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word-wytch · 1 year

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 12

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 12/? 10.7k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Grades are high, but stakes are higher.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: flirting, play fighting, heavy angst, drinking, pregnancy mention, a heaping helping of family tension, mild fantasy blood/gore

Special thanks to @storiesbyrhi for the beta reading on this one.

Monday, November 18th 1985

Hawkins felt different this weekend.

Perhaps it was the ashen sky that hung over the scattered remains of a brilliant fall. The way it bathed the world in a pale, sullen wash. The way it made the rust on the signs outside the gas station seem more corrosive, the streets seem smaller, the storefronts seem older. Perhaps it was because everywhere you looked, you saw him.

You were used to hearing Eddie in the cars that billowed smoke and blasted music as you pumped your gas. You had grown accustomed to seeing him in the crushed beer cans and cigarette butts that littered the weeds along the sidewalk, in the remnants of a good time. Those things were not unusual. But this weekend you saw him under the harsh fluorescents of the grocery store. On the crinkled label of a 99 cent can of soup. In the faces of small children as you stood in line with a cart that you could never fill alone. You saw him in the windows of subsidized apartments. Heard him in the squeak of wire hangers against the pole at the secondhand store. Felt him as you drove past the huddled rows of trailers.

On Monday after school when you sensed a tall figure in the doorway of your classroom, you half expected to look up and feel those grey skies again. To see those weed littered sidewalks and pothole riddled roads that led nowhere. But instead you saw something much brighter.

Eddie was smirking, rapping his ringed knuckles against the doorframe as he leaned into it. A look in his eyes like he was keeping a secret.

His dirty white Reeboks squeaked against the tile as he padded over to his spot in the wooden chair beside you and dropped his backpack irreverently to the floor. The gust of air that followed was painted with base notes of skin and leather, top notes of cigarette smoke and a bright hint of shampoo. Not a trace of rain.

You gathered the papers in front of you, shuffling them into a pile in the corner as you glanced over at him, unable to suppress the smile breaking out on your face. “What?”

The smirk twisted deeper on his lips. “I read your story.”

It was like he said he’d seen you naked. Heat crept up your neck. “All of it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Not exactly.” Eddie grabbed the seat between his legs and walked it closer. “I’m at the part where they’re, uh, cooking over the fire outside of Grimhold and Cybelle takes her mask off for the first time. Well, in front of Lazarus anyway.” He shrugged his leather jacket off to drape over the back of the chair.

It was strange to hear him say those names. Names you hadn’t thought about in years, dusted off from where you shelved them in your mind. It was like he was speaking a dead language, breathing new life into it.

You swallowed. “Oh, that part. Yeah, that’s an important moment.”

“I had a hard time putting it down, if that tells you anything.”

“I take that means you like it then?”

“Like it?” he said in a breathy chuckle, leaning closer. “I’m blown away.”

Your stomach turned to mush, unable to tear your eyes away from the soft earnestness of his features. “Really?”

Eddie gave a deadpan look. “Look, I’m a huge fantasy geek, but this world you’ve created is…” he shook his head as a soft puff of air left his lips, “unlike anything I’ve ever read.”

There was a weight to his gaze, so heavy that you needed to break it. “Oh wow, um, thank you,” you said, glancing at the paperclips on your desk as heat made a home in your cheeks again. “It’s been ages since I’ve read it myself honestly.” In the same span of time you still never learned how to take a compliment.

“Yeah—no, I mean it. It’s really good.” He tipped his head towards you, searching for your eyes. “I like that it’s, uh, based in a sort of… reality, if that makes sense. Like the whole thing about illness being a problem and how the change in the atmosphere makes Cybelle dizzy. The gold and how it powers machines. Stuff like that. It’s clever.”

You found the courage to meet his gaze again. “Well, thank you. I mean I’m definitely no Tolkien, but…”

Eddie scoffed. “Honestly? Tolkien takes three pages to describe a door. You never need to and yet the world is crystal clear.”

The ease that washed over you escaped through a chuckle. “You know, I always thought that killed the pacing.”

“It does! God, I mean don’t get me wrong, he is the grandfather of fantasy but Jesus Christ.”

Your laughter mingled, soft and easy, coloring the air in the space between you. It echoed off the tile floor and concrete walls as beams of golden sunlight poured in through the row of windows to your right. The rays made a halo of his hair, catching the frizz that escaped the pattern of his curls.

Eddie’s eyes sparkled, and you would search for the hurt in them. You knew it was there, hiding somewhere deep in those pools of molten chocolate, but in this moment there was no trace to be found.

“Hell, maybe I should consult you for my campaigns,” he said scooting his chair impossibly closer. Close enough to feel his aura. To feel the hair on his arm tickle against yours.

“Jeez, don’t flatter me.” You were surprised at how steady your voice came out.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, his eyes drifting toward your lips. “Okay, don’t tell the boys but I’m actually kind of stuck on this one part coming up.”

You snorted. “Right, because I have such a good rapport with the boys.”

The smile lines deepened around his smirk. “Ok, so… the final boss is coming up and I kind of want there to be a plot twist but I’m not sure how to like, make that work.”

“Alright, well what’s happened in the story so far?”

There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before his voice dropped to a theatric narration.

“There’s a dark, evil force in the village of Hammerfall,” he began with a wave of his hand. “Crops are withering, livestock perishing. The villagers say it’s a curse put on by a spurned old crone who vanished into the forest, never to be seen again.”

The gooey smile breaking out on your features could not be contained. A new color in the lexicon of hues you knew his voice to be. Rich with iridescent animation, reaching deep enough to turn your heart to putty.

“Six brave adventurers investigate the cause and venture deep into the nearby woods where they encounter harpies,” he emphasized, flourishing his fingers, “dryads, and a forest teeming with dark activity. There’s something deeper going on…” he paused for dramatic effect, “or at least I want there to be,” Eddie chuckled, breaking character as his voice snapped back into its normal cadence. “Originally I was just going to have it be that the old crone is a kind of sorcerer but we already sort of figured that, you know? I feel like that’s too predictable. I want it to be something, I dunno, more interesting?”

You blinked as you willed your dopey mouth to move. “So she’s, um, going to be the final boss I take it?”

“Yeah, but that’s like, totally predictable right?”

“Hmm.” Resting your elbow on the desk and your finger between your lips, you thought for a moment. “What if she’s like, I dunno, possessed by something else? Like maybe there’s an even darker force at work and it’s just using her as a puppet or something?”

Eddie’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “I like the way you think.” His voice was tinged with a playful darkness.

You tucked your fingers behind your ear in reflex. “I mean I have no idea what it would be, but…”

“No—no that’s a good place to start. I think I actually have an idea of who could do that sort of thing, like in the monster manual. He’s a sort of… necromancer.”

You nodded. “Oh yeah, that sounds plausible enough. Maybe there’s some sort of clue that gets left behind when she dies or something. Maybe there are like, markings on her body or some sort of strange amulet or… something that would lead to clues about who might be behind this.”

Eddie nodded along, his eyes growing wilder with every word. “Hey uh,” he began, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. “I don’t… know if anybody’s told you lately but…” his soft breath feathered your cheek, “you’re pretty brilliant.”

It was the way he said it. Soft in tone, heavy with intention. Peering under his lashes like he wanted to kiss you. You swallowed, hard, as your heart pounded into your throat. “No uh,” you choked on your laugh, “not lately.” Breaking his gaze, you fiddled with your green grading pen and pressed your thumb nail into the gummy gripper.

With startling animation, Eddie grabbed a spare piece of paper from the pile on your desk and snatched the pen out of your hand.

“Hey!”

“Not like you were using it,” he teased, swiping your attendance clipboard to prop the sheet against.

Your mouth fell open. “Well… no… but—”

He turned the pen over in his hand and clicked it a few times. “So much power in this little tool.” Putting it to the paper, he etched a green mark that would form the first letter of your first name. “Hmm what grade am I going to give you?” he tapped the pen against his lips.

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh you’re grading me now?”

“Well you definitely have attention to detail down, so A for that.” His hand hurried across the page, flourishing as he marked the A.

You sat back in your chair, thoroughly amused. “How generous of you.”

His eyes crinkled as he scribbled against the paper, clipboard cradled in his left arm to shield it from you. “Let’s see, what’s next… oh I know. Creativity. A plus for that one.”

You rolled your eyes, a weak diversion for how hot your face was getting. “How ‘bout I give you an A plus for being a total cheeseball?”

“Ohh wit — A for that one too.” His tongue darted out, nimble hand dragging your pen across the page.

It was almost uncomfortable, the grip he had on you. How he could make you feel with a gesture, a word. “Ok enough flattery, give it back,” you said, reaching for the clipboard.

Eddie jerked it away. “Sense of humor, hmm, might have to give you a B for that one.” He shot you a smirk.

You balked. “Oh come on!”

“…B minus.”

A laugh escaped you. “Eddie!”

His eyes were full of mischief as he scribbled frantically against the paper. “What, never got a B before? First time for everything, sweetheart,” he jested with a firm shake of his head.

It was hard to be offended when your brain was short circuiting.

“Maybe we can work on it together,” he offered, biting back a snicker.

Your brain clicked back on with the glare you shot him. “Okay, that’s it.” You lunged for the clipboard, but he was slow on the juke this time. Your fingers made purchase with the masonite slab.

Gripping it like a lifeline, he practically dragged you across his lap as he lurched away. It all happened so quickly. The swift tug he gave, your hand jutting out to brace the first thing in proximity — his denim clad thigh.

There was a pause in the movement. Heat lit up your whole body, radiating from the point of contact.

His leg was warm and solid under your palm. So too was his shoulder nestled into yours as you reached across his lap, deeper into the bubble of his scent. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes, but in your close peripheral you could see his mouth; gaping just as yours was.

Recovered from shock, the tension resumed in his tugging, and you responded with equal and opposite force. Your hand remained planted. For balance.

“So serious!” Eddie teased, wild hair bouncing as he jerked.

“I am serious, give it back.” Maybe it was your bright, airy giggles that gave you away, but he didn’t seem convinced.

God he was strong. You could feel the tremble of his arm emanating through the clipboard. Feel the flex of his bicep against yours as you fought his strength. You allowed yourself, for just a moment in the struggle, to glance at the one furthest to you. To follow his white, angular knuckles down to his wrist and see tendons flex against blue veins. To trace the curve of his inked forearm, to the bend of his elbow, to the bulge of his bicep. Your eyes lingered there. At the swell under his velvet skin. It surprised you, how large the muscle was, so much that it caused your grip to slip for just a second.

It only made him tug harder, but not too hard, you noticed. Gentleman he was, trying to play fair. It was, however, hard enough to draw you further across his lap, further into his scent, close enough to slot your chest into his outstretched bicep and feel it tremble. You fought to regain your hold, hooking your fingers over the top and yanking back with an invigorated fervor.

“Wai-wai-wait I’m not finished! I haven’t even gotten to ‘plays well with others’,” he wheezed, breaking into a warm, bubbly chuckle right against your ear.

You could barely eke out words. Sweat dampened your hand against the denim as his thigh flexed with every tug. A large, strong muscle that glided and stiffened under his heated skin. “Give it back,” you gritted weakly.

Soft curls tickled your cheek, feathered your lips and nose. You could smell it deeper than ever; that bright shampoo, that warm musk radiating from his neck.

“What, you gonna give me detention?” he quipped, turning his head to steal a glance from you.

Your mouth hung open. It was the way he said it, so defiant and cocksure. Daringly taunting for someone whose face was blotched pink. “Yeah, write you up for being a smartass,” you choked out with a pointed tug while your other hand burned a hole in his thigh.

He gasped dramatically, pausing in the struggle. “You think I’m smart?” His tone was comically serious. It was scary how easy he could feign it on a dime.

You deadpanned. “I’ve been telling you that this whole time. Maybe you should pay more attention.”

“Oh I’m paying attention.”

“Oh yeah, to what?”

It was all you could do not to stare at the ridges of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed, pink lips twitching, eyes darting between yours.

“That’s what I thought.” You seized the split second opening in his defense and snatched your dignity back.

His fingers clung desperately to the clipboard. “Ok—ok, I’ll give it back, I promise, just answer one question for me… about your book,” he panted, ghosting your lips with it.

It was those goddamn Bambi eyes that defeated you. Large, almond, pleading. His last, pathetic line of offense. “Fine,” you sighed.

“Is this a love story?” he murmured, close enough to taste his words.

They hung like a cloud. Heavy and potent. Threatening to burst. Hovering in the fractional distance between you.

“I—” you balked, voice trapped in your throat.

The tugging ceased. Arms went slack. Fingers dampened masonite and paper. Eyes flicked back and forth. Yours caught the dip in his lids as they lowered to your lips, the long, gentle curve of his lashes as he peered at you from under them.

You could not will your hand to move. It was glued there like his eyes were on you. Clammy fingers twitched against warm denim, itching to snake them further, to pull him closer, to commit each aching second to memory.

Your eyes dipped next, quick enough to see his nerves make subtle twitches in his smile lines. To catch the parting of his plush, pink mouth that drew you like a magnet. Your heartbeat drowned out any sounds of pinballs.

You could have done it. Moved your chin two inches. Snatched his pout.

Instead you swallowed and summoned a whisper. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

______

Your childhood home had gone rather unchanged since you had moved out of it. A little one-story ranch built in the 50s. Looking at it from the outside, it always amazed you that it could fit three bedrooms within its four walls. Plain and unassuming. White exterior, green shingled roof, a brick flower bed underneath the big bay window in front. Your mother had planted a tidy row of mums in it for fall. There was hardly a stray leaf to be found fluttering across the small, manicured lawn.

