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viciouslyyearning · 1 year

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Oh to be a handsome little merfolk living happily under the waves of the sea.

Watching how the other merfolk disperse or silence themselves at the mention of the sea witch who lives far away in a hidden cavern. Only whispers of a broken riddle as the map of how to find him.

They say those who are brave, can. And those who are lucky, leave with their greatest wish granted to them. At what cost however? As the unlucky never return.

You are of some luck, both good and bad to have been swimming amidst the kelp beds when you see him for the first time.

And he was something to behold, black tentacles sprouting from his waist where your tail was. Stout figure covered in intricate golden markings along skin, and long white hair flowing around his form. He looked nothing like your fellow merfolk, who's agility and speed gave way to lean and lithe form, no. This was a massive man who's greatest assets looked to be strength, with the form to match.

Your curiosity grew as you watched the creature, noting how he muttered to himself over the different ingredients he must have been looking for, and as you saw his dark eyes you realized that your prior thought had been wrong. He was strong, that was certain. But this creature's greatest asset? Was intelligence.

Hiding within the vegetation along the sea floor, you simply watched the cecaelia with wide, intrigued eyes. Waiting till after he was gone to finally swim up and away yourself.

After that you kept an ear out for the cecaelia. Hearing every time one would seem desperate enough to search for him, watching as some returned proud and gleeful, others with some reluctance, and most, didn't.

The common theme between all of them that you could understand was there was a greater price to pay than expected.

The proud didn't realize what they might have lost, the wary knew all too well, and the others you had no clue.

You could almost taste fear in the salty water whenever he was mentioned, never by name, however.

One day, by your unknown state of luck, you saw him again. Along the reef where many merfolk will sell their wares and creations he was there, perusing a keeper's hand grown clams, ignoring the keeper who was hiding behind his own tailfin.

He was quiet in his search, selecting three with great care before leaving a generous portion of coin on the keepers counter as the merman wouldn't dare look the cecaelia in the eye.

The cecaelia seemed unbothered by such treatment, leaving you feeling a certain sort of empathy. You remember the days that most merfolk would almost ignore you for being different in personality and appearance.

This creature was such a mystery! Generous, and reserved, and intelligent, and capable, and possibly dangerous, gah! Why did he have to make it so hard on you?? Couldn't he be good or bad acting to easily let you know if you should squash those feelings you had begun to notice in your chest?? The nerve.

It takes another few days for you to make up your mind to satiate your curiosities and feelings. If you can find him by the riddle those who have been whisper, then you can speak with the creature and decide if it's worth anything at all.

After all, even he must be lonely, yes?

It was no easy venture, finding someone smart enough yet stupid enough to remember the words and to be willing to share them took effort, as did following the directions within those hidden words.

After a length of time would pass, you would be swimming along the bottom of a hidden trench in the sea floor, only accompanied by the occasional eel or slug.

And yet, you saw it. A deep crack in the stoney walls of the trench that widens into what would be a doorway for something over twice your size... Which the sea witch was. With any hesitation having long left you, you swam carefully towards and through the makeshift doorway. Eyes adjusting to see a cavern with makeshift shelves, lined with various oddities and ingredients, few set along the shelves, apart enough that their faint glow lit up the walls, hard rocks lining the ground and ceiling.

You swam slowly and carefully as to avoid any possible injury, wondering if the massive cecaelia could wander through with ease or as much difficulty as you were maneuvering with.

"I would be a poor host should I not greet you at the door." Spoke a strong voice from the shadows, you flicked your tail down, stilling your motion as you looked around. "However-" the voice called once more as the giant cecaelia moved into the dim light, tentacles carrying him easily as he moved to tower over you in the cavern entrance way. "-Had I been aware of your coming, I could have prepared, so I can't quite say I've been a poor host if I wasn't aware I was one. Wouldn't you say?" The words held no malice though there was something guarded in the way he watched you.

Your tail flicked nervously as you found your words, "My intention was not to cast you in such light, nor to enter unwelcomed. I... Wasn't quite aware that this was your home," you smiled sheepishly, hand resting upon the gills of your neck for a moment to stop yourself from continuing.

