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masn-mount · 2 years

Note

Since the season is almost over can you do something about how you're at the game with Leon and after the game he wants to go on the pitch and play with his dad. Those moments are so adorable xx

I got sooo many request similar to this so here it is! It's a little rushed but I hope you enjoy it! xx

masterlist

warnings: just fluff, not proofread

words: 1,8k

gif credit; masnmount

“Blue or yellow, baby?” Your question is directed at your two year old who’s laying in the middle of your bed with wide brown eyes looking up at you as his head rests on his teddy bear. “Blue” you say holding up the Chelsea home shirt before dropping it on the bed to hold up the away shirt, “or yellow?”

“Boo”

“Good pick!” You laugh before laying down next to him and wrapping him up in your arms. “You want to match with daddy, is that it?” You say poking his little nose which always made him giggle and at the mention of Mason he nods his head while repeating ‘daddy’ over and over. Mason had left early that morning to get ready for the last game of the season so your morning was spent with just Leon who was always clingy in the morning so while you flipped the pancakes he rested on your hip, head on your shoulder and arms wrapped aroud your neck. After breakfast you both walk out to the backyard and while you let Leon run around after playing with him for a bit you sit down on the patio so you can answer some emails and do some planning for your vacation you were going to in two days.

“Mummy!” Your eyes move from your laptop and to Leon who’s standing waiting for you to look at him before taking his shot and when it hits the back of the net you stand up and cheer for him as he runs around as fast as his legs can carry him.

“Wow, baby! Good job, you have to show daddy later.” You smile as he continues to shoot the ball into the net only protected by his bear. After another hour of playing and you planning your vacation you walk back inside with Leon’s hand in your own and with the promise of seeing his dad once he wakes up you manage to get the little boy to lay down and take a nap. While Leon sleeps you clean around the house and made lunch for the both of you before getting ready for the game. You finish your makeup, your hair and you also have time to get dressed into a pair of shorts and cropped sweater before Leon wakes up and after eating you go back upstairs with a slightly moody toddler who just wanted his dad.

“Leon, let mummy put the shirt on you so we can hurry up and go see daddy. Okay?” At the promise of seeing his dad the wiggling boy stopped moving and let you put the Chelsea shirt, shorts and socks on. “Looking just like daddy, bub. My handsome boy.” You smile before kissing his nose and cheeks.

“Daddy?” You nodded

“Yeah, we’re going to go see daddy play, baby.” You carried Leon down the stairs and after putting your shoes on you got in the car and head to Stamford Bridge. The second you make it to the stadium you find Mason’s family in the stands easily and like always you’re cheering the entire game with Leon next to you who can only shout for Mason the entire time and when the game is over and Chelsea win in the final minutes you can’t help but feel a slight relief about the season being over. The boys had worked so hard and deserved a break.

After the final whistle blew the players all walked around the pitch thanking the fans and once the Watford players had left the pitch the families of the players all walked on the pitch with the kids running around all looking for their dads. Leon was in his grandmother’s arms where he had spent most of the game and when he noticed other kids running around the pitch his eyes found yours before he pointed at the pitch. “Mummy, play.”

“Soon, baby.” You told him before taking him in your arms as you made it on to the pitch with Mason’s mum, sister and niece by your side and when you looked around for Mason you couldn’t find him until his mum pointed him out on the side of the pitch where he was standing, ready to give an interview after collecting his ‘player of the season’ award for the second time in a row. You greeted all the players who walked past and when Reece approached you, Leon who was resting on your hip immediately got excited at seeing a very familiar face.

“Hi, mate!” He said before leaning in to give you a hug and kiss on the cheek, “you alright, y/n?” You nod your head and congratulate him on the game before his eyes turn back to Leon who was already reaching his arms out for him. “You want to come with uncle Reece? Wanna play ball and go find your daddy?” You stood back and watched Reece walk further into the pitch with a ball in one hand and Leon’s in the other. You laughed a little as you watched them kick the ball between each other until Leon fell a few too many times for his own liking and he started looking around for who you knew was Mason and when Reece noticed he didn’t waste a second before pointing out Mason to the two year old. Before you could walk up and get him, Leon’s little legs were carrying him towards Mason until his body crashed into his legs in the middle of the interview.

Mason had really just wanted to come and find you, Leon and the rest of his family the second the game was over before he was getting dragged away for an interview. The season ending was always bittersweet, he was excited about getting to spend even more time with you and wake up with you every single morning but knowing that there were players he wouldn’t get to share a dressing room with the season after made him want to take advantage of every single second he still had with his current teammates. He was in the middle of explaining that to the interviewer when he heard a voice and giggle he would recognize anywhere and before he could turn around Leon’s body had crashed straight into his legs and Mason just smiled at the interviewer before bending down and wrapping his son in his arms who was suddenly feeling very shy. “Hi, mate.” Mason whispered as his hand ran up and down Leon’s back and over the print on the back, “DADDY 19″ which he always so proudly wore ever since he was a little baby.

“Your biggest fan, I assume?” Mason smiles at the man asking him the question.

“Yes, yes. Just like I’m his, isn’t that right mate?” As if Leon could understand every words he leans forward and presses his lips to Mason’s cheek which causes everyone around them to coo at the interaction and shortly after the interview ends and with a simple wave and “bye” your son manages to steal a lot of hearts.

“Where’s your mummy, you cheeky boy?” It doesn’t take long for Mason to find you because you’re already walking towards them and meeting them halfway. “Hi, gorgeous.”

“That,” you point to Leon and then to where they had previously stood, “was all uncle Reece’s fault.” You laugh before wrapping an arm around Mason’s shoulder while your other hand holds Leon’s. “You did so well, like always.” You smile up at him before pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. “Congratulations on your award.”

“I bet it was and thank you, darling.” He smiles. “Mhmm, another season completed together.”

“The eighth.” You hummed.

“The second for this little guy.” You both look at Leon who you can tell was growing bored at not getting all the attention. “Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” It didn’t take much longer for Mason’s family to join the three of you and after running around with you for a little bit Leon ran back to Mason, pulling at his shorts not liking how his dad’s attention was now on Summer.

“Daddy, play.”

“Just a second, mate.”

“Daddy, play!” You found the tone he was speaking in very amusing and you knew it was mainly because he was jealous over Mason holding Summer instead of him. He was a very jealous toddler over Mason, something you had learned very early on.

“Are you yelling at your daddy, little man?” Mason knew Leon was about to cry at any moment so he carefully reached for his niece who was sitting on his shoulders and put her back on the ground before bending down to his son’s height. “Let’s play, do you have a ball?”

“Nuh, uh.” He mumbled looking around and when he saw one not far away his little face lit up before he started running towards it but he didn’t get far before Mason was grabbing him and throwing him around in the air while he moved towards the goal a bit further away from you. Mason moved to the goal once he put Leon down and of course he dived the complete wrong way and your heart melted each time Leon would score and the whole crowd would cheer along with him as he ran around and celebrated. “Daddy, clap!”

“Yes, mate. Everyone’s clapping for you.” More of Mason’s teammates joined in after that while you stood back with Mason’s mum, sister and some of the other girlfriends as you watched the older boys all act like kids for a few moments. You shake your head when Mason has the ball and dribbles between all the kids and when he nutmegs Leon who loses his balance which causes him to fall you can’t help but laugh and join in with the crowd who’s booing him.

“Are you tired, baby?” You crouch down and open your arms for Leon to walk into them and when he just nods against your chest you can’t help but laugh as you press kisses to the top of his head. “He’s going to sleep so well tonight.” You say looking at Mason.

“Mhmm, can have you all to myself.” That he did because the second you got home a lot later, Leon was already down after falling asleep in Mason’s arms during dinner and asleep he stayed until the morning. You thought Mason had fallen asleep too as you ran your hand up and down his back until he quietly spoke. “You excited to get away for a bit?”

You hummed. “I have planned some days and then the last three days you get to pick whatever you want us to do.”

“Leon should pick the last day.”

“All he will say is, ‘daddy play’.”

“My favorite words.” He smiled, “I’m happy he had a good time. Sometimes I don’t understand how I can love him so much.”

“I know, I feel the same way. He’s made our lives a lot better, hasn’t he?”

“You both did.”

“I love you, Mase.”

“I love you, so much.” In the morning you get woken up at seven but you don't mind it because between yourself and your husband lays your two year old who's head is resting on your chest and you're happy because you know that you'll get to wake up and spend all morning and day with both your boys for weeks to come.

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fanfic #football imagine #football fanfic #writing

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bookish-bogwitch · 3 years

Text

Six Sentence Sunday--BP x BJ

This is a truly embryonic fic, all voice, no plot. Suggestions and collaborators welcome!

Thank you @moodandmist and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe for tagging me, and to @johnwgrey for inspiring me to post instead of sitting on this forever.

Blood units 8 (approx.), body temperature 24 ºC, lustful thoughts about Simon Snow: 37, chances with Snow in real life: non-existent, hair: fucking ruthless.

12 p.m. Hampshire. Back to school today. Packing car more difficult than usual due to ridiculous heated body pillow. Would leave pillow at home, but must not let on that I dislike it. Daphne tries so hard to make my life more comfortable. More normal. (Not Normal.) (Obviously.) She does not deserve one-star reviews from moody vampire stepson. Especially when she ordered a custom pillowcase. Indigo flannel, with tiny silver embroidered monogram in one corner. (Lovely.) (But does not erase tragedy of owning sad single grown-up version of teddy bear.)

Will stuff memory foam abomination under dorm bed for remainder of school career.

2 p.m. Watford. Arrived in turret. Will just leave pillow on bed for now. Can unpack and hide pillow later. Must first scour dining hall for Snow.

[Stuff happens, something something, Baz sees Simon for the first time all summer and has Feelings, they are still in nemesis mode, end up back in their tower, I told you this is embryonic.]

Midnight. Eyelids too heavy for any more Snow creeping. Fell asleep with back pressed into warm but limbless embrace of body pillow.

5:30 a.m. Dreamt that Simon Snow had no head or limbs, yet was somehow in love with me. I swore to look after Torso Snow always, in manner of brave Great War nurse, tapping out vow on his freckled chest. Lovely loving dream turned inevitably weird when I dream-wondered how Torsnow could possibly know Morse Code or for that matter love me without literal brain.

7:15 a.m. Snow’s alarm. Awoke wrapped around body pillow like baby marmoset, drooling into bespoke flannel. Burrowed under the duvet and tried to doze back off—Torsnow needed me, I took an oath—but it was no use.

When I opened my eyes, Snow was gone.

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What happens next, friends?

@moodandmist, @johnwgrey (gmta!), @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @facewithoutheart, @ileadacharmedlife, @sillyunicorn

#tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on rainbow rowell #torsnow and i are very happy together #bridget jones's diary #simon likes baz just as he is #six sentence sunday

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starwarned · 3 years

Text

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 15, 9 December: Vacation/Travel

rated T, 921 words, general tags: anniversary trip gone wrong, little to no actual explanation of how they got here, biting, lack of blood

Finish reading under the cut!

SIMON

Alright, so maybe this didn’t go quite as planned.

I try the door again, but the view outside is practically opaque white with how heavily it’s snowing. I shut the door immediately because I don’t want to make Baz even colder. He’s already freezing, and he won’t just suck it up and let me cuddle him.

“Baz,” I say. “You’ve needed to feed for three days. Please.”

He shakes his head from where he’s curled up across the room next to the fireplace. His eyes are wild with desire and fear and he’s trembling. I can see the glint of his fangs poking out of his lip.

We’ve been stuck in this ski lodge somewhere in the buttfuck middle of nowhere for four days now. It’s snowing so hard that we can’t get into our car and drive off and Baz can’t even leave the cabin to try and find something small to hunt.

(This is the last time I ever let Shepard send us on a surprise anniversary vacation.)

I take a couple steps in and Baz presses himself to the wall. “Simon,” he warns. “If you get closer, I— I’ll do something I’ll regret.”

“I won’t regret it,” I insist. I puff out my chest and turn my head to the side so he can see my neck. “Baz, you’ll die.”

“So fucking be it.”

I sigh and fling my arms up into the air. “I can’t believe you’re being so stubborn about this!”

(Actually, I can, but that’s not the point.)

“You have to feed, Baz!” I continue, hysterically. “You know that if you don’t, you’ll just lose control. Come here while you’re still lucid.”

“Big word for you,” Baz mutters under his breath, but I can hear him. It’s eerily silent in this cabin.

I guess we’re resorting back to how we treated each other three years ago in school. If I were really committed to that idea, Watford me probably would have backed Baz into a wall to threaten him with calling the Sword of Mages (and then maybe he’d bite me then because I was so close), but current me can’t call the Sword of Mages nor do I want to threaten Baz by shoving him around. (I like shoving Baz around, but only consensually and in very different scenarios.)

“Baz.” I walk towards him slowly, like I’m cornering a wounded animal that thinks I’m going to hurt it. “You know this is the only way. We’ve talked about it a lot.”

“I know,” he says, clenching his fists tightly in his hair, tugging at it. “I know. Just never in this scenario.” He looks up at me. I’m now maybe three feet away. “I don’t want to hurt you, love.”

I kneel down. I’m far enough away that I can’t touch him, but I can see every emotion flicker across his eyes, as inconsistent as the firelight dancing through the room. “I know you don’t. And I promise it won’t happen. You have to do this now, Baz, or you’ll lose control—”

“I know!”

He’s panting now, his eyes wide and his mouth barely hanging open. I know what he wants. And I’m prepared to give it to him.

“Come here,” I say. He has to travel the distance between us. I have to know that he’s choosing to try it and I’m not shoving my neck into his mouth.

He slowly slides towards me until his knees are pushing into mine, both of us kneeling in front of one another. His hands shake as they move towards me. He cups my cheeks.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he says.

“I know.” I cup my hands around his. “But I need you to do this. Please.”

He nods slowly. I can tell he doesn’t like it. I can practically see every part of him screaming in opposition to either drain me as quickly as possible or to run into the snowstorm and freeze to death rather than bite me. “I’m just going to take a little bit,” he says. “I’ll stop. I’ll stop, I swear.” (He’s convincing himself more than me. I already know he’ll stop.)

Baz moves one hand down to my shoulder and then presses his face into my neck. He glides his nose over my skin and I shiver at the cold touch. I wrap my hands around his hips for something to hold onto. He’s bent over me now, risen up on his knees so he can get a better angle.

Slowly, I feel his fangs against my skin. They slide into my neck — I won’t lie about the pain. It hurts like fuck, but if I gained anything from my childhood with the Mage, it’s an ability to handle excruciating pain. I can feel Baz start to drink my blood and the pain gets less intense. It seeps out of me and I swear I can feel Baz warm up in my grasp.

After maybe twenty seconds, Baz stops. He stops drinking and then just holds himself against my neck, breathing. I feel his fangs retract and he leans away from me. He must have barely gotten anything, but he already looks more alive.

“See?” I say.

Baz slumps against me, hugging his arms around my middle and pressing his head into my chest. “Smugness doesn’t suit you, Simon.”

He’s right. What does suit me is my boyfriend in my arms, safe and satisfied.

Now if only I could find a sandwich or something.

#fic #my fic #coc #coc 2021 #carry on countdown #lauren's coc works #writing #my writing #carry on #simon snow #simon snow series #baz pitch #snowbaz #carry on countdown day 15 #coc day 15 #halfway through!!!#also it snowed all day where i live so its appropriate that i wrote something to do with snow #even though the background of this fic is truly nonexistent #i just wanted them to have this convo <3 as always

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august-anon · 3 years

Text

On Love’s Light Wings

Alright if you’ve look at my blog the past three days you’d know that I’ve been obsessively rereading Carry On/finally reading Wayward Son lol.

I wrote this inbetween finishing Carry On and starting Wayward Son yesterday, so it’s not really canon compliant with how we learn their relationship has been fairing in the interim, but who cares because that’s all pain and I’m here to write about fluff lol.

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Fandom: Carry On/Simon Snow

Ship(s): SnowBaz

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Simon/Ler!Baz

Word Count: 2887 words

Summary: Simon and Baz are having a quiet moment together under the stars, and Baz discovers something interesting about Simon's wings.

[ao3 link]

---------------------------------

Baz

Things became a right mess, after the whole ordeal with the Mage and the goatherd (Ebb, Snow would tell me. Her name was Ebb.) and the Humdrum.

We were questioned and carted around, barely getting a chance to breathe. Everyone wanted to know what happened, and once they knew, it was time to get the kids out of the way so the adults could handle it.

I went home to my family. Snow went home with Bunce.

It was hard for a while, getting a chance to see each other. Simon and I would steal moments, when we were called to meetings together. We would sneak away, hold hands. Sometimes we would kiss.

But Simon had drawn back. I wasn’t surprised, with everything that had happened, I would’ve been more surprised if he hadn’t. But he drew into himself and wouldn’t come back, and I didn’t know how to help. Kisses were chaste and brief, hand-holding was tight and desperate, and most everything else was off the table.

He’d flinch away from my touch anywhere else.

It had hurt, but I had spent nearly half my lifetime hurting for Snow. I could do it a little while longer. And my patience paid off. Snow healed, albeit slowly. He started letting us -- me and Bunce, he had even shut her out after everything -- back in. I was able to see him more often, sneaking away from Watford for the weekends. I was allowed to place my hand in the middle of his back, on his neck, his stomach, his sides, his legs.

But there were two things I could never touch (or maybe it was three, if you counted them as separate limbs), that no one could ever touch, and frankly, I couldn’t find it in myself to blame Snow for that. His wings and his tail were a delicate matter. A harsh reminder. I teased him about them once and he didn’t speak to me for three weeks. I’ve learned my lesson now, I won’t tease him about them until he’s ready.

We’re curled up on the hood of my car, now, the echoing heat of the previously-running engine keeping us warm in the chilly early-spring night. Well, keeping Snow warm. Vampires don’t need to keep warm like humans do. We’re already so cold.

I’ve got my arms wrapped around him -- in the middle of his back, carefully placed in the space between where the bases of his wings end and where his tail sprouts from his tailbone -- and he’s got his head on my chest and we’re staring up at the sky. I don’t think either of us has said anything since we got situated on the hood, but I don’t mind, and I doubt Simon does either.

Instead I sigh -- it ruffles his curls, makes them tickle my nose, but I don’t mind -- and pull him even closer.

