible paired Simon Snow and Basil Pitch together and that was when it all went downhill from there.

It was summer. The second year of watford came to a bittersweet closure. All was well. The family was doing good, everyone was healthy. The air in the dining room was alive with conversation with sparks of laughter here and there. Champagne glasses were being passed around like a game of hot potato and the chandeliers were sparkly and glistening, crystal and divine even amidst the sullen, medieval and almost melancholy structure of the Pitch's mansion.

He didn't know when the conversation started, didn't know when or how it turned to that direction, but the one thing he heard that day that got his attention was when his aunt, Fiona announced, "Simon Snow isn't human."

The fuck? Fourteen year old Baz raised an eyebrow. Perhaps joining one of these adult conversations would be a little fun. "Why do you say that?"

All Grimm-Pitch eyes turned to him expectedly, as if Baz had something imposing to offer them. Fiona smiled that devil smile of her's. "He was brought by the Mage. Everyone knows anything brought by that tyrant isn't natural." She took a agonisingly long sip of her red wine -- she didn't care for champagne -- and pursed her lips in an effort to retrieve the sweet and bitter aftertaste. With a feline grace she placed her glass back down on its coaster.

Baz picked up his fork, thinking that that was the end of a lovely exchange of words, but when Fiona cleared her throat and faced towards him, he had the obvious sense that she was just getting started.

"Simon Snow is a weapon, Basil. Name me one hero who wasn't built for a single, certain purpose." Baz didn't bother answering. Just get to the point, he wanted to spit out.

"Exactly. After Simon completes that purpose, after he's done saving the world of mages, lord knows what would happen next. A few celebrations, sure. Maybe even some cake and confetti. Then what? That's the only thing separating us from heroes, Baz. They're granted with a life purpose, we aren't. We live ambiguously, they don't. We have choices. Everything around us is a life choice. We get to be anything we will ourselves to be. But for people like Simon Snow?" She turned her head and grabbed her spoon, turning her ice cream around her glass like stew. "He's a weapon. He'll always be a weapon. Nothing will change that."

But if you could be anything, Baz thought. If you could be anything, then why do i feel like i have no other choice but to become the villain?

He almost felt bad for him. Almost. Besides, he was doing this for the greater good, so there was nothing to feel bad for, nothing to worry about.

He could have had a childhood. This was Lucy’s voice. Or was it his own? You could have given him that. He could have been a normal mage with likes and dislikes. A normal boy who plays soccer, who plays in the rain and jumps in rain puddles. You had the power to do that. You could have presented that boy with choices.

The Mage dismissed this voice. Simon wasn’t normal. Simon was the Chosen One. Who wouldn’t want to be the hero of their own story?

He was sure he left Simon here. Shame, maybe he could have placed him down in some other care home. Out of all the care homes it had to be the one with walls so old its ugly orange paint was peeling off around the corners. He could see mold around the space where the walls met its roof.

The mage wrinkled his nose in disgust. It is possible that Simon may have learned the value of simplicity at least. Staying humble and all that. Though none of those trivial values mattered now.

He went through the Chosen One��s schedule for the next week, listing off all the essential bits and all the least important ones. He’s going to need training. He’s going to need lots of training. And supervision. Perhaps he could be there for Simon ti’ll he gets the hang of the whole Chosen One business.

He’s already planned it all. He’ll give Simon his wand — and what a powerful, experienced wand it is — and he could show him some tricks. He would give him special classes, explicitly for him.

Next thing he’ll know it, he’ll be the saviour. The hero. He’ll be the Chosen One and save the whole world of mages. That is the hope anyway.

Though people like Davy don’t rely on hope. People like Davy call hope goals. They call goals objectives. People like davy see these objectives as check boxes ticked off by the second.

So he adjusted his suit jacket. Looking over his shoulder, he gestured over to one of his men to come close. “Make sure Simon gets in the camaro once he gets out.” The gentleman nodded in response.

History was in the making since the time Davy was in watford. Today, history is about to change.

Her mom told her that Simon Snow was dangerous. Everyone tells her Simon Snow is dangerous. Soon, as Penelope Bunce has come to learn, she noticed everyones been telling her lots of things about the Chosen One. They tell her to be careful. To never go near him by the time she would enter Watford. They tell her that he is the most powerful mage to ever walk, and that his magic isn’t normal, that it isn’t contained. That he is a monster. One night, when she and her brother were trading ghost stories by the fireplace, he told her the story of the Chosen One and how he was sent by demons. She tried so very hard not to roll her eyes.

The point was, Simon Snow came off as many things. Maybe it was because of her stubbornness, maybe it was because of how insistent she was on proving to everyone that Simon Snow was not what everyone declared him to be, or perhaps it was simply because she was intrigued of Simon even before she met him. Maybe these were all valid reasons as to why Penelope befriended him on the first day of watford, despite her family’s warning.

Thinking back to the past events, to every word her relatives have said about her friend, every lie and rumour, she couldn’t help but smile. She smiled because she knew she was right once again and that the rest were wrong: Simon Snow is not a monster. She didn’t think he ever was.

They’re seated across from each other on the breakfast table. It was their fourth day here in Watford, and Penny was pleased to find out that she was already leading top of the class. Well, that is, if it weren’t for Baz Pitch, maybe she really would have been top of the class and not fall on second. Second sucks. According to Simon, Baz sucks as well. (It turns out not a day away goes by without Simon mentioning his roommate. Penny tries her best to stay inquisitive throughout these discussions with her friend, but most days the whole conversation gets too tedious.)

Speaking of discussions, she wanted to lead today’s conversation towards a direction — literally any direction — that has nothing to do with Simon’s roommate, so before he even gets the chance to open his mouth, Penny says “You know, i’ve heard a lot of things about you. Even before I came to Watford.”

Simon stared. This was an indication enough for Penny to continue. “Like how your the Chosen One and all that.”

The boy swallowed his cherry scone and almost as swiftly grabs another one. “Yeah, well, I am the Chosen one, so that figures.”

Penny thought for awhile. “Why are you the chosen one though? Out of everyone?”

“Because of my magic?”

“how’d you get so much magic in the first place then? Your magic has to come from somewhere. Why would your parents leave you when they knew how much magic you contained?” She stopped herself from asking further questions. “Gosh, Simon I’m sorry. Was that too much?”

Simon kept his eyes plastered on the cherry scone in his hands. His eyes betrayed no emotion. “Thats fine Penny. I’m sure they had a reason though.” His voice sounded positive despite the subject of discussion, and that was the exact moment Penny knew this boy was nothing close to a monster.

Simon Snow is just a boy. A boy with as many questions as she has.

“Sometimes i like to think that my mom was a teacher. A really nice teacher who gives blueberry muffins to children who answer things correctly?” Simon dropped his scone, and the mere sight was a wonder to Penny’s two eyes. She decided it was best to encourage the conversation. “What would your dad be?”

“He’d be a football player. Like as in, celebrity football player. He’s the one who wins all the trophy’s, that one player the team couldn’t win without. He’d be riding in a limo and everything and there would be light shining everywhere from the paparazzi.” He smiled, thinking of these concepts.

He knew it would do him no good to think of these things. But no one told him he couldn’t pretend. No one said pretending was bad.

So he pretended. He pretended he was loved. He pretended he was wanted and cherished. He pretended he had a mom and a dad and a life.

The next thing Simon feels is a hand on-top his shoulder. Looking back he see’s the Mage in all his glory. “Simon, we’ve got work to do.” He had sounded so official, so down to the point. He also sounded like a leader, and the mage certainly dressed like it.

Simon stood up.

It was evident to Penelope that Simon wanted to be like the mage someday. She saw it in the way he looked at him, like the mage was some kind of statue he needed to replicate. As if the mage was the only person in the room who mattered to Simon.

Like he was the only person who bothered to care.

Simon left without question, leaving Penny looking dumbfounded and surprised.

She knew that Simon Snow was just a boy, yes. What she does not know is if everyone could see that as well. Soon, she found herself hoping the mage out of all people could see that.

Soon, she found herself by Simon’s side the next year, and the year after that, then the next year until her family had grown used of him, until they considered him family.

Soon, she discovered that Simon no longer had one person in his life who cared.

Then when Baz Pitch strides by, when she catches the way Baz glances at his roommate or the small moments like the way he sneers at him…it turns out she wasn’t the only one who cared.

They're seated in the dinning room and Penny can't handle it anymore. "Alright assholes tell you what, how bout i cook some fucking chicken and a steak. How bout that?"

Baz snorted. "Theres no way you could do both. Besides, if someone wouldn't be picky -- "

"Try me Picth i dare you."

"uh, language."

Both Baz and Penny stare at the boy cradling himself on the chair. Penny glared. "Excuse me?"

“Well, you kept swearing, its bad for the baby."

"well don't you think its a little too late to—“ Penny stopped in her train of thought.

Now its Baz's turn to glare. He raised an eyebrow and politely, sarcastically asks, "What baby, Snow?"

Simon smirked. "Im the baby, idiot. Hell if either of us could conceive don't you think we'd be having a family of sixteen right --"

Baz threw a spoon at his husbands face to shut him up, rolling his eyes in the process. "Your a disgust, Snow. And also I saw that post about the whole baby shenanigan joke in tumblr, so don't think your so special."

He was surprised when he saw the look of hurt across Simon's face. He was even more surprised when that hurt looked genuine. "Jesus stop pouting -"

Penny cuts Baz off: "You have a tumblr?" Simon's eyes immediately perked up at that concept. Baz could tell tonight was going be a very long, very agonising night.

“Im sorry, my mind just can’t wrap around the idea of you having a tumblr.” Penny joked, one hand on her hip and the other leaning against the kitchen counter.

Simon looked to Penny. “I bet he has a username like CountBasilton360.” She laughed at that thought. “No, no, no I bet he named himself BazzieTheVampireSlayer and has a profile picture of Drarry Fanart!”

Baz stood up in the middle of all the laughter and the chaos and gladly excused himself to his and Simon’s room. He silently grabs his laptop to change his profile picture.

The veil is getting thinner by the second. I don't know if i could reach you -- but i did it before. I could do it again.

it's funny, last time i reached out towards you Davy stabbed me with a dagger. Theres no dagger this time, Simon. I'm safe here. My only wish is for you to be safe there.

So i tear open the Veil -- i could handle the consequences after.

As luck would have it, you look happy. I see you seated in the dinning table with Natasha's boy. I notice identical rings in both your ring fingers, and i shouldn't be crying, but i cry anyway.

Oh, Simon.

Everything revolved around you. Chances are you wouldn't have made it. But you look so happy … your smiling and your so bright and vibrant.

I’ll love you the most, Simon. I’ll always love you the most.

I wasn’t there to prove it —

but I’m sure they will.

The last image i get from you is you laughing with your eyes closed, arms around your stomach.

And I’m sure your the most alive I have ever seen you.

For once in my entire life, I stop fighting the veil and I let its cool breeze devour me.

#Carry On #Snowbaz #Snowbaz angst #Snowbaz fluff #Rainbow Rowell #Baz #Baz pitch #Simon #Simon Snow #Lucy Salisbury #Snowbaz fanfiction #Snowbaz fanfic #carry on angst #carry on fluff #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #As Luck Would Have It #Fan fiction #snowbaz fan fiction #post watford

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years

Text

Snowy Day (Children Part 4)

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 3509

Summary: A snow day in for the Snow-Pitch family.

Read on AO3

Baz

The relentless banging in my bedroom window is what wakes me up. For a terrifying second, I think Tasha has somehow gotten outside and locked herself out. But as I slowly open my eyes, I see it’s a flurry of snow pounding against the glass. There’s so much I can barely see any other buildings.

I shake Snow (my Snow) lightly. He groans and rolls over to face me. He looks adorable in all his bed head, stubble faced glory.