The sea witch watched with a more relaxed demeanor, granting a small grin as he gestured further into his home. "I suppose when put like that I can't mind. Come, you deliberately sought me out, did you not? Come further in and tell me what it is you seek."

You stalled for a moment, realizing he was waiting for you to move as he would not turn his back to you. Curious indeed. With no outward malice, you felt comfortable enough to flick your tail and move forward once more, swimming past the cecaelia and further into the cavern, you noted that the rocks smoothed and disappeared, leading to soft sand along the floor.

The sea witch followed you closely, stopping as you did in front of his makeshift table.

You turned with a slight startle, noticing how close he was, or at least it felt like it, with how his tentacles splayed out along the floor, they could easily reach out and wrap thrice around you at minimum. Though they remained as relaxed as he appeared. "I must confess, I am here for my own curiosities, not for something of a physicality."

He paused, settling down at the table and resting his arms against it, leaning towards you. "And what curiosities are you to indulge in here?"

Following his lead, you relaxed against the tabletop, trying to ignore the warmth in your cheeks and neck as well as your ear fins nervous twitching. "Curiosities of you..."

"I'm sorry?"

You watched the incredulous look upon his face with confusion. Surely you weren't the first to take an interest in the man. Tilting your head, you watched carefully as you chose your next words one by one. "I am curious of you, I've seen you multiple times before. I've felt certain ways at the simple mention of you and with you only coming around every so often I decided to find you myself to learn more about you and decide what to do with these feelings of mine."

The sight of such a powerful looking creature covering his mouth with a dark purple flush covering his round cheeks was quite a sight. Especially once you realized that his tentacles had curled up, making him look smaller than before.

You smiled easily and patiently as you waited for a reply.

"I...-" he cut himself off. Shaking his head and finally looking away from you, to the ground. Eyes going from something warm to cold, almost cruel. "Have you come to humiliate me on behalf of some sorry fool who thinks me to blame for their misfortune?" His quiet voice turning into a snarl as he bared a row of fangs you hadn't noticed before.

You jolted back, confused and concerned now. "What could you possibly mean by that?"

The creature shifted to height once more, no longer settled but looking between a mix of agitated and hurt. "Just what makes you think I'd believe for a moment that such a handsome little merfolk like yourself would express such interest in this monstrosity?! There are plenty of other mers of your own size and almost of your own beauty to settle with, not some-" he raised a hand, attempting to accentuate his point before letting out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and lowering once more.

You stared for a moment, caught between flustered over the manner in which he referred to you, and feeling sorry that he didn't believe you. Slowly, you swam upward, to be at eye level with him, as soon as the water current from your movements reached him you saw him almost flinch back.

That wouldn't do.

Slowly, gently, you took his far larger hand in your own, raising it up to hold as you waited for him to open his eyes.

Slowly, he did, turning to look at you with such an open expression you couldn't help just how soft your own voice had grown. "I am here of my own volition because there is something about you that I wish to know more of." You watch as the flushed look returns to his face, feeling the warmth emanating off of his form. "I have seen your intelligence, I have seen your quiet, I have seen your generosity and gentle hand, even when ignored so blatantly." You lean closer, less than a tail away and able to feel the water shift where his tentacles have risen and circled around you, almost close enough to hold. "This, is why I am here. To learn from you what I could only learn by spending time with you, if you'll let me?" You question softly.

The cecaelia stared intently, eyes never leaving your form, he can smell a lie, and there isn't a single one. A cautious voice rises from his chest. "If this is what you truly wish, I would happily welcome your company for as long as you care to return. However, such a deal even if this nature, requires something in return."

"I'm ... Afraid I don't have much," your voice wanders off

The water tenses as his voice grows stronger, more certain in his words, "I find that this will be easily granted by you, should you wish strongly enough to do as you've said." You feel his hand in yours finally grip yours with a gentle strength, almost refusing to release as he slowly pulls you closer, massive form almost encompassing you as his confidence returns in full force. "A kiss." His breathing deepens as he watches your response.

