Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Baz

Eight years. It's been eight whole years since Simon said he would try, and credit where credit's due, he has. 

I wouldn't say it's been easy, there have certainly been tough times for the both of us. Six years ago when Simon finally got the operation, it was certainly a hard time. Getting used to life without wings or a tail was difficult for Simon, it was difficult for me too at first, but it was so clearly for the best.

Since then Simon has been able to really get his life back. Well, not back like before, he's not a mage, but back in his control. Possibly even for the first time ever. It's been so good.

We both work. Vastly different jobs, granted, but we're happy. His job keeps him busy, keeps him moving, keeps him somewhat outdoors. My job keeps my mind active and keeps a damn good roof over our heads. 

Simon calls our flat posh, which it is for a London flat, but it's nothing compared to the manor in which I grew up. It's certainly not the average builder's flat, but then again it's also the flat of a high end accountant. 

Our life is comfortable, and for Snow that's taken some getting used to. Not worrying about getting killed every five minutes takes some getting used to (maybe part of that is him getting used to me not trying to kill him), but his ability to separate himself from a magical life had made all the difference.

We still talk to Bunce and her normal husband, but they're always so busy with work and children that they seem not to feature in our lives as heavily as they once did. I think that gets Simon down occasionally.

We still see his uncle and grandmother regularly enough, in fact we have dinner there at least once a month. Snow loads up on cakes and I load up on the comfort of a house full of magic.

Things are good. So very good.

Simon

Things are good. Better than good. They're great.

Turns out when I talk to Baz about what's on my mind instead of letting it eat me up from the inside everything works a lot better.

We do things at my pace. Even when he moved flats he waited until I suggested it before doing anything. Not that he didn't drop about a billion hints.

I think he's scared if he pushes me too hard I'll freak out, which he's probably right about. Or at least he was.

I'm better now. Better than I was. Better than I've ever been before, actually. 

That's why I think I'm ready. I've talked to Penny about it, and considering how many hints Baz had dropped I'm pretty sure now's as good a time as any.

I'm going to ask him to marry me.

***

I first found out that Baz wanted to get married at some point at Fiona's wedding.

It was bloody awkward for me there, Baz's family really hadn't warmed to me yet, but Baz was so happy. Well, apart from Nicodemus being the chosen groom.

It was years ago now, but at the time I remember him saying how romantic and dreamy it all was, how special marriage could be between the right people. 

"Marriage for love , Snow, is the most powerful bond of all." His expression was so soft. "More powerful than any magic words."

He looked at me then, maybe expecting me to be sad about my magic, but I wasn't. I was just so happy that I had him. 

The wedding felt a bit like a big vampire joke, but everyone there knew it was just Fiona's style. Everything black and red and grunge. She even wore a black wedding dress.

Baz wore a blood red suit with a purple lining that made him look even more like a cartoon vampire than he already did. His hair slicked back as perfectly as ever, his skin a stark cold white against the rich velvet of the suit. Honestly, he looked good enough to eat.

I think that most days. How lovely he is to look at. How lovely he is and how so very mine he is. He's made that very clear. 

He's mine even when I'm not there. Even when he wears his perfectly tailored suits to work every day, even when he wears his tight expensive jeans on his days off, but especially when he's not dressed up. He's mine when he's just woken up, the sun shining through the long locks of hair hanging in his eyes, his silk pyjamas a loose fit and stubble still tracing his face. He's mine after a long day at work, when he loosens his tie and takes off his jacket, and almost reminds me of how things exactly weren't back at Watford. Comfortable, warm, laid back.

It's everything about him that I've learnt from the relaxed moments, from the soft glances between carefully still expressions, from the joy in his eyes and warmth in his heart that makes this decision so easy for me.

He's rich, talented, clever, hot , but that's not why I want to marry him. I want to marry his firm but gentle touches, the way he smirks at even my worst jokes, his kind words and his even kinder smile. The things that are only for me.

***

I knew Baz wanted to marry me at Penny and Shep's wedding. By that point they already had two kids, and it always surprises me how good Baz is with them. Penny's parents were put in charge of watching them, which had Baz in his element talking about Watford while simultaneously entertaining a baby. (Sometimes I wonder if Baz wants kids, sometimes I wonder if I do, but that's not something I need to think about right now.)

I suspected Baz wanted to marry me when Penny was walking down the aisle. I was the best man, and he was one of the groom's men. I was tearing up seeing Penny in her dress (Shepherd was full on sobbing) and Baz held my hand and gave it a squeeze. 

But it was later, at the first dance that I knew .

"They look so right together." I'd said. They did. They still do.

"They certainly do, but this song choice is less-so." Baz joked. There was no malice to it. Baz is just not a fan of classic rock. " We'll choose something with more class."

That sentence swam around in my head for months. It's swimming around now, closely followed by the worrying reality that I can't dance. Baz can. Baz really can.

***

It's been a couple years now since Penny's wedding, and Baz has dropped the occasional hint since. 

I've been thinking about it since that day, about if I want to marry him. Obviously I'm worried. His family are better than they were about me, but I don't think things will ever be perfect. Maybe they can cope with me being Baz's boyfriend, but husband might be a step too far. I'm worried that I'm not good enough for Baz. Everything about him is so perfect and I'm still a bit of a mess, but that's something I'm trying to get better about. Baz wants me, no one else, and if I can give Baz what he wants I will.

That's a big reason why I want to ask. Because I know he wants it. I may not have been someone who's ever seriously dreamed of marriage, but Baz wants this, and he wants it with me, so who am I to take it away from him?