Inside you were greeted with the same paneled living room walls, painted powder blue now. The same family portraits from when you were seven, another from when you were ten, and then thirteen. Clean white carpet. Neat and orderly. Your old room had become a craft room soon after college. There was hardly a trace of you left. The Led Zeppelin and Beatles posters were the first to go, replaced with more tasteful decor like cross-stitched landscapes. A singer sewing machine was now perched on the desk you spent countless hours huddled over in study. Nick-knacks took up residence in your bookshelves. The purple walls were painted over with a powder yellow.

Mickey’s room remained largely unchanged. Bigger than yours, though you never had the heart to move over. It served as a guest room now, the full size bed still dressed in the quilt he used, the one your grandma made. Same cobalt blue walls. Your mother still dusted his trophies.

What was most different was the table that stretched from the small dining room part-way into the living room. It was decorated with candlestick holders that looked like turkeys wearing hokey pilgrim hats. Those were definitely new. You wondered where your mother picked them up.

Both you and your mom would assume your roles — hers as host, and yours as helpful. You would busy yourself with the little things first. Details like folding linen napkins just how she instructed; in cascading triangles. You would sit at the end of the table and press daydreams into them. Quiet fantasies of warm nights and summer winds. Folding in details like the scent of leather and smoke inside the van, the sweet country air gusting through the windows. Details like how you imagined freedom would taste — slick and hot, hungry and lazy with room for seconds.

Once finished, you placed your folded secrets where they belonged — under the dinner forks.

You were making yourself useful with a can of cranberry sauce when your relatives arrived. The kind with whole cranberries. Clamping the gummy handles of the can opener and twisting as the teeth bit into the metal lid. Last year you’d made your own. Simmered sugar and orange juice in a pot over a real flame in your own house, added plump red berries and heated them until they burst. Dan’s mom said it was her favorite thing on the table.

This year you scooped cold, jelly chunks into an plain glass bowl, running the spoon down the ridges like a washboard. You were tapping off the bitter excess when the front door cracked open, ushering the sound of familiar voices colored in casual pleasantries.

They would find you there eventually — in the kitchen putting rolls into a basket. It was effort, to smile and laugh and act like you were doing great. It was easier to act like you were busy.

You hadn’t seen them since Connie and Cameron’s wedding. A sweltering day in mid-July. The last place on Earth you wanted to be. You’d spent most of it swallowing your feelings. Washing down saccharine cake with acrid mimosas. Sitting at a vacant table littered with party favors and sweating, half-empty glasses while your relatives slow danced to I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner.

Your Aunt Helen and Uncle Larry spared no expense for their daughter and her new husband, from the country club venue to the live band. From the four course dinner to the three tiered tower of a cake.

Connie’s dress was beautiful. An ivory silk with princess puff sleeves and a train that stretched down the aisle. Like a limited edition Barbie still inside the box.

You hadn’t said much to her then — a tepid congratulations from behind a tired mask. It was all you could offer besides cash in a Hallmark greeting card. You doubted she noticed. She was busy anyway, as all brides were on their wedding day. It’s not like you were really that close to begin with. Not close in age with her being seven years your junior, not close in interests or hobbies. Not even close in proximity for most of her adult life, until recently.

What you remembered more than anything was the way your grandma looked at her that day — like she’d hung the moon. She’d looked at you like that before of course — adorned with sashes in the parking lot as you clutched your first diploma. In the shade outside the the stadium as you cradled your second. When you reached across the table to present your ring to her.

You were reaching across the table to place the steaming basket of rolls by the cranberry sauce when you caught that look again — at Connie, the Sears catalog between them blanking the napkins you’d placed so carefully.

“See, I was thinking about this matching set with the dresser and changing table. See how it’s sort of built in like that?” Connie explained, leaning in toward your grandmother at the head of the table.

Your stomach did a sinking somersault, eyes magnetized to her pastel pink fingernail tapping against the full spread of baby furniture.

“Oh my, well isn’t that convenient. Yes I do like the natural wood grain of this one, the lighter color,” your grandma added.

You tried to swallow it away. Pretend like you didn’t even notice. Like the cheering coming from the living room was summoning you. You could still hear them as your stocking feet crossed over the divide from the hard wood to the plush carpet.

“I was thinking the same thing. It’ll go nicely with the paper we’ve picked out for the walls. Oh shoot, I meant to bring the sample. Sorry, I’ve been so spacey lately.” Connie’s sticky sweet chuckle clung to your hammering ears.

Suddenly your mother’s Precious Moments collection had never been so fascinating. Looking past your anguished reflection in the glass cabinet, you drank in their big, dopey eyes. Vignettes of little cherub hands clutching flowers, posing as firefighters and dentists. Droopy eyed children sitting on see-saws and garden benches. Frozen in their perfect little worlds.

“Oh that’s quite alright dear,” your grandma’s gentle reassurance echoed from the dining room. “I can come over and see sometime after my knees are healed, plenty of time between now and April.”

You tried to blink away the image — your old craft room on Clementine painted pastel pink or blue, filled with furniture from the pages of Connie’s catalog. It probably was at this point. Your eyes burned a hole in a ceramic cherub head as heat rose in your veins.

The sound of a whistle drew your attention to your uncle and cousins crowded around your family’s meager television.

“Oh COME ON!” Larry bellowed as the plastic cushions squeaked under his shifting weight. “There’s no way that was a foul, you see that, Kevin?” he gestured to his son, slumped against the couch half asleep. “Total baloney.”

Cameron adjusted his glasses as he shifted forward. “Oh yeah his foot was totally on the line, I bet we can catch it on replay.”

“Where do they find these damn refs anyway? The academy for the blind? HA!” Larry sat back in his seat and cracked another beer, amused with himself.

You raked your eyes over the blurring sea of dolls again, drowning in your thoughts until one of them pulled you to the surface. On the middle shelf behind the one in the lab coat and stethoscope, this one stood in front of a big desk with a stack of books and an apple on it and held a large slab in front of her. You crouched down to read the fine print.

Report Card

Kindness…A

Mercy…A

Love…A

Faithfulness…A

Your stomach twisted into knots. Phantom touches ghosted over your hands and arms, wrapped themselves around your heart and squeezed. You caught your own eyes in the mirror behind the dolls — sad and droopy just like theirs, only painted with shame and longing instead.

Uncle Larry’s voice boomed through the room again. This time it was coming from the television while the Larry on the couch shushed your cousins like they were even making noise to begin with.

“At Bessler Ford we’ve always got the best deals, and this Thanksgiving we’re practically GIVING these cars away!”

“Hey you guys seen the new one?” Larry called out to the rest of the house.

The question was met with weak replies from Connie and Grandma looking up from the catalog in the dining room. You wondered if your parents even heard him from the kitchen. With lukewarm enthusiasm, you humored him with your attention, mind swimming with pinball thoughts, eyes glazing over as you stared at the screen. Then, like a sudden apparition, your mother emerged from the kitchen and snatched the remote from the end table.

“ZERO down, ZERO interest, we’re prating BEGGING you—”

Like a Wild West gunslinger quick on the draw, the TV blipped off with a fizzle.

“Aw come on!” Larry protested.

“Dinner’s ready, time to eat,” she stated firmly, her expression unamused.

As your family peeled themselves off the couch and shuffled over to the table, you found your seat on the carpet side of the divide.

Even with the extra leaf there was no fitting nine at a six person table, so there had been some improvising. The two tables were covered in linens you didn’t recognize. Starchy and stiff, a cream brocade with a fall leaf pattern that shimmered in the light. Your mom must have steamed them to get the creases out from the packaging. Though matching, they couldn’t hide the fact that they were different shapes.

Your side of the family took their places at the smaller square table, and your cousins found theirs at the rectangle.

Aunt Helen’s green halo of fruit jello jiggled as your dad triumphantly plunked the carved turkey in the center of everything.

It rested awkwardly on the seam between the two tables, a sloping butterball bridge.

You watched the juices gather at the lower end of it as everyone around you lowered their heads to utter the words of a half-hearted prayer, the meaning long forgotten with tired repetition.

Barely a second of silence passed before a manicured hand shot out from your left, reaching to steady the platter so it favored her side. “You know, it really was nice of you to offer to host,” Helen said to your mother across from you, “but perhaps next year we can have the honor. We have plenty of space for it.”

The suggestion was met with a tight lipped smile. “Next year we’ll be back at mom’s,” she quipped at her younger sister.

The tension was thick enough to slice. A heavy backdrop to the clinking of silverware against ceramic as servings were doled out. You busied your hands with the nearest thing to you — a warm bowl of mashed potatoes, dolloping a generous helping onto your plate and pressing a crater into the center with the back of the spoon. You passed the bowl toward your right to your dad at the head of the smaller square table.

It was your grandmother who broke the silence. “Helen you do have a lovely home, if you really wanted to host I wouldn’t be opposed,” she said, breaking the molded perfection of the green halo with her serving spoon. “Less work for me to do anyway.”

You caught it. The flicker of dejection in your mother’s eyes, cast down at the crisp table linens. Fleeting and momentary before her shoulders resumed their rigid posture, before she corrected her expression and reached across the table to usher a thick slice of turkey breast onto her plate.

Helen looked delighted as she plucked a roll from the basket. “Well thanks, mom. Besides, this time next year there will be ten of us.”

You stared down at your plate, shuffling your green beans with your fork.

The conversation would lighten up over steamy, buttered rolls and Betty Crocker stuffing. It would soften to a casual cadence about Cameron’s new accounting job at the dealership. How the pay raise from his previous job could afford he and Connie a house on Chestnut street. How the decorating had been going. How your dad was managing the hardware store this time of year.

You would sit there in silence and unfold your secrets; smooth the linen against your lap and feel your sweating hand on his rigid thigh; the ghost of his breath at your lips when he asked you if this was a love story. You would prod at your potatoes and indulge in the fantasy of closing the gap. Conjure the cradle of his plush cupid’s bow and taste his wicked grin. Swallow the sensation of how it might feel to have a belly full of him.

Your spoon broke the gravy dam, flooding your plate.

“Dear, aren’t you going to have any liver dressing? You’re the one who made it after all. It’s quite good, isn’t it?” Your mother asked you, glancing at your grandma.

You choked on your daydream. “I—um…”

“It’s kinda chunky,” Kevin commented through a mouthful. “I mean compared to how grandma makes it.”

Your grandma offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s a tricky recipe.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was tedious to put it mildly. It involved bread crumbs, cooked liver and ham, and a food processor. But it was a family recipe and she just had knee surgery so your thoughtful mother volunteered you to take up the reigns. How generous.

“It’s still quite good, isn’t it?” your mom asked her before turning back to you. “Why don’t you try some, you’ll see.”

You stared down at the square, pyrex dish. You never liked liver dressing. It looked like cat food cut up into little squares, the crispy edges making it only slightly more appealing. It was the texture that always got you. Mushy and homogenous. Admittedly you’d never actually tasted cat food but you wondered how it compared.

“No thanks, my plate’s already so full,” you said through feigned laughter.

There was that flicker in her eyes again, like the flames above the new ceramic turkeys.

“Mom, come on, I don’t…” you glanced around at your relatives, busying themselves with the contents of their own plates.

Your mother set her fork down. Her gaze flicked toward your grandma tucking her spoon happily into Helen’s jello. “Why don’t you try just one bite, sweetie.”

Huffing through your nose, you stared down at the dish, then back up at her. There was only one way this was going and you didn’t want to cause a scene. With a placid smile, you picked up the serving spoon and scooped a bite-size portion onto your plate, giving a single, solemn tap against the ceramic before setting it back in the tray.

You glanced around the still silent table, then back at your mother, still watching you intently from across the flickering candles. Defeated, you started down at the lump of mushy cat food on your plate. Scooping it up with your spoon, you brought it to your lips with a resigned sigh before opening your mouth.

It wasn’t terrible. The rich umami of the fat and the seasonings almost made up for the texture, and quite honestly, the chunks helped. You still didn’t like it. You would never like it. You’d been forced to eat it your whole life and your opinion still hadn’t changed. Whether your mother could accept that was another subject.

You swallowed, finally, to your relief and probably everyone else’s, if they were paying attention. “I’d give it a solid C,” you stated flatly. Your mother was not amused.

“C’s get degrees,” Larry added, laughing at his own joke.

Your dad tipped his head to you. “Well I’d definitely give it a higher grade than that, but I guess you are the expert when it comes to grades, huh?”

You humored him with a soft, pained smile, tucking into your stuffing again in hopes of replacing the taste in your mouth. You washed it down with a swig of champagne and the sweet tingle cleansed your palate.

They left you alone after that, with thoughts too loud for your beverage to drown out. Pinball thoughts and summer thoughts. Echos of bright laughter off tile flooring. A rich, warm hum at the shell of your ear. Words like timeless and sweetheart. Loud enough to drown out dull conversations for the duration of the meal.

“Mom can I go to Vinnie’s after this?” asked Kevin.

Helen shot him a stern look from across the table. “You may absolutely not go to Vinnie’s. I told you I don’t want you hanging out with that boy anymore.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s not a big a deal.”

“It absolutely is a big deal. I said no, and that’s final,” she said, punctuated by the stabbing of her fork into white meat.

Candles wavered in the tension as orange wax dripped down the sides. Not a sound aside from chewing and silverware against ceramic.

It was your dad who broke the silence. “Ok, I gotta know what Vinnie did.”

Connie bit back a smirk, eyes shifting around the table. “Vinnie got suspended for bringing,” she glanced at your grandma before mouthing, “pot to school.”

There was an audible stir from the table.

Your grandma clutched her chest. “At St. Michael’s?”

You bit your lip at her reaction, cheeks quivering as you struggled to keep a straight face.

“I know, mom. It’s appalling,” said Helen, “I really thought we could have avoided this sort of thing by choosing a private school.”

