i am looking at you rainbow rowell

The Grey Suit

I absolutely adore this art (by @ddoale, you are amazing!) so much that it inspired me to write this tiny fic! This is my very first snowbaz fic! You can basically fit this in between Baz and Simon’s part in Chapter 67 of the book! Enjoy! (:

(You can now find this work on ao3)

The Grey Suit (0.7k)


Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

But I would never tell him that.

He’s standing in front of me now, freshly showered, smelling faintly of smoke that has been loosely masked with a citrus soap he used. He’s adjusting the buttons of his shirt (of course he would accidentally button the wrong ones together), and I catch a glimpse of skin just above his pants. I immediately look away. Thank Crowley I’m not able to blush.

I move over to the the mirror and begin adjusting my suit jacket and tie. I start slicking my hair back and glance over at Simon through the reflection. He’s fumbling with his tie now, and I can’t stop staring at him in that suit. It fits him in every way a suit should properly fit someone. I should thank my step-mother again for buying it.

Simon is now struggling with his tie. His broad shoulders look even larger, his suit coat fitting snug against the squirming of his arms. He lets out a frustrated groan, and I begin to wonder if Bunce just spells his school tie for him every morning.

“Come here, Snow,” I say, moving back towards him. He looks up between those golden curls, giving me a confused glare, but steps forward anyway. I reach for his tie, avoiding his eyes completely, and he lets his hands fall to his side.

“Uh,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding embarrassed. “Penny usually helps me…”

I knew it, so I smirk. “Does she tie your shoes for you too?” I start to untangle the knot he made in his tie.

“I can tie my own shoes, Baz,” Simon says, rolling his eyes with a huff.

I just nod sarcastically. Simon has made quite a mess out of his tie and it takes me a minute to untangle it. When I finally straighten it out, I grab his shirt collar and pop it up gently. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, and I suddenly become nervous when they meet mine.

“Baz,” he says, and I ignore him, looking down at his neck. I begin to work on his tie, but I’ve only ever tied one on myself, thus making it difficult to remember the steps.

“Baz,” Simon says again, but quieter this time. His hands slowly come forward and settle against my sides. I’m very nervous now.

“Stay still, Snow,” was all I could say. He doesn’t. Telling Simon to do anything usually results in the opposite reaction. His hands gently slide up my sides, smoothing over my shoulders and rest calmly on my arms stretched out in front of him. He squeezes them slightly and looks at my neck.

I gulp and try to focus on finishing his tie. I can’t focus though. How could anyone focus when Simon Snow is touching you and eyeing the sensitive spots of your neck?

I quickly finish up his tie, adjusting the knot. I hesitate to let go though, so I reach up and turn his collar down. He still doesn’t let go of my arms.

“Snow, we’re going to be late for dinner,” I say, reluctantly beginning to pull away. He catches my hands and lets them fall together. He squeezes them and smiles at me nervously.

“You.. You look.. nice in your suit, Baz,” he says, stuttering slightly, and my stomach drops. Has he been thinking about that this whole time? I gulp again.

And you look stunning in yours, I want to say. But I don’t. I just squeeze his hands back.

“Let’s go to dinner, Simon,” I say instead. I let his hands slide out of mine as slow as possible, savoring his contact. He begins to move away, a few curls falling in front of his face, and I resist the urge to swipe them away. I fail. And I run my hand through them, slicking them over to one side. I disappoint myself. But I can’t help it. Simon looks stunning in a grey suit.

Let Me Look After You [A Simon Snow x Baz Pitch One Shot].

A/N: Hello my lovelies! So, because I loved Carry On so much by Rainbow Rowell, I am now writing fanfiction, for a book that started as fanfiction, in a fictional world, where a girl writes about said fanfiction, which may or may not be based around Harry Potter and other fandoms. 

And that made no sense. But you get the drift. 

So this is based off an anon that asked @carryon-simonsnow, this post and this! Thank you so much for letting me write this, I hope you all enjoy! 

Pairing: Simon x Baz. 