The biggest reason I want to ask though is because it's a promise. A promise that I'll love him forever. And I want him to know that. I want him to have no doubt in his mind that he's my everything and he always will be.

Chapter Text

Baz

It's fair to say that Simon and I don't go on dates particularly often. Even less often does Simon plan one.

I don't know if this constitutes a date really, but it's definitely a nice thing for him to suggest. 

Last week Snow suggested that we go to the Tate on our day off, which was a lovely idea on his part. Not something I would expect from him, but lovely nevertheless.

I must say I'm not usually a fan of modern art, but it's always good to stimulate oneself intellectually. Always good to broaden one's mind. And if Snow wants to go, who am I to refuse to join him? I would follow him around a junk yard like a lost puppy if he asked me.

He even dressed nicely today. Nice meaning clean and without holes. I'm wearing a deep green shirt with my lightest pair of jeans. I've purchased a significant amount more jeans since moving in with Snow, if only to see how he looks at me when I wear them.

When I wear jeans he looks at me like I'm a buttered scone. He looks at me like it's all he can do to keep his hands off me.

Sometimes (whenever I let him) he fails.

Unfortunately the Tate modern isn't exactly the place for groping, although I do catch Snow looking at me significantly more often than he looks at the art. He's looking at me like I'm a piece of art. He certainly is. He's more gorgeous than anything in here. His moles alone are a masterpiece, but along with his bronze curls and his squishy strong frame there is nothing I would rather look at for hours on end than Simon Snow.

Simon

I thought art museums were meant to have paintings in them, but this one just looks like randomly assorted shit.

I don't want to be rude, I'm trying not to let it show how bored I am, but nothing here is anywhere near as interesting as Baz. That and the question I intend to ask him.

I think Baz likes it here. He keeps stopping to read the little paragraphs by the pieces and making little 'hm' noises. He looks like a proper person who should be at a museum. 

His expensive shoes make a funny tapping noise when he walks. I don't know how much I'm meant to talk to him. Are you allowed to talk in a museum? I think so. Penny took me to a science museum once and loads of people were talking there. It was fun, but I think most of the stuff I liked was meant for kids.

We're basically the only people here. There was an old couple we saw about fifteen minutes ago, and a woman with a toddler on the floor below, but I can't even hear the tapping of shoes. It's too quiet, too still. 

"Baz?" I whisper, hoping I'm not breaking the rules.

"Yes Snow?" He gives me a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. He's not whispering, just keeping his voice quiet. It's kinda sexy if I'm honest.

He's a proper sight in those jeans, and with his sexy voice it's making it hard for me to remember what I was going to say. "Uh…" He's looked away from me but I'm convinced he's smirking at how stupid I'm being. "Are you having fun?"

He actually laughs at that. "Fun may not be the right word Snow, perhaps intellectually stimulated."

"Your arse is intellectually stimulating." It's a shit comeback, but he blushes. 

He shakes his head. "This is certainly not the place for such crude statements, Snow." Then he leans in close to whisper in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Keep it in your pants."

Now I'm the one blushing, shit maybe I should just get it over with and ask the question before I get too flustered to say anything. 

I take a deep breath, psyching myself up. I look up, suddenly aware of the 'art' surrounding us.

"Are those spirit levels?" 

"I assumed you'd already know that, considering your line of work."

I roll my eyes, then smile to myself thinking about how much I've picked up from Baz over the years. "What's the point of them?" I step closer to examine them. They're just in a row. "Isn't art meant to have a meaning or something?"

"I think it means 'I thought of it first so now you can't do it' ." Baz jokes, I think mostly to himself, but I have to admit it's a good point. Most of the shit here I feel like I could do myself.

I finally realise that Baz was just looking and reading for the show of it. He does that sometimes, plays the part of someone who knows what they're doing, of someone who gives a shit. It's actually kinda funny once you realise it's an act half of the time. Makes it easier to see the meaning behind his blank expression.

I watch him read the plaque, nod, then wander off to the next thing. I can't propose to him here. Not when he's pretending. I want to propose to Baz , not some hawty bloke at the museum (even if he's super hot).

Baz

I think after the spirit levels Snow got sick of the Tate. Honestly, I can't blame him. Unfortunately when he's bored it gets rather obvious. He can't stay still and keeps trying to distract me so that I'll want to leave as well. To be fair, it was lunch time and while I can wait for a meal I've spent enough time with Snow to know that he can't.

We found a quaint coffee shop nearby where he managed to get a pasty, two scones, and a peach iced tea. I got a sandwich and a mocha.

I can imagine that someone who doesn't know Simon would think no one could simultaneously gulp down scones so quickly and complain about them so passionately. I think Snow would hire cook Pritchard to cook scones for him every day if we had the money. Not once have I seen him enjoy a scone as much as he did in Watford.

I'm just finishing off my coffee when someone pulls a chair up to our table.

"Fancy seeing you here boyo."

"Fiona, why on earth are you here?" It's a reasonable question. She lives on the other side of London.

"Work. You know, the usual, on the hunt." Simon's staring at his plate of crumbs slightly uncomfortably. I think he's scared of her. I can't exactly blame him. "And looks like I've found one! Watch out Basil, hanging around these parts you might just end up my next victim!"

I kind of hate hearing about her Buffy type work, but it is useful to know where the hangout spots are so that I can avoid them better. 

" And you've brought along a snack!" She teases. It's not very funny.

I start putting my jacket back on. "Actually, Snow and I were just about to leave." He looks thankful. I don't think he likes this type of conversation any more than I do. 