Simon

I don’t think Baz knows he’s doing it. He’s got his hands between my wings and my tail -- and that’s something I’ve really appreciated these past months, Baz doesn’t push like Penny does, he doesn’t even ask when I’m going to let him touch them -- but they’re brushing up and down. I think it's a subconscious movement, because his fingers keep bumping against the base of my wings and he isn’t even reacting. Normally, he gives them a much wider berth.

I’m trying to hold still. I don’t want to break the moment, it’s peaceful and calm and quiet and everything we haven’t been able to have in a very long time, but it feels weird and it’s hard not to squirm. If I squirm, though, Baz will pull back. And he’ll ask questions. And maybe he won’t want to hold me again because he’ll be afraid of touching my wings -- not that Baz is afraid of much of anything.

But the thing is, maybe Baz isn’t afraid. Maybe he thinks my wings and tail are as weird and inconvenient as I do. Maybe he’s disgusted by them, and that’s why he’s never pushed to touch them like Penny has. Maybe he’s just being nice by staying with me as I mope around with these mutations sprouting from me.

No, that doesn’t make sense. Baz isn’t nice.

But what does make sense about our relationship?

Baz

Snow’s been slowly tensing up for minutes now. I can’t tell if he’s upset about something or just uncomfortable, and it’s infinitely harder to tell without being able to see his face. I wish I could sweep my hands up and down his back to let him know that it’s okay, but I’m not allowed to touch his wings and I’m not going to push.

Not like Bunce. I saw him shout at her the other week. Her curiosity is going to get her in trouble someday -- as if it already hasn’t.

But the thought does draw my attention to my hands, and I realize that they’re already moving. I don’t know how long they’ve been moving for. And I freeze when my fingertips brush against the base of Snow’s wings.

That’s why Simon’s been so tense.

Simon flinches when I freeze, and I try to calculate how big of a mistake I just made. I pull my hands away like I’ve been burned and Simon flinches again, this time pulling back from me.

I never apologize -- Pitches don’t apologize -- but for Simon I just might.

For Simon, I just might do a lot of things.

Simon’s bottom lip is drawn between his teeth when I’m able to finally get a glimpse of his face. He looks nervous and upset and confused, and I’m not sure what to do with that combination. Before all of this, I might’ve pushed. Tried to make him cry, upset him in every way possible because it was the only thing I knew how to do aside from love him.

I’m trying to learn how to do new things now, though.

“Simon,” I start, and he meets my eyes at the use of his first name. “I--”

But he doesn’t let me finish. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and blurts out his words like they’re vomit. Simon’s never been good with words, and that hadn’t changed in the months that they’d been dating.

“You-can-touch-them-if-you-want-to,” he says, and his words run and slur together like alphabet soup. I can barely understand him.

I stare at him, to make sure he really means it. To make sure he doesn’t feel like me or Bunce have pressured him into it, that he’s really giving me permission. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have cared. But once upon a time, Simon didn’t love me back, and I wouldn’t go back to that time for anything.

“Unless--unless you don’t want to,” Simon tacks on, and I know what I have to do.

Instead of answering him, I slowly raise up a hand. Simon’s wings twitch and fan out, but they’re trembling like they want nothing more to squeeze back shut against his back. I move a little faster so they don’t do that before I get there.

His wings feel exactly like I expected them to. Warm and leathery. They don’t hum with magic like I expected them to, but that makes sense, because Simon’s magic is gone now. He’s never going to hum again, and I’m okay with that.

I still don’t know if he is.

Either way, he’s still my Simon.

His wings twitch more at my touch, my fingertips dragging across them. Simon makes an odd face in response, all scrunchy and kind of confused.

“All right, Simon?” I say, and it comes out softer than I meant it to.

Simon doesn’t acknowledge that. He nods. “It feels weird.”

I tilt my head. “Weird how? Weird bad?”

Simon shakes his head. “Just weird.”

I roll my eyes and make my touch a little firmer. As I continue to trail my hand across the wing, the angle gets awkward, and my touch becomes more fingernails than fingertips. Simon’s eyes bulge wide out of his head and he squeals. For the second time that night, I rip my hand away as though I’ve been burned.

“Simon?” I ask.

But Simon’s not listening to me. His eyes are locked on the wing I was touching, wide and nervous. I can’t tell if I hurt him. It’s frustrating. I don’t want to hurt him, anymore.

Simon

This is absolutely unfair. I’d managed to hide it from Baz all these years. Penelope knew -- then again, Penny knew everything, it seemed -- and Agatha suspected, but Baz never knew.

His former mortal enemy, Simon Snow, is horribly, unbearably, stupidly ticklish. (And he maybe didn’t mind it as much as he would pretend to).

And of all the things to reveal that secret, it had to be my wings. Because it wasn’t enough that the rest of me was ticklish enough that a stray poke would send me rocketing into the ceiling, my magical wings were ticklish enough that Baz’s fingertips almost sent me flying away.

“Simon,” Baz says, and something tells me it isn’t the first time he’s said it. “Are you all right?”

And I want to deflect. I want to say it felt weird, or it hurt, or literally anything but the truth, but I can’t. Because Baz’s eyes are filled with guilt -- and I’ve gotten better at that lately, reading Baz’s emotions in his eyes when he refuses to show what he’s feeling on his face -- and I know he’s beating himself up over it. He probably thinks he actually hurt me.

“Fine,” I say, then I start stammering. I finally manage to force out, “Just tickled s’all.” I immediately regret it.

Baz looks like the cat who caught the canary.

Baz

Ticklish.

Simon Snow is fucking ticklish, and I never had any clue.

It makes sense why I didn’t, we were enemies after all, and that wasn’t exactly the kind of weakness you want your enemy to know. I don’t know if I would’ve used it against Snow if I had known, though. It was a rather intimate thing to do, and I had been in the business of touching him as little as possible unless it was a punch. Touching him could be quite painful, back when I was hopelessly in love with him.

It’s not quite so hopeless anymore.

I can hardly move fast enough in my excitement to know more. My hand instinctively goes for his wing, seeing as that’s what I’d been touching when I found out, but I stop just short of touching it. I’m not sure if touching it is still allowed.

Simon’s wing twitches into my touch. Based on the way Snow’s eyes go wide, I’d say that action wasn’t entirely under his control. Seems the wings have a bit of a mind of their own, or maybe they acted off of Snow’s subconscious impulses.

But I don’t care either way. Bunce could solve that mystery, she’s the one who likes to do that sort of thing.

All I care about is exploring this new world Snow’s opened up to me.

I trail my nails across Simon’s wing again and it twitches violently as he squeals again. I wiggle my nails with a little more purpose against the leathery skin and Simon breaks into actual giggles. A hand flies up to cover his mouth and I reach out and grab it with my free one, interlacing our fingers.

“None of that,” I say. “I want to hear you.”

“Baz!” Simon squeals, but I ignore him.

I decide that wiggling my fingers around aimlessly is going to get me nowhere. No, I need to seek out the real sensitive spots. I try to pull back the hand I’m holding Simon’s with, but he squeezes it tight in his grip. He’s probably realized what I plan to do with it. He always was good at sensing when I was plotting (though I suppose it’s not that hard when the answer is all the time).

It doesn’t matter though, because I can do what I want just as well with one hand. Simon doesn’t seem to realize he has a second hand fully capable of stopping me. It’s flailing around uselessly, and it’s disgustingly adorable.

Simon’s giggling gets louder and more frantic as I spider my nails up his wing, moving towards the base of it at his back. I can’t help the grin that comes to my lips, I just hope it doesn’t look as soppy and lovesick as I feel. Not that Simon would notice, his eyes are too scrunched up with laughter. His nose, too.

Once again: disgustingly adorable. It makes me sick.

Simon’s laughing deep from his belly, now, not just giggling anymore. It’s still getting worse the higher I go, so I don’t change directions. He actually wails in laughter when I get to the inside curve of his wing (it’s almost like an armpit, but for wings. Wingpit?), squirming so frantically that he collapses back into my chest. I can’t help but laugh with him.

I’ve heard Simon laugh before, but it’s gotten rarer and rarer as the years have passed. I haven’t heard it at all since the incident with the Mage and Ebb and the Humdrum, and it’s a refreshing sound. It’s like when you’re parched and you’re finally given a cold glass of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until hearing it again.

Simon

Baz’s fingers are driving me mad. The touch is so light and teasing, it’s making my skin crawl. There are goosebumps all up and down my arms, and they’re not from the cold. I wish he would move to a different spot, or make his touch firmer, or something. It’s torture. The best kind

I can barely breathe through my laughter, with the new sweet spot he’s found, and my stomach aches with the force of it. It’s invigorating. I didn’t realize how long it had been since I laughed until Baz forced it out of me. Not that I really minded.

I feel like I’m flying.

He’s laughing with me now, too, and it only makes me laugh harder. It’s not his usual sneering, cocky laugh that he always used to give me back in school, back before our truce. It’s more like the laugh he gave me when he was drunk -- or drunk on my magic -- light and bubbly and a little bit rough, like it’s out of practice.

Maybe I should tickle him back sometime. Get it back into practice.

But that’s the last coherent thought that I’m able to have before Baz’s fingers find a sweet spot inside the sweet spot. I’m lost to my cackling, the only thing on my mind being Baz’s tickling fingers. I wonder if it’ll drive me mad.

Baz

Snow’s laugh used to make me want to throttle him. Or at least punch him. It was just another reminder of what I couldn’t have, what I would never be able to have. Because Snow was my enemy and he was dating Wellbelove and we were going to kill each other someday.

Now, his laugh just makes me want to kiss him. It did that before, too, but I always buried it beneath the urge to beat on him. I’m allowed to kiss, now, though, and so the urge to punch him is gone.

I feel like I’m floating.

And I really want to kiss him.

But he’s probably bound to run out of air, and I think it might be a little difficult to kiss his open, laughing mouth (even as much as the idea of swallowing his laughter into my own lungs is enticing), so I pull away. Simon goes boneless against me, panting and giggling, his wing still twitching from my lingering phantom touch. They furl up protectively against his back, and I get the urge to kiss them, too.

Maybe later.

For the time being, I satisfy myself with pressing my lips against Simon’s own, now that his breath has somewhat returned. Simon wastes no time in kissing me back, still with far more finesse than I can manage. I’m learning, though, and I’m clearly making progress based on the heady little noises he makes into my mouth.

I don’t need alcohol to feel drunk, or even Simon’s former magic coursing through me. I could get intoxicated on Simon alone. Not that I’d ever let him know that, he’d use it against me every chance he’d get. And I’d let him.

We spend the rest of our evening kissing under the stars, long after the hood of the car has gone cold under us. Simon’s wings wrap around us like a blanket, warm and smooth, and we keep kissing. The stars twinkle above them, painting beautiful shadows across Simon’s face. I trace them with my lips.

I have to be back at Watford in the morning. Simon has to be back at the Bunce’s before they notice he snuck out with me (though I imagine Penelope herself likely already knows). The world outside the little bubble we’ve created here continues to turn round, but we don’t have to rejoin it just yet.

For now, it can just be Simon and me, and everything can be all right.

#tickle fic #My writing #carry on tickling #lee!simon #ler!baz #ticklish!simon #carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #Wing!fic

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mageicalwishes · 4 years

Text

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: General Audience

Summary: Baz reflects on the events of Wayward Son, and the hopelessness he feels. "A trip to try and save him - To save us. A last ditch effort to put some of the sunshine back in to his soul. Rammed together in economy, the press of his knee firm against mine, but his mind miles away. His eyes ever averted. Touching yet so far apart. I just wish I knew where I went wrong." Carry On Countdown, Day 2 - Distance @carryon-countdown

Tags: Angst, Heavy Angst, Relationship Issues, Book 2: Wayward Son, Distance, Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 2

Words: 1,367

I don’t know how we got to this point. To separate rooms and separate taxis. To separate lives, soon enough, no doubt. I was naïve to think - to hope for better.

We spent years separated by six inches of floor space and the pressure of familial disagreements. By stupid squabbles and punches that I wish I could take back. Years of wanting him from afar, wobbling along the line between who I should be (Who I should want), and what I really was - Pitifully in love with the Mage’s hair. With his wild curls and stubborn persistence. His splattered skin and his beaming smile (Even though it was never aimed at me).

A creature of the night in love with the sun. How hopeless it all was. Untouchable Simon Snow - How he tore me up inside.

But then came that brief, shining interlude where I thought maybe - Just maybe - it wasn’t so hopeless, after all.

A Christmas Eve full of new beginnings - Rolling around on the floor of my childhood bedroom, chests and hands and lips pressed together, over and over. Fire dancing across my skin as he held me, but leaving no scorch marks. The closing of that unbearable distance with whispered confessions of truths I never dared to tell. The realisation of all my foolish fantasies.

And later, after everything we’d been through - Everything he’d been through - that newly formed relationship remained. A weak little sapling peeking through the rubble and ruin in spite of it all, a promise of better things to come.

Evenings spent wrapped around one another on the sofa, private smiles just for me, holding him close at night and finally easing the unceasing bone-deep chill. Touching him, kissing him, holding him, having him. Mine. Finally mine. Happy and warm and safe and loved.

I suppose that I should’ve seen it coming - The withdrawal. The reality is that neither of us have had much experience with those marvellous states of being. We didn’t know how to be without a fight - With hope and time and security and love, on our side. We never learnt.

In hindsight, it was foolish to think that we could build something strong - Something stable and durable - without that foundation. Without addressing … everything, both between us and as individuals.

We tried, of course - On everything, I swear that I gave it my all (And I know that he did too).

I tried to give him what he needed. Tried to love him in a way that he could handle - That didn’t suffocate him. Squishing my feelings down as not to scare him away. Reassuring him in any way that I could that I was in it for the long run. That I didn’t love his magic, or his prophecy, or all the greatness that he was promised - I just loved him. Simon Snow. Exactly as he was. But ... I don’t think he heard me. Not really.

He agreed to see the therapist that Dr Wellbelove recommended, in the hopes that it would help him cope, but it wasn’t right for him.

We tried to talk. We tried to pretend that we were alright. We tried to power through. Both of us scrabbled desperately to save what we had. Nevertheless ... I suppose that Love makes a fool of us all, in the end.

It started out small - With slight hesitation when I clung to him too fervently, with stuttering breaths when I came to close, and the dropping of my hand when I held on too long - but it soon grew.

He needed more distance, and so ... I gave it to him.

A trip to try and save him - To save us. A last ditch effort to put some of the sunshine back in to his soul.

Rammed together in economy, the press of his knee firm against mine, but his mind miles away. His eyes ever averted. Touching yet so far apart. I just wish I knew where I went wrong.

At first, I thought that it would work.

In the heat of the desert, watching him beam. His overgrown curls tousled by the wind, that long-lost smile breaking across his face, him howling and singing under the sun. Shouting my adoration, even though I knew he couldn't hear it. Here, I believed.

Crowded up against the car door, bodies pressed together, with his hands grabbing at my hips. His lips on mine, and the world around us temporarily forgotten. Adrenaline flooding our veins - Finally alive, alive, alive. A tantalising glimpse of what could be. Here, I believed.

“Ride with me. There are stars.” The ghost of the night that remade us hung heavy in his barely-there words - Stars. He pressed me into the truck floor with his weight, thighs squeezing against mine as his fingers slid through my hair. My throat knotted thick, as I shivered beneath him, overcome by our closeness. Desperately clutching at the heat of his skin, savouring the feel of him against me a moment longer. My cheek to his neck. His head to my chest. Hearts beating close together. Even then, in this fleeting moment, I believed.

But as the days dragged on and on, and the happy moments became long since passed memories, my hope slowly faded. And soon enough, I was forced to confront the grim reality that maybe there just was no fixing this - No matter how much I wished it so.

Locked in the bathroom, building myself up for a measly kiss on the cheek. Staring at myself blankly in the steamed-up mirror, hardly recognizing the shell wincing back at me - Nose charred, skin pale, and joy gone. Desperately hoping that my unquenchable greed - That hollow, desperate loneliness - wouldn’t mess things up further. That what was once a simple, inconsequential act wouldn’t be the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Goodnight, Simon”, I had whispered. How many more nights we’d get to spend together - That I’d be lulled to sleep by the steady huffs of his breath - I didn’t know. And I didn’t dare ask.

My chest torn and bloodied. Red staining the scuzzy motel bathtub, but too exhausted to cast a cleaning spell. My love, gawking, open-mouthed at the sight of me, hands twitching by his sides, ready to reach out - An intention gone heartbreakingly undelivered. “It’s fine, Simon. It’ll heal.” I wish we would too.

Sobbing on the sand, the sky above us hanging dull and grey. He was trying to - I know what it was. I know what he was doing. “When someone shows you who they are, believe them”.

Well, I’ve seen who he is - The good and the bad - and I want him no less. I’m shouting, begging, pleading for him to just understand - Giving him what little left of me there is. I wouldn’t be happier anywhere else. I wouldn’t be happier without him in my life.

And then came Bunce, smashing into our own private storm with news of ‘Trouble’ at Watford and summoning us back home. Dragging us back into the fight. Back into the war.

I got too close, and I burnt. We’re broken, and I don’t know how to fix it. He’s slipping through my fingers, and I’m utterly powerless to stop it.

I’ve mastered magic - Successfully bending language to do my bidding - but I can’t find the words to make him stay. Can’t find the words to make him finally just see all that he is to me.

I’d tell him that I love him, if I thought that he’d want to hear it. If I thought those words were big enough. I’ve done it before; but only when he wasn’t listening - When he was snoring next to me, or singing to himself in the shower. From across the room, or when I’m safe behind closed doors. I’d do it right now, without hesitation, if I thought it would help. I'd mean every word of it. But ... I think we’re past that now.

So, here I am, slumped in the back of some wretched taxi cab, with Bunce muttering soothing words into my shoulder as I sob into the sleeve of my one remaining shirt. Hopeless. Broken. Over.

Dear God, I need a miracle.

#carry on #coc 2020 #carry on countdown #my writing #my fic #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #cows

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thehoneyedhufflepuff · 5 years

Note

oooo how about 5 for the kiss promts??

thanks anon! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope y'all like it.

prompt: Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

BAZ

My father gave me the Jag before I returned to Watford for second term.

He said he was going to give it to me anyway, as a graduation present, and that I might as well start using it. (Personally I think he just likes the idea of me having a getaway car, on the off-chance everything goes to complete shit again.) (Unlikely, with the Mage dead.) I’ve not told him how often I use it to travel down to London. To see my boyfriend. To see Simon. (I think he might suspect, anyway, but he’s not said anything.)

