SnowBaz au/headcanon where Simon is deaf and Baz learns ASL so he can talk to Simon and they eventually become (more than?) friends
lmao okay you gonna make me cry while writing this.
- Baz was a smart bloke, always ready for class and always participating, he’s sharp as a knife and teachers love his remarks; but his all time favorite thing to study are languages.
- He was raised as a bilingual kid, but later in life moved to another country, needing to learn another, complete foreign to him, language. That is when he realized his passion.
- By the age of fifteen he already spoke 5 languages and was now learning Latin, he had all the teachers impressed, and even the jocks of the school asked him to teach them new curse words (which Baz being Baz, he of course provided them with).
- When Baz comes in to class after a few weeks, he sees a new student, all bronze messy locks, sitting next to his unassigned assigned spot. He’s ready a book about physics, and Baz can already tell that he can get used to this cute boy.
- Baz puts his bag down and sits next to the boy, he says hello but it seems like the boy just ignores him, so he taps his shoulder, and when the boy looks up at him with his blue eyes, Baz knows he’s a goner.
- Baz says hi introducing himself, but he notices that the boy isn’t looking directly at him but at his lips, and when he introduces himself with a weird lisp using hand moments Baz realizes, he’s deaf.
- However that does not stop Baz.
- He starts writing Simon notes and texting him, sometimes directly talking to him but not much as Simon revealed that he’s kind of bad at reading lips.
- It was about 2am on a friday when Baz realized that he was falling in love with Simon Snow, he realized that as they were watching a movie together (yellow subtitles for snow), limbs tangled (???) under the blanket, and Baz ran his hands though Simon’s hair.
- When Simon fell asleep Baz took out his phone, he knew what language he wants to study next.
- At first Simon didn’t notice anything about Baz, but as the days moved on Si started noticing all the different hand movements that Baz started using, even when he just gave Si a note.
- It was one of those nights again when Baz nudged Simon’s shoulder, and he looked up at him. Baz sat him up and looked him in the eye smiling as he signed “I Love You” to Simon, and Baz swore that Si lit up brighter than a Christmas tree as he saw that, he smiled so wide and it seemed like he was about to cry, as he threw himself into Baz’s embrace.
- Baz was still learning but in a few weeks they talked in ASL, and as they lay down in the grass on a spring day, the flowers from the near by blossoming cherry tree flying in the wind, Simon turns to Baz, and decides to do something he was thinking about even before the night Baz told him he loved him. (hE FUCKING PUNCHED HIM jk)
- Baz looks at Simon, and Si’s cheeks are so red, but Simon closes his eyes and he kisses the boy laying next to him, and as he disconnects Baz just smiles and signs “Can we do this more often?” to which Simon happily nods.
LMAO OKAY SORRY IF THIS IS BAD IDK IF THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED BUT ENJOY!!!
send me more prompts and stuff i love writing (i do mostly snowbaz, phan, joshler, destiel, otayuri and viktuuri)
For @snowbaz-feda day 29. Baz takes care of Simon, and Simon accuses Baz of plotting.
SIMON:
I didn’t want to go off and kill them all, I thought I could fight the beasts and chase them away, but there are too many of them and none of my spells are coming out right and there are cuts across my body where they’ve slashed me with their claws and I can’t. I can’t fight them. The sword drops from my hand, the magic spills over, and I feel the explosion at the same moment I hit the ground.
BAZ:
Snow barely makes it through the door and to his bed before he collapses, his upper body slumped across the bed with the rest of him still hanging off it, knees scraping the floor. I wait for him to heave himself the rest of the way up, but he doesn’t move. I can smell blood, and his shirt is torn in a few places.
I ignore the sensation of my fangs filling my mouth and cautiously step closer.
‘Snow?’
There’s no answer, not even a groan, and he’s still not moving. I take in the dishevelled state of his hair and the scars on his back, visible through the tears in the fabric of his shirt, and I forget all about keeping my distance and rush to his side. I grab his wrist.
There’s a pulse, but it’s slow and irregular, and he seems to be struggling to breathe.
Up close the smell of blood is stronger, and I can see that he’s unconscious. Whatever it was has seriously hurt him. He starts to slump back towards the ground and I catch him with an arm around his shoulders. I try to figure out how to move him onto the bed with the least physical contact possible. In the end, I scoop him up with my other arm under his knees, and I try not to hold him too close as I lift him up and gently lay him on his back on the bed.
I take out my wand and spell away the tattered remains of his shirt, dropping them onto the floor for him to deal with later. There are cuts and wounds all over his chest, some bleeding quite badly, and his face looks pale underneath all the blood and grime and he looks like he could be dead. There’s a strange ache in the pit of my stomach, and I won’t pretend I don’t know what it is. (It’s the feeling of seeing the one you love close to death, and realising how close you are to losing him.)
I cast every healing spell I can think of, repeating them over and over, until the scars finally start to shrink and the colour returns to his cheeks.
*
I’ve been casting for hours and my voice is hoarse when I finally feel confident enough to leave his side. His heartrate has almost returned to normal and his breath has stopped hitching every time he breathes in, like it’s causing him pain. He’s still unconscious, but now he looks like he’s sleeping peacefully rather than like he’s on the brink of death. It’s long past dinnertime, and I know he’ll be hungry when he wakes, so I go down to the kitchen and bring up sandwiches and tea. I leave them on the bedside table.