"Oh come on! You know I was just joking." She rolls her eyes, huffing. "Although, normals are the cuisine of choice around here. And your little pet's looking nice and plump." 

"I'm just gonna go to the toilet quickly." Snow mutters, getting clumsily out of his chair. 

I watch him walk away, and Fiona takes my hand. "Seriously though, you'll want to be a bit careful around here. I know you think I don't give two shits but I do. Things are getting worse and worse in this area, I don't want you getting caught up in anything stupid." She's staring at me so sincerely it makes my skin crawl.

"I won't." I pull my hand away. "And I would appreciate it if you were a little kinder to Snow. We've been together for years ."

She tuts. "As if him being a normal is much better than him being a traitor to magic. You understand that either way he's pulling you down?"

I shake my head in disbelief. Why has she always got to be such a dick ? "As if you haven't dated normals. As if you're not married to the biggest disgrace to magic there is!" 

I'm getting worked up, I know I am. Simon needs to hurry up before I cause a scene in this cafe.

"Always the lowest blow, isn't it Basil? Maybe if you treated Nico with an ounce of respect I would consider extending the courtesy to the mageling." 

"That's different and you know it!" I'm getting worked up. Again. This keeps happening with her. We keep causing scenes. It's hard to stay civil with someone who's married to someone you can't stand.

She scoffs. "How exactly?"

"Because Nicodemus chose it! Simon never did. I don't care if you like him, just please be civil. I never say anything in front of your… husband."

We both know it's true. Although I think we may have different definitions of civil. 

"He didn't choose how things ended up." She states.

I'm angry, and a part of me wants to finish this (even if it does end in a shouting match), but I see Snow coming back from the toilet. Perhaps another time. 

"Right. Well, we're off." I stand, taking Simon's hand in mine. "See you another time."

Things are still tense with Fiona, but at least she's not trying to use my Mother to guilt me anymore. I miss when we used to be able to tolerate each other. I thought she would get over hating Simon eventually. Maybe she thought the same about me and Nico. 

I look over at Snow, he looks defeated. I squeeze his hand.

Simon

"I'm sorry about Fiona. She's a proper bellend."

"It's fine." I smile at him, hoping I don't give away the real reason I'm disappointed. "Back to the flat?"

Baz nods, giving me a warm look. 

As we walk into the tube station I can't help but notice how heavy whatever conversation he had with his aunt is weighing on him. I never know if I should ask him about this stuff. I never have the right words.

"Are you okay? Cause like… earlier… and stuff…" Wow I'm shit at this.

"Yes. Well, no. But yes." He shakes his head, making his hair fall back into his eyes. I want to tuck it back behind his ears for him. "I wish she wouldn't talk about you like that. Like I'm stringing you along just because…" He trails off. I know what he means.

"I know. But you know you're not, and I know you're not, so that's what matters right?" I squeeze his hand. "No matter what your aunt says, I know you love me."

He smiles at me gently then. "I really do, my love."

It's not the warmth of the train that makes me blush.

Chapter Text

Simon

I wake up with a strip of sunlight in my eyes. I suppose I didn't close the curtains properly last night. Either way, waking up early today is worth it for this.

I always wake up before Baz, I usually start work before him, but today's a day off for me. Not for him, but he doesn't have to wake up for another hour yet.

When this happens I like to watch him sleep. I've decided it's not creepy because we're together, because now I watch him lovingly instead of making sure he's not plotting (if that's ever why I watched him).

The strip of light casts across his hair. Baz's hair is like nothing else I've ever seen. It's so soft and thick and shiny. At the moment it's pooled around his head like a dark halo, a shining puddle of black framing his perfectly pale face. I want to kiss him so badly, but I know he wouldn't appreciate being woken up.

Instead I start looking on my phone for a good restaurant. Something romantic, but not so showy that I'd need to buy new clothes to go. There are plenty of options in London. Maybe I'll ask Penny.

Once I've chosen a place, looked in mine and Baz's shared calendar, and booked a table for two, I go back to my favourite hobby. 

I watch him as he wakes up. He's never happy to hear his alarm, but when I kiss him on the forehead and hold him close to me he stops grumbling.

"This isn't fair." Well, mostly stops grumbling.

I kiss him on the cheek. "Maybe not, but you don't want to be late." 

He raises an eyebrow at me, the smallest smile teasing his lips. "On our next collective day off can we just stay in bed?" I smooth his hair out of his face and his smile lets loose. "Until we need to eat."

"Anything, darling." He likes it when I call him that.

***

When we get to the restaurant it's pretty busy. I feel like I must stick out like a sore thumb, I feel underdressed. There's not a dress code but my green knitted jumper and brown trousers seem a bit informal next to Baz's plum suit and everyone else's formal clothes.

Once we get a bit further into the restaurant it seems a bit better, I even spot one bloke in a pair of jeans and a Dad shirt. The couple sitting just over from us look very dressed up though.

There's a young blonde woman in a sparkly blue dress, the dark haired man opposite her is wearing a navy suit. I think they're matching.

Baz

Simon looks stunning tonight. I think he actually conditioned his hair earlier and his curls are shining such a lovely shade of gold in the warm light of the restaurant.

It's a French place, I'm surprised Simon even knew about it but apparently Bunce recommended it. I've seldom been more glad that some vampire myths are just that, because it seems that every item on this menu is full of garlic. Judging by the look on Snow's face I don't think he can understand a single word on the menu.

"Need some help Snow?" I know I sound snooty. To be fair, I almost certainly am.

