#candy writes

It was a sunny day, the warm Texan breeze on your shoulders as you washed dishes from breakfast. A hefty pile of dishes, Tommy was not a small man to feed. As the warm water eroded the bacon grease from your castiron, you heard some stomping from the yard. You smile, you can imagine how he was looking at that very moment; his mask covering half of his sweaty face, hair stuck to his forehead, shoulders wide and casting a big shadow over whatever he was blocking. His tall frame was delicious, his arms, his hands that held the majority of your torso already made you hot on the back of your neck.

Lost in a trance of your thoughts, you feel the warm water over your hands' sudden absence. You don't need to turn your head to identify the reason. You can already hear his little huffs behind his mask and his big meaty hands pawing at your hips.

“I missed you, Tommy.” You turn and raise your arms to place your hands on his broad chest. His fingers fidget with the red trim of your sundress, one of his favorites. “You like my dress honey? I like this one too, I wear it to ensure you stay grateful for this pretty little wife you got.” You giggle and cover his hands with your own, but only manage to shade a finger or two. 

“I made you pie again Tommy, peach crumble! It's right on the counter. Lemme cut you a slice.” You smile warmly before turning to walk to the countertop to your right, but you don't manage. Tommys' hands are glued to your hips, keeping you grounded like a statue on the floor. “You don't want pie, baby?” You ask, sweetly of course. You knew Tommy wasn’t focused on your pie right now, you knew from the second you heard his feet shuffling outside that he had some steam he needed to release, and you’d be damned before you said you didn't want him to take it out on you.

You look up at his lust-filled eyes and reach to untie his sweaty mask. You didn't like that he always felt he had to cover himself up, but you understood it brought more comfort to his everyday life. As the mask fell, you could hear his shaky breaths practically calling for you. You got up on your tiptoes and pursed your lips, so he reciprocated, bending his head downward and capturing you in a warm, desperate kiss.

His hands on your hips lifted your body off of the ground, unconsciously, making your face line up with his. You wrap your legs around his waist, not making it all the way, but you were stable as his hands moved down to cup your ass. You whimper into his mouth, grinding your little hips against his big tummy, and running your fingers through his messy hair.

He lets out a single huff before turning on his heels and taking you to the bedroom. After storming through the doorway, he tosses your body onto your’ neatly made bed and begins to undress. You take his cue and do the same, unzipping your flowy dress and slipping off your white panties. Leaning back in your bed, you take in Tommys' body, how the veins in his hands bulge as he unbuttons his shirt, and how tight his pants look on his thick thighs.

Once he's fully bare, he slowly stalks around the bed, looking you up and down like a piece of meat he’s longing to devour. Suddenly, he yanks you down by the ankles, making you lay flat on the bed. He pushes himself to his knees at the end of the bed, settled between your now parted legs. He shuffles forward a bit, then pulls you by the knees until your legs wrap around his hips. 

He bends forward, towering over your frame. He takes your legs and pulls your feet over each one of his shoulders. Your thighs are pressed to your stomach as he settles an arm on both sides of your head. His hair falls around your face, and you reach up to kiss his pretty pink lips. You feel his girth slipping over your slit, and you reach your hand down to press his throbbing cock to your little bud. He groans at the touch of your hand and you begin to rock your hips back and forth, covering his length with your slick.

Not long after, he begins to rock his hips against yours in tandem. His forehead touches yours and you can feel his warm breaths covering your face. On one of his slower thrusts, the tip of his cock caught on the rim of your hole, making you take a sharp breath in. Tommy looks at you to make sure you’re okay, then slowly slides his fat member into you without warning.

“Tommy! Jesus, baby slow down.” You whimper out. The intrusion makes your lips quiver and hands grip the sheets, so he takes your arms in one of his hands and moves them to wrap around his neck, immediately latching onto his hair. As he settles his hefty body on top of yours, his tummy pressing down tightly on yours, he pushes even further forward, trying to get as deep as possible.

Your moans turn into choked-out groans as he slowly pounds into you. Your toes curling and heels digging into his damp back. He lets out deep groans and uses his hand to wipe hair from your face. He cups your cheek and kisses you, a distraction from the ache of your stretched hole, struggling to accept his large cock. 

His thrusts pick up in pace, and he buries his face into your neck. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and he maneuvers your body to slam down on his cock in time with his thrusts. In a state of complete cock-drunk bliss, you struggle to let out a whine as you feel your peak approaching. Rolling your eyes back, you grip his hair between your fingers and give it a little tug, before feeling the warmth of your orgasm explode through your body in ripples of pleasure.

Your back arches and your legs shake, the feeling of your pussy clenching over his length makes him whimper, and his thrusts become fast and shallow. You whine at the feeling of him abusing your overstimulated warmth, and Tommy leans down to bury his face in your breasts and grips your hips almost bruisingly in his hands, quickly reaching his orgasm himself. 

He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you as close to him as possible before letting out one more deep thrust and filling you to the brim with his seed. He groans and flips over on his back, taking you with him. You lay over his body, feeling his cock softening inside you as his spend drips out. You both catch your breath and relax, his hands rubbing gently over your back. 

You close your eyes and let the cool air of night take you both to sleep.

A tender set of knuckles graze against your cheek, pushing a ticklish tuft of hair away from your face. The fine strands pass over your nose, rousing you to consciousness when that slight tickle manifests into a sneeze.

“Ah-choo!” You exclaim the instant your body throttles, giving you more of an animated wake-up call from this cat-nap than you anticipated. After a couple sniffles and blinks, you begin to register what you see.

The first thing your groggy eyes land on is his mustache turning up at one of the corners. The lights have been dimmed in this barren excuse for a bedroom, welcoming you into his environment as if you were meant to be here all along. His body acts as your very own personal space heater, keeping you cozy and warm amidst the icy interior of his gilded ship. Your stomach is sunken with butterflies when your hands pass over his spanning chest and abdomen. You let out a slight gasp when you accidentally touch him lower than that. Even though you were all over this and more not that long ago, it's still jolting that he’s right here in front of you.

He lifts your head by the chin, bottom lip caught between his teeth, slowly rolling back as his smile widens. “Hungry?”

He pulls you over top of himself, encouraging you to straddle his waist. Your knees can’t even reach the surface of the bed at this angle. You grind into him and he groans deeply, the vibrations reverberating powerfully through your arms as you keep yourself poised on his chest. With your mouth hovering right above his, you whisper softly. “I’m always hungry for you.”

He laughs, rattling you up and down as his core tenses and releases. He breathes heavily, reaching his head up to press the sides of his powerful jaw to your exposed breasts, eyeing you up seductively. “I meant that I should feed you. You haven’t eaten since leaving Earth.”

“I thought I told you I’m not your pet.” You rear back a little, pulling your breasts off his face in playful punishment.

“I know.” He doesn’t let you get too far, pressing his lips to yours while holding you flush against his body. “Doesn’t change the fact that you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry yet.” You challenge, grinding him harder.

“Give it time.” His massive palms skate down your curves, taking great handfuls of your ass to lift you up so that he can deposit you directly onto his hardened cock. 

You cry out loudly from the sudden impalement, still soaking wet from your past shared ventures. Conquest lets out a series of grunts when you wrap your arms around his head, anchoring yourself to him more securely while also hiding his face in your breasts.

He switches from one to the other, glossing your skin in his spittle between open mouth bites around your nipples. He takes full control of your hips, moving you along his stiff shaft. You feel him pull almost all the way out, the bulbous head of his cock being shoved back inside with every pass. His veiny length punches you so thoroughly, you have no idea how you’ve been able to withstand his railing. 

As he has demonstrated many times before, you weigh nothing to him. In an unexpected turn of events, Conquest utilizes his strong grip to sit up, throwing you on your back. There’s much room across the surface of this bed, one would think it’s as wide as the floor it rests on. You bounce on the firm cushions; his cock having slipped clean out of you. 

“Let’s see if I can’t work you up an appetite.” He takes your ankles in each hand, pushing your knees back as far as your anatomy will allow before diving head-first into your pussy. His thick whiskers fall upon your swollen lips as he swirls his tongue around your clit. He suckles and licks you over and over, making a meal of you all on his own. 

Conquest climbs up your form, pinning your legs even further back with his shoulders. He stares you down, the weighty girth of his cock tapping against your silky entrance as he steadies himself to fuck you again. “Hungry yet?”

“I-I think I n-need a bit m-more…” You stutter, feeling your legs start to go numb while the fluttering in your stomach spreads through to your fingers and toes.

“Well, well.” Conquest eases himself back inside, giving you exactly what you want. The displacement hits differently at this angle, filling you thoroughly when every thrust goes hard and deep as if it reaches your stomach. You impulsively yelp as he carries on, dizzy from the vigorous motion. “You’ve got me trained like a dog.”

