Pillow Talk {SnowBaz}

idk i just got this idea!! sorry the title is dumb and the formatting is kinda weird but i hope u like it :) 

“Can I ask you something?”  
“You just did.”
Baz sighed. “Ask away. I’m an open book.”

        He was lying on his back, one hand toying with the string of warm yellow lights that was strung across Simon’s bedroom wall, the other rubbing circles in Simon’s palm. It was late, and both of them were on the brink of sleep, having just used a significant amount of energy. Baz was beyond thankful for “Clean as a whistle”, because he was far too exhausted to get up to shower. Not to mention, it was impossible to leave Simon’s bed once he was in it - it was just a queen sized mattress on the floor tucked into the corner of his wall, but it was ridiculously soft, and Simon had shockingly good taste in decorating despite having a low budget.

        “You said a while ago that you had feelings for me for years.” Simon began. Baz raised an eyebrow at the ceiling. “Yes, and?”

         Simon hesitated. “Well…I was just wondering. How exactly did it happen? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not holding a secret grudge or anything. It’s just that, to be honest, you were pretty shitty to me. No offense." 

   Baz snorted. "None taken." 

   "But really. When did it happen?”

       Baz sighed again and shifted to face Simon, the small smile on his face illuminated by the lights on his wall. “Let’s see,” He began, thoughtful. “First year, I despised you, through and through. You were everything I was taught to stand against. I was trained to hate you before I even met you. Making you miserable was a very satisfying pastime.”

      “Wow, thanks,” Simon pouted. Baz rolled his eyes and continued.
“Second year, I felt esentially the same. You were still my enemy, I still wanted you gone. Although, I did notice this,” He touched the mole on Simon’s left cheek lightly. “I was appalled when I realized I wanted to kiss it. So, naturally, I slapped it instead.”

         Simon furrowed his brow. “That really hurt. I was red for days.” Baz smirked, not a hint of remorse in his eyes. Clearly, it had happened long enough ago for him to be amused by it rather than ashamed.

       "Third year I started to really…look at you. I started to notice little things about you - how you ran your hands through your hair when you were anxious, how frequently you got lost in your thoughts, how much you cared about things. You wouldn’t let anything go. It was infuriating, really. I didn’t know how to deal with it.“

      "So you pushed me down a flight of stairs.” Simon deadpanned. 

“Exactly,” Baz affirmed, grinning. He really doesn’t feel bad about any of this, does he? Simon thought, somewhat bitter.

         "Fouth year was even more difficult. You know how puberty is. Lot’s of confusing emotions, lots of self loathing. I hated how I felt about you, but at the same time…I liked it. As miserable as you made me, you also made me - how do I explain this? You made me strangely happy. I guess you don’t really love someone if they don’t light up something inside you.“

      Although part of Simon wanted to laugh at the sappiness of those words, he couldn’t help the tight, fluttery sensation he got in his stomach every time Baz said he loved him.

      "Fifth year…fifth year was the worst. That was when I really realized how I felt. When I’d sneak off to the catacombs, it wasn’t because I was planning the apocolypse. I was trying to sort out what the hell was going on in my head. It was difficult enough as it was, and you didn’t really help by following me like a lost dog.” Simon frowned, somewhat guiltily, but Baz just laughed softly and pulled him into his chest.

        “Actually, I take that back. Fifth year wasn’t the worst. Six and seventh year were - they were unbearable. I was sure I’d get over you, that it was just momentary attraction, but the more time I spent with you, the more intense it got. It was painful to hear you cry at night; I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell you to shut up, or go to you and do my best to comfort you. Those two years…I wanted you so badly, I didn’t think I’d live through it. Even if you hadn’t been planning on killing me, I think the pain of not having you would have been enough all on it’s own.”

      “Baz…” Simon murmured. He couldn’t help but feel remorse for how everything had happened, even if there wasn’t much he could have done. Even if Baz was being a complete arse, Simon still didn’t like to think about how badly he must have felt.

      “You know most of what happened in eighth year. Although…”

         "I didn’t…I never really told you about when I was kidnapped. Mostly because it was fucking humiliating that I was kidnapped by numpties.“ Baz scoffed. "But the truth is, it really was…difficult. Extremely difficult. They kept me in a coffin for six weeks. I only saw light once every few days, when they gave me blood. It was a tremendous task to keep myself from going completely insane.” His voice was grim, Simon wondered if it still bothered Baz more than he let on.

       Are some of his nightmares about the weeks he spent in that coffin? Probably. Simon didn’t like the thought of it.

       "The only thing that kept me from losing it…It was you, Simon.“ Simon looked up at Baz, surprised. Baz smiled at him somberly. "I thought of you, when it became unbearable.” He paused. “Not in a perverted way, mind you,” He smirked. “although, over the summer between fifth and sixth year, well…” Simon turned slightly red, and Baz was thankful he hadn’t hunted lately, because he probably would have as well. Instead, he just laughed quietly.

