Hi! This is my gift fic for the Winter round of @coexchange for @fight-surrender! Thanks so much for giving me a pretty open prompt — I hope I created something you’ll enjoy :) And if not, feel free to request a refund and I’ll write you a new one. (Kidding. No, but really, I’ll write you a hundred more fics.)
I had a lot of fun writing it so I really hope you enjoy reading!! I didn’t want to make it multiple chapters so make a cup of tea, curl up with your laptop, and get ready for some hurt/comfort and lots of kissing.
Thank you @seducing-a-vampire for betaing! you are my saving grace <3
‘Cause My World Revolves Around You (M)
Summary:
"I’m so angry at him I’m so angry at him I’m so angry I’m so… He’s really quite good at this."
Simon makes impulsive decisions when Baz is involved.
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PART I
SIMON
Baz is sitting on the edge of his bed like nothing has happened. As though he’d just popped out for a quick trip to the shops instead of what he really did — disappear for two months and come back looking like a dying weed.
I suppose I’m not particularly sure what to say to him right now. Baz and I haven’t ever… talked. Even when we both arrive back at Watford after our summer holidays, the most we ever exchange is “Have a good holiday, Baz?” and “Yes, Snow, you weren’t around so I finally had some peace and time to plot your demise.”
He’s not looking good. (Well, as not good looking at Baz can get. He’s quite fit, I suppose. Agatha seemed to think so before we broke up last week. I guess she still likely thinks so. I don’t want to think about Agatha right now.)
I think Baz is watching me out of the corner of his eye so I have to look down at my book like I’m actually reading. I’m most certainly not, but Baz has the current monopoly on who gets to stare right now. His breathing is labored and he keeps making quiet grunts of discomfort that make me flinch every time I hear them.
I finally turn and look at him with an accusatory glance. “Are you dying then?”
Baz sneers at me. “Mind your business, Snow. I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” I mutter, turning back to my desk. I tap my fingers against the wood and try to focus. I can’t. “Aren’t you amazing at medical spells or something? Have you forgotten how to cast Get well soon after your trip?” I whip back around.
His eyes are almost sunken and they’re not nearly as stunning as they usually are (and I mean stunning. Like I usually look at them and am taken aback by how clear they are). He’s glaring at me with his usual fervor, though.
I suppose his two month sabbatical didn’t leave any time for thinking about me more fondly. If anything, I’m fairly sure that he was plotting ways to get under my skin the entire time. That doesn’t explain his haggard appearance…
“I haven’t,” he mutters. “Not that it’s any of your concern, I’m fine.”
I roll my eyes and stand up, shoving my chair back from the desk so I can whirl around and glare at Baz. “You’re such a fucking git.”
Baz raises both his eyebrows. “And you’re just as charming as ever,” he sneers, standing up and grunting as he straightens.
I frown, forcing myself to remember that I can’t just hit Baz, as much as I’d love to. My fist colliding with his fucking perfect cheekbone sounds like how I’d like my night to end. (I’d feel bad if I broke something, like his nose again, but seeing him sport a bruise of my making? Wicked.)
“Where were you?”
“With your mum.”
That fucking does it. Baz knows about my family. He knows how tough a subject that is for me and yet, he continues to throw it in my face. And it’s a low blow for him.
I consider being a prick right back. I think about Baz’s mum and his strained relationship with his family (that I know barely anything about, but enough), but I know that even if I brought it up, I wouldn’t be able to hurt him.
Baz is indestructible. Unbreakable. Ineffable. Fucking… perfect.
I step right up to him. “Fucking take it back,” I spit in his face.
Baz holds his ground and we’re so close together that I could knock my head forward and hit his. But that would hurt me, too, and would surely trigger the Anathema. Still, I don’t dare back down.
And all I can think about is how perfect he looks right now — like I haven’t even sort of inconvenienced him by being right here.
“You’re looking a little red there, Snow,” he jeers. “Something upsetting you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say. Which means I’ve lost, of course.
And I make an impulsive decision.
You could say I live my entire life by making impulsive decisions, absolutely, but this one surely takes the cake.
I grab Baz by the tie (promptly fucking up how perfectly it had been settled) and yank him into my mouth. I don’t know why I’m doing it, but I’m not going to stop because Baz is kissing me back.