You can practically feel the intensity of this creature in just his gaze alone. You've already learned something new. He is very intense. That intensity might manifest in whatever deals he creates but in this moment it is focused entirely on you.

With that thought in mind, you move suddenly and without warning, allowing you to catch him off guard. With a strong push of your tail you've made yourself close enough to grab his face with your free hand and press your lips to his, closing your eyes and feeling his entire body jolt before melting into your far smaller form, happily.

It only last a moment before you pull away with a small grin, hand still resting on his cheek. The expression of surprises and genuine warmth catches you off guard.

"Akos."

You tilt your head at his response.

"I give you my name, Akos. You wanted to learn more of me, the first thing I can tell you that no one else knows is just that." He speaks easily, arms moving to keep you close.

"Akos," you mutter quietly, delighting in how you can see him shiver despite trying to hide it. You lean closer once more, watching his eyes close as your nose bumps against his, lips slowly finding their way back together as you speak. "What else will you give to me?"

A quick breath catches in his throat as he feels your lips move over his with your words. Trying and failing to at least keep his tentacles from holding onto your tail as well.

"Anything," he breaths, finally pulling you close enough to be pressed against his form. "Everything."

#mermay #cecaelia x reader #mermaid x reader #merman x reader #x reader #akos my beloved #sea witch x reader #romance the cecaelia its for mermay #request for him cause i wanna keep writing for big chubby sea witch whos just a puppy in love with his lil merfolk whos in charge

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 6 months

Note

Thinking about your spooky Feederism post but buckyyyyyyy

Hear me out Bucky’s daily nighttime fall attire is just some cute pumpkin pj pants that are pretty loose and fall low on his waist (bc he’s a slut) but I imagine he’s pretty toned not super muscular but not not muscular yk anyways he does his nightime routine shower pjs watch tv scroll on his phone and it happens by some freak coincidence he eats a pumpkin (or sweet potato) pie at 3 am on the first day of fall anyways from the midnight snacking at the witching hour triggers the seasonal expansion starting slowly when the moon waxing as just him feeling a tiny bit more hungry then it gets worse (better) I’m sure you can expand (get it ) on that idea 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Spooky belly kink

Okay okay okay okay this put an idea in my horny brain. SO. IMAGINE:

Buckle in fuckers, this got out of control. It's long. Warnings for unbeta'd stucky belly kink (Bucky centered, though), magical weight gain, magic, rapid weight gain, stuffing, immobility, etc.

It's early in October, so very early that it's still hot outside. Unfortunately. Seriously, like, Bucky just would like to sleep in his cozy and perfectly hideous Halloween themed pajamas and sip on a hot pumpkin spiced drink, but he can't. It's too damn hot. He will end up a festive puddle if he does.

So, his fuzzy, orange pj pants have gone from comfortably resting around his waist to sitting low on his hips for some ventilation, to... dammit, fine, as he's lounging around the house one early fall evening, waiting for it to cool down so he can sleep, Bucky pulls his fussy, festive pajama pants fully off. Leaving him just in an oversized pumpkin t-shirt and his underwear.

But it's still too fucking hot. He's still sweating. Fuck. This. This is not how fall is supposed to be!

Bucky grumbles and pads into the kitchen of his apartment so he can open the little window over his sink. He unlocks, opens, and then turns his back to it, blatantly ignoring the footsteps he can hear in the alley outside in favor of starting to return to his couch where he can lie (mostly) comfortably and grumble to himself about the heat. The footsteps are fine. People walk out there all the time. Whatever. He's fine, other than maybe melting to death.

As a result of the alley being relatively busy usually and Bucky's back being turned, Bucky doesn't notice the curling, semi-transparent tendril of purple, sparkling magic that reaches in through his now open window. It shivers and curls to the best of an ominous whistle. A whistle coming from someone's mouth outside - whoever is making those footsteps.