"Nah, I'm alright. I think this is chicken, right?" He points at a chicken stew. I'm mildly impressed.

I smile at him gently. "It is indeed. You'll be bilingual soon enough with those linguistic abilities."

He laughs. I watch him. He's gorgeous.

Simon

Baz orders a stupidly expensive wine. We share a bank account so I don't care how much money he spends, I just don't get it. Wine basically all tastes the same. Baz insists it'll pair well with his fish. 

On another night I might bring up how stupid I think it is, but not tonight. Tonight has to be perfect. Well, not perfect , but really bloody good.

I think it's going well. Baz is happy with his wine and his fish. He seems to be happy in general. He keeps smiling at me like I'm something precious. Like an expensive piece of art. Occasionally I'll move a certain way, run my hand through my hair or adjust the neck of my jumper, and he'll look at me like I'm something to eat. 

I'm sure he drank recently enough for him not to be too thirsty not to concentrate, but I'm not sure when the last time he drank was. I know he would never bite me (even if I wish he would), but I also know he thinks about it. I know he doesn't like thinking about it. I also know he doesn't hate it quite so much now that he knows how hot I think it is. 

Sometimes, only when he's just been hunting, and when that lines up with time to ourselves, he pretends. He's gotten good at controlling his fangs, good enough to trust himself to bite me without them if he's had enough to drink. It's really fucking hot.

I need to stop thinking about that, but it's hard with how Baz keeps looking at me. He's good enough to eat. He looks like a rich dessert at the end of a fancy meal. Probably mint flavour.

I should probably stop thinking about this. I need to focus on the task at hand. I need to get through this meal with my head screwed on properly so I can still ask the question during pudding.

I realise quite how distracted I was when suddenly the whole restaurant starts clapping. I look around and see the couple seated a couple of tables away, standing up and kissing. Everyone's clapping for them. 

For a second I wonder why, until the woman pulls away and looks at the huge diamond on her finger. Oh.  

I start clapping too, hopefully not too late, when I notice Baz rolling his eyes.

When the clapping stops I turn to him again. "What's wrong? Is no one else allowed to be in love?"

He barks out a laugh. "They're allowed to be in love, I just can't stand the whole display of it."

Oh god. Shit. "I thought you liked weddings?"

"I do. I just can't stand people proposing at restaurants. Anywhere public really. It's too much pressure and attention."

Well good thing I found out now. "Right. That makes sense I guess." I try not to sound too disappointed.

"Imagine rejecting someone in front of a restaurant full of people. Or, even if you weren't going to reject them, imagine a bunch of strangers staring at you in a moment like that. A proposal should be intimate, romantic, certainly not for all to see."

Why does Baz always make the best points? 

Right, I guess I'll have to come up with a plan C. At least it was still a nice date.

Chapter Text

Baz

No matter how much time has passed I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how grown up Mordelia looks. Every one of my siblings looks more and more grown up every time I see them ( obviously ), but it’s Mordelia who shocks me every time. When she was young I always thought she looked just like my Stepmother, but looking at her now she’s got so much of my Father in her. She has his hair, my hair. Not the same colour as mine but the same thick glossy shine. The same widow’s peak. The same eyes too. We look quite alike, although I wonder how different that would be if it weren’t for my condition . She’s as pale as Daphne. 

Mordelia stays in Fiona’s old room now, made use of the already punk decor and made it her own. I’m ever so proud of her. Even if my Father has a distaste for her rebellious phase.

Swithin however looks more and more like my Father by the day, the twins continuing to favour Daphne in looks. Perhaps even more so today, all three are wearing blue summer dresses, Sophie and Petra matching (as always) in gingham, and Daphne in a floral version. 

It’s a gorgeous day. I’m dreadfully glad the dead spot finally healed over the manor (my Father would not stop giving Snow shit for it). The gardens are lovely this time of year, my Stepmother taking great pride in the planning, as well she should.

There’s plenty of space to run around, but not without maintaining the grandeur expected to come with a national trust property. Swithin is certainly taking advantage. 

I don’t think anyone plays rough with him except for me. My Father is getting far too old, and Swithin far too large, and none of my sisters or Daphne are much for playing rough. Not anymore.

This is almost certainly why he chases me around the gardens all day until I toss him around a bit. I go easy on him of course, but a nine year old boy would be overpowered by any man in their late twenties, let alone a vampire. 

Occasionally I get tired and worry I might hurt him, and that’s when Simon comes in. My siblings love Snow, he’s just the right balance of cool and fun. I will admit, he wasn’t as good when they were younger, he didn’t know quite what to do, but now that they’re older he’s excellent.

No doubt if Snow still had his wings he would fly around with my brother - and what a treat for him that would be. But as is, they pick up some sticks and play sword fighting. It’s quite delightful to watch. Judging by the look on Swithin’s face, his thorough enjoyment, I doubt he’ll leave Simon alone for a minute without begging him to play.

Simon

Baz’s family’s garden is like maybe the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been inside their house. It’s literally so pretty and it’d be so perfect for me to ask Baz to marry me where we first kinda got together (if you ignore the whole forest fire thing)(I definitely try to). That and the fact that the inside of his house kinda creeps me out so if I’m gonna propose here it has to be outside. 

Honestly though, I think it’s fair to say that this plan has gone bust before I’ve even thought it through properly, cause now that I’m thinking about it, it’s a stupid idea anyway. It’s a lovely place and Baz loves his family, but his Dad isn’t exactly my number one fan. I think Baz would need to take some time afterwards before telling his Dad anyway. 

