i haven’t put up a fic today and my blog is looking distinctly not snowbaz-y rn so that needed to change
(bad) snap shots of their daily life, basically (ft baz’s insecurities, simon stacking cups at three in the morning, and fluff sprinkled lightly throughout)
they’re just gentle kisses on the forehead and cheeks right now, because baz is fragile.
he is. he’s been pushed too hard his whole life, and held himself together with magic and willpower, and now he’s cracking apart. so simon just grips his hand tight and cuddles into him on the couch and they have disney movie marathons because baz has never seen a single one, which makes something inside simon ache.
he deserves the world, and simon’s going to give it to him.
they sit up on the counter-top, leaning into each other and giggling softly. there’s flour and powdered sugar everywhere, and baz would usually be panicking, at least slightly (baz hates a mess), but right now he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a long time. he finds simon’s hand in the sugar and squeezes it.
“i love you,” says simon, and baz smiles. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that.
“i love you too,” he murmurs, twisting his head to connect their lips.
simon tastes of chocolate.
simon has snow in his hair and a light in his eye and he’s gorgeous.
baz sometimes has trouble believing he really is his, he really loves him back, he’s not just some wonderful dream that he’s going to wake up from one day. that’s his worst fear, really, that he’s made it all up and one day he’s going to open his eyes and see simon looking back at him with hatred in his eyes and his sword in his hand-
he refocuses and simon’s right in front of him, looking worried. “you okay, love?”
baz nods, and it sent a tear down his cheek. he puts a hand to it, surprised, and simon tilts his head sympathetically.
“okay, we’re building a snow fort. come on.”
“simon-” baz tries to protest, but he shuts him up by kissing him.
“i’m here to stay, okay?” he pecks baz on the cheek. “now come help me build my snow fort.”
he wakes up to a dark room and an empty bed, and the first thing he thinks is that simon’s (finally) abandoned him. it takes nearly five minutes of deep, slow breathing to convince himself that that isn’t true, and five minutes more to believe it enough to get up and go looking for him.
he finds simon sitting on the kitchen, stacking cups over and over and over. they clink against each other, a steady rythm- click, clack, clack, pause, click, clack, clack, pause- and-
“darling?” says baz softly, so as not to startle him. he does anyways- jumps so hard the cups scatter, then rights them frantically and starts stacking them faster and faster. baz crouches in front of him, takes both his hands. simon tries to jerk them away, still staring resolutely at the floor. “simon, love- hey. come on, sweetheart, lets go to bed.”
“baz,” simon whispers, voice breaking. “i can’t- i’ve got to, i can’t-”
baz tilts his chin up, meets his flooded eyes. it hurts. “oh, simon… it’s fine, darling, it’s alright. it’s time for bed now, okay?”
“okay,” he says, sounding dazed and empty. baz’s heart breaks for him.
“baz, wake up!”
baz groans, and hisses as simon throws the windows open wide. they snap back closed abruptly.
“how do you still manage to do that?” grumbles baz, sitting up sleepily. “we’ve been dating for years, roommates since we were eleven-”
“married,” says simon smugly, “since last night. yeah. i know.” he kisses him, lazily. “rise and shine, sleepyhead.”
“you do not get to say that to me,” says baz, voice lacking it’s usual bite.
“excuse me, i get up at six nearly every morning.”
“nearly- merlin knows why- you know this is our honeymoon, yeah? we get to sleep in. hell, we’re supposed to sleep in.”
“it’s ten thirty,” says simon in wounded tones. baz kisses him again.
“alright, fine. thank you.” he glances at the strips of light coming in through the closed window, and sighs. “why did we choose to go somewhere sunny?”
“to see if you sparkle?” suggests simon innocently, and baz snorts.
“i don’t sparkle.”
“that,” says simon, crossing his arms and sticking his nose up in the air, “sounds like the words of a man who sparkles.”
“no, actually, that sounds like a man who doesn’t sparkle. and are you trying to imitate me?”
“yeah,” says simon smugly.
“i hate you,” baz grumbles.
“you love me.”
baz pauses, and sighs. “you’re right. i do. why?”
“because i’m simon snow,” he says cheekily. “i’m the chosen one.”
“simon snow-pitch,” baz corrects, and they both grin.