Chapter 1: Best Costumes, and Jealousy.
The popcorn smell hit first—that fake-butter chemical tang cutting through cheap candy and spilled beer. Then the noise: bass thumping under shrieks of laughter, a chaotic symphony of bad pop songs and drunken shouts. Glitter drifted in the air like toxic snow, catching the pulsing strobe lights. Pumpkins grinned toothily from tables draped in black plastic. A zombie limped past clutching a Solo cup, bumping into a glittery vampire.
"Okay, seriously?" Molly hissed, shifting her weight on the hidden stilts inside her oversized knight’s boots. The fake muscle padding strapped across her chest and shoulders itched fiercely under the tunic. "This was your brilliant idea, Vance. Remind me why I let you talk me into impersonating a hulking linebacker prince?"
Vance adjusted the G-cup silicone breasts straining against the sparkly blue princess bodice. The hip padding dug into his waist. "Because," he grinned, the single green streak in his brown hair catching the light, "it’s hilarious. And we look fabulous." He struck a pose, hand on padded hip, batting eyelashes thick with mascara. "Admit it. Prince Charming never looked this good."
Molly rolled her striking green eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Her dark curls were pinned ruthlessly back under a faux-leather knight’s cap. "You look like a Bratz doll that got stretched on a rack. And these stilts are a death trap." She wobbled slightly, grabbing his arm for balance. Her hand, encased in a bulky gauntlet, felt awkwardly large against his slender, glitter-dusted forearm.
"Just think of the prize money!" Vance countered, leaning into her taller frame. "Two hundred bucks! That’s pizza and beer for a month!"
"Assuming we don’t faceplant on stage," Molly muttered, scanning the crowded dining hall-turned-dance-floor. Her gaze snagged on Thaddeus Bellweather and Ophelia Nightshade near the judges' table. Thaddeus looked unnervingly authentic in his deep-purple wizard robes, complete with a meticulously styled beard and piercing blue eyes fixed on the stage with unnerving intensity. Beside him, Ophelia was pure gothic witch: flowing black robes, skin powdered unnaturally pale, long raven hair framing a face currently twisted into a scowl. Her dark eyes burned with venom as they flickered over Vance and Molly.
"Ugh, Bellweather and Nightshade," Molly sighed. "Looking smug as usual. Bet they think their Hogwarts cosplay guarantees a win."
"Too bad they have the charisma of stale pumpkin bread," Vance whispered back, winking. "We’ve got chemistry, babe. Raw, undeniable, gender-bending star power."
The emcee, a frazzled RA dressed as a mummy, grabbed the mic. "Alright, ghouls and goblins! Settle down! Time for the Couples Costume Contest! Give it up for our terrifyingly terrific contestants!"
Applause erupted, uneven and fueled by alcohol. Vance squeezed Molly’s gauntleted hand. "Showtime, Prince Charming."
They shuffled forward, Molly concentrating fiercely on not tripping over her own extended feet, Vance exaggerating his hip sway, the giant breasts bouncing slightly with each step. Laughter rippled through the crowd – not cruel, but genuinely amused. Someone wolf-whistled at Vance. He blew a kiss.
Thaddeus and Ophelia went before them. Thaddeus executed a flawless, dramatic wand flourish. Ophelia conjured a puff of suspiciously scented smoke (probably a vape pen). The applause was polite, appreciative of the craftsmanship, but lacked warmth. Thaddeus’s smug grin faltered slightly as he scanned the crowd.
Then it was Vance and Molly’s turn. Vance immediately launched into an exaggerated, flirty curtsy towards Molly. "My gallant knight!" he trilled in a high-pitched falsetto. "Rescue me from this dreadful party!"
Molly, caught off guard, blinked. Then her pragmatic brain clicked into gear. She struck a stiff, heroic pose, puffing out her padded chest. "Fear not, fair maiden!" she boomed, deepening her voice comically. "I shall vanquish... uh... the cheap punch!" She mimed drawing a sword, nearly overbalancing. Vance giggled, a genuine, infectious sound, and grabbed her arm again, pretending to swoon. The crowd ate it up. Laughter roared, louder and more genuine than before. People pointed, clapped, cheered. Their awkwardness, their obvious affection beneath the ridiculous costumes, was magnetic.
The judges conferred. Thaddeus watched, his jaw tight, blue eyes narrowed. Ophelia leaned close, her lips moving rapidly against his ear, her expression pure acid. He gave a sharp, almost imperceptible nod.
"And the winners..." the mummy RA yelled, dragging out the suspense, "...for sheer originality, commitment, and making us all laugh till we cried... Vance and Molly! Your Prince and Princess Charming!"
Deafening cheers. Confetti cannons exploded (cheap paper streamers). Vance whooped, jumping up and down, making his princess skirt flare. Molly, stunned, managed a dazed smile, relief washing over her as much as triumph. Two crisp hundred-dollar bills were thrust into Vance’s hand.