With his back turned, he doesn't notice its immediate lightning-like strike against his back, the tendrils wrapping around his sides and over his belly even as he continues to put distance between himself and the window.

By the time Bucky is flopping back down onto the couch, the unseen, unheard lightning is gone. It's absorbed into his lean, muscular frame. His back and sides and belly. His belly-

Now prone, Bucky scratches his tummy through his shirt, feeling a bit of an itch. It's nothing, though. Just the fabric of his shirt pulling against his body hair, probably. Whatever.

Whatever.

It's too fucking hot. It'd ruining his fall. That's all Bucky can think about.

Bucky intermittently complains to himself and scrolls on his phone until it's really time to get to bed. Just in his t-shirt and in his boxers with a light blanket over him, Bucky falls into an easy, blissful sleep, only waking up when...

At about 3 AM, according to the blinding light of his phone (when he takes it off the charger to check, rookie mistake), his belly is rumbling. Loud. Bucky rubs the sleep out of his eyes, frowning before he's even really awake.

God!

He feels hollow!

The moment he's done with his eyes, he blinks and glares down through the darkness at his gut. He had dinner! And he snacked before bed while melting his brain into goo on social media. Why is he so hungry?

So. Hungry.

Bucky just wants to go back to sleep. He tries to have a drink from his bedside water bottle - maybe he's just dehydrated? He rolls over to lay on his stomach. He...

Nope.

He's starving.

It feels like his stomach is trying to gnaw on his spine.

So, with a sigh, he has to push himself out of bed and wander through the darkness of his apartment, one hand on the wall and the other outstretched before him so as to not walk into anything, before eventually reaching the kitchen.

What can he have to settle his stomach before he goes back to sleep? Cereal? Nah. He's not in the mood. He's fresh out of granola bars, so not that either. He polished off the last few slices of leftover pizza for dinner. Maybe-?

Bucky opens the fridge, standing in the illuminated pool, feeling the chill wash over him, staring at the slim pickings aaaand -

Huh?

How-?

When did that get there?

Bucky is shameless with buying himself little treats to get through life, in general, but... he likes to think he would remember if he bought himself an entire fucking pumpkin pie and a canister of whipped cream to go with it. Before he can really investigate, Bucky's tummy growls again. A slice of pumpkin pie does sound really good right now. His mouth is flooded with saliva. With a glass of milk. Fuck. That would hit the spot.

Bucky doesn't really think about the fact that he ran out of milk two days ago and hasn't had time to go to the store yet. He feels dazed. Maybe this is a dream? Maybe he did fall asleep again after chugging water, satisfied enough to sleep but not satisfied enough to really fight the hunger off, so it's seeping into his dreams?

If it is a dream, what's the point of getting a plate and a cup? What's the point in real life anyway? He lives alone! Bucky's belly grumbles once more, this time in agreement with his sluggish thoughts. Suddenly, he can't wait. He can't even spare enough time to get himself a fork. It's just him. Just him and his belly and his dream.

Fuck it.

He digs in. Lifting the whole pie out of the tin and nibbling at the crust. It's mild and sweet. Mmm. He takes a deeper bite. The explosion of flavor takes over his tongue. That's it. Yeah. His eyes slide shut. The creamy pumpkin and dancing spices; the sweetness; the crumbly, delicious crust. Bucky takes bite after bite after bite, barely taking the time to swallow. He wants to fill his entire mouth with the taste and texture of the pie. He stuffs his face until his cheeks puff out like chipmunks.

Bucky swallows a few times to get all of the pie he's eaten down, feeling the chilly, smooth pie slide down his throat and drop into his empty belly. The pie tastes good in his mouth, but it feels even better. He already feels sleepier. He can feel his heartbeat slowing down in his chest. His breathing, too. His eyes are shut, but nevertheless, his eyelids feel heavier.

His belly feels heavier.

Apparently, while he was reveling in the pleasure of this mysterious pie, his body continued to eat. Stuffing his face.

Stuffing. his. face.