Warnings: Some swearing, sexual scenes (kissing and stuff, implied sex). NSFW, just in case. I’m paranoid. 

Disclaimer: I don’t own anyone. 

P.S: This has been edited, but you all know the drill, if there are any mistakes, sorry about that! 

Baz could be quite protective over Simon, but not overly and not to the extent that it’s worrying or annoying. He just likes to look after his boyfriend, that’s all. After years of pining (and hiding his love behind false hatred), it’s understandable. They’d been together for about a year now, the both of them at university and it’s been amazing – hard, sometimes they argue and fight, but they always find their way back to each other.

And right now, he had Simon pinned to the sofa beneath him, his lips pressed against the bronze haired male’s. Simon hadn’t exactly had the best day and came back to their apartment (really it was Penny’s and Simon’s, but Baz practically lived there anyway), upset and looking down. It was about his magic and though Simon was getting better at coping with the loss of his powers, he still felt that dull ache – he wasn’t anything special.

Keep reading


He pushes a curl of her hair behind her ear, and she doesn’t open her eyes, just smiles dreamily.


“Very.” She looks up at him, sleep and warmth and home glimmering in her eyes. “But it was worth it,” she says through a yawn. “Fifty percent of my grade.”

“You’re tiring yourself out.”

“I am not.” This is punctuated by another yawn, but she stands firm.

“You are.”

She looks slightly disgruntled. “Okay, maybe.”

He thinks she looks adorable, even tired and grumpy and wearing an oversized hoodie, curled up on the couch, but all he says is, “time for bed, Pen.”

“But I want to proofread it-”

“You can proofread it tomorrow. Besides, you’ve already gone over it about five times while editing, like you always do.”

She frowns, tilts her head to the side a little. “I only went over it four times. You’re right, I usually go over it five times. Should I read it again?”

“I don’t think there are any mistakes, Penny.”

“Do you know the statistical probability of an incorrectly spelled word or mistyped number?”

He remains unperturbed. “No, but I do know that you’re nearly dropping from exhaustion. Bed. Go on. I’ll bring you hot chocolate if you want, it’s nearly one in the morning and you didn’t have dinner.”

Her eyes widen, and she dives for her phone. “It’s one? I didn’t mean to make you stay up like that-”

“It’s fine-”

“No, you’ve been listening to me and helping me since seven, that’s insane, plus you’re usually out by eleven-”

“I’ll live.”

She slumps back into the pillows.

“Go to sleep. I’ll help you read your paper if you want.”

Some form of humour glitters in her eyes, and she opens her mouth to make a joke about how engineering majors can’t English at all if they’re all like you, Micah, but he presses a quick kiss to her lips, stopping her. “I won’t hear it. One time, Pen, that was one time-”

She’s laughing, and he’s laughing too, and it’s the quiet kind of laughter that rings around the room and makes even the fluorescent lightbulbs hanging overhead seem like they’re glowing just a little more warmly.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, and clambers off the couch.

“Do you want food?”

Her eyes soften. “No, it’s okay. I’ll eat in the morning.” She pulls him off the couch, too. “You need your sleep. Come on.”

The next morning when he wakes up, she’s already gone and there’s a little note on his bedside table with a cupcake on it.

I remembered that you didn’t really have dinner last night either, because a single slice of cheese is really, really sad, and I feel bad. Have this cupcake as some compensation.


He doesn’t know how he got her, because she’s all spark and intelligence and utterly perfect, but he’s not going to lose her. Not a chance.

a beautiful mess

Anon: Hi! Number 35 for the Drabble thing? :)
35 = “You hear me. Take. It. Off.” (i’m still finishing up these request dear god.)

Happy boyfriends at Watford. Enjoy.

~baz’s point of view~

We giggle as we run up the stairs to our room. I look up at Simon who’s a few steps above me. He keeps looking behind him to see if I’m still following him. I am. I will follow him everywhere if he wants me to. 

We reach the top of the stairs and I stumble into Simon, his hands flat on my chest as he plants a kiss on my mouth. I hold his hips as I kiss him back, messy but lovely. 