“What?” he grumbles.

“There’s a snowstorm, love. A big one. Just look.”

He moans overdramatically, making a show of rolling over again. He leans up on one elbow. “Huh. Look at that. A bloody blizzard. Think the roads will be closed?”

“Knowing London? Certainly.”

“Mm.” He flops back down and pulls our duvet up to our shoulders. “Then we don’t have to go to work. Stay here forever.”

“Very true.” An idea pops into my head. I grin evilly as I snake my arm across Snow’s chest. “Which means, we have time to do this.”

I press my lips just under his bristly jaw. His breath hitches, muscles tensing up. “Baz,” he says like a warning, but his voice is already shaky. “Tasha is probably already awake. And she always bursts in here-”

“She’s not up yet,” I mumble as I trail kisses down his freckled and mole covered neck. He lets out a quiet moan. Crowley, I’ve missed this. Our sex life has thoroughly decreased in the past three and a half years. Between general life stress and specific Tasha related stress, we haven't been in the mood a lot. With no work to go to now, I plan to change that.

My hand slowly trails down across his warm stomach. Simon’s breathing increases with it, becoming more shallow and laboured. When I push past his boxer waistband, he groans and arches his lower half against me, punching the air right of my lungs. He reaches back to tangle his hand in my hair, pulling on it slightly. I moan myself and push my mouth more forcefully against his skin. Snow moves his hips in a slow circle. For the first time in quite awhile, it's slow and focused, not quick and frantic. And fuck, is it good. Fuck, fuck, fu-

“Daddy! Papa!”

The door bangs open. I don't think I've ever been so quickly turned off in my entire life. I let out a little yelp as my hand shoots out of Simon's pants. He squeaks and lets go of my hair, allowing me to shove myself backwards. Tasha jumps up on our bed. I roll over, propping myself up on my elbows, to see her kneeling over us, looking at us curiously with her hazel eyes through her curly black hair.

“Morning, little puff,” I say, voice still a bit horse.

“What were you and Daddy doing?”

Snow inhales so sharply he coughs. I grip the sheet in panic. “Uh, Daddy and I were just...hugging. Because we love each other very much.”

Simon snickers, and I promptly kick his shin under the sheets. She looks curious for another second, but quickly beams. “Okay. Did you see outside?! Iss snowing lots and lots!”

“Yes, we did, love,” Simon says.

“Are we gonna have a snow day?”

“We just might. We'll have to check the news though.”

“Okay! Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

I look at Snow. He shrugs up to his ears. “I don’t see why not.”

Tasha jumps up, bouncing on our mattress. I can’t help but laugh (she’s too cute.) “Yay yay yay!”

“Go wait in the kitchen, love,” Snow says between his own giggles. “Papa and I will be there in a minute.”

“Okay!” She jumps down and scrambles off the bed, dashing off towards the kitchen. She’s not as hyper as Gil was at her age. But she gets close sometimes.

I flop down and groan, running hand over my face. “Merlin and Morgana, we're never going to have sex again, are we?”

“Nope,” Simon sighs heavily. He pats my shoulder. “C’mon, lover boy, get up. Pancake time. I’ll make the batter, you and Tasha can cook them.”

I roll onto my side and pull the duvet over my head. “Five more minutes.”

“Oh no. If I have to get up, so do you.” He pulls the blanket down hard all the way to my hips, making me shiver.

“You arsehole.”

“Language, Basilton. There’s a child in the house.” He swings his legs over the side, stretching out his bare tawny skinned, freckled back. Crowley, I want to push him back onto this bed and never let him up again. He looks over his shoulder, smirking devilishly. “Like what you see?”

“Of course."

“Mm. Good to know.”

He lowers his head down, hovering his lips just over mine. I tilt up to close the distance. We’re almost there, just a breath away from each other. One millimeter more...

“Daddy! Papa! Hurry up!” Tasha yells.

We both sigh, chuckling under our breaths with our foreheads together. “The queen calls,” I whisper.

“Yeah, I hear her.” He gives me one fleeting peck and hauls me up by my wrist. “C’mon, pancake time.”

“Alright, now let’s pour the batter slowly.” I carefully tilt the ladle, Tasha’s hand wrapped around my wrist. She holds it in place until all the white liquid spreads out on the pan. When it’s all gone, she tugs for me to tilt it back up. I turn to her with a grin.

“Very good job, love,” I say. She gives me a wide, toothy, three year old grin.

We end up making quite the stack of pancakes, far more than we should need. But considering Snow’s appetite they’re necessary. I put one on Tasha’s plate, cut it up, and dribble maple syrup on them.

“More,” she says flatly.

I give her a pointed look. “What’s the magic word?”

She groans in a way that’s eerily close to Snow. “More, please?”

“That’s better.”

I drench the fluffy chunks and Tasha giggles happily. Snow walks in, freshly shaven and hair still damp from the shower. He goes wide eyed at the stack of flapjacks.

“Wow, you two made a lot,” he says with a smile.

“You did make a lot of batter for us.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to use it all.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You don’t seem that upset.”

He shrugs as usual. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

He takes his typical place at our dining room table, kissing Tasha’s head and my cheek as is routine. Then he takes three pancakes (of course.)

“So,” he says with his mouth full (adulthood hasn’t improved his manners), “London roads are officially closed today. We can call into work but I doubt our bosses will make us come in.”

“I hope not,” I reply. “I for one am not driving out there.”

“Me neither, love.”

“Snow day?” Tasha says cheerily through a mash of pancakes and syrup.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling,” Snow chides kindly. “But yes, snow day.”

I chuckle as I cut off another piece. “Snow day for the Snow-Pitches. How poetic.”

“And then, the big dragon swoops in to get the princess! Roar!” Snow makes Tasha’s dragon plushie soar through the air. Tasha shrieks and giggles. He’s always good at this, making a big show for her. She loves Snow’s grand adventures created with all her toys. He lowers the dragon to fake attack her. She rolls on her back, fake batting the dragon away. After watching some telly, we’ve been keeping her occupied for hours through the storm.

“Papa, save me!” She giggles.

“Sorry, love, even I can’t defeat a dragon,” I say calmly from my place on the couch. Snow gives me a knowing look.

Tasha scrambles away from Snow towards me. She laughs wildly as she buries her face in my side. Simon’s dragon menace goes after both of us.

“No,” Tasha yells. “He gonna get both of us, Papa!”

“I’ll protect you!” I throw an arm over her and lightly shove at Snow. He puts a hand to his chest, falling down overdramatically.

“The dragon is too weak to go on,” Snow chokes out. He “dies” dramatically, spread out on the floor in starfish with his tongue hanging out.

Tasha hugs me tightly with her little arms. “You can defeat a dragon.”

“It seems I can. Especially for my little girl.”

She giggles and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. Even at three years old, Tasha is incredibly affectionate. It’s one of her best qualities, in my opinion. As someone who had to figure out how to show affection later in life, I admire her innate ability to do so greatly. She crawls up the couch and looks out the window over my head.

“Iss not snowing anymore,” she says. “Can we go play?”

Snow and I look at each other. “I don’t see why not,” he replies with a shrug.

I put down my book and stand up triumphantly. I take Tasha’s little hand. “C’mon, little puff, the snow awaits.”

Getting Tasha into her snowsuit is always a production, to say the least. It’s bad enough trying to fit her thick mess of black curls under her tiny hood, but she always insists she doesn’t need her boots or mittens.

“You need to wear the mittens or you’ll get cold, love,” Snow grumbles.

“But Papa’s always cold and he’s fine!” she whines.

“That’s very different.”

After many minutes of arguing, we finally get her properly dressed and step out into our building’s small courtyard. Everything’s covered blindingly white snow. The trees, the bushes, everything. It sparkles in the sunlight. Tasha lets go of our hands and runs into it. The powder flies up under her boots, and she flops down on her back.

“I making snow angels!”

Simon runs forward and falls next to her. I stand over them, hands on my hips.

“The Snows making snow angels,” I muse. “How cute.”

“Well, you’re a Snow too. Get your butt down here.”

“Yeah!” Tasha yells. “Get your butt here!”

“This is a wool coat, love. I’m not getting it soaked.”

An evil grin splits across his beautiful face. I back away slowly. “Snow, don-” Quick as lightning, he grabs my wrist and yanks me down, sending me tumbling onto the snow covered ground.

“You are the worst,” I growl.

“And yet you married me,” he says with a smug sing song.

“I’ve been known for making poor life choices.”

“Jerk.”

Tasha tugs on Snow’s coat sleeve. “Daddy Daddy, I wanna make snowballs.”

Snow sits up, legs spread out in a v. He gathers some snow in his mitten covered hands and attempts to squish it into a ball. But bits keeps falling off.

He grumbles, frowning adorably. “Should be compacting better.”

“This is fresh powder. It isn’t wet enough,” I say. “It won’t stick. Sorry, darlings.”

Snow grunts. “Well that sucks. But, I can still do this!” He throws a handful of snow right in my face. I bolt up, spluttering with cold powder coming out of my mouth. Simon and Tasha howl with laughter. Snow clutches his stomach, wildly kicking his feet similar to an excited child. Well, actually exactly like our excited child, doing the same next to him.

“Oh,” I chuckle, “it’s on, Snow.”

I toss my own handful at him. This sets off an all out war. Snow flies everywhere, a practical shower of flakes covers all of us. Tasha takes Snow’s side. She jumps on my chest and drops a handful right on my face.

“Betrayed by my blood!” I shout overdramatically.

Snow barks out a laugh. “Oh, if only Penny was here. She’d have so much to say.”

I throw more snow at him. “Shut up.”

Our snow battle rages on. After totally soaking my coat and hair, we attempt to make a snow fort. But that’s quickly abandoned by Tasha in favour of just running and throwing snow in the air. She looks so happy. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

“Dishes all done,” Simon sighs, sitting next to me on the sofa,

I throw an arm around him. “I could’ve helped y’know.”

“You made dinner, I do the dishes, it’s only fair. Besides, someone needs to watch the munchkin.”

The sky is dark, the only light coming from our dim lamp. Tasha sits on the floor, playing with her dolls and action figures. She’s adorable as always, snow damp hair hanging around her head like a curtain. Sometimes I really do wonder how I ended up here. Not dead or banished for my vampirism, but with a husband and daughter I love more than anything. Maybe the universe isn’t so cruel after all.

“I had fun today,” I sigh quietly.

Simon hums happily. “Me too. Though I totally won the snowfight.”

“You had help.”

“Like a three year old is sufficient backup.”

“Hm, says the man who had it.

The storm whips up again, sending a flurry of snow against the window. Snow cranes his neck back.

“Wow, there it goes again,” I mutter

“Yup. It’s frightful out there.”

An idea enters my head. Being with Snow for over ten years has made me more prone to impulsive decisions. I discreetly queue it up on my phone. I pick up my wand from the coffee table and point it at the speaker and say, “play it, Sam.” The system turns on. It’s already connected to my mobile. The soft, simple melody rings through the room. Michael Buble’s smooth voice starts to sing.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

“Oh my god,” Snow groans, “are you serious?”

“What? It’s appropriate.”

He pushes his warm nose into the crook of my chilly neck. “Cheesy bastard.”

“Oh you want cheesy? I can do far more cheesy.” I bolt up from the sofa, tugging his wrist up to follow. He yelps and stumbles right into my arms. We stand pressed together, arms out, my other hand on his lower back, similar to the Leavers Ball all those years ago.

“When we finally kiss goodnight,” I sing as I dance him around the room. “How I'll hate going out in the storm! But if you'll really hold me tight, all the way home I'll be warm.”

He throws his head back laughing, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Snow takes over lead, spinning us and waving our joined hands up and down. His voice is slightly off key but still gorgeous. “The fire is slowly dying, and, my dear, we're still goodbying. As long as you love me so, let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!”