I know I shouldn’t; he’s healing and I’ve done everything that could possibly pass as my duty as his roommate, completely disregarding the fact that we’re enemies. I’m supposed to want him dead. But it’s like now that I’ve started, and now that I’ve made it abundantly clear that I care for him, I don’t want to stop. I may as well see it through.
I grab a hand towel from the bathroom and carefully wipe the blood and grime off his face. I would just spell him clean and save myself the trouble, but I know Snow prefers it this way.
And maybe it’s just an excuse to touch him like this, gently, carefully, not with flailing punches and leaving bruises the way we usually do. I cast ‘out, out, damned spot’ on his sheets and use ‘clean as a whistle’ on his chest and arms. Whistles aren’t actually very clean, but using the towel seems like crossing a line. Snow wouldn’t allow me to touch him there if he was awake.
I dump the towel back in the bathroom, spell it clean, and return to the room. Not knowing what else to do, I cast a spell on his tea to keep it warm, and sit down carefully on the end of his bed. The constant hum of his magic has started up again, slowly washing over me and making the back of my throat taste faintly of smoke. It smells like him.
I could – I should – leave him and go to sleep in my own bed, but I stay anyway. I need to make sure he’s really okay. If he doesn’t wake up by morning, I’ll cast another round of spells on him. Sometimes it takes a few tries before the spells really start to take effect. I’ll stay up all night if I have to.
SIMON:
I hear Baz’s voice before I’m fully awake. He’s murmuring something, and when I open my eyes I see him looming over me, wand gripped in his left hand. I startle and scramble into a sitting position.
‘Get away from me,’ I gasp.
I don’t even remember how I got here. The last thing I remember was going off, and then I blacked out – and now somehow I’m on my bed, shirtless, with Baz hovering over me. My hand flies up to my neck, heart pounding, and I feel the familiar cold metal of the cross around my neck. I breathe out slowly, trying to calm down.
His expression is so cold it sends chills down my spine. ‘With pleasure,’ he spits out, backing away.
‘What were you doing?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. It’s normal for Baz to plot against me, but this was different, he was leaning over my bed while I was unconscious, he had his wand out –
‘What the fuck do you think?’
I frown. ‘I don’t know, I was unconscious, wasn’t I? What are you up to? Is this some plan of the Old Families? Did you know those things were going to attack me today?’ Today? No, it’s bright out, and that means I’ve been unconscious all night and who knows what Baz could have done while my guard was down?
He stares back at me. ‘I should have left you to die,’ he says softly, and strides out of the room.
Confused, I look down and notice my ruined shirt on the ground. Then I realise, with some surprise, that it doesn’t hurt to move, though I’m starting to remember stumbling up the steps last night, seeing black spots across my vision and feeling like fire was ripping through every part of my body with every small movement. I must have collapsed on my bed.
I look down, and there are no scars on my chest, and my arms are bare. Yet my tattered and bloodied clothes are proof that the attack did happen.
I look at the door. I should have left you to die. What did he mean by that?
I stand up, go to the bathroom and change into new clothes. My stomach grumbles and I remember that I skipped dinner last night. I’m about to leave the room when I notice the cup of tea and sandwiches sitting on the bedside table. The tea is completely cold, and the sandwiches are roast beef. My favourite.
I didn’t think he noticed.
*
‘Why weren’t you at dinner?’
Penny throws her arms around me when she sees me, which lets me know that she was really worried. I explain about the attack and how I must have passed out after dragging myself back to our room.
‘You should have come to me,’ she says, finally pulling away. ‘I was in the library.’
I bite my lip. ‘I was fine,’ I say. ‘I mean… Baz helped me. I think.’
‘You think? What do you mean?’
He’s in his usual spot across the dining hall, and Penny and I sit down at our table, and I spend the entire meal staring at him as I stumble through an explanation of what happened when I woke up, and what he said to me. Usually when I stare this much he feels it and looks up to sneer at me, but today he keeps his gaze firmly fixed to the table in front of him. His head is drooping just slightly, as if he didn’t get any sleep last night.
‘He stayed up all night healing you, and you accused him of plotting?’ Penny says.
I wince. ‘It sounds worse when you say it like that. I just woke up, Penny. I didn’t know what was happening.’
‘But why would he help you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I mean, the healing, I guess that makes sense, he doesn’t want you bleeding to death in your room.’
‘Why not?’ I mutter. (Isn’t he supposed to want me dead?)
‘But the food and the tea, he’s going out of his way to take care of you,’ she continues.
‘Maybe that’s part of his plan,’ I say.
Penny rolls her eyes. ‘Maybe he was just being nice, Simon.’
I take a huge bite of scone so I don’t have to answer her. Finally, I say, ‘I guess I should thank him, at least.’
*
I follow Baz out of our last class of the day. He whirls around in the middle of the crowded hall, crossing his arms over his chest.
‘What do you want?’
I look down at my shoes. ‘I just wanted to say thanks. For, you know. Healing me, or whatever. So. Thanks.’
I look up and find him sneering at me.
‘Healing you?’ he spits. ‘I’m a villain, Snow, I’m supposed to be plotting your death, aren’t I? Why would an evil, heartless vampire lift a finger to help you?’
