#fuck you baz your name sucks

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Six Sentence Sunday & Countdown to EGF (Week 1!)

Hello hi hola!! Thank you for the early morning tags, @thewholelemon and @artsyunderstudy! I have six-ish sentences from Chapter 3 of my EGF fic, which I shared with my lovely EGF collaborator @shemakesmeforget (thank you for making me feel good about my writing 😆😆😆):

When Baz comes out into the kitchen, Simon Snow is still trotting around mostly naked except for Baz’s boxer briefs. He has freckles and moles everywhere, and the collar around his neck and the steaming mug of tea in his hands make him look oddly domestic; Baz is sure he’s seen a porn that started this way. 

“Here,” Simon says, thrusting the mug at Baz. “Wasn’t sure if you took milk or sugar.” 

“Usually milk,” Baz says, opening the fridge, “but - ah, yes, I’m out. I was going to do the weekly shop, but then kidnapping, imprisonment, et cetera.”

“Extremely et cetera,” Simon says solemnly. 

Writing blather, a bonus pic, and tags behind the cut! 

Here’s a brief description of my writing process thus far: 

Write 22 000 words in basically a fever dream / fugue state (around the same time that I wrote “A cake with your name on it”)  

Let it sit, because I knew it needed massive edits 

Sign up for EGF in early Jan with all the arrogance and naivete of youth, because “hey! I already have a draft!” 

Reread the draft in mid-Jan and feel like throwing up (Jan. 15 journal entry: “I just re-read my EGF fic and it seems like such a fucking disaster. What the actual hell”) 

Attempt ambitious rewrites. Fail. Lose momentum. Journal about it a lot. Draw a bunch of mind maps. Get lost in the black hole of Tumblr. Cry in the car. Eat kettle chips and binge-watch the K-drama Doctors  

Reread/re-watch some classic things that I should keep in a box/bookmarks folder called Break Glass in Case of Artistic Emergency (The Artist’s Way; Liz Gilbert’s TED talk on daemons; Kiki’s Delivery Service) 

Do some useful loosening up exercises (rewriting and responding to the Basic Principles in The Artist’s Way; writing a paean to the Muses; making a checklist of how to create a good writing context for myself)

Re-read the draft. Think, “Huh, it’s actually not as bad as I thought. Rewriting isn’t working, so I think I just have to work with what I have.” Realise that the draft hasn't changed in quality, just my mindset.

Think fondly of my old mentor McKenna (playwright, poet, Irish madman), who would always say, “These things that you think I'm teaching you? You know them already. I’m just reminding you, is all.”  

I share this not just because I crave validation (I mean, I’m an artist and a human, of course I crave validation) but because I think everyone who reads this probably resonates with at least one part of it. 

And it’s useful for me to have this as a record to come back to say, “Oh yeah, this happened to me before, this will probably happen again, here is evidence that I climbed out of this well before, and here are some really concrete things that I did to climb out of the well. This is all part of the process, even the stretches that suck and feel like you’re off-roading in the dark.” 

If you made it through this exercise in navel-gazing, please enjoy this picture, because I have apparently branched out from making fake t-shirts and entered the realm of making fake mugs for my fic, as part of my Creative Process: 

I have to run off soon (to pick up fresh cinnamon buns) so I am just going to do a bunch of hello tags off the top of my head in a completely random fashion: @erotic-grope-fest, @captain-aralias, @fatalfangirl, @cutestkilla, @technetiumai, @tectonicduck, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @raenestee, @dohrnaira, @larkral (look, I came out to play!!!), @facewithoutheart, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @whogaveyoupermission, @martsonmars, @aristocratic-otter. Happy Sunday to you all!

[greenorangevioletgrass]

the next ten minutes (h.h.)

pairing: stage manager!harry x actress!reader

summary: Harry and Y/N spends ten minutes hooking up backstage, and maybe, just maybe, ten minutes isn't enough.

word count: 1,091

warnings: stage!au, friends with benefits, ugh so much yearning, cheeky banter, fluff, smut! (fingering, unprotected sex), probably excessive use of harry's nickname lol

notes: a lil wee blurb bc i was in a huge Last Five Years bender and harry just strikes me as a wonderful stage manager skdjfhsk thank you @tommysparker and @cocoamoonmalfoy for humoring me with this random-ass concept a few weeks ago lol

***

Never date your own co-star, they say. It'll complicate things too much.

Even when she finds out she'll be playing in an intimate two-hander with Tom Holland. Even when they gaze into each other's eyes for the millionth time since the first rehearsal. Even when they're being paid to look in love.

Nothing.

Y/N takes that advice to heart. She has been friendly and warm with Tom-- they got on swimmingly from the start, but their sizzling chemistry is strictly professional.

Which is why, instead, she's in her dressing room, pinned against the vanity, making out with her stage manager.

As if that's any less complicated.

"Hurry up," Harry murmurs into her neck, nipping at her soft skin, his eager hands unbuttoning the front of her dress. "We've only got ten minutes."

"Thank you, ten," Y/N blurts out an automatic response, giggling at her own joke. Even during a quickie, he doesn't abandon his timekeeping duties.

He shoots her a dead glare, and is only met with a cocky quirk of her eyebrow. Cheeky shit. He kisses her hard, determined to wipe the smirk off of her face.

For someone so composed and commanding at his job, it never ceases to amaze Y/N just how needy he is with her.

Right now, he's clumsily yanking her top down. Her tits harden, although she's not sure if it's from the cold gust of air or warmth of his hand… or the heat of his tongue devouring her. Maybe it's the hint of teeth grazing her aching, pebbled nipples. She doesn't know for sure, and truth be told, she doesn't care all that much. She just wants him and his mouth and his fucking--

“This fucking… mic belt, what the--" Harry mutters to himself as he struggles to take off her underwear. "I’m gonna have a word with your dresser.”

"And what, tell her you have trouble taking my panties off?" she chuckles low and sultry in his ear, nibbling his ear lobe.

"It's not ideal for quick changes…"

She rolls her eyes. "Quick changes. Right--" her snide comment is cut off when his fingers find her slit between her legs.

Harry runs his finger up and down tantalizingly, his other hand squeezing her ass, tugging her nipple with his teeth… he's pressed for time and he's pulling all the big guns at the same time to get her wet and ready for him.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," she breathes out, grinding into the rhythm of his digits against her clit, soaking him in her arousal. Hard and fast and yet… "More. Baz."

He meets her gaze, eyes fluttering heavily as she strokes the front of his jeans.

Y/N pulls him by his belt loop and undoes his zipper in haste, fumbling slightly as he presses in on her swollen bud. She scowls, and he only smirks in return, sucking her juices clean. Wetting his fingers to tease his own hard cock.

"You. In me. Now."

And with that, he hikes up her leg and slides into her in one swift motion. His low groan makes for a twisted duet with her airy moan. She takes him in so warm, so tight, so… beautiful with her tits out, skirt bunched up around her hips, lips mouthing his name soundlessly...

God, he's so fucking weak for her.

Y/N meets him thrust for thrust, keeping the delicious heat alight. She didn't give herself nearly enough time to adjust to his size-- for someone so scrawny, he sure is packing- but she soldiers on and clenches through the sensation.

“Fuck’s sake, Y/N, I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…” his forehead falls into the crook of her neck.

“Good. Don’t want you to.” her nails dig into his ass, making him gasp. “Just as long as you finish me off.”

He hums, sounding like maybe he’s a bit too out of it to do it.

“Think you can handle that, Baz?” She cups his face with both hands, fully ready to take over for him.

But he nods. Picks up his pace until it’s all erratic and syncopated. Rubs her clit like he’s running out of time (although, in retrospect, he is.) Feeling her walls close in on him --quivering, contracting. Letting go as she chants his name like a song.

More beautiful than any ballad he's ever heard her croon out.

Ten times over.

She whimpers when he pulls out of her and tucks himself back in-- instead, pulling him in again for another kiss. Moments of peace and quiet are few and far between, especially so close to opening night, and dammit, she'll take what she can get.

He nuzzles her nose softly. "I s'pose I ought to let you go back to… making out with Tom now."

"Eh, all in a day's work," she lightly brushes it off, "Besides, I think we both know who my favorite Holland is."

"Who?"

"Paddy, " Y/N deadpans, although seeing his face fall completely breaks her resolve.

"Fuck off…" he all but whines.

Her face lights up in an honest-to-God disarming smile, and Harry finds himself mellowing a bit.

"I wanted to--"

"Attention all cast and crew, all cast and crew. Three minutes til run-through of the second act. Three minutes. I repeat, three minutes til run-through of the second act. Thank you," Harry's deputy stage manager announces over the PA.

"Baz, you were saying?"

"I…" he shrugs. The moment's gone now. "Nah, I just wish we had another ten minutes, s'all."

"I know." She kisses him briefly with a sigh.

She hops off the vanity and starts fixing her hair and makeup. Gone are the traces that for a blissful ten minutes, she was his. And he was hers.

Ten minutes and not a second more.

Y/N stops short of reapplying her lipgloss, catching Harry's daydreaming gaze through the mirror. He's much too disarmed to look away or find an excuse for staring. She caught him right in the moment, and he's fairly sure he's gonna get kicked to the curb for developing feelings in this arrangement.

"But we're almost done, and we'll have as much time as we like, yeah?"

Or not.

"Of course. Plenty of time…" he trails off, "I'll see you out there. Break a leg, Y/N."

Maybe he's not the only one with feelings. As he closes her door and rushes back to his booth, he grasps at the hope for the next ten minutes with her.

And another, and another...

***

tagging the taglist squad and moots who might be interested 🤩 enjoy, like, reblog, send me an ask and let me know what you think 🥰🥰🥰

Taglist: @sunsetholland @MayraPreciado @tommysparker @terrifictomholland @spideyssunshine @call-me-baby-gir1 @unicorn-princess-1999 @thegirlintheswivelchair @captainamirica @hihiweezing @tom-holland-parker @allmyspideys @the-panwitch @shipping-not-sailing @bi-lmg @more-like-reyna @onyourgoddamnleft @holland-styles @tomsirishgirlx @sunwardsss @lolooo22 @nellbellzz-blog @msmimimerton @prancerrparkerr @harryhollandsgirlfriend

[hogwartsmarvelmommy]

Anger Issues 🔥(h.h)

Warnings: smut. (Fingering, oral m-receving, unprotected sex, degradation, little bit of Dom!harry) lazertag (idk if that's a warning) swearing.

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist

Join my Taglist ❤️

You stood with your back against the wall, you were listening for one voice, one in particular.

“Hell mate, didn't even see ya there,” he laughed.

You raised your gun and jumped out aiming for the sensor on his chest and firing. It took you a few tries, but you managed to hit it at least once powering down his gun.

“Y/N!” Harry groaned as you ran the opposite direction. “We're on the same team you dork,” He yelled.

You jumped behind a large wall, ducking down, so he couldn't find you. You had only agreed to this for one reason, and it was to torment Harry, which seemed to be working flawlessly.

"Y/n," Tom's voice was directly behind you causing you to jump and squeak.

"Thomas," you hissed, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "Can't sneak up on me like that, m'hiding from Baz," you told him, peeking over the wall to see if you could spot him.

"He's on our team y'know," he chuckled.

"Doesn't mean I can't destroy him," you winked at him letting out a giggle before making a run towards another structure. Truth be told, this was all you had wanted when the idea of Laser Tag had been brought up that morning. It brought you pure joy to be a nuisance to Harry, to find his deepest buried nerve and pick at it until he would break. He knew it too, he knew you loved to be the reason he would crack. Harry angry and red hot in the face, that, well it just did something to you, and the way he would choose to take out that anger, whew. You were determined today, to get him to the point of no return, to the point where he had no choice. So as soon as you caught sight of his luscious auburn curls you jumped out, firing the gun and hitting the censor in the middle of his back. "gotcha," you said, sending him a wink.

"Y/n, y/l/n, I swear to fucking god-" he huffed, trudging forward towards you.

"S'not good to swear to God Baz," you teased. He continued towards you until he had you pushed against the wall, the censor vest digging into your back.

"The next time you shoot me, I will make you regret it," he seethed. You nodded quickly, biting your bottom lip. He went to walk away, and right as he did, you fired again, hitting his back censor a second time.

He turned towards you quickly, eyes narrowing, and you could see the red hue of his cheeks even in the dimly lit arena. "Oops," you giggled, dropping your gun and raising your hands in defense.

"You're coming with me," he growled, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him towards the exit.

"Oi, what are you doing? We have like 15 minutes left," Tom yelled after you.

"Sorry, you can beat them on your own, right?" You asked, right before Harry tugged you through the door. He pushed you to the wall, standing tall in front of you as he unbuckled your vest, slipping it off your head, and then doing the same with his.

"C'mon," he demanded. The velocity of his voice sent a shiver down your spine as you followed closely.

You were so thankful your hotel room was just a short elevator ride up. You stood silently in the elevator, eyes trained on Harry as he glared daggers at you.

"Could have won, if you hadn't fucked off," he mumbled.

"C'mon Baz, you think I cared about the game?" You asked him, raising your eyebrows in his direction.

The elevator dinged, opening the door to your floor before you were being led to the room the two of you were sharing.

No one knew the things that you and Harry had been taking part in the last few months, honestly you weren't sure what they would think. It had started one night after a bad football game, he was so angry, and it had turned you on beyond belief. You don't remember what exactly happened, but you do remember the second his fingers found their way to your panties you were both done for. Ever since that night, whenever he would get heated, you were there waiting, waiting to take his release, to ease the built up tension, and then after, you were both completely different people. He would clean you up, cuddle with you and send countless praises in your ears.

Was it a dangerous game to be playing? Probably.. Did you ever want it to end? Absolutely not!

Harry opened the door swiftly, pushing you in. "Harry," you giggled as you nearly tripped on one of the suitcases that you had scattered on the floor.

"Oops," he chuckled, steadying you. "Now get into that bed," he instructed.

"Yes sir," you winked before rushing to the bed.

"Why do you have to be such a.." he walked forward grabbing your jaw and turning your face up to him. "a little fucking brat?" He demanded.

You giggled as he outlined your lips with his thumb, pushing it inside your mouth.

If there was one thing that had completely taken you by surprise with Harry, it was how assertive he was in bed. The boy who quite literally seemed like an angel in every aspect of his life, would absolutely wreck you anytime he had the chance. Of course he wouldn't cross any lines you set, but if you gave him the go ahead he would push you until you just couldn't take anymore.

"Gonna be a good girl tonight?" He asked you, a fire burning in his eyes.

"Nope," you mumbled with his thumb still in your mouth.

"Gonna be a little brat?" He asked.

"Mmm," you moaned, sucking on his digit.

"Know what brats get?" He asked you. "Brats don't get all the sweet warming up, no," he pushed you back onto the bed, flipping you to your stomach. "Brats get it straight to the point," he grumbled, practically ripping your leggings from your body and pulling you onto your knees. His fingers quickly found their way to your dripping core, “My good little slut,” he cooed before shoving a finger in with no warning. “Always ready for me,”

You hummed in response as his finger grazed your sweet spot. Harry knew your body like the back of your hand and he knew how to bring you right to the edge, and then quickly back you away. He pulled his finger out of your clenching core, leaving you feeling needy and empty. “Baz,” you groaned.

“What?” He asked you, a cocky smirk on his face. “You thought I was going to let you finish? After tanking the game?” Your mouth dropped open as you were getting ready to say something, but too quickly his hand found its way around your throat squeezing only hard enough to elicit an almost pornographic moan from you. “You drive me fucking crazy,” He growled into your ear. “But you also make my heart skip a beat when i think of those pretty lips around my cock,” you were shocked at the turn he had taken, but

You couldn't lie to yourself, it had you clenching around nothing, wishing for some relief from him. “Put it in my mouth then,” You instructed looking into his soft, warm brown orbs through your dramatically long lashes.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, excitement clear in his voice, “Want me to fuck your face, love?” you couldn't help the moan that left your lips with the use of the pet name, you and harry usually kept things pretty casual, no ‘baby’ or ‘babe’ but specifically no ‘love’. So to hear the name slip past his lips had your heart (and your pussy) wanting more.

“Yes Harry, Please,” You practically begged. He helped you into a sitting position, hand moving from where it had been positioned on your neck to the hem of your shirt quickly stripping you of any clothes that remaned. He followed it up by doing the same, standing fully nude in front of you, cock in his hand as you readied your lips. He took a step towards you as you looked up to see the lust in his eyes as he rubbed his tip on your lips.

"Gonna take it all?" He asked, bringing his hand up to rub his thumb across your cheek. You licked your lips before opening them as he slowly pushed himself into your mouth. You didn't really care for it, a cock in your mouth, but the look on harry's face made you want it, you would do it forever just to see the lust and relief that graced his face with every thrust against your face, the moans that would leave his lips as you would swirl your tongue around his tip when he pulled back, only to push back in with more force, making tears gather in the corner of your eyes. Tears he would wipe away as he whispered how good you were for him, and he would continue his movements until you felt him twitching on your tongue, his cum dripping down your throat, before pulling away, only to wipe your lips of any excess mess that had been made.