It was then that Larry turned to you. ��Yeah, I bet you see this kinda stuff all the time at Hawkins, don’t you?”

It was a dig. You might have been polite but you certainly weren’t stupid. “Not as often as you think,” you said flatly, taking another bite of cranberry sauce to busy your mouth before something regrettable came out.

“You know, Kevin, I had a friend in high school who smoked pot, you know where that got him?”

Just what everyone needed, Uncle Larry’s wisdom. You sighed and stared blankly ahead. It was everything you could do to keep your eyes from rolling back into your head.

“Flippin’ burgers at Benny’s, that’s where,” he concluded before taking a swig of his beer. He set it down with solid thud, as if that made his point.

Kevin huffed and sat back in his chair looking more disappointed than convinced.

You thought about Eddie Munson again, perfumed with cigarettes and covered in tattoos. Thought about him at this table and wondered where he’d fit. Between you and your Aunt Helen? Across from your mother pretending to enjoy liver dressing? At the seam between the square and the rectangle?

There used to be ten at the table. Before that there were eleven.

Your most secret daydreams wafted in on summer winds. They hinged on the changing of seasons and circumstances. You thought about this table without your chair. Of the flickering candles in your mother’s eyes; the way they hinged on you.

Your hands toyed with the linen in your lap. As far fetched as a future was, you wondered, desperately, if both ends could ever meet.

If the two of you would ever have a place among the dolls.

______

Thanksgiving was Eddie’s second favorite holiday. After Halloween of course, for obvious aesthetic reasons. Having no extended family in Hawkins, his Thanksgivings had always been small. Some better than others. There was the one shortly after his dad went to jail for the first time. He was only six, but there were a few things he remembered — that there was no yelling at the table, that his mom seemed happy for once, and that it was his first Thanksgiving with Wayne.

Nowadays Eddie and Wayne were like passing ships. Wayne would come home from work after Eddie left for school and go to sleep shortly after he returned. The weekends were a little better, though Eddie had a tendency to sleep in late, so that left them a few hours for early dinners together when he wasn’t galavanting around or getting into trouble.

Over the past nine years, the two Munson men had developed their own Thanksgiving traditions.

Wayne wasn’t much of a cook, but each year he would go out and get the smallest turkey he could find and gather some essentials. The thing Eddie loved most was that Wayne always made it fun. He would always encourage Eddie to help in the kitchen, even when he was younger.

The first staple dish was a green bean casserole. It was easy enough even for an eleven year old to open a can of cream of mushroom soup, to scoop out its contents and mix it with shredded cheddar and green beans. Simple enough to sprinkle crispy onions on top and pop it in the oven. Eddie always felt like a chef putting it together.

The second staple dish was a baked mac and cheese. Wayne picked up the recipe from a coworker in West Virginia. It was pretty simple too. More hearty than your traditional stovetop Kraft. It involved heavy whipping cream, eggs, and three different kinds of cheese. Nothing compared to baked Thanksgiving mac fresh out of the oven. It was thick, and rich, and the cheese was browned to a crisp on top. The noodles had just the right amount of chew and the center was melted perfection.

As Eddie got older some new traditions developed. Wayne started letting him in on the beer when he turned 18. Something about “I know you’re doin’ it, might as well be doin’ it safe under my roof.” Wayne was pretty lenient about most things. More than anything, Eddie got the sense that Wayne just wanted him to feel like there a place he could call home.

There was one Thanksgiving tradition that stood above them all — the sacred text, the soundtrack to every Munson Thanksgiving — Alice’s Restaurant.

Every year like clockwork Wayne would dig the record out of his collection and Arlo Guthrie would accompany the two of them as they strained pasta, cracked eggs, and opened cans. He would spin his long-winded sermon, his odyssey, about one fated Thanksgiving and the trials and tribulations of dumping trash where it shouldn’t go and how it can spare you from getting drafted. The song was nearly twenty minutes long and took up one full side of the record. Wayne would play it over and over to the point where both of them had most of the damn thing memorized, which was difficult to do considering it was mostly just Arlo rambling a story over chords with the chorus thrown in here and there.

Tucking his legs underneath him, Eddie cradled his heaping plate, shifting his balance so that it didn’t end up in his lap when the couch cushion dipped as Wayne took his spot.

“Damn boy, I sure do hope your stomach’s as big as them eyes. Mine’s hurtin’ just lookin’ at all that.”

Eddie cracked a wicked smile and leaned in like he had some kind of secret. “You know, you can get anything…”

Wayne raised his eyebrows, playing along. “Anything?”

“Anything you want,” he quoted Arlo before shoveling a heap of stringy mac and cheese into his mouth.

Wayne brought his broad, calloused hand down on top of his head and gave his mop of curls a playful ruffle. Eddie chuckled through a mouthful, balancing the plate in his lap.

It was good like this. Sitting on the couch with a heaping pile of food. The B side of the record spinning with fuzzy familiarity as Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving played quietly on the small TV in front of them.

He didn’t need a table to enjoy it. Besides, the couch was way more comfortable than any stiff chair. The paper towel tucked underneath his plate did as good a job as any to wipe his mouth. Eddie was thankful for moments like these, and Wayne more than anything.

“You still doin’ game night tomorrow?” he asked.

“Nah, school’s closed so I guess they get a pass,” Eddie answered, “I mean I thought about making everyone get together anyway but I dunno where we’d meet. Still gonna do band practice on Saturday though.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha been practicing?”

“Uh, been kinda on a Sabbath kick lately. Hand of Doom, War Pigs, early stuff,” he said, barely denting his mashed potato mountain.

Wayne took a stab at his turkey. “Y’all sound pretty good. An’ I’m not just sayin’ that.”

“Well… thanks.” Eddie toyed with his food, running his fork along the solid, jelly ridges of the of cranberry sauce.

“You guys oughta play more places, maybe after you graduate.”

He raised his eyebrows as he chewed. “You sound awfully confident about that last part.”

“I am,” Wayne started, “after last Friday anyway. Got to meet that teacher of yours who’s been givin’ you all sortsa help.”

Eddie choked, shielding his mouth with his fist as he hacked mashed potatoes from his windpipe.

“Y’ ok Ed?”

“Yeah—yeah, just uh,” he wheezed. He met you? Jesus. He wasn’t sure if his head was spinning more over the lack of oxygen or the implications.

“Y’ know, she sure had an awful lotta good to say about you.”

“Did she?” Eddie asked between coughs. A deep embarrassment bubbled in his gut.

“Sure did. You really lucked out this year. She really seems to… I dunno. Get it. Get you. Real sweet young thing, I’ll tell you what.”

Eddie thought his mashed potatoes might end up on the carpet.

“Ain’t hard on the eyes either,” Wayne muttered before taking a sip of his beer.

“WAYNE.” Eddie wanted to crawl out of his skin. Dig a hole. Bury his own skeleton in the back yard between the laundry posts.

There was a glint in his eyes, like he was catching onto something. “What? A fact’s a fact.”

“Ok enough, please.” Eddie ran his hands down his heated face, certain he was absolutely crimson.

Wayne just chuckled harder, like the torture entertained him.

Suddenly he was eleven years old again. Standing outside the auditorium with his guitar slung over his shoulder as parents and classmates filtered out in droves.

“Come on boy, time to go.”

Eddie fussed with his stiff pleather jacket, looking left and right with a growing desperation. “Can we wait just like… five more minutes? I wanna tell Chrissy good job.”

Wayne’s eyes sparkled with a curious mischief, “Oh I see. Got a little crush huh?”

Eddie hardened his lips into a line and fumed. “I do not, I just wanna say good job. God.” He glanced around, growing claustrophobic, jacket suffocating him with heat. “You know what, let’s… let’s just go,” he huffed as he marched toward the glass exit.

What was he going to do? Storm off? Slam the door like a fucking child?

No. Instead, Eddie just sat there, staring a hole into his heap of Thanksgiving as the plate grew heavy in his sweating hands. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Oh come on, Ed. I’m just teasin’.”

There it was again. The heat that lit his skin like fluorescent lights as he stared down problems he was too stupid to solve.

“It’s fine,” Eddie muttered, vision blurring as Snoopy doled out helpings on the television. The record skipped with a steady rhythm in the silence of its end.

You had met Wayne. He knew now, who you were to him. There was no unknowing that. What did he think? That he was going to bring you by some day? Introduce you as his girlfriend? Would Wayne even believe it or would that be a joke to him too?

In the countless visions of you that played out like tapes in his mind, this part always came in fuzzy. Now it was prickling static.

He wanted to get up; to wrap his plate in tinfoil and throw it in the fridge; retreat to his bedroom like he always did. But he was already doing a piss poor job at playing it cool and he knew that would only make it worse.

So he sat there and ate it. Swallowed his shame and frustration, chased it with a solemn resignation.

Sometimes he could almost forget. When the books sprawled out on the big desk came from his home and not his locker. When the names on your tongues were from fiction and not history. When impulse took hold of his hands and they took hold of yours.

Sometimes his visions were more unbelievable than his wildest campaigns. You, hammering your next novel into a keyboard. Him, surprising you with kisses and a sandwich prepared in a kitchen you both shared. A home together in some far off place that neither of you knew the name of yet.

Sometimes, in the bubbling laughter that clouded the space between you, he could almost forget his place.

By the time the credits rolled on the TV, he couldn’t stomach another bite.

“I think, uh,” Eddie looked down at the half-eaten mess on his plate, “I think my eyes were too big for my stomach.”

He got up without another word, dumped the scraps into the garbage, and resigned to his room.

______

Eddie fluttered open his heavy lids, adjusting his eyes to the darkness that swallowed him. It had been light out when he’d closed them, though he barely remembered doing so.

He wiped the drool from his face and peeled the now silent headphones off his sore ears. The clock on the nightstand painted his vision with a red neon glow; a tether back to reality. 7:07 PM.

Reaching toward his right, he pawed the air for the cord to the hanging lamp beside his bed and flicked it on when he made purchase with the switch.

Before the turkey’s tryptophan took hold, he had been enjoying the cool breeze at his face as he drove his wagon leisurely along the trail through the Ashmar forest.

Eddie squinted against the light and rubbed his eyes as he glanced down at your world in his lap, still open right where he left off. The weight of it was like an extra blanket; heavy like a hug. It beckoned him to stay in the toasty cocoon of his bed. Though he had half a mind to get up and take a piss, the world outside was steeped in November’s chill, so instead he took the path of least resistance and dove right back in.

As much as Cybelle was concerned about illness, it was difficult for them to travel together and still keep their distance, but they seemed to have figured it out. They picked up a small tent and collapsable cot while in Torgaard which worked well enough for sleeping arrangements. While on the move, Lazarus had his place; in the driver’s seat, and Cybelle had hers; in the caravan. She would busy herself over the wood stove, crafting strange food and concoctions while Lazarus tried his best to stay alert and steer the horse.

Sometimes she would peek her head out the large window atop the singular door and talk to him. He enjoyed those moments most of all. Lazarus was learning all sorts of new things; what daily life was like in Myrne, what the city looked like and how agriculture worked for them. What Myrnish people thought of the world beneath and what had surprised her about it so far. Namely the flora and fauna. The weather. How diverse it all was. The people too. He would often catch her studying plants when they stopped to camp; taking samples and storing them in jars, pressing them to pages, sketching little drawings in her thick leather book.

“You know I would love to visit Myrne,” he turned his head and called to her, “once this is all over anyway.”

Small, russet fingers curled around bottom of the ornate caravan window frame, followed by a pensive, crescent moon face. “Many people want to visit Myrne.”

“Right, well, not many people actually know someone from Myrne,” he added, “and I just happen to be so lucky.”

Cybelle’s eyes crinkled in a soft, sad smile. “I would love to show you,” she began, “but I know they will forbid it.”

The wheels of the caravan creaked along the dirt path, shifting their weight with a soft thud as they drove over a rock. “Even just one person? What if I wore a mask, like yours?”

Cybelle shook her head, “The council is very strict. Even merchants are not allowed beyond the docks. There have still been plagues, even with these rules. One in my lifetime. I was quite young but I still remember… more than I would care to. We lost… so many people.”

He could hear the sorrow twinge her voice. Lazarus gave a solemn nod, staring down at the worn leather reigns as they plodded along. “I’m sorry,” he offered, “I’m sure you knew more than a few of them.”

Cybelle hummed softly, folding her arms across the bottom of the window to cradle her head. “I know just about every family in Myrne.”

Sunlight laced through the trees, dappling the road in patches of shade and light. They hadn’t seen another soul in miles. Perhaps he was becoming a bit stir crazy from all the driving but the further they plodded, the louder the questions that rolled around in his head became.

“Forgive me if this is, uh,” he searched for the word in the leaves, “inappropriate, but with such a small population, how do you prevent, um,” his fingers toyed at the nape of his neck, “like, accidentally marrying your second cousin?”

To his relief, it earned a big, bright laugh from Cybelle, “We are not that small, around three thousand. But yes, sometimes you must be careful,” she chuckled, propping her head against her arm. “We do keep records of such things.”

“Ah,” he confirmed with a single nod as his face bloomed with heat.

It encouraged a glimmer of mischief from Cybelle’s umber eyes. “There was a… how you say… practice, I suppose, long before the plagues when we were more open to outsiders where—”

The words were snatched out of her mouth by a sudden halt of the caravan, jerking both of them backward with startling force. The horse cried out, rearing to her hind legs in shocked protest.

“Woah—woah!” Lazarus braced himself against the wood panel in front of the driver’s seat and whipped his head around. Unable to see anything behind the mass of painted wood, he stumbled out onto the dirt to get a better look. “Just keep Turnip calm!” he called to Cybelle as she clambered off the floor.