My mouth drops open. ‘I don’t – I don’t think you’re – but you –’
‘Could have fooled me,’ he says, and for once, his voice isn’t sharp and cold like ice. It’s soft, and there’s hurt dripping off every syllable, and it’s so wrong. I don’t want him to hurt.
I stare after him as he turns and walks away.
BAZ:
I don’t even have to put myself out there in order to get rejected by Snow. I mean, forget being in love with him, I can’t even do something decent for him without him thinking I have some nefarious plan in mind. Though he’s clearly realised his mistake, but fuck him if he thinks he can brush aside everything I did and everything I feel and then just thank me and consider us even. Not even a fucking apology.
It doesn’t matter what I do, Snow will always think I’m evil. (I’m a monster; does that make me evil by definition, even if I don’t drink human blood? Even if I don’t kill?) I can’t even tell if I’m more angry or hurt, because just once it would have been nice for Simon Snow to wake up and smile at me and be glad I was there. I was a fool for thinking it could be different. And Snow is a fool for being so damn sure that I can’t be hurt, that I feel no human emotion, as though every fucking look he gives me doesn’t feel like another nail hammered into my coffin.
But it’s alright. Snow will forget about this and go back to sending me glares across classrooms, and I’ll go back to dreaming about lips on lips and skin on skin and things he’d probably sooner die than say to me.
I walk over and slam the window shut (the git better not fight me on this tonight) and I turn back, about to climb into bed when the door creaks open. I’m hit by a strong scent, not unpleasant, it’s quite sweet and rosy almost like –
Snow appears in the doorway, clutching a bundle of flowers. There’s a splash of purple – hyacinths, I think, and white tulips, and red and white roses. Snow’s face is bright red as his eyes find mine.
Crowley, red roses. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t get to feed last night, or I’d be almost as red as Snow.
He takes a few tentative steps into the room, aiming for me, holding the flowers out in front of him. My heart gives a jolt when I realise he’s brought them for me.
‘Snow? What?’ I’d ask more questions, but I’d probably choke on my words, and that’s Snow’s job.
‘Um. I. Um.’ He pushes the flowers towards me and I take the bouquet out of his hands, dumbfounded. I have no fucking clue where he got these from. ‘I – uh, apparently these are apology flowers,’ he says, running a hand through his hair. Crowley, I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. ‘I just – I’m sorry. I was a git. And – yeah. Sorry. I’m not good at apologies, or talking, so I thought I’d, you know, get these instead.’
I resist the urge to bury my nose in the flowers and smell them. (Red roses. Crowley.) I don’t know what the fuck is happening right now.
‘You brought me flowers,’ I say. ‘Snow, I’m your nemesis, that’s not normal.’
He nods, backing away a few steps. ‘I know.’
‘Do you really not know what red roses mean?’ I fight to keep my gaze steady on his wide blue eyes, but I find myself drifting, tracing the moles on his cheek, and the one on his neck, and Crowley, his cheeks are so red, I could bite him, I could kiss him…
‘But I – but the florist said these were apology flowers,’ he insists, tousling his curls again. (He really should stop doing that if he doesn’t want me to lose it.)
I scoff. ‘The florist probably thought this was for your girlfriend, then.’
He growls and walks back up to me. ‘Fine, you hate them, I can take them back.’ He reaches for the bouquet at the same time I pull my hand back (Simon Snow brought me roses, he’s taking them back over my dead body) and he ends up grabbing my hand instead of the flowers, and it shocks me so much that I drop them immediately.
We both bend down and Snow gets to the flowers first, and he’s so close, with his messy curls and his blush and his lips hanging open right there, and I’m so close to giving in. He straightens up and his hand brushes up my arm to steady himself. A bolt of electricity shoots up my arm and I stumble away from him as if he’s struck me.
Snow stares at me with a little crease between his eyebrows, his mouth turned down, and his voice is quiet when he says, ‘why? Why can’t you stand to be near me?’
I can feel his warmth and smell his magic and feel him everywhere. I grit my teeth. ‘Because it’s too much,’ I say. ‘It’s too much.’ My voice breaks on the last syllable.
‘What do you mean?’ he says, his frown deepening, desperate to understand. ‘My magic?’
‘Crowley, you’re still so fucking oblivious.’
‘Then tell me,’ he says. ‘Last night you were taking care of me, I know you were, and now you freak out when I touch you. Why, Baz?’
I stare at the bouquet he’s still clutching in his hand, almost forgotten. ‘You brought me flowers,’ I say. I can barely get the words out. Because he’ll know. He has to know.
‘But I didn’t – I didn’t mean – this isn’t about the roses, is it?’ He gulps. ‘I didn’t mean it like –’
I cut him off. ‘I know that. I’m not thick. That’s just the problem, Snow, Simon, I wish you had. I wish you meant it like that.’
His mouth hangs open, and I can’t tell if his mind is working on overtime trying to process what I said or if he’s just not thinking at all. I don’t even know why I said it. I don’t know what I hoped to gain.
Except maybe now he’ll leave me alone and stop fighting me, but I doubt it’ll hurt any less.
‘Okay,’ Snow stammers finally. ‘So you – you have – you like me? Okay. I mean, that’s – that’s good, I can – let’s do that, then.’
I go still. ‘What the fuck are you saying, Snow?’
‘Crowley, I don’t know, we should date?’ he says.
‘What?’
‘If you want,’ he adds hurriedly. ‘We can try it. I’d like to.’