“Sounds like - unf - you’re the pet - ooh - after all…” You patronize him jokingly, receiving a sweet repayment for your sass as he aims to interrupt you.

You’re bunched up and folded with your knees pinned at the sides of your head. It seems impossible not to cramp up right now from how continuously and thoroughly he’s made you come. It feels like there are needles in your calves, but you can’t hardly notice the discomfort from all the pleasure. At this point, you’re at the mercy of Conquest until he finishes.

He slams your legs closed, tightening the pressure around the entrance of your pussy. With one hand, he joins your ankles while leaning over to choke you fiercely with the other. His towering stature allows him to conduct this fiery position with ease, grinning at you the whole way through.

He squeezes your throat, making your eyes feel like they’re going to pop out for a second between intermittent pauses. You hate to admit that you like when he does that, catching yourself saying “harder” under your breath.

“Careful.” Conquest warns, bending your legs at the knees to drape his hefty weight over you. The hand around your neck climbs up your chin, driving his thick fingers into your mouth so that your moans have nowhere to hide. “It might be hard not to hurt you.”

You bite on his fingers the way he likes, giving him permission to do his worst. A primal essence within him is reignited; one that sparks his soul through an alternate conduit than the grim brutalities of warfare. When with you, he forgets what it means to be hostile.

You are willing and formidable, succumbing to the sensual thrashing. He loses himself in the motions, dexterous with his hips as he claps against your ass so loudly. His yells echo around you, hoarse and ravenous while you sing a higher tune.

Right in the nick of time, he loosens the hand keeping your ankles joined, spreading your legs to watch your supple softness jiggle from his mighty influence. You would normally try to hide as much of your midsection as possible, but he chooses to lay his enormous palms directly over your torso, admiring your delicate flesh.

In these quick seconds that he lets your legs go akimbo, his thrusts surpass the speed he’s been maintaining up to this point. You’re impaled relentlessly, screaming into the vast emptiness of the ship until your own ears begin to ring from your shrill exclamations. You have not once descended from the pillars of euphoria, rolling on a persistent climax through every second of his fucking. At last, his fist wraps around the base of his cock, pulling it out to heave its length atop your tummy. He shudders while stroking himself off and you lie there breathlessly awaiting him to paint you with his spend.

Conquest furrows his brow and the lines on his forehead begin to ripple while his scar stretches and contorts. His jaw drops open, tongue out and drooling. His jagged teeth clench with his spasming jaw, stroking himself to completion.

He doubles over, coming hard all over you. It’s hot and stringy, sizeable squirts covering you in his glaze all the way up to your mouth. You try to sample some as it shoots, succeeding and making him fumble at the sight. He catches his breath, acknowledging you currently licking your lips clean. “Mmm… How’d that taste?”

“It tastes like I’m hungry now.” You tease, shoving your tits together to spread more of his release around. His energy floods your confidence, and his expressions tell you clearly how beautiful he thinks you are.

“Let’s fix that, then.” He leans over you, kissing you on the head before rising to his feet. He presses a panel on the wall that simply looks like a piece of risen texture but is actually a built-in compartment. The panel slides upward, exposing a range of different sized towels, blankets, and other laundered effects. He takes the first towel, using it on himself to wipe his body and hands clean before going for a second, walking back to use it on you.

“I can do that.” You extend your hand forward to accept it.

He offers it, watching silently as you clean yourself, meticulous in your methods.

“What?” You ask, smirking at him from where you lay on the bed. He’s stark naked, so huge and intimidating, and yet you feel nothing but contentment in his presence.

“I’m going to show you off.” He remarks decidedly, turning to face the wall where he taps yet another functional panel concealing a closet of sorts. A large rack full of interesting pieces to choose from emerges from the hollow space within the wall. He selects his signature white and grey compression suit with the three titular pillars on the front, but he encourages you to choose something to your liking. “Pick something pretty.”

He can’t stop referring to you with that moniker, identifying you with the word itself. Once thoroughly cleaned, you step off the hovering bed, setting both feet on the cold floor to walk over to him. 

Your hands pass over every garment on display. A grandiose assortment of luxury textiles, rare interstellar silks and linens are presented before you and you’ve nowhere to begin in selecting which one to wear for the evening.

“What do you think will look best on me?” You’re at a loss, not wanting to pick something too gaudy or plain.

Conquest looks at you, then the rack, pushing option after option aside until his eyes land on the perfect gown. 

“This one.” He pulls it out, but you can’t make heads or tails of how to put it on, unable to identify its style on the hanger. “It should suit you perfectly.”

“You sure?” You’re questioning his opinion, hoping it doesn’t end up looking hideous.

“Trust me.” He slips the halter-style ties off the hooks keeping it up, opening the gown for you to step into. You’ve no brassier, girdle or even a pair of panties, defining this look with the delightful assets your lovely body has been graced with and nothing else. The fabric lays flatteringly to the floor, bathing you in a waterfall of burnt umber and gold. The ties secure around your neck, the chilled links of chain keeping it in place. The back of the dress plunges deep, exposing the savory little dimples at the base of your spine.

“Oh wow…” You’re floored by the faultless fit, doing a little spin to watch the shining ripples move. “It’s stunning.”

“You are.” Conquest moves closer, pulling you in by the small of your back. “But that’s not all.”

He reaches past you, further into the closet and pulls out a set of arm-length sleeves of the same color connected by a cape joined at the elbows. The look is completed when he hands you a pair of strange heels that look to be carved from bone, surprisingly comfortable. As for the sleeves, you’ve never seen a garment such as this. It’s like a jacket but with the rest missing. Confused on how to put it on at first, he guides you to slip your hands into the gloves until you seamlessly thread your fingers right at the digits. You see now that it’s designed to drape down your back in a refined fashion, impressed by the inventiveness of the stylist who made it.

“There.” Conquest steps away to examine his masterpiece, twirling you in place with your hand clasped in his. “I’ve always wanted to see this worn.”

“Why didn’t you just try it on?” The giggle that bubbles out of you is met with a stern glance and for a second you think you’ve overstepped.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The cadence of his makes you believe he’s offended by your quip, but the next words out of his mouth prove otherwise. “It wouldn’t fit.”

“Oh! Hahaha!” You jovially cackle at his joke, leaning your weight onto him as you laugh. You have an energy about you, one that calls to his heart when he was sure it had been laid dormant. You remind him to take his time instead of moving from one world-obliterating priority to another. Without a home to return to, he’s made a permanent place wherever you are. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“I know a little place.” Conquest cunningly suggests as he leads you out of the room and towards the command center at the front of the ship. The clacking of your heels on the hull floor is exquisite. You’ve forgotten how satisfying the sound could be, enhanced by the fascinating texture of the bone. 

You make it to the station where he claimed you as his for the first time, harboring all those blissful memories. He boots up a map, locating the destination only a few light-years away from your position. It’s a tiny blip, smaller than the orbiting planets in the area, blinking brightly on the holographic projection.

Course it set and you reach the blip almost instantly. You felt no turbulence, no gravitational drag as you were practically teleported there. Now closer to it, you see that it is a brightly illuminated gyrating space station. You would compare it to the Las Vegas of the cosmos with how it’s decorated in flashing brights like the ever-famous strip. It is by no means little in the slightest, offering a plethora of vices where patrons must come from all over the galaxy to partake. “Woah…”

Conquest hears your exclamation of amazement, smiling to himself for being the one to introduce you to all these sights and wonders. He approaches you from behind while your eyes remain glued to the view just outside. “Shall we?”

Upon entry through the industrial airlock, you sense all eyes on you. Conquest emits a ruling presence with his bloody reputation. The white and grey uniform he wears strikes an additional dread through all who cross his path. You do your best to act natural in front of the many varying alien faces, realizing that you’re just as foreign to them as they are to you. Tendrils and scales, large furry bodies, eyeballs as large as your fist. You find it easier to keep your vision glued to the floor.

Conquest feels you shrink, securing you to his side with a nudge of support. “Don’t worry. They’re just envying what they can’t have.”

You pass through a handful of bustling recreational outlets, landing at a refined establishment with an ambience set with colorful flickering ion lamps and quiet music that you could only describe as a symphony of water dripping and popping bubbles put to a smooth and steady beat. 

You are led by Conquest to an empty section of the bar, descending onto the seat he pulls out for you. The man behind the counter is a hybrid blend of human and snake, his lower torso slithering about the floor with expert maneuverability. You have no idea what to order. The overwhelming realization sets in when it dawns on you that you cannot speak any of their languages, never mind being able to understand them.