We’ve only been here for a day, and when Baz’s brother hasn’t been asking me to play, Malcom hasn’t wasted a single opportunity to bring up my job. I think he thinks normal construction is stupid when magickal construction is “quicker, safer, and more structurally sound”. I think he also hates that Baz financially supports the both of us for the most part, but if I’m honest it could be worse. It used to be worse.

Malcolm used to go on and on about Baz producing an heir. Not just that, but a powerful one. Sometimes he’d even add in a dragon comment or two. It was everything rolled into one, the homophobia, the hatred of normals, my wings. It wasn’t even until they were able to move back to Hampshire that he stopped talking about how the dead spot was my fault. Not that it wasn’t, but it was just another thing to add to the pile.

It mostly came to a stop once Baz told him about my family. My grandma specifically. When he learned that I actually did come from a long line of wealthy and powerful magicians his comments narrowed to just homophobia. I think it helped that it was around the same time as I got my dragon bits removed.

Even the homophobia stopped a few years ago when Mordelia decided to question every single homophobic comment Malcom made. She’s an absolute star. I do worry sometimes that Baz’s Dad expects Baz to have a biological kid. I remember him bringing up surrogates once. Maybe I should ask Baz about it.

***

“Hey Baz?” I’m lying in Baz’s stupid gargoyle bed watching him get changed into his fancy silk pyjamas.

He turns to face me, buttons on his shirt not yet done up. “Yes, Snow?”

“I was wondering, and I don’t think we’ve seriously talked about it…” Maybe this isn’t the right time to talk about this, but when is? “Do you want kids?”

While Baz had started buttoning up his top, he’s definitely stopped now. “What makes you ask?” He seems concerned. “Has my Father been giving you a hard time again, because I swear to Merlin-”

“No! He hasn’t. I was just wondering.” I fidget a bit with the covers, it makes me sad that that’s the first thing he thinks of.

He looks thoughtful for a minute while he finishes doing up his top and putting on his bottoms. “I’m not sure, I suppose I haven’t really given it much thought.” He gets into bed next to me and laces his fingers through mine. “Do you?”

I shrug. “I don’t really mind. When I was a kid I thought I would with Aggie if I lived long enough.” I laugh. “I guess I did live long enough.”

Baz smiles at me then, something soft in his gaze that I can’t quite pinpoint. “Not with Wellbelove though.” He squeezes my hand.

“No, I don’t think Niamh would be very happy. I can’t even imagine her with a baby, I think she might try to command it asleep.”

Baz chuckles, then his face changes to something more serious. “Do you want me to think about it? Whether or not I’d like children?”

I think for a second. “Yeah. I don’t want us to get too old then you suddenly tell me you want seven kids.”

“Seven?! I may not hate children Snow but seven is certainly too many.” He kisses my cheek, it always makes me blush. “I’ll think about it, but you should too.”

“Okay. I love you.” I lie down and turn away from him to sleep. He spells the light off and holds me.

“For what it’s worth Simon, I think you’d make a great Dad.”

I think Baz would too.

Baz

We're only staying at the manor for a few days, but the rest of our time here I spend mostly consumed with the same question. It plagues my mind especially when I watch how much my siblings enjoy Snow's company, how much I enjoy watching him like this.

He truly would make a great Dad, but I'm unsure if children are something I feel I need for my life to be full. It feels full enough already, my job, Snow, my family. It all feels like enough, like there isn't enough love in me to spare for a child.

I suppose that's a foolish thought, I wouldn't need to love anything else any less to have a child, I'm sure I would simply find more love, but I don't know if I want the complexity. 

It's a strange thing, I feel as though so many people just know the answer to this question without needing to think. Maybe this means I don't want a child, but then I imagine our lives with one and it certainly doesn't seem bad. I never thought I would have children, I could never be with a woman in that way, and adoption never truly crossed my mind. Then with Snow I was too busy with life to think about a child.

It's also hard not to think about my family in all of this, think about the fact that (with Fiona not having children) I'm the only one left to carry on my Mother's legacy. My Father would be overjoyed I imagine if I were to have a child of my own, but that begs the question of whether or not I even can reproduce. 

My body certainly still produces certain… fluids, but I haven't a clue if there's anything operational in there. If that option were off the table would my Father even accept any child I had with Snow to be family? I'm not having a child if they can't be a part of my family.

On the other hand, if I can reproduce like that perhaps there exists magic that can result in a child that is both mine and Simon's biologically. Magical transformation of cells and such doesn't sound unreasonable, we would simply need a surrogate. 

Imagining a child of mine and Snow's is something else. Something so special and magical I think it's hard to look past the pros. Difficult to see the complications when something so miraculous lingers as a possibility.

Perhaps at some point I should go to a clinic.

Chapter Text

Simon

After realising that Baz's family home was a bad place to pop the question I had to start thinking of another plan. A plan that didn't include people watching and didn't put pressure on Baz. Something romantic, something intimate.

I'd been trying to think of it while we were in Hampshire, but I was so busy all the time with everything else that I didn't get around to coming up with an idea. Then, when we got back, Baz was having serious conversations with me about kids, and it was hard to focus on anything else.

I think we're settled on having a doctor look at our spunk first then we'll go from there. Annoyingly I think that doctor is gonna have to be Aggie's Dad which is well awkward. Can't have a normal doctor seeing potentially undead sperm.

Either way, now that's settled I can actually think about what would be a good proposing scenario. I'm actually getting properly desperate with this, I might have to give it a google.