I’m so angry at him I’m so angry at him I’m so angry I’m so… He’s really quite good at this.
I’ve kissed before. Obviously. Agatha and I didn’t kiss a lot and we rarely snogged (one time her ring got caught in my hair and we spent ten minutes trying to untangle it — I think we were both traumatized from that experience), but she was my girlfriend for long enough for us to both teach each other how to kiss. I don’t know that Baz has kissed before. As far as I know, he’s never had a girlfriend (boyfriend? He’s kissing me back far too much for someone completely heterosexual).
I’m not romantically attracted to Baz at all. This isn’t a soft kiss. It’s rough and demanding and it feels like I’m fighting him right here in our room in spite of the Anathema.
His teeth are dragging across my bottom lip (and they’re sharp. Too sharp) (For some reason, I can’t be bothered to care) and I’m letting him lick into my mouth.
And he’s letting me wrap my hand around his hip and tug us flush together. His chest is flat against mine and I have the desire to strip his shirt off just to see what he looks like under all that annoying confidence. I let go of his tie and go to undo the top buttons of his shirt, still attached to his mouth and doing some serious damage to his lower lip. (Well, not damage. I’m just sucking at it a lot.)
Baz takes my adjustment to his advantage and quickly grips me by the shoulders, pushing me back so my arse hits the desk behind me. His hands fly to my hips and he lifts me onto the desk with hardly any effort at all (when did he get so fucking strong?). Somehow we manage to not stop kissing.
I think that breaking the kiss might break this weird spell I’m under (thrall? Am I under his thrall? I somehow doubt it. I certainly feel compelled to shove my tongue down Baz’s throat, but I think that’s coming from how upset I am and not from Baz.)
And then Baz makes a whimpering noise into my mouth and I’m shocked back into reality. I snap my face away from his.
I’m surprised he hasn’t cursed my head off my shoulders by now. But when I have pulled my face back to look at him, his eyes are shut in pleasure and he’s leaning against the desk like I was his one connection to this world. I did manage to get the first two buttons of his shirt undone and I can see a few inches of his grey-toned skin.
He snaps back into himself and his eyes fly open. “Trying to get me to open my mouth doesn’t work like that,” he spits out. Not his best, but the insult still hits me at full speed, making me gawk at him.
He takes a few steps back and I slide off of the desk. I straighten my tie, eye Baz’s swollen mouth with an unidentifiable tug in my stomach, and then leave the room, slamming the door behind me.
PART II
SIMON
“Everyone, back to your rooms! Now!” Miss Possibelf calls out, effectively stopping me in my tracks on my way to grab a snack.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but almost get run over by a pack of third years and nearly topple onto my face. (Maybe they’re second years? They look younger every year and I never pay much attention to them.)
Miss Possibelf herds a hysterical student into the arms of another staff member then looks at me. “I figured you’d know,” she says, almost accusatory.
I look at her, waiting for an actual answer because, clearly, I don’t know.
She sighs, pushing strands of her silver hair behind her ears. “A spell has been cast during a Magic Words lesson and it’s affecting the students. The faculty and I are dealing with it, but all unaffected students should stay in their rooms.”
“Can I—?”
“Absolutely not,” she says quickly. And I wonder if it’s because I’m a student or if my magic would just make everything worse. I can’t exactly attack a spell with my sword.
I try again. “But—”
“No, Simon,” she says firmly. I have never liked being on the receiving end of her stares. “Go to your room.”
She eyes me as I walk away so I can’t even sneak into the dining hall and grab a sandwich or two. And then I remember who is in my room.
Who I have to sit in my room with.
BAZ
I don’t know what kind of ridiculous spell was cast in the Magic Words classroom, but I have a feeling that Simon Snow was involved. And even if he wasn’t, I’m sure he’s involved now — taking it upon himself to be the one who wields the Sword of Mages and saves the day. Or whatever.
His protagonistic tendencies are quite annoying.
I’m sitting on my bed, hoping that Snow doesn’t come back here anytime soon. I’m still frazzled from what happened two days ago. I’ve managed to avoid him carefully since then, but Miss Possibelf was requesting everyone stay in their rooms, so I’m stuck here.
I curse myself for not going to the Catacombs instead.
