#lauren's coc works

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 26, 20 December: Grief

rated T, 1635 words, general tags: husbands :D, kid fic, lots of crying all around, vampirism

Finish reading under the cut!

SIMON

There’s a loud crash from the kitchen and Baz jolts in bed next to me. I roll over and flop my arm around his waist so he can’t get up.

“It’s probably just Ana,” I mutter under my breath, nuzzling my face into Baz’s neck.

He plucks at my wrist to lift my arm up off of him and kisses my forehead before slipping out of bed to go investigate.

I’m right in that it is probably just Ana, but Baz is a better father than I am most of the time, so he goes to check on our daughter.

I snuggle into his pillow where it’s still indented and still smells like him and inhale deeply. I hear him flicking on the lights in the hallway and calling out Ana’s name softly. There’s another crash and then a wail from Ana. I hear Baz call, “Simon?”

He doesn’t sound panicked, per se, but just worried enough that I rush to get out of bed and into the kitchen.

I find Baz kneeling in front of our daughter who is sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, crying. Her face is all red and her curls are in all sorts of disarray at the top of her head. When I step around Baz, I see that her knee is bleeding heavily and I immediately drop to the floor next to Baz.

“What happened?” I ask Ana, reaching up to gently hold her cheek.

She cries louder and turns her face into my palm, getting tears and saliva all over my hand. “I—” she starts to stutter. “I was—” she cuts off fully, sobs overtaking her.

“Words, baby,” I say softly, using my other hand to wave Baz away to go get something to take care of the open wound on Ana’s knee.

He doesn’t move. I keep my hand on Ana’s cheek, but turn to look at Baz. He’s frozen still, his eyes wide and staring, unfocused, at the gash on Ana’s knee. It’s the most she’s ever bled before, and I can see where Baz’s fangs are filling his mouth.

“Baz,” I say quickly, putting my free hand on his shoulder. “Darling, please go get a bandage.”

He seems to shake out of it and gives me a quick glance before standing up to do what I ask. I’m not used to being the one in charge in a scenario like this, but I can tell that Baz is out of commission for taking control.

“Ana?” I say, stroking her hair now. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She takes a shuddering breath and nods. My brave little girl. “I, um, wanted to—” hiccup “— I was trying to get the sweets.” She points blindly behind herself at the counter where there’s a bit of blood smeared on the edge in front of a chair she must have dragged over to step on. She clearly tried to climb up on the counter to reach the top cupboard where Baz and I keep our stash of sugary treats and fell. (She’s just like her father, obsessed with sugar.)

I check her for any other injuries, but it’s just the one on her knee thankfully.

“Did you hit your head?” I ask. She’s four so she’s pretty resilient, but if she hit her head, we should be taking her to the hospital immediately.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. She reaches her arms forward for a hug.

I oblige, leaning in so I can wrap my arms around her tiny frame and hold her close. She’s still sitting on the kitchen chair so she doesn’t hit her knee against me, but I do the best I can to console her like this. My tail carefully pets along her side. “It’s alright, baby,” I whisper, stroking her hair, as she cries into my shoulder. “Next time, you ask one of us to get the sweets, right?”

She nods. I can feel her tears soaking the shoulder of my t-shirt.

I look up from where I’m holding her and Baz is coming back over with a damp washcloth and our first aid kit that’s gotten far too much use since having a child.

“Do you want me to—?” I ask Baz, keeping Ana pressed into my shoulder.

He shakes his head. “I can,” he insists. His fangs poke out from behind his lips when he speaks.

She’s never bled this much before. I think his fangs don’t pop when I bleed now because he’s used to my scent, but Ana’s fairly new scent is probably too much for him when it’s this close.

His eyes are wide as he starts to clean up her knee.

Ana pulls away from hugging me to wail and attempt to push Baz away as he cleans her knee with antiseptic that probably stings.

“Anais,” he says firmly, “it’s okay. It’s going to be alright.”

He smiles at her.

I watch as her features change from sadness to utter horror. She starts screaming and kicks her legs out, trying to get a hold on the chair so she can push away from him.

“Dad!” she wails, trying to jump into my arms. “It’s a monster!”

I watch as Baz’s face falls. He slumps where he’s kneeling and Ana manages to leap into my arms. I hold her close to my chest, absolutely getting her blood all over my shirt.

“Ana,” I try to calm her down. “Anais, darling, it’s just your father. It’s just dad. It’s not a monster.”

Baz is still kneeling before the chair. He hasn’t moved except that I can now see his shoulders shaking with sobs.

“His teeth!” Ana wails, screaming loudly enough that I’m sure our neighbors will be unhappy with being woken up at three in the morning. She starts to be unintelligible, her screams and crying blending together.

I regrettably leave Baz on the kitchen floor, hurrying to put Ana back to bed, bringing the first aid kit with me. I have to take care of her first. I settle her into her bed, whispering, “He’s not a monster, baby, it’s just your dad. We’ll talk to you about it in the morning, alright? I love you, dad loves you. It’s okay, it’s all okay. Please, Ana, go to sleep. Please.”

She’s tuckered out from all the crying so she falls asleep as quickly as I could hope and I clean off her knee and bandage it poorly before I rush back to the kitchen. Baz isn’t there anymore.

He’s not in our bedroom either. I notice that his coat’s gone from the front room. I don’t even bother to grab mine before rushing out the door and calling his name, neighbors be damned.

“Baz!” I shout.

I see his retreating figure turning a corner and I run after him. I’m too old for running this fast and my chest aches when I make it to him.

“Baz,” I say once I can actually touch him. I grab his shoulder and turn him to face me.

His eyes are red and there’s blood around his mouth. As I turn him, I see the dead rat drop from his fingers.

“Love,” I say, but it’s all I can say because Baz is crying again and hugging close to me, his arms wrapped around my neck. He’s surely getting rat blood in my hair. I couldn’t care less.

I let him cry and I hold him, trying to comfort him, but not knowing exactly how. “She’s just a little girl,” I whisper into his hair. “She doesn’t know any better. Ana loves you, you know that. She loves you so much. More than she loves me.”

He sobs out a laugh at that one. “Never,” he mutters. “You’re her favorite.”

I kiss the side of Baz’s head. “Not even close.”

Baz sniffles a bit and pulls back to wipe his eyes. “I’ve never been that close to her— when she’s bleeding—”

“I know.”

“What if I lost—”

“You wouldn’t,” I insist. “You haven’t ever lost control, Baz. Never with me and we’ve been together for, what, ten years?”

“Twelve,” he corrects, looking down at the ground between us.

I press both of my hands against his cheeks. He’s freezing cold, and so am I. At least he had the sense to grab a coat before going outside in the middle of the night. “She’s a kid,” I murmur. “We knew we’d have to explain it to her eventually. Remember how she reacted to my wings and tail?”

That was a horrendous three days. (Now she loves them — demands to go flying with me and plays jump rope with my tail.)

He nods slowly. Then he pushes his face into my neck. “I’m a monster,” he whispers. “Why did I think I could raise a child?”

I grip him close, my hands on the small of his back. “You’re not a monster. You’re an amazing father. Please, Baz, let’s go inside, and we’ll talk to Ana tomorrow. She’ll be back in your arms before you know it.”

He nods slowly. His skin is greyer than usual, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. I hold his hand as we walk back into the flat, and when we’re inside, he insists that I put on a jumper because my arms are “too cold to cry into”.

I tuck Baz into bed, not unlike how I tucked Ana in thirty minutes ago, and I kiss his forehead. I crawl into bed next to him and wrap my arms around his waist and he cuddles into my chest. He’s still sort of crying and I can’t blame him. I hold him until we both fall asleep.

Anais wakes us up the next morning by snuggling in between us and wrapping her arms around Baz.

[seducing-a-vampire]

I felt called to do this today-- and just generally to shout about how in awe I am of the talent in this fandom!

Tagging all those I tagged here, if you feel like it! And anyone else who wants to share the love! xoxoxo

I limited myself to only one-shots posted in the last few months and still got a little out of control. So, here are just a few of the MANY fics that have blessed my AO3 history lately! 

call it even by @effing-numpties​ (T, 846 words)

“And the road not taken looks real good now And it always leads to you and my hometown” -'tis the damn season, taylor swift

Baz returns home for the holidays and runs into his ex-roommate/almost boyfriend in a pub.

BEST TAG: baz being really dramatic send tweet

MY THOTS: it’s no secret i am a slut for carry on x taylor swift content (and calli keeps gracing us with that!!!), but even apart from that, this is an achingly beautiful fic. The dynamic of seeing each other after years apart and never knowing what could have been is expressed so wonderfully. It’s a hell of an emotional journey in < 1000 words, and I can’t wait for the rest of these evermore fics!! 

I have the power of magic and Vine compilations on my side by @vampire-named-gampire​ (T, 5240 words)

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Penny, who’s gaping at Miss Possibelf, her expression part excited, part horrified. “Listen,” she says, rolling her eyes. (She’s scarily like Baz sometimes. Or Baz is scarily like her.) “That includes memes, Vines, Tik-Toks and whatever else you could think of,” Miss Possibelf says. My mouth falls open as I realize what’s going on. “Are we… are we doing Internet spells?”

BEST TAG: the mage gets owned

MY THOTS: if you somehow missed this gem during COC, please do yourself a favor and RUN to AO3 right now. It’s hilarious and sweet and we truly love to see established relationship moments at Watford! Brought us iconic spells like “Move I’m Gay” which is canon to me now.

left on read by @sncwbaz​ (G, 1671 words)

Baz stared at the texts long enough that his screen almost turned to black again. He was about to close out of the app when a tiny speech bubble with moving dots appeared at the bottom of the chat. It took him a moment and a held breath to figure out what this meant. Simon was typing.

__

Baz can't sleep and decides that reading through past text conversations he's had with Simon is a good way to spend the very early ours of the morning. Things get interesting when he suddenly sees that Simon is typing something. At 3am.

BEST TAG: low key angst 

MY THOTS: a quietly heartbreaking but also hopeful look at simon + baz’s relationship as they struggle to connect sometime pre-WS. They’re tender and hesitant and awkward, and it’s all beautifully written. read this!