"You know your fucking beautiful?" He asked, before bringing his lips down to yours. His lips met yours with a feverish fire, that was almost too much. Any time the two of you would get to this point you would end up feeling upset, because in the grand scheme of things, Harry was it for you, god did you love him, and all of this fooling around wasn't helping any.

Harry's hands found their way to the nape of your neck, before he laid you back and climbed above, lips trailing down your jaw and neck attaching to your nipples as he let his hands wander between your thighs. You wished you could tell him just how badly you wanted him, wanted more. The hookups were nice, perfect, and the aftercare was next level, but you wanted the sleepy cuddly Harry, and The date night Harry.. you wanted every aspect of him.

His fingers teased at your entrance while his thumb drew little circles around your clit. You moaned out his name, finally relieved to be getting some stimulation. "I want to try something different," he mumbled.

"What?" You wondered.

"I want to make love to you," he said shyly. You pulled yourself up to your elbows as you stared shocked at him.

"You- what?"

"We're always going at it like it's the last time, and it's great, but I just want to savor it, savor you, just this once," he explained. You reached out, grabbing him and pulling him up to you as you slammed your lips together.

"Make Love to me then," you mumbled against his lips.

He moved your hands, interlocking your fingers with his before placing them above your head as he kissed you with more passion than you had ever experienced. His tongue flicked against your bottom lip, and you opened letting him in. It was different, and not in a bad way, you had made out with Harry countless times, whether it be in the heat of the moment, a drunk night, or a late night hookup, but this… This felt like more.

"God I love your lips," he whispered as he pulled away from the kiss, reaching down to caress your cheek. The use of the word 'love' leaving you with butterflies in your belly. His hands trailed down your body slowly, as his eyes did the same. "I feel like your body was meant for me," he told you. "The curve of your hips, the way your breasts feel in my hands, how your hair cascades down your back, the way you cling to me while I'm making you mine," he sighed as he looked back up to you. "It's as if someone wrote out the perfect match for me, and they put your name down," he whispered.

You felt tears rush to your eyes, unsure of what he was trying to get at. "Harry," you whispered.

He leaned back down, bringing his face dangerously close to yours, noses touching. You could feel the heat of his breath on your lips, "I want more, I want you," he said before closing the distance.

You were sure you were dreaming. This couldn't be real. He grabbed your hips as he positioned himself between your thighs, not breaking away from your lips. You felt him slowly push into you, bottoming out, before making any other movements. Slow wasn't exactly your thing, sure slow and steady wins the race, but you preferred the fast paced sex that you and Harry usually had, but in that moment, as his lips devoured yours, and his hips met yours gently and slowly, you felt pure Bliss. It wasn't rushed, trying to edge each other on, it wasn't a hidden agenda, just the two of you, lost in each other, lips colliding as you made love.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered in your ear, as he kissed from beneath it to your jaw.

"Harry," you moaned out.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered, "gonna make you feel good, yeah?" He asked as his hand sneaked between your bodies. His fingers gently brushed against your nub, but with how turned on you were, it was enough to send a jolt through your body.

"M'close," you let out.

"I know," he told you, as he quickened his movements. "Me too," he grunted. As soon as you felt him twitch inside of you, you clenched around him, orgasm taking control of your body. Your nails dug into his shoulders and you buried your face in his neck. He continued his movements until you let up, a sigh of relief leave your mouth.

You laid like that, him on top of you, you clutching to him, for a while. Finally he got up, walking towards the bathroom and returning with a damp rag. He sat between your legs as he cleaned you up gently, knowing you were probably sensitive. "Harry," you said quietly.

"Yes love?" He asked, glancing up to you.

"What did you mean? By, you want more?" You asked, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Well," he sighed, climbing up and laying down next to you. "You know how Haz and grace are always, holding hands, sharing food, being ridiculously cute, and making us all want to vomit?" He asked you.

"Mm," you nodded.

"I want that, I want to hold your hand as we walk down the pier to watch the sunset, and I want to order one milkshake with two straws and put a dollop of whip cream on your nose, I want people to look at us together and think we are cute, I want to be the reason they want to vomit," he told you.

You let out a chuckle as you reached for his hand, interlocking your fingers together.

"So you want-"

"You to be my girlfriend," he finished.

You couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face. This was everything that you wanted, and to have him tell you he wanted the same thing? It felt good.

"Alright, on one condition," you said cheekily.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" He asked.

"I want to put the dollop of whip cream on your nose," you giggled. He rolled his eyes before leaning in and capturing your lips with his.

Tag list:

@theglitterymess @violetlilysunshine  

@petesrparker

@harryhollandsgirlfriend

@mcushvft

(if your name is crossed out I couldn't tag you 😭😩)

[newtonsheffield]

Cause we talked about it.. I now have to ask 😂

Anthony’s Kate in a hockey skirt incident and recreation? Could we see that for a spicy Sunday please 🥺

Thank you

Oh Boyyy

This seems like a good follow up to today's chapter because Anthony fondly remembered his first ever wank (bless him) aided by the visual provided to him in PE class, of Kate Sharma, in a hockey skirt, her Shirt tied in a little knot at her waist, the poor kid didn't know what to do.

And he certainly didn't like the look his Mum gave him the next day when he stood in the laundry hastily shoving his bedsheets into the washing machine, as if she new exactly why a teenage boy would be washing his sheets at 6am on a saturday morning

"Oh God!" Anthony's breath left his body as he looked across that the other PE class on the other half of the field, and spied something he'd probably never wanted to see. Kate Sharma, in a very short skirt, laughing with her friend, their lesson not yet begun, a hockey stick firmly in hand.

Anthony had been watching Kate since she'd arrived at school last year. No, he didn't like how that sounded, that made him sound like a stalker. But... maybe it was possible that he might have a little crush on Kate. And who could blame him. She was smart, far smarter than he was actually, already the top of their class, she was funny: every single time she walked past him she tossed a little quip his way her lips quirking in a smirk, and she was beautiful. So beautiful, it made his chest ache.

And now here she was, wearing an even shorter skirt than usual, her long legs shining in the sun, , a tiny bit of her midriff on display from her shirt, tied at her waist, and Anthony felt something deep inside him tighten, panic rising in his chest, Oh god, please no, not here. Oh christ, she was bending over. He was about to embarrass himself in front of the entire year, his shorts tightening and-

"Ow! Fuck!" A hockey ball collided with the side of his head, knocking him to the floor. And honestly he should have been furious at Simon who was grinning at him unashamedly, but as he went off to the nurses office he could only feel just a little thankful, even as Kate called out

"So I suppose we can rule you out of hockey tryouts next week hey Bridgerton?" As he passed.

Of course as he lay in bed that night, desperately trying to get to sleep, her face had flashed through his mind again, and then his eyes had slipped downwards, to the fact the buttons on her polo shirt hadn't been done up, and her midriff had been on display and her legs were so long and before he knew what was happening he was aching, his hand hesitantly touching at first and then bolder and bolder until he'd made an absolute mess of himself and his bedsheets, and he was certain he'd croaked out her name as it had happened.

This wasn't something Anthony was necessarily proud of, it also was definitely not the last time we'd wanked himself off thinking of Kate Sharma, both before and after they were together. But he'd never told Kate that she'd been the first, it just seemed embarrassing that it had happened so innocuously, she'd just been standing there, going on his her life and he'd practically been humping her leg like a randy dog.

So no, he didn't exactly want to tell her. But of course like everything he did.

"Tell meeeee." Kate said, straddling his chest one sunday morning, her eyes shining with amusement. "Oh my god, is it because it's really embarrassing?" She gasped, "Was it mrs. Danbury?"

Anthony nearly choked, he certainly wasn't going to let her think that! He sighed. "Do you happen to remember that day I got hit in the head with a hockey ball?"

Kate shook her head.

Anthony sighed, "Well when I was 14, I got hit in the head with a hockey ball, and i was distracted because you were further down the field... And I got a hard on."

Kate guffawed, her eyes widening with joy. "Oh my god."

Anthony sighed, "The night I couldn't stop thinking about the fact you hadn't done up the buttons on your polo shirt, and I could see your cleavage like a tiny bit, and you'd tied it up so I could see your midriff and your legs are really long okay? I couldn't help myself. And that was the first time I ever got off." He could feel his ears burning.

Kate was laughing brightly, "So I was standing still at School and that got you off?"

Anthony felt a little indignant, "You bent over actually as well, and you said you wouldn't laugh!"

Kate laughed.

He had almost forgotten about it, weeks later, when he walked through the front door, a little weary from his work day, and stopped dead. Because his very hot girlfriend was sitting at the breakfast bar in their small kitchen, her legs crossed, her eyebrow raised expectantly, and what she was wearing made him swallow convulsively. Kate was wearing a hockey uniform, her poloshirt tied at her waist, the skirt barely hitting her mid thigh and Anthony felt heat pool in his stomach as her dropped his backpack at his feet his hand moving up to run through his hair, nervously.

"Hey." It came out as a little huff as he stared at his teenage fantasy come to life. He felt like all the air had been sucked from the room, as Kate stood, her hips swishing towards him, Anthony swallowed again.

"Welcome home, Honey. " There was a smirk in her voice that told Anthony, as always, she knew exactly the power she wielded over him. "You've been working so hard recently, I thought you deserved a little treat."

Her lips were sucking at his neck before he could even respond, whatever he'd been planning to say cut off with a sharp whine, her hands tugging at his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders before tugging him by the belt towards their bedroom.

Anthony's feet felt clumsy as he followed, stumbling over himself, to get to her just like always. Kate let go when they reached the room, making a little show of settling herself on her side of the bed, the word Princess carved just above her head in his hand writing branding her, and he couldn't help but feel a sharp streak of smug possession that she was his in a way she'd never been anyone else's. That everyone had thought her so prim and proper at school... frigid Baz had said, and here she was, wearing a costume for him, putting on a show.

Anthony tore his shoes off, stripping down to his underwear in a flash, moving to straddle her, his hands already on her, wherever he could reach, aching to slither up her skirt and-

"Anthony, you can't touch there yet. You said you touched yourself. Show me."

Anthony let out a choked noise his head falling to her shoulder, nuzzling against her hair for a moment, his boxers already so tight, his hips bucking towards her.

"Where can i touch?" his voice was cracking, wrenched from his chest as he forced his head off her shoulder, groaning a little as he took in the mischievous look in her eyes.

She tugged his left hand from between her knees, sliding it up her shirt, his hand tightening instinctively. "Here seems nice, no?"

Anthony nodded, his shoulders already heaving as her lips went back to his neck, her teeth nipping, her tongue soothing her finger tips running along his stomach before threading in his hair, and it was too much. She was everywhere, all around him, and he needed some relief, his hand slipped into his boxers, groaning at his own touch, as his hips started thrusting into his hand, his eyes fluttering closed.

Kate tilted his chin towards her lightly, "Don't forget to look, Anthony."

He nodded eagerly, his breath coming in sharp gasps her voice hot in his ear.

"Was it this good the first time?"

Anthony shook his head, "Feeling you there is definitely better."

Kate's eyes had darkened, but her smirk was still in place. "How long did it take you?"

Anthony groaned, his hand tightening as her tongue brushed his ear. "Like... 35 seconds."

Kate chuckled, "Good to see you've improved your stamina. But Honey, the quicker you cum, the quicker i'll let you under the skirt."

Anthony could have died, he really could have, his hips moving even more quickly, Kate all around him, her name falling in a garbled mess from his lips, Kate Kate Kate Kate, you're so fucking hot, oh my god, I'm gonna- He exploded, his vision blinding white for a moment, covering them both in himself, his head dropping back against her shoulder. Her hands running soothingly through his hair as his breathing fought to even out.

And then his brain caught up to him. "Wait, where'd you get this?" He tugged at the skirt.

Kate looked a little guilty, "I stole Eddie's."

Anthony's mouth fell open, horrified. "Kate! I just came on your sister's school uniform."

Kate chuckled, "It's okay, she doesn't want it back. She seemed to realise I wanted it for nefarious purposes and told Mary she lost hers." her tongue clicked, "Are you too upset to crawl under the skirt?"

Anthony groaned sliding down her body, nudging her legs apart, "I don't think I could ever be too upset for that."

[facewithoutheart]

5. You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions. // But I like it more as "I couldn't handle you even if you blah blah". Whatever fits.

21. You look so good with my hands wrapped around your throat. // ANGST MAYBE? ANGRY HATE SEX? But not too unhappy, I'm weak today.

25. You better be quiet or everyone in the house will know that you’re being fucked. // Dangerously secret relationship??? Bad things will happen if someone finds out???

Gonna do my own version of 25 because no four walls can contain me. This is a canon divergence scene where Baz and Simon didn’t form a truce in their last year, the Mage is still alive, and things are, you know, angsty or whatever.

NSFW drabble under the break:

“Keep quiet,” Baz growls in my ear, “unless you want them to hear you in the other room.”

He betrays his command by thrusting hard inside me and I immediately release a low whimper.

“Or maybe that’s what you want, hmm?” Sharp teeth but no fangs nip along my neck. “Maybe you want them to hear.”

With his prostate-precise thrusts, I don’t know how he expects me to stay silent. How he expects me to reign in the moans and gasps elicited by his skillful fucking.

If the fact our lives depend on us keeping this a secret can’t still the noises, nothing can.

His hand slips down from my sternum to my lower abdomen, and I hate that his lukewarm palm against this sensitive skin makes me feel safe, protected.

(Because he can’t actually protect me when it’s his father orchestrating my demise in the other room.)

Baz pants as his pace increases; vampire-stamina can only do so much against the brutal offense his thrusts wage against my ability to ‘keep quiet’ as requested. “Would you like that, Simon?”

I nearly lose my mind at the way he says my name.

“Do you want the Mage to hear you?” He grunts. “Do you want him to know his heir takes it in the arse? That the Chosen One bends over for the Pitch Son?” His fingertips dig into the soft skin of my belly but he doesn’t hurt me; he never does. “The Power of Powers, who comes on my command.”

My head drops back on his shoulder and I turn it into his neck to muffle the groans of my rising orgasm.

“Do it for me, Simon.” His hand presses deeper into my stomach but he won’t move it to where I’m aching for his grasp. “Come for me.”

“I can’t,” I whisper.

(It’s the only thing I’ve said to him today, and the second time I’ve said it.)

(It’s been a lie both times.)

He snorts. “I’ve heard that line before.” He sucks one earlobe into his mouth and fucks me harder. “Be a good boy for me. Come.”

It’s the thought of what the Mage would say if he could see me: fucked into oblivion by the son of his enemy (his fake one) (Davy long ago stopped caring about our actual enemy). Finally being able to control my magic, but only so I can come when Basilton Grimm-Pitch demands it.

With a deep inhale, I press my face into Baz’s cool skin (he smells like Watford; he smells like home). I invite my magic up and it’s not like lighting a match or drawing up from an everlasting well; it’s like sinking into the calm waters of a stream.

I feel the phantom stroke of Baz’s hand over my cock because that’s what my magic wants (he only touches me when he has to, and never as long as I want).

“Come,” he repeats, and this time I do, untouched, coating the walls of a Pitch Manor bathroom with my release (a drop falls on his fancy toilet and it sings a jaunty tune in response).

Not even a second later his hand lifts off my stomach then pushes me away. I only know he’s finished because I can feel his come start to leak out of me while he puts on his armor of a suit.

The toilet song is still playing when I turn to look at him. His hair now slicked back, his clothes unwrinkled, his face perfectly pale and expressionless. It looks like no one has touched him at all.

He raises one eyebrow at me and I brace for the blow that’s coming; the moment when he says something shitty then walks away with my heart in his hands.

But the weapon never lands. Instead, he pulls up my pants for me, zips my trousers, and tucks in the front of my shirt.

“You’re a mess,” he says, straightening my collar. His fingers linger on the seam of my shoulder. It’s the longest he’s ever touched me while we’re not actively having sex.

The toilet beeps to note the end of its musical interjection and Baz draws his errant hand back to his side.

“Give me five minutes.”

Then, he disappears from my sight once more.

“Same time next week?” I speak into the void but he doesn’t hear me. He can’t.

When I leave the bathroom ten minutes later, the Mage is waiting for me with one of his men, someone he trusts to attend these verbal showdowns more than his atomic bomb of an heir.

“Productive afternoon?” Chad or John or Derek (who can even remember these days?) asks, snide tone implied.

I hold back my answer; that fucking Basilton Grimm-Pitch is probably doing more for Coven/Old Family relations than his holding the Mage’s briefcase while Davy spits his unwanted opinions out at increasingly deafened ears.

Not that they know what I’ve been doing.

Not that I ever want them to know.

But then the Mage’s eyes linger on my neck and narrow. One corner of his lips twitches.

He doesn’t say a damn word.

[fanficsandfluff]

That Damned Laugh

To the anon who informed me of Rainbow Rowell's RACISM, i am writing this for my love of the characters, not the author's writing skill or fame. fuck her. i am still very much aware of what she wrote about and how she portrayed a character, but i cannot stop this inspiration when it comes to me. (wait to be clear to everyone reading this who hadn't seen the anons and my discussion, carry on wasnt the accused racist book. that was something else.)

If you, anon, end up seeing this and maybe don't like what I'm doing or whatnot, I'd love to hear from you again.