But I’m still feeling terrible and it would have taken me too long to get there because of my leg. My limp isn’t debilitating, but it is bothersome. It feels like I’m dragging my own carcass around from how weak I am. And I can scarcely admit it to myself, but the Catacombs are too dark for me. I went down there the other day to feed and I had to run back into the courtyard with my rats because I couldn’t stand being in the darkness. Felt like that fucking numpty coffin.
I’m sitting on my bed now, leaning my head back against the wall and trying to let myself rest my eyes and my brain.
I’ve been thinking overtime since Snow… kissed me. I’m still not sure that’s what actually happened. I’ve been trying to decide if it was a fever dream or if I went completely batty inside the coffin and this is my subconscious trying to give me a reprieve.
Either way, I can’t stop thinking about it.
Of course I can’t.
The person I’ve been hopelessly in love with for several years now got so upset that he kissed me? Well, snogged me, really. It was quite a kiss.
I was ready to go further. I was prepared to do anything that Snow wanted me to do.
But I suppose he came to his senses. Realized that he was kissing his enemy.
I groan and smack my head on the wall. It makes my skull rattle but it’s a nice reminder to stop thinking about it. With any luck, Snow will just make haste with the whole killing me thing and I won’t have to worry about this any longer.
The door creaks open and I don’t bother to look. I can smell him.
Snow doesn’t say a word as he slams the door behind him. I hear him drop something onto his desk and then disappear into the bathroom, also slamming that door. He’s like a petulant six year old.
I hear the shower start and I wonder if I can pretend I’m asleep by the time he gets out.
Snow is thick enough to believe it. I quickly sit up and crawl under my covers as quietly as I can. I tuck the covers just over my head so I can still see a bit of light coming in from the top of my blankets.
Snow spends so long in the bathroom that I almost do fall asleep by the time he comes back. But, when he comes out, the humidity of the bathroom fills our bedroom and I’m wide awake. It smells like the school issued soaps. And like him.
I hear him climb into his bed.
And I wait.
For sleep to come, for Snow to run me through with the Sword of Mages, for my body to give out on me and crumble into dust. Something.
What I wasn’t waiting for was the feeling of Snow’s weight pressing down on the edge of my bed and his voice whispering my name.
“Baz?”
I don’t respond. Perhaps he’ll take the hint and fuck off to his own bed if I hold onto this charade.
“Baz, I know you’re awake,” he says.
There’s no way he actually knows I’m awake, but I poke my head out from under the covers anyway. “What do you want?” I demand.
I’m always struck by how lovely he is when he’s fresh out of the shower — his hair tousled and damp, his cheeks flushed from the hot water, the smell of him filling my senses. It’s even worse now that he’s this close to me, sitting on the edge of my bed like he’s done this before. Like this isn’t something that is completely shattering me.
By the way he’s looking at me, I think he might be about to apologize, but then he opens his mouth and asks, “Do you know what spell was cast in the classrooms?”
I sigh. “No, Snow, I don’t.”
Snow frowns. “Well, Miss Possibelf said that—”
“I really couldn’t be arsed to think about Miss Possibelf right now,” I interrupt. “Now could you please get off of my bed?”
He looks down like he’s forgotten that’s where he was. I haven’t forgotten. His hip is next to my foot and I’m hyper aware of how easily I could touch him. I could just reach out and— no.
“No,” Snow insists. “You have to know something.”
“Just because I’m a better student than you doesn’t mean I know everything that goes on in this school,” I say. I add you moron in my head, but I’m too weak to say it aloud. He smells so good this close.
Snow rolls his eyes. “Well, you seem to have a hand in everything terrible that happens here,” he mutters. “So I just figured you knew.”
“Well, I don’t. Get off my bed.”
“No.”
I gawk at him. “I will not hesitate to spell you to your own bed, Snow,” I threaten. (And it’s an empty threat, even. I don’t imagine the Anathema would take too kindly to me cursing my roommate even if he’s being annoying.) (And now the image of Snow spelled to his bed, unable to move, is… enticing, to say the least.)
“You’re a prick,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. (I’ll give the Mage just a bit of credit — having Snow running around, doing his bidding all the time, swinging the god forsaken Sword of Mages, and generally keeping him in shape does wonders for his arms. I find myself staring at his biceps.)
“You’re the one invading my space,” I spit.