       "Anyway,“ He sighed dismissively. "There you have it. A brief history of the years I spent pining for Simon Snow at Watford School of Magicks.”
Simon bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say.

      He settled on tightening his arms around Baz’s torso, burying his face in his chest and whispering a quiet, “You have me now." 

     Baz squeezed him in return and smiled, resting his chin atop Simon’s head.

"I know,” he murmurred. “It frightening how happy that makes me. Sometimes I’m afraid it’s not real, or that it wont last.”

“It is. And it will. Promise.”

     Baz was quiet. Then, he said the truest thing he could think of;
“I’m hopelessly in love with you, Simon Snow.”

Simon responded silently, with his lips.

anonymous asked:

i was at my best friends house and we were in the kitchen & suddenly he starts kissing me & grabbing my ass then he pinned me to the wall & started rubbing me hard & slow while kissing down my neck and to my boobs. i was soaking. he lifted me up & carried me to the couch. he lay me down & started grinding on me while kissing down my neck. he slowly pulled down my pants & slowly started kissing, sucking & nibbling my thighs until he got to my pussy & ate me out & fingered me so good..

Signing (Brendon Urie) (P!ATD)

Word Count: 555


You’d started working at Hot Topic during college and somehow stayed because you loved the rest of the staff. Most days were peaceful, except when there was a band signing and then the store went crazy with screaming teenage fangirls. Today Brendon Urie was meant to come in and you already had a headache from trying to keep the fangirls calm. You told your boss you were taking a quick break and she let you.

Once outside the back of the shop you lean against the wall and rub your temples.

“Why do they have to be so loud?”

“Sometimes I think I should wear ear plugs.”

The familiar voice made you jump, you thought you were alone. However when you turned to the right, you came face to face with a grinning Brendon Urie. All your years of working at Hot Topic had tamed your inner fangirl. You take a deep breath and put your hand over your heart.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack Brendon. You need to wear a bell or whistle to let me know I wasn’t alone.”

He laughs and throws his arms up in the air.

“Kinky love, I like you. You seem cool and laid back. I’d much rather be out here with you then in there.”

It’s your turn to laugh.

“Maybe another time Mr Urie your adoring fans call for you. Plus if they cause a riot I have to clean up after them, and then you’ll have hell to pay.”

He pulls at his phone and motions for you to do the same thing. You comply and he swipes it off you before typing something into both of them.

“I’ll call you after your shift err…”

“y/n my names y/n Brendon, It’s written on my name tag.”

You take your phone off him and see he’s saved his number under ‘Bell Boy’ which makes you laugh.

“Look at what I saved you as y/n.”

‘Kinky Girl’ was how he’d saved you in his contacts. You smirk and shake your head before pulling open the back door and motion for Brendon to enter.

“Nice Brendon real classy. Now go and meet your fans.”

He mock salutes you before heading inside. He was a character and you could tick meeting him off your bucket list. Hell you even had his number, though you doubted he’d call you.

~ End of Shift~

Brendon hadn’t called like he promised he would which made you kind of sad as you left the store. He was famous and you were a nobody so you should have expected it. You walk towards your car when behind you, you hear a bell. You scrunch your eyebrows as the bell sound gets closer.

You turn around and nearly drop your car keys at the sight of Brendon Urie wearing what looked like a cat collar around his neck with a little bell attached. You can’t keep the smile off your face.

“Wow Brendon is all I can say. It suits you.”

He smiles and takes it off before tossing it in your direction.

“My phone died and I wanted to keep my promise so I bought the collar and waited until your shift was over. Plus I want to see just how kinky you really are y/n, but first we get coffee.”

Сет Untitled #563 пользователя fashionace-473 с word wall art ❤ liked on Polyvore

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The Prince and the Price Part 2: Teaser!

Ive gotten loads of requests to post part 2 of Prince fic, and sadly Ive been super busy with school work this year so i havent had much time. SO I decided to upload just a little teaser of whats currently happening! 


A lone boy, stuck in a rattling caravan, curled up into the corner began to wake up at last. He tried blinking fruitlessly, eyes nearly stuck closed. With a grunt, he shifted his body, testing each extremity, hissing at the pain and soreness of his limbs. Slowly, with a big sigh, he sank back against the wall and rubbed at his stinging eyes. What the bloody hell…..

The realization didn’t hit hit like he thought it would. It seeped into his mind like oozing mud, slowly encompassing every corner of his thoughts as it grew larger and larger, pooling up with its sluggish sureness to finally engulf him.

Winning. Excitement. Kissing Phil. Slammed into the caravan.

Kissing Phil.