NSFW recs under the cut: 

Been In Between by @snowybank​ (E, 1586 words)

“Ready for another?”

Baz splutters. “Absolutely not. I do have a refractory period, Simon.”

Simon and Baz are soft (and hard) and they test some limits.

BEST TAG: just a fuckin SPRINKLE of praise kink and monsterfucking

MY THOTS: Yall. I don’t even know what to say except if you are a human with a pulse you need to read this fic. Lauren is a fucking ICON at writing smut with so many feelings, and this was an absolute masterpiece. The best part of it is ... kind of a spoiler???? At least it took me by surprise and positively melted my heart. So read it and be melted yourself.

Hot in Here by @otherworldsivelivedin​ (M, 2599 words)

Simon Snow can’t dance. At least, that’s what I thought. This fic is pure self-indulgence over the fact that 90s/00s R&B is The Best genre to go dancing to 👌 and my all time favourite HC that Simon can't ballroom dance, but that boy got moves and I will die on this hill.

BEST TAG: A love letter to 90s/00s R&B

MY THOTS: i cry when i think about how much I love this fic. Dem spun the most masterful world in a small space, and it’s just so FUN????? it’s HILARIOUS??? and I just love to see these boys enjoying life. truly an instant classic in my mind.

Envy of the Gods by @motherscarf​ (E, 8526 words, see warnings)

“You are a naiad?” The nymph rolled their eyes. “You are a cow? Or a man. Both?” Their tone was sarcastic. Simon didn’t notice. “I am a man,” Simon frowned. He hadn’t tucked his tail very well- it twitched free as if it wanted to argue with his statement. Simon pretended he didn’t notice. “You don’t… seem like a nymph.” “And what, pray tell, does a nymph seem like?” Sneered the nymph.

Or, Orpheus & Eurydice au, but Simon is a minotaur and Baz is a naiad

BEST TAG: cancel Apollo 2020 

MY THOTS: okay, I admittedly was not a Greek Mythology Gay (tm) and i am woefully lacking in said knowledge, but that did absolutely nothing to lessen my enjoyment of this beautiful and heart-wrenching fic. Also, I’ve since been working my way through percy jackson books for the first time (lol) and this fic has been oft on my mind. The prose is immaculate, and the emotions are soft, and just everything is too too lovely and bittersweet!!!! GAH.

Adams Driver is Well Fit by @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire​ (E, 709 words)

Set Watford 8th year. Simon and Penny watch Star Wars at the cinema. Is Simon really thirsting after Adam Driver - a certified sex god? Or could it be someone else?

BEST TAG: The author isn't into Adam Driver but can sure appreciate good aesthetics

MY THOTS: i am incredibly self-indulgent in reccing this because Di very kindly wrote it for me BUT everyone else should read it too because it is: (1) hilarious, (2) sweet, and (3) truly demonstrates the lengths of simon’s lack of self-awareness. and we love that for him. also in my mind, everyone in CO/WS is a star wars nerd.

[torontotravelblog]

TORONTO ON A BUDGET IN SUMMER BY A TORONTONIAN

Toronto is an incredible, multicultural city that uses visitors social, natural as well as gastronomical experiences. It's feasible to discover this vibrant city on a tight budget with a couple of expert ideas thanks to Toronto indigenous Lauren from Global Locavore! Right here are 6 of her preferred summer tasks both on and off the beaten path. Stick around till the end recommendations concerning navigating!

1. THE CITY TRAVELER: SCENIC TOUR THE CITY BY BIKE

Exploring the city by bicycle is a perfect method to explore Toronto's numerous areas. Follow this plan for an economical trip via a few of my preferred areas.

Resident's itinerary: Start your journey at the Coxwell Opportunity Train in Greektown. Below you can find a Toronto Bike-Share stand where you can lease a bicycle for the day. Go out along Danforth Opportunity to appreciate the personality of the area. Transform south along Broadview Avenue as well as take your first quit at Riverdale East Park to obtain a caffeine hit at the local favourite-- Fowl Coffee. Continue on to Queen Street where you will turn west as well as head to the Distillery District. Here you'll locate art studios that present gorgeous works done by regional artists.

Grab a sandwich from Bricks Bakery for a budget-friendly lunch before heading back to Queen Street. Cycle throughout town and quit as soon as you reach the Queen West area for some fashionable window shopping.

Your last stop is Trinity Bellwoods Park. If you're dehydrated, get a craft beer from Trinity Bellwoods Brewery ($ 4-8/ bottle). While I can't formally excuse drinking them in the park, you'll see lots of residents doing so.

Expert's advice: This route does not follow roads with designated bike paths, nevertheless you can click to check out the dozens of bike courses around Toronto. The Bike Share program does not give safety helmets, so bring your own. This course remains mainly on bike lanes, nevertheless beware on Queen Road due to the traffic. Biking is not the same as cycling in particular European countries, nonetheless generally, vehicles respect bikes.

Budget pointers: To keep this bike rental on budget plan, you require to obtain a bit creative. (More info concerning the bike share program). The day pass consists of unrestricted half an hour rides, but after the first thirty minutes, it will cost you per thirty minutes. To prevent paying the extra charges, locate a bike stand every fifty percent hr and also exchange your bike, which resets the clock. Use these pit stops as a possibility to discover the locations above.

2. THE MULTICULTURAL: CHINATOWN, KENSINGTON MARKET & LITTLE ITALY

Resident's plan: Start your day in Chinatown for a breakfast of Dim Sum at Rol San, a neighborhood budget favourite. After that, stroll to Kensington Market, a diverse, fun area in the heart of the city, which shines on Pedestrian Sunday. Patronize its many clothing outlets, record shops and pre-owned shops prior to getting hold of a seat on an outdoor patio area with a beverage. Later on, stroll west along University Road to Little Italy where you can take pleasure in some gelato and excellent individuals viewing.

3. THE CREATIVE: VALUE ART ATTRACTIONS

With first-rate galleries, art galleries, and studios, Toronto is a remarkable place to take pleasure in a dynamic arts scene. Annual events consisting of TIFF (Toronto Film Celebration), North by Northeast (real-time music event), and also Edge (live theatre celebration) supply the best opportunity to discover up and also coming artists. Open year-round, the Royal Ontario Gallery (ROM) as well as the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) supply low-cost access to their basic galleries.

Local's itinerary: Spend the mid-day discovering downtown on foot. Make certain to check out Nathan Phillips Square, the Eaton's Centre and Queen's Park. Take a stroll with the College of Toronto School and also get hold of an affordable early dinner at one of the abundant food trucks. Delight in an economical evening of society at the AGO or ROM.

Insider's advice: NOW Publication is a remarkable, free weekly newspaper that notes all the latest events including music programs, art installments, motion pictures, theatre openings, and so much more. Choose it up from the paper boxes on practically every road.

Budget plan tips: Conserve by intending in advance by seeing on the days with discount admission. The ROM provides $10 admission on Fridays from 4:30 pm-8:30 pm as well as the AGO has cost-free entry on Wednesday evenings from 6-9pm. Reward: The COC uses a weekly cost-free performance collection on Tuesdays as well as Thursday from 12-1pm throughout a number of months of the year.

4. THE OUTDOORSY: HIGH PARK

Take pleasure in a break from the city with a walk through a metropolitan forest. High Park is a huge park situated in the west side of Toronto, perfect for a day in nature.

Resident's schedule: High Park is quickly accessed by its name metro station (High Park). Adhere to the smooth routes that crisscross the park to uncover a fish pond with several wild animals species as well as a public pool. There is also a zoo with deer as well as bison.

As soon as you have actually had your fill, leave the park by the south side, near the waterfront. Appreciate the views as you stroll down the car-free waterfront path to the Humber Bay Arch Bridge. Complete your stroll in the Roncesvalles area, where you'll discover lots of restaurants as well as coffee shops with patios.

Expert's guide: If checking out in the springtime, come on a weekday to experience the cherry blossoms in family member tranquility. If checking out in the summer, Shakespeare in the Park places on a nighttime play which is pay-what-you can.

Spending plan pointers: Entrance to the park as well as the Zoo is cost-free. One adult day pass to the pool is $3.50 and the storage lockers are free if you bring your very own lock. Having supper at one of the area Polish dining establishments in Roncesvalles can be cost-effective and extremely passionate. More info concerning where to consume in this historic neighborhood right here!

5. THE CLASSIC: EXCURSION TO THE TORONTO ISLANDS

The Toronto Islands are a collection of pretty, mini islands in Lake Ontario. These relaxing, car-free islands are easily available by a short ferryboat trip from downtown Toronto making for a charming, cost-effective outing.

Local's itinerary: From the ferry anchors, take the Ward Island ferry, which will certainly drop you at the eastern part of the island. Choose a walk along the pedestrian-friendly roads as well as admire the cottage-like residences before getting hold of an area on the coastline. Stroll along the boardwalk along the southerly coast.

Midway you will discover the busy and aptly named Centre Island. There are a variety of overpriced activities, including renting a bike, giving in food, and also amusement park rides. Instead, play a video game of FREE BYO (bring your own) frisbee golf on the dedicated course.

Later on, stroll west to Hanlan's Factor, a clothing optional beach loaded with friendly residents. It's the ideal location to have a drink and view the sundown over the city before taking the Hanlan's Factor ferry back midtown.

Expert's suggestions: Plan a full day see by showing up early as well as remaining until dark. Stay clear of the lines at the ferry by taking a trip at off-peak times and skip the line entirely by buying your ticket online ahead of time. The ferries leave from Jack Layton terminal and run routinely (every 15 minutes) in summer. Click for the daily timetable!

Spending plan suggestion: Barbecue! Food and beverages on the island are pricey, so bring your own food and also beverages from residence or the supermarket

6. THE SUSTAINABLE: SCENIC TOUR EVERGREEN BLOCK FUNCTIONS

Within the Don River Valley, you will find a stunning instance of urban renewal within an abandoned block manufacturing facility. The Evergreen Block Functions (EBW) is a sustainable tourism highlight and also enjoyable for every ages!