No. That's ridiculous. I can think of something. I just need to think about what people do on dates. I can't take Baz to the cinema, it's fine as a date but not to propose. I've already tried a restaurant and Baz is not for it. I could try a picnic?

I don't think that would be an awful idea, I could find a nice secluded place and we could have some sandwiches, maybe some wine. Yes. Perfect.

***

I had to rethink the wine since I was driving there (Baz barely drives since I got my licence), but other than that everything is perfect. Hopefully. 

I found a nature reserve that wasn't too far of a drive away that wouldn't be busy. Luckily there's no one else here. We saw one woman walking a dog at one point but besides that we're completely alone. 

Baz looks so gorgeous out here, amongst nature, surrounded by wildflowers, the light blue sky a stark contrast to his dark hair.

"Is there any chance that you brought napkins? I fear a mess is in the making with jam tarts." 

I ruffle through the cold box I brought and find a small pack of tissues. "I've got these?"

He sighs. "You'd better not get that jam everywhere then."

"I won't!" We both know I will. 

Baz

Despite the lack of napkin based foresight this is a lovely date. I genuinely cannot believe Snow prepared all of this.

He made about five different kinds of sandwiches, baked tarts, bought scotch eggs, mini sausage rolls, he even found my favourite elderflower press. I cannot believe he went to all of this effort.

He looks stunning out here too. Lit up all golden by the sun, freckled cheeks with a slight red glow, he really is my golden boy. If the food weren't so lovely I'd be right on top of him so we could roll around in this field together.

Perhaps I'm sappy, but everything's so perfect right now I just want to stay in this moment forever. It feels like nothing could ever go wrong.

Until it does.

Simon 

Everything's going wrong.

It was all amazing and perfect and I was about to ask the question I've been trying to ask for months now when a wasp flew in Baz's drink. 

That by itself would have been fine, had Baz not then accidentally tossed his drink on an ant hill that we hadn't noticed before. All of a sudden there are ants everywhere , and then as if to make things worse more wasps decide to join the party!

In the end we have to rush to pack up the picnic, scramble back to the car, and finish whatever is left sitting in the car staring at a dirt road. Not exactly a proposal location.

God fucking damn it. I can't believe this has fucked up again . I just want to ask Baz to marry me! Why is this so hard?

***

By the time we get home both of us are tired from the stress of the picnic so we decide to just chill in front of the telly.

We lie on the sofa together, Baz's head on my chest. The ideal position if you ask me. I get to play with Baz's hair, he doesn't complain about his arms going dead, and I get to kiss the top of his head whenever I want to.

We fall asleep like that. It reminds me of younger us, of when things were new (for the second time I guess) and cautious. We used to be attached to each other, scared that if we left the other's side that they'd leave. We would stay up late into the night just enjoying holding onto one another. 

I know Baz had every right to expect me to leave, but I can't complain about how clingy he was. I love every second I get to spend with him, and it's not often that we get these kinds of nights anymore. Calm isn't exactly a feature in our lives.

***

When I wake up I want to say that my first thought is how lovely Baz looks like this. Curled up into my warmth, all messy haired and flushed from sleep. Unfortunately that's my second thought after realising how little I can feel of most of my body.

I don't want to wake him up though, so I try my best to wiggle my fingers and toes to get my blood circulating better without moving him too much. Not that it works in either way.

Baz grumbles, shifting and burying his face further into my chest.

"Morning Baz." I say, kissing him on the head.

He grumbles again. He's never been a morning person.

"Come on, don't be like that." I smooth his hair away from his face a little and he winces at the light. "It's not that early."

"Still sleepy." He buries his face fully into me so he no longer has to deal with the light. 

I want to give in, he is unbelievably adorable, but also I still can't feel any of my limbs. "Please Baz, all my limbs are dead."

He barks out a small laugh. "All of me is always dead, you don't see me using it as an excuse."

"Ha. Ha. Now come on before I have to move you myself."

"Oh no! Not my strong and handsome boyfriend picking me up!" He grins up at me, one eyebrow raised.

I lift him off me just enough for me to swing my feet onto the floor. "You're an absolute menace Basil." Then I pick him up, bridal style, and bring him over to the bedroom, putting him down on the bed.

He smirks at me the whole time, and when I let go of him he quickly grabs my arm and pulls me onto the bed with him. 

"Hey! Not fair!" I protest, not making any effort to get up. I don't want to.

"Very fair. I need you to warm up the bed. It's always so cold otherwise." He snuggles up to me, holding onto me tightly. 

It's all bullshit, I know he doesn't feel the cold. I let him do it anyway. I'd let Baz do anything if it meant I could spend more time right by his side, if I could spend more time loving him. He truly is my everything.

Chapter Text

Baz

It's rare that Simon and I have more than one day off in a row that coincide (other than pre-planned holidays), so getting three days off in a row is amazing. 

I always have weekends off, but since the weekends are Snow's busiest time for work it doesn't usually line up well. This time it's a bank holiday weekend that somehow Snow hasn't been booked for. 

It's not as if we have a lot planned, but Simon said he found a nice walk we could go on so that should be pleasant. Unfortunately we can't spend the whole time lounging, we have a lot to get done on Saturday.

The main thing we need to do is sort out the sofa situation. We've had the same sofa for years , and it was already old then.

When we moved into this flat we brought Snow's IKEA sofa from his old flat, or at least we had meant to. Somehow while all of the other furniture stayed in-tact during the move, we had managed to not only lose all the cushions, but one of the feet too.