I’ve come down from Watford as often as I can this term; I can’t help myself. It used to be bad enough, being apart from Simon during holidays. Now that I have him, truly have him, it’s been near torture just being without him for a few weeks on end. A few days, even.

I try to give myself some credit. Try not to think of myself as weak.

I’m not weak. I’m just sick in love. And Simon needs me, besides. (Which I can barely bloody believe, sometimes.)

He has Bunce, of course, and her family. And he has me, too, in a way; we talk on the phone every night, now that the Mage’s ridiculous mobile ban’s been lifted at Watford. (I’ve been using an old mobile of mine, since the bloody numpties destroyed my other one. I’ve a mind to buy myself something nice and new for graduation.) (I don’t need something nice or new to talk to Simon. Just something that’ll let me hear his voice. Something that’ll let him hear mine. Something he can send me ridiculous YouTube videos on, not to mention all the criminally good-looking selfies he’s been wont to send these last months.) (If I didn’t know better, I’d take it as a personal attack. Here I was thinking I spent a lot of time wanking feelings away at age fifteen, sixteen. I’ve been putting my younger self to shame, but that’s alright. I’m not trying to free myself from him anymore.) (It’s better, this way. Much better.)

Come to think of it, maybe it is a personal attack. Just a more entertaining (and arousing) form of antagonism. (I do my best to give as good as I get, in any case.)

Bunce’s Hounslow neighborhood is familiar to me by now. The pull in my gut as I turn onto her street is familiar, too. It almost feels like the first time I met Simon, when the Crucible drew us together. (Fuck, I’m in deep, comparing this to the bloody Crucible. Aleister fucking Crowley.) (I was doomed from the start, really, all thanks to a fucking magickal bowl.) (I do thank it, honestly. Sometimes I wonder what school would’ve been like, if Simon and I weren’t roommates. The possibility alone terrifies me, and also I’m certain the last seven years would’ve been woefully predictable and a lot less entertaining.) (Less painful, too, I suppose, though I got what I wanted in the end. It was worth it, for that.)

I pull up to the Bunces’ house, kill the Jag’s engine. The swell that rises in my chest is pleasant and petrifying all at once, because maybe, just maybe, this is the time Simon tells me it’s all been a mistake. That’s he’s done with me.

No, I think, and I remember all the late-night phone calls, Simon asking me to talk to him until he falls asleep, all those pregnant pauses at the ends of our conversations, and me saying I love you, I love you, I love you in my head and wondering if he’s thinking the same into the silence. The way he breaks that silence with anum or a huffed laugh. The way he tells me everything, when he wants to talk—like how Bunce’s little sister thinks he’s a Pokemon, or how he’s looking into courses for uni next term, finally, or how he’s made a batch of scones for me to try on my next visit (the scones never make it that long, but that’s alright). The way he tells me nothing, when he’s a million miles away, but still insists I stay on the phone.

I undo my seatbelt. Open the door.

I'm barely out of the car when I hear him. "Baz!" he shouts, and it doesn't matter how often we talk on the phone (or don’t talk at all), because nothing can compare to the sound of him now. He's right here. And he's grinning at me, which is absolutely lovely to see. It's not often I see him smile, not since Christmas, but it's been more lately, somehow, like he's coming back. Coming back to me.

He jogs down from the front door, across the drive, and before I know it he's plowed into me, his arms flung around my neck, his invisible tail coiling down my thigh. (There's one perk of being a vampire, I suppose; at least I'm strong enough not to be bowled over.)

He does manage to knock the wind out of me, however.

"Crowley, Snow," I say, but there's no venom in it. He just huffs into my neck as I pull him closer, let myself feel the sweet, burning heat of him against me.

And then he's pulling back, almost too soon, grinning up at me crookedly, almost drunkenly. Grinning at me. Forme. The sun has kissed him golden since the last time I was here. He’s very nearly glowing, and if he wasn’t intoxicating before, well.

I've memorized his face by now—of course I have—but that doesn't keep me from trying to count the freckles scattered across his nose. Because I'm close enough,finally. Close enough to touch him. Close enough to hold him. Close enough to know that'd I'd be here for hours if I truly tried to count every mark on his tawny skin.

Snow doesn't let me get very far with the counting, anyway. No, he has better plans, apparently, because he's pushing me back against my car and pressing his lips to mine.

We've kissed, since Christmas, but not like this. It's been pecks, mostly. Deeper, sometimes, soft and slow and sweet. But it's not been this, so heavy and heady and passionate. It's not felt like Simon's chasing the taste of me, not since that last night in my room in Hampshire. I'd started thinking that I'd imagined it, and then I'd swallow my shame, because Simon's been put through something trying and terrible. We all have, really, but him most of all. I don't forget that. There's no way I could.

I think, faintly, that we're doing this in public, right in the street, where anyone could see. I don't think I've ever cared about anything less, and Simon doesn't seem the least bit bothered, either.

So I let him in. Let him kiss and lick and suck at my lips. I let him take what he likes, and when he tilts his chin against me, I open for him. I think that his tongue has no right to feel this good against mine, but also it has every right. I'd let Simon Snow take me apart right here, if he wanted, right here in the middle of this quiet Hounslow street because Crowley, I want him. I think I've never wanted anything as much as I want him right now.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer, flush with me, as close as I can bring him, and he gasps against my mouth before tangling one of his hands in my hair. I think for a moment—no, I know—that he wants me, too. Simon isn’t the best with saying things in words, but the way he’s pressing close, so close, and the way he’s cradling my head in the broadness of his hand, the way his other hand catches at the dip of my waist and squeezes, the way his tongue is sliding wet and hot and sweet against mine…

He’s the only person I’ve ever kissed, but I know this isn’t how you kiss someone you don’t love.

Simon Snow loves me, too, I think. It’s the only option, really, no matter how absurd it may sound. I should tell him, soon, tell him how much he means to me. Tell him that I love him, that I’ve loved him for a long time. That every time I think I can’t love him more, I prove myself wrong.

I’ll tell him, soon. But not today. Not right now. Because his mouth is killing everything I’m trying to think. (He has a way of doing that, and I don’t mind. I could never mind, not when it means I get to have Simon Snow’s lips on mine.)

All I can hear is the sound of our mouths moving together, our breaths against each other's cheeks, the quiet sighs Simon's drawing from me, and the ones I'm drawing from him—

"Oi!"

And the sound of our lips breaking apart as Simon pulls away. A rush of surprised air.

When I open my eyes, he's flushed. I'm not sure how much of that's from kissing me, and how much is due to the fact that Bunce is stood at her front door, arms crossed as she gives the two of us her best exasperated look. (She’s perfected it, I’ll give her that.)

"Hello, Bunce," I say with a raised brow and a smirk. I keep my hold on Simon's hips, give them a squeeze.

"Hello, Basil," she says. "You done groping him in the street now, or should I leave you to it?"

I glance at Simon. His cheeks are burning hotter, and he's pulled his swollen bottom lip between his teeth.

"What about it, Snow?" I say, softly. "Fancy a drive?"

His lips quirk back up into a grin, and I know what he's thinking. I'm thinking it, too, that I'd like to drive us out somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded, somewhere out of the city. Somewhere I can put the Jag in park, and push my seat back. Somewhere Simon can crawl into my lap and snog me until my mouth is sore.

"We'll be back, Bunce," I tell her. She's not so far away that I can't see her quirk an eyebrow at me. "We're going for a drive."

💛💙

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz smooch #carry on fanfiction #my fanfiction #prompts #kissy facing #ficlet #diclet?#diclet #honeyedhufflepuff mini fic #just now realizing i forgot to use that tag on half of my ficlets lol

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thesmalltowngal · 5 years

Text

COC Snowbaz 4- Your Fucking Moron

COC #4: Dreams

Everything is perfect and lovely and gay... for thirty blissful minutes while Simon is sleeping.

~ Happy Thanksgiving, frens! To everyone who gets anxious at these family gatherings you might partake in: I’m always free to message if you get uncomfortable! 😂 Crowley knows I do, too. ~

Baz. Baz and his hair. Baz and his cheekbones. Baz and his exposed abs. Baz and his lips. Baz and his lips on my lips. Baz and his soft hair running through my fingers. Baz and his bloody tongue exploring my mouth. Baz Baz Baz.

“Baz…” I whisper breathlessly between fervent kisses. He pulls me back in for a moment before letting me pull back to keep talking. “We… we have to get to Penny’s. For dinner.” He leans his forehead on mine, breathing heavily for a moment before nodding against me.

“Right. Right. Bunce’s. I forgot about that,” He exhales after he smiles softly and kisses me once on the forehead. He pulls a shirt over his head, much to my protestation. “Snow, I’m certain if I showed up at Bunce’s shirtless just for your pleasure, I would not bloody well be welcomed back.” I sigh and get up to join him in our room, pulling my shirt on, too.

“Do we have to go to Penny’s today?” He looks at me expectantly. “I can think of… much better things we could be spending our time doing.” I run my fingers lightly over an exposed piece of skin on his stomach and he shivers. He breathes in my ear.

“You were the one who stopped us, Simon. I had no trouble staying put.” He whispers. The way he says my name is my weak spot. I frown at him and go to place a long kiss on the back of his ear. After a few moments of him closing his eyes (and me staring at him), he takes in a long breath and snaps out of it. “No. I am nothing if not polite. Come along, Snow.” He drags me over to get my shoes on and I huff the whole way.

We’re in the car and almost to Penny’s house soon enough. Baz laces his fingers through mine in the middle of the console as he drives with the other hand, and I take a moment to admire him. The way his ever-so-slightly crooked nose flows down into the curve of his lips. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, giving me a sideways glance.

When we get to Penny’s, Baz grabs my hand again as we walk in and greet Penny in her flat. “Oh my gosh you guys! It has been way too long!” She exclaims, hugging the both of us.

“We saw you yesterday, Pen,” I laugh loudly.

She rolls her eyes and mutters “Sod off,” With a smile. She guides Baz and I into her kitchen where I can smell roast beef, potatoes, and… SOUR CHERRY SCONES! Fucking hell, now I know why I love her. She and Baz laugh as they see the ecstatic look on my face. Baz and I sit down at the table and Penny brings the food out to the table; Baz dishes my plate up for me, tall and delicious. He puts some on his plate, too, and just by habit, I pile a little more on. He gives me a knowing smile.

When Penny finally sits to join us and piles her food high on her plate, she starts, “So, guys, what’s new in yo-” She stops mid sentence and gasps, her hands flying to her mouth and chest. I pause mid sip of cider and raise an eyebrow at her. “Aleister fucking bloody Crowley! Merlin, Methulusah and Morgana! You didn’t Baz! Nicks and Slicks, when were you going to tell me?!” She lurches forward in her chair and yank my left hand towards her to inspect it.

Baz lets out a smooth laugh. “In time, Bunce. In time.” His smile is bright as he looks at me, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Penny turns the ring around my finger about a million times, inspecting every square inch. When she decides that it’s up to snuff, she returns my hand and stands in her chair, coming around to hug me tightly. (What she doesn’t know is what’s engraved on the inside of the ring- I s’pose that’s for only me to know.)

“Are you just so excited, Si?!” Before I even get to nod my head excitedly, she starts off on a tangent. “I can not believe you two tits didn’t tell me sooner! Oh but Crowley, I’m just- UGH! I’m SO happy for you two! Of course, I’ll have to be involved in your wedding planning- Merlin knows you two couldn’t put together a whole wedding alone! What a bloody mess that would be! Anyway, Simon, Baz, tell me about the proposal! Great snakes, this is so exciting!”

We spend the rest of the dinner talking about the upcoming plans and other small topics like Uni. By the time dinner is over, I’m tired and stuffed full. I’m likely to burst if I eat even one more thing. (Which is tempting, considering there’s still one uneaten cupcake left on the table.) (I pick it up and eat it, anyway.) We say our goodbyes to Penny and walk out to our car. When we get into our seats, Baz takes my hand and pulls my palm to his mouth, giving it a soft kiss.

“Ready to go home, love?” (Love. My second favorite name that he calls me when we’re being soft, second only to ‘Simon’.) I nod my head and smile before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. (Even after all this time, I feel sparks when we touch.) He pulls out of the parking lot and drives us home to our flat. We don’t talk much- we just enjoy each other’s company.

“Hey Baz?” I ask halfway into the drive.

“Yes?” I pause like I’m going to say something soft or meaningful. But of course, that would hardly be true to our relationship.

“Are your fangs like straws or do you just use them to bite and then you suck the blood out?” He lets out a bark and rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You absolute nightmare. You fucking moron.”

“Your fucking moron.” We smile the rest of the way to our flat.

When we finally get home, we get ready for bed quickly. Baz goes out and has a few squirrels. (I’m used to it, now. I’d rather be in love with a vampire than be a vampire, so put into perspective, it isn’t all that bad.)

In bed we curl into each other. Baz is behind me, his arms wrapped tightly around me, every inch of our bodies touching. After a moment, I roll around and face him, but his arms don’t move. I’m so wrecked for him.

“Baz…” I don’t talk about my feelings a lot, but I figure what better time to be soft than the day he proposed? “I love you very, very much.” He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just looking into my eyes.

Very softly- as if he’s afraid of startling me- he says, “I love you too, Snow. My lovely fucking moron.” I smile at him and press my lips to his.

Baz. Baz’s lips. Baz’s heart. Baz’s brain. Just… Baz.

...

I wake with a start, looking around the room. My Watford room. In front of me, Baz stands in front of our mirror fixing his tie. He side eyes me in the mirror, sneering.

“Problem, Snow?” He spits with all of the venom as he usually does. I collapse back onto my bed, burying my head in my pillow, ignoring him as he huffs out of the room.

It was all just a dream.

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snow-pitch-grimm · 5 years

Text

Something I’ll Never Have

Summary: Baz and Simon have a fight while at Baz’s parents’ house. There are feelings.

BAZ

I slam the door behind me and stalk down the hall, feeling too angry to think clearly.

"Baz?"

I notice Mordelia standing at her door looking at me curiously.

Damn it to Hell! Are all my siblings up here. Did they hear us?

"Hello, Mordelia. What are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be downstairs,"

She nods, "I spilled something on my dress so father said I should change,"

So everyone else was still downstairs. Good.

"Are you okay, Baz?" asks Mordelia, quietly.

I smile at her, "I'm fine, Mor. Simon and I had a bit of a fight, that's all,"

"Oh. Ok," she says nodding. The answer seems to be enough for her.

"Now, let's go downstairs and make sure Fiona doesn't hex Father," I tell her.

She giggles and nods, tugging me all the way downstairs.

xxx

SIMON

The sound of the door slam resonates through my bones and I slump down onto the bed.

Damn it!

Great, I just had a big fight with my boyfriend and now I'm sitting in his room in his family's home while he's downstairs with his family.

How wonderful.

I had been a little skeptical about spending the weekend here. Baz hadn't wanted to leave me but his siblings had begged and even his father had pulled out the 'I miss you, son" card. Feeling bad, I told him I'd come.

The family has been great so far. The kids are the same as before if a little taller. Fiona keeps teasing us, Daphne's being motherly and even Malcolm seems to like me now that I'm no longer connected to the murderous Mage (Penny's words. Not mine).

The problem turned out to be me and Baz. We had had an argument right before coming here, which lead to a stony silence filled car ride which lead to another stupid argument right now.

I sigh and take my phone out.

Baz, even when angry, is not cruel. He's not going to leave me alone in here too long. He'll probably just cool off for a little while and come and get me for dinner.

I text Penny but she's also spending time with her family this weekend so when she responds with ‘busy’, I don't tell her about the fight. I then see if any of my uni friends are free.

No luck.

I took out my laptop and tried to work on as assignment but couldn't concentrate. In the end, I flopped down on the bed to wait for Baz to come back.

Just Great

xxx

BAZ

My family knows something's wrong.

Daphne asks me to help in the kitchen, my sisters pick up on my mood and deliberately try to be cute. Fiona annoys my Father more than usual and he tries to be a good sport about it but his eyebrow keeps twitching, and frankly, it's as hilarious as it was when I was ten.

Slowly my anger ebbs away and I start to feel a little ridiculous. The argument wasn't even over anything substantial. We had tiff back at home and because we're both stubborn, neither one of us would apologize in the car which them translated into another stupid argument in my room.

Now, with a clear head, I can admit that I was just nervous at bringing Simon here but they were actually really great about it. So great that I was completely thrown. I pretty much reverted to my Watford persona, leading to Simon to push back. Hence the yelling match.

"Basilton?"

I look up and everyone's looking at me a little concerned.

"Daphne called your name four times, boyo. You alright?" says Fiona

"Oh, sorry. Yes. I'm fine," I say, standing up, "I'm just gonna go see what Simon's up to,"

The adults quickly give each other a look.

Oh, how I hate that.

"Wonderful," says Daphne, "Why don't you bring him down here. Dinner is almost ready,"

I nod and quickly walk up out the room and up the stairs. It's quiet compared to downstairs and I start to feel guilty. I shouldn't have left Simon alone. This place is strange to him and it's my job to make him feel welcome around my family. My Father's 'Welcome again Mr. Snow. Please call me Malcolm' did a better job than me.

I take a deep breath and open the door not knowing what to expect. I peek inside and see Simon lying on the bed face down. I'm a little apprehensive but then Simon raises his head and blinks sleepily. Sighing in relief, I smile. His eyes are a little red but sleepy red and not crying red. More than anything, he just seems a little confused and touseled from his nap.

And he looks so adorable.

"Good nap?" I ask

He blinks again and sits up, "Yeah, I was going to wait for you but then I guess I fell asleep,"

I grimace, feeling guilty again.

"Snow I-" I begin

"Baz-" he starts at the same time

We grin at each other.

"You first," he says

I sit by him and take his hand.

"I'm really sorry. I was being stupid and ridiculous. Our fight was unnecessary and could have been avoided if I had just admitted that I was a little a nervous bringing you here,"

He smiles and squeezes my hands, "Me too, Baz. I guess it's just easier to revert to what we used to to do at Watford,"

I smile, "But we're working on it,"

"Definitely," he smiles and hugs me close

I press my face into his neck and take a deep breath. Simon's hugs are always nice.

The moment is interrupted when Simon's stomach rumbles loudly. Very loudly.

Simon pulls away laughing, "Oops,"

"Come on," I say, pulling him up, "Dinner's probably set up by now,"

My heart flutters as he slips his hand in mine and smiles.