All is taken care of when the snake-man points at Conquest from afar. He responds by raising his hand with two fingers extended. The snake-man nods in confirmation, mixing up a couple of luminescent beverages. He fills a shaker with powerful intoxicants that resemble vials full of potions. Setting the shaker aside, the bartending snake-man scoops some chopped fruit into the short, prism-shaped glasses. He muddles the fruit at the base of the triangular chalice, spreading the dark seeds and magenta flesh that reminds you of dragon fruit back home. Who’s to say if it has the same flavor profile.

Once muddled in each glass, the bartender picks up the shaker to give it a spirited rattle, agitating the contents until they’ve been turned into something new. The way he moves is almost choreographed. Rehearsed. A dance he’s perfected. The lid is popped off, revealing a gleaming drink that takes on the likeness of blended glowsticks. The flowing neon yellow, blue, pink and orange react with the fruit at the bottom of the glass, starting to fizzle. 

The bartender lays down some coasters, placing each glass over top of them. Before he departs, Conquest tosses him a gold coin of the highest galactic currency. Grateful for the excessive tip, he additionally puts a little bowl of some sort of steaming appetizer between you before putting the coin into his pocket and attending to other patrons.

“You a regular here?”

“Yes and no.” Conquest answers while eyeing up the food and drink. “I would pass through with other Viltrumites, but I would never waste my time here on my own. We're just stopping here before heading to the restaurant across the way.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” You're beginning to wonder about this whole arrangement.

“Hmm?” He vocalizes while sipping his drink.

“Wasting time.”

Conquest collects the luminous stain across his mustache with his bottom lip, sets the drink down and tosses something that looks like grilled octopus into his mouth. Chewing while getting closer to your ear, he swallows before speaking. “Not a second is wasted when I am with you.”

He skillfully kisses your cheek as he pulls away, eating another tentacle. “How’s that drink?”

You don’t know if you should stir it or sip it as is. The colors are separated like swirling paint. Now put on the spot, you have no choice but to try it.

The second it hits your lips, the fizzy reaction you saw before when the drink was combined with the fruit is a pleasant surprise. The sensation is akin to a semi-sparkling moscato, very light and sweet. Each color presents a different flavor, giving you citrus notes, creamy essences and a richness that amplifies the whole ensemble. The pulp at the bottom doesn’t taste like dragon fruit at all, providing a tanginess you’ve only found in pomegranates or cumquats. 

It’s scrumptious. You strain to stop yourself from taking large, impolite gulps though the aftertaste is what convinces you to slow down. 

The warmth hits your stomach much like a shot of tequila or other hard liquor you’ve had the misfortune of sucking down your gullet. You cough at the realization, setting it down to behave as nonchalantly as you can but Conquest sees the whole thing. “S-smooth.”

“Alcohol out here isn’t like what you find on Earth.”

“It’s sweet, but damn if it isn’t strong.”

“Reminds me of someone I know.” Conquest taps you with his muscular elbow.

“Wow.” You beam at him. “That was corny.”

“I have no one but you to blame for that.” He takes another drink, halfway done now. You sip on yours again as the song playing before has ended, shifting to a more romantic mood.

“Let’s dance.” He offers his hand, and you set the glass down, hesitant to agree.

“I don’t know how.”

“Neither do I.”

Despite your collective lack of experience, he ushers you to the floor. You perform nothing crazy, holding each other and swaying side to side for a bit. After a while you put your cheek to his chest, listening to his heartbeat going off the rails, thundering in his chest and growing stronger by the second. At first you think it to be proximity nerves from you getting close, but a brawny force whips you away from him with a viscous turn. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Another Viltrumite appears. His broadness is comparable with Conquest, but still coming up slightly under the height of his nose. His face is accentuated with the same manicured mustache grown thickly on his upper-lip, pin straight and black as night. His head is shaved, giving him a fuzzed crown. Each of his eyes bear a different color; one icy blue while the other is dark chestnut. Conquest watches him invade his space, picking him apart like they share a past.

“You.” Conquest steps up to him, guarding you with an arm across your form. “Come to tattle on me again, Vrellik?”

“Who, me?” Vrellik plays coy, knowing exactly why he’s here while unwilling to hide it. “When you make it so easy, it’s really quite enjoyable. I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’m not.” Conquest’s knuckles pop from his angered clenching as he reinforces his stance to dwarf you behind him, preparing for something to happen.

“You're aware it’s forbidden.” Vrellik’s tone grows darker, judging Conquest for giving into his defective impulses. “Abandoning your post is one thing. It doesn’t make it any better to see you’re breeding with a human woman.”

Vrellik uses his immense strength to bulldoze past Conquest and get to you, his grubby palm grasping you by the jaw to forcibly purse your lips. You’re petrified, utilizing all your might to gain some distance to no avail. “I might just take her for myself. You’ve picked a good one. She smells fertile.”

You are nearly thrown to the ground along with Vrellik when Conquest retaliates. With both hands clasped together, he rears them overhead and drives them down onto Vrellik. He accepts the blow and crashes to the floor. Even though Vrellik's face is now planted at yours and Conquest’s feet, he snickers maniacally, inciting perilous waves of dismay to possess you.

“Touch her again and you die.” The glint in Conquest's fogged-out eye shines with purpose.

“Delightful. I love a challenge I can't resist.” Vrellik will not back down from this altercation even if it means he will perish.

“Try it then.” Conquest widens his posture.

“Look at her.” You hide behind Conquest, averting your eyes from Vrellik as he addresses you. “She’s clearly bored at your side, old man. Hand her over and I’ll have her screaming like my other concubines. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Vrellik tries going for you a second time, but Conquest blocks the contact with an unyielding grip on his forearm with his mechanical hand, snapping his radius in two. Vrellik howls in agony while his skeletal innards splinter into shards as easily as one would crumple a soda can.

“You’ll pay for that! Ugh!” Using his other arm, Vrellik lands a heavy contact of his knuckles to Conquest’s jaw. His footing has been displaced, knocking into you so hard you fall to the ground. Surrounding patrons witness the chaos and correctly assume it to only go downhill from here. They scatter amidst the beginning slew of beatings exchanged. With only one arm, Vrellik has ensued a filthy fight with flying kicks that bruise and cruel bites that rip Conquest apart.

You’re swept up in the current of other people and are taken far away from Conquest. You find yourself at a sort of public lavatory consisting of cubicle-style stalls with a small, exposed section of flooring in each. No toilet, just an open hole that drops into a massive vat of waste. Already on edge with the death duel crashing about in the other room, you cannot even bear to look at this pit, scrambling out of the stall in a hyperventilating clamber.

You pull the cape on your sleeves over your shoulders like a blanket. The ground shakes with the conflict and you flinch at the sound of every crash, shriek and rumble. It is clear the fight is not exclusive to Conquest and Vrellik. Innocent bystanders are trampled oppressively if they just so happen to be in the way. You stumble backward into the nearest wall, sliding all the way down until you’re perched on these cursed bone heels. You feel silly wearing all this, a costume that doesn’t suit you anymore.

Pulling the cape over your head, you hide your eyes and cover your ears hoping to preserve yourself from having to listen to the massacre. It works to an extent, but you are not safe from the resonating disruptions that shake the space station. 

This continues for a while, far longer than any brawl should. At some point, you begin to believe you’ve become an afterthought, no longer valuable. 

The thought brings forth an ache in your soul that dispenses a never-ending flood of tears to fall from your eyes, soaking the precious textile of the cape. It’s a good thing you’re not wearing makeup lest you’d be marking it up with mascara smudges. You’re far too immersed in your sobbing to notice that the fighting has ceased.

That same gentle touch that caused you to sneeze upon waking up earlier announces itself while you’re in the middle of your disparaging episode. The alarming contact brings you to flinch again, recoiling away while slipping the cape off your head to see who is there.

“D-don’t.” You beg through chattering teeth. “Please… don’t.”

Conquest is bathed in Vrellik’s blood and marked with wounds that appear fatal, his once snow-white uniform now saturated in crimson in the name of your protection. He is crouched on one knee, eclipsing you from the light fixture’s gleam directly above. He’s gravely concerned, persistent to get through to you. “Don’t?”

“Don’t pretend I mean anything to you!” You smack his hand away and Conquest heeds your desire for space, granting it to you without objection.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Do you seriously expect me to think you brought me here ‘for fun’?” The sniffles and sobs impeding your speech pose a challenge, but you are determined to scold him with everything you have. “You want me to be vulnerable and dependent on you. I bet I was nothing more than bait you taunted Vrellik with.”

Conquest bows his head and you’re happy to see this tiny display of remorse, but the feeling is short lived when he starts to chortle at you.

“Sure. Go ahead. Laugh.” You say while hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like you haven’t hurt me enough.”

“I am impressed by the shrewdness of your assumption.” Conquest lifts his gaze, his chest still rising and falling merrily. 