Since it wasn't a particularly expensive or gorgeous piece of furniture, we weren't too bothered about throwing it out. It was fine, we just needed to buy a new one and then we could buy a nice one.

Unfortunately (although fortunate back then), Lady Sailsbury had a spare sofa sitting around in a spare room in her house that she wanted to turn into a craft room. 

The sofa was fine, it did the job until we got a new one, but when we did Snow was too attached to it to let it go. It didn't help that our sitting room really quite needed two sofas to fill the space, without even mentioning how little seating one sofa gave us for entertaining guests.

This meant that our temporary old sofa (that had we not taken it would have been put in a skip) ended up being quite a permanent feature. 

It's not the ugliest sofa known to man, but the years have yellowed it rather significantly and it is awful to sit on. It feels like sitting on a sack of loose springs. 

Luckily Simon has finally agreed that we can get a new sofa and get rid of that shitheap. Thank Merlin he didn't place too much sentimental value upon it.

Luckily we have already sorted out what sort of style and colour we want for the new one, we just need to sort out comfort and aesthetic specifics. That's what Saturday is about.

***

"Hear me out, the darker green will bring out the colours in the rug."

"Since when did you pay attention to what will bring out the colours in the rug ? Plus I thought you wanted blue."

Snow sighs, this has been far more complex than anticipated. "Yeah well that was until you pointed out how good the green would look!"

"Wait." This is ridiculous. "You're agreeing with me?"

"Yes! The dark green-"

Oh no. "No. I said the midtoned green." I point at the third small fabric sample in the green section.

"Isn't that dark green?" He looks a bit like a lost puppy. He's ridiculous.

"No Snow, that's midtoned. This one's dark." I point at the darkest green swatch, he pouts.

"Okay yeah whatever. But why does it matter if I wanted the blue before?" 

I'm a bit fed up at this point. It has taken us ages to decide on everything else, and it's only the colour to go now. Problem is we've gone with my suggestion every time. "Because I want you to be happy with the sofa too. We're gonna have it for a very long time."

"But I am happy with the green." He smiles at me slightly and I think it might warm even my cold dead heart. "I'm happy if you're happy."

Simon

After the whole sofa fuss on Saturday it's hard to believe what I have planned for today. Not that it's much.

It just feels ridiculous to propose the day after arguing in a furniture shop for three hours, but I already told Baz I had a walk planned for Sunday and I really want to propose on this walk.

It's not like we're still arguing. By the time we left the shop we were fine, and later things were good. Back to normal good. 

Either way, the internet says very good things about this walk and apparently the end point has the best view. I want it to feel special, like I want the scenery to be as beautiful as Baz is to me. Not that I think that's even possible, but this might be somewhat close.

I'm not even sure Baz owns trainers that aren't for football, but he knows we're doing a little bit of exercise so at least he's not wearing shiny dress shoes. He is dressed in a lovely pair of trousers and a very pretty delicate light purple shirt. Honestly he's stunning.

***

Neither of us are unfit, but we're also not exactly used to nature walks. I think back at Watford I would've been perfectly cut out for hiking, but now I keep my exercise to what my job requires. 

Baz I think is especially miffed. I did tell him it was a walk, but not even I realised that it was more of a hike than a casual stroll. 

"Were your true intentions to take me out here to murder me Snow? Your lifelong plan to off me one day coming to fruition at the age of twenty eight after years of a loving relationship?" 

I don't think he's even slightly tired (stupid vampire endurance), but he just likes to complain at the slight suggestion of discomfort. "Yeah Baz, I've secretly stashed my sword in my pocket and was planning to end this perfect life we've built together by running you through at the top of a mountain."

He laughs. "Maybe leave the running me through until we get home."

I blush. "You know what I mean." He always knows just how to get me flustered.

"And you know what I mean. So let's get moving, loverboy." He smacks me on the arse and I yelp. He may be joking but it doesn't make my face any less red. 

While Baz continues to make witty remarks as much as possible, I'm starting to struggle with all this walking. I feel unfit, even though I know I'm fine really, just not used to this.

Unfortunately the witty remarks don't last all that long once it starts to drizzle and we realise neither of us checked the weather before leaving. It was such a sunny day when we left that the last thing we expected was rain.

Rain however is exactly what we got. 

Baz

What started as a drizzle became a bloody gale. Neither of us even thought to bring an umbrella, and here I am in a nearly white shirt that is now clinging to my body with about the same amount of modesty as if I were wrapped in cling film.

As if the rain by itself wasn't bad enough, it's causing the trail to turn to thick mud which is enveloping my shoes and splattering all the way up my navy trousers. Honestly I just want to go home.

The walk was a nice suggestion, but when it turned into an actual exercise it got a bit much. Now I just wish we were back home in bed. Okay, to be fair most of the time I wish I was in bed with Snow (that much hasn't changed a bit since I was fifteen), but right now I just want to be warm and dry.

I think Snow is even more disappointed than me. He looks defeated, positively ruined by this turn of events. I didn't know he was such a fan of hikes, or maybe he had been looking forward to the view at the top, but when the rain got too heavy to carry on he didn't even say a word, just turned around and sighed.

I must say, had it not been so muddy maybe it would have been okay to carry on. Once the devastation of Snow had subsided, he didn't spare a moment to look anywhere other than my torso. I suppose he enjoyed the drowned look.

I can see where he's coming from. I've seen Snow before sodden in a white t-shirt, caused it to happen on purpose a few times just to have a look.

Simon's chest is a thing of wonder. To hide it under clothes feels almost like a crime, so when the clothes can be see through I won't complain.