He’s saying all this like he’s just throwing out whatever words come into his head and doesn’t he know how terrified I am right now? (Terrified that he doesn’t mean it, terrified about everything.)
‘But you hate me,’ I say flatly.
He shrugs. ‘Not really. I mean, I’m mostly just mad that you hate me. Which you apparently don’t. So it’s not a problem.’
‘Okay,’ I say, making up my mind quickly, because Simon has just told me that I can have exactly what I want and even if this is a dream and even if he changes his mind, I’ll damn well make the most of it while I can. ‘I want this.’
‘Okay,’ he says, shifting the flowers to his left hand and sticking out his right. ‘Um. Boyfriends?’
I sneer. ‘I’m not shaking hands with you.’
He looks back at me and then nods, turning away. He drops the flowers on the edge of my bed and is by my side again before I can blink.
‘Fine by me,’ he breathes, and then both his hands are on the back of my head and he’s pulling me down to his mouth.
SIMON:
Aleister Crowley, why didn’t I think of this before?
All the time he was fighting me and I was accusing him of plotting against me, and I could have been snogging him. That would have shut him up a lot more effectively, and judging by the way his hands are grasping at my back, and the soft noises he keeps making, it would’ve also been a much better way to make him feel something. To make him lose control.
I don’t think Baz has ever done this before, but he’s the one kissing me like his life depends on it, and I’ve never been kissed like that before either. I didn’t know it could be so good. I definitely didn’t know Baz could be the one to make me feel like this.
@snowbaz-feda
Prompt: ‘Are you drunk?’
Genre: fluff
Word count: 2225
Summary: Simon comes home late one night and lays himself next to Baz in bed. He says things, but Baz is sure he’ll regret it the next day.
Baz
When I come back from hunting, Simon isn't there, which is unusual. I wonder whether he's followed me again, but I didn't notice anything. (Also, he hasn't followed me for a few months now. I was glad about the break, but I still don't really get why.)
Sometimes, he makes me feel like I'm suffocating. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning in a pit of despair. (And it's not just because I'm being dramatic – there are moments when it feels like I'm going to die of the pain, of the longing.)
But tonight, he's not here. (I'm torn between missing him and relief. It's torture being in love with your enemy.)
I lay down and stare at the empty bed beside me. The stars shine brightly tonight and I can hear the wind rustling against the window. I wonder what he's up to at this time of the day. (Probably with Wellbelove.)
Suddenly I hear something crashing against the door and jolt. Is this him? (He's clumsy, but not even he would make this much noise so late at night.)
It must be somebody who lives inside the Mummer's house. I hear some metal clashing together (keys?) and somebody swearing. Maybe it is Simon after all?
Whoever it is, he gets the door open and stumbles in. I can only see his slumped shape, his head hanging low. What's wrong with him?
He slams the door shut behind him and I wonder whether he's angry. (At me? I wouldn't know why, but that says nothing.)
For a moment, he just stand there in the middle of the room. He stares at the ground and I stare at him. Then he lifts his head and his gaze meets mine. The moonlight reflects in his eyes. He makes a step forward and his lips curl into a smile. (Mood swings?)
'Baz,' he whispers, and he sounds high. And then he giggles. (Crowley. Giggles.)
I don't know what to think or do when he comes closer. (When did he stop being afraid of me? Did he throw all care in the wind?)
He places himself next to me on the bed and I try to put all the signs together (even though it's hard to form a coherent thought.)
'Are you drunk?' I mumble, trying to put some distance between us. He doesn't seem to care, he crawls under the blanket next to me. I want to yell at him. Maybe push him. Anything to get him away from me. But one look of him suffices – one look out of his dumb puppy eyes – and I give in.
(So many years of restraint and self-control, and this is all it takes to make me give up. Or maybe it's like that saying – when the barrel overflows. Maybe I've just had enough.)
But I feel vulnerable lying here, and he's so close, we're almost touching.
'No,' he mutters and seems sleepy. He yawns. (Yawns. Like a damn kitten. Merlin, what am I doing?) ''m not drunk.'
I want to sneer and make a remark, but I can't bring myself to do it. My heart is beating so fast, I think it might leap out of my chest. Heat is radiating from his body.
His presence is driving me insane. (That's it. I'm going mad. I won't survive this day.)
He'll burn me up right now. (I'm flammable. It will be easy.)
Then my gaze falls to his lips (slightly open) and I want nothing more than to kiss him right now. He smells of alcohol (how much did he have?) but nothing is holding me back except for the little bit of sense for self-preservation I have left. (But I feel like I'm dying tonight and there will be no tomorrow. I know, logically, that's not what's happening right now, but it still feels like it. It feels like it's the end of the world. And Crowley. That's pathetic.)
But he came to me tonight. And he seems to have forgotten everything he thinks about me. I wish I could kiss him right now.
'Hmm Baz,' he mutters and his eyes flutter open. 'You're so, so, so so...'
'Cunning?' I provide helpfully. 'Witty? Sad? Dead?'
'mmm.... pretty,' he giggles. Again. (He is. He's actually trying to kill me.) 'You're so pretty, Baz.'
'You're not thinking straight.'
He giggles again, and I know what he's thinking. (Silly boy.)
Then he blushes and covers his face with his hands, peeking out between his fingers. (It's almost too much. He's the one who's drunk, but suddenly I feel euphoric.)
'What?' I whisper.