“My what?” You’re certain he’s messing with you now.

“I understand how you would see that encounter as a trial of manipulation.” Conquest starts. “But I had no idea he knew where I was. Truly.”

“I’m sorry to distract you.” You huddle into yourself, evading eye contact.

“It’s not your fault.” Conquest does not allow you to take on all the blame. “I got carried away and that’s on me. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re always two steps ahead of everything.” You talk over your folded arms, still sobbing. “Suddenly I come along, and some asshole gets the jump on you?”

“I should have been more vigilant.” Conquest does not give up on an opportunity to take accountability for what transpired. “That is not your burden to bear.”

“Look, you may be telling the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t belong here.”

Conquest is actually hurt by that, tilting his head to the side when you don’t hold back. “You have just as much a right to be here as any one of those bastards. Maybe more.”

“I’m not cut out for this.” You fear you might have bitten off more than you could chew. “What was I thinking? I can’t start a life in this!”

Just as you’re beginning to spiral, Conquest pulls you into his space by your wrist. You fall clumsily onto him, but he holds you securely in his extensive arms. After a few seconds, his tranquil energies enable you to match your breathing with his, helping free you from hysterics.

“What are you so afraid of?” Conquest asks, intent on seeing the day you vanquish your fears.

“For starters, I don’t want that to happen again.” You sniffle, wiping your nose with the tear-stained cape. “And for another, I don’t know anything about these worlds and their people. I’m out of place. An outcast.”

“Everyone’s an outcast around here, and I’m willing to teach you everything you want to know.” Conquest is managing to find solutions to every gripe you’re throwing at him. “Let me prove that I can protect you.”

Your dark sense of humor shines its light on this situation, switching one of your sniffles with an enthused nose laugh while gesturing to his dripping uniform. “It looks like you already have.”

Conquest scans himself, joining you in appreciating the joke with echoing hilarity. The dress is now stained with his mess, but you care not. All you want is for him to kiss you right now, craving it proudly when your eyes meet his. 

His breath falls over your lips, both mouths closing in on each other. The first touch is light, testing the waters like it’s your first time all over again. That plush fullness of his lips meets yours sweetly as the warmth of his mustache spreads from cheek to cheek. 

Affectionate fingers are being threaded into your hair while his biomechanical arm scoops you up from the lavatory floor. You moan down his throat when he pries your jaw open and slips in his tongue, trading the effervescent flavors of the ambrosial drink you both shared.

You break the kiss to look at him, petting his angular and chiseled features with your soft hands. He closes his eyes to accept your love, rising to his feet to walk out of there and back to his ship at the dock. No one would dare make a move to detain a Viltrumite, giving you and Conquest a clear path back into the void.

“We didn’t even get the chance to eat.” You whisper against his neck as you're being carried.

“I’ll scrounge up something way better at the ship.” He nuzzles, humming sweetly.

“You are going to cook for me?” The idea excites you.

“My version of it, anyway.” You have no clue what surprises await, but your spirits are being lifted  at every turn, making you feel much better than before.

“Ooh. Now I am interested!”

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Dwayne was huddled off to my right, next to David, and he looked over at me. Concerned. My uncomfortable silence laid over the both of us like a heavy quilt. He shuffled stealthily across the beach blanket so he could sit next to me and bump my knee with his.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's this party got you so stressed about?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. Shit. Either he was really good at reading me or I was just an open book.

"Stuff." I muttered.

"Like?"

I sighed and ran a hand through the wash of brown curls I call hair, pushing them off my face. The cool ocean air whispered over me softly. 

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," I whispered. "Do you really think we can blend in with such a small crowd for that long?"

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment before shrugging. "I think we'll manage alright. Worst comes to worst, we have ourselves a little buffet." He snorted at his own morbid joke and I couldn't help but do the same.

"Ok, but not JUST in that way. I mean…." I fidgeted with one of the gold rings on my right hand. "I mean it's been so long since we've had to really TRY and interact with…. Y'know, people." My tongue had nearly slipped over the last word and said 'humans'. Thankfully I'd caught myself and Karen was none the wiser, if she was listening. The sentiment was still true though. What if we…. What if *I* couldn't do it? What if we were exposed? As vampires? Or anything else?

Dwayne softened and slung an arm around my shoulder. "Hey…. You'll be ok, Eva. We'll be with you. Nothin’ we can't figure out between the five of us."

I inhaled and didn't resist the pull I felt to lean against him. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He hummed appreciatively, the vibrations undoing my nerves a little bit.

"That's my girl," he beamed. I could hear the smile in his voice and it tugged the corners of my lips up with it. Damnit. 

Dwayne always had a way of making me feel better somehow. Calmer. Whether I wanted to admit it or not. He'd always been the closest to me of the four boys, even when I was still human, over a decade ago. When he brought me into their little family…. Turned me, he'd called it? Our bond had only strengthened. If he really believed things would be ok then…. Then maybe they would be.

He squeezed my arm reassuringly and I breathed in the salty coastal air. I wouldn't be alone on this adventure. That thought admittedly brightened me up a bit. Still, the last time I'd really been around people was 1973. My "being human" skills were definitely a little rusty after 12 years with minimal practice….. but maybe a change of scenery would be good for me, right?

--------------------------------

"Shit, we really should have brought warmer clothes," I thought to myself. Our hot bike engines formed misty vapours in the December air as they skidded across the icy gravel pathway to the lodge. It was a fucking miracle we hadn't spun out and been splattered all over the road since none of our bikes had tires meant for this kind of weather.

I huffed and pulled my leather jacket around my tattered Ramones t-shirt, thankful for the protection from the wind. Maybe we didn't get cold the same way as humans did, but that didn't mean the freezing temperatures couldn't stiffen up our joints and muscles. The prospect of becoming a Drac-sicle wasn't exactly alluring, y'know? 

I scanned the parking lot. It was full of new model cars, sparkling in the moonlight against the snow. I couldn't help but feel that we'd stick out like sore thumbs here.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, guys."

"Sure thing, Han Solo," snickered Marko. He hopped off his bike swiftly, grabbing a large case of beers he'd brought with him from the back.

Paul slapped Dwayne on the shoulder as he raced to help Marko unload the alcohol.

"Hey man, that makes you the big hairy dog thing, hahaha!" Dwayne just rolled his eyes.

"His name is Chewbacca," I grumbled, crossing my arms. "You went with me to the movie, Paul. You should know."

"Paul only went the first few times, he didn't stick around for the 27th time, Angie," Marko retorted.

"I hate it when you call me Angie! That's not my name!"

"Sure it is! Ev-ANG-eline. Angie!"

I rolled my eyes and slung the overnight bag I'd brought over my shoulder, gliding beside David for the walk up to the massive log-cabin type building. He just looked back at me like "You started this," and I scoffed. 

"Little brothers are such a pain in the ass."

"LITTLE?" Marko cried from the sideline, "I'm like 70 years older than you! And 2 inches taller!"

"And yet you're still a little baby," I stuck my tongue out at him and David snorted, knowing Marko would NOT be pleased. Marko, however, was busy cradling the large case of beers and thus couldn't touch me. And he knew it. Sucker.

We made it to the door of the cabin in one piece and David knocked firmly, hoping to be heard over the thumping music inside. 

Something cold SMACKED into the back of my head and when I grabbed at my hair, I felt a clump of snow. Paul was whistling "nonchalantly" and trying to play it cool, but before I could tackle him, the door opened and an already drunk college-aged boy stepped out.

"Oh! Uhhh sorry guys, I think the Billy Idol concert was LAST week." He snickered to himself but David didn't falter. Not even crack a smile.

"Karen invited us. She here?"

The drunk guy frowned at the familiar name. "Uh…. Yeah, just a sec". He called over his shoulder for the blonde. She quickly appeared and squealed at the sight of Paul.

"Heyyyy hottie! Can't believe you guys made it! Come on in!"

We all smiled a little at that. We'd officially been INVITED inside. That meant we could basically do whatever the hell we wanted to do. And the best part? We'd be able to see our reflections! It seemed like such a silly thing but…. Not being able to see your own face for over a decade really fucks with your brain, somehow.

We stepped through the threshold one by one and took a good look at the party, which was in full swing by this time of night. A real rager, to be honest. Some shitty Motley Crue song was playing over the radio and everyone was dancing, drinking, making eyes at each other or some unholy combination of the three. The air inside wasn't much better either: beer and cigarettes and old, dusty furniture.

There must have been at least 30 people there, maybe more. And every single one looked like some kind of preppy country club member: an Aryan Wet Dream of blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin. ALL OF THEM. An American flag took up about 50% of the real estate against one of the pine-knotted walls.

Oh GOD this was a Republican house party.

My eyes flickered over to Dwayne in a panic, gesturing towards the American flag with a tilt of my head. 