For those of you who maybe do practice Death of the Author, I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Carry On

Characters: Simon Snow, Baz Pitch

Words: 1,905

~~~~~

BAZ

Simon Snow does not laugh, full stop.

(Well, to be fair I'm not a cackler much myself, but I do at least guffaw from time to time.)

Snow spent so much of his youth being weighed down by the 'Chosen One' moniker and being tormented by yours truly. Still, I know of that little list he kept of things he liked about Watford and all its experiences and people. It seemed he did take joy in most of it all. After all, I'm sure he had fun at Bunce's house on many an occasion.

But just being around him and in this way for a while now, you start to notice. He's seen me laugh. A few times, in fact. And hard. I'm not very proud of it; what that man can do to me and make me do. He doesn't like when I cover my hand over my smile. It's habit, though, I've reminded him countless times. The fangs and all. We're working on it.

But Simon may just smile or huff. I've giggled with him on our particularly soft nights or togethertimes.

All this to say... I've found a new hobby/goal/obsession recently.

Make Simon Snow laugh.

My cheekiness all these years has kept my humor to cruel, lowbrow tones. Maybe it makes me less funny, I don't know. But once or twice I'd nail a comeback or snarky one-liner (of course with a bit of flirt thrown in) and Snow will giggle and shake his head. But that's all I've achieved! A small, pandering, boring -- though still admirably adorable -- (Damn that Snow) giggle.

I've moved on to physical humor. I tried throwing myself dramatically over him when he's in bed, but he just seems to think it's all part of my Pitch flair.

Today I made a minor breakthrough.

I was in the kitchen trying to mix myself a smoothie. Bunce has been gushing about a smoothie craze for weeks now, so I finally figured why not. The damn lid wasn't on tight enough. Not-yet-smooth smoothie shot everywhere. There was a pause as it happened, my one hand on the Liquify button, my other resting nonchalantly atop the lid that didn't do any lidding, dammit.

Snow looked up at me from his seat by the kitchen counter, eyes drawn from his phone. A beat. He barked out a laugh. A much louder one than I think I'd ever heard him make.

"Put a sock in it, Snow," I growled, to keep with my facade, though inside I was jittery with glee. I wanted to hear more.

Snow convinced me to binge a new show. Crime Minds. Something like that. No, criminal. It's Criminal Minds.

You wouldn't expect this to be a series fit enough for a cuddle, but Snow and I are an unexpected couple. So it works.

A few dumb jokes are littered throughout the show, in between corpses and the same police station set being reorganized and shot from different angles every episode. One such joke was so inconspicuous and so nothing that I cannot even recall it now. But both Snow and I chuckled at it. Then Snow made an additional comment to it, making me laugh. And soon we were both giggling together like schoolboys, like we had early on when we were maybe still a bit bashful with each other.

He shoved his face into my ribs and snorted when I whispered the new inside joke much later on in the episode. I was also grinning like a madman, but the soft tickle his action gave me didn't exactly---

Oh.

In bed. Perfect. Lovers fool around all the time in bed. Not fool around as in sex--well, no, of course sex, but I mean they also play around-- never mind.

SIMON

Baz has been acting off lately. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He seems distracted. More like how I act. I'm always thinking of something else, not able to stay focused on one thing for long. He's like that, but trying to act like he isn't.

We're doing something odd today. We're in bed at sunset. It's hardly sunset, as a matter of fact. The sun isn't seeping orange and red into the flat yet. Penelope took us out on a hike today. It tuckered the both of us out. Baz drained a buck when we got home.

I'm laying perpendicular to Baz (or is it parallel? composite? I could never remember mathematics), my legs resting over his stomach. He's reading and I'm playing a puzzle app on my phone.

BAZ

Now's the time, Baz. Just do it, don't think.

His socked feet are right in front of me. There's only been a handful of times we've sat in this position, half of them being my lower half resting on Simon's sturdier upper half. It's now or never.

I stare at his feet for too long, zoning out and forgetting that I was left staring at them, so it definitely looked like I have a fetish for feet. Which I don't. Focus, Basilton.

I take a finger-- no, two fingers. I scratch quickly at his heel. His leg jerks, foot being pulled back.

"What?" he asks me, as if I hadn't been plotting this for weeks. As if I just did it to get his attention.

"Something on the bottom of your sock, love."

Simon went right back to his head hanging upside down off the side of the bed, phone held out in front of his eyes.

Well, that proved one thing. He's ticklish.

He places his ankles right back where they originally were, crossed, atop my stomach. I try again, this time on his arch. I apply more pressure.

"Bahaz!" Simon shakes his foot out, "Is that how you start a foot massage?"

"Would you like a foot massage?"

"No. Not if it's going to tickle like that."

My cheeks heat up. Damn that buck. I'm rosier than I usually am.

"You're ticklish?" I ask, coolly. I barely stuttered.

"I wouldn't try it," he's back to looking at his phone again, "Penny did once and I nearly broke her elbow or something. She wouldn't stop talking about it for days."

"So you're very ticklish, then."

"Don't," this is the first time Snow seems to tense up.

There's a moment of quiet between us. A tense quiet. I lunge for his ankles and he shoots up into a sitting position. I scratch at his arch with four fingers now and he screams.

"Baz!" Simon whines a bit and he somehow yanks his legs free, not without losing one of his socks in my grip.

SIMON

He's grinning at me. No. Sneering.

I still hate when he does that. Reminds me of back when I wanted to throttle him. Sometimes I still do.

"Baz," I warn. His whole posture changes into a predator's, like he's the lion and I'm his fresh zebra. The new stance sends a shiver down my spine, with his shoulders hunched and all, ready to pounce.

"Baz... Baz, Baz, Baz..." I say over and over again because he's smiling at me, and then I start to smile, too, "Bahaz!" I try once more, but his name is all that's coming out, and now I'm giggling. I'm nervous. He did this to me.

BAZ

He's already giggling and I haven't even laid a hand on him.

"Yes, Snow?" I respond to his many calls of my name before I lurch forward, sending my whole body crashing on top of his and trying to pin him. I dig my fingers into his sides and don't stop for as long as I can maintain contact through his squirming.

"Gehehet off!" he's already crumbling, words being broken up with short laughs.

I slide my fingertips to his stomach and scratch there; Snow bucks. It gets even better when my cold fingers make contact with his warm skin beneath the shirt he's wearing. He yelps like I've never heard him yelp (like he's burnt his finger, but he's also 11-years-old again), and he dissolves into loud, beautiful laughter.

"St-Stohohop! Baz! I'm going to end you!"

"Isn't that how we always said it would end? Snuffing each other out? I'm perfectly happy that it's now going to end in my favor. You should've told me you were this easy to defeat earlier on, Snow."

"Shut up!" he cackles, legs kicking wildly behind me, as my body is thrown over his torso. Now I have both my hands buried into his sides, squeezing and squeezing. I get curious, my cheeks still burning with blood, and I lean down to his neck and... (no, I don't bite) I start nibbling. Snow loses it.

His whole face scrunches up, as I watch when I pull my head back. His smile is huge and bright. And the laughs bubble up from his stomach, releasing softer into the air like he sucked a little of the joy from it before releasing to keep for himself.

"Dohon't do that!"

"I thought you love my kisses."

"Not tha-HAAT!"

He shrieks again, hands too slow to stop my face from moving in. I nibble and even lick a few times, careful not to touch him with my fangs.

Did I mention that my hands are still tickling at his sides and ribs while I'm nibbling? Oh yes, I've waited so long for this sound. I wasn't going to make it come out lightly.

I blow a raspberry and that's when Snow's laughter catches and turns all hiccuppy. The noises are infecting me, starting to make me giggle. I shift, and my face now descends towards his stomach, which is bared after I rucked the shirt up.

SIMON

"TYRANNUS BASILTON G-GRIMM FUCKING PITCH-- OR WHATEVER YOUR LONG STUPID ARSEHOLE NAME IS--"

He's laughing at me. I keep laughing even without him tickling me.

"I swehehear I'm going to fucking kill you and your whole family if you do that dohown thehere--" I'm hiccuping. Crowley, how embarrassing.

BAZ

He's got me. I can hardly breathe from laughter. I keel over into him or he into me, but soon we're a laughing pile together on top of the mussed up sheets on the bed.

I make a loud snort and that reels us both back in again, laughing til we're red in the face and til my cheeks hurt.

Simon is giggling away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, but he just keeps on giggling. I'm able to sit up a little more and Snow's head is in my lap. He's beaming and looking up at me through squinted, teary eyes.

"That was fun," I say, and I don't think it's the brightest or smartest thing to say. But I say it.

"I love you," Snow's smile is still wide, like he's drunk from it. There's a moment where I feel like I've died again, color drained from me.

It doesn't seem to bother him, that he's said that. For the first time. I run my fingers through his reddish curls once, letting them tangle in the locks towards the back of his head. I hunch myself down so I can kiss him.

"I've wanted to hear that for so long," I whisper.

"That I love you? You haven't figured it out by now?"

"No, you idiot," I say with nothing but fondness, brushing my nose along Simon's jaw, "Your laugh."

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Under My Skin (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW

Summary: Set in the middle of chapter 6, Ethan and Naomi have it out over the current state of the diagnostics team.

Tags: @colourmeshy @virtualrain202 @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune ~v~

Naomi stares at the textbook in front of her, eyes tired and blurry. She checks the time on her cell phone and 3:22 AM stares back in bold, white letters. Craning her head slightly, she spots Ethan standing at his kitchen island, looking at something on his laptop. 

She never thought she’d be back in his apartment, but he invited the entire diagnostics team over so they could get some research done on Leland Bloom’s case. Ethan wants it to be solved as quickly as possible, and he wants to be rid of the tech billionaire, so after work they all congregated in his apartment, eating Chinese food, drinking wine, passing around textbooks and throwing out theories. 

They’ve been at it for almost 6 hours now. 

The energy in the room is off. Ethan’s been pissed ever since the board told him they’d need to be for-profit and start accepting wealthy clients and potential donors, and everyone feels it. June, Baz, and Naomi have been walking on eggshells around him, but aside from occasional snark from Naomi, they’ve been extremely curt.

Jenner likes her though. The golden retriever took a shine to her the moment she crossed the threshold to Ethan’s condo, sniffing at her feet and attaching himself to her hip. He’s now lounging with her, head in her lap and she pours over this book, and she’s glad. The friendly dog provides an excellent distraction and Naomi is thankful, because his owner currently sucks.

Naomi has dealt with a lot of Ethan’s moods before: upset, defeated, angry, happy, the works. But she’s never had his ire directed at her before. They’re in this mess because of her, and it’s a tricky space to occupy. It’s not fun.

“As much as I love reading, if I look at another word, I think my brain might melt,” June says, breaking the tense silence. She stifles a yawn.

“I’ve tapped out for the night as well,” Baz adds. “I’ve looked up every possible kidney and bladder disease and disorder known to mankind. I’m on sensory overload. I think it’s time I go home.”

Ethan looks up from his laptop. He knows his team is probably exhausted. He can’t believe they’ve actually stayed over this long. “Well, thank you for staying. Go home, get some rest, I’ll see you at the hospital.”

June and Baz gather their belongings and all of the study material they brought along with them, returning Ethan’s living room to its original tidy state. Muttering goodbyes, the two of them exit the apartment. 

And then there were two. Naomi ignores the tension, ignoring the fact that they haven’t been alone together in over a week. Instead, she buries her face in her book, trying to focus on the words.

Ethan doesn’t bother sparing Naomi another glance before asking, “You didn’t want to leave with them?”

“Why, are you about to go to bed?”

“No.”

“Then, no.” She’s not going to stop now, and give him the satisfaction of thinking she’s given up for the night. Her stubbornness won’t allow it. “I don’t want to disrupt the process. I want this guy diagnosed and treated as badly as you do.”

Ethan scoffs. “I doubt it.”

Naomi has been giving as good as she gets when it comes to the passive aggressive snark, but it’s just exhausting at this point. She refuses to be his emotional punching bag any longer. She whips around in her seat. “God, is being a petulant little crybaby a second full-time job for you?”

That manages to get Ethan’s full attention. He levels a cool glare at the young resident, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You’ve gotten real comfortable calling me out of my name recently. Care to repeat that, Valentine?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Ramsey. You’re being a petulant little crybaby. You’ve been trying to pick a fight with me for the past 2 weeks. Look, I apologized, multiple times, for going behind your back or over your head, but I will not apologize for doing what I believe is right, not just for the team, but the hospital.”

“And you’re an insubordinate know-it-all!” Ethan shoots back. “You’re the type to touch the hot stove despite being repeatedly told not to because you think you’re a special snowflake who’s above getting burned. You lack foresight and analytical thought and self-preservation.”

Naomi recoils, having not expected Ethan to snap at her like that. “Excuse me?”

Jenner recognizes the change in tone between both adults. Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, he moves from his spot on the couch and trots out of the living room, disappearing into the hallway.

“You thought this was going to be easy, that patients would just come flocking to us, but look at us, and everything would be perfect. We’re part of some social media...something or another’s video diary, we’re competing with a subpar hospital for patients despite being better than them, wasting time and resources because he wants to treat this like a reality show contest, and who knows what’s next, because you’ve opened Pandora’s box. We’re whoring ourselves out to the highest bidder, and the integrity and core foundation of this team has been compromised. So please spare me the martyr act, Naomi, and while you’re at it, please remember that I’m still your boss the next time you want to spout off at the mouth.”

Naomi’s hands are shaking, and she can practically feel the anger boiling in her blood. The nerve of this man. She stands up, ignoring the heavy book that fall out of her lap and onto the floor as she does so. She charges over to him, and sizes him up. Ethan’s almost a foot taller than her, but Naomi doesn’t care about the height disparity. She tilts her head back so she can look him in the eye.

“I’m not a martyr, but you’re a self righteous hypocrite. You’ve been pouting and waxing poetic about Naveen’s mission when you were the first one to mess with his legacy.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“Last year, you got into bed with Declan Nash and big pharma, compromising your own shaky moral code in order to save the life of one person. I’m trying to keep the team around in order to save a lot more people than just Naveen!”

“That was different!” Ethan argues. It doesn’t even feel right coming out of his mouth, but they’re far too deep in the argument for him to do anything besides dig his toes in.

“The only difference is you were the one in control then. But because it is my idea, you’re rejecting it. You’re being completely unreasonable here, Ethan. We’re standing in the middle of a sinking ship. Edenbrook is in trouble. My friends and I didn’t get our new salaries upon becoming residents, there’s talk of them shutting down the free clinic, and they’ll be coming after our team next. Who knows, maybe they’ll decide that mental health isn’t important and the entire psychiatric department should go. And then the nurses. And then they’ll start ordering less and less supplies, just to stay above water. And maybe you don’t care, because you’re Ethan Ramsey, you’re so wealthy that you only get a one dollar salary from the hospital, you’re established, your livelihood isn’t on the line, and I’m sure any hospital in the world would kill to employ you, but the rest of us? The little guys? We don’t have that option, so again, if you’re looking for me to kiss your ass and grovel because I made an executive decision, you’re going to be looking for a mighty long time.”

Ethan studies her, his gaze coolly fixated on her as she rants because he’s waiting for the second she stops talking, so he can jump back into his own argument. He realizes that it’s not an effective way to debate, and he falters slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi goads, her voice taking on a singsong tone. She’s embroiled in the fight now. “Cat got your tongue?”

In his 37 years of living, Ethan can confidently say Naomi Valentine is the most infuriating woman he’s ever met. A stubborn, impulsive, hot-head with a smart mouth. 

And fuck, he’s made a mistake.

Her mouth. Now his gaze is fixated on it, her full lips that she’s repeatedly bitten down on during this argument, the tackiness of her lip gloss, the way her tongue darts in and out.

Their argument is now the furthest thing from his mind, and he’s actually annoyed by it. What is it about this…woman that completely bewitches him? He wants to argue, not be transfixed on how pretty she is. She doesn’t even have to do anything and he’s under her spell again. 

A sharp jab in the middle of his chest pulls Ethan back to reality. He looks down and realizes that Naomi poked him in the chest, out of anger or to get his attention, he’s not sure.

“Hey!” The fact that he’s ignoring her only makes her more incensed. He started this fight, he doesn’t get the right to dissociate and shut down in the middle of it. “Have you listened to a word I just said?”

“No,” Ethan answers honestly. Naomi’s eyes darken at the response. He didn’t say that to piss her off further, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight.

He can tell she’s going to launch into another tirade, one that’s completely separate from their original issue, because that’s just how things are between them; they spiral before either of them knows what’s happening.

Before she can even fix her mouth to call him another name, his hand cups her jaw, tilting her head back, and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her fiercely.