Citizen's travel plan: Go to EBW on a Saturday or Sunday. Take pleasure in a late morning meal of regional, organic produce at the Farmer's Market prior to paying attention to some wonderful live songs. There is a totally free walking tour at 2pm lead by knowledgeable overviews (even more information concerning the excursion). Drop by the kids's yard to learn about expanding food and also building with all-natural products. Finally, check out the yard market for environmentally friendly mementos.

Insider's guidance: Evergreen has actually a schedule full of cost-free occasions that deserve searching for when planning your check out. Take a self-guided walking in the park behind EBW to take pleasure in fish ponds filled with turtles, beavers and fish. Be sure to reach the lookout for a bird's-eye view of the river valley and Toronto.

Spending plan ideas: The EBW is entirely free, nonetheless prices at both the marketplace as well as the cafe can be high. To arrive, take the complimentary shuttle bus that leaves from Broadview Subway Station every half hr. If you drive, parking is pricey and also restricted.

TRANSPORTATION

Navigating Toronto can be completed by taxi, Uber, walking, cycling or taking transportation. One of the most affordable choice is taking the TTC. You can acquire (a minimum of) three tokens for an excellent cost. A day pass consists of endless traveling for someone on weekdays OR as much as 2 grownups and also 4 youngsters on weekend breaks. Keep in mind to constantly get a paper transfer as evidence of repayment to enable you to switch over in between train, bus and streetcars. (Even more regarding riding public transportation below.).

Reaching Toronto will likely include a stop at Union Station which links straight to the TTC. If you are showing up by means of Pearson Flight terminal, you can take the brand-new UP Express train to Union. Those taking flights from Billy Bishop Airport can take a shuttle from the island to Union. Both the VIA train as well as the local GO bus are located at Union Station.

A TTC bus (192) is readily available from Pearson Airport to Kipling Subway Terminal at the common TTC fare. However, the extra comfort, benefit, as well as speed is well worth the additional price on the Up Express Train.

INEXPENSIVE ACCOMODATION IN TORONTO.

The problem with being a local is that you stay in a city, which makes it hard to have experience staying in hostels as well as hostels, nevertheless Karen has stayed in a number of resorts around the city, from Yorkville to Downtown.

According to Booking.com, you'll pay concerning 60-70 per night for a low/mid range hotel although you can reserve a hostel bed for $29-$ 39 per evening.

The post “TORONTO ON A BUDGET IN SUMMER BY A TORONTONIAN” was seen originally on WanderlustingK

Looking for IV therapy services in Toronto? Contact The IV Lounge.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 18, 12 December: Angst

rated T, 1058 words, general tags: just pure pain, crying in bed, hurt/comfort, fuck the mage

I assume that everyone has seen and cried over this art as much as I have at this point, but I asked tessa if I could write a fic based on it and they said I could so here I am :')

Finish reading below the cut!

BAZ

It’s been two days.

Two days since Dr. Wellbelove called Simon to tell him everything. He still won’t tell me exactly what happened, how they got to the conclusion, or even who was involved in figured it out.

He hasn’t spoken to me in over forty-eight hours.

He hasn’t cried or talked or yelled or anything. To be fair, he’s been sleeping most of those hours, all curled up in the sheets, tears and snot covering his face as he only cries in his sleep. (I hope he hasn’t noticed that I’ve wiped off his face while he’s in bed a few times.) (How one person can accrue so much mucus is beyond me.)

Simon’s letting me hold him now.

He hasn’t been for the past two days, so I’m trying to soak in every inch of physical contact I’m getting. His wings are spread out, one curled around my back as he leans into my chest. I’ve got one arm around his shoulders and the other skating up and down his arm in what I hope is a soothing motion.

I’m waiting for him to say something. I don’t want to push him to have a conversation he’s not ready to have. And if I have to sit here for hours or days, waiting for him to talk to me, I’ll do it.

“Baz,” Simon whispers, and his voice is creaky from lack of use.

“Yes, love,” I breathe, gripping his bicep tight for a moment. A reminder that I’m here and that I’m listening.

There’s silence. And maybe I just imagined him talking to me. “How could he?” he asks. So quiet that I can hardly hear.

I don’t know. I don’t know the answer. For every moment that Simon has not been crying or screaming or angry, I’ve been stewing with hatred. I’ve always fucking hated the Mage, and now, I’m ready to find his grave, dance on it, piss on it, and then set the entire establishment on fire. No rest for the bloody wicked.

“I don’t know, Simon,” I say. I try not to let my rage betray itself in my voice. I don’t think Simon’s in the emotional place to curse the Mage’s name right now. (Davey. Fucking disgusting.)

“How did I not mean anything to him?”

I’m not sure if it’s better to insist that he did or that he didn’t. Either way, it’s horrible. “You mean everything,” I say. “You mean everything to me. To the people who love you.”

Simon tucks his face closer into my collarbone. Everything he’s said has been so vague up to this point. And he’s held it together.

Finally, I hear him sob. I feel it hitch against my chin where his head is wedged between my neck and my head. He cries openly, squeezing me tightly. I hold him. What else can I do?

“I don’t want to be his son.”

It’s a breath of a sentence. And one that digs deep into my chest and buries itself into my heart. Finds its way to every ounce of me that loves Simon and hates anyone who would dare to hurt him.

“I know,” I say, tucking my face against his hair. I reach my hand up to blindly find his face, stroking over his damp cheek with my thumb. And then, I think about my own family. I think about my father and his distant form of affection, his refusal to discuss things that matter or things that aren’t comfortable for him. I think about my mother. And about Daphne.

Simon chokes on a sob.

“You’re not his son,” I say quietly.

He starts to pull away from me like he wants to look into my eyes to see if I’m fucking with him, but I hold him fast to my chest. Just let me say this, Simon, then you can look at me all you want.

“We choose our family,” I murmur softly. “Jamie and Lady Ruth are your family, not just because you were born into their family tree, but because you choose to be with them. Penelope’s your family because you chose her when you were eleven years old and your prick of a roommate wouldn’t associate with you.”

He snorts a wet laugh at that. He starts to speak, but I stop him by moving my thumb over his lips. He kisses it.

“You choose your mother, Lucy, because you know that she loved you. You know that she did everything she could do to care for you, to protect you. That’s what families do, Simon, they protect.”

I let him move back from me now, just enough that I can slide down the bed a bit and be on the same level as he is. I look him in his eyes. They’re wet with tears and I want to kiss him enough that he never cries again, but I don’t have that power.

“You’re not his son,” I say firmly. “He is not your father. You have no obligation to hold him as such.”

“He didn’t even want me,” he whispers. “He sent me to a care home every summer.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t he want me?” Simon demands, crying harder now. I’ve never seen him cry this much. Except, well, maybe when he killed the Mage.

I press my hands against either side of Simon’s neck softly, pulling him forward so I can kiss his forehead. “I don’t know, love,” I say. I don’t know a lot of things tonight. “But I do know that he’s gone. He can’t hurt you any longer. No one has a claim over you beyond the grave.”

Perhaps not the best sentiment because I’m sure he’s now thinking about Lucy — but if he is, he doesn’t show it.

He’s quiet, and his tears start to subside. He hiccups a few times like a kid and I hold him close, wrapping him so tightly in my arms that I’m not sure he can breathe. He doesn’t make any motion to move so either he can breathe or he’s attempting to drown himself in my chest.

I can’t say I blame him.

He comes up for air and kisses my chin.

We don’t say anything else. Simon falls asleep in my arms soon after.

The fucking Mage. May he rest in pain.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 28, 22 December: Prophecy

rated T, 881 words, general tags: banter in the green apple sheets, simon being mad at baz for being good at things, singing

Finish reading under the cut!

SIMON

I’m tucked into Baz’s arms. He’s holding me because I asked him to — I’ve been feeling off all week and the only thing I could think of that would make me feel better was being held while eating a sandwich.

(It’s just as awesome as I thought it would be.)

I’m leaned up against Baz’s chest with my head sort of propped under his chin. We fit nicely this way because he’s taller (bastard) and my wings aren’t in the way, just draped over the side of the bed behind me and dragging on the floor.

I’m probably getting crumbs from my sandwich in his sexy chest hair (bastard), but Baz doesn’t seem to really mind. He’s just slowly running his fingers through my hair, teasing apart the curls and working out any knots he encounters.

Just as I’m finishing up my sandwich, Baz tugs at my hair a bit, getting me to groan and shift to look up at him.

“What?”

He grins. “Did you ever hear that song they used to sing about you?” he asks.

I can’t tell if he’s taking the piss or not. “What?” I repeat dumbly.

“Before Watford,” Baz continues. “Should I sing it for you?”

“Is it worth hearing your horrid singing voice?” I tease. (He’s got a nice voice and he knows it. Fucking bastard.)

Baz jabs his fingers into my side and I burst into giggles, trying to push him off me. “Oi! Fuck off! I’m sorry!”

He pulls his fingers away from my side only to shove them under my t-shirt, gliding them against the soft skin of my stomach. “Then shut it and listen.” He reaches for his wand on the bedside table and raises to use as a conductor’s baton as he starts to sing.

“Comes, he comes, the Mage’s Heir,

With blade of fire and golden hair,

And should evil meet him there—”

I cut him off. “No way they sang that!” I insist. “I would’ve heard it!”

Baz rolls his eyebrows and pinches my stomach, making me jump a bit. “Do you want to hear the rest or not?”

Even though I’m certain he's just made all this up and is doing it to humiliate me, I do want to hear the rest. “Fine,” I mutter, wiggling to settle closer to his chest. I watch his hand as it waves his wand around to the beat of the song.

“The blood will flow, the world will know,

Our just and handsome,

Blue-eyed, winsome,

Lovely, blushing Mage’s Heir.”

He stops, his voice wavering on the last note like he’s not sure whether to hold it out for a big finish or to let it lie.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “No way they sang that,” I mutter. “Especially that last part.”

Baz smiles at me. His fangs are out. I don’t know when they popped, but I guess I don’t really care. Sometimes he just lets them out — says it relieves pressure in his mouth. “Alright,” he concedes. “Maybe they didn’t.”