He scanned the perimeter of the wagon. There was nothing he could see right away, that was until he looked down. Two thick vines, moving like snakes, were actively coiling themselves around the spokes of the wooden wheel. They were covered in tiny, glass-like thorns, and they seemed rather perturbed. He imagined it might have had something to do with running them over. Lazarus cursed. “We’re gonna need uh—a blade of some sort,” he shouted.

“There’s the knife I was using by the stove,” Cybelle called back, running her hand gently along Turnip’s dapple grey neck.

“Uhh, I think we need something bigger, come take a look at this.”

Cybelle gave Turnip a soft, final pat as she turned to follow Lazarus’ voice around to the back of the caravan. She gasped when she saw it.

“Ever seen one of these… monstrosities in your books?” he asked, gesturing to the vines.

Cybelle crouched down, looking more fascinated than horrified, marveling at the way they moved, like prowling serpents. “No,” she whispered. “They must be very strong though, to stop us like that.”

Watching them coil around the spokes filled Lazarus with an eerie dread. He shuddered to think what he would find if he followed their length into the forest. That was when he remembered the wood axe. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Please just… keep your distance.”

The axe was on the floor when he found it, as was the kettle, and the utensils, and dozens of other objects that had been launched from their careful placement. Lazarus left the caravan with a heavy sigh.

“Alright, step aside,” he said, tapping the handle of the axe against his open palm.

Cybelle scurried backward, clearing a safe distance.

Gripping the smooth wood, Lazarus approached the vines. He shuffled his boots into the dirt as he widened his stance, taking aim about a foot from the wheel as the menacing serpents continued their slow coil. He swung with his full force, and just like chopping wood, he let the weight of the axe do its job. It severed the vines with a clean chop. Like snakes without heads, they recoiled into the forest. He swore he heard them hiss.

Leaning against his long axe with a proud flourish, Lazarus glanced over at Cybelle. She seemed more captivated by the what remained of the plants than his demonstration, much to his quiet disappointment.

Cybelle shuffled over to the wheel, fascinated by the green, glassy specimens. They had fallen to the road in a heap upon severance.

“Maybe we ought to invest in a sword when we get to Fenwood,” Lazarus half-joked, “More dangerous out here than I—”

The vine that shot out from the forest snatched the words right out of his mouth, morphed them into a scream as it seized his forearm with a searing sting. In an instant he was on the ground, clawing at the dirt with his other hand as the vengeful, severed serpent lurched him from the road.

With startling quickness, Cybelle stumbled to her feet again. She snatched the axe from the ground and chased after him.

The pain was blinding as it dragged him. Small, glassy hooks like a fire in his forearm. It made the sticks that scraped his body feel like tickles. The rocks that raked under him like a dull massage. Though his other hand flailed desperately at ferns and the damp, dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t pull back. He couldn’t stop. All he could do was scream and panic. It was hard to tell how fast he was really going, how much time had actually elapsed. The seconds felt like agonizing hours. But when he heard the dull thud of footsteps by his head, there was a glimmer of hope for his misery to end.

A guttural scream proceeded a loud THWACK.

It would seem Cybelle had decent aim, because he wasn’t moving anymore. Clambering off the forest floor, he righted himself as quickly as he could in his spinning, pounding world. It was anyone’s guess how long they had before the next retaliating strike, and he wasn’t about to play the odds.

“RUN,” Lazarus shouted, bolting toward the caravan as Cybelle kept pace. The axe seemed even larger clutched in her small hands. Under any normal circumstance he would have been a gentleman and taken back the burden, but this was anything but normal.

He didn’t even look at his arm. He didn’t have time. He didn’t want to. He could feel it though — the blood as it trickled down his wrist, the sting of the thorns that were likely still lodged there.

Both he and Cybelle were barely on the driver’s platform before he was at the reigns, commanding Turnip to move with a quick snap of the leather. The dappled grey horse trotted forward with a rare sense of urgency.

Lazarus leaned back against the driver’s seat, chest heaving, more grateful than he’d ever been in his life to feel the cool wind at his face. They were a fair distance up the road before he even looked down. The sleeve of his white linen shirt was completely saturated in a wet crimson that clung to his skin.

Cybelle emerged from the caravan with an armful of bandages and jars and took the seat to the left of him on the other side of the door.

Lazarus stared blankly ahead, mind still numb from the ebbing panic.

“Let me see your arm,” Cybelle said gently.

He met her large eyes, now brimming with a soft concern. Slowly, he raised his trembling arm to hover in the space between them; the gap between the seats.

Cybelle’s fingers twitched above the soaked linen. Gingerly pinching the cuff of his sleeve, she peeled it back to reveal his angry wound.

Lazarus turned his head toward the forest, unable to look. “How bad is it?” he asked dejectedly.

Cybelle paused for a moment, assessing the damage. “There are still some thorns, I need to pull them out. They are not too deep though,” she reassured. “You will be alright.”

It was the warmth in her voice that made him turn his head to face her, to face his wound — the mangled trail of lacerations that encircled his arm. Some of them did look quite deep, to him anyway. The bleeding seemed to have stopped on its own for the most part, thanks to his shirt.

Shifting so that her feet now faced him, Cybelle scooted forward in her seat so that her lap was below him and grabbed a pair of tweezers. Her hands hovered above his arm, and for a moment Lazarus wasn’t sure if it was the rocking of the wagon or her proximity to him that caused her hands to tremble. There was a deep fear in her eyes, and not just from the wound.

His palm faced up at her, close enough to feel the heat of her body.

In their brief time together they had always kept their distance. Lazarus in the driver’s seat, Cybelle in the caravan. Separated by walls and windows, tents and masks. At night, she would indulge him with her naked smile from across the campfire. Blinding and brilliant, like the crescent moon above them.

Lazarus held her eyes from across his offering; a bloody bridge that hovered in the space between them.

With hesitant acceptance, she lowered her fingers slowly, then her eyes, guiding his arm to rest across the bandage in her lap.

The wink of her tweezers in the sunlight encouraged him to study the trees again. He gripped the leather reigns to brace himself.

Her touch was delicate and tentative as she steadied his arm, like his skin was a hot iron, and hers at risk to burn.

He flinched when she pulled the first thorn.

“Sorry,” Cybelle soothed.

He flinched again when she pulled the second. And the third, fingers writhing against the warm silk of her dress.

“I know it hurts, but you must stay still,” she quelled.

Lazarus allowed himself a glimpse back at her large, uneasy eyes that shone over the crescent moon. “H—how many more are there?” He didn’t dare lower his gaze to count.

With deeply furrowed brows, Cybelle scanned his arm, “Perhaps…fifteen?” she guessed. “They are small, it is difficult to say.”

Lazarus gave a heavy sigh and slumped into the seat, straining to find some comfort in the greenery that passed them. His head bumped dejectedly against the wagon as it swayed along the path. Fifteen. He tried not to think about it, but instead found himself wondering how badly it would scar. His fingers trembled as he braced himself for the next sting.

Instead he felt a hand.

Featherlight touches at the heart line of his palm.

Lazarus glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find fear in those deep, upturned ovals. Instead there was something much softer.

It was hiding just under the curve of her lashes, in the tender brush of her fingertips — a quiet fascination.

His chest rattled, with more than just adrenaline. Her eyes would surely raise at any moment and he braced himself to meet them, but instead she did something much bolder.

She lowered her palm.

It nestled into the groove and slope like it belonged there. Her skin like warm, russet earth against the vast, snowy landscape of his. When her fingers got brave enough to curl around the back, he allowed his pale digits to follow suit.

They sat like this a moment, staring at the knot of palms and fingers with a gentle awe. Her cheeks dimpled under the ivory crescent, and despite the radiant sting, Lazarus found himself smiling too.

Finally, Cybelle met his eyes and readied her tweezers again. “Are you ready?”

Lazarus tightened his grip. “I am now,” he said softly.

There were sixteen thorns. Lazarus counted. They fell one by one to the floor of the caravan. He didn’t flinch at all this time.

She was quick and methodical, and when her work was finished, she painted his wounds with a soothing balm that smelled of mint and fresh green herbs. The sting faded to a tingle.

What he noticed more than anything was how her fingers lingered as they left his hand to wrap the bandage.

“Thank you,” Lazarus uttered, running his hand along the neatly spiraled ridges of the dressing.

Cybelle gave a singular, dutiful nod and shyly gathered her supplies. She resumed her place, inside, and got to work reestablishing order in the mess of objects strewn about the floor. It was quiet the rest of the ride into Fenwood.

As they approached the city, the trees grew denser, the path grew darker. Moss hung like tapestries over lichenous limbs. Frogs croaked in chorus from every direction. A peaty moisture hung heavy in the air.

All signs pointed toward the same conclusion — they were entering the boglands.

Eddie sat back against the heap of pillows and rubbed his arm. The one with the puppet tattoo.

He would always wonder what you said about him, to Wayne. The words you used. Verbatim. You were always so good with them. He would watch you wield them every day, like a weapon or a spell. You could paint worlds for him as quickly as his eyes could gather them.

It was when he was next to you that you seemed at a loss, like the concrete walls were listening, like they would shatter the illusion the two of you had conjured. It was safer to speak with your eyes, your hands, your laughter.

Despite the volumes left unspoken, the questions left unasked and unanswered, the volume in his lap had answered one:

That it was, in fact, a love story.

______

A/N: I want to thank everyone for their patience and support while I wrote this chapter. I fought a lot of inner dragons to bring it to you, but I’m in a much better mental place now. I’m learning so much about myself in the process of writing this story, my first one of this length, and how best to keep my inner flame alive. It can be scary when it dims, but it's bright as ever now.

I was admittedly very nervous about including so much family backstory for Teach, but I felt it was important for the telling of the story. The Precious Moments teacher doll does actually exist. It’s called “Love Never Fails” and it came out in 1984. I couldn’t have conjured it better if I tried.

As always, nothing encourages me to continue writing this story more than hearing what you think about it in comments, reblogs, and asks. It's truly the most rewarding thing for me as a writer.

I’ll be serving up some piping hot drama in 13 so stay strapped, folks!

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @idkidknemore @alizztor @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @alienthings @eddiemunsonsbitcch @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me

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chocsra · 5 months

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"Sweep Me Off My Feet, Honey-coated Words."

Chuuya x fem! reader oneshot - 'My Demon' inspired (kdrama)

a/n: i haven't wrote like this in a while! lmk if u want this as a series!! ALSO THIS IS BASED OFF MANGA CHUUYA. NO BLUE EYES 🤕🤕

summary: after being chased by a mysterious killer, a gravity manipulator saves you, only to switch abilities with you, leaving him powerless unless you two touch.. but apparently, you've met before?

Who is a friend and who is a foe?

Misty skies flow through the light air of dark streets. 11:34 AM, that's enough to feel the pit of your stomach drop in fear, absolute horror. You feel your feet being dragged across asphalt streets even if you stumble or feel tears falling along the way. Just a few hours ago, you picked up an Uber sleepily, wandering a cold beach, another figment of a lonely night.

When you found yourself waking up on a dark road still seated in the car, the loneliness dropped for a second, goosebumps rose and eyes scanned. The mysterious Uber driver adjusted his cap so that it covered his face in the car's front mirror, you opened your phone hesitantly to check the app, only to find that your selected uber was 32 minutes away.

A disoriented stare ran from your phone to the back of his head, fear coursed through every vein, a lump caught in your throat, fuck.

Through a punch and a kick, you dashed out of the car and took rugged steps for preparation as you see your driver pull a sharp blade out, a box cutter. Rugged steps turned into uneven running as your feet clashed harshly onto the asphalt, sucking in sharp breaths, exhaling even sharper ones; the dry air piercing out could slice skin itself.

A dead end arose as you ran, hopeless dread pulling at your feet, the once fiery and piercing breath turned shallow as you trembled. The cold, dark air preparing you for an even colder blade piercing.. God knows where.

Then you saw him, him.

A man, not so tall, who drenched from the dark, emerged from the shadows. It was as if the glow of the moon reflected off his ivory, smooth skin. There was something about him that seemed so.. foreign. To his silky copper hair, bangs that framed his face messily, and a few specific locks that rested on his left shoulder - such an unusual haircut, one that showcased slight sweat and a disehelved look despite his fancy attire.

He had eyes that naturally seemed low-lided, tired stormy grey eyes that you could make through his long lashes; a shine that was printed on his undereyes, one that presented the curves of it. His pinkish lips were tugged into a soft smirk, his hands stuffed in pockets.

The man walked ever so carelessly, as if he were used to lurking in the dark, and watching others drown in it. An expensive raven fedora adorned his hair with a pristine chain hooking around the piece, along with a black bolo tie, a leather choker, and white button up shirt. A long overcoat was thrown loosely over his broad shoulders, with a fitted grey vest and black blazer underneath. You took in his black dress shoes and matching slacks, before he halted, almost making you.. choose between them.

Something about him was also off, incredibly off, one that made your insides swirl and rummage for an answer. So, who is a friend and who is a foe? Crime inhabited every street and alleyway in Yokohama, there may be no safe option, but there is safer.

"Help me!" You run up to the suited man, adrenaline coursed through every vein, pumping to your pounding heart. "He's.. he's trying to kill me!" The man averted his stormy eyes to you, on you, tilting his head as if he were trying to clarify your statement. "And what do I get in return?" A crisp, raspy voice rolled off his tongue like candy, but his words were anything but sweet.

You dart your eyes back to the walking killer, face contorting in confusion, "Consider it a favour." he rasps, sleepy cat-like eyes barely gazing at you. "A favour?" your brows furrow in disdain and repulsion, what kind of life threatening situation deserves a deal in return? A mere business exchange?