I feel a tug on my leg, and look down to see Tasha grinning and jumping with her arms up. “Dance too, dance too!”

Letting go of Snow, I scoop her up onto my hip. Snow holds her back, his other arm around mine. We swing and shake to the beat in our own little circle. Tasha squeals and laughs wildly, black curls bouncing with every happy sound. Simon and I sing along between our own giggles. And I think this is what joy really is.

The song ends, and we all flop down on the sofa still laughing. Snow and I hug Tasha between us.

“Papa can sing!” She yells.

That sends Simon into more loud howls. “Yes, Papa can sing. He should do it more often.”

“Fat chance, Snow. One song a year, that’s all you get.”

“Aw, so cruel.”

Tasha wriggles out of our arms and starts spinning. “Let snow, let snow!” She yells.

Snow chuckles, leaning his head onto my shoulder. I tilt my head back against the back of the couch. I close my eyes and take a slow, happy breath. That was joy, and this is just contentment. Simple, easy, comfortable contentment.

“Papa! I gots your stick!”

Contentment is immediately replaced with terror.

My head snaps up, as does Snow’s. Tasha jumps around waving my wand. Oh shit, oh shit! Simon leans forward.

“Tasha,” he says slowly, “please put that down. That’s Papa’s and it’s very important that you-”

“I make music!” She swings it like a conductor’s baton. “Let snow, let snow!”

I freeze. I recognize that tone of voice. And from Snow’s expression of utter shock, I know he does too. Something cold hits my skin. Then again, and again.

“Baz, look,” Simon whispers.

I do. Impossibly, falling from our flat ceiling is a light dusting of snow. I chuckle quietly. “Merlin, Morgana, and Circe.”

“She has magic. Our daughter is a mage.”

“Holy shit.”

Snow elbows my side. “Language!” He tries to be serious, but he can’t help but laugh. I don’t blame him. I can’t stop smiling either.

Tasha jumps up and down. “Daddy iss snowing inside!”

He stands up and scoops her into his arms, peppering her little cheek with kisses. “Yes, it is, darling. It certainly is.”

I stand in the doorway of Tasha’s room. After playing in her created snow for a an hour, she collapsed in exhaustion. (It has been a long day for her.) Now she sleeps soundly, curled up in her little yellow onesie, clutching her plush dragon. Even after three and a half years, I still can’t get enough of staring at her. My girl. A mage.

“Hey,” Snow whispers, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Merlin, she's out cold. Think using magic for the first time drained her?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Or we just tired her out. Having a snow fight will do that.”

He pushes his nose under my jaw, lips just hovering over my skin. “But y'know, I'm not that tired. Want to pick up where we left off this morning?”

My face breaks out in a grin. I grab his hand and tug him towards our room. “Gladly.”

Snow and I lay in our bed, sweaty and smiling. The snow storm still rages outside, banging on our window. But I hardly care or notice. My brain is still going off like a fireworks display.

“That was nice,” Simon sighs.

I scoff with no menace. “Understatement of the century.”

“Oh, well, I’ll certainly take that compliment.”

I kick his foot. “Don’t let it go to your head, Snow.”

He throws his arm over my chest, snuggling against my body. “Too late.”

I sigh, still frowning a bit as I hold him tight. We sit in silence for awhile. All I focus on is his steady breathing and the wind howling outside. I love these moments. Simple silence and calm. It makes me happy, and more importantly now, brave enough to talk about tough subjects.

“Y’know,” I whisper, “I really would’ve been okay if she wasn’t a mage.”

Simon sighs, hot breath clashing against my cool skin. “I know, Baz. I know you would’ve been totally okay with a Normal kid. But turns out we have a magick one, which I’m okay with. She’s a mage, which is great. She’ll-she’ll be a fucking great mage. And we’ll teach her. Both of us.”

I sigh myself, all the worry in my body escaping with one breath. “Yes, we will. But do you know what this means?”

“That you’ll need to hide your wand better so Tasha won’t accidentally summon a hurricane?”

I pinch his side. “Shut up, no. It means, I was right. You were a real mage. You were never a fraud, Simon. Your magic was all your own.”

He looks up, blue eyes wide and still slightly swollen lips hanging open. I stroke his bronze hair and smile down at him. After fifteen years, I never get tired of looking at him either. He kisses me, fast but passionate. Soon, he breaks away, panting slightly.

“Yeah,” he chuckles out. “I guess you were.”

“You should listen to me more often.”

“Oh shut up.” He bends over the bed and tosses my shirt and sleep trousers at my face. Once we’re both fully dressed, Snow lays his head on my chest like always. We don’t speak anymore, letting sleep take over our bodies after a long day of fun.

“Daddy?”

We lift our heads up. Tasha stands at our door, clutching her stuffie.

“Hey, love,” Simon whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“Had a bad dream. Can I sleep here?”

“Of course. C’mere.”

Tasha crawls up into our and over me, settling in between us. I look over her, pushing some raven hair away from her cheek. Snow rubs her back up and down. She quickly falls asleep, her soft breathing audible in the quiet, clam room.

“Hey Baz?” Snow says.

“Yes, darling?”

“I think we should have another kid.”

My heart swells, beating faster than I thought possible. I reach over and hold his hand, gripping it firmly.

“Me too.”

AN; Alright this isn't my favourite/best piece of writing but it's cute. I love to imagine Baz dancing Simon around the room. Tomorrow: letters to Santa!

#carry on countdown #coc 2017 #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #snow day #family #children #mysnowbazfic

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simonssnow · 6 years

Text

COC day 19: Late nights/Early mornings

(I kinda incorporated day 27: snow day into this aswell, hope that’s ok:)) (also sorry for the trash)

Lots of fluff ensued @carryon-countdown @alltoowheeler

‘Baz’

‘mhmph’

‘Baaaz’

‘Argh, what?’

‘It’s snowing’

‘That’s wonderful Snow’ I say sarcastically, even in my sleep I’m still a sarcastic bastard.

‘Oh come on lets go let’s go build a snowman’

‘Simon, its five am’

‘I know that’

‘Then why aren’t you asleep?’

‘Because I want to play in the snow’ he says pleadingly

I open my eyes properly, and see him staring down at me with the puppy eyes he does when he wants something. He knows I can’t say no to himwhen he does those eyes. What am I talking about? I can never say no to him.

I get up and I can see his puppy-frown transform in to a grin and his eyes are sparkling with cheer. I give him a quick, soft kiss, just because I can. I stretch and walk over to the dresser to get my clothes, Simon does the same. He still sleeps in just trackies with no shirt – even though it’s freezing cold, I let my eyes trace over the moles across his chest and back, just I have so many times before. It still amazes me how I can look at him likethis and not hide it or feel ashamed. Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

Ten minutes later we’re walking out of the flat in thick coats and stepping into a thin layer of snow, it hasn’t snowed for a long time. Simon rubs his glove-covered hands together, and then I link his left hand with my right. His hands bring me so much warmth, I swear that he is the sun, evenwithout holding all the magic in the universe.

He’s leading the way to wherever we are going, even thoughbwe are walking side by side. I’ll follow him anywhere so it doesn’t matter. After walking for about fifteen minutes he stops at a park. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, there are fairy lights wrapped around the leaf-less trees and everything is covered in fluffy white snow, the sparkling stars in the sky makethe whole scene complete. I gasp at the stunning view and I see Simon lookingsideways at me with his adorable grin that shouldn’t be legal. I clutch hishand tighter and smile stupidly at him.

The park isn’t the only thing stunning, Simon’s hair is freckled with little snowflakes that make his freckles stand out and look even more gorgeous than usual, he’s wearing a dark green coat that is definitely his colour, not to mention that he’s got his wings and tail out (no one is awake, so what’s the point of hiding them?). He likes having them out, and they make him look hotter.

I’m taken out of my reverie when something hits me in the face. I whip my head around to see him laughing at me while holding several snowballs. I quickly retaliate by grabbing a bunch of snow and making them into snowballs, I aim for him while he is doubled over in laughter and get him onhis arm.

‘Never let your guard down Snow!’ I yell to him

‘Take your own advice Pitch!’ he shouts back

And we go on, throwing snow and shouting playful taunts at each other. We build a snowman and name it Cherry. I like this better than fighting.

We end up on laying in the snow next to each other, laughing and making snow angels – well more like snow vampires and snow dragons. We’rejust holding hands and laying in the cold snow when he rolls over on top of me and kisses me, soft and gentle.

‘Very graceful snow’ I whisper when we break apart, a littleout of breath.

‘Thank you’ he mummers as he leans back in. But I beat him to it, I kiss him passionately and he does the same back while doing that thing with his jaw that I love. He pulls me up slowly and it kind of feels like we’re floating. We probably are, he does thatsometimes – hovers a bit with his wings.

When we’re back on our feet we break apart and just lean into each other. We just stand and dance slowly, well not dancing just swaying. I don’t know how long we stay like that but it feels like hours. And sometimes just swaying with your part-dragon boyfriend who you love more than life itself in a snowy,fairy-lighten park, is just fine.

When we do eventually break apart Simon just stares up atthe sky, while I look into his ordinary blue eyes that are so simply Simon. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, or maybe burning, in everything that is Simon, but I don’t mind, because I love him.

‘We should head home’ his voice raspy from not talking. I look up at the sky and see that it is becoming lighter and the snow has stoppedfalling, the sun will be up soon.

I don’t say anything in response, just take hold of his hand and start walking.

‘You know, back in the homes the kids used to tease me about my name’ he says as we’re walking home. ‘And it would always feel like they were insulting my parents, which is stupid because I don’t even know my parents’

‘It’s not stupid. And I used to tease you about your name’ I say feeling instantly guilty for all those years of torment.

‘Yeah but that doesn’t matter’

‘Why? Cause were terrible boyfriends?’ I say with a slight chuckle

He smiles at me and simply says ‘no because you never meant it.’

I squeeze his hand and smile at him.

‘I love you so much Simon Snow.’ I whisper, my voice full oftruth.

He smiles, looking at me with loving eyes and a compassionate expression.

‘And I love you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch’

We walk home in silence, his right hand in my left.

#coc 2017 #carry on countdown #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #rainbow rowell #lena writes #fluff #day 19 #+#day 27 #(kinda)#mine

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angelsfalling16 · 5 years

Text

Just Relax

Pairing: Snowbaz

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Baz gives Simon an oily massage to help him relax.

Word Count: 4326

A/N: I swear this wasn't supposed to be smut when I began. It was supposed to be just a cute and fluffy fic, and then it turned into this. There's still some fluff, but now there's more. I actually don't mind how it turned out, and I hope you all like it.

Tags: SnowBaz, Post-Canon, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Established Relationship, Massage, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Teasing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content

Thank you @wo2ash for your replies to my post about this fic! I probably wouldn’t have posted this without that <3

Read it on ao3

Baz

Simon is tense today. He keeps fidgeting and adjusting, but he can’t seem to get comfortable. He tries to stretch, flexing his wings and reaching his arms above his head, but I can see from his face that nothing is working.

“On the floor,” I tell him, looking back down at my book and pretending that I haven’t been watching him trying to get comfortable for the past ten minutes.

“W-what?” He asks, going still. He apparently didn’t realize how much he was moving or that I’d noticed.

“Lie down on your stomach on the floor.”

“Oh,” he says, understanding now. “We don’t have to—. You don’t have to do this.”

“Just get on the floor, Snow.”

“Snow? Really? We’re back to that now?”

“Maybe you should listen, Snow.” I try to fight a smile but fail.

“Fine,” he growls. “I’m getting on the floor.” He’s attempting to sound put out, but he and I both know that he wants this, probably needs this.

He stretches out on the floor, and I toss him one of the cushions from the couch.