“Did you make the whole thing up?” I ask, leaning up to kiss his jaw, my neck twisted around at an awkward angle.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t you like to know, my handsome and winsome heir.”

I’m blushing now. Lovely, blushing Mage’s Heir. It sort of jabs me in the sternum to be referred to as the Mage’s Heir, but it’s been years since he died and I spent his money on this flat where I’ve had sex with my vampire boyfriend on every surface, so I’m mostly over it.

“You’re a prick,” I mutter. I slide one arm underneath his back and hug his chest tightly, hitching a leg up over his thigh.

Baz kisses my head. “Am I the evil that met you there?” he asks. I can’t turn my head to look at him so I have only his tone of voice to go off of. He sounds… nostalgic.

“Blood did flow,” I muse. “But you’re not evil — and it wasn’t your blood that flowed.”

“That’s because I’m a vampire—”

“The song didn’t know that, did it?” I tease. “And I guess the world knew?” I continue, referencing the song again.

Baz laughs. “They don’t know nearly enough. They don’t know that you’re here. With me.”

“Well,” I start, smiling against his chest and tracing my fingers along his side softly. “I’m glad they don’t. I want you to myself.”

He doesn’t say anything else and tucks his jaw against my head.

Before we’ve both fallen asleep, he squeezes me close. “I made it all up,” he whispers. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Handsome—”

He kisses my head.

“Winsome—”

He kisses me again.

“Lovely—”

Kiss.

“Blushing—”

His free hand pinches my cheek as he kisses my hair again. I blush.

I don’t want him to finish it, so I twist out of his grasp and push my mouth against his.

Being the Mage’s Heir wasn’t ever what I wanted. All I wanted was to belong, to be wanted by someone. I thought that someone was the Mage. But now I know it’s Baz — despite everything, despite my prophesied future, despite my destiny to destroy my vampire roommate in a battle worthy of actual songs written about me, Baz is that someone.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 23, 17 December: Magic

rated T, 987 words, general tags: biting, first time biting, not really magic

Finish reading under the cut!

BAZ

Simon’s legs are around my hips and he keeps kicking them so his feet smack into the backs of my thighs.

“Simon, please,” I mutter, pulling away from his neck to glare at him. “Can you hold still?”

He whines. (He’s been whining all day.) “You’re taking forever!”

I take a deep breath and drop both of my hands to the tops of his thighs and squeeze. He starts a bit at the touch, but then presses into it. He’s sitting on top of our kitchen counter while I stand between his legs and he refuses to sit patiently while I… figure this out.

His neck’s right there. My mouth is six inches away from it. An ocean stands between my pressing my mouth to his neck and taking what we’ve discussed is probably good for both of us.

“Are you alright?” Simon asks, more gentle in tone this time. He rubs my back, sliding his hand under my shirt to touch warm skin to cold. His tail flicks up and slides into the waistband of my trousers — not trying to get fresh, just wanting to touch me. “We can do this another time.”

I shake my head. “No, I can do it. We’ve discussed it.” And I do mean it. I can. I just have to build up to it, maybe.

Simon nods and rubs my back more, sliding his fingers in the dip where my spine is.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask.

Usually, Simon would probably tease me for asking and make some sort of comment about always wanting to kiss me (which is a half-lie, besides), but I’m sort of jittery, and I think he sees that. He’s gotten better about knowing when to tease and when to hold. We both have.

He leans down to kiss me, gentle. Always gentle now. (Well, not always. But always when that’s what I need.)

(It’s what I need now.)

It’s soft and slow, but his tongue teases past my lips, and I let it. He warms me up like this — so thoroughly that I almost feel like we don’t need to do the rest of this. I don’t need to bite him. (Which… I don’t. I’m full on rat blood, because that was the agreement.) (But, I want to.)

I pull away from his mouth and kiss along his jaw. His short fingernails dig into my back and I press closer to him. I’m at his neck now. I’m where I’ve planned to bite him for all these months. Where I’ve always wanted to bite him.

“Are you ready?” I ask softly into his skin.

Simon nods, one hand pressing to the back of my neck, sliding its way into my hair and tugging softly.

My fangs are ready when I need them — they slide into place. They feel heavier than usual; it’s difficult to keep my head up and my mouth away from Simon’s neck when all I want to do is drop and fall into him, drown in him, taste every bit of him.

I take three deep breaths (Simon takes them with me) and then grip his thigh with one hand and the opposite side of his neck with the other. I bite down.

Simon’s blood surges into my mouth and I’m immediately overwhelmed; I nearly pull back, nearly choke on how good it tastes, how little I feel I’m allowed to have this.

But Simon’s holding me to him and I know he wants me to take it. So I take long, slow pulls, sucking softly at his skin and shutting my eyes tightly.

Ever since we first started seriously discussing how this would have to work, I’ve imagined how it would feel. For Simon and for me.

I never thought that it would feel like this — like, well, somehow it feels like Simon’s magic. Warm, hot, burning, coating my throat and chest, dropping into my belly and spreading like I’ve just taken a shot of whiskey and let it burn through my torso.

Simon’s making soft pleasured noises and he’s gripping me tightly.

After an incredibly awkward conversation with Nicodemus about it, we learned that it would probably feel orgasmic to Simon so in order to avoid any complications with that on our first go, Simon’s wanked before this.

He’s still hard up against my stomach.

His magic (his blood) spills into my body and I take everything I can. I’m full — full of blood, full of love, full of Simon. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.

It’s difficult to pull away. But I manage it, retracting my fangs up into my gums and running my tongue slowly over the two marks standing out on Simon’s neck. They’re already healing and I watch as they quickly blend in with his freckles and moles. (I kiss a few of those for good measure.)

Then, I lean back, take stock of how I’m feeling, and look at Simon. I feel… surprisingly fine. Full. Reminiscent of the first time Simon shared his magic with me. I’m reserving the right to spiral about it later, though.

Simon looks like he’s just had a good shag and I sort of want to laugh, but then he’s opening his eyes and smiling so brightly at me that I couldn’t even imagine doing anything but kissing him. So I do.

“Feel alright?” I ask.

Simon nods. “Fuck, Baz, yeah. That was… yeah.”

I smile softly. “Yeah. For me, too.”

He wraps both arms around my neck and kisses my forehead. He rubs his cheek into my hairline, humming. “Now, carry me to bed.”

Laughing, I pinch his sides. “You have two legs.”

“I’ve just had severe blood loss, I can’t walk all the way there!”

There’s a pinch in my chest, but I scoop him into my arms and carry him towards the bedroom, making sure to knock his feet against every surface I can.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 27, 21 December: Hope

rated T, 737 words, general tags: biting/blood-related, flying, general softness

Finish reading under the cut!

SIMON

There’s a cracking of a branch on the ground and Baz’s head flicks up. He eyes the deer as it steps into view and I don’t want to say I look on in lust, but it’s not not lust, as he rushes to it and digs his fangs into its neck before it has even noticed he’s there.

He’s been better about drinking animals recently — not snapping their necks and instead, drinking just the right amount so the animal might be a bit woozy from lack of blood, but won’t die. We usually have to spend more time in the forest for Baz to feed on more animals now, but I can’t say I’m complaining.

The trees are dense here so I can’t spread my wings to their full span while we’re walking, but once I see that Baz is satiated, I’ll fly him up above the treeline and I’ll get to fully expand. (All fourteen feet.) (Baz took a measuring tape to my wings months ago.)

“Alright?” I ask once Baz has let his second deer of the night go bounding back into the cover of the trees.

Baz looks at me, nodding. His skin is a warm-toned grey instead of pale and cool, which happens whenever he actually gets a decent amount of blood in his system. He certainly wasn’t getting enough at Watford.

He steps over to me and wraps his arms around my neck, kissing my jaw. I try to catch his mouth with mine, but he turns away from me, letting my lips land on his cheek.

“C’mon,” I whine. “How often do we have to go through this?”

“At least once more,” Baz mutters. He shakes his head when I go in for another kiss so I hold back.

If he doesn’t want to kiss me tasting like deer blood, then whatever. His loss. (He knows I don’t mind the taste. Anything to get that hint of him in my mouth.)

“Come flying with me?” I ask.

Baz raises his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t we be getting back?”

“It can’t be that late,” I insist, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly and tugging him to me. I give my wings an experimental flap. “Let me show you the stars,” I whisper into his ear.

Baz laughs softly and kisses my cheek. He tightens his grip on my neck. “Twinkle, twinkle,” he whispers, no magic to it. (There’s magic in every word he says to me.)

I launch us off the ground, maneuvering past a few tree branches before we’re pushing past the tree cover and into the night air. Baz clings onto me tightly and I get to hold him the same way while my wings do all the work.

I can smell the blood on Baz. It should probably disgust me, but it’s Baz, so I want to slobber all over him and make his scent my new deodorant.

“Baz,” I call, my voice having to be a bit louder than usual to carry over the wind whistling in between us.

He looks away from the ground and up now, his eyes reflecting the lights in the sky back to me. I can’t help but smile. “What?”

“Do you think you could spare a kiss right now?”

Baz raises his eyebrows — somehow completely composed despite him clinging tight to my neck and letting me fly him around in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. He kisses my nose.

“Not what I mean,” I complain, “and you know it!”

“Are you really so kiss-deprived that you can’t wait until we get home so I can brush my teeth?”

I pout, coming to a stop in the air, my wings powerfully beating to keep us upright but not covering any distance. “You’ve kissed me while tasting like rat blood.”

“A temporary lack of judgement.”

I don’t mention how he’s done that many times now. “Why do you insist on torturing me?”

Baz rolls his eyes and wraps his legs around my hips, holding himself to my torso. “I’ll think about it,” he concedes.

Which means he will.

I whoop and grip him tight as I shoot off into the sky, thinking that maybe if I try hard enough, I could make it to the nearest star. Maybe that’ll be our star.

Then, I remember that’s stupid and we’d die before we made it there, but it’s a nice thought.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 10, 4 December: Body Swap

rated M, 1620 words, general tags: sexy body swap, fangs, wings, magical mishaps, very bad/unreasonable set up in order to make them do what i wanted, masturbation

Read under the cut!