“There’s nowhere else to fucking go,” he retaliates. “I’m not allowed to leave the room.”
“Then you’d better find something to preoccupy yourself with.”
SIMON
I do it again.
I ignore every other part of my body and follow the tug in my chest. I grab Baz by the back of the neck and tug him into a kiss. He’s still sort of under the covers and my grip on him shoves them away, forcing him to sit up further. He kisses me back almost immediately, like he was expecting this. I usually hate doing things that Baz expects from me, but I don’t think I mind it so much this time.
I’m still mad at him — that’s why I keep doing this. He’s been such an arsehole ever since he came back (from where, he won’t fucking tell me) and it’s making me do things I normally wouldn’t do. Like sit on the edge of his bed and think about how nice his hair is and kiss him.
Penny would laugh at me and insist that I’m mental if I told her about this. I don’t particularly plan on telling her.
Baz’s hair is soft where I’ve pressed my hand up into it and I use my hold on it to pull him closer. His breath hitches and he kisses me harder, biting at my bottom lip harshly. I respond, pressing my tongue into his mouth and taking what I want.
His breathing rattles in my mouth and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s still injured or if this kiss is affecting him. I did sort of come at him like a train.
But before I can think on it any further, he’s placing his hands on my cheeks and I’m focused on the kiss again.
I want to be attacking him with my mouth. I want him to feel how angry I am — that he won’t tell me where he’s been, that he won’t give me an inch, that he was gone for two months and I missed him.
But then, something shifts.
I’m not sure what it is, but I’m licking into his mouth and trying to taste every bit of him and I’m not that angry anymore. How can I be? He’s pressed his hands against my chest and is clutching onto my shirt like a lifeline. I soften my grip on his hair and gently pull him closer to me. My leg is on top of his and I have half a desire to climb into his lap.
I’m not kissing Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I’m not kissing the villain who shoved me down the stairs and tried feeding me to a Chimera and who I’ll eventually face off with for the good of the World of Mages.
I’m kissing Baz. My roommate. The boy who I grew up with. The boy who inadvertently taught me how to be a good person. (I think he would hit me if I ever told him that.)
And suddenly, I can’t do this anymore because I’m thinking and it’s hurting and I don’t think I hate Baz and that’s a lot for me to handle right now.
I pull back with a gasp and stand, stumbling over my feet. I can’t even look at Baz before I’m rushing out of the room and down the stairs. Miss Possibelf’s rules be damned.
I can’t be in that room any longer.
Touching my fingers to my lips as I stalk down the stairs, I wonder if Baz spelled me somehow. Spelled me into liking that. But I know that’s not it.
I convince myself not to think about it. (I’ve always been shit at not thinking about Baz.)
I find myself out of Mummer’s House and heading down towards the classrooms. I don’t see any frantic staff members running around so I wonder if they’ve gotten a handle on the spell situation.
I can’t sit around thinking about Baz and what it means that I kind of want to kiss him again (but also I’d like to hold his hand and see if it’s the same temperature as his cheeks). (It’s making my brain thump inside my skull.) So I figure I can do something helpful and I take a left turn towards the Magic Words classroom.
BAZ
I’m fucking blown away. How I let this happen a second time, I’m not sure. I don’t know what Snow’s game is here. I generally pride myself on knowing exactly what is going on in Snow’s brain most of the time (he wears the majority of his emotions right on his face), but I don’t know why he keeps doing this.
It’s a great way to get into my head, I’ll give him that.
I’m so riled up that I have to follow him. If this disastrously stupid game of his is just to get in my head, I might as well get this over with.
I’m weak, I’ve spent six weeks stuck in a coffin knowing that one day, Simon Snow will destroy me and I’ll get to whisper my love to him on blood-stained lips. I’ll kiss him one last time (softer) and he’ll have finally rid the world of me.
Why shouldn’t that be now?
I get up from my bed, put on my shoes, check that my wand is in my pocket, and follow after Snow. I’m certain he’s heading towards where the danger is — that’s practically the first thing I’d use to describe him — always heading towards certain death but somehow managing to avoid it.
And sure enough, I’m right. Even with my slight limp, I’m a bit faster than Snow is and I catch up to him just as he’s passing the dining hall. He looks like a man on a mission, the Sword of Mages hanging in his hand. But, then again, I think he always looks like that.