“Put this under your head.”

“Yes, sir,” he mocks.

“Shut up, Snow.”

He just laughs.

“Take off your shirt,” I say, turning the page of my book, pretending that I’m still reading it.

“So demanding.”

“Do you want this or not?” I ask, remaining nonchalant.

He thinks about it for a moment before giving in. He tugs at the hem of his blue t-shirt and struggles with it for a minute before I snap my book shut and slide off the couch to sit behind him. I know that it isn’t the easiest thing to take his shirt off when he’s got wings, and I don’t want to make him have to struggle with it. It will only make him more tense.

We’ve magicked all of his clothes to rework themselves around his wings, but getting them off is still tricky, especially when Simon is having trouble relaxing. I’m happy to help him, though.

I crawl across the floor until I’m kneeling beside his head. Pushing my hair out of my face, I bend down to whisper in his ear.

“Do you want some help with that?”

“Pleeease,” he groans, dropping his arms back down to his sides.

“Of course, love.” I place a soft kiss to his cheek before moving back to help him pull the shirt off.

Once the shirt has fully been removed, I take a moment to admire the freckles and moles that spot his shoulders and back. I’ve seen this sight countless times now, but I’ll never get tired of looking at it. He’s begun to relax slightly, but he is still so tense.

“Are you going to actually do something, or are you doing to just stare at me?” He asks.

“Hmm. It really is so tempting just to look at you.”

He growls, a low sound deep in his throat, and I chuckle.

“Hold on a moment. I’ll be right back,” I tell him as he starts to move to get up. “I’m just going to go get the oil.”

When I return a couple of minutes later to where he’s spread out on the living room floor, I’ve warmed the oil up in a small bowl, and I’ve got several other items with me to make this an easier process.

Simon’s head is still resting on the pillow, but his eyes are closed now. His face looks peaceful, but I can still see the tension in his back.

I set the oil and a couple of towels down on a coffee table before moving around the room, lighting some candles that I grabbed while the oil was heating. I shut off the lights before grabbing the stuff from the table and moving back over to Simon.

There’s a soft, yellow glow now and casts dancing shadow over Simon. There’s still some natural light coming in through the window as the sun sets, but it’s adds to the soothing affect of the candles.

“You better not be asleep,” I say as I kneel down beside Simon’s legs again, setting the bowl a little bit out of the way.

“M’not,” he murmurs, not opening his eyes.

“Good. Sit up a moment so that I can move the pillow under your chest.”

He does as I tell him without any complaint this time. He must be ready for this. I frown at the back of his head, wishing that he had spoken up earlier. I would have helped him if he had just asked.

I sigh inwardly, knowing that it’s still difficult sometimes for him to ask for help. There’s still part of him that believes that he needs to do everything on his own, that there’s no one there to help him. It’s so internalized that it’s not something that I think will completely go away, and I don’t think it’s a conscious decision to not ask for help anymore. He’s come a long way, and I’m happy for him. I’m even happier that I get to be a part of his life.

I pick up one of the towels that I brought with me, and after rolling it up, I place it underneath his forehead so that he can comfortably keep his neck level with his back. I roll up the other towel and place it under ankles. If I let my fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, no one needs to know that.

“Are you ready?” I ask him as I settle next to his hips. He simply grunts in response. “No, I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m ready.”

“Okay. Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Okay.”

I take a deep breath to steady myself and pull the bowl of coconut oil closer. After one more beat, I swing one of my legs over both of his and sit gently on his upper thighs. I hold still a moment as he gets used to the weight.

We’ve done this many times before over the past several years, and we’ve found that this is the most comfortable position for both of us.

Once I’m sure he’s ready, I dip one hand into the bowl and spread some of the oil over both of my hands. After the sufficiently covered, I place my hands low on his back, just above the waistband of his joggers, which hang low on his hips to allow his tail to hang out comfortably above them. His tail trails off beside him, just in front of me. It twitches every once in a while as we sit here but stays still and out of the way for the most part.

I begin rubbing my hands up and down his back lightly, careful not to put pressure directly on his spine. My movements are slow at first as I rub the oil over his back and shoulders and up over his neck. I move around the base of his wings as I do this, avoiding them for the moment. He’s quiet as I move just a little faster, adding pressure as I stroke up his back and moving lightly back down. I continue this until I’m certain that his back has been adequately covered in the oil.

I stop to apply a little more oil to my hands, and Simon makes a low, whining noise as the loss of the feeling.

“It’s okay,” I murmur soothingly.

I place one hand on the right side of his lower back and overlap it with my other hand, and I start up a circular movement, working out the muscles in that area with the soothing circles. I can feel some of the tension start to leave him as he sighs softly. I keep working at it for a little bit longer before moving on to the left side to do the same thing there so that it’s balanced.

Adjusting my position on his legs, I start to move my hands differently. I place my thumbs on either side of his spine and start running them up his back, adding light pressure to the muscles there. Simon gasps as I get about midway up his back, and his tail swings up at the same time, narrowly missing my face.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, stilling my movements.

“Yeah,” he shifts underneath me. “It’s just really tense there.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll try to fix it. Just, be careful with your tail please.”

“Right. Sorry.” I can’t see his face, but I can tell that he’s blushing. He gets bashful when his tail moves like that on its own. It only happens when he’s really excited or in pain or surprised.

I feel his tail come to wrap around my thigh in a tight grip, and it feels nicer than I care to admit right now.

I find that spot in his back again and begin working it a little more with small, gentle circles until I feel him relax underneath me again, sighing contentedly.

I start up with the movement of my thumbs again running up and down his spine, moving my entire body with my arms, shifting back and forth so that my arms don’t get tired before I’m done. I’m careful not to rub my body into his because right now would not be the ideal time for me to get aroused.

After a few more up and down strokes, I move on to the places that need my most attention. Scooping up a little more oil, I move my hands to his shoulder blades. I feel Simon still underneath me in anticipation.

“Relax, Simon” I whisper over his bare skin. He smells so good now.

It takes a few deep breaths for him to calm down again, but he does.

I start out by moving my fingers in gentle circles over his shoulders, adding pressure in places that feel more tense than others, moving around the base of his wings. I continue to avoid actually touching his wings, and as his shoulders relax, I can tell that it’s driving him crazy. The feeling of my hands running over his wings is his favorite part, which is exactly why I save it for last.

I continue to massage his shoulders for a little longer than necessary, teasing him. He archs up into my touch, flapping his wings lightly as he does, desperate for my hands on them, and this causes his thighs to rub up against my crotch.

“Fuck,” I gasp, and he does it again. “Snow,” I grit out. “Stop that.”

He hums, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Feels like someone is enjoying this just as much as I am.”

“This isn’t about me,” I tell him, placing my hands flat on his back, holding him there while I try to get my breathing back under control and will my erection to go down.

Being able to run my hands over Simon’s body as he relaxes underneath me almost always causes this reaction, and it’s difficult to control. I love how trusting he’s become over the past seven years of our relationship. It wasn’t always this easy between us, but it’s gotten so much better.

I really don’t want to make this massage about me, though. I’m doing this purely to help him relieve some of the tension.

“It could be about you,” he says in gravelly voice that doesn’t do anything to help with my problem.

“We’re not done with the massage,” I say, lifting my hips and attempting to adjust myself so that I don’t rub up against his arse with every movement.

“We could be.”

“Not yet,” I tell him, running a finger along the strip of skin where his wings mesh with his back. I feel his body shiver underneath me, and I can tell that he’s torn between continuing with the massage and moving on to a different kind of pleasure.

“Fine,” he says after a quiet moment. “Please continue.”

I wait for him to settle again before I stroke my hands from his spine across his shoulders and to his wings, continuing the movement up and over them. I begin with light, barely-there strokes, continuing the teasing.

“Baz,” he whines, growing impatient.

Smiling at him even though he can’t see me, I remove my hand from his left wing and use both hands to pet over the other one. I drag my hands over the red material of his wings. The texture is still strange under my hand, even after touching them almost daily for years. It looks like it would be dry and rough to the touch, but that’s not it at all.

His wings are firm and steady, stretched out at their full width. They’re glossy and smooth, and I could spend all day carefully running my hands over them, exploring every inch of them. Even after repeated reassurances, I’m still afraid that I might hurt him while doing this. His wings look so fragile, and I don’t want to end up accidentally hurting him.

After I’ve run my fingers over ever part of his right wing that I can reach, I move on to the other one, listening to Simon’s contented sighs and gentle moans. He starts to move after a while, his hips gently rocking up to rub against me.

“Simon,” I say in a warning tone.

“We’re done now,” he says, in a firm tone that leaves no room for questioning.

“But—.”

Before I can finish my protest, he has some how managed to push himself up and roll over underneath me. Then, he’s flipping us, and he’s the one straddling my legs instead of the other way around.

“Simon,” I try, but it turns into a moan as he rubs against me.

“I’m good. I feel good.” He leans down to whisper into my ear. “I feel really good now, Baz.”

Crowley, my face feels like it is on fire as he talks.

He continues to whisper into my ear, the feeling of his breath against it not helping me at all.

“I really appreciate your help, but now it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

I can no longer control myself. I buck up into him, causing us both to moan at the contact.

“Fuck,” he groans before leaning forward and sealing our mouths together with a kiss.

It’s needy and messy. His hands tangle in my hair, and mine scratch at his back, scrabbling for purchase, no doubt leaving marks as I pull him impossibly closer against me. His skin is smooth from the oil, and I find myself running my hands over it again and again as he deepens the kiss.

We separate long enough for him to pull my shirt over my head, and then his lips are back on mine, pulling at my lip and drawing out a low moan. I press up into him, tangling our legs around each other, our bare chests pressed together.

I pull out of the kiss and trail open-mouthed kisses across his cheek until I reach his ear, pulling at it with my teeth. I used to be afraid to do this, to use my teeth when we were being intimate together. I was so afraid that I would lose control and my fangs would pop out.

I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to accidentally turn him, or worse, suck him dry. It took him repeatedly telling me that he trusted me not to hurt him before I would even try. Trust wasn’t the thing that I was worried about because trust wouldn’t be able to stop me.

I’ll only bite him like this if I’ve fed recently because I still don’t fully trust myself. I’ve gotten much better at controlling my fangs, though. With Simon’s love and trust, I quit trying to deny that I was a vampire, which I used to do even with myself. I used to think that maybe if I ignored it long enough, it would just go away. I almost starved myself a couple of times that way. That was before I became friends – more than friends – with Simon. I spent summers missing him and hating that I missed and hating being at home where I had to hide different parts of myself, and I thought that not feeding would fix it.

It didn’t. And I haven’t tried that in a long time. I’ve learned to accept myself.

The first time that I bit Simon during sex, I realized that I wasn’t the only one who wanted me to do that. The reaction in him was quick and noticeable. His movements became more frantic, and the second time that I bit him, not long after that, he came hard with a loud moan.

Now, he has a little more control than that as I release his ear and move down to bite and suck at his neck, marking him. I feel his fingers tangle into my hair as he tilts his head to give me better access. I suck another mark into the skin between his shoulder and neck before he pulls away, breathing heavily.

He holds himself up with his hands on either side of my head. His eyes are dark with arousal, the blue just a thin circle around the black. He rests like that for a moment before I miss the contact and push myself up to kiss him again, cupping the side of his face with a gentle hand.

He smiles against my mouth. He knows me well enough to know that I just couldn’t hold myself back. I kiss him harder, and he lets me for a long moment before he pulls away.

“Wait,” he gasps.

I stop moving, waiting for him to catch his breath long enough to tell me what he wants.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He starts kissing me again, but not on my lips. The first kiss is pressed to my collar bone. Then, he’s moving down, leaving a trail of kisses down my chest until he reaches one of my nipples. He bites it, eliciting a gasp from me, before soothing it with that deliciously sinful tongue of his, rubbing at my other nipple with one of his hands.