"Let's go,"

SIMON

Dinner is quieter then lunch. Probably because the children are tired.

It would be fine. Except that Baz's parents and aunt keep glancing between us.

"So are you two finding everything fine?" asks Daphne

Malcolm and Fiona also look up from their food.

But not at me. They're looking at Baz. Because they're his family and they're worried about him.

I feel a knot beginning in my stomach.

"Of course Mother," Baz says to her.

She smiles brilliantly and finally their eyes turn to me. I quickly put on a smile even though my heart feels heavy.

Malcolm nods once more and goes back to his food. Fiona's eyes linger on Baz again. There's still a bit of concern there.

I don't think anyone's ever looked at me quite like that.

And with a sinking heart, I realize what I'm feeling.

Envy.

I hate it.

BAZ

Simon had told me he was fine and he had certainly seemed fine. That was until we got to the table.

Now we're sitting in my room and again I'm wondering what's going on.

"Snow?" I say as I watch him ruffle through our bag.

"Hmm,"

"Simon, please look at me,"

His shoulders drop and he sighs.

When he turns, I feel my heart stop.

He's crying.

"Simon, darling. What wrong?" I say, moving forward and trying to hold him.

He shies away from me though.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head, "It's stupid,"

"Snow?" I say as I watch more tears fall from his eyes, "Please. You're scaring me,"

"You're gonna think I'm being an idiot,"

"Never," I say fiercely, "Nothing is stupid if it makes you feel bad,"

"I tried to text Penelope after our fight. She wasn't available and neither were any of our other friends,"

I frown, "I thought you said you were fine,"

"I was- I am. This isn't about the fight Baz,"

"Then What-"

Simon hakes his head and pulls at his curls a bit. It breaks my heart to see him like this.

"I'm not doing this right," said Simon, fists clenched.

I gently take his hands away from his hair and turn him toward me.

"Take a deep breath and try again," I tell him

He complies and thinks for a moment before turning to face me properly.

"When you walked out of here, you were angry. What did you do?"

"I went downstairs talked with my family, felt stupid and came up here to apologize,"

"Right and remember the fight we had six months ago. What did you do?"

"Called Fiona and ranted,"

"Okay, and you know what I did?"

I shake my head.

"Today I tried to contact Penelope, it didn't work. That day she was there but she was studying so I told her I was fine even though I wanted to talk about the fight and its fine. It wasn't that bad, I barely remember it. But moments like that and this one make me realize what I don't have,"

"I don't understand, Simon," I tell him

"A family Baz," says, Simon, "I don't have a family,"

I'm stunned. This is not where I expected this to go. And honestly, I don't know what to say.

Taking advantage of my silence Simon continues, "I don't have a mother I can call and say 'Hi mum my boyfriend is being stupid’ or a Father who can I let myself be distracted by. I don't have a crazy aunt that introduces me to hard liquor or extended family I can joke about. I don't have younger siblings that look at me like I'm the best and worst thing to happen,"

He wraps his arm around himself, "I don't have a family I can take you home to,"

Now I have tears in my eyes too and my heart feels like it's going to break. I had no idea Simon was feeling like this.

I gently touch his shoulder and he completely crumples into me. I pull his close until his upper body is resting against my chest, his face tucked against my neck.

"It's usually fine you know, I'm used to it. But today at dinner, they were all so concerned, even Malcolm. They tried not to show it but they were. We had a normal couple argument but they still wanted to make sure you were fine. And at times like that it all just hits me, you know,"

"Simon. I'm sorry. I shouldn't lt have left-"

He shakes his head, "No Baz. I told you I'm fine with that. I was asleep for most of it. And they're your family, you're supposed to feel happy around them. I just- It's something I'll never have and sometimes it sucks. And sometimes it just really really hurts, you know,"

He's crying again, soaking my sweater with his tears. I hold him close, giving him my shoulder to rest on. There's nothing else I can do. There's absolutely nothing in the word that can make this better.

So, I just hold him.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #angst #coc 2019 #carry on fanfiction #carry on countdown #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #snowbaz fic

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war-sword · 5 years

Text

what can i get you? (2)

part 2 | index | masterlist

draco x female reader [muggle AU, slightly aged up]

summary: One handsome Draco Malfoy is the only boy you trust at your new job to tie your ties. words: 3,139 a/n: i’m so glad y’all are liking this it validates me in that this isn’t boring as fuck :D once again too many details i looked up for this HAHAHA. also in case you missed it last time this story has a playlist! it’s a mix of songs i hear a lot while at my job and also others i name/ envision in this story. taglist: @clockworkherondale @accio-rogers @mayorofzillyhoo @diademofdraco @drawlfoy @ladybuginthetardis @silversslytherin @lushlavenderskies @socontagiousimagines @acciodracoo @eltanin-malfoy @maceyisntcool @newhopenessie @hp-slaps

read the rest of my masterlist

◈◈◈

The next time you work, it’s a much smaller event; a charity fundraiser at a small venue (this meant just plain black collared shirts, no ties, thank goodness). There’s only six people working including you, and you’re a little sad to see that Draco isn’t one of them. Luckily, Pansy is there, and none of the people are interested in the goat cheese and date appetizers you’ve been passing, so you sit on the metal kitchen counters with her, Theo and Blaise and eat them.

“Buffet parties are so nice,” Blaise sighs, putting another tiny piece of flatbread into his mouth. “We only really bus once. The dream.”

Pansy picks up the piece of paper that has the catering itinerary and menu printed out on it. “Holy fuck, this party ends at nine thirty. I might actually get to sleep at a normal time tonight.”

“What, no, let me see!” Theo rips the paper from her hands, and looks at it with a surprised expression. “Oh, shit, it does.”

Pansy does a little dance, and Blaise takes a photo of the paper with his phone. A minute later it buzzes with a notification, and he laughs as he reads it. “Yo, Draco is cheesed. He’s at the other party with Gabrielle in Brixton, he probably won’t get back ‘till one.”

“Poor bastard,” says Theo. “Take a photo.”

Blaise opens up his Snapchat camera, and you all squeeze into the frame. Theo poses with a goat cheese flatbread up to his mouth. Blaise captions it “sucks to suck”, and hits send. Draco responds almost immediately.

The photo is only of the top half of his face, and from the angle you can tell he’s in the kitchen. “This wedding has three courses, kill me,” is one caption. Another textbox right below says “tell new girl I said hey xx”.

You can feel all three of your coworkers staring at you as the Snapchat expires. “Give me that,” you say to Blaise, and they all laugh. Blaise hands you his phone. You take a similar photo, furrowing your brows. “calling me new girl? and xx-ing in the same sentence? the audacity.” you caption it. Draco takes less than ten seconds to snap back.

This one is once again, the top half of his face, but features one of his perfectly-shaped brows in a high arch. “how else am I supposed to make an impression?” it says, with “add me, dmalfoy17” below.

The snap was a full seven seconds, and you stare at it until it expires. You hand Blaise back his phone and whip your own out from your back pocket.

“What’d he say?” Pansy asks, snatching the last flatbread away from Theo’s hand.

“Something cheeky,” you shrug, playing it off. Meanwhile, you open Snapchat and type in his username into the ‘add friend’ bar.

“Typical,” Theo mumbles, watching wistfully as Pansy eats the last appetizer. “I’m going to go check on how the tables are looking, see how many people have food so far.”

Draco Malfoy added you back!

You Snapchat Draco every chance you get as you finish up at your party, and once everything is packed you help take everything down to the loading dock and pack the truck. You and Pansy walk to your cars together, and you take a video of the two of you captioned “we out ” with the timestamp sticker reading a blissful 9:43. Draco sends back a photo of himself in the kitchen again, a text box full of angry emojis.

You say goodnight to Pansy. “You’re working tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” she says, standing on the doorframe of her car to look at you over the roof. “At Sunbeam Studios. You?”

“Same.”

“Nice,” she smiles. “I think most of us will be there, it’s supposed to be a big one. See you then.”

You hop in your own car and clock out. When you get home you take a quick shower and collapse into bed. You have three new Snapchats from Draco. In one of them he says he’s also working at Sunbeam tomorrow, and you smile in spite of yourself. You take a photo of you snuggled in your sheets, and caption it “going to sleep now just to flex on you. see you tomorrow.” You send it and put your phone on your bedside table. The buzz of your notifications cuts through the silence of your room, but you resist the urge to check them.

The next day you arrive at Sunbeam and clock in. This venue is much bigger than the other’s, and when you walk through the back door your guess is confirmed that tonight will be a fancy wedding. Sure enough, Gabrielle hands you your uniform and asks you to go ahead and change, directing you to a closet.

You put on the dress shirt and slip the vest on, and lastly tackle the tie. You thread it under your collar, and try to repeat the steps Draco showed you last week. Over, across, wait, that doesn’t look right. Which end was the short one? You try a few more methods and then sigh in defeat. You put your normal shirt into your backpack and leave the closet in search of one boy.

You walk around the back, which is bigger than the other venues you’ve been to, and find Draco in the kitchen. He’s still dressed in his street clothes and is helping organize trays of food to be heated that other people are bringing in from the truck. You walk up and tap him on the shoulder.

“Oh, hey! Wow, you’re on time.”

He looks so genuinely excited to see you that you can’t help but grin. “Help?” You hold up the ends of your tie.

“Of course.” Draco takes up your tie and starts to knot it. You don’t even try to pay attention.

“Who else is here?”

“Just you so far, besides those of us who came from the warehouse with the truck. Gabrielle is about to loose her fucking mind if the rest of you don’t start showing up. She needs all the passers to help her make the bread boards and set up the salad course.” He finishes your tie and gives it a little tap, and then another to the end of your nose. Your chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

“You’re not serving tonight?” You busy yourself with the buttons on your vest as you talk.

Draco leans against the counter and pulls a face. “No, sorry. They need me in the kitchen.” He nods his head in the direction of the door that must lead to the reception area. “Gabrielle’s out there, you should probably go.”

“Sorry,” you say, walking around the other side of the counter. “I’m still trying to process this betrayal.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll make you a box and save you some cake.” He leans on his elbows, looking up at you as you rest your back on the door. “Just come hang out with me in here when you’re not bussing– it’s a buffet so there should be some downtime. I’ll just yell at the others if they try to take a break back here.”

You laugh and try to think of something tricky to reply with when the door is ripped out from behind you, causing you to stumble backwards. Draco snorts.

“Y/N! Come on, I need your help. Draco, stop distracting her!” Gabrielle does look incredibly flustered.

“I was just coming,” you say, and Draco holds up his hands in mock surrender.

You help Gabrielle arrange various breads on trays, along with scoops of hummus and goat cheese. You’re adding olives to the trays when Pansy walks in, doing the last buttons on her vest. Gabrielle practically throws a box of crackers at her and tells her to start adding them on, rambling on about how stressed she is. “...And then we left two boxes of food at the warehouse and I had to go back and get it… luckily we’re the closest. If it was the other party we’re doing tonight I would’ve lost my mind. That one’s all the way in Watford, they never would’ve made it back and forth in time.”

You politely listen, nodding when appropriate. You’re finishing the trays when Greg and Vincent walk in, in the midst of doing their ties and putting on the vests. Gabrielle yells at them to finish getting dressed later and to start assembling salads, shoving a bag of greens into Greg’s arms and a bag of shredded carrot to Vincent. “We’ll just assemble them on the plates out here. Please be neat.”

You fill water glasses while they walk around and make the salads directly onto the plates, assembly line style. Pansy is following behind Greg, adding raisins to the beds of greens he’s laying down. You watch her for a moment as she adjusts the amount of salad on each plate, taking from plates with too much and adding to ones with too little before sprinkling her raisins. You catch her eye and she shakes her head furiously at Greg’s incompetence.

Once all the glasses are filled, you help set out the bread trays onto the tables and head to the back to take a break while everyone waits for the guests to arrive from the ceremony. Draco and Theo are the only ones in the kitchen tonight, opening boxes of food and assembling appetizers onto trays. You grab the menu sheet off of the cooler and skim it. As usual, it all sounds delicious.

“These people must love mexican food,” Pansy says, looking over your shoulder. “Who asks for two types of tacos at their wedding?”

“White people who want to be funky,” Theo says, pulling a pan of the goat cheese flatbreads from the oven and replacing it with one of chopped fried fish.

Draco pulls the wrapping off a cardboard box to reveal miniature taco shells made from blue corn. “I don’t think we’ve ever made these.”

Gabrielle bursts into the kitchen to tell the four of you who helped set up to start passing. The goat cheese and tomato mozzarella flatbreads are the only thing that’s ready. You and Pansy each put on a single glove and place six appetizers around the edges of your circular serving trays, grab some napkins and head out.

You weave through guests in the lobby, the pleasant sound of the string quartet that’s in the corner filling your ears. A group of bridesmaids in seafoam dresses stop you before you get very far and wipe your tray clean. Clearly everyone is starving, because they ask you to come back as soon as you can.

When you return to the kitchen, Draco has a specially shaped wooden board with six tiny tacos in the little grooves ready for you. “They’re so cute. What’s in them?” You ask as you put down your empty tray for Theo to refill and pick up the board to examine them

Draco pauses in filling another taco and looks over at the menu paper. “Uh, sriracha chicken. Want to try?”

You nod. You move to put down the board, but Draco holds out the one he just made, and you open your mouth. You try to eat it as neatly as you can in one bite from his hand. He gives you a questioning look, and you nod approvingly. “‘S good,” you say after swallowing.

“Hey, stop stealing from the guests,” Theo teases. He leans towards Draco and opens his mouth dramatically. “I wanna get fed, too.”

“Get your own,” Draco deadpans.

You laugh at Theo’s offended face, and hurry out of the kitchen to hide your blush. It’s not from the spice.

Tiny tacos are a big hit. You abandon passing the flatbread appetizers, waiting in the kitchen every time for Draco to fill your board. When he opens the next box of miniature shells, you’re all surprised to see that they’re yellow. Twenty minutes after that, the final box is filled with red ones. “If I’d known they were different, I would’ve mixed them!”

“You’re fired, Draco,” Pansy mocks. “Out of the kitchen. You’re never allowed to touch tacos again.”

There’s a short break for the passers while the guests recess into the reception room and eat the salad course. Then you’re sent out to start collecting plates, and to tell the guests the buffet is open for them to get food at their leisure.

The night goes on like usual– out on the floor, try not to drop any dishes, someone asks for a new fork, bus the plates in the back. This venue has a place for outdoor bussing, which you find nice since the weather is pleasant. Once it hits 9:30, it’s a struggle to take plates from guests who are still eating or sipping the very last of their drinks, as usual. You haven’t taken a break all night, because every time you would head out onto the floor there were dishes on every table to take. You dump the ice from some cocktail glasses into the liquids bucket and peek around the corner to where the truck is parked. Greg and Vincent are sitting on the back of the truck, sharing a cigarette and staring at their phones. You sigh in annoyance and put the glasses into their designated crate. If those two can take a break, you’re going to also.

You walk back into the building and into the kitchen. Draco’s the only one in there, sitting on a cooler and checking his phone as well. “Hey.”

He looks up as you settle onto the cooler next to him, stretching out your legs and popping your neck. “Hey. They keeping you busy out there?” Draco asks.

“Yes,” you sigh. “That, and Pansy and I are the only ones bussing. Greg and Vincent are out at the truck skiving off.”

“I’ll put Gabrielle on them,” Draco says. “They’re always doing that. At least they’re learning to not hang around where I can see them.”

“Where’s Theo?” You rub on your right shoulder– it’s gotten incredibly tight from carrying your heavy tray all night.

“Cutting the cake. You’ll have those plates soon, and that’ll be it.” Draco sets his phone on the counter and shifts towards you, motioning for you to turn also. “Let me.”

Draco digs his thumbs into your tense muscles and you can’t help but groan. “Ugh, that feels heavenly.”

“You’ve got to switch the arms you carry with, Y/N. You’re so much tighter on the right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, leaning into his touch.

The bliss of having Draco’s hands work your tense muscles is sadly short lived. Theo comes into the kitchen with the rest of the cake, having served all the guests. It’s got three different layers, vanilla, chocolate, and carrot, and you have a tiny slice of each.

“We’re gonna go take down the buffet, what do you want me to save you?” Draco says, boxing up the untouched top layer of cake to put in the refrigerator for the new couple.

“Just some of the mac n cheese and veggies, please.” You grab your bussing tray and head back out onto the floor. Greg and Vincent have reappeared, and when there’s only a few tables left with cake plates you head to the back again. Draco is loading up the truck while Theo cleans the kitchen. “Want me to bring you these glass crates?” You call to Draco.

“Please!”

You carry the crates of glasses and dirty dishes from the bussing area to Draco in the back of the truck. You’re pretty strong, but Draco takes even the heaviest crates from you with ease. Why are boys allowed to be so muscular for no reason?

“We’re missing some glasses, did you get everything off the floor?” Draco leans against the wall inside truck, looking down at you on the ground. He’s shiny with sweat, and he lifts up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead off, giving you a great view of his toned abdomen.

“Uh.” You continue to stare at him even as he drops his shirt, your mouth going dry. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Hopefully they’ll turn up.” Draco checks his watch. “It’s already eleven, why do people never want to fucking leave?”

You turn around to glance at the windows, still glowing blue from the lights inside, ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ easily heard even from outside. You stare at the lights for a few seconds, trying to blink away the image of shirtless Draco from your mind. “Dunno.”

When you turn back, he’s staring at you now. Draco jumps off the back of the truck and lands lightly beside you. “Let’s go help Theo in the kitchen, see if we can get everything else ready.”

The rest of the supplies are pretty much packed and ready to be brought to the truck. Everyone who had put on a uniform is changing back into their street clothes, and Pansy is taking off her dress shirt in the middle of the kitchen without a care. You momentarily wonder what would happen if you decided that bold, but end up going out into the hall to slip out of your uniform.

They’ve finally turned on the lights in the reception room, and you all head out to do one last sweep of the floor, checking under tablecloths for stray forks or napkins. You find a few and carry them to the back, and the few glasses you were missing earlier make their appearance. Gabrielle shoos you all from the kitchen at last, telling you to go home.

You put your takeout box Draco had made you into your backpack and head towards the parking lot, when you hear footsteps catching up with you. It’s Draco, and he’s carrying a giant bunch of white flowers that you recognize as the centerpieces from the tables. “Are you stealing?” You chide.