A bittersweetness filled his heart. Why did such a wonderful thing need to bring about so much agony? He had betrayed his family, his kingdom, his friends, Phil….he’d ruined everything. As per usual, he screwed everything up yet again.

Tears began to pool at his eyes and weakly attempted to cry out, only delivering a hoarse choke. His eyes and throat burned fiercely, as though some fire left them raw and blistered. Slowly, grunting with each and every movement, he shifted his body weight forwards and stood up gingerly. He glanced around the caravan, blinking and trying to refamiliarize. It was dark and ominous, with no telltale sign of the petite body of his maid around. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the soft clops of hooves on grass outside as they drug the caravan forth. Dan flopped onto his bed, welcoming the cushioned comfort it provided compared to the cold hard wooden floor. Gingerly, he began to poke at his body, testing for bruises. He hissed in pain- yep, right there, right on his upper back and back of his head, right where he had slammed into the wall. Already, they had began to throb hotly with pain.

You deserve it.

This time, Dan was too weary to fight back the hatred filled thoughts.

The broken boy curled up onto the bed, clutching at the sheets, whimpering pitifully, soon turning into trembling in fear at the thought of torture. Before he knew it, it was a full blown panic attack. With no one to stop it, nothing to calm him, he went to sleep shaking and gasping and crying, and hallucinating the sweet pale face of a raven haired boy.


Once they finally arrived at their castle, Dan was forced to wait in the caravan for an excruciatingly long time. It made him so nervous that he retched whatever his stomach held, weakly bent over on the ground, clutching at his empty, growling stomach. After what seemed like hours, a burly brown haired servant escorted him into the castle. All glances were either avoided or filled with disgust, bearing into his soul, piercing him with guilt and fear. Dan was yet again forced into isolation, locked up in a room colder, smaller, and more intimidating than his own. It had a dingy, most likely bug infested bed, one hole in the chipping musty walls for a window, and a space for him to relieve himself.

For three days he was given just one glass of water, a sandwich and a pack of crackers.

That, in itself, was torture.

Dan lay on his bed, for that was all he could do, quivering uncontrollably, vision wobbling from side to side. He was too dizzy to sit, stand, so he lay there, just fucking lay there, coughing and gasping, clutching onto his bed sheets, shaking, blinking, relaying between conscious panic attacks and unconscious night terrors.

It was an endless white space of nothing and a blinding array of wildly spinning bright colors that slammed into him and sent him whirling at the same time, faces that screamed at him as he groped desperately for stability, so blind yet so vividly seeing what was ahead. It was moments of fixation onto the sickening gray ceiling, listening to jeering voices that weren’t there, or were they? It was people that touched him and poked him and pet him and god why don’t they stop touching me, please make them STOP TOUCHING ME.  

It was wishing for death to take him. Softly and desperately.

It was filling the room with the stench of his vomit.

Torture had begun.


First, it was the spanish donkey or wooden horse or who gives a shit what it was called. The triangular slab that would pierce into his crotch area, leaving him bloody, aching, and crying. The first few days were the worst. It was new and he was still hardly conscious. It was the pain that made him snap forward sometimes. People would scream at him, for real this time, screeching about what a sinful person he was as he endured the grueling burden. Then he was left for the next few minutes, forcibly pushed into the old metal, gasping in pain and fear, sometimes having another panic attack, uncontrollably spasming, digging himself further. The second day even worse, with wounds still fresh and barely healed. The cycle went on for days. Sometimes he would see his parents, standing at the doorway, hands over hearts. His mother’s eyes were soft and red rimmed, and sometimes when he screamed in agony, gasping for breath, she would stiffen and glance away.

Oh, I’m sorry, mother. Is this difficult for you? To watch me? Oh, how hard it must be. His conscious thoughts were filled with anger, with sorrow, with guilt.

Every night he drank a glass of water and a bowl of soup and was sent off again, and he lay there, just lay there, clenching his fists in pain, shaking with heat despite the cold drafts that freely wandered into his open window. Legs spread gingerly, panting and grunting, his bed an array of white and red splatters.

Why. Why did I do it? Why did I let him kiss me? How idiotic am I?

Some nights it wasn’t as kind as that. Some nights, it was, Why don’t I just end this? If i just leapt out of this stupid little window, this would be over. It would all be over. Maybe i’ll see Phil later in heaven. Or would I be in hell? It would be over, though. It could just be over.

Other nights, it was hope. There must be some way to escape. Would I run? No, they’d catch me. I’m too weak. I’m  too crippled. I’d fall dead before I’d be caught. A cough of a chuckle. Isn’t that what I wanted anyways?

Phil. I have to find Phil.


The cause of all his agony in the first place. So why did he want to go to him so badly?

After the second torture began, he knew the answer.

Not because he needed to get away.

Not because the pain was unbearable.

Because Phil cared.

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