'I,' he says and hides again behind his fingers. 'I want to kiss you.'
What did he just say? Did he actually say that right now? Am I making things up? (No. Damn it. He's drunk. You can't trust anything he says right now. He doesn't mean it. He'll regret everything when he wakes up.)
But, I'm tempted. (Maybe he won't even remember this tomorrow.) Then again, I'd never take advantage of him.
'You have a girlfriend, remember?' I say, trying to put some sense in him.
'Wrong,' he mumbles. 'A week ago, yes, but not any more.'
'What? Why?'
He laughs again.
''Cause you're so pretty, Baz. You're sooo pretty.'
'D-do you mean... you're gay?'
He smiles sheepishly.
'No. I don't know. Just know that I... mm... want to kiss you. And touch your hair. It's sooo pretty. And I watch you play football. I think of you aaaaall the time. You're everywhere, Baz. I just can't get you out of here,' he says, frowning, and taps against his forehead.
''cause you think I'm plotting,' I remind him silently. He ignores me.
'Aaand you play the violin when I'm not here. I secretly listen to it sometimes.'
He covers his face again and glances at me. I can tell that he's smiling. I don't know what I'm thinking. I just want it to stop.
'Want to know a secret?'
'What?' I choke out.
'You're bloody perfect,' he whispers. 'And I wish you weren't my ene -'
And I think I might die if he keeps talking. I just need him to stop, so I press my lips against his and he finally shuts up. (He shuts up, but I'm still dying.)
I don't know how kissing works. I just push him and he pushes back. He buries his hands in my hair.
I'm kissing Simon Snow. I- No.
He reaches for me, but I pull away. He doesn't want this, damn it. He's out of his mind. He'd never do this if he weren't drunk.
'Go to sleep,' I whisper. 'You won't remember this in the morning.'
And like that, he falls asleep, as if he was listening to me. I listen to him breathing, but there's no way I'm getting any sleep tonight. I kissed Simon Snow. Damn.
I close my eyes and think about it, the feeling of his lips. I'm going to live the rest of my life knowing that I kissed him. (It's like everything else to do with Simon. It's a blessing and a curse at the same time.)
I leave the bed early, doing my best not to wake him. (It would be mortifying if he woke up.)
I hope he doesn't remember anything, I don't want to deal with his rejection. (How would that go? 'Ehmm... but Baz? You do know that I didn't mean it, right? I was just drunk.' Because, yes, damn it. I know that.)
I wonder why he got drunk like that in the first place. He was pretty much wasted. I look at him, sleeping in my bed. What will he think when he wakes up in my bed? Well, it's better than him waking up next to me. That would freak him out.
I'm scared he'll confront me afterwards. (I crossed borders I shouldn't have crossed. There were lines. He'll be mad if he remembers.)
So I leave our room, just to avoid him for as long as possible.
Simon
When I wake up, my head hurts. I groan and sit up. I reach right for the bottle of water – and my fingers brush against the wall. What? I look around and realize that I'm on the other side of the room. In Baz bed. And then the memories come rushing in.
I turn bright red. The things I told him, I – I must have made him so uncomfortable. I just went into his bed (without his permission) and practically harassed him. I vaguely remember kissing him and him pushing me off. I gently touch my lips. I kissed him last night. And now he hates me for it. (He hated me before, but it's even worse now. He'll think I'm disgusting – he probably won't even pick a fight with me.)
I feel tears prickling in my eyes. He's not here any more. I'm alone. It makes sense that he doesn't want to see me, but it still stings. I have to find him. I have to save at least some of it, apologize.
I walk around all day, looking for him. (The catacombs, the library, the football pitch, even the wavering wood. But it's hard to find Baz when he doesn't want to be found.)
I end up back in our room, waiting for him. (I'm afraid he won't come back at all. He has to. He lives here, Crowley. But maybe he'd rather sleep in the catacombs than in here, after what I did. I shudder at the thought.)
It's past midnight when I hear the door open. I sit up immediately, but he doesn't even look at me. I want to say something, but he goes straight for the bathroom. I wait, and I wait. (Is he trying to drive me insane? If so, it's working.)
He comes out (changed) and goes to the bed. Still not looking at me. I clear my throat.
'Baz. I'm, um, I'm sorry.'
He still doesn't react.
'For what I did. Yesterday.'
I think he isn't going to answer, but then he shifts and his voice is cold.
'Forget about it.'
I almost laugh.
'I can pretend like it didn't happen, if that's what you want,' I mumble. 'But I'll never forget about it.'
'Why not? Did you hate it so much?'
'Hate it?'
'You were drunk, Snow.'
'Yeah, I know, but that's no excuse for kissing you. You clearly didn't want me to, and I still did it, and I'm just – I'm really sorry. Also... I'm sorry for all the things I said, I -'
'I'm not an idiot, Snow. I know you didn't mean any of it. Just – just stop talking, please.'
Oh. This is my chance – to back out, to deny everything, to go back to normal. But somehow, I can't.
'Do you know why I got drunk?'
'I'm not psychic, Snow.'
'I realized something a week ago. Something agonizing and I wanted to forget about it.'
He stays silent a moment.
'What?'
'It didn't work. Baz. I... I meant every word.'
Silence. Again. Guess it's better than shouting. Maybe he'll agree to a truce. Maybe he pities me enough to stop fighting with me. (I don't know whether I want that, really.)