After he’s done licking over that nipple, he switches to the other one. It feels so good, but I want something more.

“Simon,” I gasp, tugging at his hair.

Getting the hint, he places a kiss to that dip in the middle of my chest before continuing the long, tortuous journey of kissing down my body, lapping out with his tongue seemingly randomly as he goes. As he passes my bellybutton, he licks circles around it before trailing down even lower, dragging his teeth over the lower part of my stomach until he reaches the top of my jeans.

He stops there to stare down at my legs. I blush under his heated gaze. He bought this pair for me. They’re dark, and they cling to my legs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, which is why I only wear them around our house.

He runs his hands up and down my thighs, avoiding my obvious erection. He’s doing it on purpose, too, which is obvious by the way that he drags a finger down right next to the length of it.

“Are you going to actually do something?” I sneer at him. “Or are you just going to stare at it?”

“Hmm, staring at it is fun,” he says with a small laugh.

It takes me a moment to realize that we’re repeating each other’s words from earlier, and he seems to be getting a kick out of it.

“I hate you,” I murmur, not meaning it in the least.

“If that were true,” he says, unbuttoning my jeans, “you wouldn’t have married me.”

He’s right, of course. It came as a surprise to me when he proposed during our last year of uni. We had never seriously talked about it, but it was definitely something that I wanted. I just wasn’t sure that he wanted it, too, until that moment. We married the following summer, and it was the happiest moment of my life.

Simon yanks my trousers down in one swift, practiced movement, taking my pants down with them and tossing them carelessly to the side. I gasp as the cold air washes over my newly exposed skin. He starts up the tortuous process of running his hands over my legs again, and I bite down on my lip to keep myself from begging for him to touch me where I want it most.

He smiles wickedly at me before placing a kiss to the sensitive skin on my inner thigh. I groan and squeeze my hands into fists to keep myself from pulling at him and making him go where I want him to. He trails a line of kisses up and over until he’s right beside the base of my cock, and I’m a second away from begging for it now.

Then, he finally takes the head of my cock into his mouth, and I have no hope of holding in the moan that escapes.

“Crowley, Snow,” I breathe.

“You called me Simon before,” he says, which unfortunately means that he has to release my cock to speak.

“Shut up, Simon,” I say, laughing at the age-old argument, which is a strange thing to do – both the laughing and the arguing – when his mouth is hovering over my cock, breathing cool streams of air over it.

He does shut up, though. Wrapping his mouth around the head of my cock, he runs his tongue across the slit, lapping up any precome there before slowly taking me into his mouth has far as he can, doing delectable things with his tongue as he goes, causing me to buck up into his mouth unintentionally.

His hands come up to hold my hips down, but he keeps his mouth on me.

“Sorry,” I gasp out.

He simply hums around me before taking me all the way down in one swift movement. I feel my cock hit the back of his throat, and I moan as I’m consumed with pleasure. He pulls back off before taking me down again, the wet heat of his mouth pulling me closer and closer to climax. Then, one of his hands starts to move, the other still holding me down, moving down below my cock and fondling my balls.

It all becomes too much, both his hand and mouth working on me. He lightly adds pressure to the hand cupped around my balls, and I come, moaning his name.

“Simon.”

He continues to suck me through my orgasm, swallowing ever last drop before releasing me. He sits up, catching his breath, as I relax into floor, coming down from the blissful high. After a moment, he leans back over me to place a kiss to my lips. I hum happily, and his lips part. I slip my tongue inside, tasting myself in his mouth. He leans down farther, pressing his body flush with mine, and I can feel his erection rub against my leg through his clothes.

“These need to come off,” I breath, tugging on his joggers. “I want to touch you.”

He obliges, quickly pulling them off and chucking them off to the side, not caring where they land. I just hope that he’s being mindful of the candles. The last thing we need is for our house to catch fire while we’re wrapped around each other, completely naked.

“Oil?” I ask, looking around me for the bowl.

It’s less than a foot away, and miraculously, it hasn’t gotten dumped. It has begun to cool, but it’s still warm enough, and oily enough, to use. I rub it on fingers for a moment before I reach for him. I run a teasing finger around the base of his cock as he buries his face in my neck. He bites a mark into the spot just below my jaw as I finally wrap my hand around his cock and give it a gentle tug.

He gasps against my neck, and I pull again. As he breathes heavily against my neck, I alternate between slow, gentle pulls and firm, hurried ones.

“I’m close,” he moans, and I’m not surprised that it’s happening this quickly.

It doesn’t usually take him long after I’ve gotten him to completely relax with a massage. I love him like this, completely relaxed and carefree. It means that he trusts me enough to just be himself, not worried about what’s going on in the rest of the world.

“Come for me,” I whisper into his ear, placing a soft kiss against his cheek, and speeding up my movements, pulling his orgasm from him. I bite into his shoulder, sending him over the edge, and he comes between us with a low moan, covering us both in white streams of his come.

I pull him through his release, and he collapses on top of me, a warm pressure against my naked body. I run the fingers of my clean hand through his hair as he rests it on my chest, coming down from his high.

“Better now?” I murmur as he relaxes into me.

“Much. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I say with a light chuckle, closing my eyes and holding on to him tighter.

“Relaxing bath now?” He asks after a quiet minute.

“Anything for you, my love.” I press a kiss to his forehead before standing and pulling him up after me.

He stumbles toward me, cradling my face in his hands and leaning forward to whisper, “I love you, Baz.”

“You’re such a sap,” I murmur against his lips before kissing him again. Pulling back with a smile on my face, I tell him, “I love you, too, Simon.”

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz oneshot #simon snow #baz #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #red writing hood #my wriitng #just relax

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 4 years

Text

Firsts

Carry On Countdown Day 29

Pairing: Snowbaz

Length: 2588 words

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Sexual Content

AN: Obviously Firsts was gonna be smut, but this isn’t their first time fucking, just their first time trying some dom/sub play. (It’s very very mild tho). (Also I don’t write a lot of smut)

Simon’s got his forearm pressed to my collar bone, rumpling my shirt even more. “Is this dominating, do you feel dominated?” He’s glowing. I’m glowing. My smile is so wide it hurts my cheeks. Behind the playful jabbing is genuine care in Simon’s eyes. I role mine to distract from the sight of him.

“Very dominated, Snow.” I want to ease us both into this so I’m glad he’s having fun with it. I crane my neck to kiss him. He looks like he’ll kiss me but then pulls away. “Nah ah ah. I’m the one in charge remember?”

“Yes, sir.” I nod.

He shivers from his neck to the tip of his tail at ‘sir’. I want him to react like that more often when I speak. I hear a faint “shit” from him. Then he slips into a more domineering persona and in a deeper voice asks, “Did I say you could speak.”

I shake my head as I feel my entire body ignite. This was an excellent idea.

“Good boy.” Now it’s my turn to shiver with delight. He steps away, leaving me pressed against the bedroom wall. I take in the miles of glorious bronze skin on display. His wings are relaxed behind him. My eyes travel to the sight of Snow’s dark green joggers hanging dangerously low on his hips. I bit my lip, hoping he gets the hint of where I want this to go.

“Take off your clothes,” he demands. My mouth opens but I remember his rule. I frantically finish taking off my half unbuttoned shirt and push down my trousers as soon as they’re unzipped. I worry about coming off as desperate but then I think, I want to seem desperate. I want him to know how much I want this. He has the power to make me do anything he wants.

For a moment he stares, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. I’m embarrassingly hard already. I don’t know if I want to shy away from his gaze or bask in it. I opt for running a hand through my long hair.

His tail reaches out to wrap around my hand. I rub it with my thumb. He looks like he’s trying to decide what’s next. I wait for him. I want him to know he’s in charge.

“On your knees.” he says as his tail whips away from me. I drop immediately. Something about his no nonsense tone is getting me all sorts of bothered. To think I used to mock him for his speech.

He steps closer, pulling me by the back of my head into his crotch. I close my eyes and breathe in deep. I can smell his laundry detergent, underneath it, a musk uniquely his, and underneath that, the pulse of his sweet butter and sugar blood rushing south. I have to hold back a moan. I’m aching. My only release is placing on open mouthed kiss over his clothed cock.

This close I can tell he’s at least half hard already. I look up at him and he just pushes me closer. I do my best to mouth at his prick through the green joggers. He lets out a small moan, his wings spread a little wider, the hand in my hair clenches a little tighter.

I reach up to grab his ass and pull him closer to my mouth. His rear has always been a favorite feature of mine; there’s a dark mole on his left cheek. Though honestly, every feature of his is a favorite.

He grunts as my nose smushes into his stomach and my tongue makes a long wet strip down his front. Pleasure pools in my lower half. But then he looks disappointed. “No hands,” he breathes out.

I stop touching him with my hands and want to ask where I should put them but I’m not allowed to speak. I stare up at him with the question in my eyes. He gets the message.

“I don’t know,” he’s worked up, fully hard now. “Uh, behind your back.” I clasp my hands together behind me and lean into him so he can see I’ve followed directions. “Merlin.” He groans pulling my black hair towards him as he rolls his hips to meet my mouth. “Wouldn’t want you getting distracted by touching yourself now would we?” he puts back on the domineering manner as he picks up the speed. He has a rhythm going, grinding in to my face.

I shake my head. “Now,” he composes himself a little, “Are you ready to do your actual job?” I moan as a response. We didn’t talk about a specific scene or character or ‘brand’ of domination play, so I’m not sure what my ‘job’ is but I roll with it.

He smiles as he pushes his joggers down over his cock, no pants. His wings are almost fully stretched out now and his tail restlessly twitching. I follow his biggest moles and freckles from his cheek to his hip with my eyes. His cock is red and hard and pushed up a little by the elastic waistband. And I swear that sight would kill me if I wasn’t already undead.

I push my nose into the coarse curls just above his prick. He hasn’t put his hand back in my hair. He knows I have to take this part slow if we want it to work.

I used to never be able to suck Snow off, I was too scared of my fangs. I’ve learned how to control them, though it can still get tricky.

I focus on keeping them in as I place my lips over his head. I hear him gasp, and though I desperately want to, I know looking at him will be too much. Slowly, I take him down to the root.

This part is always the most tempting. He tastes salty and smells delicious. Ever since I’ve known what wet dreams were, I’ve been having them about Snow. The real thing is always a thousand times better than I ever thought.

I start moving faster, causing him to place both his hands in my hair. His warmth seeps into me. I come up and run my tongue under the head of his cock. He shudders and his tail violently whips up before latching onto my bent knee. I probably shouldn’t be as aroused by that as I am. As I fall into a rhythm his wings brush the ceiling of our room.

I love him like this. Sweaty and moaning. Bliss written on his face, tension building in the pit of his stomach and the joints of his leathery wings. I think I should have someone paint him like this. He’s stunning. And I’m desperately hard from it; trying to rut into the carpet for any semblance of release. I watch a drop of sweat slid off his bicep before closing my eyes and letting myself just feel.

I think just then he remembers he’s supposed to be dominant because he starts spitting filthy, lovely things at me.

“Fuck, babe.” he tugs on my hair. “So good at this, such a good boy for me. Gonna keep you here forever. Make you-” He thrusts his hips- “Make you do this everyday. All the time.” I moan so he’ll know to keep going. “Shit, Baz, you love this don’t you? Love being bossed around by me.” Even though he’s putting on the act of bossing me around I can tell he’s worried about going too fast. He keeps running his hand through my hair, and I know he’s holding back with the thrusts. I’m tempted to tell him he doesn’t have to, that I want this to be rough. I won’t get too intense though, we’re supposed to easing in.

“Look- practically hungry for it. Must love serving The Chosen One.”