As they stumbled off the makeshift stage, buzzing with victory, they passed Thaddeus and Ophelia. Thaddeus blocked their path, his smile thin and cold. "Congratulations," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A truly... novel interpretation. Though perhaps lacking in authentic artistry." His gaze swept dismissively over Vance’s padding.
Ophelia’s pale face was rigid with fury. Her dark eyes locked onto Molly. "Enjoy your little joke," she spat, her voice low and venomous. "It won’t be funny for long."
Molly met her gaze squarely, her green eyes sharp. "Jealousy’s an ugly costume, Ophelia. Doesn’t suit you." She nudged Vance forward. "C’mon, Princess. Let’s cash in."
As they pushed through the celebrating throng, Thaddeus and Ophelia turned away. Heads close together, they formed a pocket of icy stillness in the chaotic warmth. Thaddeus murmured something low, his fingers tracing a quick, intricate pattern in the air near Ophelia’s clasped hands. Ophelia’s lips moved silently, her eyes fixed with fierce concentration on Vance and Molly’s retreating backs. A faint shimmer, like heat haze distorted by the strobes, seemed to ripple the air around their hands for a split second before vanishing into the pulsating lights and drifting glitter. The whispered incantation was lost entirely beneath the DJ’s thumping bass and the crowd’s roar. Neither Vance nor Molly glanced back.
"Two hundred smackeroos!" Vance crowed, waving the bills as they finally burst out into the cool October night air. The relative silence was blissful. He ripped off the itchy blonde wig, running a hand through his own messy brown hair with the green streak. "Told you we’d kill it!"
Molly was already wrestling off the bulky gauntlets. "We looked ridiculous," she said, but she was grinning, a real, wide grin that lit up her face. She took off her prince cape sighing in profound relief as she shrunk back to her normal height. "Utterly, completely ridiculous. And it was kind of amazing." She leaned against him, her hand resting on his butt padding. "You make a disturbingly convincing princess."
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close despite the layers of tulle and padding. "And you, Sir Molly, are the knight of my dreams. Even if you walk like a newborn giraffe." He nuzzled her fake chest, breathing in the scent of her beneath the lingering popcorn and sweat. "So... celebration plans? Pizza? More cheap beer?"
Molly tilted Vance's head up, his brown eyes catching the moonlight, sparkling with mischief and something warmer. Her hand slid under the edge of his ridiculous bodice, finding the warm skin of his waist beneath the padding. "How about," she murmured, her voice dropping to a low, intimate register that sent a shiver down his spine, "we skip the pizza? Head straight back to your place? These costumes," her fingers traced the edge of the silicone breast form pressing against his ribs, "are incredibly uncomfortable. And I have ideas... involving getting you out of this sparkly monstrosity... very, very slowly."
Vance’s breath hitched. The playful glint in his eyes deepened into something hotter, more urgent. The victory buzz, the adrenaline, the sheer absurdity of the night fused into a sharp, delicious anticipation. He crushed the bills into one of Molly's pockets, forgotten. The parking lot lights cast long shadows as he pulled her tighter.
"Best idea you’ve had all night," he growled, his voice rough. He fumbled for his car keys, his usual coordination momentarily lost in the sudden, intense focus on Molly’s lips, on the promise in her eyes. The cool night air did nothing to dampen the heat spreading through him. The ridiculous padding suddenly felt suffocating, an unbearable barrier. He needed it gone. Needed her. Now. The walk home was gonna suck in his heels but worth it in the end.
At this point unbeknownst to the couple, the padding they were wearing starts to fuses with their flesh, becoming flesh itself. They remain unaware until about halfway way when Molly can swear she feels the base of her boots, and is no longer stumbling like she's on stilts.
The crisp October air sliced through the fake velvet of Vance’s princess gown as they stumbled out of the parking lot glare and into the quieter residential streets bordering campus. Laughter still buzzed in Vance’s veins, mixed with the sharper, headier thrum of anticipation. Molly’s hand was hot and possessive on his padded hip through the layers of tulle, her pace urgent.
"Seriously," she muttered, kicking at the sidewalk with her bulky knight’s boot. "Who designs these death traps? I swear one of these stilts is shorter than the other. Kept veering left." She wobbled slightly for emphasis.
Vance giggled, the sound high and breathy, partly the lingering falsetto, mostly nerves and lust. "Just lean on me, Sir Stumbles-a-Lot." He squeezed her arm. The giant silicone breasts pressed uncomfortably against his ribs with each step, the corset digging in. "Almost there. Then Operation De-Sparkle commences."