“See, I was going to give you some, but now I’m rethinking it,” he smirks. “I sometimes like to take them. My mum loves white lilies.”

“That’s sweet.”

You’ve reached your car, and he stops with you, holding out the giant bunch. “Pick some.”

You make a serious face as you select a handful of flowers and bring them up to your nose. They still smell wonderful. “Thanks, Draco.”

“No problem.” He throws you a wink and turns on his heel. “See you next week, Y/N.”

You get into your car and clock out, setting the flowers on your dashboard. When you get back to your flat you carefully arrange them in one of your tallest glasses in some water, and set them on your counter. They’re a nice reminder to get you through your week.

◈◈◈

don’t you wish draco malfoy would give you a shoulder massage on the clock and give you flowers.... damn

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #hp fanfic #hp #my writing

139 notes · View notes

zirafalling · 4 years

Text

Carry On, Simon

A fic I wrote that has a different ending from carry on. Have fun reading :)

-------------------------------------------------------

Baz

Bunce and I look at each other as we finally get to Watford. Wellbelove is running towards us, panting and sobbing. "Penny!" She cries. "Come on! The Mage is evil! We have to leave!" She scoops up the yappy little dog. She looks back when we run the other direction.

"Penny!" She's jogging in place now. "Come on!" We don't have time for this. The windows of the tower shatter. Simon's in trouble.

"We need to get Snow!" I shout over the deafening roar coming from the Weeping Tower. I start running. Bounce can make it on her own. She can even bring Wellbelove for all I care. I'm not losing Simon when I just got him back.

Bunce catches up to me, panting hard. I look back only to see Wellbelove turning the key to Bunce's car and driving away. We keep running.

The Weeping Tower is a ball of light, and I'm pretty sure I'm crying. I think Bunce is as well. As soon as we get to the tower, the remaining unbroken windows explode. I cover Bunce from the glass raining down on us.

"How are we gonna get up there?" She shouts after a spell to stop the glass. The Weeping Tower is impossible to get up without spells because of the old rickety stairs. I never knew why they didn't fix the stairs. As I'm thinking of a way to get up there, Penny screams.

"What is it?" I cry, irritated.

"Look up!"

I do, and I see a ball of green and red. As I run towards the falling ball, it becomes clear that it's the Mage and Simon. The Mage is on top of him, clawing at his arms. Simon's wings are still there, and are flapping furiously. "Fly, Snow, fly!" I scream. Bunce is flinging spell after spell. Simon flips them both over so he's on top and opens his wings fully. His ridiculous tail is wrapped around the Mage's leg, and they're floating down safely.

When they get to the ground, Bunce and I are already at their landing spot. Simon lets go of the Mage, and he shoves his sword in my face.

"Stay away, Pitch boy! This doesn't concern you." He growls. Simon shoves the sword away. He's sweaty and has blood all over his hands and shirt, but he doesn't look hurt.

"It's over, Davy," I spit his name out like it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. "We know what you did." His face goes pale. Good. He's not getting away with doing this. Nothing is more important than my mother. I won't let him live happily knowing he killed her.

Simon seems confused, but still stands with me. The Mage is sputtering, looking around nervously. "You have no proof!"

"We do, actually. We've already been told what you did to her."

He's shaking now. He grabs his sword and takes off towards the courtyard. He's getting away! I grab Simon's hand and he grabs Bunce's. I'm shooting spells faster than I can think them. Words are piling in my mouth in a way I can feel and my magic is at the surface, ready to overflow. Is this how Simon feels? Crowley, I shouldn't have teased him so much about it.

I let go of Simon's hand and summon a flame in it. He's close to the gate, and I'm not letting him leave. He will pay for what he did to my mother. "Bunce, call the Coven. Get someone over here. Now." I throw the fire in front of the gate, stopping him momentarily. I put more around us, making a circle of the flames. One wrong move and I'm up in flames. One wrong move and I'm dead, the same way my mother died. In heat and misery.

I see Bunce calling her someone out of the corner of my eye and Simon pressing record on a smart phone. "Hear ye, hear ye!" I cast to make sure the phone will pick up what we say. "We've got you, Davy. You can't run." He looks panicked.

"I'm not saying anything! I'm head of the Coven, they won't even believe you." He even talks like a super villain. How did Simon not realise he was a terrible person?

"It doesn't matter, we already know what happened. We'll find a way." Bunce looks determined and a bit ecstatic. I think she's glad it's almost over.

"We can make you confess. There are truth spells." This makes Bunce falter. Truth spells are illegal, and we all know it. Using it on someone, especially with evidence that Snow is recording, can get me in jail. It will be worse if they find out I'm a vampire. At that point they'll just kill me.

The Mage drops his sword. "We'll see about that, blood-sucker!" He pulls out his wand and before I can do anything he's aiming it at my chest. "Hell hath no fury!"

Flames are coming at me at top speed and I can't die yet. Not yet. Not when I've just gotten Simon. Not when I'm this close to avenging my mother. I'm pushed to the ground and something's on top of me. I turn over to find Simon panting, his right wing in the snow. "Crowley, are you alright?" I breath. Simon shakes his head.

"Stop him." He growls. I don't need to be told twice. Bunce is already at the man, wrestling him for his wand. "Stand your ground!" She casts, and his feet stop moving. She throws the wand past the ring of fire and I stalk towards the vile man.

"It's over, Davy. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." His eyes go blank and he slumps for a moment before getting back up. "Did you kill my mother?"

"She wasn't meant to die. I wanted the vampires to scare her away. I wanted them to realise I could help. It wasn't a big deal when she died. It made it easier for me to for me to get into the Coven. They were weak."

I clench my fist. "Did you send the vampires?"

"Yes." I nod. That's all we need. That's a confession. He'll be in jail for years. He turns and his eyes catch on Simon.

"I killed her, though." He's nodding, like it's obvious. Simon is taken aback. I am as well. Who is he talking about? "Who? Who did you kill? Why are you staring at Simon?" He blinks.

"Lucy Salisbury. Simon's mother." Simon looks ready to be sick. His wing is still limp and he's trying to move it. At this point I can tell it's burnt. He's trying to fly away. I can barely look at him. Simon Snow is hard to look at. You can't look directly into the sun for too long.

"Tell me… about Lucy. About Simon."

"Lucy was my girlfriend. I loved her. She listened to my ideas. She loved me. We moved to a cottage in Wales together after school. We had chickens. We never saw anyone. I was researching the prophecy. I thought we could make the greatest mage. We snuck into the White Chapel on the autumn equinox. I killed the chickens for their blood. I laid Lucy down and we began the ritual."

Simon is crying. "Stop, stop, I don't want to know." He keeps going, though.

"It was a hard ritual. She wouldn't stop bleeding and my healing spells weren't working. She was so weak. She just wanted to hold you, Simon. Eventually she blacked out. That's when the bleeding stopped. I snuck you both out. You never cried. You were perfect.

"We kept you for a year. Lucy was weak. She wouldn't cast spells. She couldn't walk some days. She told me her magic wouldn't come back. I think she was lying. One day, you cried, Simon. You cried and cried and you wouldn't stop. I asked Lucy to cast something for me, but she refused. Told me she couldn't. You cried so loud. 'If you won't use it, you don't deserve it.' I told her. She bled so much. She didn't give much magic. It was hard to take it from her."

I'm aghast. This can't be true. Simon's screaming. "Stop! Stop it! I don't want to know!" The Mage is still talking. His blank eyes have no emotion and I can't hear him over Simon's screams and I'm fumbling for my wand now, but I can't find the spell to make him stop and Simon is screaming and I can't shut them both up and-

"Your attention, please!" The screaming stops and so does the talking. Bunce's mom is striding towards us, using make a wish to get rid of the fire. I rush to Simon, but Bunce is already at his side. He's sobbing and Bunce has tears streaming down her face. I cast a get well soon on the damaged dragon wing and wrap my arms around both Bunce and Simon. I'm whispering nonsense and Bunce's mom is tending to the Mage. I don't think we'll survive this day.

Simon

It's been three months since that day. After Penny's mom stopped the truth spell and handed the Mage off to the other Coven members, she took all three of us to her house. It was all a blurt haze of hugs and tears, both Baz and Penny telling me things would be okay but I knew they wouldn't be. The Mage was my father and he killed my mother. Things would never be the same.

We had to testify to the Coven what happened that day. Baz said most for me, and my recording of the events made it practically useless for me to talk. All they needed was on the phone. Baz wasn't in trouble for using a forbidden spell since it was the only way for the truth to be told. The Mage was sent away to a magical prison. They don't allow him to have visitors.

Baz went back to Watford, but I couldn't. The only reason I had ever gone there was because of the Mage and I never wanted to see him again. Penny and I got a flat and visit Baz on occasion. He mostly comes to us.

There have been no signs of the Humdrum since Christmas Eve when he caused the dead spot at the Grimm-Pitch manor. My magic is the same, but I've been working on controlling it. My therapist (a magical one, we Skype since she lives in Chicago) helps me with small spells. I haven't done any spells that need more magic than turning on a light yet. She says that's alright and I'll get it right eventually.

Life is okay. I don't talk to anyone other than Penny and Baz, but I don't really want to anyway. The only person I would want to talk to besides them is Agatha but she moved to California. Penny says they still talk and she's doing well. I'm glad she got away. I know she never cared for magic much.

I met my grandparents. They were glad to see me. They keep trying to get me to live with them, but I refuse. It's awkward trying to talk with them. I go to Wales sometimes. I want to find the cottage the Mage talked about. I think my mom was buried there. I'm going to Wales again today with Baz. I hope it goes well.

"Ready to go, Snow?" Baz calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah, coming!" I grab my phone and follow Baz and get into the car. The drive is long (4 hours) and we mostly sit in silence. It's hard being in a relationship with Baz. I love him, but I never feel like I'm good enough for him. My therapist says this is normal for trauma victims. That it's okay I feel this way.

The forest is beautiful. It's lush and green and we even see a deer on our search for the cottage. Baz says locals say there's a cottage here, so we have high hopes. I hope it's here. I want to be able to see my mother.

An hour later, we come across a small wooden house. This must be it. I burst through the door and pause in the living room. It looks… normal. There's a couch and paintings, a small kitchen, and a hallway with a two dark wooden doors and a bright baby blue door. I go into the dark doors first, leaving the most interesting for last. Inside one of them is a bedroom. It's boring with a king sized bed and a bedside table. The wardrobe doors are ajar with blue and white dresses inside. I search in the bedside table drawers and find a small photo. It's a picture of three people, two girls and a boy. They're at Watford, on the football pitch. One of them looks a lot like Penny's mom, and the girl in the middle is holding her hand. She has shoulder length blond, curly hair. She has my blue eyes and has her arm around the boy. He's obviously the Mage, and I turn over the picture so I won't have to see him. The back has loopy cursive writing and it must be from my mom. "Mitali, Davy and I at Watford, 7th year" it says. Baz is looking over my shoulder as I put the picture in my phone case.

"Is that your mother?" He asks. I nod and hold his hand. We open the second dark door, but it's just a bathroom. We go to open the blue one, but it's locked. "Do you think there's a key somewhere?"

"You forget we're mages, Snow. Open sesame." The door flies open, and inside is a nursery. The walls are painted blue and a white crib is pushed against one. The wall has the same loopy writing on it in white paint. "Carry on, Simon, for you will save us all. You're my rosebud boy." it states. Baz is gaping at the room and I'm crying. I pull him closer to me and we stand there for a few minutes.

"I have to say goodbye to her. I have to say something." I whisper. Baz nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

"Um. Hi, I guess." I stop. This feels stupid, but I can't just not say nothing. "I'm sorry this happened to you. You didn't deserve this. I don't know if you loved him, but he's gone now. I hope you never have to see him again. I hope you don't see him in the afterlife. I know you Visited me. In October. I wish I had known it was you. I wish I could've met you. Or at least have seen you. I miss you." I sniff.

"I want you to know I'll do what you wanted me to. I'll carry on. I want to have a nice life. I'll come visit you. I wish I could find your remains, you don't deserve to be here. But I'll keep going. You have to pretend you get an endgame. You have to carry on like you will; otherwise, you can't carry on at all." I sigh before walking to the door.

"I love you." I whisper before exiting the empty room. I'll carry on. I know I can, and I will. For my mother and Baz, and Penny and Agatha. I'll do it for them.

#long post #my fics #carry on #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfic #wayword son #penelope bunce #penny bunce #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #awtwb

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chapter-61 · 5 years

Text

here comes the sun

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN DAY 8: Endearment Terms

AO3, POST-CARRY ON, POST-WAYWARD SON

I don’t know what I expected. For Snow to open his eyes and see me there, then pull me into one of his expert kisses and say, “Good morning, darling”?

Simon Snow is never going to call me “darling.” - Carry On, chapter 64.

5 times Baz calls Simon by an endearment term, + 1 time Simon returns the favour.

1. Penny

Everything hurts and nothing makes sense. The mage is dead, Ebb is dead. And Simon is in Baz’ arms. I don’t get it, but I’m too exhausted to ask.

Baz is mumbling something, and then I hear it.

“It’s all right, love.”

Huh. If I wasn’t on the edge of fainting I would be thrilled by this development, but it’s all too much. I’ll interrogate them later.

I hope mum comes soon.

2. Mitali

I’m glad Basilton Pitch made it to the Leaver’s Ball. I wasn’t sure he’d come. Secretly, I was hoping he’d convince Penelope to come with him, but no luck. I understand it, but I just wanted her to experience this before she’d go off to college. Of course, without Simon, there was no chance she’d actually come.

Taking another sip of my drink, I glance around looking for Basilton. We had a nice conversation earlier, and I’d rather talk about Latin prefixes than listening to Linda Possibelf’s conspiracies about the return of the faeries.

To be honest, I’m bored. As new headmistress there’s always something to do, but on the evening of the Leaver’s Ball I should be with my students, and not holed up in my office. I’m not too familiar with the students, however.

After another glance around, I decide to go outside for a minute and I start towards the stone patio.

There are people dancing in the middle, and while walking past them I scan them for familiar faces. Then, I halt.

Between the dancing couples, stands the oddest couple of all. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Penny has told me, and Basilton mentioned it, but it’s another thing to actually witness it.

For eight years, all Simon could talk about was his evil roommate. And now he’s dancing with him.

I’m happy for them. Now that they’ve stopped fighting, they actually look good together. More than one person is watching them, but they’ve only got eyes for each other. It’s sweet.

They’re lightly shoving at each other now, because of course they are, and before I think about it, I’m moving closer to listen to what they’re saying. Being forty doesn’t mean I don’t like to gossip anymore, and I’m sure Martin will enjoy it too.

“You are really bad at this,” Basilton is saying.

“I told you so!” Simon pushes Basilton away slightly but Basilton catches him and pulls him back into his arms.

In the meantime, the slow song has changed into something more up-beat, but the boys don’t seem to mind. They’ve got their arms around each other and Simon’s head is on Basilton’s shoulder. I grip my glass tighter and feel a slight ache in my heart. I wish Martin was here.

Soulmates. They make you yearn for your own other half.

I turn away but stop when I hear Simon again.

“Let’s go get some sandwiches.”

Basilton chuckles and replies, “Sure thing, sunshine.”

I smile into my glass and head back inside.

3. Agatha

It’s been two months since we came back from America and the whole thing at Watford happened. Sometimes I wonder if my life will always be like this, but I suppose I’m used to it by now.

What I’m still not used to, is Simon and Baz. Penny told me before I moved to America, but I didn’t really get it. And in the last few months, I still didn’t understand it. But I’m starting to.

Penny told me Simon and Baz had a rough year after Watford, that it went well at first but it spiraled down along with Simon’s mental state. I think they’re doing better now, though. I could ask Penny, but I don’t want to appear as the jealous ex, because I’m not. My romantic past with both of them is a bit wacky, but that was high school. I didn’t know myself back then and told myself I was in love.

They seem better, at least. Baz practically lives with Simon and Penny now, he’s been here every time I come over to visit. Just like today.

Penny has been catching me up on the latest Watford news over the last half hour, and that’s about as much magic talk as I can handle. I tell her so, and she doesn’t even look mad or worried. We’re all making progress, I think. She makes herself busy in the kitchen and I move to the living room.

Simon and Baz are on the couch, half draped over each other. They notice when I walk in.

“Agatha!” Simon calls me over. “Which movie should we watch later?”

I sit down in the armchair next to the couch and pretend to think. “Hmmm… What about… The Princess Bride?”

Simon cheers while Baz groans, and I smile at them.

Baz says, “I veto that choice. We’ve watched that at least five times by now. I think I can quote it by heart.”

“That’s the point!” Simon tells him.

“I don’t care, babe,” Baz says, “we’re watching something else.”

Simon doesn’t blink at Baz’ words, but I do. It’s not something I expected from Baz. For some reason, I didn’t think he’d be the type to casually throw endearment terms into a conversation. It sounded casual, though. As if it’s happened a million times before. Makes me feel like I’m missing something, or someone.

They continue to banter and I stand up and go back to the kitchen. At least with Penny I won’t feel like I’m missing a limb.

4. Daphne

When Baz told me he and Simon would take care of Mordelia’s birthday cake, I somehow believed him. Now, I’m having my doubts.

The kitchen has flour all over it, eggshells are laying around and everything is just plain dirty. I’m about to search the crime scene for anything salvageable, when I notice the oven is on.

I step closer, and lo and behold, there’s an actual cake in there. And it doesn’t even look half bad. Phew, crisis averted.

But why is the kitchen such a mess?

“Basilton?” I call out. I don’t get a reply, but there’s voices coming from the nearest bathroom.

I walk towards it, keeping an ear out for risky noises because that’s nothing I particularly want to see, but they’re just talking.

“How did you get dough in your hair?” Baz, exasperated.

“Because some wanker threw it at me!” Simon, even more exasperated.

A chuckle from Baz. “Wasn’t me.”

“Oh sure,” Simon says. “It was that other boyfriend of mine.”

“You’ve got me there.”

The faucet gets turned on and off and there’s a rustle of clothing.

Then Baz says, “You’re a mess.”

“But you like that, remember.” Sassy.

“I love it in fact.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Now, softer, Baz replies, “Because, honey, we match.”

I don’t hear their voices anymore, so I make my retreat and start cleaning the kitchen. When Baz and Simon exit the bathroom ten minutes later, I just smile at them and congratulate them on the cake.