'You're attracted to me?'
He sounds strangled. (But I guess this is the best reaction I could've hoped for.)
'Worse,' I mutter. 'Look, I know this is weird. You hate me, and you don't have to feel guilty about that. You can just pretend you don't know.'
'What do you mean,' he whispers, 'worse?'
I wish I knew what he's thinking.
'I – I mean that I'm in love with you. Crowley, Baz, you have no idea how - '
'I have no idea?'
He sounds angry now. I'm afraid he'll ignore the anathema. (It's understandable.)
'One week. You realized one fucking week ago.'
'You don't know what this feel like, Baz, I -'
'It feels like you're in hell,' he whispers. 'And like it's the only thing... the only thing that's keeping you alive sometimes.'
'How do you know how - '
'Simon, please, come here.'
I'm afraid it's a trick, but I can't resist it. I crawl under the blanket beside him.
'Are you sure you're not drunk again?' he whispers.
'Yes. I'm completely honest.'
'Well, then, I'll be completely honest, too.'
This is the point where he tells you he hates you. And that he would never feel something for you. Isn't it?
He runs his fingers through my hair. Why is he doing this to me?
His head comes closer to mine. Our lips almost touch. I'm having trouble breathing.
'You're killing me,' he whispers. 'That's the truth.'
'I - '
'Every touch,' he kisses me, 'every glance from you,' another kiss, 'every word you say', his lips are soft, 'every second in this room', I can't get enough of it, 'all of you.'
He lets go of me and looks directly into my eyes.
'I'm dying, that's the truth.'
And he kisses me again, desperate and hard, and passionate, and I know that he means it.
His voice fades into a whisper.
'But I'd choose death any time if it meant that I got all of this,' he pulls me closer, 'and all of you.'
Simon gets the surprise of his life when his roommate, Baz, asks him to pretend to be his boyfriend. Everything is going according to plan until the line of what’s real and what isn’t starts to blur, and they both have to make a decision.
For @snowbaz-feda
Also many thanks to @eroticgropefest for the beta!!
I wake up with Baz arm around me, and I don’t want to move. He’s still sleeping, I can hear his soft breathing, so I let myself stay like that for a while.
When he wakes up, he slowly disentangles himself from me “I’m going to hunt before we go back,” he tells me while he’s getting dressed.
I’m momentarily distracted looking at him getting dressed, that I only tell him, “okay,” right before he leaves.
I feel like I just missed my chance to talk to him about this, so I take a quick shower and decide to go after him. I can’t stand it anymore, not knowing how he really feels.
I start walking into the woods, making as much noise as I can, so that he’ll hear me.
After a few minutes he shows up. We stare a few seconds at each other, until he finally speaks. “Snow... what are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
“You could have waited-”
“No, I really couldn’t,” I interrupt him, and he’s looking at me in a strange way now.
I step closer to Baz, but I can’t look up while I say it. “I can’t keep doing this Baz, this fake relationship with you...”
“I see... ” That’s all he has to say? I look up at him and he’s looking hurt. So I just grab him by the neck and kiss him one last time. He’s not kissing me back, so I pull away to look at him.
“This is why I can’t keep pretending…” I close my eyes and let go of him. “It feels too good, too real, when we're together and it isn’t."
Suddenly Baz is kissing me.
It’s so good.
It’s been so good every time.
And somehow we end up falling to the ground, and he’s not letting go of me. “Simon...” he tells me, between kisses. “This has been real for me too."
Soulmate AU: Everyone has a line that starts from their ring finger that goes to their heart, and in the line is spells out the very frst thoughts you have about your soulmate.
Tyrannus Basilton Pitch hates his line. It’s just like everyone else, but there is only one word repeated over and over and over again. “Wow.” Am I really not more creative than that? Whoever my soulmate is better be “wow” worthy otherwise I will be pissed off. Then again, I’m pissed off a lot.
I wonder what other people’s lines say. Some just say “They’re beautiful,” where others say “Those shoes are ugly as hell.” I think it’s funny, the variety of thoughts that people can have about someone they are truly destined for. Not that I believe all this shit. My friend Agatha doesn’t have a line. When she was younger she wanted to get a tattoo of one, just to make her look normal, but since then the tattooing of the lines have become illegal. I guess there have been too many people in Agatha’s position where they get lines and steal soulmates from other people. Agatha isn’t like that though. She just wanted a line, no words, to make her look normal.
Work today is slow as a bitch. Why does no one want coffee? Coffee is great. I am debating getting some when the door dings open. Two people walk in, but the sun from outside blocks my view of them.
“Honesty, Simon, do you really need to go to every single store in London to find these bloody scones? I want to go home,” a girl’s voice said.
“Yes, Penny. You know I am addicted to them.”
I rolled my eyes. Wow, I thought. Scones? Then I froze. I thought wow. Is that..?
Simon and Penny walked up to the counter. “Hi! Do you have scones?”
“Um, yeah, what kind do you want?” I asked him, movements slow in case he realized that maybe I was his soulmate.
“Sour cherry,” he said. And then he froze. “Give us a minute will you?”
He dragged the girl away and whispered to her. His hands were moved everywhere, he gestured to where his line is, and he blushed when he realized I was staring at him. I got the sour cherry scones for him, I didn’t know how much he wanted so I just gave him five since they are sold in bundles of five. I waited for them at the counter. Penny went and sat down and he walked back to the counter. Holy shit. He’s really cute.