Molly grunted. "Operation Get This Sweaty Padding Off Before I Spontaneously Combust." She pushed her dark curls back from her forehead, the faux-leather knight’s cap long discarded. Her green eyes, catching the pale glow of a streetlight, were dark with promise. "You have no idea how much I want to peel you out of that glitter bomb."
Heat flared low in Vance’s belly. "Ditto, minus the peeling. More like… strategic unwrapping." He shifted, trying to ease the persistent pinch of the corset boning. Something felt… different. Less constrained. The thick foam padding encircling his hips and butt, which had felt like rigid insulation all night, seemed to move with him more easily, yielding slightly. He chalked it up to the padding shifting or softening with body heat. He definitely wasn’t thinking about the way his hips seemed to sway a fraction more naturally beneath the layers of blue satin and foam. It felt oddly fluid, almost… right. A subconscious echo of his earlier princess performance becoming unnervingly integrated.
Halfway down the block, passing under the skeletal branches of a large oak, Molly stopped abruptly. "Whoa."
"What?" Vance asked, nearly colliding with her taller frame.
She stared down at her boots. The clumsy, oversized knight’s boots. "I… I don’t feel the stilts anymore." She lifted one foot, then the other, experimentally. The movements were smooth, grounded. "It’s like… they’re gone? But that’s impossible." She took a few tentative steps. No wobble. No exaggerated height. Just a normal, albeit heavy-booted, stride. Her padded chest didn’t feel quite so suffocating either, less like a separate entity strapped on, more like… bulk. Solid bulk.
"Maybe you just got used to them?" Vance suggested, distracted. His own padding felt strangely comfortable now, the foam around his hips and rear shifting fluidly as he adjusted his stance, settling with a soft, almost organic sigh against his skin beneath the gown. The sway was undeniable, a natural counterpoint to his steps he hadn't consciously initiated. Weird, but overshadowed by Molly’s sudden stability and the relentless pull towards his apartment.
"It doesn't work like that," Molly argued, frowning. She looked down at her hands, encased in the leather gauntlets. They felt heavy, but not alien. "These feel… different too. Less like props." She flexed her fingers inside the stiff leather. The movement felt powerful, constrained by the material but fundamentally strong. "This is really strange."
"Everything's strange tonight," Vance countered, his voice dropping lower, losing the princess affectation completely. The padding wasn't just comfortable; it felt like it was part of him now, the thick curve of his hips and the pronounced swell of his rear moving with an unfamiliar, yet instinctive, rhythm as he stepped closer to her. He ignored the bizarre sensation, focusing on the heat in her eyes, the proximity. He slid his hands up her padded arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fake armor. "And right now, strange can wait. We won. We're awesome. And I really, really need you out of this suit." His gaze flickered over her broadened shoulders, down the planes of the fake muscle chest defined by the tunic. A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold. "You look… fierce like this. Intimidating. Kinda hot."
Molly’s breath caught. The confusion momentarily eclipsed by the raw hunger in his expression, mirrored in her own sudden, sharp desire. The weirdness of her newfound stability, the solid weight of the gauntlets, even the lingering image of Thaddeus and Ophelia’s venomous stares – it all blurred. The padding on her chest felt less like a costume and more like… hers. Substantial. Real.
"Forget strange," she growled, her voice deeper, rougher than usual. She closed the distance, her gauntleted hands gripping his padded waist, pulling him hard against her. The solid bulk of her padded chest pressed firmly against his silicone breasts. It wasn't the soft give of skin-on-skin; it was a collision of structured surfaces, yielding yet unyielding. An unfamiliar, powerful sensation thrummed through her. "Get your keys. Now."
Vance fumbled in the hidden pocket of his gown, the silicone forms shifting heavily against his ribs. His keys jangled. As he pulled them out, the streetlight glinted on the metal. His movement caused his hips to sway again beneath the gown, the foam padding moving with an unsettlingly natural undulation. He didn't notice. His eyes were locked on Molly’s mouth.
They stumbled the last few yards to his apartment building's side entrance, a poorly lit alcove. Vance jammed the key into the lock, hands trembling slightly. Molly crowded him from behind, her taller frame enveloping him, one gauntleted hand planted on the brick wall beside his head, the other sliding down over the thick foam padding covering his hip and rear. She squeezed experimentally. The padding compressed softly, but beneath it, beneath the layers of satin and foam… she felt muscle. Heat. Something solid that hadn’t been there when they strapped on the costume hours ago. She dismissed it as adrenaline, costume layers shifting, her own need overriding logic.
The lock clicked. Vance shoved the door open, pulling Molly inside the dim, narrow hallway. He slammed the door shut with his foot, pressing her back against it. The heavy knight’s boots thudded dully on the linoleum.
For a heartbeat, they just breathed, tangled in padding and faux armor, the scent of sweat, cheap makeup, and their own arousal thick in the confined space. The only light spilled from a single bulb further down the hall.