She gasps. This is the first time he’s ever caught her off guard and initiated a kiss. She’s usually the one to be in control.

All too quickly, Ethan pulls back, locking eyes with the young woman in front of him. She’s dazed, chest heaving and eyes glazed over.

“Did you do that to get me to stop talking?”

“No, I kissed you because I wanted to. But the fact that it got you to stop running your mouth is a personal bonus.”

Naomi huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. God, he could be such an asshole at times.

“I want to do it again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His blue eyes pierce into her own, and it suddenly becomes hard to focus on anything other than him. “Can I?”

She doesn’t know why it’s so sexy, him asking for permission, but she feels the butterflies in her stomach rumble at the question. She’s barely able to nod her head before Ethan launches himself at her, sending her flying back into the kitchen counter.

It’s so different from any other kisses they’ve shared. This one she can feel all the way down in her toes. His tongue darts out, gliding against her bottom lip and demanding access to her mouth, which she eagerly grants him.

Everything about him invades her senses: the feel of his calloused hands touching her jaw, the scratch of his beard against her face, the smell of his cologne (something by Gucci that she’s been yet to narrow down), his taste (she can still taste the wine on him, even though he drank it earlier), his sounds (the little groans that only she’s privy to, always gravelly and smooth, that make her knees buckle). It all culminates into this one man that is so all-consuming, it makes her lose her mind.

The kisses become shorter, more teasing, allowing Naomi the opportunity to actually breathe. He leaves kisses along her jaw and neck, making her whimper.

Ethan wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist and spins them, pushing her against the wall. She winces upon contact. “Warn a girl next time.”

“You want to know what’s been on my mind recently?” Ethan asks, nipping at Naomi’s earlobe.

“W-What?”

His hands find purchase underneath the grey Henley she’s wearing and he lifts it up. Her stomach clenches under his touch and it’s maddening just how responsive she is to him. “I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind since I came to pick you up from your apartment the other day.” With trembling fingers, Naomi helps him remove the shirt, and it’s tossed somewhere behind them.

She’s not wearing the grey bra he saw the other day, this one is a soft pink, and he groans at how it contrasts against her skin. There isn’t a color that doesn’t look good on her. “I stood there…” he only pauses to place opened mouthed kisses on her collarbone. “...like a floundering idiot…” this time he kisses slightly lower, earning a sharp inhale from Naomi. The noise does nothing to soothe the erection straining in his jeans. “...while you decided to tease me.”

“You’re the one who decided to stay,” Naomi shoots back with a shrug. “So I had to put on a little show.” He hums in agreement. His tongue darts out, flattening over her lace covered nipple. “Fuck, just take it off!”

“You still have no patience,” Ethan observes. He yanks at the material, until he hears a loud tear.

“That’s La Perla!”

Ethan blinks, struggling to find the significance in that statement. Was it supposed to mean something to him? “Okay?”

“It was expensive, you jerk!”

“I’ll buy you 10 more,” he replies with a shrug before resuming his previous activity, pulling one of her nipples between his lips, sucking lightly. Naomi’s breath comes out in quick bursts, and it’s becoming harder for her to stay grounded to reality. She reaches out, wanting to touch him, but he intercepts, catching her wrist. “Hands to yourself, Valentine.”

Ethan’s fingers make work of the button holding her jeans together, and he drags down the zipper. He yanks at her jeans with the same care he afforded her shirt and bra, tugging them down until they pool at her feet. Naomi does the rest of the work, hopping around until the pants are fully off.

“You and the thin scraps you call underwear, have been driving me insane all week,” Ethan confesses. “The other day when I came to pick you up, part of me was so mad at you because of your blatant defiance, but the other part of me wanted to push you onto that bed, and do very, very inappropriate things to you.”

The wetness that floods her panties is overwhelming. She clenches her thighs together in hopes of alleviating some of the tension, but it doesn’t help. Figuring out a new strategy, she wraps a leg around his waist, pulling him flush to her. She rolls her hips, grinding into him. The growl that escapes his lips only fuels her and strokes her ego. “You should’ve.”

Ethan kisses her again, reveling in the needy way Naomi claws at him. Her fingers are desperate, fingering into his t-shirt, twisting at the fabric. He’s unsure if she wants to take it off, or if she’s impatient enough to say ‘fuck it,’ and just rip it.

Whatever the case, he doesn’t let her continue. Grabbing both of her hands, he forces them on either side of her. “You really do have a problem with listening. No. Touching.”

The gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, but whatever rebellious side of her that wants to challenge the command is squelched with one look into his eyes. She can tell he means business and now isn’t the time to challenge his authority.

With restraint she didn’t know she had, Naomi places her palms on the hall behind her, and she stays as still as she can.

“Good girl.” Ethan smirks and drops her hands. He untangles himself from her and steps back an inch to admire his work. “You followed directions for once.”

Whatever smart aleck reply that was about to fly from her mouth is stifled by Ethan pulling her soaked underwear down and slipping two digits past her folds. The noise she lets out is a mixture of a high pitched yelp and a strangled moan, something that threatens to choke her.

The pace he sets is random and uneven, never giving Naomi a chance to settle into a rhythm, and she wonders if this is his way of punishing her, keeping her keyed up and writhing on him for what feels like eternity, trapped in her own form of purgatory.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and bucks her hips wildly into his hand, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stop doing that,” Ethan demands, using his free hand to pull her lip out of her mouth. “I want to hear you, Rookie.”

Something about the use of her former nickname makes her moan, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ethan.

“You like the nickname,” he states. “It’s funny, you know.  You take every opportunity to defy me, argue with me, and push my buttons, yet you get off on me controlling you.”

She can’t focus. He’s too close, it feels too good, and her brain can’t function properly under these conditions. He presses forward, the heel of his palm pressing into her clit, earning a hiss.

“Admit it.”

At this point Naomi would admit to committing armed robbery if it meant he’d keep doing this. She nods frantically. “Yes, Doctor.” He groans at the use of his title, and he pumps harder, curling his fingers inside of her. 

Naomi stands on tiptoes and desperately claws at the wall behind her. “Fuck Ethan, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want?” His lips find her neck again, and he sucks on her pulse point, only making things more hazy. “Use your words, Rookie.”

She wants a lot of things. She wants to cry out, she wants to dig her nails into his back until she draws blood, she wants him to keep talking her through this, his gruff voice in her ear as she shatters around him.

Unfortunately, Naomi cannot form a coherent sentence to save her life. She just rolls her hips, shamelessly grinding herself into his hand. “I...I…” The pleasure mounts, building in the pit of her stomach, spreading out. She’s so close, she can almost taste it. 

“Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I want–” Ethan rewards her for her honesty and his thumb drags into her clit and he rubs the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles. That’s all it takes, and she orgasms with a strangled cry and she’s thankful Ethan is right here because he holds her upright as her legs momentarily give out.

When Naomi regains the ability to stand on her own, Ethan lets go and slowly removes his fingers. Moving fast, Naomi grabs his hand, and without breaking eye contact with him, she slides the two digits into her mouth, licking them clean.

Ethan’s next breath is a shaky gasp that leaves his lung far too quickly. “Fuck, Rookie.”

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” Naomi suggests, releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

Ethan shakes his head. “No.”

He registers the confusion on her face, but Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her again, walking them towards the living room. He only breaks the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head, and it joins the growing pile of discarded clothing scattered around. Naomi helps him speed the process along, getting rid of his belt and popping the button on his jeans. Her fingers hook into the belt loops of the pants and she pulls them down.

Before she can do anything else, Ethan stops her wandering hands. “Wait, wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Ethan knocks his forehead against hers and he sighs deeply. “Naomi, if you don’t want to do this, please stop me now.”

She thinks it’s cute that he’s giving her an out, but she doesn’t need it. Her fingers slip past the waistband of his soft cotton boxers, a warm dainty hand wrapping around him.

Ethan shudders as a warmth spreads through him at the touch of her hand, and he mentally curses himself. He pushes her hand away.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not cumming into your hand.” Ethan spins Naomi around and bends her over the arm of his couch. 

While it’s not the desk in his office, Naomi won’t complain. She feels one of his calloused hands trace the length of her spine and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

No patience left, Ethan tugs down his underwear, letting the material pool at his ankles. Without another word, he lines herself up at Naomi’s entrance and thrusts into her all at once. He groans at the sensation.

Naomi has never been more thankful for couch cushions, as they muffle the scream that escapes her.

“Fuck, Naomi.” He digs his fingers into her hips before pulling out and slamming back into her. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust, but she doesn’t mind. They both know patience isn’t her forte. “You’re...so...tight.” His words are punctuated by sharp thrusts that threaten to steal the air straight from her lungs.

He leans forward slacking against her, but Naomi welcomes the weight. His beard scrapes against her shoulder blade, his breath warm against her ear, his fingers which are no doubt going to leave a bruise, all of it makes her dizzy, and god, this isn’t going to last much longer.

His thrusts become sloppier, more frenzied as the pleasure mounts, his blood boiling in his veins like molten lava. The only thing he can hear is the sound of the skin slapping, and his ragged breaths.

“Are you close?” He asks. But Naomi can’t think, let alone actually speak words, even if something monosyllabic would suffice. Why does he keep trying to make her speak? Her head drops with a thud and she mumbles something incoherent.

“For someone who had so much shit to talk earlier, you’re mighty silent.” Letting go of her hip, Ethan tangles a hand in her hair, yanking it back so she can’t hide her face in the cushions anymore. His other hand reaches around and he rolls her clit with his middle finger. Still way too sensitive from her last orgasm, she thrusts back, clawing at the couch with her nails, but he holds her in place, refusing to let her move.

“Ethan, fuck, don’t stop!” The words fly out all at once, shaky, fast and jumbled, but it’s all Ethan needs. 

With a burst of energy he didn't know he possessed, he drives into her, plunging deeper. “Cum for me, Rookie.”

Naomi screams. Loudly, and she’s sure his neighbors might be very annoyed, but she doesn’t care. Everything goes white behind her eyes as he all but pushes her over the edge. She clenches around him and Ethan hisses as she’s holding him in a vice-like grip. A few quick thrusts later, and he’s joining her in ecstasy, spilling inside of her. The hand holding her hair tightens for a second, then relaxes.

She’s pretty sure she blacked out for some period of time because when Naomi is finally able to focus, they’re no longer obscenely bent over the arm of Ethan’s couch. They’re on the floor, in the cramped space between the couch and the coffee table. 

She’s hot and sticky and absolutely exhausted. She places her hand over her heart, willing it to stop beating so erratically. Stealing a glance, Naomi peers up and looks at Ethan. He looks as disheveled as she feels, his hair tousled, lips swollen, chest and neck flushed red.

Her voice is horse and completely shot to hell when she finally speaks, “If that’s how our fights are going to play out from now on, I’ll let you pick more fights with you. And I’m a Cancer, we’re stubborn people.”

“I think we can find a happy medium somewhere.”

Naomi rolls over, until she’s nestled into his side and her head is on his chest. She can feel his heart beating rhythmically under her cheek. “Are we still fighting?”

“No.”

“Are you still mad at me?” He doesn’t answer the question right away, and a sense of dread fills her.

“I was never really mad at you,” Ethan admits after a long bout of silence. “I’m just mad at the entire situation. I’m mad at the budget cuts, I’m mad at our country’s healthcare system, I’m annoyed with your inability to listen to me. I’m mad at Leland Bloom’s obscene wealth and the fact that he gets to dangle his money in our faces like we’re horses waiting for carrots.”

“You made the right call, Naomi,” he continues. “But it’s a call you shouldn’t have been forced to make in the first place. I’m sorry for making you carry the brunt of my misplaced anger.”

“Apology accepted. And since we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for calling you a petulant little crybaby.”

Ethan chuckles. “Do you apologize for calling me a goddamn diva, as well? Don’t forget ‘entitled jackass’ and ‘spoiled child’.”

“You co-signed ‘spoiled child’ so I am not apologizing for it.”

“Fair point,” Ethan concedes.

Blindly searching with an outstretched hand, Naomi finds her cell phone and checks the time. She has to be at work in 2 hours, though she’d much rather get into Ethan’s bed and go to sleep.

“That happy medium that you mentioned? I think I have it figured out.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, yeah?”

“First and foremost, I promise to never go over your head again, if you agree to do a trial run on whatever ideas I may come up with. You can’t shoot me down immediately.”

“I’m...willing to agree to that.”

“And once this all settles down and the hospital isn’t on the verge of complete financial collapse, maybe we can convince the board to only take on one or two billable patients a quarter.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” 

“Yeah, I tend to have those every once in a while,” Naomi teases.

Ethan stares at Naomi as she laughs at her own poor joke. Everything about her is an anomaly to him. She blew into his life a little over a year ago and here he is, willing to adapt his entire ethical code for her. And here they are, entangled together as if he didn’t spend 2 months on a different continent in order to get her out of his head. What is it about her that he can’t shake?

He gently cups her jaw and kisses her as if she’s a precious gem, like he didn’t just try to devour her. “What are you doing to me?”

Naomi smirks, recalling that it’s the same question he asked her in Miami. “Hopefully something good.”

He kisses her again. “Better than good actually.”

Realization washes over her that once she leaves this apartment, things are going to go back to being the way they were. He’ll go back to pushing her away. “So does this mean you want to have another reset?”

The question throws him off, but he soon understands what she means. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ethan repeats. If there’s a happy medium to be found between his team and the board, maybe there’s one for him and Naomi.

She doesn’t allow herself to get swept up by his words, but instead she braces herself for the chance that he pulls the rug from under her feet. “Well, what does that mean?”

“It means you and I are going to take a shower together, go to work, and we deal with our obnoxious patient. And after work, you’re going to put on something fancy because I’m taking you out to dinner. How does that sound, Dr. Valentine?”

Naomi can’t stop an annoying grin from spreading across her face. “I think it sounds pretty damn good, Dr. Ramsey.”

[forabeatofadrum]

che col tuo lume mi levasti - chapter two

Notes: I keep joking to myself since I’m like Rainbow, since I decided to write a trilogy because I missed Baz so much, but you know what? I also missed this Simon!

AO3

--

SIMON

Baz is the last to arrive.

The butter cake is already half eaten. Shepard and I ate most of it. We’re all sat on the floor in a circle and Shepard leads Baz to us.

“Sorry I’m late everyone,” Baz says as he takes off the scarf that my mum has given to him. He lets out a long sigh. “Bunce, please say you have some alcohol for me because I want to drink to forget.”

When Baz says Bunce, he can refer to either Penny or Shepard. It’s confusing sometimes. Shepard’s still on his feet, so he runs towards the kitchen. Baz sits down next to me. I give him a quick kiss.

“What did your aunt want?” I ask.

“Something fucking insane,” is all that Baz says. Then he leans closer to me and whispers: “Pipistrello.”

That’s the Italian word for bat. It’s our code for ‘it has something to do with vampires so let’s not talk about it now’. The Italian word for vampire is vampiro (or vampira, since the Italian language has to be gendered), which would’ve been too obvious, so we chose bat instead. Vampires can’t turn into bats, but bats are associated with vampires. Pipistrello also works in public, since it’s also a name for a lamp. If someone overhears, we tell them that we’re talking about interior design.

I nod.

Baz then turns to Agatha.

“Wellbelove!”

The reunion is sweet and there’s a lot of hugging. Shepard comes back with a bottle of pineapple liquor. It’s very sweet. I like it.

The night goes on like that. We order Thai and we get hammered. It’s nice to have a group of friends for once. It feels different than hanging out with my former classmates. Penny has put a permanent silencing spell on the flat, similar to the one in our flat in Salò, so we don’t have to worry about noise complaints when Shepard breaks out the karaoke.

Around midnight, we’re all pretty mellow. Baz and I are making out in front of everyone. Agatha and Shepard talk about living in America. Penny is spelling the floor squishy and she’s magicked up some sleeping bags, since we’re all staying over.

“Baz, a hand, please?” she asks.

Baz rolls off me to help her. I let out a whine, but I know that he’s also powerful and Penny needs help. Shepard and I are Normals and Agatha doesn’t carry her wand.

It’s really nice to be around others who know about magic, but who can’t do magic. That’s why Shepard and I bonded so much in the first place. Agatha’s situation is obviously different, but I like that magic isn’t everything to her.

“It’s actually fucking weird,” Agatha says to Shepard. She has a smile on her face. She’s drunk. “Like, how there’s so much fucking magic in America. How different it is from the World of Mages. Fuck the World of Mages!”