"My boss told me we needed more men for infiltration," he clicks his tongue, the glint of the sharp blade inching closer.. and closer. "I think you're perfect." He explains ever so vaguely, "I can't just agree to something so vague.." you purse your lips, head turning as time feels so slow, so slow and so dangerous, "Do you want to live or what?" the man downright scoffs. "Fine." you mumble, biting your inner cheek before he nods his head arrogantly, like you made a respectable, good, choice.

"Noted," the man responds as the criminal behind you lengthens the box cutter to it's max length, you whip your head around in fear before a crushing force pierces the man's chest, dropping the box cutter in the process, blood coughs out of his mouth as his back clashes into the car's front window. Glass shatters and the dashcam runs crushed, lines of blood dribble out the killer's temple and forehead, body disehelved and messily thrown. From the corner of your eye, you see the same shine of the redhead's dress shoe, perfectly angled at the fallen man as he chuckles darkly, hands still shoved in his pockets.

"We've been waiting for you," He inquires, casually striding to the bloody man, "You have a debt to pay." the words roll off his tongue so perfectly, each consonant, vowel, each felt dipped in honey, even as he grabs a fistful of the man's hair, baring his teeth in a smirk devilishly.

'You have a debt to pay' rang in your ears almost irrevocably, there was a catch to his deal, isn't there? A mystery man whose bones crushed under his foot so casually, the wet stainted lips the redhead had, it was covered in lies, deceit, wasn't it? So, who is a friend and who is a foe? If there's one person to trust, it's yourself.

Your feet broke from the shackles holding you in place, from the feeling of your gut, you should've trusted yourself from the beginning, you should've decided what you wanted for your fucking self. You took your feet and ran away from them both, whatever debt he has to pay, he could pay it, whatever deal you had to go through, could suck your fucking dick.

Crash.

The beaten man was thrown right in front of your path of running, landing harshly onto the road; you halted immediately as the pavement cracked and debris emerged. The stormy-eyed man kept his gaze set on the half-dead one, his bones were messily twisted, a look of agony and hatred sent like fluid to each of his veins.

"Miss," you heard a familiar, sugar-coated voice dripping to your attention. The man again, smug, arrogant face dropped for a second, not with a look of sincerity, but rather seriousness. It overtook your breath with the smell of his musky colonge and cigarettes.

"we had a deal too."

You stopped for a second, maybe more than that - he finally stuffed his hand out of his pocket and extended it to you, revealing a gloved, large hand. His fashion was intricately overdressed, you could see from head to toe, he was dripping in a virginal assortment of accessories - rich in flavour, and extravagant in taste. He extended his hand gentle but firmly, undertones of something more lurking under his refined gloves, as if grasping his hand would seal your unknown deal. You stared up at him through your lashes; unbeknownst and rather innocent.

Time is wasting, but is 'waste' a proper word for a moment so enchanting?

Then, a sudden roar of a car's lights awoken and came crashing onto you two, the man, clearly taken off-guard, grabbed your hand, and pushed both of you off the road. Suddenly, you feel the once enamouring misty air blind you as you feel a firm hand grasp onto your wrist, another arm wrapped around your shoulder. A limp, fleeting rush of air flew past you two, as you crash into the lake below you.

Dim shines of city lights prick through the surface of the airy water. Lukewarm but cold quivered and raked through your skin as your hair splays in the lake. Dark corals of reefs peek against your vision as you turn your head around, only to see the same man, your saviour, sinking in the water asleep, his grey eyes were closed shut as his long lashes compliment his skin underneath the shimmer of the moonlight, along with a glow of red outlining his features. His fedora was nowhere to be found, only revelling his silky copper locks. He, without the fedora looked familiar, a little too familiar.

Wait.

You remember him now, all too well.

Chuuya Nakahara.

"I'll be honest, I think blind dates are completely useless."

An elegant man dressed in a fancy black tuxedo had his arms folded in the chair across from yours, almost sleeping in such a fancy restaurant. He had glowly copper hair with bangs that framed his face quite nicely, the sunlight from the open window shining through his locks delightfully too. The man's hair was on the longer side too, so he had it pushed into a half-ponytail, how pretty.

"Since when was this a date?" a raspy, no nonsense voice grumbled from his pinkish lips, his eyes still pinched shut. "I'm sorry?" you scoff, "Didn't Mori set you up with me?" you scan your eyes around the restaurant intently, the whole place was empty, it seems that the restaurant was reserved empty just for this 'date'. "Mori?" the redhead perks his head up, now setting his undivided attention towards you, "Yeah.. Mori." you nodded your head slowly, hinting that your fellow classmate set you up on a blind date with one of his friends.

"Why? He's not really into stuff like that." his brows furrow at you, leaning forward in his seat, now manspreading. "He said that you were.. 'a ladies man.' I guess he thought we were a good match." you inhale deeply, leaning back onto your chair. "Tch," he scoffs, turning his head to the side, still smiling,

"I guess you could say that."

"So how did your date go?"

you were currently walking on campus, your classmate, Mori, bumping into you. "Like shit. You were so lying about the whole ladies man part!" you snicker, still slightly irritated, your friend looked a little offended for his friend, but sighed. "Looks aren't everything, y'know, he's a really good guy when ya get to know him."

You quirk a brow at your friends revelation, "Huh? Looks were all he had! He was cocky, an asshole, had the worst manners, the most secretive bitch I've met, and talked about some secret occult society he was in!" counting the amount of times your date pissed you off on your fingers, if you kept going, you would need more than two hands.

Your friend beside you raised a brow more than once, "Hold on, what the fuck are you talking about?" he motioned harshly, "That's what I'm asking you!" you halt your steps, turning to face him. "Why the fuck did you set me up with him?!"

"Relax, what was his name? Was he the guy with glasses, tall, black hair?" you dart your eyes around your surroundings completely confused, "What? His.. his name was Chuuya Nakahara, I think." your friend pulls out his phone to show a picture of four friends having a drink at a bar, one matching exactly his description. "That's him. Who the hell did you go out with?"

Well shit.

'Seriously?! That crazy bitch from the cafe?' you thought, submerged in water, bubbles floating from both of your mouths to the surface. Excruciatingly and hesitantly enough, you pulled his wrist from the sinking body of water, and swam to the nearest surface of land. Barely noticing the red outline of his body travelling to yours.

Chuuya awoke on a shallow pile of land, surrounded by the lake's water. He rubbed his temple sleepily as he groaned, seeing your sleeping figure through lazy eyes. What did he get himself into? The redhead pushed your hair out of your face to get a closer look, not minding when he sees your eyes fluttering open. Then, he saw a poking tattoo of black ink written across your neck.

A5158.

Several pants of flashbacks flow through his head, you rise disoriented, rubbing your head as you look up at him. He looks at you with discontent, eyes that usually told a powerful story, every speck of grey took you out of the honey he dipped his words in. But now, he looked shocked, almost unreadable; enigmatic.

"..What happened?" you mumble, unaware of the glowly red outline running along your figure, to each strand of your hair, to the curve of your arms. The redhead firmly held your wrist, the lines of red connecting to him, the curve of his shoulder, the juncture of his neck, even the sharp line of his jaw. A large wave of clear, water splash behind you two, filtering the gaps of sunlight capturing the slope of his cheek. Chuuya stammers, an unreadable desire chasing from him to you.

"What.. did you do to me?"

taglist: @sstarshroom @soleelia @tomiroro

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misseviehyde · 1 year

Text

Mommy knows best

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM...

David sighed as he looked around his new home and listened to the racket coming next door from his daughters room. The little bitch was playing music incredibly loudly and refusing to come out and help him unpack. Chloe was acting like a total brat... again.

He supposed she was still angry about the divorce - but did she really have to take it out on him? It was her mother that had cheated on him and driven a wedge into their family. Laura had moved in with her new rich boyfriend and Chloe would clearly rather spend time at their luxurious house than at her Dad's new home.

He'd bought the apartment because it came fully furnished. Chloe's Mom had left him with almost nothing. It had all happened so fast.

Running his hands through his greying hair he unzipped his suitcase and walking over to the wardrobe pulled it open to begin putting his clothes away. He whistled as he worked, trying to ignore the thud of the bass coming through the wall.

Spoiled fucking brat... she needs to be brought under control.

David rubbed his eyes tiredly. It almost felt like he'd heard a voice coming from the corner of the room - but that was impossible. He was alone.

Maybe you're not as alone as you think simp.

This time David was sure he had heard a voice. He whirled round and peered into the corner. But there was nothing but an old fashioned full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

Elaborate silver scrollwork framed the mirror and it's silvery surface almost seemed to ripple as if it were alive. Intrigued he stalked closer and to his surprise saw a figure staring back at him.

Hello loser.

There was a woman in the mirror gazing back at him. A beautiful stylish woman. She was dressed all in black - in clingy tight fitting leather that left her smooth perfect legs on show and her beautiful figure clearly evident. Manicured nails and pedicured toes shone glossily back at him as she held him with a steady gaze. A sexy pony tail rose from her scalp - her hair black and her face bold with strong makeup and dark glittering eyes. Dollar sign earrings hung on either side of her head - this was a girl-boss and no mistake.

It was hard to tell how old she was - his age probably... but she was in a lot better shape than he was. She looked assertive, competent - the kind of woman who liked to hit the gym and work out. She looked like a man eating dominatrix... he could just imagine her sucking off some big alpha cock whilst making her cuckold husband watch.

He had always had a thing for women that treated him like trash. It was why he let his wife cheat on him for all those years - why he now allowed his daughter to push him around. Why he could do nothing but stare in admiration at the woman in the mirror.

Yes that's right. Women take advantage of you because you're a useless fucking cuck

The woman in the mirror laughed, her hands on her hips.

But even a useless cuck has his uses. I'm trapped in this mirror and I want out.

David knew that something evil was happening. He should cry out for help from his daughter, but the music next door was too loud and he couldn't seem to stop staring at the woman in the mirror.

Yesssss, that's it loser. Come closer. Come to Mommy.

The woman untied her belt and let her leather dress fall open. Underneath she was naked... her body perfectly toned and curvy in all the right places. A tattoo of a scorpion stood proud on her thigh - and David couldn't stop staring at her luscious breasts and shaven pussy.

Yes, isn't my body just the best? Come closer cuck. Get your dick out for me.

David was helpless to resist as he approached the mirror and unzipped his belt. His trousers fell to his knees and his cock sprang out.

Pump it for me...

David's hands stroked up and down his cock as the woman in the mirror began to touch and play with herself. She moaned, her pony tail swishing as she rolled her head and her eyes fluttered in delicious pleasure.

Sinking to her knees slowly, she grinned maliciously and opened her mouth invitingly.

David knew it was impossible - but the compulsion to slide his dick into her mouth was too strong. He pushed his cock up against the glass... and to his amazement with a wet glop it sank into and through the glass.

That's it cuck... give me your fucking cock.

David groaned as he felt the mirror woman's lips slide round his dick and he felt her begin to suck. She reached out and the glass bulged and parted as her hands came through and she slide them around his ass.

"Ohhhh fuck, ohhhh my God," groaned David as the woman's head began to bob up and down - her pony tail bouncing as she sucked and slurped his dick. He felt himself being pulled deeper into the mirror and the glass beginning to bulge and flow outwards as he thrust his hips into her face.

The woman's hands were on his back, she was sucking him so hard now... his dick had never felt so good... it felt like she was draining him of everything.

glug glug glug mmmmmmmhhhhh ahhhhhhhhh

With a wet pop the woman pulled her head off his cock and standing up pulled him deep into the mirror. He groaned as she flowed like water, her physical form starting to engulf him and flow over him.

A hand formed around his cock, pumping and stroking as she enveloped him and he felt himself being absorbed.

That's it... don't fight it.

David groaned as soft luxurious skin flowed over his own. Manicured nails sprang from his fingers and looking down he saw firm full breasts forming on his chest. He felt the woman's face flowing over his... her lips merging with his own as he groaned orgasmically and began to cum.

With every spurt - his dick shrank and as the last of the mirror surface wrapped around him and flowed over his body - his ass swelled up and a tight pussy formed over his crotch.

Trapped inside the woman - David felt her thoughts and memories beginning to smother his own. He felt his pony tail bouncing on his own head, as his new clothing formed around him and he reached down to tie up his leather dress. Licking his lips David tasted expensive lipstick and he ran his fingers over his skin, thrilling at the softness of his body and how good it felt.

Just let yourself sink into nothingness. Become me...

The mirror behind him was just an empty frame now - as empty and blank as David's thoughts as he felt it all slipping away. It felt so good to surrender to this new body. It felt so good to merge with the woman.

You're going to love being me. You're going to love being a woman.

With a groan David let go and allowed the woman to flow into every part of his soul.

It felt so good to surrender... to just become her.

There was no going back.

***********************

Vivian opened her eyes and stretched languidly. "Mmmmmh, that is SO much better."

Adjusting her dress, she picked up David's phone and took a selfie. "Yes, I really am perfect."

Her perfect lips curved into a wicked smile as she walked over to the door and out into the corridor. Pushing open the door to Chloe's room she smirked at the look of surprise in the other woman's eyes.

"What the... who the fuck are you?"

"Don't you remember me bitch? I'm your step-mother."

Vivian's eyes bored into Chloe's and the girl felt her will being drained. Her mouth dropped open stupidly as the evil bitch dominated her daughters will and rewrote her mind to accept this new situation.

"Don't try to resist Chloe. Your days of fun are over. From now on you will do anything I tell you."

"Y... yes Mommy," gasped Chloe.

"Good girl," purred Vivian.

"But what about Daddy?"

"Your Daddy was a fucking loser. He's me now and we won't be seeing him again. Now turn down this fucking music and do your homework. There are going to be some big changes around here."

Chloe obeyed without question. After all... Mommy knew best.

THE END

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femmefatalevibe · 8 months

Note

how do you get monica belluccis vibe (with short wavy hair)?

Use nourishing shampoo/conditioner with a leave-in, anti-frizz conditioner. Let your hair air-dry

Apply ultra-nourishing facial moisturizer to the skin with SPF

For makeup: Use a satin-finish foundation with medium to full concealer underneath to cover imperfections; apply a golden brown bronzer as a contour and a pearly-highlighter to the cheekbones& high points of your face if not oily (tip/bridge of nose, cupid's bow, chin, middle of forehead); Fill in your brows so they look full but natural with a match brow pencil/powder shade; Create a grey-brown smokey eye with a golden bronze/taupe eyeshadow as a base on the lid with a smokey grey in the crease and black shadow on the outer corner(if desired); Apply a thin layer of black liner to the top of the eye with a subtle, classic wing and to the water line/tight line (inner rim); FInish off the lips with a matte or satin finish pink-brown lipstick (or a "your lips but better" hue)

For clothing: Tailored black wardrobe staples in high-quality fabrics – sharp wool/leather/silk blazers, crisp moto jackets, Pima cotton tops or silk camis/blouses, cashmere/leather bodysuits, tailored straight-leg or bootcut black trousers/denim, black slip dress/bodycon knit or heavy-fabric dresses, long tailored black coats in wool, leather, or silk with accents of black lace/red/leopard print

For accessories: Statement crystal, pearl, or classic chunky necklaces with sleek black heeled boots or pumps with a pointed or almond-shaped toe, black tights & hosiery

#monica bellucci #style advice #glam style #glam aesthetic #elegant fashion #classy life #style inspiration #celebrity style #italian style #femmefatalevibe #q/a

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mysticstarlightduck · 4 months

Text

OC Favorites Tag Game!

I wasn't tagged by anyone, but this tag game sounded really cool, and I saw an open tag for it somewhere here, so there we go! (:

Rules: share photos of your OCs' favorite color, season, shoe choice, weapon, and pastime, then change up any one of the five favorite things categories for the next round.

I'll go with the cast of Enchanted Illusions for this one.

Augustus Grimmure - carmine red, autumn, derby shoes or loafers, dagger or any kind of knife (even a kitchen knife will do, but he doesn't like guns at all, finds them impractically loud), learning new dark magic spells or reading by the fireplace.

Harriet Sharppe - pastel yellow or pink, winter, balmoral boots, pocketknife, studying weird insects and collecting plant specimens - especially poisonous ones.

Evangeline Daemitya - sky blue, spring, fancy low-heel pump shoes, fencing saber or just plain magic, making intricate drawings on her sketchbook/journal or listening to music

Cailean Telkerly - very dark green, doesn't have a favorite season, simple leather boots, pocket pistol or brass knuckles, figuring out new inventive ways to make his heists work - also likes stargazing and dancing

Agatha Greenwoods - teal or grey, summer, laced shoes - likes walking without shoes, just socks, when at home though, switchblade, drinking tea while studying her case - also collects random interesting trinkets she finds

Marcus Kallihan - doesn't have a favorite color, winter, shoes that allow him to be as silent as possible, is an expert at almost any kind of gun imaginable + plus is a sniper, practicing knife throwing, though he prefers to spend time playing with his dog

Ambrose Prosper - purple (absolutely any shade of it) and gold, spring, explorer's boots, dual-wielding guns, is surprisingly good at crocheting, goes to the opera frequently, and also likes people watching (judging them silently)

Thaddeus Lockhill - dark red, winter, leather combat boots, any kind of weapon available at a given moment - is good at improvising and using the environment to his advantage, would say he has no time for hobbies due to his ✨cause/revolution✨ but secretly likes singing

Vincent Sharppe - charcoal black, gentleman shoes freshly shined, autumn, sword cane (which can be impractical in some situations because he actually needs his cane to walk), secretly plays the piano, paints, and does scrapbooking

Clarence Van Sterlling - sunshine yellow (ironic, since he is a vampire), winter, knee-length boots with or without heels, rapier sword or just his fangs if need be, collects tin soldiers and other kinds of small dolls/figurines

Valentine Concordium - dried-leaf orange, summer and autumn, fancy shoes with intricate designs, literally a broadsword or just a regular gun, journaling and collecting a bunch of stuff

Tagging (gently, with no pressure) - @oh-no-another-idea, @little-peril-stories, @clairelsonao3, @writernopal, @memento-morri-writes and @tabswrites

The next 5 words will be color, season, shoe choice, weapon, and food.

#wip: enchanted illusions #tag games #oc favorites tag #my writing #my characters #writers on tumblr #character writing #my wips #writerblr #writing #writeblr #writers

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little-blog-of-horrors · 6 days

Text

Winter had no concept of time while in she was in the stasis chamber. But she must have been under for a while judging by the ache in her chest. Her lungs burned as the pod opened. The tell tale hiss of the pressure escaping and the skin burning cold she was never going to get use to.

The technician looked her over, before unhooking the restraints, and countermeasures. Then two men lifted her by her arms and dragged her out of the pod. They never gave her a moment to even breath when they woke her.

The hallways were different. Darker shades of grey, and now the room, had a sign above it. 'Project Prodigy'. Most of these halls were battered with age. Had they moved from the other base? How long was she asleep? There was no way to tell. After a while all the faces of the guards and scientists started to blur together.

She was taken into the lab, and practically thrown into the chair. A familiar voice being the only thing she recognized as the guard buckled the leather straps around her shoulders, waist and legs. Metal clamps slamming shut around her wrists as the scientist,... her creator came forward. That stupid recorder in hand.

Clause was his name. A short fat old man, and a Hydra Loyalist for most of his life. The 'genius' behind project Prodigy.

"The asset is still functioning, stasis seems to not affect the brain activity. Today is reconditioning number twenty three, site C. Administering the growth, and psyche-stimulant serum now."

As Clause spoke he injected her with the mentioned chemicals. It was the same as before. A burning cold up her arm, and and into her chest. Though that was usually where the pain started.

She bit back the growls, and cries as her veins pumped the drugs through her body. But her pain was very visible. No one seemed to care though. Then,.... the whirling of the machine started. Long metal arms reaching down and clamping to the sides of her head, as Clause shoved a rubber bite guard into her mouth.

Winter closed her eyes. Bit down as hard as she could and braced herself for the pain. Just breath. Just keep breathing.

"Beginning reconditioning."

@jamesbuch-anon

#winter #the cursed prodigy #Verse: stolen legacy #closed starter

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chrisbitchtree · 2 years

Text

For @grey-sides, whose post about Steve having a waterbed inspired this!

***

For the first few months that they’d been fucking, Billy had been determined to keep his and Steve’s real lives as separate as possible from whatever it was that was going on between them. At first, it had been easy enough. It was only late October when they first hooked up after Tina’s Halloween party, and while it definitely wasn’t warm out, if they turned the heat on in the car, they wouldn’t freeze their balls off.

Things got a little more complicated as they moved into January. Frankly, it was cold as tits outside, and Steve wouldn’t stop grumbling about screwing with only the car’s shitting heating to warm them up when he had a big empty house with heat pumping through the vents for nothing, since there was no one ever there to warm up. Privately, Billy agreed that it made more sense, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Steve.

He knew how these things went. They’d promised not to get feelings involved, but it was a slippery slope from moving things to a bed to having to talk about the fact that there was something real between them, even if they didn’t want to admit it. But eventually, Steve had worn him down, and here they were, at Steve’s house for the first time.

Steve had offered to give him a tour of the house, but there was only one room that Billy was interested in seeing at the moment. They hadn’t even made it up the stairs when Billy had backed Steve against a wall and kissed him, sliding his hands up the other boy’s sweater, seeking out the small patch of chest hair he loved to run his fingers through.

They’d kissed their way up the stairs, leaving a trail of clothes behind them as they went. Billy hoped that Steve’s parents didn’t plan on showing up, lest they find a stranger’s underwear flung over their railing, a leather jacket in a puddle by the door.

By the time they made it to Steve’s room, their lips were red, and kiss swollen, and they were naked as the day they were born. Billy had to admit that it was nice to actually be able to see Steve by something other than the pale light of the moon, to be able to take a moment to admire the moles dotting his skin. He found himself fighting the urge to kiss and lick every single one.

Steve pushed his door open with his foot, and Billy found himself unable to keep the look of glee off his face at the sight before them. “I don’t know what I was expecting, Harrington, but it sure wasn’t this,” Billy said, dragging Steve over to it. “What kind of eighteen-year-old has a waterbed? Are you a fucking pornstar in your spare time?”

“M’ not a pornstar,” Steve grumbled, kicking at Billy’s shin. “I just have parents with money to burn and guilt about the fact that they’re literally never here. Wanna try it out?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Billy replied, flopping back on it. Just like he’d always imagined, the bed rippled beneath him in an oddly calming way, almost like he was floating along on the ocean waves. He rocked back and forth to keep the motion going, too enthralled to be embarrassed about the fact that he was naked on Steve Harrington’s bed, grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“Enjoying yourself?” Steve asked, flopping down beside him.

“Mhm,” Billy said, nodding. They laid there for a minute, just rocking peacefully, before Steve climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. He leaned down and captured Billy’s lips with his own, gently parting them with his tongue. They rutted against each other, and the bed continued to ripple below them.

“So,” Steve said, pulling back after a few minutes, a soft smile on his lips. “Did you just come here to see my waterbed or…?”

“Or” Billy replied, pulling Steve back down into another kiss. “Definitely or.”

“Ok then,” Steve said, rolling over and pulling open his bedside table drawer, from which he extracted a condom and lube. “Let’s get this show on the road. Turn over.”

Billy did as he was told, getting on all fours, ass in the air. It took him a moment or two to find his balance and stop jiggling around on the bed. Before long, he could hear Steve giggling behind him.

“Having a little trouble there, Hargrove? Do you need a little help?” Billy turned to him with narrowed eyes, silently daring him to continue laughing.

Steve raised his arms in mock surrender, joining Billy on the bed once he looked stable. He took his time prepping Billy, spreading him open and working him thoroughly, using what felt like half a bottle of lube, just the way Billy liked it. He loved the squelch of it, the slick glide.

Once Billy was begging for more, Steve rolled on the condom, lining himself up and pressing in, draping himself over Billy’s back. They tried to get a good rhythm going but couldn’t. Every time Steve would try to thrust into Billy, the water would ripple below them, almost causing them to topple over.

“How do you usually do it?” Billy asked, huffing as he began to lose patience as Steve slipped out of him for the third time.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied from behind him. “I never have. My parents only got me the bed this past fall, just before we started hooking up. I haven’t been seeing anyone else, and you refuse to come over, so it’s just me and my right hand. We don’t usually get too wild when it’s just the two of us. Maybe we can try with you on your back?”

Billy wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of Steve being able to look into his eyes while he fucked him, but Billy really wanted to get Steve inside him and keep him there, so he was willing to do whatever that took. He rolled over onto his back, stroking his cock just to have something to do with his hands while he waited for Steve to get back to it.

The other boy got back on top of Billy and lined himself back up, sliding home easily. The bed still jiggled, but it was less noticeable like this, and they felt more stable. Now, instead of being a nuisance, the rocking of the water worked with them, helping them find their rhythm together.

Steve looked down at Billy as they moved together, and Billy had never felt rawer and more exposed in his life than he did not, laid out under Steve Harrington, swaying together with the water below them, the room silent, save for their panting breaths and the slick sounds of the lube. “You look beautiful like this,” Steve blurted, leaning down to kiss Billy’s cheek.

Billy could feel his cheeks heating up at Steve’s words. He ducked his head, unable to meet Steve’s eyes when the brunette was being so open and earnest. He’d been called hot and sexy, but beautiful was something else. It made something twist in his gut and he felt like a hoard of butterflies had been released in his chest.

Steve picked up his pace, stroking Billy’s dick in time with his thrusts, as Billy dug his nails into Steve’s hips, guiding the motion. Before long, Billy was shooting up over Steve’s fist and Steve was filling the condom with a long and drawn-out groan. He collapsed onto Billy, and they lay together for a moment, coming down from their highs.

Eventually though, Steve went to pull out so he could take off the condom and toss it. As he did, he found himself toppling over, almost falling off the bed. Billy found himself to be the one with the giggles this time. Steve swatted Billy’s thigh.

“Not so funny when it’s you, is it, Harrington?” he asked, trying to reign in his laughter.

“Fuck you,” was Steve’s only response as he returned to the bed after tossing the condom in the trash. He laid back down on top of Billy, wrapping his arm around him.

Usually, Billy wasn’t one for cuddles, not liking how vulnerable being so close to someone in that way made him feel, but he was feeling giving for once. He let Steve hold him in his arms as he breathed in the brunette’s shampoo and cologne, and beneath that, his natural scent.

He told himself that he’d be out the door the second they were done, not wanting Steve to get the wrong idea, but he couldn’t help himself. The water felt too good, too calming below him. And a small part of him was willing to recognize that Steve’s embrace helped with the calming too. Maybe this feelings stuff wouldn’t be so bad.

“You know,” Steve said as he ran his hand through Billy’s damp curls. “you’re welcome here any time, Billy. It doesn’t need to be about sex. We can just hang out if you want. Roll around on the bed?”

Billy snorted, even as he felt his heart warming. “I might take you up on that some time, pretty boy.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove fic #lemon #chrisbitchtree writes

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swoftbambi · 1 year

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𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 🌹💋🍸

˳ ⊹. pairings: eren jaeger x fem!reader

˳ ⊹. authors note: this is my v-day fic!!! woohoo!!! this is a lil self inserty but it’s ok you’ll enjoy it. there’s no warnings all fluff here. we get a lil funny eren we get a lil lovey dovey eren. we get some good hygiene rich boy eren. lots of wine??

it was the day of love. you were in the bathroom getting ready washing the glossier milk jelly cleanser off your face. you put on your moisturizer, makeup and fu$$y lip gloss and made your way over to your bedroom. slipping into your black long sleeved skims dress and black kitten heel pumps, you checked yourself out in the mirror admiring all your features. spraying some strawberry pound cake body spray you were ready for the night to begin. you waited downstairs in your loft, waiting for the-

ding! here he is

you opened the door to see eren jaeger in a black dress shirt tucked into grey dress pants with a leather belt that had a golden EJ buckle on it. his hair was slicked back with to strands poking through and flattering his face. he had a woody cologne on which smelled divine. his hand leaned on the doorframe showing off his hand tattoos. “hey”, he said in a suave tone. his eyes trailed up and down your body before the emeralds met yours again.

“hey”, you replied. it was embarrassing to admit that he still made you nervous again. every time you guys hung out together your heart started racing like you were in romeo and juliet, like teenagers meeting up in the woods. “i’m ready to go i just need to get my purse”.

“ight”, eren said walking in, closing the door gently. you grabbed your black clutch about to leave until calloused hands traveled to your waist. you rolled your eyes knowing who the culprit was. “you smells so good”, he whispers. you tug away from his touch, “mmm thank you”, you say awkwardly. he grabbed your hand and led you to the elevator and to his car.

setting into his car you could tell he got it cleaned again. he hated when his baby (you and his car) wasn’t taken care of. he put in a new air freshener too. he set the radio on playing some theweeknd, placing his hand on your thigh before taking off. at every stop light he would glance over at you. “what are you looking at ‘ren?”, you ask. he pursed his lips smirking too, “mmm nothing”. “is that so?” “mhm, i gotta focus on the road, im driving why would i be looking at something else?”, he said. “shut up”, you laughed hitting his chest. he chuckled focusing back on the road.

finally arriving at the restaurant, he gave his keys to the valet. helping you out the car, you both made your way into the line. you loved when he told the hostess “jaeger for 2”, it tickled your brain. he pulled out your chair before sitting opening the menu to an array of food choices. “what are you having babe?”, he asked peeking over his menu. “mm i don’t know”, you said through bitten lips, “everything looks so good”. “i’m gonna get the filet mignon i haven’t had that in so long”, he decided, “and look it comes with some broccoli, mac and cheese, and fries”. you smiled at his excitement. “that sounds so good, but i think i’m feeling the seafood bowl”, you pointed to the words seafood bowl bolded on the menu.

eren told the waiter your orders and ordered you both some lemonade and a bottle of chateau maragaux wine. the night consisted of small talk of work, friends, and future plans. he gave small touches on your legs, smoothing his hands over your soft skin. the food finally arrived and you both were in amazement. “shit this was 5 star but i didn’t think it would be 5 star”, eren remarked. the food was delicious everything was so delicious. between the lobster, crab legs, corn, and the clams and mussels, you were in complete heaven. eren held out a fire dip in some A1 sauce in front of your plate, “trade?”, he asked pointing to a crab leg. “you think that’s a fair trade, ima need a slice of that filet mignon for a crab leg, a fry will get you at the very least a mussel”, you joked. eren laughed as he cut a slice of his mignon for you. he held his fork out for you to take a bite from it, you then cracked the crab leg for him (since he only likes when you do it) dipped it in some of your boil broth and passed it to him.

you both made small talk again, talking about vacations and new endeavors. every time you or eren cracked a joke you would admire his features. how his little cheeks would peak up and the crinkle of his charming smile. how he would purse his lips to stop him from full on cackling or whenever he was being cheeky.

after your dinner, you pulled out your clutch to reapply your lipgloss. “i love when you put on your lip gloss”, eren observed. you smiled shyly in response. he sighed slouching a little in his chair before slapping his hand on his tummy, “wanna get out of here?”. you nodded your head, getting up from your seat and heading to his sports car. he got his keys from the valet and went into his car.

as he drove he held your hand, squeezing it every once in a while. his “y/n 🤍🎀” playlist was on blasting some sza, ariana, rina sawayama and childish gambino. eren would glance over to you with the warmest, most loving expression on his face.

when you arrived home, he pulled into one of your parking spaces and leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead. “did you have fun”, he asked quietly. “mhm”, you said gushing at him. he only got quiet with you and mostly was vocal with you so you loved when he talked in his hushed tone, “good, i’m glad you enjoyed it”. he led you up to your loft taking your keys to open the door. “close your eyes, yea?”, he asked. you did as you were told, closing your eyes as he led you into your humble abode. “ok, open”, he whispered in your ear.

you opened your eyes to say an array of red roses on your counter, a huge light brown teddy with a pink ribbon around its neck, a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, a box wrapped in pink wrapping paper with white hearts on it, and a letter set perfectly on the teddy bear. you screamed, “oh my god ‘ren!!”, turning around to jump in his arms. his big hands held you up to him, holding you tightly. you let go of him to walk over to the arrangement of gifts set on your counter. you lifted up the note and read the letter.

dear y/n

throughout the years you’ve constantly made me feel like a somebody. you’ve made me feel loved and understood like no one else has. i cant believe this is our 3rd valentines together and i wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else. i love everything about you, from your hair to your eyes to your toes. from the way you think to the way you react to the way you care for every living thing on the earth. i love you from the bottom of my heart and soul.

love you forever,

eren j.

you could feel tears swell in your eyes. “rennie!, you said pouting your lips. you went over to give him another hug, “i love you, eren, so very much”. he grabbed your chin, lent down to place a kiss on your lips. you felt the passion and love in his kiss. “love you too, baby”, he placed another lingering kiss on your lips. he walked over to grab a bottle of wine, “you wanna share this with me?”, shaking it a little. you smiled before grabbing the teddy bear, grabbing his hand and leading him onto the couch. he put on a romcom as the moon stood in the night sky. valentines was perfect.

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velidewrites · 2 years

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Heyy something about Nessian and jealous Cassian🥺

Of course!

SMUT ahead

Cassian watched his mate stride into the dining room with nothing but predatory intent, his jaw grinding loudly enough to echo off the walls.

“How was it?” he blurted, stepping toward her.

Nesta stiffened, though her face remained a cool stone. “As expected.”

A low growl escaped his throat. “Save your lies for someone else, Archeron. I could smell that Autumn bastard from a mile away, and you reek of him.”

The words held enough of a bite that Nesta bared her teeth. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

He couldn’t help himself. “Did you fuck him?”

Her eyes flashed silver, fingers curling at her sides as she took a step closer. “I was asked to let him pursue me for the benefit of this Court. I am doing my job, and I will not have my intentions questioned.”

Despite the raging flame in her stare, his body relaxed.

Crossing her arms, Nesta angled her head in assessment. “You’re jealous.”

Of course he was. He hadn’t even tried to hide it. “I do not trust Eris Vanserra to keep his hands to himself.”

Nesta’s mouth curled up in a cruel smile. “You shouldn’t. He is very dedicated to courting me.”

Cassian snarled, debating whether he could make it to Autumn and rip Vanserra’s head off before sundown. “You’re mocking me.”

Those blue-grey eyes narrowed on him. “Am I?”

“No one touches you but me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re mine.”

“Prove it,” Nesta challenged.

Cassian reached her in two strides.

Nesta gasped as strong arms lifted her up, her long legs wrapping around his hips as he walked them toward the table. He lay her flat on the dark, polished wood, his cock already hard against the firm press of her body to his. Her legs spread wide for him, covered beneath the skirts of her silky gown, sheltering the sight of her naked form before him.

Without second thought, Cassian ripped the fabric open, breathing in the scent of her arousal greedily, his sanity long gone as her gleaming cunt laid bare for his eyes to feast upon. He twitched in his pants, dreaming of nothing more than to bury himself inside her—claim thoroughly her with his cock. His mate.

Her eyes burned dark as he undid the laces of his pants, silently cursing the Illyrian leathers and intricate manner they were fashioned. He almost exhaled with relief when his length sprang free, throbbing with feral need.

He settled between her thighs, his hardness digging into the soft skin as she crossed her ankles on his back, pulling him closer. Mad with the sweetness of her dripping desire, his fingers travelled to her swelling bud while his other hand gripped her waist tightly. Tracing devastatingly precise circles, Cassian worked her clit relentlessly, drawing long, raspy moans from her throat that sent his heart pounding in his chest.

A tight grip on his wrist pulled his gaze away from her flush sex. “Cassian,” Nesta panted. “I want you in me. Now.”

A low rumble reverberated through him. “What’s the rush, sweetheart?” he purred, fingers resuming their unwavering pace.

She snarled lightly. “Fuck me into this table, Cassian.”

He made himself take a breath.

Then slammed into her with a mighty thrust.

Nesta screamed, her long, sharp nails grazing against the table, desperate to find grip as he collided against her sensitive core. Cassian hissed, her walls blooming wet around him, sending him into oblivion with every tight clench.

Every inch of Nesta was heavenly, her hot, molten core taking him so impossibly deep inside her that Cassian was sure stars flickered behind his blurry vision. He leaned down, his cock still pumping in and out of her, and placed a kiss between her breasts—heaving with each panting breath. Nesta whimpered, arching into the soft touch, and he absently raised a hand from her hips to flick her nipple before taking it into his mouth.

The sound that escaped her was obscene, and Cassian almost came from the way her pussy fluttered wildly against him at the new sensation. Groaning against the hardened flesh, he licked and sucked with unyielding ferocity, his cock rutting into her frantically as he hit the spongy roof of her walls.

Her thighs trembled violently, her moans more and more desperate as the table shook with the force of his thrusts. Nesta writhed, sprawled over the hard surface, her hands moving to his muscular arms to brace herself before she finally snapped.

She wailed out his name, tight around his cock and flooding it without restraint. Her nails sliced his skin, utter bliss overtaking her senses, and his own release followed as he rammed up into her so deep that her back shot off the table. Cassian shuddered, climaxing with her hard enough for the air to be ripped from his lungs.

He continued to pump into her until their breaths synchronised, their shared pleasure filling the air above them.

“Mine,” Cassian whispered, his hazel gaze locked on hers.

Nesta smiled. “So are you.”

#the past few days have felt like my own personal nessian week #i still have more coming i'm just taking my sweet time #but they ARE coming #nessian smut #nessian fic #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nessian #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #acotar fic #acosf fic #acotar #acosf #my writing

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jordanianroyals · 3 months

Text

Royal Fashion → Washington D.C. (13 February 2024)

Alexander McQueen Patchwork Wool Jacket in Black & Silver ($2350)

Alexander McQueen Prince of Wales Checked Trousers in Grey

Dior “Spade” Flannel Cap-Toe Pumps ($780)

Bottega Veneta “Handle” Padded Intrecciato Leather Top Handle Bag in Small ($4100)

#Queen Rania #fashion

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wolfsclothing6 · 1 year

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It’s a little late, but here’s a story for Halloween, hope you guys like it. Will try to post some more spooky themed stuff this month!

Alex took a step towards his friend. He watched as their pecs continued to grow bigger and slowly covered with a dense forest of hair. They used to be jet black only minutes ago, but now they were all turning grey and losing their color. He still couldn’t believe it was really happening, but he couldn’t deny it was turning him on like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Seeing the two of them grow more sexy by the minute. He wanted so much to touch him, twist his big, juicy nips and have Carl do the same to him. To smell and taste all that manly sweat covering his body and that massive load he’d just smeared all over his belly and chest. Alex felt his husband’s hand caressing his bulging jockstrap and found himself instinctively thrusting his hips against Carl’s firm palm. The surge of overwhelming, electric pleasure spreading from his groin nearly made him lose it, but at the last moment Alex managed to pull back.

“Fuck… Carl… you have to fight this… this isn’t you, you’ve got to remember! It’s that fucking costume!”

It wasn’t easy to bring himself to stop, all that salt and pepper fur on his hus- no, Carl wasn’t his husband, only a friend, nothing more. He had to remember that. But it was so difficult to keep track of what was real and what was not while looking at him. He wanted so much for the two of them to fuck, like he could have sworn they had fucked so many times before, every single night since the one they met. Alex watched as his friend squeezed out a large, glistening bead of precum onto his finger and gave it a taste, instantly he heard the creaking sound of leather as his cock grew harder and stretched his tight jockstrap to its limit. No, it didn’t just grow harder, Alex knew that it had actually gotten bigger, permanently, so much bigger… a massive, fucking fuckstick… perfect to plow that hairy fucker’s ho-

Suddenly Alex heard the sound of his apartment’s door slamming behind his back and found himself sprinting outside. He knew that if he’d stayed in there even a moment longer he and Carl would have been fucking on the floor like a pair of wild animals by now. He couldn’t bear leaving his friend like this, part because his cock was still painfully throbbing with a nearly uncontrollable need and his whole body was screaming at him to turn back, but also because if it wasn’t for Carl, it would have been him in that apartment, mindlessly jerking off and not remembering who he used to be anymore.

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour ago, they were about to head out to the costume party at their friend’s place. Carl had just came over and was changing in the bathroom while he was flicking through the television channels when suddenly something really odd appeared on one of them. It was some gay fetish porno, two bearded men, dressed from head to toe in leather fucking each other in a sling. Anyone’s normal reaction would be to instantly switch it off in disgust and start wondering how the hell something like that could have ended up being aired on a popular tv station in the middle of the day. However his course of action was much different, Alex didn’t register anything strange going on. It all seemed like a perfectly normal thing to be found on tv and for him to watch. Even more, it seemed like one of his very favourite type of things to watch. Alex wasted no time unzipping his fly and hauling out his erect cock. Within seconds he was so enthralled by the two furry bears going at each other on the screen that he completely failed to notice when the pair of jeans he’d put on under his fake chaps had completely disappeared. Shortly followed by his shirt, and his entire costume slowly transitioning from the cheap looking, synthetic material to real leather, that made him feel like he’d been wearing it for years.

Alex was furiously pumping his cock and tugging on his nips, only seconds away from unloading his balls all over himself when Carl stepped out of the bathroom and screamed. That was enough to pull him back to reality. After sitting completely frozen for what felt like an eternity and taking in what just happened Alex instantly let go off his cock, jumped up and switched off the tv. All while frantically attempting to tuck his erect member back into the skimpy, leather jockstrap that unexpectedly appeared in place of his underwear. In a mixture of shock, confusion and embarrassment Alex didn’t offer Carl even a single word of explanation and simply ran towards his room while simultaneously attempting to strip all that perverted, faggy shit off his body.

However he experienced an even bigger shock when he opened his closet doors and discovered that all of his clothes were gone. Every last thing in there had been replaced by some form of fetish gear, as if he’d never worn anything but that in his life. All the shelves were packed with black leather and rubber. Even the pair of shorts and his shirt that he forgot about and left lying beside his bed were now a black, studded jockstrap and a harness. The bed… that was gone too, and in its place some strange, leather hammock was hanging by the chains from the ceiling. It all felt like some fucked up dream, Alex watched as his whole room was shifting right in front of his eyes. All the college textbooks and fantasy novels vanished off his shelves and in their place he found a massive collection of gay porn movies featuring countless bears and leathermen. Alex turned around expecting to see the poster with a scantily clad girl from one of the video games he’d played recently but instead it was some completely naked, bearded guy.

Not just some guy, Alex realized. The man was a fucking legend, hottest fucker that ever lived, he had every last one of his videos on that shelf behind him. Oh, the times he came watching them, or even this poster alone. It might have been just a still picture he had up there for years, but it never failed to get him rock hard. That beefy barrel chest covered with a real jungle of salt and pepper fur, the short, fat cigar sticking out of his goatee, and those massive, juicy nips that he always played around with in his videos. But what made it the hottest for Alex was that hungry, teasing look on his face, especially knowing that in private the man was a complete, cock-hungry bottom. If only he could get him into that sling… they would be fucking for hours.

Alex groaned, feeling his cock starting to throb inside his hand, he wasn’t sure when was it that he’d started jacking off, but he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. Not until he released that massive load that laid there, pent up inside his balls. Feeling that he was close, he licked his lips and looked down on his cock. Instantly, his hand stopped moving and let go of it.

What the fuck… what the fuck was he doing? What the fuck had happened to him? To his cock?! It was so much bigger now and had some huge, metal ring piercing its tip. And his previously smooth and slender body was now filling up with muscles, two big, meaty pecs and a flat, firm gut were growing larger before his eyes and covering with dense, dark hair. Alex could see how his treasure trail was creeping upwards from his crotch, sprouting thicker and spreading in every direction. He barely stifled a moan when his cock throbbed and he realized just how much watching all of that was turning him on.

It was that fucking costume! He didn’t know how, but that had to be it… Even though he took most of it off, it was all back on his body again. Alex wanted to do it again, but he was afraid to move even a muscle. Before he was so horny and so close to cumming, and seeing his body change, grow even hotter, only brought him closer to the edge. There was so much pressure built up inside his cock, it was constantly throbbing on its own and refused to grow even a little softer, even despite the absolute terror he was experiencing. Subconsciously Alex knew that he couldn’t allow himself to cum, no matter how much he wanted to and how good it would have felt, and in only a few moments he was going to find out why.

“Oh god… Alex… please help…”

He heard something between a long, deep moan and a cry for help. It was Carl, was the same thing happening to him too? Alex tried not to think about how turned on he was at the prospect of that and hurried outside of his room. He found his friend lying on the floor with his back against the wall, his hand furiously sliding up and down his enormous, leaking member. Carl was even further gone than him. So big, beefy and muscular, his chest sprouting with tons of salt and pepper fur. Alex ran up here to help, but now he was afraid to step any closer, unsure of what he might do. Especially after seeing his husbear’s bare furry thighs, displayed invitingly like this. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist burying his fuckstick right inside Carl’s needy, sweaty hole. No, that’s not… Alex shook his head, his string of thoughts interrupted by another moan coming from his friend’s mouth.

“I… I can’t stop… my arm… it just won’t… when I saw you in there I got so fucking horny… and now… oh… oh fuck… nooooo… please…”

Alex watched as Carl’s arm suddenly stopped moving and his fingers gripped his cock so impossibly hard its head turned completely purple. And then, before he even knew what was going on, a massive torrent of cum exploded everywhere. It seemed that his cock would never stop unleashing more of the milky ropes of cum against his chest as Carl’s face went from looking terrified to experiencing pure ecstasy. When his orgasm died down, none of that inner struggle had remained. He simply smiled and started rubbing his enormous load into his fur while attempting to lick up that lone strand of cum which shot all the way to his moustache.

The whole scene looked so unbelievably hot that even now as Alex made his way across the city he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to fuck Carl’s mouth and shoot his thick load all over his face. In his head he remembered doing it to him countless times already, but thankfully the further away he was getting from his apartment, the easier it seemed to remember that none of that had ever really happened. His head was clearing up, more of the things were starting to make sense. Or perhaps he was now starting to realize how little of it made any sense really.

How just a day before Halloween one of his friend had texted him about this costume party he never announced before. How he’d said they should get them from this small shop that neither of them had ever heard of, and how they went there without giving it a second thought. And finally how they both thought it was a brilliant idea when its creepy looking owner suggested they should dress up as a pair of muscular leather daddies for the party.

Alex knew that he had to get there quickly, it was already starting to get dark outside. He would have liked to think that this change was only something temporary, something that would be gone in the morning. But after seeing what happened to his place, to his friend, Alex had a feeling that wasn’t very likely. The way Carl began to act, so much of it seemed like the old him, but some parts were definitely changed, moved, and it all added up to him becoming this horny, gay, hypersexual pervert. Alex knew that there was one inside him too, perhaps even kinkier and more intense than the one who resided inside his friend, and he was making his way towards the surface too.

He could already feel his influence. When he first left his apartment Alex was so worried about how people would react once they saw him on the street. His bare, furry chest, his massive package barely contained by that tight jockstrap and his furry asscheeks, completely in the open thanks to his chaps. He was afraid of everyone’s shocked and outraged faces once they saw him strutting through the streets, but he discovered that they only turned him on instead. His new body was so hot, so big and muscular, with tons of fur and a huge, fat dick swinging between his legs, he simply couldn’t resist showing it off. A couple of times Alex nearly forgot himself as he passed by some of the particularly hot looking men and found himself giving his bulging package a squeeze to make sure they didn’t miss it. He could see from their reactions that if he were to follow his instincts and drag them into a nearby dark alley to claim their asses, they wouldn’t resist too much.

But he did. Fueled by the hope that he could somehow stop this and get himself turned back to normal, Alex chased away all of those perverted thoughts the moment they appeared inside his head. Even if it was difficult to remember who was it that he wanted to be turned back into, difficult to think of Carl as anyone other than his husbear who was waiting for him back at home with his needy, furry hole ready to take his cock. Alex still had hope that he could somehow fix all of this and have it be nothing more than just a really fucked up bad dream tomorrow. A hope that came crashing down the moment he finally made it to the shop and saw that it was already closed.

He didn’t have a watch but he knew that he couldn’t have been more than only a couple minutes late. Still, the door was already locked and all the lights inside the shop turned off. For a couple moments Alex stood perfectly still in front of the shop’s large front window and studied his reflection. He looked like he was already in his fifties by now, his beard was completely grey and there was something tattooed on his chest and for the love of god, he couldn’t remember ever looking any different than this. But as much as he was tempted to, he wasn’t going to give up, not yet.

Alex was ready to start banging on the door, maybe even trying to kick it down if needed and if that didn’t work, he could always break the shop’s window and get inside through there. But before he had a chance to start, his attention was diverted by a series of deep, rhythmic moans coming from a nearby alley. Without thinking about it he walked around the corner and saw two short, really old and very fat looking men having sex. One was leaning against the wall and smoking a wooden pipe while receiving a blowjob, its stem was nearly completely obscured by his enormous, luxuriant moustache, entirely white just like the few, scarce short hairs on his balding head. He was the source of all the lustful moans that echoed against the alley’s walls.

It was hard not to get aroused watching him completely losing himself in pleasure. Faint, grey billows of smoke kept on rising from his open mouth and nostrils as his forehead and pudgy cheeks glistened with perspiration. One hand caressing his round, jutting belly while the other rested on the back of his lover’s head. With its front pressed closely against the standing man’s crotch, and the rest covered by both his hand and protruding belly, not much of it was visible to Alex. Other than the crown of white hair on his head and the few, hairy rolls of fat that peeked out above the collar at the back of his neck. However the man’s entire form had to be at least equal if not even bigger in size to his lover. Both of their expensive looking suits appeared to be perfectly tailored to accentuate every curve on their fat bodies.

Alex was completely mesmerized by what he was seeing, so much in fact that before long any thoughts about getting back inside that shop were gone from his mind. He found himself standing in that same spot and gently caressing his own throbbing bulge while fantasizing about the kneeling man’s massive ass.

“Mmmm… enjoying the show my dear?”

Having been noticed didn’t put off Alex at all and only made him grope himself in an even more obvious and lewd manner. The man didn’t seem to mind the attention either, on the contrary, he smiled in a kinky and inviting manner and gestured for Alex to come closer.

“Am I correct to assume that you are here to return your costume my dear?”

Alex gasped, oh god, how could he let himself forget again?! Just a second ago he was practically ready to join the two of them if that was what he asked for. Even now all his memories were so fuzzy, and he couldn’t exactly figure out why the thought of having a wank out in the public seemed to be appalling him out of the sudden but he still remembered about the shop, about there being someone he had to help.

“I’m afraid we are all out of luck my friend. Could you believe that this nasty fellow wouldn’t let us inside the shop even though we got there before he closed it down completely? He simply said that if we wanted to return anything we should show up tomorrow and disappeared into thin air!”

The man paused for a moment and Alex watched as some semblance of confusion appeared on his face, it seemed like he was trying to think of something. Alex could have sworn that his hand rather than caressing the sparse hair on the back of his lover’s head was now desperately trying to shove it away. But as if sensing what was happening the kneeling man began working his cock with such intensity that before he had a chance to do anything he was reduced to moaning and writhing in uncontrollable pleasure. A second later it was as if nothing had ever happened.

“I’m sure you can imagine how upset and disappointed we were. Fortunately my loyal butler William always knows how to cheer me up. I assure you my dear friend, there is no worry that this nimble tongue of his can’t take care of.”

Alex didn’t know what to think, how to react. He was so mentally exhausted from everything that was happening. One moment he knew that there was something wrong going on, but the other everything seemed to be perfectly fine. And what that old man was saying, he saw with his own eyes that it was a lie too, but it still sounded so tempting, and he wanted it all to be over already…

“What do you say my dear? Afterwards you and your friend could join us for the party at our mansion. I assure you, we will have even more fun back there.”

The party? His friend? What was he… Suddenly Alex felt a hand pressing against his chest, it was slowly making its way towards one of his nipples. There was someone behind him. Alex instantly turned around and before his mind even registered what he was seeing, he found his cock uncontrollably shooting out jets of precum right into his jockstrap.

It was Carl, and he was looking even hotter than when he last saw him. Even beefier in all the right places, his broad chest… his massive, muscular arms… And that fur Alex loved so much had grown even thicker. When Carl pulled him into a kiss he couldn’t muster up even a smallest bit of resistance, but it wasn’t like he was planning on doing that anyway. The moment he saw his husbear standing in front of him controlling this overwhelming need to fuck and go wild which he’d been trying to suppress all evening became impossible. Carl was simply too hot and he was way too horny.

He was now hungrily exploring his lover’s body, feeling up his ass and sliding a finger up his wet hole. Twisting his nips while rubbing their throbbing, leaking cocks against each other. Sifting through the dense fur on his husbear’s chest with his fingers while tasting his lips and tonguefucking his mouth. It all, even the musky, masculine smell that filled his nostrils, seemed like things that he was only now experiencing for the very first time even if he knew that they had been together for so many years already.

If he wasn’t being consumed by completely uncontrollable lust that would have alarmed Alex, just like that thought he had when he felt someone swallowing his cock, but now that his mind was overflowing with pleasure that radiated from his crotch and he couldn’t even recall it. Alex always made the cocksuckers work for his load, but resisting this one was impossible. The way he effortlessly swallowed his massive fuckstick whole and worked it with his tongue or sucked on ballsack was something Alex had never experienced before. And the orgasm he was soon experiencing was even more intense than anticipated, if not for his husbear holding him down while his moan died in his throat, he would have undoubtedly collapsed to his knees from the sheer force of it.

Almost a full minute later William was still eagerly swallowing the last drops of cum oozing out of his cock, the load had been so massive it seemed like he’d been saving it for weeks and it certainly felt like it too.

“So what do you say my friends? Will you take me up on my offer? We could all have a truly splendid time, especially once we get to exploring the dungeons with some of the less suspecting guests.”

The old man smiled and unbuttoned his shirt a little, showing off a broad leather harness stretched over his chest. Alex looked at Carl and knew right away that his answer was identical to his.

“Fuck! Sounds fucking hot to me, and after we’re done my huz will have to get a cocksucking lesson from his horny slut right here too.”

Alex said while slapping William in the face with his still half-hard cock. Fuck yeah, this was going to be the best halloween party he’s ever been to.

#gay #bear transformation #transformation #male transformation #fat #bear tf #age progression

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