Bucky has both hands on the pie and so he can't reach down to explore his tummy. He doesn't even think to do that, though. He's dazed. He's in the process of eating. Eating messily with his hands. There is nothing else. Nothing but eating. He is biting and chewing and swallowing, and his belly is slowly but surely going from painfully empty to heavy. Full. He feels round. He can't touch himself, but he feels bloated. It's meditative.

Stuffing.

The entire pumpkin pie goes down so easily, so smoothly that Bucky doesn't really register that he's just put away an entire pie. He's living in the timeless, foggy, and nonsensical reality of what must be a dream. It's not his fault that he doesn't realize he's run out of food to shove into his hungry mouth until he finds no more filling or crust and instead just his dirty fingers.

Rather than panic over how much he's thoughtlessly consumed or be astonished about his sudden massive stomach capacity, Bucky simply licks his fingers clean with a satisfied, weighty sigh. His left hand, then his right. Then, Bucky licks his lips, too. He blinks slowly. He feels good.

He licks his lips again, savoring the taste of the pie. Moaning over the fact that he doesn't have anymore. Oh, wait-!

Bucky's eyes flick open urgently, his mouth makes a click sound, dry. Mindlessly, he sets the empty pie tin back onto the fridge shelf he found it on. He has whipped cream still! He has a gallon of milk still!

The little logical voice peaking through his dreamy haze and rich satisfaction clouding his midnight reality tells him he can have a taste, just a dollop. The amount that would be put onto a single slice of pie. Reasonable. Not too greedy.

But...

Then Bucky's swollen belly gurgles. It has other plans for him. So, even though Bucky's head tells him he's just going to have a little, his suddenly gluttonous belly overrides it. Big time.

The aerosolized sound of the whipped cream coming from the canister is hypnotizing from the moment he tips his head back, puts the nozzle into his mouth, and presses down, releasing the sweet, silky sugar and cream to the moment the canister squeals. Empty.

Bucky swallows.

Did he swallow at all when he was emptying the whipped cream into his mouth? Did it all pour directly into his gut?

Bucky sets the empty can next to the empty pie tin. The idea of investigating his throbbing, tight, overpacked belly enters his peripherals but... he gets distracted.

Bucky chugs an entire gallon of milk, moaning through it, feeling it flow right into his tummy and slosh around. The crust of the pie absorbs it, expanding. His belly gurgles and grumbles. Bubbles. Bloating. Oh.

Oh.

The whipped cream went in heavy and sweet, and the milk adds to it. It's not as sweet, but it is heavy.

Bucky knows without looking at the label that this is full fat milk. He never buys full fat milk anymore! He must've picked it up by mistake! Oh, well.

He's not going to return it.

He couldn't.

He's done with the gallon.

Oh.

Bucky burps, he hiccups - he sloshes.

Fuck.

The milk container isn't in his hands anymore. He's free to slap his hands down onto his struggling belly. Feeling the way it sloshes and swirls and vibrates with a few more hiccups.

The tightness of his belly is exhilarating. He feels like a drum. The weight of his belly is comforting, familiar but also new. Instinctually, he knows he's safe. Yet, he's never been so thoroughly gorged before. The heat coming from his taut, heavy gut is like his own personal heater soothing him into sleep. And the sounds coming from his globe-like tummy are like a white noise machine. Bucky is practically falling asleep on his feet. He can't open his eyes. He can't move.

He can't move.

"Oooh," Bucky moans, staggering back one step, then two. His hands are flat on his gut, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing away. His entire center of gravity has been thrown off with an entire pie, can of whipped cream, and gallon of milk.

He stands in place, wobbling. Waddling.

Bucky waddles back to bed, arms around his belly to try and keep the burps and hiccups and moans in. He doesn't want to be jostled too much. He might pop. He hardly remembers how he got back into bed, let alone if he closed the door to the fridge. It doesn't matter, though.

The moment Bucky is on his bed, he's out like a light. On his back, weighed down, hot and tight and good, and snoring softly. His hands never leave his belly. He's stuffed it, he's grown it, he's--

And as he's drifting off, he's wishing it was like this all the time. Not just in his dreams. Full. Taut. Swollen. Big.