Before I can shout to stop him, he’s broken into a sprint and is flinging open the door to the Magic Words classroom. He gets hit right in the face with something and flies backward. It would be funny, the way his body gets thrown like a ragdoll, if a resounding crunch didn’t follow just behind, sealing my notion that he’s certainly broken something.
The door swings shut, slamming in the silence. I rush over to Snow and kneel down next to him. His face is turning red and he’s clawing at his throat like he can’t breathe. His right arm is twisted, but I can’t really tell while it’s in motion, scrabbling at his throat. I don’t know what sort of spell he’s just had a run-in with, but I yank my wand out of my pocket.
I pause.
I suppose this could be it.
Simon Snow is here, beneath me, struggling to breathe, completely at my mercy. The Sword of Mages is abandoned at his side. I entertain the idea of leaving him here. The great Chosen One, finally gone. The thought is banished from my mind within seconds when Snow’s hand grips at my sleeve. He looks at me imploringly.
“Get well soon! Early to bed and early to rise! Just breathe!”
None of my spells are working.
Snow’s looking redder by the second and he’s squirming around on the ground, gasping for nonexistent breath.
I try again. “Get well soon! Early to bed and early to rise! Just breathe!”
Nothing, but maybe his arm isn’t bent the wrong way anymore.
I try to think back to any of my past lessons, think back to any spell I know that might help. I won’t let Snow die on me like this. “Coming up for air!”
I attempt a last ditch spell, “Losing you is like living in a world with no air!”, and Snow sputters, finally taking in a shallow breath of air. He turns over onto his side and gasps in short breaths that I doubt are giving him much to work with. I drop my wand and press my hand to Snow’s back, helping him stay on his side and regulate his breathing.
It takes him a moment but he settles into a more natural breathing pattern, his chest heaving. He doesn’t even tug himself out of my grip when he looks up at me.
“Um,” he whispers, his voice sort of gravelly. “Thanks.”
I nod. I let go of him.
“What spell did you use?” he asks. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Fuck.
I had hoped to get away with this without discussing the origin of the spell. “It’s— well, it’s an American song. My sister listens to it.”
Snow raises his eyebrows and sits up a bit, leaning against the wall behind him and taking in deeper breaths. “An American song?” he asks, smiling a bit (even though he almost just died. Idiot). “I’ve never heard it.”
I sigh a bit. “It only works if you believe the words,” I say, hoping that doesn’t implicate me.
All spells require clear intention behind them, but there are more than a handful of spells that rely on the mage’s relationship with the words. Love spells, specifically. Or some truth spells. And then this spell that’s typically used for resuscitation has to be performed by a mage who knows you — who cares about you. It’s an incriminating spell for me to be using on Snow.
I don’t think Snow understands that, and I don’t expect him to. This is a fourth year spell and he was especially distracted that year.
“Thank you,” he says again, tugging at the collar of his shirt and undoing the top button.
I nod and start to stand up but he grabs me by the sleeve again.
“Baz,” he says. “Thank you.”
“You already said that, Snow,” I mutter. “Did you get a concussion when you hit the wall?”
He blushes (and I want to bite his cheeks). “No, Baz, I mean.”
“What do you mean? Spit it out.”
He uses his grip on my sleeve and hauls me down into a kiss.
I really should have been expecting it. When we’re fighting is apparently when Snow likes to kiss the most. Not that I’m really complaining. Snow’s got his breath back under control now and the Sword of Mages is lying by his side. If this is the end, I’ll at least die kissing the object of all my affections.
“Baz,” Snow whispers against my mouth as I’m just barely wrapping my arm around his shoulders. “Baz, where were you?”
I groan and try and pull back, but he holds me tight to him. I can’t help but kiss him more. “Why does it matter?” I mutter back, barely moving my mouth away. He’s still kissing me like it isn’t extremely difficult to have a conversation mid-snog.
“I-I guess,” he breathes, finally leaning back just enough that I can still feel his breath on my lips but his tongue is back in his own mouth. “I guess it doesn’t. I mean, you’re— you’re back now.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Snow, very astute.”
He looks down at my mouth and then back up at my eyes. I feel pinned by his stare. “No— Baz, I mean— I’m glad you’re back. I-I— Missed you. I missed you. And I like this.” He gestures between us. “Much more than fighting you.”