I will complain however at how much muck is on my trousers. The shoes weren't my favourites, but the trousers were one of my best pairs. Maybe not quite as expensive or formal as some of my others, but their fit is immaculate.

If the dry cleaner can't get the mud out I will not be happy.

Simon

By the time we get home we just decide to get changed, shower, and eat (Baz deciding to drink before we even get in)(apparently the rain doesn't bother him when he's already this wet). Neither of us want to cook and since it's a weekend off we decide to order pizza. It's nice.

Often, when Baz has somewhere to be, he'll blow dry his hair after a shower. Since he hasn't right now he's letting it air dry, and I couldn't be happier.

Baz, when his hair is wet, is a masterpiece. He is anyway, but especially now. 

He's so relaxed, lounging on the sofa, hair hanging heavy, framing his face in thick locks. His gaze is soft, his shoulders not tense, his dark eyelashes extra long from the water, and his eyebrows slightly messier than usual. 

If I was a painter he would be the only thing I ever painted. The sharp lines of his face, his too high nose, his full lips, and his eyes dark pools of grey. The way his pale skin stands out against the stark black of his hair, all I want to do is look at him.

Well, that's not quite true. It's not all I want to do. I also really want to touch him. Like all the time. I want to hold him so close that I can warm him right through. I want to kiss him until his lips turn pink. I want to flirt until his cheeks flush, even if only ever so slightly.

I wonder how often he was blushing in Watford. How many times his condition stopped me from being able to see the emotion creeping onto his face. A time before I learned what to look for, how to spot it.

I could spot it a mile off now, Baz blushing. I've gotten pretty damn good at seeing even the smallest change in his face. I kinda had to, considering half the time he's got his blank bored face on (I could not stop laughing when I learned he used to practise that in the mirror). He's mostly stopped it around me now though.

When I look at him sitting next to me, idly scrolling on his phone, I can't help but wonder why I haven't asked him to marry me yet. How I've managed to fuck up every attempt I've made at asking the most perfectly gorgeous person on earth to be mine, forever. Because I know he would be, if I asked. If only I could just find the right time, the right place.

Chapter Text

Simon

As usual, I wake up before Baz. I look over to see him lying facing me, looking stunning as ever. If he knew I was awake he would be asking why I would ever choose to wake up so early on a day off, especially on a day we both had off. 

He would ask why I wouldn't just stay asleep with him in bed all morning, but today I've woken up with a plan. 

Yesterday might have been a muddy mess, but it made me realise something. Out of all of these times I've tried to make a special moment with Baz, the most special moments we've had have just been us relaxing in our flat.

Usually I would kiss Baz on the head before getting out of bed in the morning, but I can't risk waking him up, I'm gonna be out of bed for a while.

I quickly nip to the corner shop, grab everything I need and some extras for a treat, then get started. 

I may not be the best chef in the world, but I don't usually burn anything, plus I haven't exactly got anything fancy planned. Eggs, milk, flour, sugar. Pancakes, notoriously simple, notoriously delicious. 

Okay, when I said I don't burn stuff that may have been a slight lie, but the first pancake is always a dud. The rest turn out fine, so I stack them on a plate and get some little bowls for toppings. 

I chop up some strawberries, pour some maple syrup, get the butter dish, and make Baz a coffee. I even got whipped cream and mini marshmallows cause I know he loves them.

I find a tray in one of the kitchen cupboards and arrange it all to the best of my ability, then go in. Baz (thank God) is still alseep.

Baz

I'm woken up by a kiss on the cheek and the smell of something delicious wafting through the flat. Warm and buttery like Snow, it even takes me a second to realise that the smell isn't actually just him.

But when I open my eyes, I see him perched on the side of the bed wearing only his pyjama bottoms ( lucky me ) with a tray of food next to him.

"Good morning darling." He's smiling at me like one would imagine the sun smiles down on a summer's day.

"What's all this?" I sit up in bed to get a better look. Pancakes, coffee… did Simon make me breakfast in bed?

"Breakfast." He lifts up the tray and puts it on my lap. "For you."

I can't help but smile. "For what occasion?" It's ridiculous how hungry the smell is making me so I pour on the syrup and start eating.

He looks away nervously, taking a deep breath. Maybe this isn't the time to be shoving pancakes into my mouth. "Well… I wanted to ask you something…"

I put down the cutlery and take a sip of coffee (perfect). He scoots into bed and sits next to me, I take his hand in mine. "Ask away." I think I sound a bit breathless, he's making me nervous too.

"It's kinda a big one. Uhm. Baz, I really love you, like more than anything ever in the whole of ever. I know that doesn't sound like much considering how I grew up, but you're my everything. And I want to say something super romantic and have a whole speech about what love means or whatever but I'm shit with words. Jesus, if you were doing this you'd probably be saying all the right stuff and you'd sound like bloody Shakespeare or something." Crowley , is this going where I think this is going? "What I'm trying to say is… Baz, I wanna be with you forever. Like forever and ever. I want to promise that to you, because if you'll let me, I know I can keep that promise. So… will you marry me?"

I think I'm crying. Did this really just happen? Am I dreaming? Did Simon Snow, the golden boy, my golden boy, just ask me to marry him?

I quickly move the tray to the bedside table and throw my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I can without hurting him. I'm definitely crying. He may not be the most eloquent man I've ever met but he couldn't have said anything better. I feel like my heart might burst, like perhaps finally I actually did get too close to the sun. My sun.

My Simon.

Simon

He said yes.