5. Baz

After a full weekend of moving furniture, it’s done. We’ve finally moved in. My car is on the driveway, my bed is in the bedroom, and most importantly, Simon is in the kitchen. Our kitchen.

He’s making sour cherry scones, for our housewarming party this evening. I put the last plates in the cabinet and then turn around to watch him.

He looks so different from last year. Healthier, happier. I’m really proud of him.

He’s at the last step of the cooking process now: tasting. It usually takes him the longest, for obvious reasons.

I take a few steps until I’m behind him, and wrap my arms around his middle. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and press a kiss there. After all these years, after all what we’ve been through, he’s still warm to the touch.

Simon, with his hands busy, just turns his head and kisses my hair. I hum in response.

It’s all incredibly domestic and I love it. I thrive on it. What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic.

“Sweetheart?” I say after a moment.

“Mhm,” Simon mumbles, his mouth probably stuffed with scones.

“You’re leaving something for tonight, right?”

He snorts, swallows his scone and says, “I made another batch.”

It makes me smile, of course he did.

I reach out to take a scone for myself, and Simon (begrudgingly) lets me. It tastes pretty good. It tastes even better from Simon’s lips.

+1. Simon

I feel warm and fuzzy when I wake up. Our first night together in our own house.

Baz is curled around me, and everything smells nice. Probably those scones from yesterday.

I stretch, careful not to disrupt Baz, and then turn over to him. I could definitely get used to this.

Baz stayed over a lot when I still lived with Penny, but not every night. Having this, forever, means the world. Getting to wake up in the same bed as Baz every day, eating breakfast together, going to work, arguing about which movie to watch in the evening, going to bed together. It’s all painfully real and I’m in love with it. And with Baz, of course. I love him so much. Despite what we’ve been through in the last two years, in the last ten years, we made it. We made it, together.

And I can’t wait to see what the future will bring for us.

In the present, Baz is opening his eyes.

And I say what I’ve wanted to say for a long time.

“Good morning, darling.”

And he smiles at me like I’m his entire world and I’ve just made all his dreams come true.

#this one's a bit longer #i love 5+1 fics #carry on countdown #coc 2019 #carry on #day 8 #my fics

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doctors-star · 4 years

Note

I don't think I already prompted you for the number ficlet thing, so: 42: Two Roads, alex, peter, ruth

again with the failure to comprehend time and its passage! mi dispiace.

give me prompts (i am still taking them. i wish i had something better to do.)

The call is long-awaited; Alex barely allows it to ring before he snaps the phone up.

"Remind me why I'm here," the caller demands, sounding frustrated and exhausted and cross.

Alex grins. "Because you love your job and this symposium sounds fascinating and you're outstanding in the field. Hello, Peter."

"Humph," Peter responds. The line is a little crackly but Alex can hear the radio in the background, quietly burbling away. Grumpy as Peter appears to be, Alex is tremendously glad to hear him. "Pretty small field," Peter sighs, and Alex can almost hear him scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

Alex trots over to the farmhouse. "Well, you've spent enough time in fields of various sizes, usually getting rained on; you might as well be appreciated for it." Ruth's head turns to him at his approach, looking hopeful when she spots the distinctly modern phone pressed to his ear, and she's very quick to disengage from her chat with the producer when he smiles and waves her over. Her skirts and shoes swirl up dust as she jogs across the yard until she looks like she's walking on a cloud, and Alex is already grinning as he extends an elbow and holds the phone between their heads.

"A rainy field sounds preferable right now," Peter says, resolutely uncheered.

"Don't wish rain on us, dear; think of the hay harvest," Ruth says, using her hand on Alex's elbow to steer them down the road towards the cow field.

"I am. I don't want you bringing it in without me."

Ruth frowns up at Alex, and then the phone. "What's wrong, Peter?" she sighs.

A rush of air crackles down the line. "Sorry. I hate the M25; I've been here years, feels like. It's a lovely day and I've been in the car for all of it and-" Peter huffs a self-deprecating laugh, "-I want to go home," he says, as if making it clear that he knows he sounds a little childish will make it any less sad.

Ruth drops her head onto Alex's shoulder. He knows the feeling: he wants to wrap Peter up in a hug, but must settle for pressing this inexpressible affection into a kiss to her parting. "You'll enjoy it when you get there," Alex offers rather lamely.

"I know," Peter says, trying for - if not quite brightness, then at least a level tone. "Unfortunately, I'm stuck in Watford and may yet be for the rest of my days."

"Have you called ahead?" Alex asks.

"Yes, ask to relocate the symposium to the M25," Ruth suggests brightly and Alex and Peter laugh. Good old Ruth: Alex never knows how much he misses Peter's laughter until he hears it, and glows with joy.

"We'll start Cambridge University anew here, on the slip road at junction 20," Peter says, voice smiling. "Reroute the Cam down the central reservation, set up the libraries on the hard shoulder, bridge of sighs as an overpass; yes, should be lovely."

"And back in time for tea," Alex grins.

"And the hay harvest," Peter reminds him, half-joking.

"Of course," Alex soothes. "We'll leave you all the hard work, don't you worry."

Peter hums happily down the line. The sun is low in the sky, bronzing everything in a thick layer of orange light with hardly a breeze to shift its heavy weight. There isn't a thing stirring in the solid, warm evening except Alex and Ruth, meandering down the baked-dry lane, and Alex could imagine for a moment that the three of them were all the people in the world, were it not for the faint noise of a car engine on the other end of the line and the pervading miasma of exhaustion emanating from the phone. Modernity is overrated - except that, even with traffic, Peter could be halfway across the country and back in a day, and Alex can press a box of metal and plastic to his ear and hear his voice as if they were, all three of them, together again.

"Well. I've been driving all day; what have you been up to?" Peter asks.

"Alex has been annoying the crew," Ruth says, before Alex can get a word in. He turns a betrayed look upon her and she laughs.

"Oh yes?" Peter says, a smile bouncing between earth and satellite and emerging from the phone unscathed.

"Mm. Been carrying his phone about like a very modern man in case you called and ruined half a dozen shots," Ruth says, sounding ridiculously delighted about it, and it's Alex's turn to huff as Peter laughs.

"That's very sweet," Peter says patronisingly, and laughs harder as if he'd been there to see Alex roll his eyes.

"We're off to check on the cows," Alex informs him, electing to ignore these slights upon his televisual abilities, truthful though they may be.

"Say hello for me, send them my love and all that. Ooh - traffic's moving again. I'll have to speak to you again soon."

"Let us know when you get in," Ruth says, her hand tightening on Alex's arm. Alex wants Peter safe in his hotel - he wouldn't wish the M25 on anyone - but suddenly he'd do a great deal to keep Peter on the phone a little longer. Peter deserves this time, to visit his family and then attend this symposium, to interact with the modern world and to do the job he loves, but he is now driving yet further from the farm for another few days away. Two weeks feels like centuries.

"I will do." Peter sighs. "Alright. I love you, I miss you, I'll be home on Friday. It's not forever."

Alex shifts the phone to wrap his arm around Ruth, stopping their progress down the road to hug her. "Friday," he says, and Ruth kisses his cheek. They might as well show affection to someone. "It's a promise."

#this is a time to be at home huh #stay well and sane if you're stuck in small spaces #thanks for the prompt!!#this is your captain speaking

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diningpageantry · 5 years

Text

Intimacy

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/47304547

Chapter 12/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 6171

Summary: Spring break brings an opportunity to get out of town, leading Simon and Baz to new and unsure parts of their relationship.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s cloudy today, just like every other day this week.

Like the week before.

And the week before that.

Except today, unlike all the overcast days that came before us, we’re at least going somewhere. Getting away from the stacked towers and mixture of old and new of Watford Academy, and going up North--up to Baz’s family’s country house that apparently sits a short walk from a small town.

Some picturesque type of place, with all the charm of a cheesy little rom-com.

A place where nobody really knows us, beyond maybe seeing Baz when he was younger. A place where, if we hold hands and snog in public, it won’t have any significant bearing onto our daily lives.

A place, in short, where I can be out.

Because it’s never us, when it comes to this. It hasn’t been about us being out--it’s about me. In all my confusing self-sabotage, I’ve been chewing and chewing on the fact that this frustration over us has just been me all along. I’m the villain trying to hold us back here, and I really quite hate that there’s nothing to blame besides myself.

I’m the beast to conquer. It’s even worse that I rarely hold onto even a tiny thought, yet I’m clinging to this one.

It’s scary. It’s new. It’s scary because it’s new, and it’s newly scary. And at least, at least I’ve got Baz here with me, because he’s not scared. Not anymore.

He’s to the point of this stone-cold, face-forward fearlessness that he walked right out of our flat with his shirt half undone, sauntering up to his car as I’m leaning against it. I’m wearing his Ray Bands (he says I look cooler in him than he does, but I think he’s lying), feeling the Volvo hum against my backside as I wait and watch him step out of the building.

He looks fantastic as always, which feels strikingly unfair to the gloom that’s been hanging over us. I feel washed in it, dressing in greys and beiges while he struts out in a the poshest possible shirt--soft violet with maroon and deep green floral detailing stitched in. He lets it hang open over his chest, tucked nicely into his black jeans.

“Bold move,” I hum gently, watching him toss one last bag into the boot. “Didn’t think you’d go to unbutton it ‘til we got out of town.”

He smirks a bit, giving the top a good nudge as it slams back shut. “Yes, well. Saw myself in the mirror and I couldn’t quite resist.”

For a split second, I’m sure he’s considering stepping over and kissing me, but his face drops a bit before going around and getting into the driver’s seat. I follow suit, hesitating as I relax into the leather before reaching over and lacing our hands together while chewing on a bit of my bottom lip. His head turns, taking full notice of my apprehension, then snaps back wordlessly as he moves to shift gears.

It isn’t long before the area grows to be unrecognizable. Blurs of passing countryside peaks and the rolling of hills, disappearing into vague greens and twinges of yellow. It’s gorgeous, and a bit of a hike.

Baz doesn’t make much of a fuss when I put on my headphones, knowing full well I’d warned him about my car sickness before hand. He just pouts a bit, but takes my hand and lets me zone out until it’s over (which takes a full Killers album and half an Offspring album).

Once we start passing through, he nudges me gently, letting me snap back into reality to watch us slowly make our way through town.

It’s pretty. Floral, at this time of the year. Not incredibly lively, but not dead, nonetheless. A few shops--the usual types of spots throughout. Pubs, a tailor, coffee shop, a few spots to eat, etc.

All charmingly safe.

All charmingly secure--all somewhere I can do what I feel impulsively--without the barrier of peers to stop my mind from doing it.

I lean across at a stop, kissing his cheek softly and feeling his smile tug before flying back and settling back into my seat.

“What was that for?”

I shrug, staring out my side window dazily. It feels like a rush--a chemical burst in my head. I wonder if this is what happiness is supposed to feel like. “Felt like it.”

I catch him smiling secretively all the way to the house.

Which, to my surprise, isn’t really the “Little cottage” he made it out to be. Rather, it’s a quite sizable estate that probably costs more than I’ll ever make before I’m fifty.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Baz,” I start, watching him turn the ignition off and unbuckle. “How fucking loaded is your family?”

His smile drops, lips twitched a tad as he yanks the keys out. “A bit too much,” he says, stepping out and turning to grab out stuff as I sit stunned, staring up at the building while he unpacks and starts inside.

I join closely behind him as he’s turning the front key through the locks, pushing the door (that’s bound to be hand carved, by the looks of it) open and letting the scent of the old building hit us as we step further in.

Someone must’ve come through and cleaned recently. It’s absolutely spotless, and smelling of an odd mix of what I can only describe as Pine Sol and just the plain waft of ancient wood and stone.

“Room’s upstairs.” Baz pushes past me, carrying three of our bags up at once as he starts to climb the seemingly twisting and turning set of wooden stairs that sits beside the set of kitchen doors. I sort of bound up after him, curiously peeking into the suite.

It’s ridiculously grand. Like some fucking five star place you stay at because you’re dating some posh arsehole.

Except, it isn’t some five star place, it’s one of his family’s fucking houses.

“Shit, Baz,” I breathe, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you take all the boys you shack up with here? Romance the shit out of them before the cult rituals begin? When do I lose my bloody mind?”

He rolls his eyes, settling down our bags and checking himself in the mirror (never the surprise). “You’re the first, believe it or not,” he says, shockingly soft, which nearly makes me drop my phone.

At first, it doesn’t entirely process. It isn’t much of a joke--he isn’t laughing, and neither am I, but it doesn’t feel like it should be real. Because he has a lifetime of being the hottest fucking bloke in the room, and yet he expects me to believe that I’m the first bastard he’s actually brought around.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He turns, raising a brow. “When do I joke about this sort of stuff, Snow?” he asks, brushing past me and turning back towards the stairs.

I stay in the room, making my way to sit on the bed as I listen carefully to him unloading the car, locking it, and heading inside.

I can’t really believe it. He can keep saying it, over and over again, but it feels fake.

Nearly four months in, and it feels fake.

Not the romance, and not us, but the fact that he likes me. That this isn’t some elaborate move to get the upper hand, and I’ll end up looking like an idiot on purpose.

And it must show--at least. The fact that I’m thinking like this must show, as Baz stops in the doorway to frown at me.

“What?”

I blink, eyes feeling cloudy as I try to shake it off.

This is real. This is real. “Hm? What? Nothing.”

“You were spacing. You only space when you’re overthinking.”

“That’s not true.”

He raises his brow and makes my skin flush. “You rarely ever think to begin with, Snow. The rare occasion that you do, you try to make up for all the lost thoughts and pile them on at once.”

I exhale, feeling the bed dip beside me as he sits. His hand wraps around mine, making my throat feel even tighter. Fucking hell, he doesn’t make it easy. “I’m--” I stop myself. I can’t say it.

I look at him, and it all runs to the back of my head.

There’s so much I want to say. So much that should be said, should be shared, and none of it seems to be coming out right, so I sigh. And shrug. And look away, because I’m really shit at this whole thing.

I’m trying. I really am. I want to try hard for him, but it’s hard.

But instead, I opt for leaning against him as his head falls onto mine, leaving us in a strangled silence.

“Why do you like me so much?” It comes out almost broken, trying to push its way back into my mouth as the words leave my lips.

He’s silent for a minute, letting me stay resting onto him until he does speak. “What’s making you all--”

“I just don’t know why you like me,” I start, sitting up. “I mean, unless I’m just the first one to last this long.”

“Are you implying I can’t hold a relationship?”

“I…” Fuck. This wasn’t meant to be a fight. “Fuck--no. Shit. I’d just meant--I mean… I don’t know what you see in me to take me along and show me your life and--”

“Because I like you.” His hand stays tightly around mine, voice sounding borderline stern. “I like you, Simon. I see a future with you. You might drive me up the bloody wall on occasion, but I think you’re someone I want around me for as long as you’ll keep me.”

His words fill my mouth but don’t let me swallow down--like a mouthful of dry spices. It’s there--it’s part of a meal, part of my life, but I can’t seem to let it into my body. It’s rejecting--I can’t take it like this. I can’t take it without something to swallow it down with.

I turn to him, searching his face for whatever can help it stick--help it stay with me. Settle in just right, and all I can seem to find is his lips, open in what seems like concern, but become my target.

I launch myself in, hands settling onto his face and tugging his jaw closer as I kiss and kiss and kiss until I feel him settle, kissing me back and letting it stick. Letting me sweetly pry his lips open and slip my tongue into his mouth, feeling the tremble in his movements as he takes my sides and tugs me closer.

His words are something I find myself being cautiously unsure of, but his movements? His body? The way he responds with such delicate affection and careful appreciation? That I’m sure of.

When I can feel him moving under my hands--feel his body fall back onto the bed with a solid nudge, letting me throw myself onto his lap and stuff my hands under his shirt as he moans into my mouth, urging me onwards...

That’s what feels solid--tangible.

Actions are definite, while words can’t help but feel like tricks.

I’ve been told before that I was loved, and when I was ready for more, it hit us that we didn’t know what we were saying to one another.

That wasn’t love. It wasn’t even lust.

It wasn’t what I’ve got pressed to me now. It wasn’t a grown man being vulnerable. It wasn’t telling each other we’re scared or we’re not ready.

It wasn’t like how it is now; now it’s kissing him everywhere. Tugging at the smooth fabric of his shirt, telling him you want him, telling him you need him. Telling him he’s everything you’ve ever needed and more, because he’s what’s tangible here. He’s what I can feel, what I can hold.

He isn’t words, but actions.

He’s grabbing me, he’s tugging at my shirt, watching me hold myself above him as he works at my buttons and making my head spin out of control before I have to stop him, breath not coming out right anymore.

I feel his hand slide, cup my jaw as I gasp.

“What’s the matter?” he whispers, letting me relax. I can’t look at him straight on--everything’s spinning, especially his face. It looks concerned though. He feels concerned.

“It’s not--I’m--” my chest flutters, eyes falling back shut. “It’s so much. Everything.”

“We can stop,” he says quickly, but I shake my head, cutting him short.

I take a shaky inhale, then a shaky exhale. With another breath, he slowly moves to finish unbuttoning my shirt, pushing the sides open and letting me breathe properly for a minute.

It all settles back into place.

It all feels real, and then all at once, I’m in the moment.

Like the world was fizzling, then I was popped back into reality.

The room’s awfully light, and he’s got a terribly confused look on his face, but I just lean down and kiss him clear, letting him slide my sleeves off and toss the shirt aside. I go to finally take off his, but he stops me with a snug push of his face into the small crook of my neck. I exhale with him, sinking down against him and quickly checking my watch.

“It’s quarter after three,” I whisper, kissing his hair as his lips meet my neck and mouth starts to worry at some skin that he’s probably set on marking.

“Mhmm,” he hums, unaffected. I grin.

“What time was our dinner reservation?” I murmur, stroking his hair back. A few strands slip through my fingers while others fall away as his head tilts.

He pauses to think. “Six thirty, if I’m not mistaken.” He looks me up briefly. “Why? Got some better plans?”

I hum at his building smirk, swiping my thumb over the crease in his cheek. “Maybe. But I think we can be done and out by six, if we’re fast.”

He chuckles, head falling back into my neck. “What sort of plan do you have, then?”

My breath hitches, mind supplying one answer, and one answer only. “You,” I breathe out, tugging him closer.