He merely nodded with a grim expression. "Patriots," he mouthed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. A snort left my lips against my will. Well, at least we didn't have to feel bad about eating anyone here. Silver linings.

Still, I clung to Dwayne's arm as we waited for David and Paul to finish talking to Karen. No way in hell did I want one of these assholes to corner us and try to rope us into a conversation…. Or worse. I could feel actual bile burning the back of my throat, my stomach was turning so badly. 

Marko seemed to share our apprehension, bristling with nerves as his eyes raced around. The aggressively hostile atmosphere of the party was palpable, at least to us. It felt like we'd walked into the middle of an angry wasps nest. Which, I suppose we had, to use the other meaning of WASP. 

I'd been right, we DID stick out here. Our mostly black, punk attire was a charcoal shadow against  the neon leg warmers and pastel polo shirts and baseball caps of the other guests. We looked like bits of black licorice in a bowl of candy hearts, if the candy hearts were full of battery acid. We clearly didn't belong here. And I was sure they all knew.

 What if they all decided to turn on us as a group? Sure five vampires could hold their own without dying, even against 30 humans, but what if anyone managed to get away? Would they squeal about what they'd seen? About us? And sure no one here would know how to kill us, especially since being invited in granted us some protection. But any of us could still get hurt. That thought punched into my gut like a knife. It would be agony to watch any of my family suffer. And what if--

Dwayne grabbed my hand with the arm I wasn't clinging to and rubbed it soothingly with his thumb. I'd been twisting the sleeve of his leather jacket in my anxious haze and hadn't noticed. 

"Sorry," I mumbled and let it out of my grasp. He merely hummed and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to the top of my head. The tenderness of the gesture was somewhat undercut, though, since he still wore the stoic expression he'd donned after our arrival. Clearly he wasn't pleased about this turn of events either. I grabbed his hand gently in both of mine and brought it to my lips for a kiss. We were all in this together. That would have to be enough to get us through.

We waited a few more moments before Karen appeared in front of us with a room key dangling on a green plastic key-ring.

"Ok since there's five of you, you guys get the biggest double room: 37. Sorry there's only 2 beds, though. Maybe one of you could…. Bunk with somebody else….?" That last part was a purr as she provocatively trailed a manicured finger up Paul's chest. He was clearly excited by this suggestion, but David grabbed him by the back of his jacket collar. Warning him.

"We'll figure something out," was all he said. He stormed forward, cutting through the crowd like a blade and we all followed him to our room.

-------------------

37 was a pretty nice room, I couldn't lie. There was a bathroom just off the entrance door with a tub and shower, toilet and a sink plus medicine cabinet. Past the bathroom, two beds were against the right wall, parallel to several large windows that could open to the night air. A high-backed chair sat in the farthest left corner of the room, beside a small round table and a few other bar stools. It was swankier accommodations than we were used to, certainly. But we had more pressing concerns: namely covering the windows to keep the sunlight out. 

None of us were particularly in the mood to become vampire barbecue, y'know?

I pulled a few black towels out of my overnight bag, as well as some duct tape, nails and a hammer. Dwayne and I got to work sun-proofing while Paul jumped onto one of the beds gleefully.

"Ooh, I call dibs on this one!"

"There's five of us, stupid," I told him. "We'll have to share."

"Kid's right," David said, sitting down in the high-backed chair in the corner. "You'll share with Marko, Eva and Dwayne will take the other one."

"And what about you?" Marko asked what we were all thinking.

"I'll sleep right here."

"In a chair?" Dwayne raised an eyebrow.

David shrugged. "I don't like sleeping in beds anymore. They're too soft. I'm used to napping in my chair back home."

"Ok, Grandpa," Paul giggled.

David blinked and folded his hands together, leaning forward.

"You really wanna go there?"

Paul stopped bouncing on the bed and he held his hands palms-out in surrender. "Hey, chill man, it's just a joke."

David merely hummed but Paul took it as an excuse to grab Markos hand and flee the room to join the party. The door slammed shut with a loud CLICK.

Once Paul and Marko were out of earshot, I turned to David, my hands shaking a little with the weight of my thoughts that had been plaguing my mind.

 "Why the hell did you accept the invite to this stupid place, David? I was worried about this exact fucking scenario happening the second I laid eyes on that girl! And now here we are, in the middle of fucking summer camp for the KKK! Normally I trust you with my life David, but seriously??? What the shit!?"

David's jaw clenched and he rose from his chair, drawing himself up to full height to stare down at me authoritatively.

"Do you really for one second think I enjoy the company of these people? Hmm? Do you think I'm an idiot? I picked these people specifically because I can't fucking stand them." 

David swept over to where I was standing and tilted my chin up with the edge of his hand so I couldn't avoid his eyes. "We have the opportunity of a lifetime in front of us, Eva: as much blood as we can stomach outside the prying eyes of the public. Hours away from anyone who could possibly stop us, hours away from anyone who could help them. This trip is an extremely calculated decision and nothing else. Are you saying I wouldn't do what's best for us?"

"No, of course not, I--"

"Good. Then it's settled. If you wanna go home, then I won't stop you. But I'm hungry. And I'm eating."

He let go of my face and dusted himself off, heading towards the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob before he turned over his shoulder one last time.

"Oh and Eva?"

"Y-yes?"

"Don't you ever…. Talk to me like that again. Do you understand?"

Fear jolted through me and my throat closed up. I couldn't speak. I simply nodded at David and he sighed, turning to Dwayne.

"You'll lock up?"

"Yeah," Dwayne replied.

The blunt answer seemed to satisfy him and he swept out of the room without another word. For a few moments, it was totally silent.

"He was really angry…." I mumbled. More to myself than anything. I hoped David wouldn't be mad at me the whole long weekend.

Dwayne simply plopped onto the bed with a groan and patted the spot beside him. "Don't worry about it. He just doesn't like being challenged on something when he thinks he knows best. He'll get over it. Just give him some space."

I took the spot beside Dwayne and sighed. "I guess you're right. Maybe some space is good." I looked around the room for a minute, examining it. "At least it's just the two of us now."

Dwayne snorted. "Wanting to get me all alone, huh? I thought you were gay?"

I scoffed and playfully shoved his chest, which made him chuckle. My worry from earlier quickly evaporated now that David was gone, replaced by the warmth of Dwayne's angelic smile. What a dork.

"Not like that, you pervert! Bad boys don't get a share of my surprise gift."

"Surprise?" He asked, his eyes widening and his lip slightly upturned. His curiosity was kind of adorable.

"Mhmm. I bundled it up in the towels to keep it from breaking. Here--" I rummaged around my overnight bag until my nails tapped against the smooth glass surface I wanted. My fingers curled around the cool neck of the bottle and I slipped it out into the light.

I handed it to Dwayne, who inspected the tall bottle of clear liquor. "Stall-itch-nigh-ah? The hell is this?"

"Stolichnaya," I corrected. "It's Russian vodka and it's supposed to be really good. I found a bottle at this little European grocery store in town. God knows I'm not drinking whatever pisswater they're calling beer here."

Dwayne simply chuckled and handed the bottle back to me. "You're really somethin' else, y'know that?"

I couldn't help but grin. "But you loooove me."

"Lucky for you."

"I am lucky," the tone of my voice shifted to something more sincere. "Lucky to have all of you," I said. And it was true. Without the boys, I don't know how I would have survived my human life….. or moreover, if I would have had the strength to WANT to survive it.

Dwayne sensed the melancholy tinging my words and took my hand gently. "Hey. C'mere. You're the best fake girlfriend I've ever had." He pulled me into a tight hug. All the tension melted out of my shoulders. And he smelled so good. How had I never noticed it as a human??? It was almost overwhelming to me now. The sweet, comforting perfume of blackberry jam.

 I sighed and lightly stroked the bare skin of his arm poking out of his ripped jacket sleeve. "You really want me to be your fake girlfriend for the weekend?"

"Oh for sure. The girls here would probably give me fucking rabies." His laughter bounced me against his chest.

"Only if they bite you," I countered, "just make sure you bite them first."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

We both couldn't help smiling at our own dumb joke for a minute before I remembered the Stolichnaya. I dove back into my overnight bag and pulled out two cheap plastic shot glasses.

Dwayne scoffed. "We're really gonna shoot straight vodka? No chasers?"

"Do YOU want to be forced to interact with these people sober? I fucking don't. I'm breaking out in hives just thinking about it."

Dwayne shrugged and cracked open the seal on the bottle. "No, you got me there. Just keep telling yourself that the blood will be worth it. That's what I'm gonna do."

I hummed and placed the glasses down, Dwayne leveling out two shots for it. The undiluted liquor burned my eyes, it honestly smelled like paint thinner.