SIMON

“Fine, Baz, try out your new spell. You know it’s not going to do anything right? You’re just going to be shouting in our flat and probably wake up the neighbors.”

“Freaky Friday!”

“Baz!”

It comes out of Baz’s mouth (which is somehow attached to me), which makes me nearly lose my dinner.

“Simon…?” Baz asks slowly, his voice coming from my lips. I’m staring at himself from inside Baz’s body and I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. I love Baz, yeah, but I don’t want to sit in my boyfriend’s body and stare at myself.

“What the fuck did you just do?” I demand, recognizing that my voice is now Baz’s voice. It’s pretty sexy so I guess I’m not mad about that part.

In fact. The potential is endless here — I’m in Baz’s body, he’s in mine. I wonder how Baz feels when I’m balls deep— no.

That’s crossing some sort of line and I really just want Baz to fix it before I get too caught up in what it feels like when Baz and I have sex from the opposite end.

Baz shakes his (my) head and stands up. The wings spread out from behind him and he looks back at them, his eyes wide. “Fuck,” he mutters.

And I’m about to be offended. (I fucking knew he hated them.)

But then I recognize that look in Baz’s eyes. It’s weird to see it in my own face, but I can still tell. He’s turned on. I will say, the wings sort of look nice on my body when Baz is in it. Maybe I just like Baz, though.

“Baz,” I say, trying to get him to focus on me again. “Why would you make up that sort of spell?”

He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t know, Simon.” I cringe at my own voice. “I was just— I just wanted you to see. I didn’t think it would work! Magic doesn’t work on you.”

“Yeah, I know! But you were touching me! So, of course, this is the one bloody time it works.”

We stare at each other. Me at Baz in my burly frame. Him at me in his lanky vampiric body. My tail is whipping around wildly, probably confused by the change in ownership here.

“Can you—” he starts, clearing his throat. “Can you smell me?”

I raise my eyebrows. “What?”

He sighs, exasperated. “My blood, Simon. You’re a vampire now.”

Oh.

I shut my eyes and inhale deeply.

I—

I can. I can smell the scent of my own blood. It’s… tempting.

“Why the fuck do I smell like buttered popcorn?” I demand.

Baz laughs, short and stilted. “Welcome to my hell.”

“I smell fucking delicious!” I stand up and grab Baz around the waist, pressing my nose into his neck. He smells so fucking good (and a bit like B.O., but that’s probably leftover from me inhabiting the body. It’s not unpleasant).

Baz’s hands come up to grip my shoulders. My hands have always been bigger than Baz’s and I’m obsessed with how they feel on my now thinner shoulders.

“Simon,” Baz breathes. “If you’re going to bite me—”

I immediately step back, letting go. I shove my hands down at my sides. “What the hell, Baz? Why would I bite you right now?”

He blushes. Blushes! It actually shows up now that he’s got my easily-reddened cheeks. “I just mean— you always want me to bite you. And the temptation…”

I think he’s embarrassed that I know how I smell around him now. The temptation is there, I won’t deny it. There’s a part of me, tugging in my stomach, fiending for blood. But I sort of think it’s hot.

“I’m not going to bite you. There’s a hundred things wrong with doing that right now.”

Baz leans his head against the wall behind him and shuts his eyes. (Is that really what I look like? It’s sort of cool.) “What do we do then?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what we should do. But I know what I want to do.”

Baz opens one blue eye. “And what is that, pray tell?”

I feel like I’m blushing but I’m certain the color isn’t coming out in my grey cheeks. “Well,” I start. “I was going to say have sex, but is that too self-centered?”

Baz opens both eyes now and leans up off the wall. He seems to consider it, biting at his lip. “I don’t disagree with you, necessarily,” he says. “But I feel like jumping right into sex would be a bad idea. Should we try and call Penny to see if she knows a way to reverse this?”

I shrug. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“For fuck’s sake, Simon.”

“What?” I ask, lifting my arms up in a sign of concession. “I’m not! This isn’t hurting either of us and maybe it could be interesting!”

He considers it. “What if… Circe, I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but what if we just… went into two different rooms and, uh, explored. Then, if we both felt like it—”

“You want us to masturbate in each other’s bodies?”

Baz’s eyes flash. “You wanted to have sex with yourself!” he shouts.

“No!” I insist. “I wanted to have sex with you in my body!”

“How is that better?”

It’s not. But now Baz is crossing his arms over his chest and wow, have my pecs always looked that fucking good? Is that what Baz sees when he looks at me?

I groan a bit but then nod. “Right. Okay. So I go into the bedroom and you go into the bathroom and we both, what, feel ourselves up?”

Baz nods slowly. “To get comfortable.”

“And then?”

He looks down at himself. And then back up at me. “And then we see where it goes.”

I can’t say I’m not at least a little hard at this prospect. So I say, “Okay.”

And that’s how I find myself standing in front of the floor length mirror in mine and Baz’s bedroom, slowly sliding my hand down my chest and wondering what part of me Baz is touching at that very moment.

He’s so hot like this. Just as I’m taking off his jeans to get a proper look, I feel the fangs slide into place. I jump. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s jarring. And once they’re in my mouth, they feel heavy. In charge.

I step close to the mirror, abandoning Baz’s half-open jeans to inspect the fangs sticking out over my bottom lip.

“Wicked,” I whisper.

I touch the sharp points with my finger, tracing along the shape. I imagine them pressing into my neck. I imagine giving Baz what he clearly needs, letting him suck the blood from my body.

My hand drops to the front of my jeans and I rub myself quickly, too turned on to be embarrassed about how little time this is going to take.

I cry out Baz’s name when I come and then immediately feel guilty about getting his clothes dirty.

—

BAZ

This is absolutely idiotic. Fucking feral. Disgusting.

I’m obsessed with every single moment of it.

I’ve already got Simon’s joggers on the floor around my feet and I’m staring at his body. It's lovely from any perspective, but being on the inside of him like this is really nice. I run one hand down my chest until I can touch myself firmly and slowly.

Oh, so that’s how Simon feels.

I wonder what he’s doing to himself (me) right now.

The huge red wings attached to my back catch my attention. I reach up slowly with my free hand and carefully caress the spiked edge of one, letting my eyes shut in pleasure.

Who fucking knew it would feel this good? Does Simon know about this? He always seems to shy away from me touching his wings (his tail’s mostly free game), but if he knew it felt like this, I wonder if he would continue to hide.

I move both of my hands faster, dragging up the pleasure quickly. We agreed to the masturbatory part of this so I shouldn’t feel bad, but I do a bit. I can’t say the guilt isn’t making this even more intense. I carry on, gasping for breath, as I bring Simon’s body to orgasm, touching him anywhere I can — wings, tail, cock, chest, arse.

As I come down, I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment. I’m used to seeing this — Simon’s cheeks all flushed, his chest pink and his eyes glassy from pleasure. I go to wipe myself off and wash my hands, but then I hear Simon cry out my name from the bedroom.

I quickly run to the bathroom door and call, “Simon?” through it. I don’t want to intrude.

“I’m fine!” he calls back. Sounding… well, like me when I’m flustered after an orgasm. So I suppose it all worked out in his end.

“Can I come out?”

Simon swears and then I hear him bustling around. Then, a strangled, “Yeah!”

I finish wiping myself off and then put Simon’s joggers back on. (He wasn’t even wearing anything under them, the idiot.)

Simon’s in the bedroom, wearing a pair of my pyjama bottoms with nothing on top. It’s obviously weird seeing him in my body, but I can’t help it — I rush over and kiss myself.

Simon kisses me back. “How, um,” he says as he pulls away slightly. “How did it go?”

“Good,” I say simply, smiling. “You?”

“Really good.”

“Want to, uh, take this to the bed?”

Yes, yes I do.

Self love can be a wonderful thing.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 25, 19 December: Sleepover

rated M, 1226 words, general tags: non-explicit sex, pitch manor!, softness in general, tiddy biting <3

Finish reading under the cut!

SIMON

He’s got a balcony coming off where his room is. (At least, I’m pretty sure it’s his room. If I end up on Malcolm and Daphne’s balcony, I’ll throw myself off it and not even try to save myself.)

I land on it as quietly as possible then spread my wings out one last time, savoring the feeling of freedom for a few more seconds before I tuck them close to my back and give the doors a soft knock.

Wish you were here.

That’s all his text had said.

I had immediately left Shepard asleep on Penny’s sofa and flown off into the night sky.

And now, I’m here, freezing my arse off, waiting for Baz to open up the French doors out onto the balcony. I hope it’s alright that I’m here; I didn’t ask or anything, I just made the decision to leave and be with him.

It’s agonizing to be without him most days.

So I let out a sigh of relief when he pushes open one of the French doors.

“Baz,” I breathe.

“Simon?”

Baz looks tired. He’s in his pyjamas — red ones, soft looking. I guess I didn’t realize how late it was.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pushing the door open further.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately say. He wanted to be alone and I fucked it up by following him here because I can’t do anything but follow him. “I can leave, I just— missed you — that’s so stupid, I’m—”

“No,” Baz quickly interrupts, stepping out onto the balcony and gently pressing his hands against my cheeks. His fingers are warm in comparison to my wind-whipped skin. “No, I’m just surprised.”

He kisses me.

It’s been barely forty-eight hours since I’ve seen him and I already can’t believe I went that long without his mouth on mine. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and I return the gesture with my arms around his hips. We kiss out on the balcony, the wind hitting my back and Baz’s tongue tracing my teeth.

“Come inside,” he whispers against my lips.

“Okay,” I say, following him. I’m always following these days. (The Mage would’ve been disappointed.) (I can’t tell if the ache in my chest is a good or a bad one.)

Baz shuts the french doors behind us and then he’s pushing me against them, his hands on my chest and in my hair, his teeth set against my bottom lip, dragging a startled moan out of me. I feel like I’m shaking, just now realizing that I’m cold, and because Baz’s hands are suddenly at the small of my back, tugging me close.

He hums into my mouth when I push my hands into his hair, weaving my fingers through the strands and tugging like I’m that one rat in Ratatouille. (Shepard has drilled into my brain that his name’s not Ratatouille, I just can’t remember what it actually is. I’d ask Baz if his tongue wasn’t down my throat.)