He has bronze curls and blue eyes. His face is covered in freckles and little moles and it’s the cutest thing I’ve seen in a while.
“I have five scones for you, do you want more?” I ask him.
“Five is good, but I would like your number,” he replies. Damn, he’s good.
“Let me get that for you..?”
“Simon. My name is Simon "Your Soulmate” Snow.“ He actually used finger quotes around "Your Soulmate.” He smirked like hell when he did that. Why did I feel like he should never smirk?
“That’s smooth, Snow. That’s smooth,” I whispered as I was writing my number on his receipt. “Now, just because you are my soulmate doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay for these scones and my number. That’ll be 3.49.”
“Does that include or not include your phone number?” He asked, handing me the money.
“My number costs one date with you.” I answered, handing him the scones and my number. “I’m off in an hour.”
“I’ll wait for you here,” he winked and walked back to Penny, who was silently recording the entire encounter.
“Did you get it?” Snow whispered just a little too loud.
Summary: It’s like an unspoken routine -- Baz busies himself to be the last one in the locker room after the football matches and Snow comes in to make him all sweaty again.
Word count: 1k
Rating: E
Tags: Shameless smut, fluff
If you ask Baz, all this thing is Snow’s fault.
He hears the unmistakable sound of the door opening and closing. Someone failing to go unnoticed while entering the locker room.
Snow.
Baz is filled with a familiar feeling he can only describe through metaphors and analogies: It’s like his heart is rioting within his chest, trying to make an escape; and every cell of his body has suddenly forgotten its main function and has joined the heart’s revolution.
“Baz,” Snow says, behind him.
Baz turns around. “Snow,” he whispers, through his clogged throat.
If you ask Snow, there’s no thing whatsoever. “Come here,” he says.
It’s like an unspoken routine -- Baz busies himself to be the last one in the locker room after the football matches and Snow comes in to make him all sweaty again.
Baz always says, “Yes.”
He steps closer to Snow, the palms of his hands already starting to get clammy.
Snow, a man of actions rather than words, reaches over and tugs his fingers through Baz’s ponytail. He’s not gentle.
Baz archs his head back, sucking in a deep breath. “Should I take it down?” he asks.
Snow cups Baz’s jaw in his free hand, tilting Baz’s face to the side. “Merlin, no,” he says. And kisses Baz’s neck. Snow’s hot breath tickles Baz’s skin, sending chills across his body.
Baz settles one hand at the back of Snow’s neck, right where his messy curls end, pulling him closer. The other one finds his way to the small of Snow’s back.
Snow treats Baz’s neck like a target. Kissing, licking, biting it. Baz can feel it in more places than one. Like cause and effect.
His hand travels under Snow’s clothes, cupping his arse. Which has an immediate effect on Snow, too. Snow stops kissing Baz’s neck and looks at him in a way that shoud be illegal. And bites his lip.
Baz feels like a prey.
Snow loosens his grip on Baz’s hair, leaning closer, his lips almost brushing Baz’s. Baz closes his eyes and goes to kiss him. But Snow steps back.
“Let me kiss you,” Baz says.
Snow offers him a twisted smile. “Ask nicely,” he says.
And Baz can’t believe how incredibly hard that makes him. “Please,” he begs. “Let me kiss you.”
Snow runs his tongue over his upper lip, staring at Baz, and steps closer. He reaches over and pulls at Baz’s shirt collar. And kisses him.
Snow pushes Baz as he kisses him, pinning him against Baz’s locker. It hurts a little. But it doesn’t matter. The only things that matter are Snow’s expert lips against Baz’s mouth and the annoying fact that there are still clothes between them.
If you ask Baz’s locker, it’d say maybe they could do all this no-thing a bit more gently.
Baz yanks desperately at Snow’s jumper, throwing it to the floor. Snow takes his time unbuttoning Baz’s shirt. He kisses Baz’s skin as he goes down, button by button by fucking button. Baz wishes he could just rip it off.
When he’s finally done, Snow continues with Baz’s trousers and pants.
Snow likes to drive Baz insane. He breathes and kisses and licks Baz’s hardness endlessly. Slowly. Fucking torturing him.
And then Snow stops and looks back up at Baz.
That’s a sight Baz will remember later on: Snow on his knees, looking up at him before swallowing him whole.
Baz can’t help tugging at Simon’s hair as he blows him. He also can’t help the moans that come out from his throat. Or arching his hips up, pushing his hardness into Simon’s mouth.
One of the best things in this life is fucking Simon’s mouth. It’s so good it’s too good. “Simon…” Baz moans. “Stop.”
But Simon only goes faster.
“Simon,” Baz says between breaths. “Fuck me. Please,” he begs.
Simon’s eyes go wild at Baz’s words and pulls off. “Merlin, Baz,” he says. “You’re such a bad boy.” He smiles devilishly and gives a lick to Baz’s cock. “Pure evil.”
Baz can only say, “Yes. I am.”
Simon gives Baz’s length another lick. “So bad,” he says.
“So,” Baz says, moaning. “Fucking,” he continues as Simon keeps licking. “Bad.” He wants Simon so badly. “Punish me, Snow,” he says.
Simon turns Baz around. He takes his own trousers and pants off before pressing his hardness against Baz’s butt. He starts rubbing it against Baz as he takes Baz’s length in his hand.