I sit down next to her.

She turns to me.

“Don’t you think the World of Mages fucking sucks?” she says to me.

I shrug. “It was never my world.”

I don’t mind people referring to it as my world. Baz still says ‘our’ world when we talk about the World of Mages and I never correct him. I’m from the World of Mages the same way I’m from Wales.

“It’s so wack that America never had the same problems, you know?” Shepard slurs. He’s really hammered. “Like, I thought I knew everything, but I didn’t realise there was a different magickal social standing in other places. Knee keeps telling me that America is a mess, and yeah, fair, but we also never had the dead spots like that.”

“Quiet Zones are very different, yeah,” Agatha agrees, “It’s all about the lack of Normals, or Talkers, in those places, not about environmental disasters. The dead spots happened in populated places.”

“My dad is so confused by it!” Penny says.

“My aunt still thinks The Mage was behind it!” Baz adds.

“It’s actually fucking weird!” Agatha says again. Then we all laugh. There’s nothing funny happening, but we’re all happy and drunk and together. The World of Mages is at peace and all is well.

--

Breakfast is leftover butter cake and a random assortment of Pret sandwiches. Shepard and I are obsessed with Pret-A-Manger. You don’t have that in America and Italy. (Although to be fair, the bread at Pret is nothing compared to Italian paninis.)

We’re all hungover, but Penny and Baz spell us. Baz’s friend Dev has invented a semi-successful hangover spell and it’s better than nothing. We feel sober enough.

Leaving is bittersweet. It’s always difficult to get together like this with everyone living in different countries, but we make it work. Besides, we’ll all definitely see each other at New Year’s. There is a party at the club. My grandma and uncle attend every year. We didn’t join them last year since it was all too fast, but now we’re ready.

(Hopefully. A lot of people are waiting for get a glimpse of me.)

Baz and I take the long way back to the Salisbury home. My grandma and uncle don’t know that Baz is a vampire and we’re keeping it that way. I want to know what happened at his aunt’s.

“She’s planning on marrying a vampire.”

“Uh. Okay?” I mean, after all, I am too. Not now. Not soon. But maybe after a couple of years, yeah, if it’s legal.

“A vampire, Snow.”

“Baz, I am dating a vampire.”

“You’re not getting it, Snow!” Baz bites out. I hate it when he talks like that, like I’m stupid for not knowing anything about the World of Mages. But I also know that Baz’s vampirism is a sore subject. That, and his father.

(I still remember how he acted during Christmas last year when we were at his parents’ house. He wasn’t himself. I told him that I don’t like him when he’s like that.) (That’s why I am not going with him this year.)

“Calm down, babe,” I say, “Explain it, then.”

I wait for him to calm down, but every time he tries to talk, he gets fed up again. But he tries. He knows that I don’t like the way he acts.

We walk in circles for half an hour and Baz tells me everything about his aunt and this vampire called Nicodemus Petty.

“Well, did you give her the ring?” I ask when he’s done.

“No, it’s in Salò.”

I let out a huff of air. “I know I might be biased, but why don’t you give it to her? Her mind seems made up. Are you really going to stop them from declaring their love because you don’t agree to the way they live?”

“This is not a gay rights issue, Snow.”

“I’m not saying that it is,” I say. I am aware of gay rights issues. I am also waiting for Italy to legalise marriage equality, which will probably take ages. At least we have civil unions now. “And I am also not saying that you are similar to a homophobe that prevents us from marrying, but I am saying that I am a romantic and I don’t see anything wrong with marrying a vampire.”

“A vampire, Simon,” Baz says indignantly, “A bloody vampire.”

“Hah! Bloody!” I laugh, but I quickly compose myself when I see the look on Baz’s face. I cough. “Sorry. Not funny.”

“My mother would never allow this to happen,” Baz grumbles. I don’t think he wanted to say that out loud, because he looks at me with a pained expression when he sees me staring.

We’ve been over this many times. Baz’s constantly wondering what his mother would’ve thought of him. Last Christmas, when Fiona told us to defile his parents’ bed, Baz asked Fiona how his mother felt about gay people. That’s when I realised that most of his contempt towards himself comes from his mother.

(Fiona said that she didn’t know. They never talked about it, so Natasha didn’t have anything positive to say, but also didn’t have anything negative to say.) (I told Baz to cling to that. His mother never said anything bad about his sexuality.)

Natasha Grimm-Pitch is dead. Still, Baz and Fiona live their lives according to her values. Well, Baz still does. It looks like Fiona’s forged her own path.

We’ve stopped walking and Baz looks absolutely devastated.

“This isn’t about Fiona,” I say, “This is about you.”

I give him a big hug and he shakes in my arms. I know it’s bad to speak ill of the dead, but I really want to kick Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s arse right now.

--

BAZ

I know I told my mother that I was going to live as I am and that I knew that she wouldn’t be happy, but that I am going to carry on anyway. I still go back to the catacombs to talk to her, but when I graduated Watford, I knew that a part of my life had ended.

Maybe I am not okay after all.

Last December I realised that I am struggling with internalised homophobia more than I let on (Thanks father!) and this December I am realising that I am struggling with internalised anti-vampirism more than I let on (Thanks mother!).

Parents really fuck up their children when they have the chance.

I always told myself that I am different from real vampires. I am a mage first and foremost. Vampires like Nicodemus are scum and terrible and they deserve to die. They kill innocent people. They killed my mother. (They killed me.)

But maybe a part of me still sees myself as scum and terrible and deserving to die. After all, I am still a vampire.

Simon tries to tell me that it’s not a bad thing. My vampirism saved him and Ms. Snow when The Mage attacked them. And yes, I find some solace in that, but it doesn’t take away the fact that I am an undead monster. I still won’t let Simon see me as I feed.

I am better than most vampires, but I am still one of them.

And now Fiona wants to marry one. I don’t even know this Nicodemus Petty and I can’t ask around. No one is allowed to even speak of him. That’s what happens to vampires. Not only that, but he left on his own terms. He wanted to cross over.

Ma che cazzo.

Simon and I walk back to the Salisbury house in silence. I am still crying when we arrive.

Simon gives me a small smile before opening the door with the key. (Yes, Lady Ruth has given him a key.)

“We’re back!” he calls out, “They loved the butter cake!”

Then he turns to me. He cups my face.

“Take some time for yourself. I’ll amuse the others.”

I love him. I nod and I go upstairs. The Salisbury home isn’t as big as the Pitch estate in Hampshire, but it’s still big, especially for a townhouse in London. Lady Ruth sleeps in the master bedroom, Jamie and Ms. Snow have childhood bedrooms of their own, and there are two guest rooms. Simon and I are staying in one of them.

On my way to the guest room, I hear a door open. Ms. Snow emerges from her room.

“Ah, I thought I’d heard Simon,” she says before taking a good look at me. She frowns when she sees me. “Merlin, Basilton, what is up with you?”

“My aunt,” is all that I say.

“What happened?”

I shake my head, but then I realise something. There are only two other mages that can easily leave the World of Mages behind and break its rules. One of them is Agatha, the other one is Ms. Snow. Agatha wasn’t alive when Nicodemus crossed over, but Ms. Snow was.

I look around to check if we’re alone.

“Ms. Snow, do you know Nicodemus Petty?”

--

Ms. Snow’s room has been kept intact for the past two decades, so I am sitting in a room for a teenager, but I don’t mind.

“I know it’s against the rules to talk to vampires, but I am also talking to you, so I don’t care,” Ms. Snow says.

“True.”

“I can’t believe I’m not the only one who made a comeback,” Ms. Snow jokes lamely, but I still smile. Nicodemus Petty is lying low, unlike Ms. Snow, but the circumstances are different. “Nico, Fi and Ebb were a force to be reckoned with at Watford. It was big news when he crossed over.”

“But you know about it?”

Ms. Snow nods. “Oh yeah, I do. I had already cut myself off from my family and friends, but I was still in England. Davy came home to tell the news. He couldn’t believe it.”

Davy. The Mage.

“I can’t believe it either,” I say.

“And now he wants to marry Fiona Pitch?”

“No, Fiona Pitch wants to marry him,” I say. Fiona cast that silencing spell for a reason. “It’s ridiculous. My mother is probably rolling in her grave.”

Ms. Snow gives me a weird look.

“Is it ridiculous?” she asks, “Nico and Fi were definitely in love when we were all in school. It’s actually quite sweet that they found each other again.”

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Simon’s lack of concern can be chalked up to him not knowing what happened, but Ms. Snow doesn’t have that excuse.

“He murdered people, Ms. Snow.”

“Have you asked him that?”

“I- what?” I sputter out.

“You haven’t,” she points out.

“But I didn’t volunteer to get bitten!”

“And regarding your mother, well, I can’t speak for her, but I am a mother of a man who’s in love with a vampire and I have no problems with that.”

“But…” But I am different. I know I am. She knows that too. How can she so easily assume that Nicodemus might be different too? Fiona said that Nicodemus wanted power and he tried to find it there. How can we be the same?

“Of course, things could’ve changed. I only know the Nico from school. He was kind of an arse, always so cocksure of himself. He got into trouble a lot. But your aunt was like that as well. I liked her attitude. Do you trust your aunt?”

“No.”

“Fair. But maybe talk to her about this some more.”

[dannypuro]

So I just binged Something Telling and it’s just, so amazing? Like, your characterization is so on point and I just have nothing but nice things to say about it. Can I make a list? I’m gonna make one cause I have Emotions™️ about every one of these dweebs.

1. Grantaire is just, so nice and kind and smart, and not an alcoholic! Like, I love the fics where he deals with that, but it’s nice to see him being a semi-functional adult person. (Was he an alcoholic in this universe at one point?) Plus, he’s still enough of an emotional disaster otherwise. Love him ❤️

2. ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. I could read about that forever. Swearing in an elevator? Iconic. Never using the space bar? Perfect. Also now I refer to movies as “movings” in my head so there’s that.

3. Combeferre is the sane man of this family and I love it so much. Also I never thought of vaccines for time travel AUs and I genuinely cackled when Ferre brought it up. Like, yeah, that’s a good point.

4. Jehan is always chaotic and I love them for it. Also, I know R doesn’t want to hear about it, but I absolutely want to know what their sex talk consisted of. I’m curious.

5. Baz and Feuilly. Yes. Good. Lovely boys. So glad they got their shit together.

6. “I am wanted by the government for high treason.” Honestly Enj has so many golden moments/lines. He is trying his best and I love him.

7. The PTSD our boy has and how he’ll have to work through it, but he has Friends and Boyfriend to help. (Side note: I live in the US, so I don’t know how much of a thing it might be in Paris, but do they set off a lot of fireworks on New Years? Cause I feel like that would be a thing that Enj would have to deal with, especially if no one tells him about it beforehand)

8. The research you would have had to do for this is just, incredible. And I think you captured how someone would really be if they just got yeeted into the future with no tech experience whatsoever. Like, I’ve been living here since 1994 and I’m overwhelmed by stuff sometimes.

9. Slightly unrelated but I also saw that you did the AU where Grantaire is a baker and Enj is totally not in the mafia (the name escapes me) and I also love that fic.

Hopefully that was somewhat coherent! Seriously though your work is great and I can’t wait for more!

(Also, if you want and it’s not a plot point of the next one, what is Enjolras’s reaction to musicals? I know the boy loves his opera, but someone had to have shown him something on YouTube and I just crave knowledge about this universe) Thanks! 🥰

GUH thank you!!!!!!! thank you thank you!!! and thank you for taking the time to make a list because i thrive off of validation alone and it made my day 🥺. SO.

grantaire is a total sweetheart. like, genuinely a nice person who is trying his best despite the fact that he has a hard time. baby. of course, the funniest part about him is the fact that he has NO idea that he’s actually just like... nice. he’s like... oh man it sure sucks that i’m the worst person possible to help someone in need... sucks that i’m the only one here... sorry dude i’m sorry i’m not combeferre... and then he proceeds to just like. make beef stew and be so careful and kind and thoughtful and try his very best and let enjolras go to sleep on his shoulder during a moving. like... sir. ok. also, yes, i tend to write him a little more... with his shit together, especially in this fic. you mentioned that you read And If I See You In The Daylight (the bakery fic)--i kind of wrote this assuming a similar character arc (minus the bakery, of course. like, grantaire used to be much, much more of a mess in a lot of ways, and drinking too much was a part of that, and he’s slowly been working on it. and now he’s 29, and he’s doing his best, and his friends love him. he’s doing a little better in this fic than in the bakery fic--maybe he’s a little older? maybe because combeferre is a little harsher than jbm and gets on his case when he starts to slip back into old habits? yeah.

ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. sweetie. baby. the first time combeferre vacuums his apartment when enj is around he’s like “hey man, do you mind if i do the vacuuming?” and enj (has NO idea what that word is, is falling asleep while reading on the couch in the sun) is like “do what you will” and then ferre turns the vacuum on and enjy does that thing when a cat is startled and it jumps like three feet up in the air and puffs up like a squirrel. he’s awake now.

combeferre. baby. he’s genuinely, genuinely trying his best, but it’s fucking hard when you’re tired and overworked and also none of your friends use their brains more than 30% of the time and also your new best friend is a spiky little revolutionary from EIGHTEEN THIRTY TWO. so. um. he’s a little stressed. but he loves enjy so much and doesn’t even mind when he’s dramatic and annoying because he’s such a sweet dude and they’re FRIENDS. sometimes he comes home from a long day of work and enj has come over and washed all of his dishes and brought over takeout but also rearranged all of his books and also eaten like three mangoes. listen. friendship is about gently tormenting your BFF because you are COMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER.

jehan. baby. instagram influencer supreme. i’ve gotten like a bazillion asks about their sex talk--i SWEAR i will write it eventually because the concept of it just cracks me up. jehan is like. “ok. enjy. tell me what you know about sex” and enj is like... “i understand that..... it occurs?” and jehan is like :^/ and enj is like “one must be careful not to contract syphilis from unseemly sources?” and jehan is like “TIme For A Conversation Before Grantaire Messes This Up”

baz and feuilly. babies. they’re just such a sweet, casual couple and they  like each other so much. also, first date 3 am kebabs? after they FINALLY communicated? and then baz gets railed like he deserves? they deserve it.

enj has a secret little sense of humor and it’s just a little hidden by the fact that he is 1) repressed 2) awkward. but it’s there! he’s just so smart and secretly funny and grantaire thinks he’s fucking hilarious. except when he jokes about the fact that he’s technically dead. it makes grantaire sad. he’s like YOU’RE NOT DEAD THOUGH BABE YOU’RE EATING JAPCHAE RIGHT NOW and enj is like. “i believe that if you observe my wicky encyclopaedia you shall learn otherwise 🤷” and grantaire is like 😰BABE

yeah. yeah. listen. he’s got a lot of shit to deal with. it’s gonna take a while. like... that is some SERIOUS trauma, and he didn’t even have any time in his own century to process it. he went straight from a very violent event--LITERALLY about to be executed 😰--to being zapped to a time where he recognizes NOTHING. that... didn’t help. and he can’t really go to a therapist (which causes combeferre no shortage of distress) since like... he wouldn’t be able to explain anything about the barricades or the source of his trauma to begin with. so... yeah. but yes! he has friends and a boyfriend who love and support him so much! and it’s the framework he needs to begin to work through stuff at his own pace 🥺 (also, yes, fireworks are a big thing. they’re also big for the 14 juillet, which i... kind of forgot to address. i might go back and write a scene somewhere around ch. 5 for it and post it on here. we’ll see.)

i’m so glad you appreciated the research! 🥺🥺🥺 legit i... kind of spent a stupid amount of time on it. i really tried to make it as realistic as possible (barring, like, the whole time-zap thing, and also the whole “characters from les mis” thing) since the whole POINT is the differences between their two times, so... i’m glad it paid off. it means a lot to hear that u vibed with it.

thank you thank you! again-- And If I See You In The Daylight is the name of the bakery fic, and i also love it 🥺🥺🥺 . to everyone else... READ IT!

enjolras does not like musicals. like... yes, there was a natural progression from 20th century opera to early musicals, but enjolras missed all of that. and 21st century musicals are pretty fucking different from 1820s/30s opera. he can’t quite understand the music. the plotlines don’t make sense. the plots aren’t stupid enough for his taste. they take themselves too seriously. not enough miscommunication. orchestral parts not nice enough. cosette tries to show him a musical on youtube and enjy is like. who is that. why are they all dressed the same. what is going on. why do they not use their Pocket Fones? why does it sound like this. hellp. (she gives up and shows him a Puccini opera instead.)

anyways. THANK YOU! and to everyone else--send me asks! send me prompts! send me questions! i WILL respond to them and i treasure them all i just tend to be kind of slow! but i love to receive them! thank you!!!

[they-callme-ami]

Playing with Fire, Part 3 (Tobias x Fem!MC, SMUT)

If you couldn’t tell by the title, this is gonna be smutty and have smut. You have been warned.

Wordcount: 1973

@kingliamsbitch @theeccentricbibliophile @aylamwrites @matsuosdique @this-person-is-busy @jaxsmutsuo

The two of you were inside of Tobias’s townhouse...in his living room...you were on the couch, on top of him, kissing him deeply...he flipped you two over and grabbed your thighs, picking you up in his arms and heading towards another room...the bedroom.

“Hey...before this...continues...do you want to have sex with me Casey. We can just keep kissing--or stop immediately now.” He asks while caressing your cheek softly. Your heart swelled with joy...it was sweet, seeing him so vulnerable like this...so caring...focused on what makes you feel safe and comfortable.