The next time Bucky drifts into consciousness, it's much later. It's still ungodly early, but... later. There's a light from the full moon drifting into his room. It's not light enough to really wake him up, but enough that he realizes he's...

Heavier.

Bucky realizes, half-awake, that it's harder to breathe now than it was when he was last conscious. Huh? Why? Does he have an oncoming cold? Is he congested? He sniffs. No. So, what?

Bucky attempts to roll over. He doesn't make it, though. Instead, he just groans.

Yeah.

He's, uh, he's -

Heavier. Definitely heavier.

Rounder.

In the limited moonlight, Bucky can juuust make out the way his shirt has filled out with, with a solid, thick belly that's ungodly round.

A faint tickling of, oh, that's right, appears at the very back of his mind, but mostly Bucky is bewildered and awed. The pumpkin face on his shirt is illumated by the light of the full moon, and it's stretched and warped by his body. His belly.

His belly looks like a pumpkin. It would look like a pumpkin even without his festive shirt. It's that large. Heavy. And tight.

Holy shit.

How? What? When?

Bucky lies there, panting, sweating, feeling swollen and sleepy, with his hands on his gut, contemplating his existence for a while longer. What the fuck happened to me? Where did this gut come from?

He's on the cusp of the thought of did I have a midnight snack? And the following, was that dream(?) real? When -

Oh.

"Ohhhh," Bucky moans around his panting breathes, scrambling to lift himself higher on the bed and finding himself unable to do anything. He's too heavy. He's -

Is he growing?

It is harder to breathe.

Yeah.

He's, he's growing.

The face of the pumpkin is stretching, stretching, streeeetching. In the silence of the night, beyond his heavy breaths, the only sound is the complaints of his shirt fabric and the seams.

Under his hands, he's heavier and harder. Oof. He even feels fuller, the larger he grows. Bucky pokes his fingers into his gut, and out comes a deep, brassy belch despite the fact that his fingers don't sink into his belly at all. He's so fucking bloated. It's like he's shoved a basketball up under his shirt. Hard as, as a pumpkin!

And he's as roooooound as a pumpkin, too!

He watches the growth, the swelling, the bulging of his middle as he pants harder and harder. It's... it's... again, he slips into a hypnotic headspace without his knowing. The visual makes him feel sleepy. Hot. Heavy. Weighed down and comfortable. His eyelids droop. And, in no time, with his pumpkin tummy expanding out from his body, over top of him, Bucky is lulled to sleep. A soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Yet, his sleep is no longer dreamless. It's still blissful, but it's colored by visions of being a pumpkin. A huge pumpkin. Prize winning. The kind you see at a county fair being lifted by tractors from the beds of trucks to industrial scales. He's not on a scale in his dream, though. Which is good - he might break it! Instead, he's growing in a pumpkin patch, tethered to the ground by thick, feeding vines, but really, he's stuck in place by the massive weight of his pumpkin belly on top of him. Pinning him. Legs splayed out. Arms splayed out. Tummy growing and growing and growing. Rapidly. Impossibly. Crushing him.

Outside of his dreams, lying back and unconsciously in his bed, Bucky rubs and rubs his gut, obsessed with the taut, hard, spherical surface. He's practically vibrating with warmth. He is still smiling. He's snoring softly under the heft of his gut. His cock has worked itself to throbbing hardness in his underwear but even his physical arousal can't overpower the bliss of his dreams.

He can't shake himself out of the dream -

Growing. Swelling. Widening. Fattening.

Late the next morning, Bucky wakes up disappointingly thin and flat-bellied. He frowns down at himself. The only evidence left of his dreams is the sweat covering his body and the wet spot in his boxers. His shirt... he, his, his shirt might be a little looser than it was yesterday. Stretched. But. He must be misremembering. Also, his tummy, it must be his imagination, but it feels... tender.