His confession makes me grip onto his shirt, but before I can ridicule him for being an absolute idiot, he’s kissing me again.
I feel as though I’m getting whiplash, but I gladly kiss him back. I’m faintly aware that we’re on the floor in the hallway where anyone could catch us. (And what a sight we would be — The Chosen One and his sworn enemy/roommate snogging on the floor.)
Snow pulls away again and I have half a mind to throw him back on the floor and leave for good because this back and forth is incredibly annoying. He stops me from doing anything with the look in his eyes. Fearful, but like he knows what he’s about to say. Like he’s had some realization and knows exactly what he has to do.
“Baz, I—”
“What?” I demand, still holding onto the back of his shirt. (He must know I’m not planning on going anywhere.)
“I-I—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. He then reaches up and cups my cheek in one hand. “Baz, I love you.”
I practically stop breathing and shove him away from me. “What?” I demand.
He’s flushed and he scrambles to his feet at the same time I do. “I-I love you,” he repeats. “At least, I think I do.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Have you gone completely batty?” I demand. (Why am I fighting this?)
“No!” Snow insists. “Listen to me! I— I know it makes no sense, but I love you. I’ve been thinking about it and I-I can’t stop thinking about it. You— it’s always you.”
He’s hardly making sense, but it doesn’t matter. Every ineloquent word makes my heart beat faster and faster. “Snow—” I say.
“I know you hate me,” Snow mutters, looking down and shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair falls over his forehead. “I know. You don’t have to remind me. But— I love you.”
I wonder if he knows what he’s saying or if this is some weird side effect from the spell.
He steps up to me and grips me by the collar. “I love you,” he says strongly, like he’s finally made up his mind. “And I’m going to kiss you again. Stop me if you don’t want that.”
And how could I ever stop him?
PART III (AN EPILOGUE OF SORTS)
BAZ
There’s a jostling by my head that wakes me up. I shift around a bit and my knee pops.
I sit up and blink open my eyes. There’s a bag of crisps on my pillow and I look at them in surprise. I certainly didn’t grab those before I went to bed.
Someone clears their throat and I look up across the room.
Snow is immediately taking the five steps it takes to get to my bed from his and grabs me by the back of the neck, tugging me into a kiss.
There’s something softer about this one. Something more caring in the way he nips at my bottom lip and runs his tongue along my teeth. Like he’s trying to tell me something without having to use his words. I can’t blame him. He’s much better at this than he is at talking. If he’s going to get tongue-tied, I’d rather it be in my mouth (and tied with my tongue) than while trying to insult me.
I slide my hands up around his shoulders. He runs his fingers through my hair and then presses a soft kiss against my cheek.
“G’morning,” he says.
“Good morning,” I reply. “Did you get me breakfast?” I ask, nodding to the bag of crisps. I’m trying to tease, but I’m still a bit on edge. Does he still love me after he slept on it for seven hours? (We didn’t even sleep in the same bed last night even though he wanted to. There’s not a lot of space and my leg is still not back in fighting shape yet.)
“I did,” Snow says with a smile. “How’re you feeling?”
I nod. I don’t like being asked about how I’m feeling, but Snow’s got the softest look in his eyes.
He scoots forward and onto the bed so he can settle himself into my lap, being careful of not putting too much weight on my left leg. “I can’t believe we’re boyfriends,” he says, twisting a strand of my hair in his fingers.
“Are we?” I ask. “This is news to me.”
“I asked you last night,” he insists.
I remember the very short conversation we’d had in between kisses.
“Be my boyfriend,” Snow had said before sucking on my neck like I’d be able to form a coherent response after that.
“What?” I’d asked.
“Please,” he’d whispered, moving to kiss just under my ear.
“Okay.”
“I suppose I am,” I say.
“I love you,” Snow whispers.
“I know you do,” I say. And, then, because I haven’t gotten the chance to say it yet, I murmur, “I love you, too, Simon.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here is my @coexchange piece for the one and only @xivz! I hope you enjoyed the prompt that I chose from your selection. <3
Also, many thanks to @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire and @seducingavampire for being my betas and helping me straighten things out!