He blinks, and I feel him go stiff. We shift a bit, settling onto the bed as he turns us over and holds himself on top of me. “What do you mean me?” he asks, and for once, it doesn’t feel like some teasing game. Like he’s actually asking me--like he doesn’t know.

Or maybe he does, and he’s just scared.

Because I’m sure as shit a bit scared to say it, too.

“I mean that I want you, Baz,” I whisper, smoothing a hand over his hair. There’s no real ceremonious way to say this without using a term that I think we’d both gag at (“Making love.” Sounds like something a gran might say). “I want you to, you know…”

His brows raise, lips starting a smile as his jaw hangs a bit open. “Are you… do you want to…”

I feel myself smile along, cheeks flushing as I groan. “Yes, Baz. That’s what I’m saying.”

“And you want me to…”

“What? Do you not like it that way?” Suddenly, it’s turned from cheeky to just embarrassing, and I want to hide away under all these pillows.

He’s quick to stop me, though, running a soothing hand over my side as I stare at him, watching him smile. “No--nono, don’t. I’m happy topping, if you want me to. I just… it’s a bit of a surprise, that’s all.”

“What? Why?”

He bites his lip, holding back what’s probably a laugh (at me, nonetheless). “Dunno. Thought me wearing florals was sort of a dead giveaway that I like it in the arse.”

Jesus, I must be beet red now. “I can top, if you want me to!” I blurt out, watching him break into a giggle. “I just--I thought--isn’t this part of the experience?”

He tries to calm himself, still holding up above me as I nervously watch him go off and giggle like a schoolboy.

“What?” I demand.

He shakes his head. “Do you think that you have to take up the rear to really be queer? Is that it?” he chuckles.

“I…” Not that it was particularly my first thought, but I’d figured this whole time that he’d want me to sort of prove it, somehow. He’d never say it, clearly, because he’s too proud to admit this short of shit, but I’d figured he’d be happier know that I’m really this much into him.

“Because you don’t,” he adds, settling down. “You don’t if you don’t want to, Simon.”

“But I do,” I say quickly, hooking around his belt loops for the added effect as I arch my hips. All in all, I do want it. I want him to hold me closer than he ever has before--I want him to make it clear that this is real. “I… I actually do, though. At least once.”

His brows raise, smirk falling back onto his face before he steals a quick, gentle kiss from my lips. “As long as it’s what you want, I’m happy with it,” he murmurs, pecking my cheek before starting to work back at my jaw, moving back down my neck and onto my clavicle.

I melt against him, fingers sliding back into his hair as my head rolls back. “I am,” I whisper, breathing out a short huff. “I’m ready--I want this.”

His lips spread into a smile onto my skin, making me shiver. “Tell me what you want.”

My hips shift and lift, letting his hands nimbly pull at my belt and trousers, managing to get them mostly off before I kick them away from my ankles. “I want you to take those magnificent fingers of yours,” I start, breath hitching mid sentence as his hand slips into my pants. “A-and--shit--I want them in me.”

He chuckles, and I feel something heavy curl in my stomach like a steel ball. Fucking hell. “Did your research?”

I blush, hard. “I… yeah. Yes. A quick google search… maybe a few videos…”

His head lifts, and he’s grinning like a loon. So much so that I give his hair a good tug and shove his face back into my gut.

“Fuck you,” I mumble, nose scrunching as I squeeze my eyes tight. “Wanted to get this right--wanted to get us right.”

“Well, did you research prepping, then?” he mumbles into my skin, and I figure I should loosen my grip on him.

His head stays, lips plastering open mouthed kisses onto the slight curve of side and the gentle slope of my stomach. It’s soft. Far softer than it was when I was fresh in uni. Far too soft for my liking, some days. Feels a bit like I’m slipping further and further from the person I was. Makes me feel foreign.

The way Baz kisses it, though, doesn’t make me feel detached at all. It makes me feel closer to my body than I ever was before.

My breath comes out in a slow, small groan, feeling his teeth skid around my waistband. “I-I did,” I manage.

He peers up. “Did you…?”

I nod. “Figured we might this weekend, so I’ve been watching what I eat and I… well… earlier today I... and…”

He grins even wider, watching me try helplessly ramble about my ways of making sure my arse is well prepped to handle some, ahem, handling. It feels all very mood-killing, rather than building friction, but he’s got that creeping smirk of his, so I know he’s at least enjoying it (to a certain extent).

“What?” I ask, pouting a bit. This is far too much of him teasing, and less of us actually shagging.

He shrugs, pursing his lips before patting my hip. “Flip over, love.”

I blink, then knit my brows together as I slowly turn, pulling off my pants in the process.

Granted, he knows far more about this than I do, so it would be best for me to trust him. Except, I’m not exactly sure where this is going.

I think I’m ready for anything, though. Emotionally, and physically.

Although, the “anything” crossing my mind at the moment wasn’t his tongue, licking a stripe down half my back.

I gasp, involuntarily going rigid as I take hold of the sheets and bury my face into the pillow in front of me. It’s some posh goosefeather one, with a decorative sleeve that’s probably hand stitched and shit, I’m probably going to wreck his family’s outrageously expensive bedding.

Which probably shouldn’t turn me on more, but it does.

It so fucking does.

Baz takes his time, nipping at my exposed bum as I shuffle, pushing a shoulder hard into the bed as the other arm reaches back and grips onto his hair. He hums, sending tingles down my spine as his hands take hold and spread me apart.

His tongue trails down, swiping delicately around the tight ring of muscles once, then twice, probing at me carefully before I feel the pressure of his tongue release. All I hear for a second is my muffled panting, then the tingling shock of his breath blowing against the newly wet and exposed spot makes me shutter and whine in a voice I’ve never heard myself use. “Oh!”

He dives back in nearly immediately, my hand clutching a good fistful of his hair as his tongue works careful circles. Slowly, his tongue presses into me.

I gasp, face sinking deeper into the pillows as my back arches, hips pressing back while he licks in with his tongue moving in lavishly slow cycles.

I huff, another involuntary whimper escaping my throat as I grind my hips back, nudging his head forward and feeling his hum run up through my spine. I shiver, then push, trying to ride the flickering of his tongue as I keen, huffing indignantly. “Fuck, Baz,” I grunt, “harder.”

He pulls off after a moment, sounding breathy as he nips at the sensitive spot near my side, leaving me to whine haplessly below him.

“What is it?” He murmurs, kissing up spots along my back. “Need something?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, balling my fists around the bed sheets as I unceremoniously wiggle my hips. I hear him chuckle at me, so I end him a quick glare. “Can you just get in me, already?” I snip.

He smirks a bit, and I can tell he just absolutely adores the power. Wanker.

I practically snarl, flipping over and pulling him down on top of me. He laughs, though, trying to push off.

“Hold on,” he chuckles, “give me a bloody minute. I--Simon--” he stops, moving to pry me off his neck as he continues to laugh. “I need to get us a condom. Hold on.”

I let him go, with a bit of protesting, and watch him sit up and walk over.

“Did you bring condoms?” I breathe, forgoing any of the awkward bubbling from earlier. It’s a bit hot now, thinking he was ready for this, too.

He pauses, then nods, cracking open the box he’s got and ripping one of a strip before grabbing the tube of lube from his bag. “I like to come prepared regardless,” he says, pushing the flap back over it (as if someone will see).

I raise my brows, and hoping I come off as more smug and cocky than needy. “Or hoping that you’d get lucky?”

He raises a brow, smiling a bit before leaning down and catching my mouth with his. I push myself up, steadying on my elbows as we snog for a good minute.

Eventually, he peels away, sitting aside and moving to undress.

I pull myself up fully, leaning back against the headboard and watching him strip. “How should we do this?”

He throws me a glance over his shoulder. “How do you want to?” he asks, wiggling off his trousers and pants before folding them and setting them aside (he’s fucking ridiculous).

I shrug, watching over his back. “What would be easiest?”

He turns around, sitting with our knees knocking as he thinks. “You want to ride me and see where that takes us?”

I shrug again, then nod, pushing away the hair plastered to my forehead. “Sounds good,” I breathe, exhaling slowly, then smiling. “Fuck.”

He quirks his brow, and I reach out, smoothing a thumb over his cheek.

“No, it’s just… it’s new. It’s good, but new.”

He relaxes, eyes closing. “Good.”

I chuckle and push myself across our laps, planting my lips onto his as pulling him close.

His chest knocks into mine, our legs slotting up awkwardly as we shift, my thigh rubbing up his cock as he lets out a low, rumbling groan. I rub it again, feeling him rock a bit into it before nudging me back and laying me flat as he pulls off, fumbling with the lube.

I shift, hips lifting as my legs spread and heart races at the sight of his lubed fingers. Fuck.

“Are you ready for me too…?”

I nod, shifting myself again before surging up and pulling him down against me. He nearly knocks over, steading himself while I clumsily pull him in and properly snog him. It’s not the most romantic, but it sure feels right. Awfully right. Undeniably, absolutely right.

Nothing feels more right than to have him kiss me, especially as his fingertips press around, middle finger slipping into me with ease. I groan, tugging him in closer.

I let his tongue poke and prod into my mouth, eliciting helpless groans as my face goes beet red. One hand slips back into his hair while the other snakes down his chest, taking a moment to stroke down his cock and feel him whine into me with each coaxing move.

He works his way through three fingers before pulling them out one by one, my hips rolling with each movement.

I groan, panting as he pulls away and lets us roll and reposition. It feels a bit odd, at first, as I hover above on all fours and watch him roll on the condom and pile on plenty of lube, but then we settle with my hips above his, arse grinding against his cock, and it all falls back into place. His hands travel then sit on my sides, thumbs stroking circles onto my skin as I suck in a breath, raising my brows at him. “It doesn’t really hurt, right?”

He breathes out a laugh, head falling back. “Are you really asking this now?” he manages.

I nod, blushing as I move to tease on top of him, guiding the head of his cock around the crown of my arse. “Maybe.”

I watch his eyes fall shut, hands tightening around my sides as I suck in a breath.

“Not terribly so, no. You’ll be sore after.”

I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. Right. Not a terrible cost for the action, I suppose. “Alright,” I mutter, settling my free hand onto his. I feel it slide, then link our fingers together. “Are you ready?”

He nods back as my eyes fixate on his chest, watching it move up and down before I slowly start sinking down, shutting my eyes along with it.

“Fuck,” I hiss, low and deep, as I sink deeper onto him. My knees wobble a bit, and all that’s running through my head is that he’s right--it doesn’t hurt that much.

Instead, it just feels like pressure, at first. A new tightness. A heat in my core as I settle my palms onto his chest and sink myself deeper onto his cock, carefully start to rocking myself up. I feel myself involuntarily gasping out into the air, searching to find his hands.

He rubs up my side, then down, grasping my hip as our fingers squeeze together.

I shift, starting to rock myself up and down.

“D-do you want me to--” I cut him off, nodding immediately and feeling his hips start to grind upwards, making me gasp and whine in a shaky, slow grumble.

I groan, lifting our hands off my skin and holding them both tightly while experimentally pushing harder, feeling my head spin and vision fizzle with it. “Fuck--fuck!”

His hips shift, then thrust up, sending me spiraling as I rock down to meet them.

I give him a few bounces, then grind back down, feeling his fingers squeeze mine tighter before one lets go, moving to my cock and closing around it. He gives me a quick questionable eyebrow raise, and I just nod, huffing out a vague “Please” before he starts stroking.

At first, I think I can take the stimulation, but the sight of him watching me sends me spiraling faster than I thought possible. And it’s all too much--too overwhelmingly there, pushing me off the deep end in seconds before I even know what to do besides ride it out, whimpering helplessly while spilling onto his chest.

He pulls me off, letting me sit against his hips as it comes back down.

Only issue left is his cock, flushed hard and throbbing against me.

I don’t even let him try to tell me not to, reaching back and stroking him carefully as I lean down and kiss everywhere--kiss his neck, his cheeks, his lips, his forehead, his eyelids. Kiss the slope of his jaw, the dip of his cheeks. Kiss the notch of his adam’s apple, and the turn of his clavicle.

I shower him in kisses, stroking him fast and hard until I feel him come, spilling out onto my hand and back (and probably onto these overly expensive sheets) as I grin, panting along with him and only having two words left for the both of us.

“Holy shit.”

He tips his head up to me, a broad smile spread across his face as he relaxes, rubbing my back. I sink into the touch, face pressing into his neck as I exhale. Shit. Shit. I need a shower. I need a nap. I need a round two--a lifetime of round twos.

I want to do that to him.

We relax, my nose pressing up against his jaw as his hands trace up and down my back. It’s serene, if only for a second, to hold him close to me. To feel his heartbeat against my nose, pulsing sweetly onto my skin as I breathe in, cheeks aching from smiling too much.

“Alright,” start, forcing myself up. He stares at me, raising a brow as I stretch. “Fuck. Shit. Alright. Got to shower.”

He pats around for his mobile, checking the time, then nodding. “Care if I join?”

I smirk, pushing myself off him and getting up. “Never thought you’d ask,” I tease, starting to head off into the bathroom.

There’s already soaps in there--posh ones. Some used, like the wash and shampoo, but the bar next to the sink seems pretty newly unwrapped.

Definitely was some maid that went through, then.

Which, of course, feels a bit odd.

Not too odd, since the Wellbeloves had one, but even the Wellbeloves weren’t this wealthy. This feels more “We’ve owned the country club before your bloodline existed”, rather than “I’ll give you 100p if you eat that weird looking grape” sort of rich.

Wonder what Baz sees in me, then. After all, I don’t have shit to my name (which is why I’m at Watford, really). That’s why I’m here.

I’m here because I didn’t have any of this.

I don’t know why he’s there with me, if he has so much money.

I sigh and pull at the faucets, letting them run until the shower stream’s steaming hot. Standing outside the shower’s door, I looking in through the glass and completely space out while focusing on this.

All I can think of is this.

How much better Baz could do--how much of a better life he could live, if he wanted. Of how he doesn’t need me (not that I ever thought he did), and if he didn’t want me, I could be a ragdoll tossed aside.

I close my eyes, head settling against the glass.

A hand closes around my hip, startling me back as he lets go. “You alright?”

“Hm?” I shake my head, rubbing my eyes as I sink back. “Yeah. I am.”

“You’re still thinking.”

I take a glance at him, doing a once over, before stepping into the shower.

He follows, pulling the door shut behind him.

“It’s the same thing,” I mumble, back to him as the stream flows over me. “It’s nothing too important.”

“It is if its wrecking your holiday,” he says pointedly, stepping beside me and nudging me a bit for the water. I let him, leaning against the tiles as he scrubs his hands over his face.

I swallow, studying the details of his arms, his hands, his face, his movements. Some being subtle rubs of his fingertips, others being the harsh pushing of his head. All making me feel dizzy. “I just don’t get it. If your family’s so rich, then why are you teaching? Why do you live on campus? Why don’t you just live as some playboy in London?”

He peers over at me, giving me a bored look. “You know why,” he says, and for some reason, it hurts. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

I stop, breath sucking in. “I…” He’s right. “I just…”

He stares over, lips twitching before he turns to grab soap. “I don’t want their money, or their lives. I want my own. I just reap the benefits of my upbringing, on occasion.”

I reach for him, hand brushing his waist. He lets me, but doesn’t move to reciprocate. “It feels like a waste.”

He snorts. “Then you don’t know my family’s relationship with money.”

“You’re right,” I say softly. “I don’t.”

He turns to me.

“I don’t know your family.”

His lips purse, then he exhales, offering a hand over to me. I take it, letting him pull me in as he starts to scrub soap over my arms.

“And I intend on keeping it that way.”

“What? Don’t want to be seen with a poor boy?”

He snorts. “Don’t want you to suffer the travesty that is my family for an extended period.” He kisses my forehead. “If you want to meet them, though, I’d be glad to set it up. It’s just beyond dinners that get excruciatingly lonely.”

I watch him through my eyelashes, chewing on my lip. “How so?” I whisper. I know what it’s like, childhood loneliness, but through a much different lens.

Alone with your thoughts, no books to write in, no real friends to chat with. Isolated socialization, barely learning to choke out words until you’re forced into school and not allowed to be silent.

“Long corridors,” he says quietly, hand trailing down my back. “Dark rooms, wall sconces. Suits at dinner. Being miles from anybody relatively friendly to play with, and when your cousins come to play, your father always talks business with their parents in the other room. Your father is always there. Your father likes when you’re cold and distant, because that’s what men in the family do. It’s right--it’s proper.”

I look up, and his face is borderline twisted, stuck in a snarl. I try to reach up, and he shakes his head.

“It’s lonely, Simon,” he whispers. “Feels like being suffocated slowly. Choking on your own spit.”

Choking. Drowning.

The death of childhoods and wanting something new--something fresh. Something unrecognizable.

“I know,” I mumble. “I don’t know in the same way, but I know.” I exhale, reaching for his face. He lets me, this time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” His eyes fall shut.

We’re still for a moment, watching one another under the beating of the showerhead before I muster it up. I push it out, swallowing back any apprehension from before.

“Baz?”

“Yes?”

“I want to be out this week.”

He goes silent, studying me carefully as I exhale and lean my back fully against the tile. It’s still cold, as compared to the heat of the water. It’s nice against my skin.

“I mean,” I start, watching his eyes travel. In a moment’s hesitation, I reach for his hand and squeeze it. “I want to kiss you in public, and hold your hand. I want to call you my boyfriend. I want everything that comes with being out while we’re here. Nobody knows us here, so what’s the harm in trying?”

He exhales quietly, raising a brow at me. “You’re really sure about that?” He’s quieter than usual, jarring me enough to be taken aback.

Still, I nod. “Call it a test run,” I whisper, bringing his knuckles to my mouth and kissing them sweetly. “A preparation for the real thing.”

#carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #proximity (the collision of lonely men)#p(tcolm)#simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

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Happy Birthday to @vkelleyart ! This is a gift fic for you based on the prompt for a character who is “unable to open their eyes for a few moments after a kiss” (I didn’t forget you liked that one!)

So here is a day in the life with SImon and Baz. Hope you enjoy it and enjoy your day!

Read at Ao3

In Between Days

Baz

It’s the fourth week in a row I’ve invited myself to the Bunces’ home. I can’t spend my weekends alone at Watford when I know Simon is just a few hours’ drive away.

It’s not like we don’t talk on mobile. Well, I talk. Simon mostly gives me monosyllabic answers and drawn out silences. But I get to hear the sound of his breathing and that calms me. I know it calms him too. I talk to him until he falls asleep most nights, until I can hear his breath puff in and out through the speaker (mouth breather).