Molly looked down at him. Her dark curls framed a face that seemed subtly altered in the gloom – the jawline perhaps a fraction squarer beneath the remnants of stage makeup, her green eyes blazing with an intensity that felt primal. Her padded chest rose and fell with deep breaths.
Vance tilted his head up. The G-cup forms felt heavier, warmer, an undeniable, anchoring presence against his own chest. He felt Molly’s gaze rake over him, taking in the sparkly bodice straining over the silicone, the unnatural curve of his hips, the way the padding now seemed to fill the princess skirt, creating a silhouette that was undeniably, exaggeratedly feminine. The foam padding on his hips and butt felt less like worn foam and more like… substance. Like it belonged.
"Get. This. Off," Molly commanded, her voice a low rasp. She tugged at the laces of his bodice with her gauntleted fingers, the stiff leather making it clumsy.
Vance batted her hands away, his own fingers surprisingly deft despite the adrenaline. "My turn first, Sir Grabby-Hands." He reached for the buckles securing the fake armor plates over Molly’s shoulders and chest. His fingers brushed against the padding underneath. It didn’t feel like foam anymore. It felt dense. Resilient. Like flesh packed tight over muscle. He paused, frowning for a split second.
"What?" Molly asked, her breath hot on his face.
"Nothing," Vance murmured, shaking his head. Just the costume. Just the weirdness of the night. He needed it off. He needed her. He focused on the buckles. "Just… eager." He managed to release one. The heavy chest plate sagged forward slightly, revealing the dark padding of the muscle suit underneath, molded convincingly to pectorals and abs. It looked incredibly real in the low light. Too real.
He reached for the next buckle, fingers brushing the padding again. It was warm. Thrumming faintly. The texture wasn’t smooth foam; it felt… porous. Alive.
Before he could process it, Molly leaned down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. It was possessive, demanding, fueled by the night's absurd victory and the desperate need to shed the ridiculous shells they were trapped in. Her gauntleted hand slid down his back, gripping the thick padding covering his rear. She squeezed hard, pulling him impossibly closer. Her other hand tore impatiently at the laces of his bodice.
The kiss was electric, obliterating the flicker of unease. Vance moaned into her mouth, his hands abandoning the buckles to tangle in her dark curls. He felt the corset loosen slightly as Molly yanked the laces. Cool air whispered against his upper chest. He gasped against her lips.
Molly broke the kiss, panting. Her eyes, dark and dilated, roved over the exposed skin above the loosened bodice, then lower, to the pronounced curve of his hips and rear emphasized by the padding and gown. Her gaze snagged on her own hand, still gripping the thick foam covering his buttock. She watched, hypnotized for a moment, as her gauntleted fingers clenched, sinking into the material. It yielded, but with a strange resilience, like pressing into firm flesh. Not rigid foam. Not anymore.
She looked down at her own body. The loosened chest plate hung awkwardly. She raised her gauntleted hand, the stiff leather creaking, and pressed it against the thick padding of her own pectoral muscle. It felt solid. Unyielding. Warm. With a sudden, horrifying clarity, she knew the stilts weren't just gone from her boots. They were gone because her legs were longer. The padding on her chest wasn't just sitting there; it felt integrated.
"Vance," she whispered, her voice strangled. She pulled her hand away from his rear and stared at the gauntlet. "Something's… something's wrong." Her eyes, wide with dawning terror, locked onto his.
Vance, breathless and flushed, blinked. "Wrong? What?" He followed her gaze down to her armored hand, then back to her face, confusion warring with lingering desire.
Molly slowly, deliberately, raised her other hand – the one not in a gauntlet. She’d taken one off in the hallway earlier. Her bare hand, trembling slightly, hovered over the thick padding covering her own bicep and shoulder. She pressed her fingertips into it.
It yielded slightly, but beneath her touch, she felt the unmistakable density of real muscle. The padding wasn't separate. It was her arm. Her hand flew to her face, tracing the line of her jaw. It felt harder. Squarer.
"No," she breathed, the sound barely audible. "No, no, no…" She looked down at her body, really looked. The padding wasn't padding. It was flesh. Real, solid flesh. Muscular. Male.
Her green eyes, wide and frantic, snapped back to Vance. To his cinched waist, the exaggerated flare of his hips, the prominent swell of his rear beneath the sparkling gown. To the G-cup breasts straining against the loosened bodice. The foam padding on his butt and hips had become seamlessly integrated, swaying naturally because it was now real flesh. His features, beneath the smudged makeup, seemed subtly softer, the line of his jaw less defined.
The horror exploded within her, cold and absolute, obliterating the last vestiges of heat and triumph. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. Then, a raw, guttural scream ripped from her throat, shattering the silence of the hallway. "Vance. Undress quickly. I think our padding isn't padding anymore."