I swear I almost cum at that. I don’t even know if I get to cum in this scene but I’m so needy and right now I need him to unload. I speed up and start swirling my tongue in the way I know he likes. He moans deep and desperate. My mouth making downright disgusting noises on his dick.

I can tell he’s close. I feel him twitch and can taste the pre pouring from his slit. Before he finished though, he yanks my head away from him.

He’s panting and leans into my shoulders with his arms. I move my hands to his thighs, to help steady him.

“Not yet, Baz, I know what you were getting at, but I set the pace. It’s your turn now.” I moan at just the thought of being touched. His face is so red, it must be painful stopping that close to the edge.

I sit, waiting for him to tell me what to do.

“On the bed,” is all he gives me. I get up and sit on the bed, his eyes burning into me the whole time.

He swallows, one of those big showy swallows only Simon can do. “On your stomach. Knees at the end of the bed.”

I obey him. “I uh, you touched my thighs but I don’t really- I don’t know if- how to do punishment stuff, sorry…” I can’t see him but from the tone of his voice I can tell he’s fidgeting.

I awkwardly twist my body around to try and look at Snow. He's stripped off his joggers. I make an effort not to stare at the newly revealed skin. “That’s perfectly alright, Love, we’re taking it slow, remember? Just do whatever is comfortable, okay?” He’s been so nervous about making this good for me ever since I suggested experimenting with new things; I’m not sure how I haven’t convinced him that anything he gives me is more than enough.

He nods, clearing his head. “Yeah okay. How- uh how are you? What’s your color?”

“Absolutely green, Dear.” I say putting on a seductive smile to show him how into this I am.

He smiles back but his is tooth achingly sweet. My heart stops when he looks at me like that. “Gonna open you up nice and wide for me.” His smile turned devilish.

“Aleister Crowley.” I moan without thinking. I swear this boy will be the death of me.

He motions for me to face forward. I do. I hear him drop to his knees right before his warm hands are on my hips, pulling me closer to the edge of the mattress. I feel his breath on me.

Then he’s spreading me apart with his hands and licking a long strip across my hole. It makes me shiver.

He starts circling with his tongue. It’s so incredibly warm; I can’t help but think how good he’d feel inside me right now. He presses his tongue my hole then slowly he’s pressing it inside me.

I rutt into the mattress and sigh. His blunt nails dig into my ass.

“Don’t move.” He says it low and gravely and I think my lungs have given out.

There’s tears in my eyes, because this is already so much and I need to cum but I know I can’t if I have to stay still. I’ll do it, for him.

Before I know it he’s slowly pressing a lubed finger into me; his tongue leaving kitten licks just above it. In my haze I didn't even notice he grabbed lube. It’s cold at first but I swear he could set my insides alight like this.

Gently he starts pushing in and out of me. It's so good yet entirely not enough. Snow adds a second finger. His other hand squeezing the flesh of my ass cheek. I'm grinding my teeth from the effort of holding still. I might die if one of us doesn't move soon.

Then he adds a third finger and brushed my prostate. My toes curl. My entire body feels like a rubber band pulled taut.

"Merlin, please. Please please more." I sob.

He nips at my lower back and pulls his fingers out. I whimper, and want to beg him to put them back.

"You think you're ready?" He says more like a statement than a question. I don't know if I'm allowed to respond. "Speak."

I bury my head in the pillow. "Yes. Please, Sir." He growls.

I hear the lube cap open then feel the bed shift as Simon straddles my hips. He pulls me towards him and sinks in. He sighs as I grasp at the bed sheets. I’m so warm and so full but he isn’t moving.

I push my hips back in attempt to fit more of him inside. He chuckles before pulling almost fully out and sliding in again. My voice is deep and fucked but I can’t stop the noises leaving me.

I can tell his wings are spread wide above us; I hear them scratching the ceiling and flapping slightly.

My back arcs as Simon presses a hand at the base of my neck and grips my hip tightly with the other. His palms are dry and rough. He picks up the speed, setting a brutal pace. He’s making short grunts I could only find attractive coming from him.

Then he starts again with the dirty talk. “Mh perfect for me, so cold. Gonna make you all mine, never let you leave.” I whine in response just as he finds my g-spot again.

“Shit, Baz. You’re made for this. Made to take my cock so well, huh?” I think it’s a question but I’m too far gone to respond.

With every thrust he’s hitting my prostate and pushing my cock into the mattress. I’m writhing beneath him; my entire body so overwhelmed with pleasure it’s forgotten how to function. My fangs have popped, my hair a sweaty mess pressed to my forehead and I think I’m drooling but I can’t care. I’m close, so close I think I’ll cum without him even touching my prick.

In my ecstasy I start babbling. “Simon! Hng, I’m so so- Simon! I’m-” at that the hand he’s got spread at the junction of my neck and shoulders squeezes and I’m gone.

I go silent as I spill onto the bed, shaking with pleasure. Then my vision comes back and I’m aware of how hard my heart is beating.

Snow’s still going but I know he won’t last much longer. My body goes slack as he fucks into me, getting more frantic and uneven with each thrust. Finally, I feel it. He stills inside me and moans. I can’t see it but I know from experience that he looks glorious. He takes a moment to recover then lays beside me. My fangs retract.

“Was that okay?” He asks pushing hair out of my face then placing a soft kiss on my temple. Shy, unsure Simon is back.

“It was wonderful Snow-” I put a pale hand on his cheek “-Thank you for trying this with me.” I stare into his plain blue eyes as my thumb circles a freckle near his mouth.

He blushes a little. “Let me clean you up, Pitch.” He says. I open my mouth to say he doesn’t have to but he stops me. “I want to, I kinda really like that part of it.” His blush gets deeper and he won’t look my in the eyes. Simon Snow absolutely will be the death of me one day. Aleister Crowley, I am living a charmed life.

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

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Chapter 15 is up! The penultimate chapter of Can’t Find My Way Home. Thank you all for your support of this fic--the comments, the private messages, the kudos. I appreciate it so very much.

Just one more chapter after this. . .

Chapter 15

Baz

I don’t know how they expect us to actually open the office in London if all we do in these planning meetings is rehash everything we discussed at the last meeting. The agenda may as well be rubbish; it’s not as if we ever follow it.

I don’t say much. I can’t be bothered anymore. I’m tired of trying to keep people on track when most of them only want to hear the sound of their own voices.

Philippa gave me a blistering after the last meeting. She seemed to think I’d cut her off and stifled her opportunity to “voice her opinion.” Bollocks. She’d nattered on for almost ten minutes about the décor, which is literally the least important issue facing us at the moment.

I’m certainly not one to shun tastefully chosen interior design, but when we haven’t even finalized a transition team and we’re barely three months away from said transition, I find discussions on the merits of sage and taupe versus silver and charcoal grey quite maddening.

I find everything about this vexing. I’m part of these meetings, perforce, but no one has officially named me to the actual on-site transition team. The staff composition for the London office is still a mystery.

I don’t even think we’re going to make the May target date.

It’s even more unbearable being here in New York now. It was barely tolerable before the holiday but now, with Simon in London, it’s absolutely excruciating.

I really don’t know why I even bothered to come back. I should give my notice and go home. I’ve got contacts in the industry, references and credentials that are impeccable. I could find a job in London and Simon and I could take up where we left off. Which would make life infinitely better.

But I’m a Pitch and we don’t give up, even in the direst of circumstances.

I committed to this transition and I am a man of my word.

Fuck it all.

Simon

I do my best not to ask Baz about work anymore. I’m curious of course, because I’m me, but I try to restrain myself. Talking about work drags on him. He looks pale and wan when we Facetime as it is.

Last time we spoke he reluctantly admitted that the London transition was a bit of mess. Didn’t say much more than that, but his expression said it all. He’s worried they won’t make the May date.

Which means he won’t be coming to London then.

I don’t know what that means for him overall. I know he’s talked about leaving, finding another position here, with another firm.

I’d like that. But I don’t want him to do that for me. He’s got to do it for himself, not for us.

So I do my best to distract him when we talk. Tell stories about work, the boys in the home. How I totally bollocksed up the art class and spilled half the paint on my shirt. The day I managed to get free tickets to a football match for the older boys. The way the little ‘uns like to hear my stories of the scrapes I got into at Watford.

The grim details of how the older boys completely thrashed me when we played football on the green. I am shit at goal.

It makes Baz smile and that means the world to me.

Baz

It’s finally set. The transition team has been named and I’m on it. The London office tentative opening date has been pushed back to late June, but the team is scheduled to be there starting in May.

I’m in charge of operations. I finally have some fucking control of this disaster. I live for this kind of thing—bringing organization to chaos. It’s in my blood.

The whole thing is a fucking wreck and I’m sure to be driven mad before the end.

But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Two months. I’ll be back in London in two months.

Simon

He’s still pale but Baz is far more animated when we Facetime now. He’s drilling the team in preparation for the move. He’s in his element when he’s in charge like this; his eye on all the moving parts, relieved to finally have some control.

Not that he’s clear of the dark days. Plenty of those still. His coworkers all sound like berks.

I’m just glad he’s going to be back here in May.

I miss him.

I know that might be a stupid thing to say, when we only had those few days together in December. I’ve got years of being with Baz, under less friendly circumstances mind you, but still. It was easy to let myself fall into the comfort of being in his company again.

Easier to admit some truths I’d been shoving away for far too long.

I can’t say there isn’t a tinge of apprehension. We’ve just gotten to know each other again, and I don’t know whether this blaze of affection that manifested months ago will continue to burn as bright when we’re together again or proximity and familiarity will quench the fire of it.

I’d like to think it won’t.

I’ve never fallen for someone in this way before, so completely and overwhelmingly. I mean I loved Agatha but I wasn’t in love with her. The idea of a happy ever after, even a bland and sedate one, was alluring for someone like me.

But settling is never in anyone’s best interest.

With Baz, even if it was only a matter of days, I felt like I’d found what I’d always been missing. The last piece of the puzzle. The place I fit.

Home. That’s what I mean. The idea that once you find home, that’s that. You keep that person, if they let you.

I think Baz will let me keep him.

Baz

I toss my keys on the table, toe off my shoes and collapse on the sofa.

I’m exhausted. Knackered. Utterly spent.

It’s been a fucking week. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. I glance at my watch. It’s almost eleven o’clock back home. Not too late to Facetime Simon.

I dial his number and wait. It takes a few rings for him to pick up but the wave of warmth that rushes through me at the sight of his face is frankly embarrassing.

Fuck, I miss him.

“Baz!” Simon’s face lights up as he stares into his screen. He’s holding it up close so I can see the pattern of moles and freckles on his face clearly.

“Hello, love.” I drink in the sight of him. His hair is drooping over his forehead, his cheeks are flushed, and he looks ridiculously pleased to see me.

The feeling is mutual.

He pulls back a bit and frowns at the screen. “You look tired. Another shit day?”

“They’re all shit days.”

It’s my turn to frown at my mobile. The background behind Simon looks awfully familiar, but it’s not the one I was expecting to see, not the one I’m used to viewing behind him when I call.

The reason manifests itself an instant later.

“Sod off, Baz. You’re fucking up our movie night.” Fiona’s face pops up, obscuring Simon completely.

“What the fuck is Simon doing at your flat?” No wonder it looked familiar. What the hell is going on?

Fiona raises an eyebrow and glares at me. “I just told you, you dolt. It’s movie night. Hurry the fuck up. We’re watching Lost Boys and Jason Patric just came on screen. I’m not about to forgive you for making me pause that.” She disappears but I can still hear her grumbling in the background.

“What the hell, Simon?”

“She rang me up a while back. We’ve met up at the pub a few times, for drinks and karaoke, but she wanted to do a movie night this time.”

“This time? How often do you and Fiona get together?” Why do I know nothing of this? What the actual fuck.