Still, we both linked arms to clink our glasses together.

"What should we toast to?" I wondered out loud.

"Hmmm…." Dwayne thought for a moment before grinning and putting down his glass, pulling the Soviet flag out of his back pocket. "How about we toast to killing some racist, capitalist pigs?"

I snorted and grabbed the red and yellow fabric out of his hand. "That reminds me: this little baby has to stay here in the room, Dwayne. Don't forget."

He whined and furrowed his brows in protest but he knew I was right.

 "We're trying not to raise too much suspicion so we can eat them without being noticed. A communist flag is gonna get you kicked out for sure."

He cursed under his breath and draped it delicately over the bed frame. "God I hate that you're right. Fuck this party, man." He picked up his glass again and clinked it to mine. "Fuck America."

And with that, we both downed the shot as quickly as we could, retching and gagging the whole time.

"God, that tastes fucking awful," he moaned.

My eyes watered in agreement. "Like nail polish remover. Really, really bad." If I were still human, I was sure that an angry red flush would be painting my cheeks right now. 

A beat of laboured breaths passed between us for a moment before I asked. "Should we do another one?"

"Light me up, comrade." 

I chuckled and poured another round for us, handing him his glass. 

"To… staying secret," I toasted.

Simon Snow and Baz Pitch were polar opposites, anyone could see that.

Anyone who spared a glance at the odd pair knew this, from Baz’s obnoxious floral shirts and well maintained hair, to Simon’s haggard appearance and leather jacket.They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, complimenting each other, like Persephone and Hades, or yin and yang. Despite everything; who they were, where they came from, and what they looked like, they still were inseparable. They matched.

Simon Snow doesn’t remember quite when he fell in love with Baz. Maybe it was when he first met him, running gracefully across the football field with his hair tied up. Or maybe it was when they were playing video games at a sleepover and Baz’s leg bumped against his, sending a thumping pulse through his heart. Or maybe it was this year, when Baz came out to him and Simon realized he had a chance.

They’ve been friends since the beginning of High School, but Simon longed for something more. He laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, his heart thrumming in his chest. He thought of Baz’s inky black hair and thought about what it might feel like to run his fingers through it. He thought about how he always smelled like something citrusy and crisp, like Earl Grey tea that made Simon wish for a soft, domestic morning with him full of soft kisses and morning tea.

And Simon hated it. No, hate wasn’t the strong enough. He loathed it. He loathed it because here was someone who was completely and utterly perfect, someone he actually had a shot with that wouldn’t care that he’s a guy and knows him inside and out, but for some reason Simon kept holding himself back. He held himself back, not daring to test the waters of their friendship and ruin what they had. He didn’t want to lose Baz as a friend, crush or not. He refused.

So Simon kept his crush bottled away deep down inside him, not daring to let it see the sunshine. He thought that maybe, if he tucked it away, he might be able to shake off these feelings. Maybe they would dissipate and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Maybe it would work.

————

“We need to find Si a girlfriend,” Agatha says at lunch, her face screwed with determination. Simon sighs, putting down the scone he was eating.

“Ags, please tell me you’re not on this again.”

“Oh she totally is,” Penny says, waving a hand dismissively. “And she has a point. You’ve been moping about like a sad puppy lately saying you’re lonely and want a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t say I wanted a girlfriend,” Simon says, stabbing a strawberry with a fork.

“A boyfriend, then,” Penny says, not a hint of a question in her voice. Simon almost chokes.

“Pen. I don’t need a relationship.”

“Then why do you keep moaning about being single?” Agatha says with a condescending tilt in her brow. Simon huffs, averting his gaze.

“Because I want a boyfriend.”

“Aha! I knew it.” Penny grins victoriously. “Now come on. You have to have a crush on someone. Give us some ideas.”

“I don’t like anyone, Pen.”

“What about that one kid? Rhys I think it was?” Simon scrunches his nose.

“Right. Not him. What about Phillipia?”

“Oh god no.”

“Right. Hmm....” A chair beside Simon moves out and a lunch tray plops down on the table as Baz slides in next to him. He’s wearing a pink shirt with red roses on it and dark jeans that make Simon flush. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, a smile on his lips as he looks at Simon. His gaze lands on Penny and he sighs.

“What are you three up to this time?”

“Who says we’re up to something?” Agatha says, leaning over the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Bunce has that look in her eyes and Snow just looks lost, so obviously you’re hatching an elaborate scheme.”

“We’re trying to find someone for Simon to date,” Penny says, tapping her fingers against the table.

“Ah. Good luck with that. It would take some pretty skilled matchmakers to find someone to date Snow.”

“Hey! I could be a good boyfriend.”

“I have no doubt.” The look in Baz’s eyes is... intense. Simon has no idea how he should read it.

“Hey Baz, you’re gay right?” Agatha pipes in. Baz snorts.

“Does this have a point?”

“I mean, you’re gay and single, Simon’s single and somewhat into dudes.... you know you guys probably could....” Agatha gestured vaguely. Simon’s heart starts to beat out of his chest, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. His stomach twists dangerously and he feels like he might puke. 

Fuck.

Baz rolls his eyes. “Ok, Wellbelove.” They move on to a new topic, Penny rambling about some book she read and Baz seeming completely invested in the conversation. But one thing sticks in Simon’s mind even after lunch.

Baz didn’t say no.

——————

When Simon gets to Baz’s car after school that day, Simon immediately knows what he’s going to say. It’s obvious in the way his brow scrunches in concern as Simon runs his hands through his messy curls.

“Is your lip bleeding?” Baz says, reaching out his hand towards Simon’s cheek, then pulling it back.

“It’s fine,” Simon mumbles, even though it isn’t. It’s the second time this month this has happened.

“Simon...” Baz says in that soft voice, the one he saves for when it’s just the two of them. He picks up Simon’s hand, running his thumb over Simon’s knuckles that are cracked and bleeding, rough from countless fights. They’re all over stupid things, but Simon can’t seem to stop himself. He can’t just turn away when someone corners him, calling him names. He can’t just keep walking when he sees some kid picking on another kid in the halls. And he definitely can’t stop himself when he hears people throwing homophobic comments about Baz behind his back.

“What happened?” Baz says, looking at him with the same sternness he always uses in these situations. Simon huffs.

“Just some kid. It’s not important.” But it is. Because it wasn’t just some kid. It was some kid gossiping about Baz, saying mean, hurtful things. It was some kid who, when Simon told him to stop, taunted him and called Baz his boyfriend, not realizing that that’s all Simon’s ever wanted. It was some kid who threw the first punch, not realizing that Simon has done this before, and he wasn’t scared.

Baz sighs, squeezing Simon’s hand in his. It makes his heart leap, beating so fast that he wondered if maybe this would be the moment. Maybe he’d confess to Baz, announcing his undying love, and Baz would say he felt the same way too, and then they’d kiss in the school parking lot on the hood of Baz’s expensive car, their future set from here on out.

Baz pulls his hands away, grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Get in the car, you nightmare. We’re going to the mall.” Simon groans.

“Again? You were just there yesterday.”

“Yes but the Christmas present I got for Mordelia is something she already has so I have to return it and get a new one. Please? You know you’re better than me at picking presents for her.”

“Alright, fine. But you’re buying me a pretzel.”

“Fine.”

—————

Christmas break was at the end of the week, and Simon didn’t want it to come. Well, he did, because it would mean a break from the mountains of school work he had, but he also didn’t, because it meant it would be a lot less time with his friends and a lot more time with his father, pretending they weren’t a dysfunctional family.

Simon’s father wasn’t terrible. He never hit him, but he also wasn’t the best. He was drunk a lot of the time and was always yelling about how much of a disappointment Simon was. He didn’t like that he didn’t make the football team and he hated that Simon’s grades were just barely passing. None of Simon’s victories seemed like victories to him, and Simon was just done with it. He wanted to find a way to be away from the house as much as possible during break, but he also knew that his friends had families that they needed to be with for the holidays, too.

Nonetheless, when Simon came home on Friday night to his dad drunk in the living room, mumbling incoherently, he turned right around and called Baz.

Baz picked up on the second ring.

“Hey is everything ok?”

“Do you want to go out for dinner,” Simon says in a rush. Baz coughs.

“Um—“

“I mean— not out— I mean, yes, I just-” Simon huffs. “Can we hang out tonight? I know it's the last minute and all that but I just... I don’t want to go home.” Baz doesn’t hesitate.

“I’ll be at your house in five.”

————

This, in Baz’s opinion, was one of the worst parts of being gay. Yes, there were the homophobes and the bullies and his not at all accepting father, but he could deal with that. He could tune them out until all that was left was white noise.