“Yes, I do… do you? This is a 2 person job y’know..” you smile and he grins.

“I do….so...so bad.” he rasps against your throat. The two of you continue to kiss, your fingers running along his arms slowly as your legs stay around his waist, not wanting to let him go just yet….

“Move….move your arm...” you giggle. Tobias pulled away and licked his lips before biting his lower one, smirking.

“That’s not my arm.” He whispers, moving your hand to his….well, his not-arm. Fuck.

After that revelation and a quick pep talk to yourself, you managed to lay back on the bed.  Before you began to remove your outfit, Tobias stopped you.  He simply kissed you again, and peppers kisses down your shoulder while unzipping...unbuttoning...unlacing… stripping you down to your bare body...all on display for him. 

“It’s crazy...I’m a doctor...studied anatomy for years...but seeing you...laid out for me like this….no textbooks could have prepared me for such a woman.” He whispers and his hand slid between your legs and you gasped. His hand began to rub your entrance...he lifted his fingers up and smirks at you, licking your wetness off them. 

“It’s completely unfair I paid so much for dessert…especially since you’re much sweeter.” and with that, he pounced.

Tobias currently had your ankles against his pillow, legs spread wide as he was going to town on that pussy...he was definitely starving for you.  His tongue teased your sensitive nerve and ever so slowly dragged down your folds, and sunk in with a moan.  You squirm and try to move as he builds a rhythm: tease your clit with his tongue and make circles around it. Lick slowly down, and sink inside of you, while those hands kept you spread at the right angle to get all the way inside your pussy. Then, spelling his own name ever so expertly...T...O...B...I...A...S. Finally he’d start pulling out and repeating the process all over again...and again... It began to get too much as heat pooled in your lower regions, your hips bucking as you tried to push him away by his shoulders. 

“Don’t run away from me…” He growled and reached his hand up. “Suck” he commanded, holding his pointer and middle finger up before you complied, wrapping your plump lips around them and began to suck and lather them up.  His fiery hazel eyes were on you the whole time, watching you intently before you pulled them out.  Before he could protest, you held his hand and slid your tongue around his fingers while gazing down at him, running your tongue ever so slowly up his pointer...alluding to a certain action you’d perform soon enough. Big fucking mistake.

“Ah! No no--oh God Tobias I’m sorry---fuck--I--” you were now at his mercy, one hand holding both of yours while the other had a total of now 3 fingers inside of you--jackhammering and reaching all those spots while he made you keep eye contact with him.

“Wanna play like that, hm? You seemed real eager to tease me...what’s wrong, didn’t you want this Casey? “ He punctuates by fingering you faster, nearly reaching that spot and his thumb rubbing your clit.  “Don’t say sorry now, just take it...maybe if you’re nice and say sorry again, I’ll let you cum.” He says, giving you that shit-eating grin that made you want to hit him...but you were not gonna last unless you apologized.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry--oh God please please please I wanna cum--!” You whimpered and blubbered out a desperate plea for your release. He kissed you to shut you up and fingers you deeper, hitting that spot inside you finally and well--you definitely got what you deserved.  Your hips rocked and bucked up against his fingers as you panted and whined, shakily coming down from your high.

Tobias pulled his fingers out and licked his pointer and middle clean, then held the ring out to you...and you cleaned it off.  Once you finished, he stood up and began to pull off his own clothing.  You gasped softly when he removed his top half, showing off his tone body, but when he removed those slacks and boxers….well, let’s just say Med school anatomy classes didn’t prepare you either.  But, you weren’t a quitter , Mrs. Top of the Class 2015.  You crawled forward and grasped his shaft in your hands.

“Well...you definitely have more than your career to be proud of.” You joked and even Tobias laughed a bit--breaking the tension.  “Real talk--if you try to thrust down my throat, I will cough and pull off. That isn’t a threat, I will legitimately choke...” You mumble but lean forward and slowly take the tip into your mouth.

“Shit….Casey…” Tobias moaned out your name, leaning against the wall while your hands were wrapped around the base, moving up and down, and your mouth moved in sync as well. Your tongue swirled around him as you moan, giving him exactly what he wanted and looking up at him while you did.  You gagged a bit at first--okay, a LOT at first--but had managed to take him in and out, and deepthroat him...he was definitely bigger than any you had previously...You took him all the way down with a soft gag and managed to slurp him up and move back to the tip, pan ting and jerking him off.

“I think...we both deserve a better dessert...~” You cooed and held your mouth open while your hands moved up and down, faster and faster, waiting--until you felt his release in your mouth, on your tongue...He panted and let out a raspy groan, fists balled up and eyes closed from the intense feeling.  Once it was over, you slowly drag your tongue up the shaft with a moan.  “You are definitely doing wonders for my ego y’know.” Tobias looked down at you and picked you up, pinning you back down to the bed...he had you on your hands and knees, and stood behind you.  Showtime.

You awaited for Tobias to put on protection, and he slowly rubbed his tip between your wet folds...when you gave him the okay, he began to thrust in--much to your satisfaction.  You let out a moan and grip the sheets, your eyes rolling back a bit.

“You okay?” He leaned down to ask and kissed your shoulder, and reached forward to gently squeeze and play with your breasts, his fingers circling your nipples and kissing you again.

“Yes...go deeper….I need you Tobias…” It was like a switch flipped on inside him, as his hands reached for yours and he pulled your arms back.  He began to thrust inside your pussy, his dick reaching deeper.  Oh yeah, he was definitely going to ruin you in all the right ways. Tobias tugged your arms back to pull you into every thrust, grunting as he slammed against you--his hips rocking and hitting against your ass with each thrust.  You moaned again, louder this time, and already felt yourself start to cream around him.  

“O-Oh---Tobias--h-harder! God--I---” He silenced you, going harder inside.  You fell forward a bit, your chest and face squished against the pillow while he kept ramming into you without remorse, the sound of your wet pussy and his hips clapping against your along with those desperate, needy moans.  It was unlike anything you’d felt before...it didn’t seem like Tobias would stop anytime soon.

“On your back….I want to look at you while I make you cum…” He pulled out, much to your disappointment.  You laid on your back, legs spread for him...strands of hair pressed against your sweating face...And Tobias back on top, wrapping your legs around you and sinking back in.  He fucked you slower this time, giving you deep thrusts as he hit your deepest parts with nearly every thrust...nothing could ruin this...and then….your phone rang.  You took a glance at the caller ID….Dr. Ramsey.  Before you could react, Tobias grabbed your phone and pressed Answer, holding it to your mouth while he fucked you.

“Casey? Are you busy, I wanted to know if you were available tomorrow. I know it’s your day off today and tomorrow after that double shift--but Baz and June are gonna drive me up a wall unless--”

“E-EtHAn--I-I’m a l-little b-bUsY r-right-now--”  you tried to hold back your moans, which was hard considering Tobias was making you lose control.  He only smirked and began to kiss and suck on your nipples, your hand rubbing his head as you attempt to refocus.  “C-Could you call me later E-Ethan? I-I just a-a-am t--tOo b-busy!  You cover your mouth to hide a whine while Tobias kept going. He then grabs your phone--

“Ethan, hey, it’s Tobias.  Casey is kinda drunk and all loopy.  She somehow managed to uber herself to Mass Kenmore when my shift was over, wanting to get Aurora to join in on the ‘fun’ but she called in sick. Since it’s kind of late...she’s crashing here. Too drunk to think.” He lied right through his teeth while your arms wrapped around him and held him tight, nails digging into his back.

“Oh….uh, that’s nice of you. Alright then. Just tell her to forget it, make sure she gets home safe tomorrow.”

“Will do...I’ve been taking care of her...for hours…” He smirked and winks at you before hanging up.

You whimper.  It was all crashing down at once while Tobias looked down at you. “Let go for me Casey.  I want you to--all around me...take it and cum for me…” he growls, nearing an orgasm himself.  Your legs tremble around him, but you hold on tighter and tighter.  You let out a loud, euphoric moan and felt your orgasm erupt as your body spazzed, tears roll down your cheek as you screamed out Tobias’s name...it felt like you nearly blacked out as he came after word, groaning loud and let out a moan in your ear--filling the condom and panting as it was over. The two of you, sweaty and shaky, held each other….you kissed him deeply, before giving into the exhaustion.

When you opened your eyes and woke up, you looked around...you saw Tobias asleep next to you, strong arms holding you close, the ceiling fan on.  You smile and hold his face, stroking his cheek and he slowly opens his eyes and grins.

“So….you’re still here...glad to know that it wasn’t a dream.”

“Tch--I could barely walk if I wanted to….” Your stomach growled a bit.  Tobias sat up and pulled on some boxers...he walked around to your side and picked you up, bridal style and you laugh, giggling.

“Tobias-- put me down!”

“Not till I make us breakfast. So you just shut up and let me be romantic and cute for once...dummy.” he teased and carried you to the kitchen….he sat you down and you looked at one another. Yup….you wouldn’t live without those fiery eyes in your life anymore.

[adamarks]

simon snow has fucking dragon powers or some shit and this is my goddamn proof

Whilst you people were having a meltdown over Baz and Simon not hashing it out (Simon’s not in a place of understanding his self worth enough for that yet.), I was having a meltdown about Simon Snow The Literal Fucking Dragon. 

Now, this is obviously going to have major spoilers for Wayward Son. I’m going to assume you’ve read it if you’re reading this. I’ve put a lot of thought into this theory and this is a long ass post so I’m putting it under the cut. Now. Let’s go, lesbians!

First and foremost, let’s start with the wings and tail. 

Simon’s wings are established at the very beginning of Wayward Son to represent something. We don’t really get to quite know what that something is until they start referring to Simon’s wings the same way they used to refer to his magic. 

The most direct reference to Simon’s wings symbolizing his magic is in Simon’s section of the prologue at the very end of the book:

“It’s time for me to stop pretending I’m some sort of superhero. I was that-- I really was-- but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story.

Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready. I could go back to school then, or get a job...”

This section directly confirms that yes, these wings are a metaphor for Simon’s magic. They’re all he has left connect him to the world of magic. They’re the only thing still making him feel even remotely on the same level as Baz and Penelope. (This book really was all about the concept of self-worth and how completely lacking it affects not only us but those we love. Phew, talk about a doozy. No wonder we’re all crying.)

Now that we’ve established that Simon’s wings, at the very least, are his one tether to magic, let’s drive the nail into the coffin of the wings and tail being absolutely, 100% symbolic of his magic. 

As I mentioned earlier, the book starts treating the wings exactly the same as it treated his magic. This even starts before Wayward Son. The first mention of Simon’s emotions relating to his wings and tail is in the first book. In the epilogue, in Baz’s section, during the dance scene. 

“His tail whips out of my hand. It tends to slash around when he’s upset.”

This really starts to come out in the last fourth of Wayward when he’s “itching for a fight.”

His wings constantly poke, prod, and generally annoy Baz and Penny because he refuses to put them away. Almost.... like... how his magic..... felt suffocating.... and too much... and he couldn’t push it back... or tamp it down. *cough*

Okay, so that was all pretty basic, boring, base-building stuff, yeah?  Pretty “whatever we get it.” 

Well, here’s where it starts to get fun. 

Let’s talk about Simon’s Mirrors.

Lemme just explain what the hell a mirror is, first. In case we all flunked our high school Lit classes. 

A mirror character is, in simple terms, a character that acts, looks like, or reminds you of one of the main characters. Through these “mirror characters” some important information about the main character is revealed to us subtextually. 

Let’s name our Simon mirrors:

Ebb 

Agatha (she’s being developed as her own character but that’s not stopping her from mirroring our good lad.)

Aunt Fiona (to some extent anyway. she doesn’t really factor here.) 

There might be some minor ones I’m forgetting (I’m not including foils) but these are our main guys. 

I put Ebb on the list first, but let’s start with Agatha, the cranky heroine of our dreams. 

Throughout the whole first book, Agatha is shown to be Simon’s mirror. Them both mooning over Baz in almost the exact same way. (Jesus Christ they’re embarrassing to watch.) The waiting on rooftops, the handkerchief. (Don’t get me started on Simon carrying around Baz’s scarf in Wayward. I’m soft and everything hurts. Our poor, stupid, stupid boys.) It’s not exactly subtle. 

In Carry On, Agatha reveals just how much Simon also resents his fate. He never really expresses it, but Agatha is reflecting to us how he’s feeling. They both get progressively less resigned to the bullshit “Chosen One” fate as the book goes on. They both make it out alive. Maybe everything will be okay. 

But then Rainbow rolls up with a Sex On The Beach and Gucci sunglasses to tell us that “fuck no everything’s not okay.” (She’s right. God, I could go on a rant about how no one ever talks about how you feel when you’ve defeated the villain. When you’ve escaped the dungeon. Hhhhh)

Wayward Son immediately sets Agatha up as even more of a mirror than she was in the first book. We’re shown right away that the two of them are both in a depressed funk. They’re both at “15%” and miserable. These two are echoing each other like NEVER before and I am LIVING for it. 

Like, we even get this amazing bit in Chapter Four:

“That would feel like an answer to... the question of me. Then I could say, ‘Oh, that’s who I am. That’s why I’ve been so confused.’”

They! Are! Struggling!

Now, how does this relate to Simon having literal fucking dragon powers? Good question, thank you for asking. 

In Chapter Fifty-Six, when Pen and Agatha are stuck in the back of Fuckwad Vampire #3′s car, Agatha says this:

“I honestly thought I could walk away from it all-- like magic was a place. Like magic was a person. Or a habit I could break.

When Simon first came to Watford, he couldn’t make his wand work. He could barely cast a spell. He thought they were going to kick him out, that he wasn’t magic enough. 

“You don’t do magic,” Penelope told him. “You are magic.”

I... am magic. 

Whether I like it or not, whether or not I claim it. Whether or not I carry my wand. 

It’s in me, somehow. Blood, water, bone.”

They!! Are!! Both!! Magic!! 

Magic is in them! Magic is with them! They’re made of the stuff! They can’t cut off this part of them, no matter how much they want to. (lmao. talk about good old internalized homophobia. I don’t really have an opinion on what Agatha’s sexuality is, btw. I’m using homophobia as a blanket term because I have no clue what’s up on that front.)

Simon is made of magic. He doesn’t want to remove his wings. Even though he has to hide them. Even though he thinks he’s a Normal now. Like Penny said, “an aeroplane is still an aeroplane even if it’s on the ground.” (I’m not sure that’s verbatim, apologies.)

Simon still has magic. We just can’t see it. He’s made of magic. He is magic. He was literally conceived during a spell. Bitch is as magical as you can get. 

But where is the magic???? Where’d it go???? Hello????

I’m getting there. I promise. First, we need to talk about Ebb. 

Ebb wasn’t only Simon’s weird Aunt figure; she was his mirror. Ebb was what would’ve happened to Simon if he hadn’t rejected the mage at the end of Carry On. Ebb just gave in. She didn’t want to fight anymore, and she figured Shithead The Great knew more than she did. 

God I just fucking hate Mage so much like holy shit. Anyway, anyway. 

Ebb was the strongest magician next to Simon. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to use her magic for any great purpose. She just wanted to be. Agatha even reiterates this in the epilogue of Carry On.

 “Like, they couldn’t just let her be.”

(No, Simon doesn’t miss killing things in Wayward. He misses excitement and having a purpose. He mainly misses having a purpose. Not having one of those fucking sucks.)

What the fuck does Ebb have to do with this? Why can’t I just get to the point?

My point is!

My Point IS!

That goddamn dragon with the sheep was supposed to remind you of Ebb.

So, let’s do the math. If 1=1x1= 1 then...

Ebb = Margaret = Simon

Sure, sure we had Simon screeching that he wasn’t a dragon. But Margaret was immediately like, 

“Not yet.” She pets his wing. “Are kitten. Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”

Simon smells like a dragon, but also apparently “smells like iron.” Whatever the fuck that means. I mean I guess it means that Baz could still sippy sippy. (Which is gonna happen or I’ll eat my own toe.) 

One more thing: 

“I wanted wings,” he says. “I wanted to fly.”

“Why tail?”

“I wanted to be free!”

Gee, that sure sounds like what Agatha was saying earlier, huh?

YEAH OKAY HE’S HALF DRAGON!! WE’VE ESTABLISHED THAT!!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I ON ABOUT!!!!

Omg thank you for asking. I’m going to blow your mind with my final point. 

The Final Point: The Baz Problem.

Wayward Son is, by all accounts, Baz’s book. It develops everyone beautifully and everyone has an arc, but this book is where Baz gets to shine. 

We found out in this book that vampires are immortal.

This introduced a whole new issue, an issue that surfaces every time immortality is introduced as a possibility for one character but not the rest. 

Someday, Baz will be left alone.

He’ll inevitably outlive everyone he cares about. We all know our poor, beautiful, delicate bastard boy couldn’t take it. How deeply he cares is his most beautiful and wonderful trait, and this could break him. 

I wonder, how long does a dragon live?

Penny talks about the improbability of Simon and Baz in Chapter Three. 

“Star-cross’d lovers. ‘From forth the fatal loins of these two foes.’ The whole shebang.”

Simon’s magic was always described as smoke and fire. The first creature we learn about Simon fighting was a dragon. (Chapter 1, first page of Carry On)

“You’ve slain a dragon, Simon. Surely you can manage a long walk and a few buses.”

 God, I just really hate Bitchface the Mage. Anywho.