When Baz starts kissing at my jaw and neck, I open my eyes to take in the room. I haven’t been here for years — not since that Christmas when the Humdrum showed up. The room feels the same as before — dark, warm (the fire’s lit so clearly Baz wasn’t asleep; he’d never leave the fire going before bed), and oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because I know Baz grew up here. This is where he went to be alone.

Now he doesn’t have to be alone. Not ever again. (If he wants.)

I eye the bed where the sheets are all messy from where Baz was. There’s a book at the end of it. I start to push Baz towards it, letting him sit down on the edge so I can straddle his lap and lean over him, kissing his nose and forehead and eyelids.

“C’mere,” Baz mutters, tugging at my hips until I’m sitting down into his lip, hard against him.

We move against each other, my face pressed into his hair, and his mouth open against my neck. I feel his fangs on my skin but I know he won’t bite. Not now. Not yet.

I’m panting, hardly able to catch my breath, and this will be over too soon if I don’t stop now, so I allow myself ten more seconds of just feeling Baz underneath me, his breath on my skin, his hair against my lips, my hips gliding along his.

Then, I lift my hips up. He chases after me with a soft whine, but then opens his eyes when he realizes I’m too far away.

“What?” he asks breathlessly.

“Can I sleep here?” I ask.

Baz raises an eyebrow. I kiss it. (His eyebrow raises looked cooler before I knew he was a fucking softie for me.) “You want to sleep here?”

I nod. “I have before, haven’t I?”

“But in my bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Please.”

We readjust into the bed, Baz pulling up the covers because he’s cold. I slot myself against him, kissing him as he hitches a leg up over my hip and I press my thigh between his.

“This okay?” I ask, muffled.

He nods. Hums. Grinds forward into me. Groans when my tail hitches up and around his forearm.

I gasp and kiss him hard. His fangs are against my lips now and I wonder what it would feel like if he bit me there. He’s only bit me in one place — says he doesn’t want more scarring if he can avoid it, but the marks are already so small.

“Will you bite me?”

Baz groans and tightens his grip on me, his hands sliding around to my back and holding me close. His hips move faster, harder, more desperately.

“Fuck, Baz?”

He nods, pulling away from my mouth to look me in the eyes.

I’m still wearing my shirt, but I pull back from Baz just enough to tear it off, only sort of getting caught in one of my wings. “I know you always— ah, fuck — bite me in the same spot, but — oh, that’s so good — please bite me here?”

I press a hand against my chest, just where my heart beats.

The meaning isn’t lost on Baz based on the way his eyes widen. I can see the wheels turning, even as he continues to grind against me. He looks so desperate, so fucking sexy.

We continue to move under the sheets in Baz’s dark childhood bedroom, finding warmth and softness with each other, and I watch his mouth as he moans for me then sinks his teeth into my chest.

I come, shaking apart in his grasp, and I feel him follow just behind, both of us gripping on tight. We both know what it means to be here. Especially together.

Baz pulls away from my chest, licking and sucking over where he just bit me. He licks his lips and I chase his tongue with my own.

He gets up to clean himself off and I barely get out of my joggers and boxers before falling asleep in his bed. I think I feel him wiping me off with a damp washcloth before he’s getting in bed with me again, curling into my arms.

Baz’s soft everywhere I touch him, strong everywhere I can’t.

The sheets are cool, the duvet warm.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 21, 15 December: Holiday

rated T, 783 words, general tags: christmas eve, killing rats and kissing each other is what simon and baz do best, fluff

Finish reading under the cut!

BAZ

“You have to hurry!” Simon whines, tugging on my hand.

I can’t bear to explain why I don’t want to walk into Penny (and now also Shepard’s) flat. It’s Christmas Eve and we’re meant to be having a small get together with them and Agatha and Niamh; I should be excited.

I’m just thirsty.

Simon drags me to the door and flings it open, immediately rushing to Penny like he hasn’t seen another human in years. (It’s been a day and a half since he got lunch with her and Shepard.)

I step in and shut the door behind me.

Agatha and I strike up a conversation, but I’m distracted by the thumping of her heart, the pounding of the blood in her veins. Niamh comes over to join us and I’m stuck staring at the prominent veins on her hands.

It’s fully my fault that I didn’t hunt before this — I usually have better time management skills, but today’s been off-kilter already. I catch Simon’s eye from across the living room and he gives me a huge grin that I return with a hopefully convincing smile.

Niamh, Agatha, and I end up talking about Watford for a while then I fish my phone out of my pocket when it buzzes.

Simon: r you okay?

Simon: u look peachy

Simon: peaky*

Simon: is that the word?

I text him back quickly, trying not to be rude to Agatha and Niamh.

Baz: Yes to both.

Just as I’m sliding my phone back into my pocket, Simon texts again. Why he’s texting me from across the room and not just walking over to me, I’m not sure. Simon does whatever he pleases, I suppose.

Simon: do you need to hunt?

Pocketing my phone, I don’t dignify it with a response.

I do need to hunt, but I can last one lousy evening without ruining everyone else’s fun and going to drink rats alone in the darkest alleyway I can find.

Then Simon is suddenly appearing at my side. “Baz!” he says, shooting me an anxious glance. “I forgot something in your car — will you come unlock it for me?”

“You can just take the keys—”

“No!” he insists, tugging at my sleeve and somehow manhandling me out the door.

“Simon, what the fuck—?”

He kisses me once the door’s shut. I can feel his pulse in my mouth.

“If this was just a ploy to snog—”

“Shut up for once,” Simon whines, tugging at the lapels of my coat. “We’re going to go hunting. Right now. No arguing. I need to spread my wings anyway.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Simon’s true to his word and kisses me silent.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I offer, once he’s pulled back.

Simon frowns. “When have I ever not wanted to come with you?”

That’s true. Over the past six months, Simon’s always come with me to hunt if he’s around. He likes spreading his wings and helping me catch rats. He thinks it’s romantic. (I think it’s a necessary evil in order to appease my disturbed boyfriend.)

“Fine,” I mutter. “Quickly, though.”

It doesn’t end up being very quick. We hold hands as we find a dark alleyway — Simon says he’s scoped out the best places to find rats near Penny’s flat before just in case and he swears this one’s the best. Both Simon and I catch a few rats and I down them quickly, but he keeps making me laugh or pushing me up against the walls and kissing me.

By the time I’m satisfied and full and he’s taken off his jacket to spread his wings, we’ve been gone for at least half an hour. Simon feels that we might as well make it longer so we snog lazily for another ten or so minutes before I insist on going back to the flat.

We walk back, hand in hand, and it’s snowing a bit when we make it to Penny’s flat.

“Did you actually need something from the car?” I ask Simon.

He giggles. “No. Just needed an excuse.”

“You couldn’t have come up with something that wouldn’t have taken us only five minutes? They probably think we snuck off to shag.”

Simon raises his eyebrows and grins impishly. “We still could.”

I cut him off with my mouth against his, then pull back to admonish him. “No. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re going in and having a nice evening with our friends.”

“And then—?”

“And then we’ll go home and shag. You’re fucking insufferable.”

A bit of snow lands on his nose and I kiss it off.

“Happy Christmas Eve, darling,” he says.

“Happy Christmas Eve, Simon.”

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day Two, 26 November: Wings

rated T, 796 words, general tags: wings, massage, fangs, getting turned on by things you shouldn't get turned on by, simon snow's tits <3

BAZ

“Stop whinging if you won’t let me do anything about it!”

Simon freezes when I shout and he turns slowly towards me, stopping his pacing.

Alright. So the outburst didn’t need to happen there. But Simon’s practically waving his drool-worthy wings (and subsequently sexy pectoral muscles built up from said wings) in my face and not letting me touch him.

We’d just barely gotten back from a long dinner that Penny and Shep invited us to where Simon had to have his wings bundled up for hours and hours. So, naturally, when we got back to his flat, he shucked off his jacket and shirt and has now been whining about how much his shoulders and back and wings hurt from the event.

“Sorry,” I mutter, looking down at the floor instead of at Simon. “I just… you’re very tempting right now.”

When I look up again, Simon’s got both of his eyebrows raised high enough that his tumbling curls fall over them. “What?” he asks. “I’m just shirtless, Baz. I’m always like this.”

I frown. “Well, right, but you were teasing me relentlessly at dinner.”

“Teasing?”

“With your tail, you menace!”

“Oh.” Simon blushes.

Oh is right. He’d been running it up and down my leg all night because we were nestled into a nice corner where nobody would be able to see Simon’s bright red tail tormenting his boyfriend under the table.

“Do you… want to…?” Simon asks, suggestively.

I don’t. (Well, I always do. But that’s not really what I want right now.)

“No,” I say, but quickly add, “If you’re in so much pain, why don’t you come lie down and I’ll help you feel better?” I stand up from the sofa and fluff up the throw pillow on my end. (Who would have ever thought Simon Snow would buy throw pillows for his sofa?)

Simon looks at me suspiciously like I’m some dark creature (well) waiting to prey upon him. And also like he doesn’t really believe me that this won’t end in sex.

I step over to him and press my hands on either side of his neck gently, bringing him into a chaste kiss.

“Lie down,” I say, pushing at his shoulders softly.

He concedes and goes over to lie down face first on the sofa, tilting his head to the side so he can rest it on the pillow and still watch me. I kneel down next to him on the floor and carefully run my fingers over where his wings jut out from his skin.

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, I close my eyes for just a moment, inhaling the scent of his skin.

If I were really smart, I would have maneuvered this to where I could be sitting on his back, but, unfortunately, the sofa isn’t deep enough to fit both my legs and Simon’s hips. So I stay here, using my height as an advantage to lean over him and rub at both of his wings and the surrounding skin of his back and shoulders.

“Feel good?” I ask.

Simon nods. His eyes are shut, his hair falling over them. He’s noticeably more relaxed now, the tension starting to ebb from him.

I run my lips gently over the joint in his wing nearest to me, not missing the whimper that squeaks out of him when I do. I grin, repeating the action and kissing down the curve of the wing, flicking my tongue out when I think I’ll get a reaction. (I do.)