“Snow, just--” Baz starts, almost gasping. “Fuck me.”
Simon breathes into Baz’s ear. “Call me Simon,” he says. And bites Baz’s ear.
It’s too fucking much. “Simon…”
Simon steps back for a moment. Baz hears him rummaging for something.
And then Baz feels him again. Hot and hard as he goes inside him. Finally. Baz takes a firm grip of his locker, in order not to lose his balance.
Simon fucks like he fights: Hard. Fast and rough, like there’s no tomorrow. Obviously, Baz fights back.
Simon likes to whisper things into Baz’s ear, which makes it very difficult for Baz to last more than five minutes. Fucking Simon Snow’s mouth is second only to being fucked by Simon Snow.
Four or five dirty words later, Baz is coming hard against the locker. He says, “I love you, Simon.” But he’s so breathless that only a gasp comes out.
Simon follows him immeditely after. “I love you, too,” he replies, only it comes out a muffled sound.
They stay like this for a moment, recovering their breaths. Baz turns around and takes Simon’s sight in, seizing every second he gets to see him like this (for future use): Panting. Red cheeks. Bronze curls so messy it’s obvious he’s just had sex.
Only because he knows it wont last much longer, Baz takes Simon into his arms. It’s fucking painful how fast Simon can go from “there’s no tomorrow” to “today never happened.”
Baz keeps waiting for the blow; for Simon to deny the obvious, as he always does.
Simon breathes in Baz’s hair before pulling him back.
So here it comes. Now’s when he says, “This is nothing.”
Instead, Simon kisses Baz’s lips, slowly. Nothing like before. He tucks a strand of Baz’s hair behind his ear. And smiles. “This is everything,” he says.
Part of a small series of the multiple times Baz and Simon say “I love you” before their eight year. This takes place in fourth year.
I’ve also written on for year 2
“Tell me you love me!” I cast.
Snow face blossoms bright red, and its not just from the afternoon heat. I know the spell worked because he's pissed. He's body is clenched to attack. With shoulders taught, he shouts, “I love you, Baz!”
Niall chortles and Dev claps me on the back. The other fourth years in the courtyard are craning their necks to watch.
I make sure my voice is dripping with sarcasm when I reply, “Thanks, Snow. The feeling is mutual.”
He's shouting over and over, “I love you! I love you! I love you!” eyes imploring to Penny for help. She casts honesty is the best policy, which is a strong spell, but it makes Simon yell the same phrase louder. I'm confused – that should have broken the spell, but it didn't. I have a moment of fear because I don't know how to lift this.
We're getting an audience of upper years watching, too, which is making Snow more frantic. He might have to explode to break it.
Snow leaps at me, tackling me to the ground and tries to strangle my neck. “I love you,” he's whispering to me, menacing and hateful. It's phenomenal. Is this how I die? I'll take it.
“Be true to your heart!” Penny casts.
“I'm madly in love with you,” Snow growls, and my half-dead heart beats faster. None of Penny's spells are working. “I never stop thinking about you. I'm obsessed with you, Baz. I love you.” He keeps talking and strangling me.
The commotion dies down, so I look over Simon's shoulder to see Ebb approaching with Penny explaining the situation. Ebb looks amused when she casts love is patient, love is kind on Simon.
He's finally able to control what he says, so when he spits “I fucking hate you, Baz,” at me, I know he’s genuine.
Ebb and Penny pull him away, and I lay on the ground for a few seconds longer, savoring the memory. Its as close to his love as I'll ever get, and it's fine, fine, fine.
I’m not sure why Snow is crying. His sobs are hiccupy and loud, his face buried in his arm. “You- you!” he gasps.
“What’s wrong? What did I do?” I circle over to him and wrap my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in to my chest. “Let me fix it.”
“You didn’t do- do anything wrong!" he responds, pulling back and wiping snot from his nose. I wrinkle up my face, confused.
“Then why are you crying? I don’t-” Simon reaches up and smooths out the furrow in between my eyebrows ("You’re going to have a wrinkle there”.)
“Baz,” he says after a minute, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for the basket.”
“It wasn’t any trouble, Simon. Just some candy and colored eggs I picked up at the dollar store.” I’m still clutching onto his arm, worried that he’ll start crying again.
“You don’t get it,” he sighs, a bit frustrated, but he still smiles a little. Snow looks down at the floor for a minute, then flicks his eyes back up at me. “I’ve never had an Easter basket, Baz.”
“You’ve never had an Easter basket?” It seems impossible. “Wouldn’t the Mage have-” I stop. “Wouldn’t the Bunces have given you one? Or Agatha?”
“The Bunces don’t like me much,” he chuckles. “Other than Penny.” He wiped the last of the tears from his cheeks and sniffles a bit. “There’s not much time for Cadbury eggs when you’re saving the world.”
“I suppose not,” I fret. I know the wrinkle in between my eyebrows is back. He’s staring at it. “Well, dig in, then.” I grin and tousle his hair.
Snow doesn’t move for the basket. Instead, he takes a step toward me, entwining our fingers and holding out hands to his chest. “Baz?” he whispers, eyes brimming with tears again. Emotions, I scoff silently.
“Yeah?” I give his hand a gentle squeeze.
“I love you.” Even quieter than before.
“Love you too,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his lips. “Happy Easter.”