Bunce usually takes his mobile from him once he’s asleep and then she tells me what Simon doesn’t: how he’s sleeping, if he’s eating enough. What goes on during his days with her, when I’m sitting in class—desperate to reach out to him—but forcing myself to translate interminably long passages of Greek for the Minotaur instead.

Father has let me have the Jag at Watford this term. I asked him for it near the end of the holiday break. He heard me out, when I made my request for it, his forehead creasing in concentration. “He’ll be alright with Martin and Penelope, Basilton. I’ve no doubt about that. And Wellby will make sure to check in on him as well. He’s awfully fond of the boy.”

“So am I.” My words came out as a whisper. It was the first time I’d been so open to Father about my feelings for Simon. I don’t regret saying it, no matter what his response.

It’s true and I’m done hiding.

Father’s hand gripped my shoulder briefly. “I know.”

My eyes darted to his. His expression eased and a hint of a smile quirked his lips. “I may be old but I’m not blind. It wasn’t hard to puzzle it out at Christmas.”

I could feel my ears go warm as what little blood I have rushed into them. I opened my mouth to make some retort but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t deny it.

And he didn’t seem perturbed by it.

“And if I had been too thick to notice then, it certainly wouldn’t have escaped my attention now. You’ve spent practically every moment driving down there to see him.” Father waved a hand at me, as if to forestall any comment on my part. “It’s understandable. The boy has been through the unthinkable.” He shook his head and his hand made an involuntary movement towards the inside pocket of his suit jacket, where he keeps his wand. “Simon needs the companionship of those who care for him.”

My mouth went dry. This was not the direction I expected this conversation to go. I should have known better than to underestimate Father’s powers of perception. He’s sharp and Daphne’s a natural empath, so I suppose it was inevitable that they would figure it out. I swallowed in an attempt to force some moisture to my mouth. “So, you’ll let me have the car?” I needed to get back to the point at hand. I wasn’t sure I could handle the intensity of a heart to heart at that moment.

Father nodded. “Yes, yes. You’ll try to figure out some other way to get to him if I say no.” There was an unexpected glint in his eye as he spoke. He must have appreciated my perplexed expression because he raised his eyebrows, shoved his hands in his pockets, and huffed an unanticipated laugh. “You know your mother and I started dating at Watford.” This was a startling topic. I’ve rarely heard him speak of those times. Most of my information has come from Fiona.

He kept speaking, eyes gazing off in the distance somewhere over my left shoulder. “Your mother would always come here for the summer and I would be in Suffolk.” His eyes darted to me again. “I know every possible route from the estate there to our door here.” He huffed again. “I can’t tell you how many times I asked my father to borrow the car so I could save time on travel and have more time to spend with Natasha.” He pulled a key fob out of his pocket and dangled it in the air between us. “I’ll not make you endure the vagaries of the British rail system the way he made me.”

I took the keys from his hand. “Thank you.” I meant it. I was in a state of shock, honestly. He’d been utterly nonchalant about my feelings for Simon, uncharacteristically forthcoming about his past with my mother, and so unexpectedly kind about it all. I put out my hand to shake his and he gripped it with both of his, for longer than usual.

“Don’t park it at the lot near the Wood. The snow devils are hell this time of year. The last thing you need is them messing about with the motor or pelting the car with chestnuts. If the Mage’s Men could park off the Courtyard so can you. Mitali should have no problem with it.”

Headmistress Bunce has had no problem with my car or my mobile. She reversed the technology ban as soon as she set foot on the grounds. Considering she had provided Bunce with a contraband mobile during eighth year, this did not come as much of a surprise to me.

I grab the key fob from my desk and make my way down the steps of Mummers. The snow is swirling with the wind but there’s not much to speak of on the car yet. It’s early still. It might be thick by the time I get back tonight.

I’ll have to come back tonight. The Bunces’ home is bursting at the seams with people. There’s no place for me to stay when I go. Simon theoretically sleeps on a cot in Bunce’s room though I think she lets him crash on her bed more often than not. She complains about his wings enough.

I’m envious.

I know Bunce and Simon are just friends. I’m not bothered about that. I just miss his presence in our room so much that it hurts. There’s an ache in my chest when I look at his empty bed.

I’ve left it all just as it was the day he bolted to come find me. Dirty trackies in the corner, an untidy pile of books on his desk, his wand on the table, his bed a rumpled mess.

Slightly more rumpled now because I’ve been curling up on it, inhaling the faint smoky scent of him it still holds.

The motorway is fairly empty this time of day. I’m not a morning person by nature but the earlier I get on the road the longer I can spend with Simon. I’ll forego a few hours’ sleep if I can spend those hours with him instead.

I texted Bunce before I left, so she’ll know to expect me. She’ll make sure Simon’s up and about. He used to always be up with the sun, the bloody git, blundering around the room. I’d wake up to the sound of him only to huff and groan in mock annoyance. I’d watch him from under my half-closed eyelids as he riffled through his papers, hunted under the bed for his shoes, shrugged on his uniform jacket.

Simon’s not such an early riser anymore. Bunce says he still wakes with the sun, on the nights he gets any sleep, but he’s not up and about. Not until she harangues him for a bit. Or more than a bit. She usually manages to chivvy him to the kitchen for breakfast but then he’s a lump on the sofa for hours after.

Thousand-yard stares. Long stretches of immobility on the Bunces lumpy sofa. Silent walks with me.

He was never one for many words, but in the time since the Mage’s death he’s been painfully laconic in his speech.

I know he’s still in shock. It’s so much to take in. Simon had so little to begin with and now he’s lost that. The Mage. Ebb. Wellbelove. His magic. Watford.

He’s still got Bunce.

And now he has me, for whatever that’s worth.

It breaks my heart that his world shattered, just as my fondest dream finally came true. I’m not sure I’m a worthy trade.

I rap on the Bunces’ front door when I arrive. The snow is thicker here, flakes swirling around my head as I stamp my feet to stay warm. The door flies open and Priya rolls her eyes at the sight of me. “Oh, it’s you.”

I follow her in, relishing the warmth that washes over me. Headmistress Bunce is seated at the kitchen table, tapping away at her laptop. “Basilton.”

“Headmistress.” She usually makes the trip home early Friday afternoon and heads back to Watford at first light on Mondays.

“They’re in Penny’s room. You know the way.”

I give a warning knock on the door before I lean in to take a look. Bunce is seated at her desk but her chair is spun around to face Simon. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, wings nestled against his back, shirtless as usual.

“Baz.” Bunce greets me first, but Simon is already sitting up as she speaks.

I drop down on the bed next to him and press a gentle kiss to his temple. “Good morning, love.”

Bunce, as expected, snorts. “I’ll leave you two for a bit, shall I?” She ruffles Simon’s hair as she walks past us and then give me quick squeeze on the shoulder. Our eyes meet and she shrugs.

Not much has changed then.

Simon ends up on his side, head in my lap, as I lean against the wall by Bunce’s bed, my fingers sliding through his curls. I tell him about my week, all the stupid, useless, trivial things that happened at Watford since I’ve seen him last. Anything to distract him.

“Dev’s been sick this week so Niall tried to use “snug as a bug in a rug” to tuck the blankets around him when he was shivering and damn near strangled him instead. They got so damn tight around him it took both of us to get him unraveled.”

Simon tilts his head back to look at me. “You didn’t come up with a spell?”

There’s a glint in his eye, one I haven’t seen in far too long. I’m so desperate for it, I must be imagining it’s there.“I wasn’t there when he cast it. Niall tried something else but that just unwound the weave of the blanket and he couldn’t spell that away. Left Dev wrapped up like Frodo after the spider got to him. That’s when he shouted for me.”

Simon blinks up at me. “You didn’t use an “as you were”?

I’m not imagining it. Even his tone of voice is sharper.

I shake my head, focused on keeping my own voice calm and steady. “No, that would have just taken him back to the too-tight blankets. You know you can’t keep doing “as you were” over and over, once you’ve done another spell. It would just go back and forth between the two most recent ones.”

“How’d you get him free?” This is perhaps the most interest he’s shown in happenings at Watford since I returned to school. I can’t help the sharp flare of hope that shoots through me.

I keep my voice light. “I used scissors.”

“You did not!”

“I had to. I couldn’t think of a spell to put the blanket back together and every time I pulled on a strand it just got tighter.”

“I’ve never known you to be at a loss for a spell.” Simon narrows his eyes at me. I know this look. It usually presages him jutting his chin out in that delectable way of his. “Why didn’t you use “into thin air”?

Why the bollocks hadn’t I used that? Hadn’t even thought of it. I had just snatched the scissors from Dev’s desk and proceeded to decimate the shreds of the blanket. Perhaps the darkening shade of Dev’s face had alarmed me too much.

I feel quite mortified about it now. Blast Niall. He didn’t think of it either.

I still can’t tamp down the rush of warmth that comes over me from Simon’s words though. Not only for his faith in me, or for his immediate ability to think of an appropriate spell for the situation, but also for that brief spark of the old Simon. That’s progress, isn’t it?

It’s more than I’ve seen so far.

I shrug. It’s a terrible habit I’ve undoubtedly picked up from him. “I’m not infallible. Dev took Niall’s blanket in recompense and made him deal with the mess we left behind. Now they’ve been fighting over how warm to keep the room since Dev’s got the only blanket.”

A flicker of a smile crosses Simon’s face. “If it was you, I’d have just made you share.”

My heart beats faster. I think I might swoon at his words, it’s not beneath me.

I don’t want to disrupt the moment though, so all I do is run my fingertip along his jawline. “You’re warm enough I wouldn’t have to share it.”

“Prick.”

“Mouth breather.”

I force myself to keep my breaths even. I can’t recall the last time he insulted me like this.

I’ve missed it.

Simon stares up at me silently and I trace the freckles along his cheek until I reach the one I’ve loved for years. I press my finger to it, keeping my tone casual as I speak. “Are you going to be a lazy bones and stay in bed all day, Snow? I thought we had plans to take you shopping today.”

I attempt to devise some reason to get him out of the house each time I come. Food, shopping, a film. I’ve not been too successful so far but I think at this point even he’s sick of wearing Premal’s old clothes.

I get him up and rummage around the untidy pile of clothing at the foot of the bed until I find a shirt. I spell it on then spell his wings and tail invisible. I can’t do much about the awful track bottoms. Does no one in this family wear jeans?

We’re definitely going to do something about the lack of them in Simon’s wardrobe today.

We wander around the city center, drifting into shops, getting coffee and scones (of course we get scones).

I eventually find an upscale men’s clothing store and drag Simon in.

“This is too posh for me, Baz,” Simon hisses in my ear as I make my way to the shelves of jeans near the back.

“Nonsense. It’s about time you dressed in something other than chavvy track bottoms and Premal’s lurid tshirts.” I flick through the jeans, eyeing Simon as I do. He’s shorter than me but with a more solid build.

At least he used to be. I’m not sure of his size anymore. He’s lost weight since the end of last term.

I won’t think about that right now.

I find a few pairs that appear to be the right size. They may be a bit long but he can just cuff them. I toss the jeans at him and move on to the shirts. He trails behind me like a forlorn puppy.

“Baz.”

“Hmm?” I’m riffling through some fitted crew neck shirts that are velvety to the touch. These will do nicely.

Simon tugs at my sleeve. “Baz. I can’t afford any of this.”

“You can actually, with your leprechaun gold, but that’s not relevant at the moment. I’ve got this. I promised to take you shopping and this is going on my account.”

He looks as horror stricken as if I’d announced a nation-wide shortage of butter. “I can’t let you do that!”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s too much money. I can’t have you buying me clothes.”

I put the shirts down and reach for his free hand. “Simon. I want to. I’m your boyfriend and I want to do this.” I step closer to him. “Let me do this for you, please?”

He frowns at me, eyebrows drawn to the middle of his forehead. I squeeze his hand. “What’s this really about?”

Simon’s eyes dart away and then return to me, the expression on his face harder to puzzle out now. “I just … I just don’t need all this.” He gestures with the arm holding the jeans and then rapidly clutches at them before they slide out of his grip. “I’m fine with what I’ve got. I can go to a thrift shop, find something in my size. You don’t have to do this.”

It dawns on me then that he’s never done this. Simon’s never gone into a real shop, to buy new clothes. Not even an H&M or a Uniqlo.

It’s all been hand-me-downs at the care homes or cheap thrift shop finds. Or the occasional Christmas gift from the Wellbeloves.

The only full set of new clothes he ever had were the uniforms at Watford. The ones he wore all the time.

The ones I gave him interminable amounts of grief over, back when I was just his prick of a roommate and insufferable nemesis.

It makes me furious at the Mage all over again. Couldn’t he have taken Simon to a real store, to buy some nice clothes? Just once?

I realize I’m standing here, staring at Simon, clutching his hand far too tightly. “I’m not doing it because I have to, Simon. I told you. I’m doing it because I want to. Because you deserve to have anything you need or want. New clothes. New shoes. A proper jacket. Whatever the fuck strikes your fancy, because by Crowley, why shouldn’t you?”

He blinks at me. I step closer. “Come on now. I need to see how my terrible boyfriend’s arse looks in these jeans.”

Simon flushes instantly, his expression rapidly shifting from serious to flustered. It’s adorable. “You can’t be serious, Baz.”

“I’m deadly serious about clothing, Simon. I’d think you’d know that by now.” I can’t help but smile down at him.

He huffs a laugh and I relax a little. “You’re fucking ridiculous about it, you wanker.”

“Trust my judgement then, you fashion disaster. You’re a prime candidate for a complete Queer Eye makeover.”

He actually grins at me. “Well, you’re queer enough to manage all that for me, yeah?”

I am. Challenge accepted.

We exit the shop an hour later, laden with bags. I’ve managed to find two pairs of jeans that are sinfully fitted to Simon’s form, an assortment of soft shirts that hug his muscled torso, one slim cashmere jumper that clings to his shoulders, and a brown leather jacket that nearly caused me to spontaneously combust in the shop. I’m delighted with the entire lot.

A judicious use of “clothes make the man” in the dressing room allowed the clothing to appropriately accommodate his wings and tail. I’ll have to mention that spell to Bunce.

I load our purchases into the car and find a curry shop for Simon. I linger over my kebabs, just drinking in the sight of him. The color has come back to his face, cheeks reddened by the brisk winter wind. He’s digging into his chicken tikka with a gusto that’s been sorely lacking the last few weeks.

I feel a surge of satisfaction when he eyes the lonely kebab on my plate. “You going to eat that, Baz?”

“I had considered it.” I don’t mean it. I ate more than enough samosas. I’ll put some of the Watford rats out of their misery later tonight. “Oh.” He shrugs and I can’t keep up the charade.

“Of course, you can have it, you nightmare. I saved it for you.”

Simon’s face lights up as he reaches for it. It’s the little things that give me hope that he’s making some progress. I know I can’t count on it every time. I know he’ll likely regress next week. But every little bit of improvement is a step in the right direction.

We head back to Bunce’s place in the late afternoon. The days pass far too slowly at Watford and far too swiftly when I’m with Simon. I’ll need to leave soon, to make it back before the drawbridge goes up for the night.

I make some perfunctory conversation with the Professors, indulge in a whispered exchange with Bunce while Simon hangs his new clothes in her closet, and then let Simon walk me to my car. I try to drag it out as long as I can, but the sun is sinking and I’ve got no choice but to leave now.

The chill is more pronounced as the shadows lengthen. I can’t help the shiver that runs through me. Simon wraps his arms around my waist and I revel in his heat. Even now, with his magic extinguished, he still radiates warmth. It’s comforting, though I should be the one giving comfort rather than him.

Simon rests his head on my shoulder and I bury my face in his hair, inhaling the scent of him. It’s not the smoky aroma that haunts my dreams. It’s fresh and green and holds the barest hint of that familiar fragrance.

I lightly brush my lips to his temple and he turns his face up to me, lifting his head from its resting place on my shoulder and touching his lips to mine. I hold my breath. I’ve not ventured to do more than lightly kiss his cheek or forehead, not wanting to push him, not now, not after everything.

Simon presses closer, his lips firm and warm. And just like the first time we kissed, he takes the lead and moves his mouth, doing that thing with his jaw that leaves me breathless.

My lips part and he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against my own.

My heart is hammering in my chest, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’ve yearned for this, hungered for his touch, not daring to seek it for myself. I’ve been content with holding his hand, letting him rest his head in my lap, feeling the press of his shoulder against my own.

I’m grateful for anything he’s willing to give me.

My eyes have drifted closed as his touch heats my skin and his mouth moves against my own. I’ve missed this so very much. We may have only had two days’ worth of spectacular snogging, but Simon’s kisses have become more than just a craving to me. I need them. Like air or water. I don’t know how I’ve survived without them.

I’d dreamed of this often enough through the years, fantasized about his lips on mine, his hand sliding up my back like it is now, his shoulders underneath my grip.

The reality is far better than I’d ever hoped.

Simon pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle, arms wrapped tightly around each other. I can’t seem to open my eyes. I know it’s not a dream, but part of me still expects it all to vanish if I do open them.

It’s only when Simon’s hand slides up to tangle in my hair that I force myself to bring my gaze to his. The blue of his eyes is so close I can see the variegated shades that make the color so unique. There’s nothing ordinary about this boy in my arms. Not now. Not ever.

“I’ll miss you.” His words are just a whisper but I can hear them clearly.

“I’ll miss you too. I’ll call, every night.” My grip on him tightens. “I’ll be back next week.”

“I want you to, but you don’t have to. I know you’ve got schoolwork to do.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “I’ve no one to distract me during the week anymore. I’m so far ahead that I could take a week off and still not fall behind. It’s not as challenging, without Bunce there to goad me on.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “I’d rather be here with you, you know that.”

Simon’s lips brush mine once more. “I’d rather have you here too.”

I make it back to Watford just in time. The drawbridge goes up just as I reach Mummers. I take a shower, sort through my papers, read next week’s Political Science assignment. I wait until ten and then I dial Simon’s number. He answers on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“I miss you already.”

“I miss you too.”

I listen to him breathe. Words aren’t necessary. It’s enough to know he’s there.

My thanks to @basic-banshee @penpanoply and @fight-surrender for the encouragement, feedback and support for this fic during the crazy real life events going on as I was writing this.

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #birthday gift fic #my writing #my fic #shopping #a day in the life

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