“Baz,” Simon whispers after I’ve been doing that for long enough that he’s sort of squirming under my touch. “Baz.”

“What, love?”

“What if— mmm, that feels good — what if you, uh, used your fangs?”

My hands pause over his waist. “I don’t think I can drink blood from your wings, Simon.”

“No,” he pants, still clearly affected. “No, I mean, just— like, put your fangs on them.” His face is bright pink.

I’m about to say no. I am. But he’s so desperate right now and I’m desperate to see him pleasured and happy under my touch. So I say, “Yes,” barely a whisper.

My fangs are easy to push forward through my gums — they’re always right there when I’m around him, waiting, ready to break free and push into Simon’s flesh to take what I want. But that’s not what I want right now.

So I trace my canines along the edge of Simon’s wing, not letting the sharpness nick anywhere, just barely ghosting them over him.

Simon sighs contentedly.

I want to bite him.

I want to kiss him.

I want to make him happy, I suppose.

So I stay here, putting my dangerous fangs on my danger-attracted boyfriend, and basking in his warmth.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 13, 7 December: Cooking/Baking

rated T, 889 words, general tags: recreational drug use, weed, kissing in a dark alley is sexy or at least baz thinks so, fangs

Finish reading under the cut!

BAZ

Simon is grinning at me like he’s just come home with a puppy. (I hope to everything that I hold dear that it isn’t a puppy.)

“I got it from Fiona!” he says, holding out his hand.

The unassuming (and, frankly, a little squished) joint sits in his palm.

“I’m sorry, why did you get that from Fiona?” The nonverbal how hangs in the air between us. Simon’s absolutely terrified of Fiona — he won’t even come into her flat most days if I ever have to go over and grab something. How in Circe’s name did he buy weed from her?

“She’d do anything for her precious nephew,” Simon teases, moving towards the sofa with his new purchase.

“Ah ah ah,” I stop him, stepping in front of the sofa and putting my arms up. “Not in the flat.”

“What?” he pouts. “Where else are we supposed to smoke it?”

“Outside!”

I’ve smoked before — of course I have. I had barely lived with Fiona for two days before she came stomping into my room and insisted I finish off the last of her stash with her. I just refuse to let Simon stink up the flat like Fiona did with ours.

I make Simon put on a coat and I do the same before we take a walk to just around the corner where there’s a bit of an alleyway where it’s unlikely anyone will catch us. I cast a nothing to see here all the same.

Simon hands me the joint because he’s never actually smoked — Shepard gave him an edible once, but I don’t think it worked very well — so I can light it up and get the joint going. I take deep inhales into my lungs and I feel Simon’s eyes on me the whole time.

When I pass him the joint, he does a pretty solid job of not coughing on his first one, but then he gets cocky and ends up having a fit, leaning against the brick wall behind us for support. I only laugh at him a little bit.

Once we’ve smoked most of the joint (there’s still enough left for a couple more puffs each), I find myself salivating over how Simon looks right now.

He’s leaned up against the brick wall, his head tipped back as he blows smoke into the cold night air. He looks bloody cool. And with the way the streetlights are casting the faintest glow on his skin and hair, brightening his entire visage in a way that I’m sure I’m paling in comparison to, I feel my fangs slide into place, poking out over my bottom lip slightly.

I’m not thinking about draining the blood from Simon, though — well, I almost always am, but that’s not my primary reason for thirsting for him right now. They just drop sometimes when I’m horny. Any form of desire is enough for my body’s natural reactions to go haywire.

The moment that Simon takes his mouth away from the joint again, I’m grabbing him by the waist and pressing him hard into the brick wall, kissing him.

He gasps into my mouth in surprise (and I’m pretty sure he drops the joint on the ground, but it was almost out anyway) but quickly wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me back.

If he thinks it’s odd that my fangs are out to play right now, he doesn’t say anything. He simply licks into my mouth and sucks on my fangs like he always does. I allow it because it feels so fucking good and he’s done it enough times that I doubt it’s going to hurt him at this point.

Simon pulls away from me after a minute to giggle and then shush me as if I’m making noise. “Baz, what if we get caught?” His eyes are bright and he can’t stop smiling, his teeth on full display. (He’s got nice teeth, honestly.)

“Snogging or smoking?”

He laughs loudly then claps a hand over his mouth. “Both,” he whispers through his fingers, still grinning too much.

I try to kiss him again but he’s still smiling too much so I change tactics. I start to kiss along his neck and suck softly on the skin there. I leave a hickey right under his jaw that he’ll have to try and cover up for work tomorrow. He moans loudly.

“Be quiet,” I murmur, kissing his chin and smiling. “Do you want to get us caught?”

I don’t need to hear the answer to the question because Simon groans and presses his hips into mine. It’s clear that he doesn’t mind the prospect.

He’s half-laughing and half-whimpering as I continue to kiss his neck. I press my fangs against his skin and he shudders. “Are you gonna do it here?” he asks.

I’m not, but the temptation is there. “No,” I whisper. “But maybe I will at the flat if you’re quiet on the walk back.”

He’s not quiet on the walk back, but I still bite him and drain a bit of blood. I caught some rats on the walk so I was already mostly full and the gesture was mostly to appease him.

We spend the rest of the evening cuddling, completely baked in the living room, watching Game of Thrones on Simon’s insistence.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 12, 6 December: Hurt/Comfort

rated T, 1088 words, general tags: blood loss, biting, blood drinking, physical comfort for simon, emotional comfort for baz, hurt for both of them

Read under the cut!

SIMON

We planned everything out so carefully. Baz fed less than an hour ago, I set up candles, and we’re both wearing several layers of clothing because Baz thinks I’m going to want to have sex once he’s bitten me. (According to Nicodemus, it’s supposed to feel really good. Like, sexually good.)

This is just a test run to see how it goes. Baz wants to see how easily he can stop and I want to see what it feels like. Then, we can go from there. I’m hoping it feels awesome for both of us so that next time, he can bite me when I’m balls deep in him.

I know that I’m going to like it no matter what. Even if Baz accidentally drained all of my blood, I’d have a good time — he’d be getting what he needed and I’d be giving it to him.

“Are you ready?” Baz asks.

From the way he’s sitting right now — anxiously perched on the edge of the sofa, his hands fidgeting in his lap, his eyes shifting back and forth between my eyes and the spot on my neck where he’s planning on biting me — I can tell I should be the one asking that question. But I nod.

“Yeah,” I breathe. I’m kind of hard, honestly, just thinking about it.

Baz carefully places his hands on my thighs to scooch himself closer to me. Then his hands find their place on my shoulders and he presses his face into my neck. I shiver.

He runs his nose up and down the side of my neck and inhales. Then, slowly, I feel his fangs pierce my skin.

It hurts like fuck for a solid three seconds and I’m about to hit Baz on the arm to tap out, but then… It feels really, really good. I melt into Baz’s hold and I can feel him grip me tighter to keep me upright. He’s making soft moaning sounds and I wonder if I’m doing the same thing. I’m sort of out of control of my brain functions and it just gets worse and worse.

It feels like we’ve been doing this forever. I guess I don’t mind because it feels really nice, but I’m starting to get lightheaded.

I pat Baz on the arm, our decided upon “tap-out” gesture if he doesn’t stop before I want him to, but he doesn’t move away from me. I can feel the blood loss now — I feel weak and dizzy — and Baz is stronger than me so even though I start to try and struggle out of his grasp, he’s holding me tight.

I open my eyes sharply and try to push Baz off of me. It still is flooding my body with positive endorphins, but my brain is now in panic mode, unsure of how to get out of this.

“Baz, stop,” I say loudly, squeezing his arm and trying to pull away. “Baz!”

Nothing. He’s still draining me.

He’s just… out of control.

“Baz!” I yell, reaching up and trying to pull at his hair to get him off of me.

I can’t really see straight anymore — my vision is blurry. My heart is racing and I feel like I might pass out any second now. I grip Baz’s shoulder as tightly as I can manage and I say, softer than I’m meaning to, “Baz, please. Babe, I know you can hear me. Please. Stop.”

Just as my vision goes dark, I feel Baz’s fangs retracting out of my neck. I feel myself fall backwards on the sofa and Baz shouts my name.

—

When I come to, I’m still on the sofa. My legs are elevated on the arm rest and I’ve got a terrible ache in my left wing. My neck hurts. And I still feel sort of dizzy.

Baz is sitting on the floor next to me, looking like he’s going to vomit.

“Simon,” he whispers, immediately sitting up on his knees and putting both hands on my cheeks. He’s been crying. I wonder how long I’ve been passed out for.

He pushes at my shoulders to keep me flat before I can even attempt to sit up. I appreciate it because even the thought of sitting up makes my head spin.

“Simon,” Baz whispers again. He presses his forehead against mine.

“I’m not dead,” I mutter, giving him a smile. “I’m good.”

“You’re not good,” he snarls, pulling away. And I realize that everything we’ve done — all the work and the preparation and the pep talks — has been ruined. He’s going to blame himself forever. “You’ve lost so much blood.” He looks at my neck, eyes pink from crying. His cheeks look bright and saturate, though. It’s clear that the blood did him good.

I put a hand up to my neck and don’t find it wet with blood or anything. A little sore, but mostly okay. “I’m fine,” I say. “How long—?”

“I was about to call an ambulance.”

I laugh. “And what would you have said?”

Baz rolls his eyes at me and then, almost absentmindedly, starts to trace patterns on the back of my hand where it’s resting on my stomach. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I was just scared. I’m— I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks at the end.

I lean up and support my weight on my elbows. “I know you’re going to beat yourself up over this,” I say firmly. “But I’m alright. Now we know that we need to do some more practice before trying this again.”

“Again?” Baz’s eyes snap to mine. “We will never be doing this again.”

“Agree to disagree.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I lean forward and kiss him. I’m feeling stronger by the second and I climb off the sofa in order to sit myself in his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. He holds me around the middle and presses kiss after kiss into my hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to me, over and over.

“I know,” I say.