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms, Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Characters: Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce, Malcolm Grimm
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, i.e. the Mage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Trauma, Near Death Experiences, Politics, The Coven - Freeform, Accidental Marriage, Family Drama, Revelations, Rituals, Magical Bond, Vomiting, Light Angst, Humor, Kissing, Implied Sexual Content
Summary:
Simon has accidentally killed the Mage and is trying to sort out what's supposed to happen to him when an unexpected revelation about him and Baz throws a wrench into everything. Sometimes retaining dragon wings and a devil's tail after losing all your magic is the least dramatic thing that could happen.
My fic for the @coexchange is finally ready! This is a gift for @the-lincyclopedia.
My prompt was for Simon and Baz to address their issues in the canon-verse with a happy ending. (Extra headcanon here).
Summary: Baz doesn't know where he and Simon stand after that moment on the beach in Wayward Son. He also doesn't know if he can ask. All he really does know is that he's still in love with Simon and he has to find a way to say it before he runs out of time again.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 15,868
Preview:
America did its best to end me, but it could have saved itself the trouble. Simon Snow has always been the one holding my fate in his hands.
I've been watching those hands. Coveting them, the way I covet everything else about him that I don't get to have anymore.
How long have I wanted those hands? To touch me, to hold me, to just hold?
How many times have I seen them covered in blood and thought about it being mine? (Or wanted to lick it off.)
I can't keep doing this to myself.
I close my eyes and force my head away from his. He may burn less brightly these days, but his gravitational pull hasn't diminished.
Thank you for the tags @bazzybelle @krisrix @theflyingpeach and @annabellelux . Your excerpts were incredible and left me salivating for more, so job well done!
Today’s the day I post the epilogue to my Carry On Exchange fic!!!! (Insert shameless plug here: Read the fic on AO3.) Since that is all I’ve been working on this week, I’ll share some more here. A little taste of my favorite chapter (5) when Baz “goes off” as only he can:
"Balthazar," I nod at him coolly. "Would you be so kind as to fuck off?"
Balthazar gives me a pitying look. "Come now, Basilton--"
"Where's the rest of the Coven? Do you even have a quorum?"
He rolls his eyes. "You Pitches and your quorums. They're all at Watford, with your aunt. I would think you'd want to be there, too."
I would. But a bigger part of me would like to make sure Simon doesn't get killed. "What is it you think we can do that the entire Coven can't accomplish?"
"It's not that we can't handle the situation--"
"You did come here to ask for help, so..." I fan my hands out in front of me, mirroring his gesture of helplessness from earlier.
A whole seven paragraphs! Ooh! Aah!
Thanks to all of you who’ve been reading along as the story unfolded this week.
Tagging all who want to share, no pressure, and: @nightimedreamersworld @caitybuglove23 @angelsfalling16 @adamarks @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @pipsqueakparker @motherscarf @sbazzing @hufflepunky @amphipodgirl @scone-lover @peachpit-mo @the-lincyclopedia
Fic Summary: Baz doesn't know where he and Simon stand after that moment on the beach in Wayward Son. He also doesn't know if he can ask. All he really does know is that he's still in love with Simon and he has to find a way to say it before he runs out of time again.
Chapter Summary: Consequences (and the Coven) come knocking.
Rating: Teen and Up
Chapter Word Count: 1,881 (overall 10k+)
Preview:
The other voices in the room washed over me. I barely registered their meaning. All I could think about was Simon.
Simon, alone.
Simon, injured.
Simon, bent and broken and face down in the dirt with his wing bent back, riddled with bleeding holes...
What if he was still hurt?
What if Bunce and I had missed something?What if it wasn’t something Dr. Wellbelove could treat?
A gift for @the-lincyclopedia as part of the @coexchange.
Summary:
Baz doesn't know where he and Simon stand after that moment on the beach in Wayward Son. He also doesn't know if he can ask. All he really does know is that he's still in love with Simon and he has to find a way to say it before he runs out of time again.
Epilogue Summary:
Now that the trouble at Watford has been contained, Baz and Simon share a quiet moment on the Great Lawn.
Word Count: 907 (Overall 15k+)
Rating: Teen and Up
Preview:
He promptly ruins the moment by laughing and pushing me onto my back. But I start laughing, too. Because I’ll never tire of that sound. He’s perfect like this. Glowing like the sun.