But this, this was something Baz couldn’t ignore. How was he supposed to handle a crush on his best friend? If he asked Simon out directly, it could backfire on him and he’d ruin the friendship they spent four years building up. But if he didn’t say anything, he obsessed over his crush, picking apart every little detail of his interactions with Simon wondering if maybe, maybe Simon might feel the same towards him.

So when Simon called him at 5pm, asking if he wanted to go out to dinner, Baz was left wondering how to interpret it. It was probably just the same old “I’m lonely and I need someone to hang out with.” But if that were the case, why didn’t Simon call Agatha or Penny? He was much closer to them. Or why not suggest a sleepover with everyone? Or invite everyone to dinner? The more and more they hung out alone, the more Baz drove himself crazy wondering.

Maybe he was blowing it out of proportion, but it still didn’t stop his beating heart as he pulled into Simon’s driveway. Simon climbed in, his curls wild and free and his blue eyes piercing through the darkness. He smiled his warm smile at Baz, a smile that was full of dimples and sunshine and made Baz's heart do belly flops.

“Where to?” Baz asks, putting the car in reverse. Simon’s eyes light up.

“iHop.”

————————

Simon drowned his fifth pancake in maple syrup and butter. He asked for more butter a while ago and they brought him a plate full of the stuff. He slathered it on his golden pancakes, laying down a thick layer of white saturated fat.

It was absolutely disgusting.

When Baz became friends with Simon at the beginning of freshman year, he learned to look away when Simon was eating. He was a little messy and lacked more than a few table manners, but it wasn’t terrible. None of Simon’s eating habits were awful, save for the unholy slathering of butter. Baz didn’t understand it, nor did he want to.

“I think there’s more butter and syrup on that pancake than actual pancake.” Simon swallows his bite, grinning toothily at Baz.

“It’s delicious though.”

“Disgusting.” Yet Baz still couldn’t help but think about how beautiful Simon’s dopey grin was and the way his cheeks turned red.

“You wanna try a bit?” Simon asks, holding up a fork with a bit of pancake on it. Syrup slowly dropped from it, golden brown like Simon’s curls. Baz wrinkled his nose.

“I think I’ll skip on that, thanks.” Simon shrugs, continuing to shovel food in his mouth. Baz ordered some eggs, but Simon ended up eating more of them than he did. Baz never had much of an appetite, but Simon’s seemed never-ending.

“You excited for Christmas?” Simon asks, looking up at Baz with his plain blue eyes. Baz snorts.

“Not particularly, but I’ll get by.” Simon frowns.

“Your dad?” Baz runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, but what else is new.” Simon reaches out across the table, taking Baz’s hand in a comforting manner. Baz gulps.

“Guess we both god shitty fathers, huh?” Baz offers a weak smile.

“Guess so.” Simon bites his lip, as if thinking. His eyes spark in the way they do when he gets an idea or is about to make an impulse decision.

“Hey we should try to hang out over break! Get away from family and stuff, you know?” Baz smiles.

“Yeah.” Simon taps his fingers against the wooden table.

“How do you feel about going to see a movie on Monday?”

——————

It’s not a date.

Obviously it’s not a date. There will never be a universe where Simon Snow asks Baz Pitch out on a date other than in Baz’s dreams.

So why was Baz stressing over his outfit for the past hour? He honestly had no idea.

Nothing he tried on seemed to work. Some stuff looked like he was trying too hard, others looked like he wasn’t trying hard enough. It was honestly too much work considering that they were just friends going to see a movie together in the dark where they won’t be able to see each other anyway so theoretically what they wear doesn’t even matter, but Baz was Baz and he had to be extra about everything.

Eventually he settled on a light grey button down and a pair of jeans. It wasn’t one of his best outfits, but it was casual enough for him that it didn’t seem like he was trying too hard. Even though he spent an hour on his hair alone.

The drive over to Simon’s house was shorter than Baz would’ve liked. He didn’t have enough time to organize his thoughts before he was in the driveway, watching as Simon locked the door behind him and bounded down the front steps of his house, his hair bouncing off his forehead. He was wearing a worn grey sweater and  tattered jeans. He looked slightly like a disaster, but that didn’t stop Baz’s heart from pounding. In fact, he found it almost endearing.

That didn’t mean he didn’t make fun of him, though.

“Snow your sweater sleeves have holes in them for god's sake,” Baz says as Simon shuts the car door behind him. Simon smiles back at him.

“It’s comfy though.” Baz rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile on his face. They lapse into a comfortable silence as Baz pulls out of the driveway and onto the street. Simon fiddles with the radio, turning the dial until he finds a song he likes. Some American song starts playing and a guitar solo fills the car. Simon starts to mumble along to the lyrics, bobbing his head and tapping his fingers against his legs. He smiles, getting more and more into it. Baz flashes him a look as he bursts into chorus, singing at the top of his lungs. Baz laughs, shaking his head. The song finishes and Simon grins, his eyes wild and bright.

This goes on for a few more songs, with Simon obviously trying to get Baz to join in on his shenanigans. Baz refuses, but can’t seem to help himself once Bohemian Rhapsody starts playing. Simon’s smile only seems to get more dazzling.

They make it to the movie theater, already buzzing and laughing.  Simon skips ahead of Baz, the sun catching in his bronze curls as he turns to him, almost creating a sort of halo around him.

Their hands brush as they head to the ticket line and Baz wonders if he might be dreaming.

_____________

So Love, Simon may have not been the best movie to go see on Simon’s not-date with Baz. For starters, Baz started crying halfway through.

In retrospect, Simon should’ve expected this outcome, even though he didn’t realize Baz was a crier. The entire plot of the movie is something that resonated with so many people, especially people like Baz and… well, he guesses himself, even though he’s not really sure what he is.

Simon never knows how to deal with someone who’s crying. Back when he used to date Agatha, there would be times where she’d have a breakdown over something and everytime Simon felt like he was making the situation worse instead of helping. He’s not cut out for this.

Tentatively, he reaches out to Baz, taking his hand. They’re rougher and boneier than Simon’s, and a lot longer. He blushes as Baz looks over at him. Baz squeezes his hand and Simon feels his heart stutter in his chest, faltering for a moment as their eyes connect.

They don’t let go for the rest of the movie.

________________

“Pen. I have an issue.”

________________

“Ags….. we have a slight problem.”

_________________

“What is it Si? Is it that math test? I told you you have it down you just need to breathe and remember what we worked on.”

_______________

“Since when do you not have a problem, Baz? You’re literally a bigger Drama Queen than me.”

_______________

“No Pen…. it’s not that it’s just….”

_______________

“This is a real problem, Agatha, listen—“

————————-

“I kind of, maybe, sort of, possibly—“

————————

“I may or may not have—“

______________

“Have a crush on Baz.”

_______________

“Fallen in love with Simon.”

______________

Agatha huffs, hanging up the phone after listening to a 30 minute rant on Baz’s part about how perfect Simon’s hair is and the specific shade of blue his eyes are. Honestly .

Immediately, the phone rings again. Grunting, Agatha picks it up, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Baz I swear to god if I hear one more word about Simon holding your hand I will end you.”

“So he did call you?”

“Penny!”

“Let me guess. You just got off the phone with Baz and his emo bullshit about how Simon will never love him.”

“How did you know?” Penny sighs.

“Because. I just got off of the phone with Simon and his emo bullshit about how Baz will never see him as anything other than a friend.”

“They’re idiots, aren’t they?”

“Yep.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Are we going to intervene?”

“Of course we are.”

________________

All things considered, Baz knew the love letter was a bad idea. He knew the unspoken rule about love letters: if you weren’t planning on sending them, you shouldn’t write them.

But they were a great way to get out frustrations. It was a way for Baz to use his pent up emotion towards something productive and fantasize about telling Simon how he truly felt.

Simon was never meant to read it.

__________________

Was it wrong? Possibly. Was it needed? Most definitely.

Valentine’s day is this Friday, and both Penny and Agatha are sick and tired of Simon and Baz’s complaining, Simon a lot more than Baz. They just didn’t seem to be able to stop with their lovesick moping and at this point it was ridiculous. Neither of them were courageous enough to make the first move, so it was left to Penny and Agatha to make it happen.

When Agatha saw the love letter, she knew exactly what to do.

___________________

Friday was one of the gloomiest days of the week. It was raining, the sky was cloudy, and Simon woke up late and barely had time to run out to Baz’s car to make it to school. Baz threw a fit about it, but Simon couldn’t see why it mattered, considering they still made it there half an hour before school started. Baz complained about how the rain made his hair frizz up as he desperately tried to slick it back again with no avail. Simon liked it better this way, falling loosely around his face in waves, but he didn’t tell Baz that.  