Half stumbling, we get into our room, both of us still giggling. “We’re a mess,” I say and Simon snorts.

“A beautiful mess,” he corrects me. 

I pull him close to me, our bodies colliding, my arms tightly around his middle. I feel Simon’s lips connecting with my jaw. He kisses along my jaw line, moving his lips closer and closer to my lips. 

When his lips finally cover mine I sigh happily. The warmth of him spreads out over my body. It’s unbelievable. It’s so wonderful to feel warmth, something my body can not properly produce anymore, but Simon has enough warmth for the both us. I only push him closer to me. More warmth. We fit perfectly. 

That’s when something starts to burn, I feel it in my throat. It’s his neckless, his cross. I break away from him, gasping and clutching onto the back of his shirt. “Take it off,” I tell him.

Simon looks at me with wide eyes. “What?” he mumbles. He looks almost insecure.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” I say in between heavy breaths. I become impatient. I want to kiss him. I want to hold him. I want him to take off the cross so I can be free to kiss him as much as I want. Everywhere I want.

“But… Baz, uh.”

“Please,” I say and I don’t know why it seems to be a big deal to him. “I’m not going to bite you.”

“No. No, I know.” He says and he moves his hand away from around my neck, down his own body. I get confused for a second and take a step back. Then Simon takes off his shirt.

 I inhale abruptly. “I meant you’re neckless,” I tell him; my voice so soft that it’s almost a whisper. 

“Oh,” Simon blushes furiously and quickly takes off his neckless. “Right,” he says and he doesn’t meet my eyes. 

I think I might be blushing as well and then I touch Simon’s bare skin. I put my arms around him again and I let my hands glide over the muscles of his back. I step closer to him, softly kissing his cheek. He giggles.

“I thought you wanted me to take off my clothes,” he says, still to shy to meet my eyes. 

I giggle as well. “I meant your cross, though I am not complaining.”

“It’s…” his voice is hesitant. “It’s only fair if you take your shirt off as well.”

I nod with a shy grin on my face. Slowly I move back. Simon looks up at me and very, very slowly I remove my shirt. Simon reaches for my stomach, stepping closer to me. He rubs my stomach and I close my eyes. A faint smile is playing on my lips. 

Then Simon’s lips are on my lips. Now I feel his hot skin against my skin when I pull him close. I feel the heath slipping into my own body and I shudder.  Both our hands and fingers are tracing lines on each others naked upper body whilst our lips and tongues move together. 

We give and we take whilst gasping for air and we truly are a beautiful mess. 

“Simon. Stop that.”

“Stop what?”


“You just gestured to all of me.”

Baz’s gaze ran over Simon, who was dressed in a (rather well fitting) grey suit. He wasn’t supposed to look this good, even his golden curls were relatively tamed.

Simon’s lips parted in a wide smile. “Am I making you flustered?”


He took a step closer, snaking an arm around Baz’s waist and drawing him to his chest. Despite Simon’s shorter stature, he had an impeccable ability to make Baz feel small.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” Baz’s grey eyes gazed down into blue and his face flushed with heat. Simon had no idea how much he had over Baz.

Simon shifted to the balls of his feet and pecked Baz on the cheek before pulling back from him with a breathy laugh. “Let’s go have that date now.”

My first attempt at drawing SnowBaz! I am actually really proud of this one! ^.^

I know Baz is a vampire, but I wanted him to look a little like his mum, so his skin is a few shades darker.
(I actually like the idea of his skin getting paler the longer he goes without hunting? And then returning to its natural color? Idk what do you guys think?) Also, shorter hair for Baz and tamer curls for Simon are just my personal preference…oops

Per usual, I have a transparent version as well, so send me an ask if you’d like to see it ^o^ I did use some references, but none of them had a credited artist :(
Don’t repost without credit/permission please! (As if you’d want to lol)

Fangirl fans?