Her face pops back up, full-on glare this time. “Baz. Kiss the screen or do whatever the fuck you do when you Facetime Snow, but for the last time, wrap it the fuck up. We’ve got a movie to watch here.”

“Why is she glaring at me like that?” I ask Simon as he retakes his mobile from my wretched aunt.

He waggles his eyebrows at me and grins. “Oh, that’s just her fond glare.”

Fucking hell.

Simon

My mobile chimes from the table. I pull the roast all the way out of the oven and set it on the stovetop before I toss the potholders aside and focus on the screen.

Baz: May 17th.

Simon : what

Baz: We just finalized the dates. I fly home May 17th.

Simon: !!!!!

Simon: about bloody time they gave you an actual date

Simon: wankers

Baz: I convinced them to push back the opening to July 1st.

Baz: I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend your birthday stressed and working all hours.

Simon: you didn’t have to do that

Simon: but thank you

I glance at the calendar. Less than a month away.

Baz

My eyes sweep around the flat one last time, just to make sure I’ve got everything. I’ve already set my luggage by the door—the same two suitcases I arrived with almost a year ago. No more, no less.

The keys go in an envelope. I’ll drop it in the building manager’s mailbox on my way out.

There’s a ping from my mobile.

Ah. The Uber driver is waiting downstairs.

This is it. I’m finally done with this miserable chapter of my life. I’m not sure work is going to be any less miserable, just by virtue of it being in London, but I’ll be in London, which is really all that matters.

I’ll be near Simon again.

I can sort the rest of it later. The new office, the job, if I even want to stay employed at this firm.

I have time to figure that all out.

I look around once again. There’s no nostalgia. I’m well rid of this place. But I can be grateful for one thing: if I hadn’t been in New York I’d never have run into Simon. I’d never have found him again. It’s all been worth it, just for that chance encounter. Every sodding minute of it.

I can’t waste my time reminiscing. There’s a flight to catch. There damn well better not be any storms.

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #travel au #my fics #My writing #one more chapter to go

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pennybxnce · 7 years

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Your Shitty Handwriting Sucks

Baz

At this point, Baz had given up on ever finding his soulmate. Sure, he had the first words that his soulmate would say to him tattooed on his wrist, but he couldn’t fucking read it. His soulmate had shit handwriting, and if he ever met his soulmate, he wouldn’t know.

He sighs, leaning his elbow on the coffee shop counter, and propping his head in his hand. Work was slow tonight, only a few people were sitting in the lightly lit place. A cute bronze haired boy, furiously typing on a laptop, an elderly lady drinking coffee, and reading a novel, and a man who was scrolling through his phone with a muffin sitting in front of him. He couldn’t wait to get home and sleep, he had an early lecture in the morning. He wasn’t even supposed to be working tonight, he covered Agatha’s shift because he owed her for all the times she covered for him when he was so tired he could hardly stand, and days when he had to study.

He glanced at the clock. 9:40. The shop closed at 11:00, and he frowned. He pulled out his phone, and stuck his earbuds in. If no one needed him, he could at least listen to his music for the next hour until he could go home. He spared one last glance at the curly haired boy, almost wishing that he was his soulmate. Rubbing his wrist, he chided himself. He wouldn’t know anyway, and he sent up one more curse at his soulmate for having shit handwriting.

Simon

Simon yawned, leaning back in his chair. He was so tired, but he had an assignment that had to be turned in by midnight. He thought it would be easy, and that was his mistake. He didn’t listen to Penny when she kept telling him that he would need days to work on it, not hours. He’d been working on it for the past four hours, and was almost finished with it. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was 9:47. He had time for a quick catnap. He looked at the handsome black haired barista standing behind the counter, earbuds in and eyes closed. Simon didn’t think he would care if he slept or that he hadn’t ordered anything since he came in around five. He laid his head down in his arms, and closed his eyes.

Baz

When the clock hit 10:50, he raised his arms above his head and stretched. He looked around the small, dimly lit shop, and saw the bronze haired boy, sitting down, head in his arms. The other two people had left, thank god. He just had to get the boy out of here and then he could close up, and head home. He took out his earbuds, and set his phone on the counter. He walked toward the boy, quickly seeing that he sleeping, soft snores emitting from him. He felt a little bad at having to wake him, but not that bad. He wanted to get home.

He nudged the boy with his hand, poking his shoulder.

“Hey? Sorry, but you have to leave, we’re closing in five.” Baz said, poking him again.

The boy groaned, but didn’t move.

“Excuse me, you have to leave. Contrary to popular belief, we’re not a hotel.” This time, the boy lifted his head, and blinked blearily at Baz.

The first thing that Baz saw was bright, blue eyes. It was as if he was staring at an unblemished sky on a bright sunny day. The boy’s eyes were beautiful, and bright, and brilliant. The second thing that stood out to Baz was the freckles and moles covering his face. Did this sleepy boy have to be so pretty?

“What’d you say?” The boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Baz rolled his eyes. “I said that you need to leave because we’re closing.”

The last thing he sees before he was hugged was his blue eyes widening. The next thing was arms tightly wrapped around his waist, and were those tears?

Baz’s first thought was to push this maniac off, but he felt comfortable and safe with the boys arms around him.

The boy looked up at Baz, and thrust his wrist into his face. And in Baz’s neat handwriting were the words, “Hey? Sorry, but you have to leave, we’re closing in five.”

Baz gasped. This was his soulmate? He glanced at the papers and the laptop sitting on the table behind the boy. And yes, on the papers scattered all over the table, had the shit handwriting that was on his wrist.

“You’re the one with shit handwriting! Did you know that I can’t even read what you’re first words were until I heard them? Your shitty handwriting sucks ass.”

The boy had the grace to look embarrassed. “I never would have thought that you wouldn’t be able to read it. Um.” The boy unwrapped his arms from around Baz’s waist, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Simon Snow, your soulmate. And you are?”

“Baz Pitch.” He said, grasping Simon’s hand. Simon smiled shyly at him, and Baz’s knees got weak.

“Um, I know we’re soulmates and all, but I gotta close up shop. Would you-” Baz swallowed. “Would you like to hang out when I’m done?” Screw that morning lecture. He’d rather waste the night away with his soulmate.

Simon grinned at him, then glanced at the clock. Panic clouded his features. “Give me twenty minutes, and sure. I just have to finish this project as fast as I can.”

Baz nodded. “I guess I could keep this place open for twenty minutes more. Just hurry up, soulmate.”

The night finished with the two boys walking hand in hand under the dim streetlights, and Baz just realizing how lucky he was to have this beautiful, brilliant, lively boy as his soulmate. As Baz gave him another soft smile, he decided to let the fact that Simon had shit handwriting pass.

#vv short #im sorry this sucsk #not proofread #i need to write more #kinda preapring for nanowrimo #soulmate au #soulmates #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #agatha wellbelove #carry on simon #rainbow rowell carry on #fangirl

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arituzz · 7 years

Text

Party Games 6

-SNOWBAZ-

How to fall for your enemy—A Dummies Guide

[1. Set the game] [2. Play like you mean it] [3. Keep playing and don’t ask] [4. Poker Face] [5. Play dirty] [6. Show him what you’ve got] [7. (Don’t) Fall in the trap] [8. Cards on the table] [9. Play the game of love]

Summary: Playing games is an innocent and harmless thing to do. Except when you get so caught up in the game that don’t know if you are playing or not anymore, and then… Well. Then you burn

Chapter word count: ~3.3k

Rating: M

Tags: Watford, eighth year AU, alcohol, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, NSFW, smut, mutual pining, fluff, alternating POV first person

Also on AO3

Thank you @eroticgropefest for being my amazing beta!

Notes: I made up some spells

6. Show him what you’ve got

SIMON

I would be lying if I said the smell of cedar and bergamot isn’t my favourite scent. It’s what I fall asleep to at night, and the first thing I notice in the morning.

And it’s because of Baz.

I have the sensation that lately everything is because of Baz. Not only the bad things, but also the good ones. And that’s new. I’m not sure how to feel about it.

“Good morning, darling,” I hear him saying behind me in the bed. No, I must have imagined it. Baz is never going to call me “darling”. The fact that we have a sort of truce doesn’t mean he’s going to magically develop romantic feelings for me. Not that I want him to. We’re good as friends--or whatever the fuck we are now.

Baz’s arms are wrapped around me and I feel him pulling me closer to him. I wouldn’t mind if we stayed like this all day.

He breathes on my neck and it sends shivers down my spine. But that’s not the only thing I notice that causes a reaction over my whole body.

Baz has morning wood.

I feel it pressed against me and I’m not even sure if Baz is aware or even awake but he’s definitely going to be after what I do: I grind against him.

I hear a gasp behind me, so I turn around. And before he can protest, I kiss him.

He moans against my mouth, which only makes me deepen the kiss and move faster against him.

The sound of Baz whimpering because of me makes me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. I pull his shirt up so there aren’t any clothes between my hand and his chest, and let my mouth travel there. Baz’s hands slid down my bare back as I kiss his abdomen. Then, I follow the trail of hair from his belly button, knowing exactly where it leads.

“Snow--”

Baz never calls me Simon. I swear he does that to spite me. But he’ll regret it. I’m going to blow his mind until all he can mutter is my name, over and over again.

I pull Baz’s pyjama bottoms just a bit and hook my thumbs into the elastic waistband of his briefs, tugging them only two or three centimeters down.

I bring my head down and blow there gently, causing an audible as well as visible reaction from Baz. Then I take the waistband between my teeth and gradually ease his pants down, my lips brushing Baz’s skin.

BAZ

Aleister--fucking--Crowley.

SIMON

As I get rid of Baz’s underwear I look up at him for a second. He’s staring back at me like I’m the only person in the entire world, and I almost forget what I’m doing. But it doesn’t matter how he looks at me -- this is obviously still a game for him. So I look away.

And then I take care of his hard-on.

I bring one hand to Baz’s mouth, for him to kiss and lick and suck. Because I know he likes it.

Pleasuring Baz comes as naturally as fighting him: I know what annoys and hurts him, but I also know what makes him moan and groan in pleasure. It’s like I’ve taken a thousand classes on Baz’s subject. I have a master’s degree in Baz.

Not long after, Baz tugs at my hair, letting me know that he’s about to… well, finish. “Simon--”

I pull away and give him one last lick before finishing him off with my hand.

BAZ

I seem to have lost the ability to form coherent words. Snow has that effect on me.

When I’m done, Simon lies back down beside me. I’m not used to that. Usually he would run away. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

He’s fidgeting with his hands. “I’m okay.”

“Do you remember last night?”

“Yeah,” Simon replies. He’s clearly avoiding my stare. “Sorry about that.”

And then I notice the tent in his pants. “Simon,” I say. And I know he’s going to say no but the words are out before I can even process what I’m offering: “Do you want me to…” My voice comes out low and muffled.

Snow meets my eyes. There’s a long silence and I’m about to get up when he mutters the faintest “yes” that only a vampire could hear.

Simon Snow is the sun, the earthquake, and the summer storm, all in the same day. He’s a walking plot twist. And I love it. (I love him.)

I creep my fingers under Simon’s shirt and slowly lift it up. And I kiss his skin. (I never thought I’d ever kiss Simon’s skin.) (Outside of my dreams, that is.)

I make sure to kiss every mole and freckle on Simon’s body, memorising them, drawing a map on my head. Simon is made up of constellations: Cassiopeia, on his left arm; Corona Borealis, surrounding his belly button; Perseus, on his chest; Orion, on his upper back; Pegasus, on his right upper thigh. It’s like the whole Universe belongs to him. And I want to study it forever; like a star chart.

I lose myself in Simon’s infinity while I pleasure him. And before I can find myself again, Simon grabs my hair with his fist, pulls at it and moans as he goes over the edge.