As it turns out, Bucky isn't going to have a dreamless night in all of October. Not after that first night, his unconscious mind full of greed and gluttony. Stuffing. Stuffing. Stuffing. Growing. Growing. Growing. Heavier. Heavier. Heavier.

His dreams have him gorge himself, an unending tide of food and lust that can't be satisfied until he physically can no longer reach whatever food has appeared to him in his dream. Or, his dreams are full of nothing but unending growth until he drifts back into consciousness from his sunny, pleasant dish in the cool earth of the pumpkin patch. Rising above the rest of the pumpkins. He's big. He's huge. He's giant. He's impossibly massive. Much more pumpkin belly than man.

His starting size in his dreams climbs throughout the month until when he shuts his eyes, he's so huge that he can hardly move. Crushed by the fantastic, humongous blimp of his belly. He can not describe the way it feels to begin so large and only swell more.

More.

He didn't know their could be more! Bucky moans to himself, thinking about it. More. It's such a good word. How did he never know before? More.

How big could he possibly get?! Bucky craves to know so badly. He starts stealing naps in the middle of the afternoon. He starts hitting snooze more often. He puts candy bars that he's been trying to save for tricker-or-treaters on his nightstand to open and stuff into his waiting, salivating mouth the moment he's unfortunately pulled from his dreams. Big, big, bigger.

Yes.

Bucky won't complain about the shift of his dreams; not the content or the frequency; he can't complain! Especially not when on the Halloween night, with the moon perhaps the fullest he's ever seen it, round and fat and bright, his dreams take him to the fridge again.

He hasn't been back to the fridge since the first night.

Bucky licks his lips, and he rubs his chubby hands together even though it makes him giggle, it's such a cheesy gesture. But. He can't wait to tear into whatever is in his fridge. All of it. He's going to eat all of it. He fantasizes about destroying everything in there and in the pantry and cabinets and everything he has to eat. Every little morsel possible. It's all going down his throat and dropping into his fat, fat belly.

His firm, heavy enough to leave him sweating and gasping, heart thudding, waddle-inducing belly growls. Despite the overfed size of him, he feels starved.

With a jerk, Bucky opens the fridge and groans. He's brought to his knees. All that delicious food. Take-out containers galore. Each heavy and sticky - the sign of good, really good food. There's an entire three pizza boxes in there, too! Each box is full of with a complete, delectable pie. A gallon on chocolate milk. Full fat chocolate milk. Eggnog, too. Unseasonal, but... Bucky doesn't fucking care. It's going to be so thick and rich and good. He'll chug it straight after the milk. Further inspection reveals that in one of the drawers, there's an untouched pumpkin pie. Fuck, yeah. Fuck, yeah! Underneath the pie, there's a container stacked full, so full it almost can't shut, of fudgy brownies. Bucky finds cookies, too. The take-out includes Chinese food and Thai and Italian and -

"God," Bucky moans happily, stroking the parts of his heavy, gravity-defying gut that he can still reach. He hopes he won't be able to reach hardly any of it soon. All this food.

He's going to expand.

He's going to get so fucking fat.

Bucky empties the fridge. Then -

THEN

T H E N because Bucky is a true glutton now, by the end of his month of training, he goes on. He eats more. He finds the cabinets and the top of the fridge equally, fully stocked. The dream melts further from reality at that point, and lightning bolts, friendly, helpful lightning bolds of sparkling, neon purple begin to tangle around packages and bags and dump the contents into Bucky's mouth. All he has to do is stand there, which is a good thing because even the dream can't rescue him from the weight of all his gluttony. This feast has made him fatter than fat. He's engorged. He is massive. So fucking round. His knees shake. He moans and shivers around the candy bars being ripped open by sparkly purple magic to be shoved down his throat. Sticky. Sweet. He's eating them whole. With each bar, he feels the fat on his frame grow. Thicker. Rounder. Heavier. Abruptly, Bucky crashes back onto his monsterous, dimpled ass.

And he wakes up on the kitchen floor. Bathed in moonlight. There is no food in sight, although there is -

There's

All around him, littered are the remains of his feast. Wrappers. Crumbs. Empty containers.