When they arrived, they found that the halls were decorated with bright red and pink hearts and couples stood close together, whispering things in each other’s ears with smiles on their faces as everyone was swept up into the euphoria of Valentines Day. Boyfriends gave their girlfriends roses and cheesy heart shaped boxes filled with chocolate. The hallways were a mess of teenage hormones and whispers of happily ever afters.

Baz seemed to be in a particularly sour mood today, and Simon didn’t blame him. Valentine’s day was just another one of those made up holidays that encouraged consumerism and made single people feel like shit (at least that’s what Baz had said on multiple occasions).

Simon and Baz did all the things they usually did in the morning before school. They dropped off Baz’s violin in the orchestra room, they dropped the books Baz finished off at the library, and met up with Penny and Agatha. Agatha gave them all heart shaped lollipops and little handwritten cards that made Simon tear up a little and give her a big hug. Baz rolled his eyes, but he had a small smile on his face as he whispered a curt, “thank you” to Agatha.

The bell rang. The overhead speakers played some cheesy love songs from the early 2000s, when love songs were in their prime. Baz rolled his eyes and made some sort of snarky remark about the music that made everyone laugh. They walked to class and parted ways, Simon and Penny heading for their math class and Baz and Agatha going towards English. They listened to the monotonous morning announcements and Penny gave Simon a look when he played on his phone instead of paying attention.

Sighing, Simon pulled out his math textbook, grunting at the weight of it. Most teachers didn’t even issue textbooks to the students, let alone used them. At this point, most of them were out of date and teachers found the internet to be a lot more useful. But not Ms. Ortiz. She refused to use the internet and did everything the old fashioned way: textbooks and a white board. A student tried to talk her into using the smart board, claiming that it would be a lot easier to do notes with, but she refused, saying they didn’t have time to fuss with projectors and calibrations.

Simon opened up his textbook to the section they were currently working on. He already had the page marked since he and Baz were working on it last night. It was honestly a miracle Simon passed any of his classes before Baz came along. He was such a calm and patient teacher, not caring how many times Simon messed up. It’s funny, because Simon thought he would be the opposite, but he wasn’t. It’s no wonder he wanted to get a teaching degree when he got out of high school.

Penny taps Simon’s shoulder.

“What now, Pen?” She holds out a white envelope with his name written on it in neat, elegant cursive.

“This fell out of your bag.” Simon frowns, taking it from her hesitantly. He hasn’t seen it before, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some letter from his teacher addressed to his father that he shoved to the bottom of his bookbag. His bag was always a disaster of crumpled papers that Penny and Baz teased him relentlessly for. They insisted he organize it, but Simon didn’t really see the point. It was just going to become a mess again.

“Thanks.” Curiously, Simon unfolds the letter, wondering what it might be. He doesn’t remember receiving it at all, so he has no idea what he should expect.

Immediately, he recognizes Baz’s handwriting:

Simon,

I hate you. I hate the way you make me feel, the way you make my heart beat out of my chest and the way you smile at me in a way that makes me feel special. I hate how you’re always there when I need you and will do everything you can to help someone in need. I hate how you have this stupid hero’s complex where you feel like you need to protect everyone in this goddamn school. I hate how you try to hide your pain from me, putting on a brave face. I want to reach out to you, to comfort you, to let you know that it’s ok and you have people who love and care for you; that you aren’t alone.

I don’t know what even drove us to befriend each other Freshman year. We were from completely different universes, but somehow you chipped away at my walls until they crumbled into nothing, and I hate you for it. I hate what the sight of you does to me and I know you will never feel the same.

Simon Snow, you beautiful disaster. How could you be so cruel to make me fall in love with you?

Penny’s looking up at Simon with a curious glance, acting like she isn’t interested when she very much is. Simon doesn’t say anything, just grins widely as he folds the note back up and sets it under his textbook. Penny raises her eyebrow. It’s a skill Simon knows she’s picked up from Baz, but she refuses to admit it.

“You look like Christmas came early. You feeling alright, Simon?”

“Wonderful.”

___________________

Simon corners Baz in the hallway at the end of the day as he’s heading to his car. He bounds up to him, looking like a ray of sunshine as he smiles brightly. Something has him in an outrageously good mood and Baz has no idea what that could be.

Baz, on the other hand, isn’t feeling as good. His teachers assigned him an outrageous amount of homework and he got a low mark on one of his quizzes, even though he knew the material and studied before the test. Baz Pitch was not one for failure, and he felt very embarrassed when Agatha pointed it out to him.

On top of all that, his guilty pleasure love letter to Simon was missing. He hasn’t seen it in two days and he has no idea where it could be, or if it’s in someone else’s hands. Thank god he didn’t sign it. It’s better if nobody knows about his silly crush on Simon.

“Baz,” Simon breathes, his cheeks dusting with red as he stands in front of Baz, looking up through his wild curls. Baz can barely stop his own blush that rises into his cheeks.

“Snow. Need a ride?” Simon looks around.

“Yeah um….” He runs a hand through his curls. “Yeah.”

They walk out to Baz’s car in silence. Usually, Baz is fine with silence between them. It’s always a comforting silence that doesn’t really have a need to be filled, but something about this silence was different. It was thicker, full of a sort of tension Baz couldn’t quite place. Simon seemed to be anxious about something, as if he were trying to find a way to put it into words.  

Simon Snow is shit with words. He’s gotten better over the years, sure. English class did wonders on him, but he did seem to have a hard time annunciating his feelings in a way Baz could understand. After four years of friendship, Baz is proud to say he can usually interpret Simon’s mutterings, but it wasn’t always like that. Middle school was awful for the both of them and Baz was always frustrated with Simon’s incapability to string together sentences. He was short tempered, and it took him a while to finally give Simon a chance to get out what he needed to say.

So he did the same now. He didn’t say anything, didn’t pressure him, didn’t force him to say anything. He let the silence stretch on, letting Simon fill it on his own terms when he was ready

They climb into the car and just as Baz is about to put it in reverse, Simon puts his hands over Baz’s, stopping him from leaving. Baz looks up at him, grey eyes meeting blue. There’s a moment of tension, then Simon pulls his hands away.

“Baz, I—“ Simon stops, furrowing his brow.

“Go on, Snow.”

“It’s just…. I guess…. I just… Ugh.” Simon pulls at his curls in frustration, his face getting redder by the minute.

“It’s ok. Calm down. Take your time.” Simon takes a deep breath.

“It’s just…. I saw your letter.” Baz freezes, going stiff all over.

“What letter?”

“The one you wrote to me? And slipped into my bag?”

Oh no.

_____________

“Shit.” Baz knocks his head against the steering wheel, groaning.

“Look, Simon I'm sorry I—“

“I feel the same.”

“What?” Simon gulps.

“I… I like you too.” Baz scoffs.

“No you don’t,” he says, leaning back in his seat and brushing his charcoal locks out of his eyes. Simon lays a gentle hand on his arm.

“Yes I do, Baz.” Silence fills the car. Simon feels like he can’t breathe as each moment stretches on, the only audible sounds being their heartbeats and breaths.

“I—“ Simon says, averting his gaze as he coughs awkwardly, seeming very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, it must’ve been a mistake I—“ suddenly, so quickly it happens between one blink and the next, Baz grabs his shirt and pulls Simon to him, planting a firm kiss on his lips. Almost as quickly as he leaned in, Baz pulls away.

But Simon doesn’t let him. He puts his hands on either side of Baz’s face, kissing him with years of pining and desperation. He feels Baz sigh against his lips, bringing his hands up to rest on Simon’s broad shoulders, not daring to move them. Simon threads his fingers through Baz’s hair, marveling at how soft it is. He feels like he’s floating, his heart beating as fast as it can, on the verge of exploding. He doesn’t really mind though. Because he’s kissing Baz. I’m kissing Baz.

Simon pulls away, a grin on his face. His face is so open in that moment, so vulnerable. Baz feels a small smile that’s unbearably soft pull at his own lips.

“I like this version of you, Baz.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I like it when we aren’t friends.”

“Wow that’s really nice—“

“I wanna be your boyfriend,” Simon says, a wide grin on his face. Baz sucks in a breath, his grey eyes searching Simon’s.

“Yes,” he says breathily. Simon grins and leans in for another kiss.

----

“Welbelove this was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“What ever could you be talking about, my dearest Basilton?” she asks innocently. Baz huffs.

“You stole my letter! And gave it to Simon!”

“Oh that? It sounds more of a Penny plot to me.”

“Wellbelove.”

“Don’t get mad at me, Basil. You got the boy, didn’t you?” Baz can practically hear her wiggling her eyebrows at him over the phone. He’s sitting in his car in Simon’s driveway as Simon walks up to his doorstep. He turns around at the last moment, grinning brightly and waving back at Baz. Baz waves back.

“I hate you more than you even know, Wellbelove.”