Simon. The One Who Came to End Us. Simon. The One To Save Us All. Simon is the dragon and the knight. He’s his own worst enemy. His arc will be completed once he accepts the “dragon” part of himself. It’s poetic as fuck, I must admit. 

Simon has to find love and care for himself, and then this baby dragon will be grown. He’ll be “on top” as Margaret had said. (God, could you imagine all the dragons waking up? How fucking epic would THAT be? Fingers crossed.)

The monster that drains living things and the monster that burns all in its wake. These losers are starcrossed, but they complete each other. Dumbasses. I just love them so much why can’t they get their shit together. 

Simon and Baz’s storylines are utterly intertwined. They’re perfectly matched. Simon might not know it, but their hearts are already tied together; they beat in sync. They’re two stars orbiting each other. And, if we’re all very lucky, maybe they won’t crash. Maybe this story won’t end in flames. 

So, in conclusion, I really really really want Simon to breathe fire. The only other way I could see this twisting is the wings somehow going away and Simon getting a regular-magician amount of magic. That’s kinda lame tho and doesn’t complete his arc correctly. This dumb boy is a dragon now and there’s nothing we can do about it. (EDIT: actually yeah simon’s not gonna lose his wings no way in fuck. check out my meta.)  Also? I would sell my soul to see Simon getting really possessive over really weird objects for his hoard. 

Thank you for sticking with me this far, dear reader. I’ll leave you with this thought: Baz is Donkey and Simon is the dragon from Shrek. 

Check out my other meta on the future of simon and baz’s relationship and how penny and agatha relate 

scarf meta as well check it

Gonna be tagging peeps so this can circulate better. 

@carrybits @neck-mole @watfordwallflower

[vampire-named-gampire]

Carry On Countdown - Day 17

Hello! Another ficlet for the @carryon-countdown! It’s once again something that I crammed, so forgive me for any grammar mistakes

Prompt: Blanket fort Word count: 1.5k Rating: G but also like there are jokes so maybe T? Summary: 

Three idiots + a handful of blankets + hermit crabs = a disaster

PENNY

When I come back home from uni, Simon is sitting on the sofa, staring into space. My heart falters at the sight. Simon’s been doing better, but there are still bad days. He doesn’t turn to my direction when I come in.

I drop my bag by the sofa and go to the kitchen to get us some water and snacks. (Chances are he hasn’t had any today.) Then, I sit down next to him, placing a bag of salt and vinegar Walkers on the coffee table. (It’s not the most nutritional snack, but Baz has infiltrated our pantry.)

Simon smiles a little and reaches for the crisps. “Thanks.”

��How are you?” I ask. He hates these types of questions (so do I), but it’s important that he communicates his feelings. (Yes, I may have sat in one or two of his therapy sessions.)

Simon just shrugs. “I’ve been thinking, y’know? About the past.”

“About Watford?” I ask. He shakes his head and shoves a fistful of crisps in his mouth. (Simon does that, when he doesn’t want to answer straight away.)

“No more like… childhood past. Care homes and such. And how much I missed out,” he sighs, taking another crisp from the bag. “I mean, I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, but at the same time, I just wish I could do some of the normal childhood things, you know?”

I want to say I know, but I don’t. Yes, both Simon and I had to grow up very fast because of the whole Humdrum and imminent war situation, but at least I had a normal childhood before Watford. I had Christmases and food on the table and people telling me they love me. Simon didn’t. He never got to experience playing around with his siblings or have his parents teach him how to ride a bike and then spell his scrapes away when he fell. It makes my heart break for him.

Then, an idea crosses my mind. I jump off the sofa.

“Where are you going?” Simon asks as I sprint for the bedroom.

“To get supplies. We’re doing normal childhood things!”

 BAZ

When I get to Simon’s, the living room’s a right mess. More specifically, it’s a mess of blankets and pillows and cardboard boxes. It takes me a few moments to realize that it’s a blanket fort.

I can’t decide whether to sigh, smile or just walk back out. What on earth has possessed Snow and Bunce this time to make a blanket fort?

Just as if on cue, Snow’s curly head peeks from in between the blankets.

“Baz! We built a blanket fort!” he beams.

“I can see that.”

“Please, this is more of a blanket castle!” Bunce sounds from the inside. “Baz, can you turn off the light?”

“Turn it off yourself,” I say, taking off my shoes and my coat. And then I do turn off the light because I’m a pushover and I’d do anything for these two idiots. The fort glows faint golden shade. Bunce must’ve spelled some lights on the inside of it. (I hope they’re not using real lights – that could be a fire hazard.) (You can be a pyromantic vampire and still be aware of fire hazards, thank you very much.)

“Thank you!” Bunce’s voice sounds from the inside.

I get on my knees (even though I’m wearing very expensive trousers) and edge towards the fold of blankets where Simon’s head was peaking out just moments ago. “Can I come in?” I ask. Truth be told, I was never allowed to build blanket forts as a child. I’m intrigued to see what the fuss is all about.

Simon’s head peaks out again. “Password,” he demands, smiling.

Huh? Password?

Of course the idiots have a password. I should’ve expected this. But what would Simon want for a password?

I’m fully aware of my still puzzled expression as I lean forward and press a kiss on his forehead. Simon giggles.

“That’s not the password,” he says, blushing a little. (It’s good to see him like this.)

“It should be,” I retort.

“A password should be something that works even if Penny comes to the door.”

“You think I won’t kiss Bunce?” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“Ew!” Bunce’s voice sounds from the inside.

“On the forehead!” I clarify.

“Disgustingly sappy!” Bunce calls back.

“Come on, just try again. You can guess it, I promise,” Snow prompts me. I sigh.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“It’s one word. Something that I like.”

“Scones!”

“No! But damn, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Sandwiches?” I try again. He smiles and opens the blanket for me. I crawl inside.

They’ve really made something of the place. Bunce must’ve spelled it bigger, because there’s enough room for Simon and I to sit upright, even with his wings. The walls are adorned by tiny glowing orbs and they’ve got a pile of snacks in the middle.

“Welcome to Fort of Being Responsible Adults,” Bunce greets me solemnly. I bow my head, playing into it.

“I feel honoured to be here.”

“The rules are no sabotaging the fort, no snogging and no stealing of snacks. Are we clear?” she asks.

“The sabotaging might be a bit hard to resist,” I say, smirking at Simon. He jabs me in the ribs in return. (The snogging rule is unfair, really, especially since my ideas for a password are much better.) “May I call an emergency meeting?” I ask.

“Emergency meeting called. What would you like to discuss?”

“The password sucks.”

“It does not!” Simon objects.

“Snow, ‘sandwiches’ is the weakest password in the history of passwords. I’ve seen hermit crabs stronger than your fort password.”

“Hermit crabs are actually quite strong for their size,” Simon mutters.

“Are you suggesting we change our password hermit crabs?” Bunce asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’m suggesting we change it from sandwiches. We can have a democratic election.”

“There are only three of us…” Simon starts.

“I suggest we do change it to hermit crabs,” Bunce says.

“I think it should be onomatopoeia,” I say. Simon frowns at me. (He hates long words.)

“You think the password should be onomatopoeia or that it should be an onomatopoeia?” Bunce asks, deep in thought.

“Guys, I don’t even know what onomato-whatever means!” Simon cuts in.

“What do you suggest then, Snow?”

“Goblins!”

I roll my eyes at him. “If we’re going for magickal creatures, we could’ve at least gone with vampires,” I say.

“Baz, that’s like having your name for a password!” Simon objects.

“And having goblins for a password is like having the name of your celebrity crush,” I retort. (I’d sooner go three days without blood than pass up an opportunity to tease Simon over the fact that he thinks goblins are fit.) (I’d sooner go four days without blood than admit that I actually kind of agree with him.)

“They’re well fit,” Simon shrugs. (Always stands by his beliefs, that one.)

“Guys, I came up with a password. Goblin crabs!” Bunce exclaims. Both Simon and I groan.

“Bunce, that sounds like an STD.”

“I’m not sure it’s not,” Simon mutters.

“You probably know all about it,” I say, which is a low blow, even for me.

“Hey!” Simon protests, poking me in the ribs. I squirm, which is my great mistake, because the next moment, Simon gets this devilish look in his eyes and then he’s on me tickling me.

“Stop, stop!” I protest while laughing.

“Penny get in there!”

He doesn’t have to tell Bunce twice and suddenly I’m being attacked from both sides, laughing and squirming and struggling to catch my breath and damn them, they know I’m very ticklish.

“Stop, stop! I take it back, I’m sorry!” I wheeze. I feel myself losing balance and the next moment, I’m flat on my back on the floor, left to the mercy of Simon and Bunce. (And they don’t have any.)

Simon leans over, determined to continue his attack, but one of his wings catches in a blanket, pulling the whole fort down with him.

We all end up lying on the floor, laughing, with blankets and bedsheets piled upon us. My ribs are hurting from all the tickling and I squirm when Simon’s arm slides around my side, but he doesn’t tickle me, just pulls himself closer, laughing quietly into my shoulder.

I turn my head in his direction, suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of fondness for him. Seeing Simon so happy is such a rare occurrence and it never fails to catch me off guard and make me disgustingly sappy. I can’t help it; he’s been depressed for so long that seeing him smile is like music to my ears. Seeing him laugh so hard that he’s crying is a whole fucking symphony.

I lean over and press a kiss on his forehead.

“No snogging!” Bunce scolds me.

“The fort no longer stands Bunce. The rules are meaningless,” I retort.

We all laugh some more about it. In the end, it’s Simon who speaks again.

“Rest in peace, Fort Goblin Crabs. You served us well,” he says solemnly.

“Rest in peace,” Bunce and I echo. Simon snorts.

“What?”

“Goblin crabs.”

That sends us into a fit of giggles again.

---

A/N: here’s how I imagine Baz looking on his first attempt of guessing the password

[spiltscribbles]

I Crave You And That is All

Notes: A reblog is worth a thousand stars 

.-

Sometimes I just look at Baz— At his gray eyes that go molten in the light and his ridiculous cheekbones that could literally cut right through glass and the precise shape to his cupids bow lips that I always want to kiss— and I can hardly believe that we’re actually  together, an item— that against all odds we’ve somehow stumbled into something like love. Something that makes my chest contract, and my stomach tumble itself into knots, and sometimes when Baz touches me— always so tenderly— it feels like their’s a thrill prickling up my spine, magic revived within me once more.

For instance, it feels that way right now, but just a thousand times more maddening.

Penelope’s spending the night at her parents place over the sprint holiday, bidding farewell by crowing a pointed, “Please let loose of the sexual tension before it suffocates us all,” to us, which makes it so Baz’s face goes utterly scarlet, and I can’t help but  sputter an indignant “Hop off!” before tossing her the bird. Penelope had only cast us one last smirk, always so very smug. But whatever, that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that the moment the front door slammed shut, Baz and I scrambled towards one another like clashing tornados, hips rocking against hips in a frankly obscene motion, and  swapping kisses  with such fucking ferociousness  that I’m positively  sure there’ll be bruising around each of our  lips tomorrow, but I don’t care, just as long as I can finally tug off Baz’s shirt, and run greedy hands up and down his hard torso, and breathe him in deep, He always smells like sandalwood and blossoming fields and something indescribably incandescent, something distinctly his own.

“Crowley, I’ve missed you,” Baz chokes out between a gasp when I begin to nip at the hinge of his unfairly sharp jaw, the way that always gets him writhing.  I wouldn’t admit this in the light of day, but  my heart does a ridiculous swooping motion when I hear that, pressing Baz even closer like its all I have to give.

We’ve seen one another nearly every day since all of it— Since the Humdrum, and the Mage. After I became a fucking normal, no matter what Baz or Penny try to say otherwise. But I understand what Baz means with the feeling of having missed me, we’re always around a damn crowd of people, or Baz has to make it back to Watford before curfew, or what the fuck ever. It’s been too long— nearly a month— since I’ve been able to just hold him like this, to see that particular flush run down Baz’s chiseled features. Since I got to knot a hand in Baz’s thick mop of hair. Since I got to suck Baz’s plump bottom lip into my mouth and fucking bite, ears ringing with the splendid sound of Baz’s moan that comes out right then.

“It’s been so damn long.”

.-

We’re lying naked on the bed now, the tip of Baz’s finger tracing random designs against my bare skin, intermittently cut off by him peppering kisses along my freckles or moles.

“You are really good at that,” I tell him, breathless as I flip around so that we’re face to face again, so I can see the way Baz’s hair spills on the sheets with abandon, and the beautiful contrast of the bruises I left on his hips while I was pounding into him against his sides,  and how his eyes gaze at me with such raw wanting that it makes it so my insides sing with glee.

“You said that already Snow,” Baz goads with heavy breaths. Truthfully, I   wish he hadn’t called me by my surname, I much  rather hear the soft lilt to his voice curling around Simon instead, is thrilled on those nights when Baz really sheds himself of all the walls I know I  had a part in building up in the first place. The nights when Baz curves against me so gingerly, nights when he says that he loves me in such hushed breaths that skirt against my skin, ones  punctured with kisses against my collar bone. The nights when he calls me love, or even once darling when I had actually  had made him laugh with such mirth that the blue in Baz’s gray eyes shone so brightly that it punched the breath right out of me.

“Don’t be a prick Pitch,” I bristle, leaning  into the familiarity of it— of our bickering and banter, even it’s so much more now— when Baz’s my entire world.   

Lazily, I tug on a lock of his impossibly soft hair. For fuck’s sake not even Agatha’s was quite as silky. 

Baz’s smile goes diffident, as much of an apology as he’ll ever offer and as much as I  will ever except.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells me instead, cups a hand around my cheek and kisses my lips with such  aching gentleness.

We stay like that for a while, with me lying naked atop him  and the both of us forever yearning for the other. But inevitably we have to pull apart for air, and of course Baz has to ruin the moment by joking about me using too much spit.

“I can’t believe my boyfriend’s such a damn tosser,” I pout moodily, collapsing besides him with my arms crossed against my chest, and I only feel better when I hear the dulcet sound of Baz’s laughter pouring out his lips when he throws his dark head back, humor painting him in brilliant lights.

“’s only a joke Snow, I rather like your primitive fashion,” Baz goads, snuggling closer to me and pressing a kiss to my cheek in penance.

“Oy, why don’t you make me a pot of tea then,” I snark moodily at a Baz who   is still positively beaming. Can’t help but laugh at my grimace.

“’S one in the morning.”

“I’m thirsty,” I pout.

“Then make your own bloody tea,” Baz huffs, rolling his eyes heavenwards but never really meaning it.  He still  never stops touching me, like he can’t get enough of it, like somehow this was Baz’s dream come true instead of the other way around— you know, super repressed dreams that I would’ve never admitted in the light of day.

“What can I say lover,” I preen, pecking the corner of his mouth knowing  full and well  that it makes Baz melt just slightly. “You wore me out.”

“You’re such a prick,” Baz retorts, lips curled and cheeks infused red.

“But?” I press with a cocked brow.

“But nothing Snow, you are a prick.” Baz charges.  I don’t say anything, only leer after  him, watching as the delectable sight of Baz’s naked form gets up, headed to the kitchen.

For the record, I definitely do not wince when Baz throws a spare pillow at my head. “Not a fucking show Snow.”

“I reckon I’ve got some spare notes if you felt unappreciated,” I call out in response, totally gleeful.

The glare Baz threw my way was downright menacing, but also very very hot. It’s unfair how he could pull that off, truly.

.-

I’m not sure when exactly I start to doze off, all that I notice is Baz— as quiet and graceful as ever— stealthily slipping back into the room some time later, setting the tea to the side and carding a ginger hand through my bronze curls. He’s so quiet about it, but I think I’ll always just be attuned to him, going alert whenever he so much even looks at me. Once I had  thunk it a survival technique, but now I know full and well how desperate I had been just to get Baz to look at me, to spare me some of his attention just for that infinitesimal moment of the day.

“Good night Habibi,” Baz tells me, just above a whisper, before pecking a barely there kiss to my forehead.

A feeling I can’t quite parse out— something splendid, something so warm and lovely— coils deep in my gut. 

Of course I  recognize the word, Habibi, an Arabic pet name that Natasha had constantly crooned to a pampered Baz, doting and delighted, when he was only a child— before all the madness that altered his world so completely.

I know without Baz ever having to say as much  that Baz only speaks the language on his especially bright days, usually sticks to incantations in English or French or Latin or Greek— I know that the Arabic reminds him too much of what he had, of what he lost. But occasionally, these small words would pour from his lips without his seeming to even realize it, and only ever when in regards to me. It’s something so fragile, so precious, that I never dare to  put any lyrics to it, just let it happen and try to show Baz how much it means to me in the silence that follows.

When Baz crawls back into bed with me, I do just that, cuddling closer and wrapping a protective arm around his torso and  kissing the sole dimple on his left shoulder. Baz relaxes into the embrace, and everything feels miraculous.

[caitybug]

(Un)sexy Saturday

Rules: post something sexy, or decidedly unsexy. 

I’ll put the story beneath the cut, but I’m titling this one “The Neighbors” haha. 

(Song inspo reference from @basic-banshee and Rebel Rebel)

If you want to read this and the other trainwrecks on ao3 you can here :). 

I’m tagging: @theflyingpeach @adamarks @angelsfalling16 @nightimedreamersworld @motherscarf @ninemagicks @thehoneyedhufflepuff @warriorbeeofthesea @krisrix @pipsqueakparker and @xivz (and anyone else who wants to, of course :D.)

Baz and I are in my bed, Penny is gone for the night, and I’ve finally got his ridiculous button-down shirt off.