Hello everyone! I am looking for other fans of Rainbow Rowell’s book Fangirl! If you are one of them, please do one of the following; one, send me an ask here or two, like or reblog this post! This is for me to find you guys so that I have someone to share the love for the novel Fangirl and everything in it! I hope I’ll find you! :)

What if Simon was kidnapped by numpties instead of Baz?

Shoutout to @flirtybaz​ for the fic idea and a shoutout to @pauladelaula @transremus @fyeahsnowbaz and @indifferenteos for the feedback!

Song: Weave Me (Into Yr Sin) by Citizen (I am coming clean into love / I’ll die if you let me / I am coming clean with myself / My darling, my darling)

- - - - -

Three weeks. Three weeks have passed and Snow’s finally arrived at Watford.

Snow enters the dining hall. He looks skinny. Too skinny. And his skin is kind of… crumbling at the edges. I hate seeing him like this. Everyone in the hall looks at him and starts talking and giggling. The sunlight makes his silhouette glow. Of course he has to cause such a big scene and make sure everyone sees him. Of course he was the subject of everyone’s conversations for all those weeks. It was torture. I turn around and go back to my room. Our room, I should to say.

Snow enters. His mouth is stuffed with cherry scones and he’s holding a few more in his hands. I almost roll my eyes at him. His nails are bitten to bone and stupid, bronze curls are falling over his forehead. He looks awful.

‘Summer holiday was just too good? Wanted to stay a bit longer?’, I say, standing up. Saying things like this make me feel terrible, but… But this is just how it works.

Snow barely looks at me and swallows. ‘Well, not exactly’, he says.

‘What happened then?’, I ask, trying really hard not to sound too desperate.

‘You missed me?’, he says, ignoring my question. He’s teasing me, of course, but when he looks at me, I can practically see hope sparkling in his eyes. I can’t look back at him. That would make things worse. That would ruin everything.

I sneer at him. ‘Why the hell would I have missed you, Snow?’

I think back to those lonely nights when I could feel the hole in my chest growing bigger. Nothing in the room smelled like him anymore. I stayed up all night until I could almost see him sleeping in his bed. Until I could almost touch his hair, but when I did, he always disappeared. Because he was never there. I was reaching out for him. I was desperate. I had terrible nightmares about him lying on the ground, bleeding, and I couldn’t get to him. I couldn’t save him. I sneaked out at night, looking for him. Sitting in the cold pouring rain until it felt like my skin was soaked. And always, always praying he would come back.

Snow is blushing and starts to unpack. ‘Because I missed you’, he whispers. And when he says that, years and years of rain pour back into the sky and my armor starts to crack.

‘Snow’, I whisper.

He doesn’t look up.

‘Simon’, I say, my voice sounding harsh.

Finally, he looks at me. His eyes are so blue, it leaves me breathless for a second.

When he stands up, I step closer to him and finally touch his cheeks, his neck and his stupid, stupid, beautiful hair. He doesn’t pull away. And when we kiss, he tastes like cherry scones.

when the clock strikes twelve

A/N: four months late but why the heck not

“You’re mad, you know,” Simon observes, staring at Baz over the rim of the wineglass he has clutched in his hand, his legs tucked to his chest. He looks ridiculous.

Baz waves his own glass of wine at Simon, stretched out leisurely on the couch. “You’re the mad one. You’re absolutely insane.”

Penelope waltzes into the room and nudges Baz’s side with her knee. “Legs off my couch, Pitch.”

He grumbles, but consents. “How are you still so uptight about your couch when you’re drunk, Bunce?”

“The stench from your feet is enough to snap me back to being sober,” she retorts, settling herself on the couch. Baz lifts an eyebrow. She smiles back, utterly unaffected.

“Penny,” Simon interrupts, wineglass tipping dangerously to the side. “Tell Baz automated air fresheners are the spawn of the devil.”

Penny sips at her wine delicately. “I’m not going to tell lies, Simon.”

Simon claps a hand to his chest in dramatic shock. “Betrayed by my very own friend!”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Whatever. You’re insane.”

Baz flings his hand out, nearly smashing the wineglass into Simon’s arm. “My point exactly!”