And I can't say it's fine that he lost control — it isn’t. But I’m alive. And as long as I’m alive, I’m not going to give up on this. I won’t give up on showing Baz he isn’t a monster. This is just a small wrench in my plans.

I’m not sure who is more intent on comforting the other, but I do like Baz holding me like this. Despite the events of the evening, I feel safe with him.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 8, 2 December: Wayward Son

rated T, 815 words, general tags: blood drinking, scene remix, baths, hair washing :D

Read below the cut:

BAZ

“Go away,” I say to Simon, half-slurring. I’m still drunk. “I don’t want you to see.”

Simon stubbornly stays right next to me, having just finished undoing the last button on my shirt. It hangs open in a wet pink wave and I want nothing more than to rip it off and never see it again.

“Too late for that, mate,” Simon says.

He’s right. He is. And he’s stubborn enough that he’ll stick around.

And I don’t have the energy to stop him.

The most I can do is turn slightly away from him so he can’t see the details of the carnage. I don’t want him watching me suck down birds like a man deprived of water. (Am I? Deprived? Lamb made it feel that way, certainly.)

Once I’ve finished drinking down the last of the birds that Shepard brings us and dropped it into the tub, I stare down at the pile of carcasses, feeling sick to my stomach. The blood helped, but my fangs are still out and I feel disgusting for letting Simon watch.

He’s been standing next to me the whole time, watching silently. When I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand like a fucking toddler, he steps in towards me and carefully — carefully — places a hand on my cheek. I wonder if he’s touching dried parrot blood right now. Crowley knows I’ve never been this messy while feeding in my life.

“Would you like to take a shower? Or a bath?” he asks.

I’m sobering up, but I’m just buzzed enough still that I think that’s a great idea. I nod. “Bath.” I spell away the dead birds (and it takes me two tries, but I get the spell right).

Simon helps me out of my suit and my ruined shirt. He throws the shirt away when I prompt him to. Perhaps I should be ashamed of being only in my pants in front of my boyfriend (who I’ve never been this undressed around, unfortunately) when he’s helped me out of my trousers, but I’m not.

“Do you want to— uh, take those off?”

I shake my head. “No,” I murmur. “They could use a good wash.”

Simon laughs, but I’m not sure it was a joke.

But he turns on the water and makes sure it’s hot before helping me into the hotel tub. The water’s the perfect temperature and the tub is larger than some I’ve been in, so I surprisingly fit. I press the back of my head against the wall and close my eyes.

I feel Simon’s hands on my head.

“Here,” he breathes, pushing slightly.

I obediently dunk my hair under the water and come back up to find Simon squeezing hotel shampoo (disgusting) into his palm. He rubs his hands together then looks at me with the silent question in his eyes.

I nod. One day of using hotel soaps won’t ruin my hair. Maybe it won’t look good tomorrow, but it hasn’t looked good this entire bloody trip so at least I’ll be consistent.

All thoughts of how terrible this trip has been fly out of my head when I feel Simon’s fingers comb through the hair on the side of my head. I lean forward and tuck my knees up, resting my chin on them, so that Simon has more space to work the shampoo into a lather.

I think Simon’s still upset about everything that happened tonight. He’s breathing sort of heavily and sometimes he slides his fingers through my hair a little too sharply. I don’t mind the tinge of pain.

“Simon,” I say softly, turning my head so my cheek is resting on my knees. His hands fall away from my head.

He hums in response.

“Simon, are you…?” I trail off. I know what I want to ask — or at least, I know why I’m trying to ask. I’m scared he’s done with me. I’m scared he’s been done with me, but especially now that he’s just watched me kill and drain a dozen birds, helped me out of my clothes because I couldn’t manage it myself, and washed the blood and dirt and grime out of my hair.

“Relax, Baz,” he says. He doesn’t seem to mind that I didn’t finish my thought.

Simon washes out the shampoo by holding his hand against the top of my forehead to block out any water from getting in my eyes and pouring cupfulls of bath water down my hair. He combs conditioner into my hair and does the same thing.

I feel too sleepy to be doing this, but eventually Simon helps me out of the tub and hands me a towel. He looks like he wants to say or do something else, but he instead just pats my hand and leaves the bathroom without another word.

I hear the door click shut.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 30, 24 December: Flames

rated T, 879 words, general tags: kissing, fluff, pitch manor, literally no plot just boys being soft :)

Finish reading under the cut!

SIMON

Baz’s arm is under my back and his fingers are splayed along my hip. It’s not a hold of necessity where he’s protecting me or holding me back. It’s not a tight grip to keep me from leaving him again.

He’s just holding me.

I turn and nuzzle my nose into his jaw.

Baz stirs a bit and I realize he was asleep.

“Have you ever fallen asleep on this carpet before?” I ask teasingly, my voice low and soft.

The room is dark and warm — Baz and I are curled up next to the fireplace where the flames barely jump up past the wood burning there. Pitch Manor’s always dark, but never have I felt this at home here. We’ve spent the evening alone in his childhood bedroom, snogging and cuddling and eating leftovers from Christmas dinner the night before.

Laughing a bit, Baz reaches across himself to tousle my hair. “No, Simon, I can safely say this is the first time. I’ve got a very comfortable bed ten feet away.”

“Then why aren’t we in your very comfortable bed?”

“Because the fire’s warm,” he breathes, kissing my cheek, then my jaw, then my chin, and then finally my mouth. I press my tongue against his teeth and he lets me feel his fangs, investigating them with careful use of the tip of my tongue.

“I’ll keep you warm,” I insist, pulling away from his mouth to put my fingers on his lip and tug it up slightly to get a better look at his fangs.

Baz scoffs but doesn’t argue with me (about keeping him warm or me inspecting his fangs).

“I will,” I continue. I sit up, curling myself over him and settling into his lap, sitting back against his hips. He’s lying on his back on the rug, but he tucks his knees up so I can rest my lower back against his thighs. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“The fire’s already doing a pretty good job, love,” Baz says, just a hint of teasing in his raised eyebrow.

It’s a challenge.

One I’m happy to succumb to.

I go to finish unbuttoning his shirt and undo the last four buttons (he’s been wearing them more and more open recently). I slide my warm hands up his cool torso and find that the side nearest the fire is marginally warmer than the other.

I lean down to press my mouth against his chest. I kiss along his skin, finding places that hitch his breath or make him whine with every pass of my lips. (Of course, I know all of these spots on Baz really well at this point.) (That doesn’t make it any less exciting to be doing this.)

Baz murmurs my name softly and I look up at him, idly pinching at one of his nipples as I trace my tongue over the other.

“Warm enough?” I ask, grinning.

Not quite affected enough to avoid bantering with me, Baz mutters, “Would be warmer if you’d kept my shirt on.”

“But then I couldn’t do this,” I say. I wrap both hands around his hips and then start to suck harshly at the skin just above his left nipple, applying pressure with my tongue and suction with my mouth, worrying the skin with my teeth.

Baz whimpers.

When I pull back, he’s got a mark there. It’ll last maybe an hour if I’m lucky.

“You could still do that with my shirt on.”

I laugh. I’m too delighted at being here with Baz to be annoyed with him being obtuse. “Not anywhere discreet,” I counter.

“Who says I want discreet?” he shoots back. Maybe it’s just the light from the flames, but his cheeks look flushed.

Raising my eyebrows, I sit up on his lap again. My hands drag over his stomach softly, rubbing in the way he likes. “Careful there, darling, people are going to think you’re soft on me.”

“I’ve always been soft on you,” Baz whispers. He doesn’t break eye contact with me for even a second.

“What about when you pushed me down the stairs?” I demand.

“It was an accident! I’ve told you to stop bringing it up!”

“I’ll stop bringing it up when you let me push you down the stairs!”

We both break into laughter and I collapse against his chest, my face pressing into his neck.

“You could push me down the stairs if you really wanted,” Baz murmurs. And I know he means it to be a nice thing — a silly nice thing that a regular boyfriend would say to his partner, but it sort of makes me sad. I frown and kiss his neck. I watch him swallow.

“I don’t want to do that,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to ever hurt you again.”

“You won’t.”

I shake my head. “You’ve dealt with too much pain.”

“So have you,” Baz whispers, carding his fingers through my hair and settling his hand on the back of my neck softly.

I have — we both have. There’s so much pain in both of our pasts. But I look into the fire now, eyeing the way the flames dance and the shadows they cast against the wall. And I think about all the love in our future.

[starwarned]

@carryon-countdown 2021

Day 17, 11 December: Decorating

rated T, 360 words, general tags: silly decoration antics, zero plot just them being soft, fangs used not what they were intended for

Finish reading under the cut!

BAZ

“This is stupid.”

“Yeah, but it’s working, isn’t it?”

I roll my eyes but hold out my hand for the next string. Simon, practically bouncing on the opposite end of the sofa, strings one last piece of popcorn on the fishing line and hands me the end. I bring it up to my mouth and use the sharp end of my fang to cut the string.

I tie it off and set it with the others at my feet then watch as Simon starts a new one.

“Is there a reason I can’t go get you a pair of scissors?” I ask.

“This is more fun!” Simon insists, scooching over so he’s cuddled up next to me, stringing pieces of popcorn onto the fishing line and dropping several of them into my lap. He scoops them up and eats them.

I kiss his forehead.

He finishes up the strings of popcorn and leaves me on the sofa so he can hang them up on the tree, doing a fairly decent job of arranging them along the front of the tree, criss-crossing the groupings of popcorn nicely. He plugs in the lights and then comes back down to sit next to me.

My fangs have slid up into my gums now and I hold him tightly, both of us watching the bright lights on the tree twinkle. We’ve got several ornaments that we made with Penny and Shepard last week — a polaroid of the four of us, a cookie snowman that Simon insisted on keeping despite its missing carrot nose, another photo of just Simon and I, and the lid off a can of Coke that Simon decided was a fun decoration.

It’s a good moment.

Simon insists on keeping the lights on even when we go to sleep, ignoring my complaints about the cost, but it’s nice to wake up in the middle of the night to get a snack and find the tree still twinkling in the corner of the living room.

Holidays are a hard time for me, but having Simon around to make ornaments with and hold when it’s too cold outside makes it marginally easier.