SIMON

Baz makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. (I’ve never been kissed this way before.) I should probably be more worried about the fact that this is by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Baz walks out of the bed abruptly and I look at him, confused.

“I need a shower,” he says.

“Oh. Uhm. Do you want me to join you?” I ask. (I actually need a shower, too.)

“It’s okay,” Baz hurries to say. “You don’t have to.”

He says it in a way that sounds like a polite gesture but I think he’s just bothered by me right now. So I shrug and say, “Hmm. I’ll just wait, then.”

BAZ

As soon as Simon gets in the shower, I head for Dev and Niall’s room.

“Hey Baz,” Dev says, opening the door.

“Dev,” I say, inviting myself in. “Where’s Niall?”

Dev may be my cousin but when it comes to being alone with someone in a room, I’d say I’m more comfortable with Niall. Or even Snow.

“I don’t know,” Dev says, rubbing the nape of his neck. He sits down on his bed and looks through the window, clearly distracted. There’s obviously something going on between him and Niall that they aren’t telling me.

If I didn’t know Niall, I’d think he walked out in a hurry: he left his bed unmade and there’s clothes scattered all over. I spell it tidy and sit down on Niall’s bed.

“I didn’t know you and Snow had gone from sworn enemies to sworn boyfriends,” Dev says, turning the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the room into an even more uncomfortable conversation.

“We’re not sworn anything,” I say. “It’s just a game.”

“Really? He almost went off because Niall was kissing you.”

“You almost went off because Niall was kissing me.” I still can’t believe Dev and Niall are mad at each other. This is the first time in eight years.

I’m about to tell Dev that whatever little quarrel they have going on can be solved, when he says, “I think Niall likes you.”

What?

Wait. No. I’ve been so wrong all this time. Dev and Niall aren’t mad at each other. Fuck, no. They are mad for each other.

“Baz?” Dev looks at me, waiting for my reaction. I believe I’ve been stupidly staring at him for the best part of a minute.

“Dev,” I say, as calmly as I can. “Niall doesn’t like me that way.”

“Yes, he does!” he almost yells. “He spells his eyes every day now.”

I massage my forehead with my index finger. I can’t believe I have such a stupid cousin. “He wants to impress you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Dev,” I say, standing up. “What colour does Niall spell his eyes?”

“Muddy blue, why?”

I cock an eyebrow at him. How can he be so oblivious? I refuse to acknowledge we have the same blood. Had. “Have you ever wondered why he spells them that precise colour?”

Dev’s eyes widen in realization. (That’s his favourite colour.) “Oh.”

“Yes. Now go talk to him,” I say and reach for the door. I’m sick of this conversation. “Or… whatever you want to do with him.”

“Yeah,” I hear Dev saying as I leave. “Okay.”

SIMON

Baz is not in the room when I step out of the bathroom. I’m not surprised. He’s probably still disgusted about what happened before and doesn’t want to see me.

Having the room all for myself is great, though. I can do things I usually can’t when Baz is around. Like doing homework and playing with my pen without Baz telling me I’m bothering him. Or humming.

Baz hates it when I’m humming or whistling. I think Baz just hates things that are funny. (He hates everything, really.)

He loves hating. And plotting.

Baz is one of those people who can spin a pen around his fingers effortlessly. (The tosser can do anything effortlessly.) I try it once but the pen falls on my lap. I try it again and it lands on the floor. I try once more and the pen goes flying right to Baz’s bed. Now Baz would scorn me. I grab the pen and go back to my bed.

Yeah, maybe this isn’t so funny without Baz, after all. I guess most of the fun of it lies in Baz getting pissed.

It’s almost lunchtime, so I decide to go find Penny.

As expected from someone like Penelope, she finds me before I find her. (No idea how she does that.)

“Simon,” she presses as we head for lunch. “I was starting to get worried.”

“Why?”

“You skipped breakfast,” she says. “Again.” She says it in that unique Penny tone that is equal parts concern and accusation.

I shrug. “I overslept.”

We take our trays and sit in our usual spot in the dining hall. Then, Penny turns to me and in a funny voice she asks, “Did Baz oversleep, too?”

Baz is at the other side of the hall, all by himself. I wonder where Dev and Niall are. He’s looking boredly at his lunch, his hair still perfectly waxed and slicked back, which only increases my urge to pull at it and mess it all up. (While I kiss him.)

He catches me staring, so I look away. “Yeah…” I say to Penny. Agatha is eating lunch all alone, too, not far from where Baz is. “Why doesn’t Agatha sit with us again?”

“I don’t know. I guess she isn’t ready yet,” says Penny. “Give her some time.”

“Penny,” I say, and watch how she takes a bite of her food. “Are you and Agatha together now?”

Penny starts coughing uncontrollably until a piece of sausage comes flying out of her mouth. Guess I should have waited for her to finish eating. “What?” she asks in disbelief when she’s recovered.

“Are you going out or not?” I repeat.

“What the fuck, Simon?”

“Answer me, Penny.”

“No. Merlin and Morgana, no. We are not together,” she says. I notice some people are staring at us.

In a lower voice, I say, “It’s okay if you are.”

“But we aren’t! Remember Micah? My boyfriend?”

“You could be going out with both.”

Penny pauses for a moment. “Of course I could. But I’m not,” she says. “Simon, I love Agatha but that was just part of the game,” she continues. “You more than anyone should understand.”

“Huh? Why?”

“You and Baz?”

“Oh.” Okay, I see her point.

“Simon...” Penny starts, “Are you in love with Baz?”

“No,” I say, hurriedly--almost as a reflex--but something inside me stirs.

And Penny is about to drop it, I can see it. But then she adds, “Are you sure?”

I stare at Baz who is now leaving the dining hall. A strand of hair falls across his face in a wave. I imagine myself tugging it behind his ear the way he likes it. Then, for the second time in the last twenty minutes, I imagine myself kissing him. “No,” I say at the same time I realize that I’m utterly and completely fucked.

BAZ

When Snow comes back to the room I look up from my textbook and he smiles at me. I almost smile back.

He flops down on his bed and starts playing with a pen until it inevitably goes flying to my lap.

Every. Damn. Time.

Simon stands up and comes closer to my desk. He fakes an apologetic face and extends his hand.

And I… I take it. (His hand.) (With my hand.) (We’re holding hands.)

Fuck.

There’s a long silence in which neither of us moves nor says anything and it feels like we are trapped in this awkward moment forever.

We stare at our--intertwined--hands. Then I look up at him. Snow meets my eyes, then looks at the hands. Again.

Then back up at me.

For Crowley’s sake, this is stupid.

Not without a great deal of difficulty and reluctancy, I let go of his hand.

I clear my throat and grab the pen. “Your stupid pen.”

“Uhm. Yeah. Sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t move. “There’s a game this evening,” he blurts out. “Are you coming?”

Definitely. “Maybe,” I say. “What game?”

“Truth or dare.”

I pretend to think about it. “If I finish my homework, I'll go.”

“Good. It’s after dinner,” Snow says, still standing before me. “Should we go tell Dev and Niall?”

“Since when are you and me a ‘we’?” I spit, crashing any chance I had to turn this thing between us into a something.

“Right. We aren’t. Shouldn’t you go, though?”

“They might be busy.”

“Oh. Okay,” Snow says as he falls back onto his bed.

I actually finish my homework before five.

Dinner isn’t until seven, so that gives me plenty of time to get bored. I take a book and try to read for a while, but I can feel Snow’s eyes on me, which makes it a Herculean task to concentrate.

I light a fire in my palm and watch as the flames grow larger.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “You’re flammable.”

“So is everything.”

“I’m serious,” he insists.

“So am I,” I say, but extinguish the fire anyway.

Snow sits up so that he’s facing me, and looks at my hand. “Can you teach me?”

“It’s not something you can learn to do,” I say. And then, because he looks hurt and thinks I think he's stupid, I add, “I mean, it's in my blood, it comes as naturally as breathing to me.”

“Oh.” Snow seems to think about it. “Do you have blood?”

I scowl at him. “I could teach you some spells, though. If you want.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, yes. Please.”

I try teaching him blessing in disguise and piece of cake, but his magic is too strong and chaotic he can’t make the spells work correctly. (He ends up dressed as a priest with a piece of pie on his hand.) (Not that he complains about that.)

“Nothing else matters,” I mutter, to help Simon focus on his magic; but, at the same time I cast the spell, he puts a hand on my shoulder and something happens. A surge of magic--Simon’s magic--runs through my body as the spell takes form and the room disappears. Everything disappears. It’s only Simon and me, nothing else.

Then Simon pulls back.

“How did you do that?” he asks.

“I didn’t. It was you.”

I try again without him and the spell works just normal. Simon tries doing it himself but it doesn't work, either.

“It only works if we do it together,” I say.

Simon’s hand is back on my shoulder. “It’s almost like--”

“We are…”

I can feel Simon’s blood pumping and his lips are getting closer but so is his neck and I think I might bite him.

So I step away. “Sorry, I need to--” I say as I walk towards the door.

Somehow Simon seems to understand. “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers.

“No. Stay here,” I tell him.

“I’m coming with you.”

SIMON

We end up going to the catacombs.

Baz must be mental if he thinks I’m scared of him.

“Don’t look,” he says.

“I’m not scared,” I tell him. “I’m not disgusted, Baz. Just do it,” I insist. “It’s okay, I promise.”

That seems to reassure him, so he lets himself relax. His fangs pop out as he catches a rat.

Wicked.

BAZ

“Do you want to go back to the room?” Simon asks when I’m done feeding.

It’s way past nine. I don't tell Simon about the game because I want to spend more time with him. Alone. (Plus, I don’t want him to drink.)

“I want to see the stars,” I say before I can’t stop myself.

If Snow is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He just looks up and says, “Let’s go to the ramparts.”

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this much. To be so in love that your heart doesn’t fit in your rib cage.

“Hey, Baz.” We’re lying on the floor. Snow’s head is resting on my chest and he makes my body vibrate as he speaks. The wind is blowing gently on our faces.

“Yes?”

“What’s the name of that bright star over there?” he asks, pointing somewhere up in the starry sky.

Simon, I think, looking at him. Then I look up to where he’s pointing. “That’s Alpha Persei,” I say. “From the Perseus constellation.”

“Oh, nice.”

I take my wand and make a spell so lines of light come out of it. Then I trace the constellation for Simon to see.

“Wow. It’s amazing,” he says. “I knew you’d know.”

“You have it. On your body”

“What?”

I place a hand under Simon’s shirt, right on his chest, and trace the moles I memorized before. “Here.”

Simon meets my hand on his chest.

“Let’s do it again,” he says.

“Do what?”

“The magic.”

I point my wand at the stars and say, “Nothing else matters.”

Everything around us disappears and then it’s just us. And the stars. I’ve never seen magic like this before--it’s like I’m drunk on magic. (Drunk on Snow.)

SIMON

Magic takes a whole new meaning when I’m with Baz.

We talk about a lot of things. Important stuff. Meaningless stuff. I know the game must have started hours ago. But I’m right where I want to be.

It’s nice being Baz’s friend for once. It’s really, really nice. Too bad that it’s not what I want.

I want to be more than his friend.

I prop myself on one elbow and shift my body so that i’m looking at him. My hand is on his cheek. Baz is looking back at me.

When I was little, I used to sneak out to watch a science programme on TV. I remember this bloke called Neil something saying that when a subatomic particle is accelerated to near the speed of light, time slows down.

I think my heart might have just done that.

Slowly, I lean over and kiss Baz, because I can. (Because I want to.)

(I kiss him because I need to.)

BAZ

I didn’t know a single day could hold so many breathtaking moments.

[Next Chapter]

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfic #sup guys #thank you for reading #hope you like it

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