It was real.

But

How?!

Bucky palms his flat, tender belly with a moan. He lets his head drop against the floor rather than craning down to stare at his disappointment of a belly. He wants it to be real so bad. That fat, hard, tight gut. His mouth waters and his appetite roars. Please.

Please!

His cries are heard.

It must be a dream! Right?! That's a thing? Isn't it? Waking up into another dream?

It must be a dream because it hits him all at once. The growth happens as footsteps start to echo through the alley outside Bucky's apartment building.

Step. Step. Step.

Bucky is trying to get himself back to bed to sleep off this weirdness (and maybe have time for another gluttonous dream before he has to go about his day), getting onto his elbows to stand up when BWOOOPH.

Bucky swells.

Sudden.

Hoooly shit.

Heavy and round and hard as the fattest pumpkin in the whole patch.

Bucky is knocked entirely onto his back with a heavy crash. The wooden floorboards creak under his massive frame. Ballooning. He's ballooning. He hasn't stopped yet. Bucky moans ungodly loudly. It's real. It's real! This is everything he wanted! The sensations. The heat. The pleasure. Christ. He wants to be a pumpkin forever.

He's awake! He has to be! It's never felt like this before. It's so real! Every detail is clear and fucking hot as shit. He can't reach his other arm to pinch himself, so he pinches the thick, firm fat of his expanding gut. He pinches as it grows. Bigger. Bigger. He whines with how hard he pinches his blubber. It hurts! He doesn't wake up!

It's real!

And it feels so fucking gooooood.

He's a fucking pumpkin. Ripe. Overripe. He's a whale. Blubbery. Too heavy to swim. He can't move. He's just -

Oh, fuck.

He moans out all the limited air he has in his lungs. Loud. Outrageously turned on. Pulsing and throbbing tightly, hotly. His cock but really his belly. It's pulsing, it's gurgling, moving, sloshing like he really did consume all of that fucking food and all those gallons of thick, fattening milk and Eggnog and juice and his poor tummy has no idea what to do with all the rich calories.

Laughter floats in from the alley outside. It's followed by a voice, deep but sweet, too, "I can make that happen, darling."

Bucky has no time to ask what? What will you make happen? He has no time to even think about thinking. The seductive tone of the voice feels like fingertips against his most sensitive flesh. All of him is sensitive now, plumped. Fattened. Ripened. He would shiver if he could move. If he wasn't so fat that he's immobile. He loves it.

Following the voice, eyes, blue eyes, appear outside his kitchen window.

Bucky should be afraid, but he's not. He's -

He's intrigued.

He's the child lured into the witch's house and fattened for eating. Too stupid and gluttonous to dream of putting up a fight.

"I can make you my fat pumpkin all year around, not just as a Halloween treat," the velvet voice purrs. A hand appears next to the stranger's attractive face. His fingers flick and -

Purple, shimmering magic bolts from his fingers to somehow cradle all, all of Bucky's heavy, massive body.

BWOOOPH

Bucky bloats, packing on at least another hundred pounds.

"Oh!" Bucky moans, fingers scrambling over his rolls, trying to touch himself. He wants to touch himself so badly! Frantically, he nods his head, feeling his chin double and triple, "pl-please! Please! I wanna be-" he groans. "I wanna be your pumpkin!"

"Good," the attractive witch purrs.

"Grow me! Please!" Bucky cries.

The witch does as he pleads, humoring him. "What do you wish to eat, my pumpkin?" he asks as he slithers in through the open window. Standing before him, his cold, electric-sparking hands against his sensitive, taut skin and the underlying blubber.

"Anything!" Bucky whines. "Anything! I just wanna, I wanna be bigger!"

"Ohh, what a greedy pumpkin I have." He slaps his gut, laughing. Bucky ripples like thick jello. Holy shit. His toes curl. "I can't wait to make you bigger." His fingers and sharp nails dig into his tight flesh. "You, pumpkin, can call me Steve."

"Steve," Bucky moans immediately, "g-grow me."

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