(He refused to let me just rip it off; something about being designer and worth more than everything I own).

I’m above him, kissing down his chest. He has soft hair sitting in the middle that I run my fingers through while working my way down.

He’s so fucking fit I want to die sometimes.

Maybe I did.

I’ll gladly take this over whatever other universe I could have been in .

I get to his pants and groan when I realize he’s wearing a belt.

“Seriously, Baz, it’s like you weren’t prepared for this moment,” I say, sitting back and trying to unbuckle it.

It’s weird, unbuckling someone else’s belt. Angles are all off. It’s like trying to tie another person’s shoe. It’s easy when it’s mine, but the perspective is too different when it’s someone else’s.

“Apologies for thinking my boyfriend was competent and could handle a simple belt,” Baz replies, swatting my hands away to unbuckle it himself. “Now please, do continue.”

I laugh, but move back to his navel, unbuttoning his trousers and slipping them off.

When I start sucking on a spot right above his hip I hear a groan.

I suck harder. It’s tough work to get a mark on Baz, but I’m dedicated and determined when the situation arises.

I slip his pants off, and I hear another groan.

It sounds a little higher pitch than normal, but I’ll take it regardless.

I start kissing along his thigh and start to move my hand.

“Oh God, Richard!”  

I stop.

“What?” I look up at Baz, who has a hand over his face. “What are you playing-”

“Fuck, Shelly,” a man’s voice shouts.

Baz points to the ceiling.

The fucking neighbors.

“Can you put a silencing spell-”

“Already done, Snow,” Baz interrupts. “They’re that loud .”

A loud shrill moan escapes from the woman above them.

I let out a low whistle.

They must be having a real good time .

“Well we could ignore it,” I say, moving my hand back to stroke him.

He grabs my wrist right when the woman starts to scream for the man, (Richard, apparently. Hadn’t formally met him, but at least now I have a name), to go harder.

“Simon if you touch me I swear to God.”

“Well, they’re doing it.” I shrug, pointing upwards.

Something starts to creak from upstairs and I can feel myself blush.

The thought of listening to someone else fucking while we do sounds fairly creepy.

“Fine,” I sigh, lying down next to Baz. “How long do you think they’ll be at it?”

“How would I know, you live here. I don’t,” Baz replies cooly.

“We should have done this at your apartment.”

“Not with Fiona there we aren’t,” Baz replies.

The last time we tried she came home without us noticing and started blaring Orgasm Addict by the Buzzcocks.

We didn’t have sex for two weeks after that.

I also have not been invited round his apartment again.

“Well, what are we going to do then?” I ask. “It’s late, we could sleep.”

The man starts to groan. I think I hear him talk about how tight she feels.

“I don’t think sleep is going to happen, Snow.”

“Movie?” I ask, turning to look at him.

He glances at me and smirks.

“Only if I get to choose.”

I shrug.

“Fine by me.”

I reach over and kiss him. He lets me until the woman lets out a moan.

“You don’t think he’s hurting her, do you?” I ask.

“Snow, do shut up,” Baz replies, pushing me off him and sitting up.

[thesmalltowngal]

Snowbaz 26- Finding His Fangs 101

OTP Prompt #26: It’s eighth year, and Simon has cooked up a very… unique idea to get Baz to reveal his fangs. 

~ During this time of quarantine, I’m aiming to post much more regularly. Enjoy! ~

I have tried everything to get Baz to show me his fangs. Well, presumed fangs, as Penny says. But he’s a bloody vampire, and I just know it. The cold, pale skin, the sneaking around in the catacombs, and having colour right after. The strength and grace he has on the pitch, his cheekbones! (Penny says that has nothing to do with vampirism- but I know better. I’ve seen Twilight.) I’ve tried scaring him into it (he’s never even flinched), punching him into it, provoking him into it, giving myself a papercut near him, etc. And I’m almost bloody positive that his fangs pop out when he eats. So anyway, I’ve decided to try a different tactic. It probably won’t work, and he’ll probably punch me for it, (not probably. He will) but it’s my last resort. I haven’t told Penny about it and I’m not going to, because she’ll lecture me for it, no doubt. I’m going to Bella him. As in Bella from Twilight. 

As in seduce him. Logically, I know he’s probably not even capable of being seduced. And especially not by me. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s gay. (I’m not, but. Drastic measures, yeah?) Logically, I know that this will not work. But when have I ever been one for logic? I haven’t got much planned out, but I’m in our room now, and it’s dark and he’s just got back from the catacombs, so I’m thinking I’ll just go from there. 

When Baz sees me sitting up in bed, he looks me up and down and then sneers. “Snow.” His voice is clipped and to the point, blatantly showcasing the hate he feels for me. Crowley, this might be harder than I thought. (No- bloody impossible is what it might be.) I can’t work up the nerve to get up and approach him before he locks himself in our bloody en suite, and I hear the shower turn on.

I could go into the en suite while he’s in the shower. I could. I probably shouldn’t. But I very well could. And if I did and he was starkers, it might speed the process up a bit. I feel my cheeks burn at the thought of Baz naked. I wonder briefly what would happen if I went in there starkers. Bloody armageddon, probably. (This is the most my mind has thought this year.) But apparently, I’ve thought too much without any action, because by the time I finally un-glue my arse from my bed, Baz is out of the bathroom in his posh pajamas, completely ignoring me. 

His back is facing me when he says, “Can I help you with something, Snow?” (He has eyes in the back of his head, he does. Bloody vampire.) 

“Erm,” I stutter as I stand up, moving toward him. Just fangs. I just want to see the fangs. “Actually, yes,” I try my best to sound seductive, but I s’pose I sound right constipated because Baz spins right around and quirks an eyebrow at me. 

“Alright there, prat?” I’m bloody done with this. I only wanted to see his fangs, and now he’s insulting me and standing so close that I can see blue flecks in his grey eyes, and his cold is seeping through my warmth and I’m only focusing on his hair, and when did I start looking at his lips? (My mind is going too bloody fast.)

“Baz-” I whisper it, but his name gets engulfed by the bloody devil himself as his lips press against mine. It’s all teeth at first, but he slows the kiss down, and I take him by the back of the head to deepen it. His mouth is soft and cold, and much nicer than a bloke’s mouth should feel. But he pulls back all too soon, and looks right mortified. A faint blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks. 

“Sorry Snow, I just, um,” Baz never trips over his words. (Or apologizes.) “You were just so close, and I-” It’s my turn to shut him up with my mouth, bringing him back into the kiss. He doesn’t pull away this time. I’m very aware of his hands on my back and threading through my hair, tugging softly. I am not, however, so aware of why this began in the first place. (Not that I want it to stop.) 

Fangs I remember as I pull on his hair. (As soft as I had always imagined it to be.) I want to see his fangs, but I won’t mention it now, so he doesn’t think I’m using him. (I am using him. And I feel like a right prat about it.) (As I tug off his shirt, it doesn’t feel like I’m using him.) He puts sloppy kisses down my neck and my shoulders, leaving love bites. I can’t help but groan his name, and I wonder briefly how long he’s been wanting this. (How long have I been wanting this?) I don’t want this, I remind myself. It’s just means to an end. And that end is finally proving that he’s a vampire, once and for all. 

“Bite me,” I whisper fervently, barely audible. My voice wavers and Baz stills, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve gone and bloody fucked it up. 

“Excuse me, Snow?”

“Baz. Bite me.” I say again, meeting his gaze as he moves to sit up. (Just one look and this’ll all be over with.) 

“Simon, I don’t um-” He looks unsure, and I try to non-verbally communicate that he can trust me. (Even though this is all just a plot to prove his vampirism.) (Maybe I’m the one that’s been plotting this whole time.) “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He looks to anywhere but me. Right. So that’s practically an admission. I could just stop right here, call it good, yeah? But something tugs in my gut (and not my never ending hunger, for once), telling me that I shouldn’t stop here. I don’t want to stop here. 

“Baz, love,” I bring a hand up to his (Edward Cullen style) cheekbones. “It’s okay. I don’t care.” I try telling myself I do care, but, well. I don’t think I intended to go this far, and now I’ve got no idea where to go from here. 

For a moment, I think he’s either going to walk away or punch me. Instead, he reaches up to take my hand and takes a deep breath. Then he opens his mouth a bit. Before anything happens, I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. When his fangs drop and he flushes a bit, I can’t help but gasp a bit. 

“Wicked,” I expected a lot of things to come out of my mouth when I finally saw his fangs. Admiration was not expected. Attraction was not expected. Blood rushing to certain extremities was not expected. 

He smiles a bit and rolls his eyes when I try to get closer to look at them. “Really?” He asks, gently trying to push me away. (It’s half arsed. He’s not really trying, anyway.) 

“Crowley, Baz! They’re- they’re so cool.” He flushes just a touch again as I put my hand out to touch the front of one. (Is this weird? This is definitely weird.) “This is insane. Insane, Baz! Do they pop out when you eat?”

“Yes,” I always wondered why he didn’t eat in the dining hall. (He lisps with his fangs. It is the single most bloody arousing thing I’ve ever heard in my life.)

“And you um,” I stumble, looking for the right words. “They help you… drink?” He goes stiff and I rub soft circles in his hand to help him relax. He only nods. “Okay, and now the biggest question.” He braces himself. 

“Carry on then, Simon.”

“Your fangs- are they… are they like straws that suck the blood up or do you stab and then drink?” He stares at me in what I can only assume to be shock at my genius question, but then he laughs and rolls his eyes while shoving me, and I think he might be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, fangs and all. (Especially with the fangs.)

“I am not a sippy cup, Simon. I could kill you in an instant- without magic. I’m...” He trails off, looking sad. I think I know what he’s thinking, and I don’t like it a bit. (Maybe this morning I would’ve said I did. But now? Now it’s like everything has changed… maybe because everything has.)

I softly open his mouth and press a soft kiss to each of his fangs. Somehow, he manages to both tense and relax at the same time. “You’re beautiful, Baz.” I know his secret now. Years and years spent trying to get it out of him- for just some clue. But what I didn’t realize was that he was giving me bloody clues all the time! I was right daft, looking for other secrets- the wrong secrets... not knowing he was always trying to tell me his biggest one of all. 

He fancies me. More than that, I think after the right proper snog we had, I fancy him. (And I think it’s been that way a long bloody time, too.) I dunno what I thought I’d do once I figured out he was a vampire and he showed me his fangs. Maybe I thought I was going to tell the mage; finally get rid of Baz, once and for all. But really, I think Penny would tell me this has all been because I secretly wanted to snog him. (Maybe she’s right- usually is.)

Baz grins at me like I’m all he’s ever wanted. (He’s all I’ve ever wanted- I just didn’t know it yet.) “You’re not so bad yourself, Snow.” (His lisping is driving me mad.)

“You called me Simon, before.” He shakes his head and cocks his eyebrow in that infuriating way that’s always riled me up. (In more ways than one, now that I think on it.)

“No I-” I shove my mouth into his, risking my lip getting sliced open in order to shut him up. (If I would have known this method of shutting-up would work, I certainly would have done it a bloody long time ago.) 

After what seems like a very long and heated time, I pull back, despite his protestations. Sheepishly, but with more want and lust and love that I’ve ever felt before, I choke out, “About that bite I asked for earlier…”

[thehoneyedhufflepuff]

Crashing Through

written for the carry on countdown day 16:

reimagined scene

Rating: Teen

Words: 1300

Summary: What if Simon & Baz had just a few more minutes alone together on the beach at the end of Wayward Son? (Simon just wants Baz to be happy. Baz just wants Simon to see that he doesn't want to give him up.)

Read here or on AO3

SIMON

“Why can’t you see that I wouldn’t be happy anywhere without you?” 

It shocks me, how loud he’s being. It’s not quite like that night in the forest; his voice isn’t quite thunder. But still. I must look like he’s shocked me, because his face is softening into something else, something like…

Fuck, is that pity? I don’t fucking want his pity.

I just want him happy.

I don’t know why he can’t bloody see that he’d be better off without me. That it’ll hurt at first—it’ll really fucking hurt, if he feels anything close to what I do for him—but it’d be best, in the end.

I should’ve ended things before we came on this godforsaken trip. Then he wouldn’t’ve been in the line of fire. Actual, literal fire—

“Simon…” he whispers, and then he just...looks at me. He looks at me like I’m supposed to have an answer. 

I do.

I shake my head. “Baz…” Fuck, don’t start crying again. Not now…

I have to look away from him; I have to swallow the lump in my throat. If I have to see the pain in his eyes when I…

When I…

“Simon. Don’t you get it?”

“You’re wrong,” I say, and my voice wavers. “You can be happy. You will be, without me. Just—”

“Simon Snow,” Baz says, and just hearing the way my name sounds in his mouth is ripping my heart from my chest. “If you’re trying to end this, at least have the decency to look me in the eye.” His voice is calm. Cool. Quiet. Like he doesn’t care at all.

But of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

I look him in the eye, those lovely grey pools. Deep water grey. “We should. We.” I can feel the anger boiling in my gut on top of the heartbreak, washing over it like a rogue wave. How can he just sit there?

I clench my fists at my sides. I want to clock him. Kiss him. 

“We should,” I try again.

Baz grinds his perfect fucking jaw back and forth, and when he sucks on his fangs and sneers, I just—

“Use your words, Snow.”

—break.

I growl. I surge forward. I take him by the shirt collar and pull on him until our mouths crash together, until our teeth click. 

Then I push him down into the sand, and he lets me. 

BAZ

I think Simon Snow just broke up with me.

Or he tried to, rather. Now I’ve no idea what this is. 

I’m letting him go, letting him suck at my lips, letting him delve his tongue into my mouth, letting him press his hips into mine…

Because I’m weak. Because I’m a constant disappointment to myself. Because I’m hopelessly in love with Simon bloody Snow, and I’ll take what I can get while I can get it. 

I take it all. I’m not sure whether I’m allowed to kiss him back.

I don’t know what you want, Simon.

If I stop this, he may never kiss me again. This could very well be the last…

Kiss me, kill me, break my heart…

My face is wet. Cold, angry tears falling, falling…

I pull him closer. I take the chance on him pulling away.

He doesn't.

SIMON

Cold lips. Cold mouth.

Cold tears.

BAZ

There's a warmth against my skin.

New warmth. Wet warmth. Not...whatever this is. Not Simon's hot skin on mine. Not the warmth of the sun…

Simon Snow.

You were the sun, and I was crashing into you.

You still are. I still am.

He whimpers against my mouth.

He's crying.

SIMON

I can't look at him. And I don't want him to look at me.

I don't want him to see me.

I could keep kissing him forever. You can't hide from someone who's kissing you, but at least you can close your eyes.

I love him so much.

I want to tell him so.

My lips are trembling against his. Because I don't deserve him, I think. Then, No. Because it hurts to love someone this much. This way.

The bubble that's been building in my throat finally breaks.

BAZ

A sound vibrates against my lips.

And then Simon pulls away. I feel the sob tearing through his chest before it pours from his mouth.

He's still pressing me into the sand.

I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight against me.

It's rolling off him in waves, every awful thing he's been through this week, this last year and a half, his entire life.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I hold him. As I let him cry. As I cry with him.

"It'll be alright, love," I whisper to him. I've not called him that since…

Since…

He just shakes harder against me and bunches my shirt in his fist.

"I love you," I tell him, finally. Finally. Because there's nothing to lose now. (There's everything to lose.) Because this might be the last chance I get. Because I almost lost him without him ever knowing how much he means to me. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Simon sobs harder against my neck.

"I love you, Simon Snow," I say again. I say it loud enough for him to hear over the surge of the ocean. Over the surge of the waves crashing through him. "It'll be alright."

SIMON

Love. Love. Love.

I remember the night I asked Baz to be my boyfriend. (Well, the night I asked to be his terrible boyfriend. Fuck, I never thought I'd be this terrible.) I told him I didn't care that he didn't like me…

I was bloody well lying to myself, wasn't I? I've been lying to myself since the day I met him.

I take a few deep breaths and try to steady myself.

Baz loves me.

I pull back and scrub at my face with the heel of one hand.

I'm scared to look at him, and I'm just now realizing how ridiculous that is. I faced gunshots for him just the other day. I've slain vampires. (And that disgusting devil-eyed goat and his cronies.) I can practically hear the Mage in my head, saying, "You've slain a dragon, Simon." If only the bastard could see me now.

I'd really rather not think of the Mage just now.

I'm scared to look at Baz. But I do it anyway. My shadow is playing against his pale skin, shielding him from the light of the sun.

I can't let him go. Not now.

Come on, I think. Come on.

Baz reaches for me with one hand and pushes some hair back from my forehead.

He loves me.  

I can see it in his eyes.

I can feel it in the way he touches me, so gentle it makes me want to pull away.

I don't pull away. 

I nod at him. I can feel my lips starting to tremble again.

"You don't have to," Baz whispers, "if you're not ready—"

"No. No. I…"

I almost lost him. I could've lost him, and he never…

He's got tear tracks running down his face. His black hair is splayed shining against the sand. I can practically hear him complaining about trying to get the grains out.

The thought makes me huff a laugh. (It sounds like a sob.)

"Fuck, Baz. Fuck, I." Come on. Please... 

I take one more breath.

"I love you so fucking much." I practically choke on the words, but I've said them, and he's here.

I've got him right where I want him.

Under my hands, my body pressing into his.

My lips against his.

My hands in his hair.

His cold palms against the small of my back, under my shirt.

Baz.

Baz.

Baz.

"Baz!" Penelope. "Nicks and Slick, you two, sort yourselves on your own time; we have to go!"