“Are you really arguing about air fresheners?” Micah asks amusedly, a half-finished can of beer perched on the table beside him. “On New Years’ Eve?”

Baz grins. “May as well get the last of the arguments out, right?”

“Were you planning to go into the new year arguing about air fresheners?”

“They are very beneficial to our society-”

Penelope claps her hand over Simon’s mouth, effectively ending the conversation, and shakes her head in disapproval. “Please don’t. You’re already ruining the new year and it hasn’t even arrived yet. Like fighting over the name of a baby when it’s still in your stomach.” She paused. “Like-”

“It’s like ancient prophecies,” Simon says dreamily, and Baz snorts. Simon starts laughing, too, and Penelope gives up on trying to calm them down. (Micah just takes another drink of beer. It’s like he thinks this is more entertaining than the television programme. Which it probably is. Baz can’t quite make things out in his muddled state.)

“The ball drops in two minutes, Wellbelove, get yourself out here!”

Agatha comes gliding out of the kitchen, an empty wineglass in hand, not as graceful as usual. She carefully eases herself onto a chair. “If I fall off, Penny, you’re catching me.”

“She’ll be too busy snogging Micah to bother about you,” Simon laughs, and Baz starts sniggering, too. Penny shrugs in agreement, and they dissolve into hysterics. Micah shakes his head, a dash of red on his cheeks.

(Funny how alcohol reduces your sense of humour to a child’s once more. But they’re not complaining.)

“Ten!” The people on the television shout. Micah cheers.

“Nine!” Everyone’s shouting now.

“Eight!” Agatha’s clutching to the back of her chair, grinning, raising her wineglass like she’s trying to toast the air.

“Seven!” Simon’s eyes are huge with excitement, and he looks alive, alive, alive.

“Six!” Penelope is kneeling on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, wild curls bouncing on her shoulders.

“Five!” They’re screaming, now.

“Four!” Baz thinks he feels alive, alive, alive.




“Happy new year!”

It’s absolute chaos.

Micah punches the air with both hands like he’s just won first place in a competition. Agatha laughs, loud and free, the sound ringing through the apartment, and Penelope jumps off the couch to pull Simon into a tight hug. They’re both laughing, too, and Baz feels like he can’t stop smiling, feels like his cheek muscles are going to ache for a week after this.

He looks back up at Simon and Penelope. Penelope is still yelling something he can’t process, but Simon’s eyes are clear and full of something Baz can’t quite place. He starts forward almost instinctively, and Simon releases Penny from the hug. Baz dimly registers her throwing her arms around Micah, but it’s like he has tunnel vision - he can’t see anyone else but Simon.

It’s nothing big. It’s nothing romantic, or extravagant, or special. Baz opens his arms for a hug. Simon cups his face with a hand, and they kiss, simply, naturally, like they’ve done it a thousand times before. 

They pull apart, and Baz still has his wineglass in hand, and his arm around Simon’s neck, Simon’s hand still on his face. Simon looks dazed, happily dazed, and he’s looking at Baz with so much honesty and simplicity that Baz thinks his heart fills up to the brim with it, maybe overflows.

Agatha wolf-whistles, new glass of wine in hand, and they all start laughing again, because alcohol makes you dizzy with laughter, and happiness makes you breathless with hope, and so does the first interlacing of your fingers with someone you love.







Damn, damn, damn,“ she said. "I never said why I like you, and now I have to go.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“It’s because you’re kind,” she said. “And because you get all my jokes …”
“Okay.” He laughed.
“And you’re smarter than I am.”
“I am not.”
“And you look like a protagonist.” She was talking as fast as she could think. “You look like the person who wins in the end. You’re so pretty, and so good. You have magic eyes,” she whispered. “And you make me feel like a cannibal.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I have to go.” She leaned over so the receiver was close to the base.
“Eleanor - wait,” Park said. She could hear her dad in the kitchen and her heartbeat everywhere.
“Eleanor - wait - I love you.
—  Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell