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m0llygunn · 5 months ago

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'tis the season (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: your sweet neighbour addresses a christmas card to both you and eddie — the only issue? she's never met eddie... so how does she know his name? eddie decides that 'tis the season for all your neighbours to know his name

cw: 18+!, christmas adjacent but you don't have to celebrate, smut, oral, fingering, pinv sex, idk mentions of dying of embarrassment, friends with benefits to more (slightly ambiguous ig) an: just a quick lil thing!!! if you liked it pls tell me or i'll pass away from lack of attention wc: 2.4k+

You didn’t think twice about it — a Christmas card that your next door neighbour dropped off to your apartment, addressed to both you and Eddie.

You should have thought twice about it — because you’ve never introduced lovely Mrs. Mabel to Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t necessarily show up to your apartment during the day time.

What you and him do… it’s more of a night time thing. You call him — sometimes he calls you — and then he drives over. Sometimes you pretend you need something fixed, sometimes it’s a jar lid that's stuck, one time it was your bedside table that was jammed — but him coming over to introduce himself to your 70 year old neighbour is highly, highly unlikely.

So when you got the card, maybe you should have thought twice about why his name was on it — but you didn’t. You were on your way out and Mrs. Mabel had left it taped to your door. You slid it into your purse, and then when you got home, you had put it down on your countertop with the thought of opening it after putting away the few groceries you had bought.

Then you just forgot about it for the night. A candle was lit, the lights were dimmed, and Eddie was speed dialed.

When he showed up, you were pouring drinks for the two of you in your kitchen — that’s when he saw the card.

“Oh?” he hummed, smiling as he slid his finger along the edge of the rustic brown coloured envelope, picking it up. “What's this?”

“Oh yeah!” you remembered. “Mrs. Mabel dropped that off earlier, I forgot to open it. It's a christmas card,” you beamed.

“Well, good thing you waited. It’s addressed for both of us,” he winked.

You didn’t understand the wink.

You didn’t understand why he was so smug either, and you didn’t ask, you were too distracted by the kitschy card, with drawings of cats wearing Santa hats wishing you and Eddie a ‘Meowy Christmas’ and a ‘Purrfect New Year’.

It was only after drinks were drunk, your bedroom was visited, and Eddie said something odd, that you started to question what exactly he meant.

His skin was still dewy where you laid your head on his chest. Both of your breaths were labored. His hand was splayed across your back, feeling extra warm.

“So… I take it that all your neighbours know my name?” He said it like he was teasing you. You didn’t understand why, but it seemed loaded.

“No? Why would they all know your name?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, and you could hear the mischief in his smile. He was up to something, but your eyelids were heavy, and his hand started to rub up and down your spine, and with the way your body vibrated, you could not have cared less. Whatever he was getting at could wait.

And it did wait — one whole week. Then you finally understood, and you really cared — because what the fuck.

He came over earlier than usual. He hadn’t even called, he just showed up, and with flowers. Flowers. Eddie doesn’t give you flowers, he gives you orgasms. That’s what you thought this thing was between the two of you — nothing more than late night hookups. Not flowers.

And then he dropped the bomb that he was making you dinner. Dinner. He was being so sweet, and he brought you flowers, and he was making you dinner. You can’t even remember a time where you had seen him before the sun set. Flowers. Dinner.

As he found his way through your kitchen, he made sure to get in every little touch and graze possible, even ones that were so obviously unnecessary. Like when you were washing vegetables at the sink. He pressed himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your body, caging you in against the sink, washing his hands in the most inconvenient position ever. It was incredibly inefficient, and it got the front of your shirt wet, but that was another thing. He peeled your shirt off you right in the kitchen. With a giggle — because this whole ordeal had left you undeniably smitten — you complained that the cotton of your shirt was cold and stuck to you, so his solution was to spin you around and lift it right up from your waist, up your chest, and over your head.

As the fabric passed over your face, you shut your eyes, only to open them to Eddie pressing a kiss to your lips. The shirt was thrown to the floor, his hands found your cheeks, and you were walked backwards until your bum pressed to the countertop. His body pressed to yours, his belt buckle jutting in the bare skin of your belly, his shirt sticking to the lace of your bra. He kissed you stupid right in the middle of your kitchen.

When you thought you were moving onto the next part of the night — forgoing dinner and heading straight to the bedroom — you were wrong.

“What’ya doing?” he murmured against your mouth. You had reached around him, blindly finding and spinning the burner off.

“Making sure my apartment doesn’t burn down.”

“It won’t. We’re right here.” He pressed a string of new kisses to your lips, and you could feel his smile through every single one.

Your makeout session did not move to the bedroom.

When the timer went off, he parted from you with a final peck to your lips, and ‘for good measure’, another one to your cheek. From there on out, you… you were useless. Just a pair of wobbly legs being ordered around by a thoughtless brain. You spilled things, and knocked things over, and clattered dishes, and eventually Eddie put you on watch duty — or as he put it, ‘sit there and look pretty’ duty.

It didn’t get better either. He kept looking at you. Looking at you with dark eyes that you know too well. Dark eyes that felt deeper than anything you’ve felt before. Dark eyes that made your stomach swirl and your thighs clench. Dark eyes that you wanted in the bedroom, right now.

You tried to get him in the bedroom. From your spot sitting on the countertop, you tried to hook a pointed foot around his thigh as he stirred honestly over a steaming pan. You tried to give him the same eyes back. You tried — oh god, you tried.

And you know what he did? He set the table. Lit a candle, set out glasses, lined up forks and knives. Got you a new shirt to wear. Filled your plates, got you both napkins, pulled your chair out for you.

You wanted him more than anything.

And then you got him.

The table was never cleared. Clothes were shed before either of you were past your bedroom door. Your hands were tugging at his boxers, and you wanted to show him how much you appreciated his kindness — how much you enjoyed the impromptu flowers and dinner.

He had other plans.

He laid you down and spread you out. Put his mouth to use — held both your hands as he did it too. It had your chest squeezing in a soft way, and your hips moving in a way you could not control.

“Eddie,” you moaned, as he licked at your sensitive spot, pushing you just over the point of too much pleasure. You already came once but he decided that you deserved much more than that.

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Mhm, so good, Eddie — fuck,” you gasped as your pleasure quickly became overstimulating. He rearranged your intertwined mess of hands, taking both of yours in one of his, freeing up the other to move down your body and meet his mouth at your core.

Two fingers were pushed into your already convulsing cunt. You barely had a moment to come down, and he was barreling past that point, moving you onto your next orgasm. His fingers curled, and your whole body tensed.

“Eddie — E-Eddie,” you said, voice rising as your hips began to buck, thighs jerking.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Eddie,” you whined, like it was a real answer and not just his name. Like he should know what he's doing to you — and he does, but to your ignorance, this is exactly what he wants.

“I know — I know, feels good, huh?”

And it did. His fingers felt great, but him properly filling you up felt better. As soon as he sunk his length into you, you were a goner.

With your legs folded, ankles sitting over his shoulders, blankets gathered where you fisted them in your hands, and your toes curled tightly, Eddie fucked you. Sincerely, amorously, hard.

Every snap of his hips to yours, every crude, wet noise, every creak of the bed, was hidden well beneath the way you panted and whined — and Eddie just goaded you on.

“Yeah? Right there? That's where it feels good?”

“Yes, right — right there,” you answered devotedly.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me how you want it,” he grunted, bringing a soft hand to your cheek and running it upwards, pushing back the baby hairs on your forehead.

“Harder,” you answered, meeting his gaze.

“Harder…?’ He smiled, trailing off to prompt you. Just as he did, he let his hips find yours with extra vigour, grinding upwards into you, his cock pressing right against your g-spot with the perfect angle to get a full-body reaction from you. He continued, rolling his hips in a quick rhythm, giving you exactly what you asked for, harder.

“Eddie,” you gasped, body being pressed up the mattress with the sheer force of his thrust.

“You like saying my name don’t you? Hm? Sounds so pretty when you say it.”

You should have put it together right there. But you didn’t. You just got louder.

“Eddie — fuck — Eddie!”

“I know. I got you, baby,” he replied, eyes never leaving your face as he purposefully did exactly what he needed to do to get his intended reaction from you.

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

One final press of his pelvis to your sensitive clit, one final graze of his cock to that special spot inside of you, one final gasp of his name, and you were coming. Coming harder than you had tonight, harder than you ever had in your whole life.

You wished you could have stayed in that moment forever.

Pleasure coursing through you, spreading everywhere from your ten fingers to your ten toes, your mind blank apart from the pure adoration you had for the man who laid overtop of you, cumming inside of you at that very moment. The man who surprised you and brought you flowers and cooked you dinner.

Oh, and not to mention how, in that moment, you were so blissfully ignorant to a spectacularly embarrassing fact. So naive, so ignorant. So stupid.

Eddie was a sweetheart. Continued to be a sweetheart, actually. After giving the two of you time to settle, he eventually got up, helped clean you up, cleaned himself up, and then got back into bed with you to cuddle. Cuddling has been a normal thing for the two of you, but his smile as he cozied up close to you, with the way his lips rounded at the corners, and his dimples were so deeply set, it was not the normal, bliss-filled, post-orgasm smile. It was different, it was mischievous, and a touch unsettling.

“What?” you eventually caved, smiling back at him as he gave you a dramatic side eye paired with a raised brow — he's been waiting for you to ask him what's on his mind.

He grinned at you, canines poking out with all his glee. He dropped his head to your fluffed pillow, tugged you in closer, and looked at you like he was about to spill some hot, gossipy pillowtalk.

“Think all your neighbours know my name now?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, weaving together in the centre, because what does that have to do with anything? ‘What?’ sat on the tip of your tongue, but just as he wiggled his brow, giving you a pointed look, waiting for you to put it all together, it finally hit you. It hit you like a brick to the head. A brick to the head off of a three story building. Beyond painful.

The reason Mrs. Mabel, dear, sweet, elderly, Mrs. Mabel knew Eddie’s name to write it on your Christmas card: thin walls, his talent, your loud mouth.

“No,” you gasped, jaw dropping.

“No?” He scrunched his forehead upwards, eyes widening, leaning in even closer to you to absorb the full extent of your shock. “Because I think they do,” he smirked, voice rising with amusement. Finding your waist under the blankets, he curled his fingers into your flesh. You squirmed, grabbing his hand and holding him still. This is serious.

“Eddie,” you frowned, squeezing his hands before pushing them out from under the blankets and away. He let you, watching you through bright eyes, loving every minute of your humiliation.

“Yes, sweetheart, that is my name,” he practically sang.

“That’s so embarrassing.” You let your body shrink into the mattress, turning to hide your face in the pillow. You whined out a long groan, ridding your body of every ounce of breath in your lungs. If you were a lucky person, you would have suffocated. Died right there and rid yourself of all your mortal shame.

“Nobody complained, I think they’re fine with it.” His hand became a heavy weight of your waist, coaxing you out from the pillow while rubbing your back.

“I’m not fine with it,” you said abruptly, nearly giving yourself whiplash as you turned your neck to look at Eddie. “Mrs. Mabel… she… she — ”

Eddie finished your sentence — “She gave us a Christmas card. She’s not upset,” he smiled, leaning in once again, this time to press a kiss to your forehead.

He's wrong. You know it, but you don't have the will to fight it. So instead you rolled your eyes, sighing as you laid your head back down to your pillow.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Oh really?” Eddie teased, his mischievous tone contradicting the gentle way he pulled the blanket up for you, covering your shoulders and tucking it under your chin. “I don’t recall me being annoying a few minutes ago?” He took a deep inhale. “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie —” he began to chant, voice pitched up mockingly, volume way too loud.

“Shush,” you scolded him, jumping forward, fighting to free your arms from the blanket to smack both of your hands over his mouth. His voice vibrated behind your palms, and his laughter stuck to your skin as you forcibly shut him up.

Your neighbours clearly already knew his name, but if they didn’t, they definitely do now.

thank you for reading! happy holidays <333333

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut

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myclovernew · 4 months ago

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hate you, love you [lee myung-gi]

⟢ pairing: myung-gi x fem!reader (basically replacing junhee as player 222 sorry jo yuri my queen)

⟢ fluff but a little steamy near the end...

⟢ word count: 4k

⟢ a/n: hai everyone this is my first ever fic here on tumblr and i haven't written anything in over four years so i apologize if the writing is terrible LOL squid game and myung-gi brainrot had me down BAD

the annoyingly cheerful music blaring at what felt like 7 in the morning woke me up. the last thing i could remember before falling asleep was getting into a white semi-van driven by a man in a red hoodie whose face i couldn't quite make out. so where in the hell was i now?

blinking a couple times before rubbing one eye, i slowly slid up to the point where i could feel the cold, metal backboard of the bed i was in through the thin polyester jacket i had on. that's when i realized i was in a completely different outfit than the one i had on the night before. looking around, i noticed others slowly waking, everyone in the same outfit as mine with only a slight difference. we were all numbered, and my number was 222.

a guy who was in the bed directly in front of mine started waking up at that moment, mumbling something incoherent to himself and then letting out a huge sigh. the number on the back of his jacket was 333. only when he turned slightly to his left is when i realized; i'd recognize that side profile anywhere.

"lee my-" before i could even finish calling out his name, the speaker sent out feedback indicating the start of something unknown. everyone was awake at this point, walking towards the center pool of people.

that's when an alarm went off, and an automatic door let in a group of eerily mysterious people dressed in pink jumpsuits, their faces covered by black masks with either squares or circles painted on them in white.

"i would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," one of the square guards started. i was watching from the foot of my bed, trying to scan the crowd to navigate that piece of shit. i can't believe that asshole is here too, i thought to myself while half paying attention to whatever the square guy is saying.

"everyone here will participate in six different games over six days." games? what are we in, grade school? "those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

now that's what i wanted to hear. when that salesman looking guy approached me a week ago, he had me play a game of ddakji, which i was a natural at. so of course i beat him on the first round. he gave me 100,000 won as a prize and a rustic brown business card with only a number on the back. i debated on calling the ominous number for days on end, but the final straw was having all 58 of my calls to that asshole myung-gi ignored. he had "borrowed" 500,000 won from me to kickstart a stock he was investing in and just never paid me back. a couple of weeks after was when i found out his dumbass had led a bunch of his stream viewers to invest in the wrong coin, causing a lot of not-so-happy, middle aged men struggling to make ends meet to go after him.

anyway, i was determined to make him pay.

a couple of people from the huge crowd started yelling out remarks, demanding for answers.

"what happened to my clothes?" "did you kidnap us?" "why are you wearing a mask?" "show your face!"

then one person started asking for their phone, insisting that they had to check the crypto market.

"player 333, lee myung-gi," the square guard had declared. my head immediately snapped up, eyes glued to the screen that had just turned on. a video of myung-gi started playing and it was him being embarrassingly bad at the same game of ddakji i had played with the salesman. i couldn't help but laugh to myself as hundreds of people watched him get slapped, how humiliating.

"current debt levels, 1.8 billion won." oh you had to be joking.

that made the measly 500,000 won he owed me look like nothing. no wonder he was ignoring my calls, the loser had absolutely no means of paying me back, let alone getting rid of his own debt.

i lost sight of myung-gi when the guards had us line up and sign what looked like a consent form to play the games. it seemed a bit excessive, but i guess they had to keep it all professional. we then had our photos taken before being led up multiple flights of pink, maze-like stairs.

all at once, three giant doors opened up to a large, sand-filled area. the guards instructed us to go in and stand behind the red line drawn on the ground. at the very end of the field was an enlarged cartoonish doll. what could we possibly be doing here?

i looked around for myung-gi again, hoping to catch him by surprise when he saw my face afters months of ignoring me.

"the first game is red light, green light," a woman's voice iterated through the speakers. red light, green light? i hadn't played that since i was a kid. "cross the finish line before the five minutes are up. if you do, you pass."

this honestly felt like a joke. why were we getting paid to play children's games?

"everyone!" i squinted my eyes to see a middle-aged man, his number being 456, run to the middle of the crowd. "everyone, pay attention!" he was waving his arms like a mad man to try and get everyone to listen to him.

"this is not just a game!" what?

"if you lose, you die!" there's no way that was true. did he mean get eliminated? they wouldn't really kill us, would they? i looked around to watch everyone else's expressions. some started visibly shaking, others shaking their heads in pure disbelief.

at that moment, the robotic doll turned around and put her hand up to her eyes.

"let the game begin."

the first "red light, green light" was said and everyone began to move. as soon as the doll stopped to look around, i stayed as still as possible. the man from earlier was still yelling at everyone to freeze, and something in me started to believe in what he was saying about the game. as i froze in place, i scanned the people around me. 239, 009, 176, 028, and 333. found you.

the next "red light, green light" played and i ran towards myung-gi. he might've been a crypto bro who practically lived at the pc cafe, but damn he was a fast runner. the next couple of "red light, green light's" went off and i was just about a feet behind him now. that's when a loud "bang" echoed throughout the hall. a gun shot. more gun shots sounded, followed by ear-piercing screams. stay still, stay still, i thought to myself.

then it went silent. everyone who was still alive was frozen in their places, not even moving when the doll said "red light, green light." my eyes focused on myung-gi. he was breathing so heavily i could hear him.

"red light, green light." the man from earlier, player 456, was the only one to move as he ran past all of us. "red light, green light." he moved a bit further, with his back facing us.

"the doll detects motion," he yelled out as he had one hand behind his back, moving it around to prove what he was saying was true. so as long as the doll couldn't physically see me moving, i would be fine.

"we're running out of time. we have to move!" shit.

"red light, green light." everyone moved then, finding someone bigger than them to hide behind. i was still behind myung-gi, who i admit was shorter than most guys here, but then again so was i. we were almost by the finish line, with a little less than a minute left.

"red light, green light." we moved again in a synced matter. but just as the doll was about to turn her head, myung-gi tripped on someone's foot. he's going to die, i thought. without thinking, i put out my arm, and grasped onto the back of his jacket.

"don't. move," i whisper-yelled, my teeth gritting against each other. myung-gi didn't make a sound.

"red light, green light," i let go and he regained his balance, the two of us crossing the finish line. i bent over, my hands resting on my knees as i tried to breathe normally again.

"y/n?" myung-gi questioned. i looked back up to him, scanning his face. as much as he was confused as to why i was here, he also looked relieved to see a familiar face.

"aren't you going to thank me?" i retorted. i did just save his life.

"oh, yeah," he said, his hand reaching the back of his head, "thank you. seriously." i sighed and gave him a slight nod. frankly, i was too exhausted and too desperate to get out of this place to even demand for my money back from him right now. he opened his mouth again, like he had something to say, but got quickly distracted by the ceiling of the arena slowly closing in. the game was over.

the guards had us all walk back into the room we woke up in. it was eerily quiet; people were scared for their lives. i just wanted to go home. i didn't even care about the money anymore. why would any of this even matter if i didn't make it out alive?

everyone made it back inside as the guards followed behind the last couple of players, stopping in front of the door they first walked out of. some of the players ran down to the middle of the floor and started kneeling to the ground, rubbing their hands profusely, begging to be saved.

"we are not trying to hurt you. we are only presenting you with an opportunity," the square guard declared.

"clause three of the consent form!" i turned around to look at the player that yelled this out. it was the same man that was helping everyone in the last game, player 456. "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote. correct?"

oh thank god. we actually had a chance at getting out of here before they had us all killed.

that's when the room went dim, and a golden piggy bank was slowly let down from the ceiling. even i was mesmerized, my eyes glued to the stacks of money falling into it. the guard then explained there was a sum of 9.1 billion won in the bank, and if we all wanted to leave now, it would be split by all current players. murmurs erupted, some people wanting to stay and play more games for the sum to rise, while others still wanted to leave.

"now, let's begin the vote."

the guards started calling out player numbers, starting from the last number, 456. the first vote was an X. each player received a tag with either an X or an O, indicating what they had voted for.

"player 333." i watched as myung-gi emerged from the crowd, and walked towards the buttons. i swear to god.

the sound of the button went off and so did a flash of blue light. he picked O.

he barely even made it through the first game without my help, yet he wanted to stay and continue playing? i scoffed to myself, he really did only care about himself.

"player 222." it was finally my turn. i walked up to the voting stand, confident in my answer. i hit the X button and received my tag. walking back to the group of other X voters, i looked over at myung-gi standing on the opposite side who was also watching me from afar. i narrowed my eyes and made a face full of utter disgust and disappointment, then looked away. in that moment, i regretted saving him at all.

the voting ended shortly, the O's winning by one point. we really had to stay and play another game. it was absurd to me, all these people being blinded by the money after seeing firsthand how one wrong move could literally get you killed.

food service happened after the voting and each person was given a meal. i walked back to my bed and opened up the metal box to find a layer of white rice, topped with an egg, sausage, and picked radish. it honestly wasn't bad at all. i was eating peacefully before myung-gi walked up, holding out his box of food and resting his arms on the foot of my bed.

"you want the radish? i know it's your favorite," i looked up at him, mid-chew of a mouthful of rice and egg. the radish was my favorite, but i was surprised he remembered that at all. without saying anything back, because i was still mad at him, i took the pieces of radish out of his box and put it in mine.

"are you mad at me?" i looked up from my food again. he could not be serious. we were making eye contact now, but the purple-ish, blue ring forming around his left eye caught my attention.

"what happened to your eye?" i asked, ignoring his initial question. i don't even know why i brought it up, i could care less about this asshole.

"don't worry about it." say less! i went back to eating my food, myung-gi still hovering, waiting for the answer to his question. i gave him a "what?" look with a shoulder shrug and seems like he took that for an answer because he turned back around and started walking away without saying another word.

i looked toward his direction ever so often after finishing up my meal. he really was a loser and didn't have anyone else here, not even someone to team up with. he sat straight up on his bed, poking at the rice with his spoon. a couple of hours passed by, and it was soon bedtime. the lights in the room dimmed and everyone was in their beds by this point. i pulled the thin cotton blanket over me and readjusted my pillow so it was leaning a bit against the bed board. i lay there on my back with my hands intertwined across my chest, closed my eyes and desperately tried to fall asleep. but it was one of those nights where your eyes were sleeping, and your body wasn't. hours passed and i was still awake. i tried turning to my side, readjusting my pillow again, but nothing worked. at a loss, i just kept my eyes open and stared at the bottom of the bed above mine.

the older gentleman to my right was snoring like there was no tomorrow, and a woman in her mid-20s to my left kept turning around every 5 minutes. even if i did manage to fall asleep, i probably would've woken up because of one or the other. that's when i heard someone nearby talking, or it was more of a loud whisper. i sat right up on my bed to figure out where the noise was coming from, only to see the source was right in front of me.

myung-gi was talking... but to himself? i slowly peeled the blanket off of myself and threw both legs over the edge of my bed. i stepped on my shoes without properly putting them on, and walked towards his bed, making sure not to make anymore noise that could wake up anyone else. i watched as myung-gi continued to blurt out sentences and random words in his sleep, but i couldn't quite make out what he was actually saying. his eyes were fully closed, but his eyebrows were at a slight furrow with sweat beading on his forehead. he looked like he was burning up. without even realizing, i reached my hand out to his forehead, hovering just an inch above it. i didn't even need to make contact with his skin to know he had a fever. i retracted my hand and bent down to my feet to fully put on my shoes before walking over to the door that led to the restroom. a guard was standing by the door and it took me a good 10 minutes for him to let me use the restroom, finally convincing him by saying it was that time of the month.

i grabbed a long piece of a paper towel, folded it, and let it run under the cold water for a bit. i walked back out the door without the guard noticing the paper towel in my hand and made it back to myung-gi, who was thankfully still asleep. i reached out my arms to place the towel on his forehead, but before i could take them back, myung-gi's hand wrapped around my left wrist. his eyes were slightly open, but i couldn't quite tell if he was actually awake or not.

"stay," he croaked, his voice coming out raspy. i stood there unsure what to do and his grasp still on my arm. "please."

well it's not like i could fall asleep anyway. i used my feet to take off my shoes and climbed into his bed, using his arm as a pillow. i cautiously turned to slightly face him, but myung-gi looked like he had already fallen back asleep. i turned back around, closed my eyes, and without even knowing it, fell asleep right then.

i felt warmer than usual as i started waking up to the same music that played when i first got here. eyes still closed, i turned over to my right side and felt even warmer. it was a nice feeling and i wanted to stay here just for a couple more minutes.

the chatter from the people around me woke me up. vision still blurry, i blinked profusely to make sure i wasn't hallucinating. i was looking straight at myung-gi, our faces almost an inch apart. his eyes were still closed and i could even hear his heartbeat; we were that close. we were also under the same blanket now, not knowing how i even got to that position considering he was hogging the thing when i first laid down.

i didn't know what to do. i didn't want to move now because then he'd wake up and i'd have to confront him. i just kept looking at his face, focusing on the bruise from yesterday, which was now a little darker in color. he didn't look like he still had a fever, but something in me wanted to check anyway. i freed my left arm from my own grip and slowly raised it up to his forehead, but before i could even check, myung-gi opened his eyes. i quickly dropped my hand and closed my eyes, pretending like i had never even woken.

fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit.

then i heard him starting to laugh, myung-gi was laughing at me. i peeked one eye open and he started to laugh even harder. now i felt myself heating up. guards please take me now, just take me now. as i was about to say something, myung-gi used the blanket to cover me entirely and pulled me in even closer.

"what the fuck are you do-" i tried to get out, but my voice got muffled by the blanket as he brought me in even closer. oh my god i thought i was going to explode.

"you hiding something under that blanket?" a voice questioned from outside. i took that as my queue to stay as silent as possible.

"no, why would i be?" myung-gi answered back.

"don't talk back to me, fucker. unless you want a matching black eye." oh, so this must've been the person that beat the shit out of myung-gi yesterday. myung-gi didn't respond this time, but i could feel his arm around me loosen as the footsteps got further away. i reached for the rim of the blanket and pulled it back down enough for my face to show. that was a bad idea, because i was just about touching his chest now.

"if you wanted a hug you could've just said so," he said sarcastically, a one-sided grin forming on his face as he looked down at me.

"in your dreams," i said, all flustered. i quickly pushed myself away before he could pull anything else and practically stumbled out of the bed. i didn't even look back as i put on my shoes and walked out to regroup with the rest of the players.

they had us get into groups of five for the second game, making it a game based on team effort. i teamed up with four older guys, one of them being player 456 from earlier. i was glad i didn't end up with myung-gi this game, because honestly i didn't know how to face him after last night. but i still found myself glancing over at him throughout the game to make sure he was still alive.

we both got through the second game, but it was still silence between us. i didn't go up to him and neither did he try and talk to me. i couldn't fall asleep that night either, but i didn't dare get out of my bed.

the next game came around quickly. i stuck with the group i had made during the previous game, and we quickly got the hang of this new game. we were placed onto a merry-go-round like platform and spun around until the music stopped. the speaker would blurt out a number and the same amount of people would need to run and find a room to stay in. if the room had more or less people than the number that was said, you would die. as a group of 5, we got through teams of 3 and 6 pretty easily. but then the speaker called out 2. i looked up as everyone paired up, and i had no one. my mind went fuzzy, everyone was running around screaming and looking for their friends. i felt like i was going to faint until i felt someone grab onto my wrist and started to drag me off the platform. i picked up on the pace and ran like my life depended on it, because it did.

we ran into a purple room and shut the door. my back was pinned to the wall as myung-gi still held onto my wrist. we were both trying to catch our breath, but then he leaned in closer. my body froze and we were only inches apart again. i was looking into his eyes, then panned down to his lips, just to trace back up to his eyes again. the door clicked shut and we were stuck in here. together.

in that moment, i felt his lips touch mine. i closed my eyes as i let myself melt into the kiss. he let go of my wrist and positioned one hand at my waist while the other creeped up the back of my neck. i could feel my shirt fleeting as his fingertips made contact with my skin ever so lightly. my hands made their way up his chest as i gripped onto his shirt and pulled him in even closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a whiny moan from him. i wanted this to go on forever.

the door made another clicking sound, letting us know we could go back out. i loosened my grip before myung-gi could get his hand up any higher under my shirt.

"we have to," i let out, mid-kiss, "go." we both came to a stop then, realizing we had to go back out onto the platform. i quickly straightened up my shirt with my hands and reached up to myung-gi's hair which was looking all disheveled now to smooth it back out into his natural middle part.

"we're not done yet," he whispered into my ear as we walked out the door, parting ways once again.

that's when i knew i'd be getting a good night's sleep tonight.

#squid game #player 333 #im siwan #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #lee myunggi

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ramp-it-up · 2 months ago

Text

Baby Cakes & Tough Guy

Summary: You co-own Baby Cakes Bakery with your bestie Monica Rambeau, direct competition for the Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson owned Howling Commando Baked Goods. And now you are competing head to head in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off. You're sugar, spice and everything nice and Bucky is... Grumpy. Can you sweeten him up, or is he going to make you into a sour puss?

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Baker!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Reader;

Sam Wilson x reader, & Monica Rambeau x reader (platonic)

A/N: This is inspired by the #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Bakery AU, and has completed my card. I don't know if you could tell, but I have had an absolute BALL with these prompts. And this one was especially fun. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All errors my own. Angst. Grumpy Bucky, rustic baking, baking competition, mutual pining, rivalries, undeniable chemistry, Bucky’s an ass, but he makes up for it, oral (m/f receiving), sloppy blow job, praise kink, nipple play, orgasm denial, raw p-in-v, creampie, reference to eating the groceries, possessive Bucky. ��

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The first time you ever saw Bucky Barnes, he was scowling at a sack of flour like it personally offended him.

You adjusted your Baby Cakes apron and bit back a laugh.

“This is gonna be fun,” you murmured as you set up your station in The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off tent in Prospect Park.

“Fun?”

Monica snorted from beside you.

“Babe, this is war. Do you even know who that is?”

You glanced over at the very grumpy man two stations down. His broad shoulders strained against a black apron that read Tough Guy, and his arms were crossed like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His biceps popped as he folded them tighter.

Damn.

And then his sharp blue eyes flicked to yours. You definitely got caught staring. Bucky’s scowl deepened and you suppressed the urge to stick out your tongue.

“Should I?” you asked Monica, arching a brow.

She leaned in conspiratorially.

“That’s Bucky Barnes. Co-owner of Howling Commandos Baked Goods. And you know they’ve been stealing our customers with their ‘no-frills, real-deal, rustic baking’ nonsense.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh no. Not rustic baking,” you mocked.

“I’m serious!”

Monica flapped a hand.

“Foodie blogs won’t shut up about them. And he and his partner, Sam Wilson, act like they’re too cool for anything frilly.”

She air-quoted dramatically.

“AKA us.”

You shrugged.

“Guess we’ll have to prove them wrong.”

But as you turned back to your ingredients, you felt it, that distinct sensation of being watched. And when you glanced up again, Bucky was still looking.

Not just looking, but assessing.

Outright staring.

Then, at the last second, his mouth quirked in the faintest smirk. A silent challenge.

Your stomach flipped.

Yes. This was going to be interesting.

—

Bucky was already regretting this.

The second Sam convinced him to sign up for this competition, he knew it was a mistake.

"Dude, it’s good exposure. Plus, imagine the free marketing when we crush everyone else."

Bucky had reluctantly agreed. But now, standing in this tent, surrounded by pastel-colored mixing bowls and way too much cheerfulness, he was rethinking everything.

Especially when he saw you.

You.

You, with your too-bright smile and sugar-dusted cheeks.

You, adjusting your apron, hands moving with the ease of someone who loved this.

You, already chatting with the other contestants, laughing like this was a Saturday morning bake sale instead of a competition.

And the worst part?

You were good.

He hadn’t tasted a single thing you’d made yet, but he could tell.

By the way that you measured your ingredients with confidence.

By the way you scanned your recipe, fully in control.

By the way you smiled like baking was fun.

Sam elbowed him.

“Dude. You’re staring.”

Bucky grunted.

“Sizing up the competition.”

“Yeah? Or are you just into her?”

Bucky fixed Sam with a glare.

“She’s the enemy.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Sam snorted.

Bucky clenched his jaw and turned back to his station.

This was just a competition.

Nothing more.

—

You never expected this when you signed up for The Best in Brooklyn Bake-Off.

Stress? Absolutely.

Flour in your hair? Without a doubt.

A full-blown panic attack over an underbaked sponge cake? Practically guaranteed.

But Bucky Barnes?

Never in a million years.

And yet, there he was, the grumpiest, scowliest contestant in the history of televised baking.

"Are you serious?" he muttered, watching as you carefully piped pink buttercream onto your cupcakes.

You glanced up, blinking adorably up at him.

"What?"

He jerked a thumb at your apron, enjoying the view as he eyed the logo printed across your breasts.

"Baby Cakes."

You flashed a proud grin.

"That’s our bakery."

His scowl deepened. He already knew that. He was there for your introduction.

Of course, you would own a place called Baby Cakes, a bright, pastel-colored bakery specializing in mini cupcakes and love-themed treats. It was the exact opposite of his and Sam’s Howling Commandos Baked Goods, where everything was dark wood, bold flavors, and exactly zero sprinkles.

"Figures," he muttered.

Bucky told himself he didn’t like the way you smile. That the sound of your laugh wasn’t cute as hell.

And that was a problem because every time you smiled at him, it got that much harder to pretend he didn’t love it. And every time you laughed, it became difficult as hell to not laugh with you.

And the way you looked. He took the opportunity to appreciate your generous curves, and the way your thick curls hid your cute as a candy button face as you were concentrating on what you were doing.

The thought popped into his head that wanted to taste you.

Where did that come from?

He cleared his throat as you finished piping, straightened up, and extended your hand. Bucky hesitated, then took it grudgingly.

Your name rolled easily off your tongue, warm and inviting. He uttered his in return, then slowly extracted his hand, swiping the bit of frosting you left behind onto his finger.

And then, he licked it off.

You shouldn’t have found messy hands sexy. But watching Bucky Barnes taste your buttercream, his tongue swiping slowly over his fingertip?

Yeah. That definitely did something to you.

You let out a small hum before you stopped yourself.

Or was that a moan?

His blue eyes flicked up, knowing, teasing, and challenging you.

"Way too much sugar," he muttered, backing away as he took note of your dilated eyes.

He thought about your reaction to him and almost tripped over Sam while trying to look cool. You bit your lip to hold back your laughter as he stormed back to his station, looking like an actual thundercloud.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head.

"Man, you’re screwed."

And for the first time in his life, Bucky wondered if maybe Sam was right.

—----

Day after day, you and Bucky clashed.

He rolled his eyes at your sprinkles. You teased him about his obsession with “serious” baking.

But somewhere between the macaron challenge and the lightning round, something shifted.

One night, after a particularly brutal bread challenge, you found yourselves alone in the kitchen. The others had gone, but you were still cleaning up when Bucky leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You surprised me today,” he said gruffly.

You glanced over at him, raising a brow.

“Because I made a decent brioche?”

He smirked, just a little.

“Because you didn’t let the stress get to you.”

You scoffed.

“I did cry a little behind the fridge.”

That almost-smirk softened into something dangerously close to a smile. And you almost swooned at how handsome he was.

“You care about this. That’s… kinda cool.”

Your heart did a funny little flip.

Bucky should have walked away. Should’ve ignored the way you looked at him like he wasn’t the grumpiest asshole in the tent.

But he didn’t. Instead, he reached out, swiping a bit of frosting from your wrist.

“Lemon?” he guessed.

“Vanilla bean with a hint of lime,” you corrected.

He licked it off his finger, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You grew warm as you noted the twinkle in those true blue eyes.

You began to wonder if he did it on purpose, if he knew how it affected you last time.

He nodded.

“Not bad, Baby Cakes.”

And just like that, you knew that maybe grumpy, scowly Bucky Barnes wasn’t such a tough guy after all.

——-

By the fifth day of the competition, tensions were high.

And not just the who’s-going-to-win-the-grand-prize kind of tension.

No.

This was something else. Something hotter.

Which is why, when you snuck into the kitchen after hours to squeeze in some extra practice, you weren’t even surprised to find Bucky Barnes already there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his black apron slung over his shoulder like he owned the place.

“Seriously?” you sighed, setting down your mixing bowl. “You couldn’t pick another time to lurk in the shadows like some kind of kitchen goblin?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d gotten from him all week.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a whisk.

“Well, I was here first.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You huffed. “I was in spirit.”

That did it.

Bucky let out something suspiciously close to a laugh, a low, raspy sound that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. Shaking it off, you started working, pouring flour into a bowl and focusing on your batter.

Or at least, you tried to.

But you could feel his eyes on you, staring at you intently. After a few minutes, you glanced up, exasperated.

“What?”

“I didn’t peg you for the burning-the-midnight-oil-so-you-can-win-the-competition kind of intense.”

"I’m not usually," you admitted, nudging a stray bit of flour with your foot.

"Just… nerves, I guess."

He pushed off the counter and strolled over to you.

"You’re gonna dominate this competition, Baby Cakes. You’re good.”

You blinked. Did Bucky Barnes, the king of scowls, just compliment you?

Your brow furrowed.

“Is this some kind of mind game? Because if it is, I’m not falling for it, Tough Guy.”

He shrugged, and this time, he smiled. A real one. Just a flicker, but enough to make your pulse trip.

“No games. Just calling it like I see it.”

You were incredulous.

“You do know I’m your biggest competition, right?"

"Yeah.” His eyes searched your face. “And I still meant it."

Something in your chest tightened. And it was bad. Really bad. Because for the first time since this competition started, you weren’t sure if you wanted to beat Bucky Barnes.

Or kiss him.

You mentally rattled off all the reasons why that was a terrible idea, but before you could get through them, his voice cut through your thoughts.

“I can hear your brain going, you know.”

You gasped, half-thinking he could actually read your mind.

“You’re an over thinker,” he said, quiet but certain, like he already knew you.

“And your worst habit is scowling at my cupcakes like you're judging them,” you teased, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

Bucky laughed again.

“I am judging. Too much frosting.”

You were ready to fire back, but the moment your eyes locked, the words caught in your throat. The dim kitchen light softened him. Made him look less guarded, more real. His sharp blue gaze flicked over your face, lingering on your lips just a second too long.

The air between you shifted, heavier than before. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerators and your own heartbeat pounding way too fast.

You gaped at him.

"Well, you!... I mean, do you, um…,"

You cleared your throat and looked around at everything else in the tent except Bucky.

"You have a favorite moment from the bake off so far?"

Bucky studied you for a beat, then smirked. He was making you uncomfortable. How interesting. He wasn't alone in this infatuation.

"Yeah."

You waited, expecting him to say something about his caramel tarts or his perfect sourdough. Instead, he took a step closer.

"It was the first day," he murmured.

"When you walked in with that ridiculous pink apron and told the judges your bakery was called Baby Cakes. I remember thinking…"

He shook his head.

"Damn. I’m in trouble."

Your breath hitched.

"Bucky…"

But before you could say anything, before you could do anything, he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Night, Baby Cakes," he said, his voice rough.

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, brain spinning, completely and utterly ruined for him.

—

After that night, everything between you and Bucky changed. You still bickered. Oh, did you bicker. But now every jab carried a tension that coiled tighter with every glance.

"Too much sugar, Baby Cakes," he mumbled during the pastry challenge, his voice low as his sharp eyes raked over your cherry almond tart with disdain.

"Too much salt, Tough Guy," you fired back, swiping a taste of his dark chocolate sea salt ganache before he could stop you.

He froze as you licked the spoon clean, your tongue sliding across the curve with deliberate precision. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as if he was wrestling with something he couldn’t name.

Oh.

“That’s debatable,” he finally managed, though his voice came out rough, almost strained.

You smiled, thinking you might have a lot power.

And then came the announcement that made your stomach flip. The dreaded Team Challenge.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Bucky groaned when the producers called your names together.

"Oh, come on," you teased, bumping his arm with a grin you hoped looked more confident than you felt. "You’re gonna love working with me."

"Doubt it," he grumbled, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The challenge? A three-tiered wedding cake, elegant and sophisticated.

A perfect harmony of flavors, the producers said. In reality, it felt like a recipe for disaster.

Your styles clashed like oil and water. You craved delicate piping and romantic floral details; Bucky wanted bold flavors and sharp, clean lines.

Hearts versus hands.

Sugar versus salt.

But somewhere between rolling fondant and whipping buttercream, something shifted.

He steadied your hands when your piping wavered, his warm fingers brushing yours just a little longer than necessary. You softened his scowls with quick jokes, your laughter breaking through the walls he tried to keep firmly in place.

You moved like you’d been baking together for years, finding a rhythm that felt natural.

When the final timer buzzed, you both stepped back, staring at your creation in awe.

Three tiers of vanilla bean sponge cake, layered with a tart blackberry compote and tangy lemon curd, wrapped in pristine white fondant. Gold dust kissed the edges, while delicate sugar roses cascaded down the sides like a fairytale.

It wasn’t just good. It was breathtaking.

For the first time, Bucky turned to you without his usual smirk or scowl.

“Nice work, Baby Cakes,” he murmured, his voice low.

“You too, Tough Guy,” you whispered, your heart racing at the way his eyes lingered on you.

The judges swooned, declaring it the best cake of the show. You and Bucky won the challenge.

Without thinking, Bucky picked you up, arms wrapped around your waist and spun you around. The broad smile on his face disappeared as you slid down his body back to the ground.

Both of you cleared your throats and went opposite ways out of the tent, as Monica and Sam shared a look.

Later that night, after the cameras stopped rolling, you found yourself outside by the catering table, sneaking an extra slice.

"Thought you’d be sick of it by now," Bucky said, leaning beside you, his presence close and warm in the cool night air.

"Never," you grinned, licking a dollop of frosting off your thumb before realizing how much attention he was paying to the movement.

“Although,” you added, suddenly self-conscious, “I should probably stop sampling the wares. My jeans are struggling.”

You looked away, cheeks warming, thinking about how you had to jump to put your jeans on, but when you glanced back, you caught him looking. Not just at you, but at your ass in your jeans.

“Looks like a productive struggle,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a husky timbre that made your pulse skip. “Don’t change a thing, Baby Cakes.”

Bucky licked his lips, his gaze trailing back to your mouth, and before you could process what was happening, his thumb brushed your lips, swiping away some frosting.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, savoring the essence of you. Bucky tasted like buttercream and something more flavorful, something with more depth. Something like him.

His lips moved against yours with knee-weakening confidence, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cradling your jaw.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, "Not bad."

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin.

"Not bad at all."

The kiss felt like magic, like folding sugar into butter, like the perfect meringue gaining its peaks. But then reality came crashing back.

“Well, well, well!”

You and Bucky sprang apart, both turning to see Monica standing there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Uh," you stammered, feeling your stomach drop.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Monica.

"So, are you two, like, together-together?" Monica asked, her tone dripping with amusement.

"Or was this just a ‘we made a wedding cake and got caught up in the moment’ thing?"

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Bucky beat you to it.

"We’re not together," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ouch.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, but Monica’s raised brow told you she wasn’t buying it.

"Riiight," she drawled. "Well, if you were together, you’d make a killer duo. That cake? Best one I’ve had in a long time."

She sauntered off, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning and heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

"Listen, Baby Cakes," Bucky started, his voice tight, but you held up a hand.

"Nope," you said quickly, your tone sharp. "It’s fine. We’re here to bake, not… whatever that was."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly.

"Right. Baking. That’s what we’re here for."

Later, at the bar celebrating with the crew, you avoided him entirely, but you felt his eyes on you all night.

“Bucky’s over there looking like someone stole his candy thermometer.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and found him watching you moodily. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your drink.

“He’ll be aight.”

Monica shook her head.

“Ya’ll are two hard heads, but that’s one of my business.”

When Monica left you alone, you thought about what happened earlier. How embarrassed you were when Bucky denied anything between you. And now here he was, moping around because you wouldn’t speak to him.

Too bad, you thought bitterly. Bucky blew his chance. You weren’t about to let yourself get hurt again.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the question: Why did that kiss feel like the start of something?

At first, Bucky told himself he’d dodged a bullet. You were too bubbly, too happy, too... everything he wasn’t. It would never have worked.

But as he watched you laugh with everyone else, refusing to look his way, something felt wrong.

Wrong like a cake that collapsed in the oven.

Wrong like he’d measured something incorrectly and couldn’t figure out what.

He saw it in your eyes.

In the way your shoulders stiffened when he denied anything between you.

In the way you brushed flour off your apron aggressively.

Bucky fucked up.

And now, all he could think about was how to fix it, because for the first time in years, he was craving a little sugar to balance his spice.

—-

The next morning, before filming started, Bucky found you in the prep kitchen, alone. You were at the counter, rolling out dough with a little too much force, your shoulders tight, your jaw clenched.

"That dough do something to offend you, Baby Cakes?" he asked, leaning against the counter, hoping the teasing tone would draw out the usual playful spark in your eyes.

But you didn’t look up.

"Just getting out some aggression," you muttered, your hands moving with sharp, angry precision.

Bucky exhaled, frustration building. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to be better at saying the right thing, but years of being tough and closed-off made it hard for the words to come.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he did what he knew best.

He baked.

When he came back to himself, baking became his real therapy. A time and space for him to really work out all that he had seen and done.

A chance to create instead of destroy.

Silently, he worked at the station next to yours, kneading dough, measuring ingredients, and whisking with deliberate care. You pretended not to notice, but as the warm scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and caramel began to fill the air, it became impossible to ignore.

Finally, he slid a small plate toward you, a delicate pastry, golden brown and still warm.

"What’s this?" you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Sticky bun," he said, shifting on his feet. "Made it the way you like. Soft in the middle. Extra pecans."

How did he know that? Monica.

Your lips pressed together, but the flicker of interest in your eyes gave you away. He'd done his research on you. Breaking off a piece, you popped it into your mouth, and immediately sighed.

It was perfect. Gooey and rich, sweet but balanced.

"Okay," you admitted, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"This is dangerously good."

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile as he watched you eat.

"I was an ass yesterday," he said softly, his voice low and rough.

"I didn’t mean to… Look, I panicked. I wasn’t trying to hurt you."

You put the sticky bun down and turned to face him fully, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze.

"Then what were you trying to do?"

His tongue swept over his bottom lip, his brows furrowing like he was weighing each word carefully.

"I guess I thought if I said it out loud, it’d be easier to ignore how much I want you," he confessed, his voice raw and unguarded.

"Didn’t work."

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, suddenly too aware of how close he was standing, of the heat radiating from his body. Of how he seemed to be holding himself back at the moment.

"You want me," you said slowly, almost testing the words.

Bucky nodded, his gaze unwavering.

"Yeah. And I know I’ve gotta prove it now. Because I fucked up.”

His blue, blue eyes shone with sincerity. And something else.

“I fumbled a beautiful, talented, sexy woman like you."

You let the silence stretch, let him sweat a little. Then, with deliberate slowness, you broke off another piece of the sticky bun and pressed it to his lips.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he opened his mouth, taking the bite, and sucking the tips of your fingers into his mouth and licking between them as he did, eyes on you the entire time. The gentle pull of his lips sent a thrill down your spine. And the vulgar promise of his tongue had heat pooling low in your belly.

Your nipples hardened, and a fresh wave of arousal swept through you, dampening your panties.

"G-good start," you murmured, your voice husky. "But it’s just a start."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips at your stutter.

"Then I guess I’ll just have to keep sweetening you up," he drawled, the heat in his gaze making it clear he wasn’t just talking about baking.

But you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily. For the rest of the day, you kept your distance, not too far, but far enough to make him feel it. Enough to make him yearn for you.

Bucky turned into an absolute softie, sneaking you little treats between takes, making sure you had the good whisk before grabbing his own, brushing a hand against your lower back, warm finger splayed wide, when he passed behind you, murmuring a low "behind" that sent shivers racing across your skin.

Monica noticed, of course.

"You’re making him work for it," she said approvingly as she piled buttercream onto a tray of cupcakes.

"I’m not–"

She shot you a knowing look. "Girl, please."

Fine. Maybe you were. Maybe you liked watching Bucky struggle his way through this. Maybe you liked seeing the grumpiest man in the competition try to charm you with sugar, spice, and smoldering glances that left your pulse skipping.

They announced you as winner of the competition and Bucky inclined his head at you, a real smile on his face.

And that night, he took it a step further.

------

When you came back late to the brownstone after staying out with the others, you found something waiting for you on the kitchen counter.

A cake.

Not just any cake, your favorite. Fucking Monica.

It was carrot cake, three perfectly even layers of moist, spiced goodness, slathered with smooth cream cheese frosting. Tiny sugar pearls lined the edges, and an intricate sugar carrot sat on top.

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat.

Bucky stood off to the side, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, biceps popping. He was still in his apron, his face serious, but his blue eyes searched yours, a flicker of uncertainty behind them.

"Took me all damn night," he said gruffly.

You stepped closer, still processing.

"You made this?"

His jaw ticked, like he was bracing for impact.

"Had some help from Sam," he admitted.

A loud snort came from the doorway.

"Some help? Try a lot," Sam called as he trudged up the stairs.

"Give him a break, Baby Cakes, so he can stop behaving like a lovesick idiot every time you walk into, or out of a room. Or basically all the time."

Bucky ignored him, his attention fixed on you.

"Lovesick?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I uhhh…”

Bucky looked so cute in that moment, the most vulnerable you’d seen him.

"I need you to know that I see you," he said, his voice low and steady.

"I see how much heart you put into your baking. How much you care about this, about everything."

He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

"And I see that I hurt you, and I hate that."

You stared at him, at the raw emotion in his eyes. Slowly, you picked up a fork and took a bite of the cake.

It was perfect. Moist, spiced just right, and the frosting was tangy and smooth.

"Damn you," you muttered, your voice thick.

"That bad?" he asked, a flicker of amusement breaking through his tension.

"No," you huffed. "It’s amazing."

His lips twitched. "Good."

Setting the fork down, you stepped closer until there was barely an inch between you. His breath hitched as your hand pressed against his chest, the heat of him seeping into your palm.

"You really want this?" you murmured. "Us?"

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

"Yes," he said firmly, his voice steady. "I do."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. He leaned in, and this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t gentle. It was fire, slow at first, then smoldering.

But then Bucky groaned against your mouth, a sound that sent shockwaves through you, and the heat increased. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

You pulled him closer by his shirt and his hands slid past your waist, gripping your ass like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure this was real.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Bucky,” but he swallowed whatever you were about to say, and lifted you onto the counter in one fluid motion.

You barely had time to register the cold marble beneath you before his hands were everywhere, skimming up your thighs, gripping your hips, and tracing fire along your skin. You hooked your legs around him, dragging him closer, until you could feel his hard cock in his jeans, letting you know just how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

“Your room or mine?” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

“Oh God…”

You struggled to think through the haze of arousal clouding your mind. Your room at the back of the house was tucked away from everyone else.

“Mine.”

Bucky kissed you again, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Smart cookie.”

You giggled softly as he lifted you off the counter, and the two of you tried, and failed, to make it to your room quietly. By some miracle, you managed to shut the door before his hands were back on you.

"I've not been with anyone in over a year. Still get tested every six months."

Bucky's voice was sexy; what he was saying was even more so.

“But tell me to stop if you don’t want to do this,” he rasped against your neck.

You tilted your head back, offering more.

“Don’t you dare.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest as his mouth crashed back onto yours, his tongue sweeping past your lips with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your tight nipples and drawing shivers in their wake.

He pulled back just enough to lift the hem of your shirt, his blue eyes searching yours.

“Can I?”

You nodded, but he shook his head, his jaw tight.

“Need you to say it.”

You stepped back, peeling your shirt off yourself, a teasing grin on your lips.

“How’s that for consent? I want you tonight, Bucky Barnes. Got tested last month and I have an IUD. You can fuck me raw if you want.”

His breath hitched, his eyes darkening with raw, unfiltered desire.

“Jesus,” he murmured, his hands spreading over you like he was memorizing the feel of you. “You’re perfect.”

His blue eyes glowed as he wrapped one hand around your neck, his thumb resting on your pulse point, making your heart flutter.

You lifted his shirt and ran your fingers over his stomach and abs, exploring his warm skin as the kiss intensified even more.

You reached for his shirt, sliding it up to reveal taut muscle and smooth skin. Your hands explored him, tracing the lines of his stomach as the kiss deepened.

You were aching for him.

When his mouth moved lower, tracing hot kisses down your neck and between your collarbones, a soft moan escaped you. He didn’t stop there, his lips finding your nipples through the lace of your bra. The wet heat of his tongue teased you mercilessly until he unhooked the clasp.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your pussy clenching as his lips closed around your bare nipple. He suckled urgently, his hand massaging the other, and the pleasure shot straight to your core.

When he knelt in front of you, tugging your jeans and panties down, you gasped as you looked down into his shining blue eyes.

You stepped out of them and almost immediately, and he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to you there.

“Been waiting to taste you, Baby Cakes,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled as his tongue parted your folds, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit.

Bucky lifted one leg onto his shoulder and you arched against his mouth, gasping when he laved your clit and licked up the wetness collected in your slit.

“Mmmmm. Delicious,” Bucky’s eyes glinted up at you.

He groaned in satisfaction.

“Sweet, with just a hint of spice… just like I thought.”

You pushed Bucky’s head back to where it was meant be.

“Stop talking and eat me, Barnes.”

His chuckle vibrated against you, and then his tongue found your clit, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through your body. He licked and sucked, working you like it was his life’s purpose, and every flick of his tongue pushed you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna…”

But he pulled back before you could finish, leaving you trembling and desperate. You barely had time to protest before he stood, kissed you hard, and moved you to the foot of the bed.

Clothes hit the floor in a blur, and when you finally looked down, his cock stood proudly between you. You sat down on the bed, and you were face to face with the most beautiful penis you’d ever seen.

It was long and thick and heavily veined with a large perfectly shaped head. Your mouth watered, and you looked up at him.

“Need to taste you now, Tough Guy.”

You leaned forward and licked him from base to head stopping to suck on it, relishing the tight flesh in your mouth, then slurped the pre-cum dripping from his slit. Then you pulled off, jacking him with the lubrication of your saliva.

“Tangy, yet surprisingly sweet. A piquant–”

Bucky cut you off by shoving his cock as far down your throat as he could. You moaned around him, adding to his pleasure.

You looked up at him and his eyes were incandescent. You didn’t break eye contact as your throat constricted around his hardness, your mouth dripping with spit. Your eyes stung with tears, but you kept pushing until you were choking around the base of his big dick.

Bucky watched you with fascination, his hips involuntarily pushing shallowly into your mouth.

“Christ. You’re gonna fucking ruin me,” he rasped. “So good. So perfect. But I knew you would be.”

You moaned at the praise, pulling off of him, long strings of fluid connecting your mouth to his delicious cock.

“Who knew that Baby Cakes was such a Dirty Girl,” he purred, eyes ablaze. “Need to fuck you now, sweetheart.”

You whimpered and leaned back as Bucky leaned over you and slid into you in one slow, deliberate thrust. You swore the world stopped spinning.

“Fuck, Baby…”

His forehead dropped to yours, his voice trembling as he filled you slowly, completely. Your body arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you reacted to the stretch.

“Bucky…”

“Look at me,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

“Wanna see you.”

And then he moved, each thrust hitting you perfectly, dragging moans from your lips. After finding the technique to make you crumble around him, his control slipped, his movements grew frantic, desperate, and it was heaven.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your body tightening around him. “Always.”

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, pulling you under. Bucky followed with a ragged groan, burying himself deep as he spilled into you.

When the world settled, he pressed a lazy kiss to your jaw, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Told you I’d win… you over.”

You huffed a breathless laugh, running your fingers through his damp curls.

“Asshole.”

His grin widened.

“Is that what you want me to taste next?”

His eyes flicked down your body.

“Seems to be lots of buttercream down there…”

“Bucky!” you yelped as he reached for you again.

—-

Did you like it? Let me know!

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #hbbb #bucky barnes x you #baker!bucky #baker!bucky barnes #x reader #avengers assemble bingo #sam wilson #monica rambeau #4bbingo #happy birthday bucky barnes

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yuurei20 · 16 days ago

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Favorite Foods and Why: Pomefiore (⚠️ groovied card art below ⚠️)

Vil's favorite food is "homemade smoothies."

He makes smoothies for Rook and Epel with fruit from Sunset Savanna, explaining, "What we put in our bodies is just as important as what we put on them...These vitamin-rich smoothies are good for both your looks AND your health."

Vil mentions procuring smoothie ingredients in the Scalding Sands, a smoothie shop he likes in the Fairest City, green smoothies for daily vegetable intake and says that potionology techniques comes in handy for blending smoothies.

Vil says he normally has a custom smoothie every morning.

Rook's favorite food is live pâte. He explains, "To think a single dish could be both rustic AND refined at the same time... Ah, such a delicacy!"

When asked what his favorite food is Epel is happy to explain his love of yakiniku (written as both "grilled meat" and "barbecue" on EN):

Back home, we'd have barbecues where all the neighbors would turn out, grown-ups and young-uns alike. We'd take big ol' hunks'a meat and grill 'em over a charcoal fire. Finger food don't exactly make for fancy eatin', but BOY HOWDY is it a mighty fine meal! And then there's all the fresh veggies. They've got a natural sweetness to 'em. You can eat em straight off the grill without puttin' anything on 'em, and they're already perfect!

Realizing that he is saying something that Vil would not approve of Epel then follows with, "Well, I do have one thing I like even more. It's, ah, macarons. They're...cute. And sweet! And they come in lots of different flavors. They're not very filling, but still."

Having a supposed love for macarons seems to be one of the ways Epel is learning to adapt to Pomefiore: when Epel first admits to Vil that his favorite food is yakiniku Vil rejects his response and orders him to come up with a favorite food that better suits their dorm.

Interestingly, Epel seems to have actually come up with the cover for macarons prior to his vignette with Vil: in Ace's ceremonial vignette, timed to take place after Vil has physically beaten Epel into submission but before their conversation at the dorm, it is possible that we see Epel come up with macarons as a response that he assumes would be expected of him.

And he is proven right, with Ace saying that he gives off the vibe of someone who would like macarons, and laughing aloud when Epel follows with "and yakiniku" for being in such a contrast to his appearance.

When Vil decides to get Epel macarons as a souvenir from the Fairest City Ace is surprised to hear that macarons are supposedly Epel's favorite food, saying that Epel has said he likes "more filling stuff," and especially barbecue, to which Vil responds, "Epel. Loves. Macarons. It seems he hasn't been forthcoming with that information. Well, that won't do. I'll have to have a talk with him when we're back at school."

When Epel is offered macarons during Glorious Masquerade he is less than thrilled, confusing Azul, who says that according to his "intel" macarons are supposed to be Epel's favorite food.

This was possibly a reference to Jade's ceremonial vignette where we see him provide Azul with a registry of all the first-year students, and take it upon himself to also procure information such as "home countries, hobbies, tastes, least favorite foods, and worst subjects."

#twstfood #twisted wonderland #Vil Schoenheit #Rook Hunt #Epel Felmier

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axeeglitter · 27 days ago

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Contract of the Flesh

Jonathan Bell used to be the proud owner of a small artisan bakery tucked into a quiet street corner of Vancouver. With warm wood interiors, rustic loaves, and a dream that rose like his sourdough starters, he thought he had finally carved out his own space in the world. But dreams, like pastries, can collapse if the heat is too high and the timing too wrong.

The pandemic had gutted foot traffic. Costs rose. Rent doubled. Desperate to keep the doors open, Jonathan took out loans from sources he didn’t understand, hidden behind sleek business cards and fake smiles. Men who never wrote their names down, who only gave numbers and took them back later with sharp interest. Jonathan couldn’t accept to lose his dream. Not after all he had done to make it a reality. He just needed more time to jump back on track. But every day, less and less customer came and soon he was the only one in there.

After 4 more month of struggle and financial deficit, the bakery closed permanently. Jonathan lost everything; his business, his dream, his confidence. But the debts remained. And they were due. After another terrible mental day of giving his resume to every possible company he could think of, he finally was on his way back home. His shoulders were low and his back broken by the weight of the responsibilities and his anxiety. As he walked in front of what was once his bakery, he saw that the place was now empty of life and hope. Everything had been taken down except the sign on the front with “Bakery” written in gold. Jonathan sighed and his shoulders fell back a bit lower as he resumed his path. “Excuse me sir! Do you know what happened to this place? I heard it was a really bakery but I see it’s closed.” He heard from behind him as he turned back to see who was talking. Jonathan stood there, not answering for a couple of second before realizing the young couple was talking to him. “Oh Hello. Sorry I was lost in my thoughts. Well yes, I know. This bakery was mine but I had to close a couple of weeks ago. The pandemic and the big Supermarket grabbed my last clients and I couldn’t face it anymore. Sorry but you are coming a bit too late!” he finished trying to change the mood of the conversation with a faint smile as he turned his way back to resume his path. “In fact, I think we are coming right at the perfect timing!” said the couple as they jumped on Jonathan’s back, taking him out as he fainted on the spot.

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

Jonathan woke in a place he didn’t recognize.

The room was dark, lit only by the low glow of strange machines and an overhead bulb that cast him in stark, dramatic light. He was strapped tightly to a cold, metallic chair with his arms and legs restrained. His breath came fast, fogging the air in front of him. Every muscle in his body ached, and terror sat like a stone in his chest.

In front of him, lounging on a velvet couch that looked out of place in such an industrial space, sat a man in a mahogany coat and a white shirt. He was tall, lean, and somehow too composed. His eyes, a pale steel-gray, didn’t blink. Two more men stood flanking the couch.

Jonathan swallowed hard. “Please,” he said, voice dry. “Where am I?”

The man on the couch tilted his head slowly, like a wolf considering its prey.

“You borrowed,” he said quietly. “You signed. Now you repay.” Jonathan’s eyes opened big as he understood who this person lurching in the shadows was.

“Mister Alaric. I; if I could just explain,” Jonathan stammered, his voice cracking as he shifted against the bindings. “The bakery failed. I’m looking for a job so I can repay you. I will pay, I just need some more time. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I didn’t know you…”

“You knew enough to take the money.”

There was no anger in the man’s voice. That terrified Jonathan more than shouting ever could. This wasn’t a negotiation. It was a statement.

In a smooth and soft movement, the men got up and for the first time, Jonathan could see his face. He took a step on the left and went to the desk on the left corner of the room where he grabbed and opened a wooden box Jonathan watched, trembling in fear and anticipation as he thought it was the end. But when the men turned back, he was holding a pair of glasses between his rugged fingers. It looked like a pair of futuristic-looking glasses, with slim lenses and a pulsing blue edge shining in the internal side of the glasses. He slipped them onto his face and smile before taking a pause in his path.

Invisible to Jonathan’s eyes, the glasses lit on with a pressure of the men’s fingers on the branches and a panel of light flared into the air around him. His hand moved slowly through the space around him, moving left and right, up and down, like if he was adjusting parameters on invisible sliders.

Jonathan blinked. “What are you doing? What is it?”

No answer.

The man turned his head slightly toward the empty chair beside Jonathan. With a smooth, practiced gesture, he swiped something in the air and reality started to ripple and adjust. The chair began to shimmer, its form flickering like a broken screen. The edges warped, twisted, and melted. Within seconds, the chair had become a tall bottle of whiskey sitting on a small wooden table.

Jonathan stared, frozen in surprise and incomprehension. “How is it possible? What happened?!” he screamed as tears of sweat started to pour from his forehead.

The man stood, plucked the bottle from the air like it had always been there, and poured himself a glass. He sat back down and sipped, still watching Jonathan.

No explanation. No warning.

“How is that possible? What happened to the chair? What was that?” Jonathan continued, still surprised and terrified about what happened next to him. In front of his eyes, the reality adjusted and the chair had disappeared. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t.

“So, as I was saying, Jonathan. You owe me money.” The men said in a calm voice taking a sip of whisky.

Jonathan’s breathing was shallow, his eyes darting wildly around the room, trying to find logic to what just happened, a way out, something, anything. But it was the man in the glasses who moved instead; slow, measured, confident.

He took another sip of whisky before putting it on the table on his right, stood from the couch and walked closer to Jonathan’s bound, trembling form. The soft click of his shoes echoed in the strange, sterile space. Jonathan felt his skin crawl.

The man crouched to his level. Their eyes met. Jonathan’s lips quivered.

“I don’t understand; please. Let me go” he whispered, a single tear escaping the corner of his eye.

The man reached forward with one hand and gently wiped the tear away with the tip of his index finger.

“You will.” Mister Alaric said simply before walking a few steps back to face him. He then snapped his fingers and the two men standing behind the couch started to walk to Jonathan. Still bonded to the chair with duct tape, Jonathan couldn’t do anything except seeing the two men walking in his direction. “Please no! Stop! I’m sorry. Don’t…” Jonathan couldn’t finish his sentence as one of the men grabbed a pair of scissors and started to cut open Jonathan’s shirt in the middle of the chest. The other one did the same with the pair of jeans he was wearing. Then the same happened with Jonathan’s underwear. After a couple of minutes, Jonathan stood there, naked but still attached to the chair. His clothes shredded on his body and on the ground beneath his feet. “Thank you. You can go now.” Said Mister Alaric nodding to his bodyguards as they exited the room. Leaving it only between him and Jonathan’s naked body. “Now, I think we should start, shall we?” Mister Alaric said as for the first time, Jonathan could see a fainted smile creep on the corner of his lips. Jonathan watched, heart hammering in his chest, as the man lifted his hand again and began to move his fingers through the air. To Jonathan, it looked like he was miming gestures in an invisible box. He couldn't see the panels, the floating fields of data, sliders, toggles, each one labeled with anatomical terms and arcane modifiers.

The man’s eyes glowed behind the lenses as he stared at Jonathan. Every motion he made adjusted the reality until the simulation he was working with finally satisfied his envies. “Perfect” Mister Alaric said in a calm emotionless voice as his fingers double clicked on an invisible checkbox. “Please, I promise I will pay you ba… aaAAhhHHH” Jonathan screamed as an alien sensation invaded his whole body. It felt like his core was imploding, his cells exploding and imploding at the same time before merging back together. His vision blurred before coming back to normal again and again with every beat of his heart.

Jonathan shrieked as his spine pulled upward, vertebrae grinding, bones stretching with loud, grotesque cracks that echoed in the sterile space. His torso extended, his ribs expanding as though being pried apart from within. His legs stretched next, sinew tearing and reforming, knees seizing in jagged spasms as he grew taller, going from 174 cm to a towering 192.

"What happened! Make it stop please it hu-uurts!" Jonathan cried, his voice shaking as he didn’t realize yet his line of sight was a bit higher than before.

Mister Alaric paused, head tilted slightly, watching him with mild interest. With a calm flick, he adjusted a nearby slider and gave another quiet nod. “NO PLEASE DON… HAAAAAA” Jonathan screamed once again as Mister Alaric double clicked on the checkbox.

His feet began to warp. The bones inside cracked one after another like knuckles being popped in rapid succession. His arches reshaped, pulling higher, the balls of his feet swelling. Each toe lengthened, joints snapping, toenails thickening. The skin toughened, calloused as if he'd spent a decade barefoot on hot concrete. He felt the pressure in every nerve, his foot size expanding painfully from a modest 39 to an immense 45.

"My feet! Oh God! Why do they feel like they're on fire?! I can’t do this! Please!!"

Mister Alaric leaned in, studying the swelling bones, then lazily flicked a control. Jonathan felt a sharp, instant pull at the soles, more height, more pressure. The man murmured, “Needs more grounding.” As Jonathan’s feet grew now to a 47 size. “What are you talking about?! Please stop! I won’t talk to anyone. I will pay you back. No don’t do that. Plea.. AHHHHHHH” Jonathan screamed as the men in front of him double click on a new box.

Jonathan’s muscles seized, clenched involuntarily as though flexing against his will again and again. Every fiber throbbed, his arms bulging outward, veins crawling along his skin like vines under pressure. His chest ballooned into a hard, defined shelf. His pecs grew hot, flesh rippling as if molten. His biceps throbbed and swelled until his skin felt like it might split. He could feel his abs stitching into place, one ridge at a time, along his now longer torso. His thighs widened with dense, ropelike muscle. Even his neck thickened, vertebrae reshaping to accommodate the raw mass being layered upon him. Jonathan was out of breath. Tears of sweat were rolling down his exposed body as his new muscles kept on spasming again and again without him being to control them.

He gasped; voice ragged. “Why are you doing this to me?! What are you doing?!”

“Why not,” the man replied distantly. “Just better.” This answer felt like someone just poured a bucket of frozen water over his head. The men didn’t even look at him when he said that as he double clocked a new box. Jonathan couldn’t evens creamed as he felt empty, for the first time he realized that nothing he would say or do would stop mister Alaric’s project.

Jonathan felt like millions of needles were piercing through his skin. He tilted his head to his newly sculpted pecs only to see a dusting of hair starting to pierce through his epidermic layer. It felt like he was getting tattooed all over his body as he realized the sensation were now invading every centimeter of his skin in more or less intensity. It began at his chest, a subtle prickling that deepened into a raw, burning sensation. Follicles erupted in dark bursts as hair spread across his pectorals. It poured down his stomach in a defined trail, wound tightly around exposed dick into a forest of dark thick curly pubes. It then burnt under his arms, filling his armpits with thick tufts, after what it coated his calves and thighs in dense, masculine swaths. A warm, heavy scent rose from his skin: musk, rich and humid and cloyingly strong.

Mister Alaric paused, evaluating. Then he waved his hand, and some of the chest hair receded slightly, leaving his pectorals more defined while his armpits flared darker and thicker.

“More balanced,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Please; stop!” Jonathan sobbed.

Sliders shifted again under Alaric’s touch as he saw behind the blue tinted glasses Jonathan’s body start to spasm in discomfort one more time.

Jonathan’s body flushed a deep red. He shivered violently as every nerve in his body became hyperaware; the tickle of a breeze, the tug of his restraints, the heat radiating from his skin. His lower abdomen buzzed with heat, building into a sharp, unbearable ache. His breathing quickened into gasps.

“Oh god please not there! Don’t… I'm begging you! I don’t want this!”

The pressure in his groin surged. His cock pulsed once, then again, as if the very cells were reconfiguring. It stretched and expanded, the shaft thickening, nerves screaming as new pathways were forged. His testicles followed, swelling, skin tightening around them as they hung lower and fuller. He sobbed from the sensation, part pain, part humiliation, all terror. What once had been 12 cm now stood at an unnatural, heavy 20 cm when erect, his testicles swelling to match. It felt like being inflated from the inside out.

Jonathan screamed, “It’s too much! It hurts! Please… please stop!”

The man stepped in, eyeing the change critically. “Eight more centimeters. Generous. Marketable.” Then, with a flick, he added just a touch more as it grew to 22 cm with thick veins along the length. “I think it would be better if…” he continued as he moved a slider to the left. Jonathan screamed in pain as he saw his foreskin start to recede further and further until all that was left was a scar around his cock head, looking like he got circumcised at birth.

His voice broke, trembling with horror. “Please, just let me go! Please!”

His Adam's apple jerked and reformed, his vocal cords snapping, twisting. A deep vibration followed, his voice warping, dropping into a smoother, darker register that didn’t sound like him at all.

“Wh… what did you do to my voice?!” he cried, the new depth rattling in his chest.

The man simply replied, “You’ll get used to it.” As he double clicks one last box.

Jonathan’s face began to contort. His cheekbones lifted, sharpened, his jaw widened and squared off. He could feel the bones grinding, the cartilage in his nose shifting into a more prominent, assertive shape. His lips tingled and swelled slightly, while his brow reshaped. Vision blurred as his eyes altered subtly, the world snapping into too-sharp clarity.

Jonathan felt like a stranger in his own skin.

“What have you done” he sobbed. “What have you done to me?! I don’t want this. I don’t want th…is! Please! Undo this! I will pay!!”

Mister Alaric simply watched, expression neutral, fingers still hovering mid-air. Jonathan was panting, trembling, his new body glistening with sweat.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please I beg you! I will pay you back. Just undo this and turn me back. I’ve learned the lesson. I will pay!”

Mister Alaric didn’t say a word. He simply stepped back, arms folded, as Jonathan’s screams and cries filled the office.

After a couple of minutes admiring his artwork, mister Alaric finally let a fainted smile creep on the left side of his lips as he unfolded his arms. “You’ll be perfect. Just need a couple of more adjustments!”

Jonathan's chest rose and fell in rapid succession, sweat beading along the ridges of his transformed musculature. He was barely able to catch his breath before the renter resumed his work, fingers again lifting into the air, moving through invisible fields like a puppeteer fine-tuning his marionette.

Jonathan flinched as a new wave of sensations surged across his body; but this time it wasn’t feeling like what he just went through. It was like something was moving all around his new hyper sensitive skin. He tilted his head left when he felt the sleeve his shirt starting to glitch around his skin. It was sending jolts of electricity directly in his muscles as the tissue was changing its form.

Clothes rippled unnaturally against his skin. His tattered shirt kept glitching and shimmering as though responding to a silent command, then began to unravel at the seams, the fabric tightening and drawing itself inward with an eerie precision. Fibers twisted and darkened, binding themselves like serpents around Jonathan’s chest. He gasped, feeling each loop constrict into place as black leather reformed into a harness. It wrapped beneath his pecs, accentuating their form, and slithered down his abdomen. The strap coiled at his groin, where it snapped into a steel ring with a sudden metallic clink. A jolt ran through him, half pain, half shame, as he moaned involuntarily, horrified by the unwanted mixture of sensations. It felt like the base of his cock was hold tightly. Jonathan could start to feel his heart pulse in his freshly cut head as he could feel his flesh starting to harden.

His pants followed, threads of light crawling like insects along his thighs, weaving denim from thin air. It grew darker, rougher, until it formed tight, black jeans that clung to his new muscled hairy legs, worn at the thighs and low at the waist. The fly refused stood open, just enough to feel exposed as the birth of his cock could be seen pulsing and begging to be freed as he thick but trimmed pubes were visible for anybody who wanted to look. A pulse of heat wrapped around his ankles as black Converse shoes materialized, fitting snugly without socks around his 47 size feet.

Jonathan looked down, body trembling, face burning with disbelief and fury. "What… what is this? What are those clothes? Get this off of me!"

Mister Alaric didn’t answer, only paused for a moment, observing. He tilted his head slightly, as if reconsidering. “You are right. This doesn’t fit. Not yet!”

A brief gesture, and Jonathan's chest prickled. Ink rose beneath the skin of his pecs in looping, ornate symbols. Then it spread, dark vines coiling into tattoos that flowed down both arms in full sleeves, ending in sharp patterns at his wrists and climbing his neck to his chin. Another gesture and a metallic ring pinched at his nose and ears, where a subtle silver ring and earrings appeared. In a last move, a black metallic necklace lodged itself around Jonathan’s neck and fell right between his tattooed pecs.

Jonathan gritted his teeth, voice trembling in a deep baritone tone. “Please... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this. I can fix it; I’ll pay back every cent. Just give me time. Like a week or two.”

Mister Alaric finally spoke. His voice was calm, clinical. “Time is valuable. You traded yours when you defaulted. This is simply… a way to make sure you payback. But don’t worry. You will pay me back. If my calculus is correct, and they always are! You owe me a bit around 896 000 dollars. Let’s make it 1 million for the inconvenience. You couldn’t find a job to pay me back, so here is what we’ll do. You are going to work for me, Jonathan. Which should be covered in around 87 years working for me. I know… it’s a long period of time. But I’m not known for well-paying my employees…”

“What? No, that can’t be… What are you talking about?!” Jonathan pleaded in shock and terror as he tried to understand what mister Alaric just said. “87 years? What are you talking about?!”

But already, Alaric turned the glasses back on and his hands moved left and right again before double clicking on new boxes.

The air around Jonathan thickened, warm and syrupy, curling into his skull like invisible fog. A thousand phantom needles pressed at his temples, and behind his eyes, pressure built until it felt like something was trying to burst through. He gritted his teeth, or tried to, but the pain came in rolling waves. Thoughts, memories, logic… they all slipped like soap in a hot shower.

“No…no, I’m Jonathan! I’m…!”

The words tangled in his throat. His tongue suddenly forgot the order of sounds. He moaned out broken syllables, strings of nonsense, his own name warping into unfamiliar vowels. For a moment, he didn’t even remember how to speak.

Mister Alaric moved his fingers subtly in the air, each gesture like a conductor’s baton rewriting Jonathan’s mind. “Reducing language retention. Limiting complex memory recall. Upgrading primal directives. Downscaling IQ... incrementally.”

Jonathan’s eyes went wide with horror as he felt something inside him snap, not a bone, but a rule, a boundary. Then another. Concepts he’d always understood crumbled into vague feelings. Algebra. Literature. His grandmother’s favorite recipe. All of it faded to a white noise.

His internal voice screamed, but it echoed through a shrinking corridor. He couldn’t focus. The pain in his head wasn’t a sharp stab, it was a dull, endless jackhammer, pounding away at his identity. The fog didn’t stop rolling in. It thickened.

Out of the pain, he began to feel… good. Sort of. Or at least, his body did. It twitched with strange pleasure as the pain twisted into heat, and his posture straightened without his input. A grin tugged at his lips, foreign and smug. He hated it.

“Wha… what happened?” he tried to say. But it came out as: “Whoz... me, bruh?”

More moans. More warped vowels. Then, speech came back, but not his speech. It was brash. Lazy. Confident in a way Jonathan never was.

“Man, this place’s hot as hell... anyone wanna get wrecked?” he muttered with a sudden drawl, voice deeper, heavier, touched by something feral.

Inside, Jonathan wailed. He felt every word, every strange flex of his mouth, and knew it wasn’t him. It was someone new, something new, layered over him like a mask welded to bone.

Mister Alaric smiled, continuing his adjustments, seemingly unaffected. “Sexual drive boosted. Hormonal aggression elevated. Personality reinforced with dominant behavioral schema. Low inhibition. Constant desire trigger: gay sex only. Additional language implants: bartending knowledge and service culture.”

A rush of knowledge poured in Jonathan’s brain, sharp and unearned. His fingers curled as if recalling actions from a hundred rehearsals. He knew drinks now, how to make them, serve them, flair-spin a shaker in one hand while flirting through a wink.

Deep inside the shell that his body got turned into, Jonathan, still fully aware, begged for someone to help him. But mister Alaric wasn't done. He raised his hand one last time, and a golden lock appeared above Jonathan’s digital double in Alaric’s lenses. He took a look at the men sitting in front of him. His sweaty tattooed body, his tight harness, his huge feet enclosed in used converses, his thick veiny cock pulsing against his hairy thigh under his used pair of jeans. For the first time, mister Alaric smiled fully as he double clicks on the digital golden lock, saving the changes on Jonathan’s body and behavior before clicking on the name above the double and renaming it: Jax. Jonathan felt like all the oxygen in his lungs left his body while drowning in a sea of new sensations. He tried to scream again, to ask for help. But no matter how hard he tried; no sound came out of his mouth. He was trapped inside his own modified body and couldn’t do anything about it.

Mister Alaric gave a satisfied hum as he got closer to his creation. “There. Lock engaged. You’ll still be aware, of course. What would be the point of paying me back if you don’t even remember what you did wrong in the first place! Don’t worry. You won’t die working for me. I’ll just have to modify you a couple of times to make sure you stay attractive to my clients.”

Jonathan’s scream never reached his lips. It only echoed inside the void of his locked consciousness. He begged, pleaded, cursed. But the moment the renter pulled the glasses from his nose and tucked them into his coat, Jonathan’s voice was gone from his ears.

All that stood before him now was the new persona: Jax. Grinning. Cocky. Ready.

Mister Alaric stepped back and sat back on his velvet couch as he called for his two bodyguards to come back in the room. “Cut his bonds. Jax here has a long shift to start with.”

Jax flexed his arms unconsciously as the take got cut, his tattoos rippling across his skin like brands of identity. His mouth hung open with a lazy grin, tongue rolling slightly as he adjusted the harness. “So, boss... you want me to shake or stir tonight?” he said with a wink, his voice thick with flirt and swagger.

Jonathan could only scream in shame and pleasure as Jax grabbed his dick through his jeans and let a torrent of precum soak the front pouch.

Three Months Later

“Profits are up twenty-seven percent,” said one of mister Alaric associates, a wiry man in a crimson vest. He leaned against the bar, watching Jax spin a bottle behind his back, still wearing the same outfit he was programmed with. “Client satisfaction’s off the charts. He’s our top performer by far. At this rate, he’ll have his debt cleared in about 24 years, assuming everything keeps running smoothly and he keeps on being tipped so good.”

Mister Alaric chuckled, sipping his favorite brand of whisky from the private lounge above. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And look at him. We sign a contract for a period of time. I don’t want him to struggle in the streets again…”

Below both of them, Jax laughed, flexing his arms for a pair of eager tourists. The tattoos on his pecs glowed faintly in the shifting lights.

“Gotta stay pumped for the next round,” he said aloud to no one in particular, grinning. “Can’t let Daddy down, right?”

A customer near the end of the bar raised their hand and called out, “Hey Jax! Pour me an Easter Jack!”

Jax turned, licking his lips with a hungry smile. “You got it, stud. Hope you're ready to find out what’s in the basket after my shift.” He said grabbing his thick dick through his jeans. “There you go Daddy, you’ll be happy to know I put some extra homemade proteins in this one!”

Inside, Jonathan was still trapped and disgusted by his new reality, counting the days and trying not to go mad. He was getting whored out every night multiple times per shift to earn his tips. Only 86 more years to go. He can do it. He had to.

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

Hey guys!

I've got a new story for you, inspired by a great conversation I had a little while ago with my friend @tf-vigilante.

Hope you enjoy it!

As always, feel free to drop me a message or DM if you’ve got any ideas. I love chatting with you all.

See you soon!

#male transformation #my writing #tf #mental change #gay #male tf #reality change #personality change #digitized #digitization #nerd to hunk #nerd to jock #jockification #jock tf #dumbification #dumber tf #dumb tf #smart to dumb #dumber

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cemeteryspider · 9 months ago

Text

The Two of Cups

Remy Lebeau x Mutant! Reader

Summary: Your ability was an innate connection with the world around you which lead you to the Xavier Mansion. As well as a certain Louisiana man.

Word Count: 2.6k

You were an oddball in the mutant community and an outcast of society. Largely you found peace in knowing this due to your connection to the spiritual relam. You found solace in the trees and wind and comfort in the changing seasons. In the lush grass and flower petals that dried your tears when no person was around for you.

Your mind often drifts, allowing you to find new places, unseen by human (or mutant) eyes in thousands of years. Some caves drew you in and allowed you to commune with wandering spirits, other times on high mountains the water would guide you through and out of danger.

It was a mutual trust, that you would respect the natural or physical world and the spirit world would guide you. Sometimes this leads to crystal shops with experts in divination or sad girls who would have their cards read by you and give their lives new meaning and a more hopeful disposition.

So you followed the whispers of the wind and the pull towards new adventures until you came across a quite large estate called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. You were no longer a "youngster" but still you padded on allowing the soft grass to show you the way to your next venture as you had done so many times before.

A man in an advanced looking wheelchair greeted you at the door, "Ah you are the one I saw in Cerebro. Definitely not what I was expecting."

He looked you up and down from the long thick skirts that gently brushed the ground to your hair you kept up and out of your face. His stare wasn't like any you felt before.

It wasn't the stare your friends gave when you first started reading the cards and could practically see through the girls you read. It wasn't the scared stare your parents gave you when they found you levitating in the air with the cards circling you in a protective manner. It certainly wasn't the stare of the people who yelled at you calling you a witch when walking the otherwise quiet streets of a small town. No, it was a state of awe and understanding.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Xavier, my name is Y/n and it seems as though something pulled me to this place. Something strong," You looked around and saw children running around in the yard and teenagers practicing fledgling powers under the canopy of trees.

"No, the pleasure is all mine. There have been mutterings of someone with a spiritual connection roaming New York for the past few weeks, and when I saw you on Cerebro I knew I simply had to meet you."

The side of your mouth quirked up and you reached out your hand, which he gladly accepted, "Show me."

He guided you through the main building showing off classrooms filled with students learning math and history. Rooms dedicated to combat and self-defense. There were bedrooms, some colorful, some minimalist, and some dark and gloomy. Each place radiated a different emotion, the classrooms were focused with hints of boredom. The training rooms had an air of confidence and a slight fear of failure. Bedrooms had remnants of comfort and happiness, sadness, rest, wakefulness, love, and pity. Rarely were places so difficult to pin down.

He spoke about the architecture and the school's mission. You listened thoughtfully. Running your fingers along hundred year old wood paneling, and studying repairs made to walls carefully done to match. The kitchen had a rustic charm to it despite the overwhelmingly grandiose spectacle that was the rest of the estate.

Lastly you were on an elevator toward the lower floors of the mansion which were the newest additions to the property if the shift of decor told you the right story. There were endless halls of silver and doors with identity verification and a big doorway at the end with an X over it.

For a moment it overwhelmed you, never once in your travels were you taken to a place so modern, maybe even futuristic. The old towns with stories of witchcraft embedded into their history or rustic cabins next to trees that were hundreds of years old. Even to cliff faces that had been carved into by ancient peoples whose art can only be vaguely understood.

Except now you were in a different atmosphere, but with what you assumed to be the same goal, to help these people find themselves and provide guidance.

~~~

You entered a room whose ceiling was opened showing the sky and a winged jet landing in the room you were standing in. People descended the short flight of stairs to the floor and looked at Xavier and then to you.

"Is everything alright, professor?" A guy with what seemed to be a red visor covering his eyes. Despite his eyes being covered you could feel the concern radiating off of him. You almost scoffed at the thought that you would harm or threaten the man sitting next to you, but then you remembered how weary you were when you first started traveling the country and eventually the world.

After all, you were kicked out of the house with just what you could carry in your backpack. Even before that being cast aside by classmates who didn't understand you.

"Everything is perfectly fine, Scott. My X-Men I would like to introduce you to Y/n, the mutant I've been telling you about," He smiled and gestured toward you. It seemed as though that flipped a switch in the people before you.

They started to approach you starting with Scott, "I'm Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops, leader of the X-Men," He left you with a firm handshake.

Then a red-head, "I'm Jean Grey, a telepath and telekinetic, part of the X-Men. I've felt your presence in the psychic plane long before we met. It's a pleasure to finally connect with you face-to-face," She gave you a gentle hug and indeed it felt as though you've known each other for a long time.

You met others as well like Ororo, Rogue, and Jubilee but one person in particular seemed to catch your eye, "Bonjour, ma chérie! The name's Gambit, but you can call me Remy if you like."

He extended his hand to you but instead of the handshake the men before had offered he flipped your hand over and kissed your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up, and he walked away with a wink.

"Why does the Cajun get all the pretty ladies that come in?" a figure with grayish-white skin, white eyes, and indistinct features grumbled beside a short man with prominent sideburns.

"Finally, my time to introduce myself. I'm Morph, probably second or maybe third in the mansion's prettiest man competition," he laughed, giving you a friendly pat on the back. "See you around, Tarot."

Then the man with sideburns grumbled something nearly incomprehensible but you could catch the word Logan in the midst of the mumbles.

"Those were the X-Men, my own vision and step toward human and mutant coexistence. I hope that you will stay and perhaps guide the wandering souls that reside here."

For a moment you felt a reluctance, the hope for an adventurer's life still called, wandering the Earth helping as many people as you could handle. Spending as much time as possible in the woods and a life outside the public eye. Then you remembered the pull and how it has never lead you to a place you didn't enjoy or to people you didn't befriend.

So you stayed.

A month after that fateful day you had become an integral member of the Xavier Institute. Caring for hurt children by bandaging their wounds, acting as sort of a counselor for the teenagers who feel abandoned or children who are having a hard time transitioning, and most importantly restoring spiritual balance to the mansion.

Though not quite as spiritual, the Professor, as you had taken to calling him, allowed you to place spiritual protection around the house. Selenite in window sills to cleanse the area and promote positivity. Placed black tourmaline near the doors of the house to absorb negative energies that may come through. Amethyst near the bedrooms for calming energies.

You often could be seen walking around the house with a burning sage bundle in your hand waving it around doorways and windows and sometimes circling the crystals with it. To some of the X-Men it was odd to them, but then they saw the effects on the students.

Some of them were able to look at one of the crystals in any of the rooms in the house and take a deep breath grounding themselves, and then take another stab at what they were working on. Whether that be a math equation, a vocab word, or a new skill with their abilities. Sometimes they even went to you for advice and even asked you to read their cards, which you did every once in a while.

If someone were to peek into the office, that Charles Xavier graciously granted you when you brought it up one day, they would usually see the three card spread. Past, Present, and Future. You gave comfort to the children worried about their lives and if they'll survive their adolescence. Maybe the clarity spreads for teenagers who have a specific situation they want insight on, whether it be a lover, a friendship, or even their mutant abilities.

One day when you were shuffling your deck you heard a sharp knock on the door, "Come in."

None other than Remy Lebeau walked through the door. He looked a tad nervous around at your dimly lit office filled with candles and burning incense.

You had been getting to know him more recently. One on one sparring with him while the rest of the team had paired up. Or sat next to each other at briefings and meals. Sometimes he even sat in your office grabbing bandages or holding hands as you disinfected wounds.

"Hey, Cher... Gambit was wonderin'... maybe you could read my cards,'' He was sharply eyeing a specific crystal with uneasiness. You were aware that he didn't mess with the supernatural.

Your brows furrow and you sit up straighter, "There's no magic here Remy, just a connection to the spiritual, its connection to me, and my connection to the cards."

His eyes soften and he quickly sits in the comfy chair on the other side of your table, "Okay Cher, I trust you."

He came from New Orleans, a deeply spiritual place with strong links to history, slavery, and powerful spiritual figures. You had observed the thin veil between the physical and spiritual during a couple of your many adventures, but you never felt the need to stay. You knew exactly when your time in New Orleans was done as soon as it was, then usually by the next day you were off again.

"Okay, hon," You started shuffling the cards between your hands and between your fingers as you speak, "What are you looking to ask the spirits?"

"Well, I was wonderin', well there's this girl I really like, and I was wondering what I should do about it?" He was idly picking at his fingers, staring at the cards in your hands, or at the walls, really anywhere but your eyes.

You toyed with some ideas in your head for a moment before choosing a spread of your own creation, "This will be a three card spread, the first card is how you really feel about her, no rose tinted glasses no nothing, the second card is how she feels about you, and the third is whether you should act on this or not."

"Okay, petite, let's do this," You fan the cards out and allow him to choose the cards he is most drawn to. You saw him crack his knuckles and reach for the cards. As he touched them you felt a pull towards him, and once the last card was set on the table you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

You gesture him to flip the first card over, and the face of the card is revealed. Four tall pillars holding up greenery with two people and a castle in the background.

You smile at the card, "The Four of Wands."

Remy looked up at you patiently and waited for your words, "This woman is your idealistic love. The universe has gifted you with your perfect match."

A smile started to play on his lips and you nodded your head toward the second card on the table. A naked blonde woman collecting water under a sky brightly filled with stars.

"This is The Star. This is a romantic and spiritual connection, there is a force known or unknown drawing her to you and most likely vice versa," You glance over at Remy's growing smile, "Is this going as you had planned?"

He looked up at you with wide eyes, and shook it off quickly, "Chere, I'm... I'm not sure."

You place your hand on his, "Will you flip the last card, Chere?"

You placed your hand over the familiar card and gently flipped it over. The people facing each other holding chalices.

"This is The Two of Cups, a deep mutual understanding usually of a romantic nature. Looking at this spread I see two people being drawn together both by proximity and spiritual connection. The you should tell her how you feel as the cards seem to point to a potential romantic relationship forming," You look up at him waiting for him to say something.

"Well, Chere, I thought you would talk me out of doing this, but it seems that the stars have aligned," He took a deep breath before looking deeply into your eyes, "Ever since I first saw you, I've felt drawn to you. Moth to a flame and all that, but I wasn't sure about how to approach the topic. I guess I'll just go for it, would you like to go out with Gambit sometime."

You could see him nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and his eyes darting across your face. All you could do was smile, "Yes, Remy I would love to go out with you."

An all out smile formed on his face from ear to ear, the crows feet at the edges of his eyes crinkled. It wasn't long before you were sitting in the kitchen late at night and enjoying Louisiana cuisine made by the Cajun himself.

Then it was a walk around the garden at dawn or training together that inevitably lead to making out against the walls of the Danger Room and quickly rezipping suits and pulling on garments seconds before the next set of people were scheduled to come in.

It had been a few months after you had made the relationship official and you were moving your collection of crystals, books, and other spiritual items into Remy's room with his help of course when you had realized you hadn't felt the pull to leave. You had finally found a place to call home, where you truly belonged and the spiritual world was letting you rest. After years of wondering and meeting and leaving you had found a place to stay.

The very next hour you had approached Charles Xavier and agreed to stay. You had been discussing teaching art and self-control classes with him for a little while, but now you were committed to staying as long as he would have you.

That came with a permanent place among the X-Men team which you happily accepted.

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