(AN: Just in case anyone is wondering why (because I know I am): this story is the direct result of sleep deprivation and stress. As I am a college student, there will likely be more to follow (although reviews help with updates as well XD). At the risk of sounding cliche, it seemed like a good idea at the time.)

Chapter 1

The first sensation Gin remembered was warmth and the smell of baking cookies. The second was light, starting off as a small dot that widened as he emerged into the world and saw the smiling face of his mother.

It was around this time that cognitive functioning kicked in, and Gin found himself drawing a few different conclusions. One: the warmth was heat. Two: the cookie smell was him. Three: His smiling mother was actually leering at him. And four: She was wearing a small lacy apron and nothing underneath. Wrinkles of loose, pasty flesh jiggled as she slung her hip, and Gin received his fifth observation of the world- his vomit tasted like gumdrops.

"Oh ~baby~, I got cold waiting so long for you to bake. Come warm me up," his mother crooned. She held up a spatula and dragged her tongue along the flat end before she slid it under Gin's foot and started freeing him from the giant cookie sheet.

Still struggling with a mouth full of gumdrop, Gin managed to chock out, "Mom, put on a coat!" OhgodohGOD, this was not the way to come into the world.

The old lady baker frowned. "I know you aren't that cold, sugar. I haven't even put you on the cooling rack yet. Come give me some lovin'" She pushed the spatula further up his leg, freeing the limb at the same time that she nuzzled her cheek up against his insole.

Gin shuddered. "Y-you mean you want me to be the child you never had, right?" he stuttered.

The baker's wife ran the spatula up his other leg. "Nope," she giggled. The spatula moved somewhere above his leg, and Gin yelped.

"Ah- y-you need me to h-help around the bakery?" he suggested hopefully, trying to keep from being sick all over his creator. He shifted away from her as much as he could with having his upper half stuck to a baking pan.

"Try again," she whispered huskily. She pried up his butt cheeks and Gin didn't care that he was sentient. He wanted to die and escape the inappropriate and entirely too flabby assault.

"Eat me! Please say you want to eat me!" Gin begged. He tried to push himself up using his legs, but he was still stuck firm.

"Didn't want a repeat of your brother. I didn't grease the cookie sheet this time," she grinned. "Don't worry, I'll eat you eventually. But Mr. Baker is gone all weekend, and you can last that long without crumbling."

The pushing became full fledged thrashing. Nonononono! "Hungry! You have to be hungry! After all that work baking me, and I smell soooo good, don't I? Take a bite!" Hopefully she'd take a nibble on his jugular and he'd find blessed oblivion.

Mrs. Baker winked at him. "I need to do the crime before I destroy the evidence," she noted. Reaching advanced age unable to bear children had apparently withered away any maternal instincts she might have possessed early in life. She climbed onto the cooling cookie sheet and straddled his legs. The spatula slid further up his back.

Once Gin's shoulder blades were in the clear, he murmured a quick, "Sorry, mom," and jerked himself up. He felt ginger-skin tear from his shoulders and the back of his icing hair was jagged and messed up, but he was free. Giving the baker woman a shove, Gin jumped to his feet and ran, ran, ran as fast as he could and prayed the little old lady wouldn't catch him.


The occurrence at the bakery caused quite a stir, and understandably so. Despite Mrs. Baker's spotty reputation, one did not see tan, naked cookie men running out of her house every weekend. (Many of the people passing by on the cobbled street sincerely wished they could have said it was the first time they had seen Mrs. Baker in her skimpy lace apron, but that would be a lie. But New Year parties were better forgotten anyways.) So when Gin dashed out onto the street with Mrs. Baker close on his heels, wailing, "Come baaaack!" the townspeople crowded around to see what was going on.

Gin ducked and dodged the mass of people as best they could. A few tried to grab his arm and stop him (didn't they see he needed to get gone? Maybe they thought he was a thief…?), but released him in surprise when they realized his flesh was actually finely sculpted gingerbread. The rough ground scraped and crumbled his soles, but he would deal with stubby feet if he could get away from the sex-crazed old witch.

A gaggle of teenage milkmaids squealed when he dashed by, and he almost shouted an apology for his state of indecency, except they squealed again and started chasing him. A few farmhands eyed Gin, the girls following him, and decided they wanted a piece too.

Gin had been alive less than an hour, but he had already discovered one brute fact: Life sucks. He dared a glance back behind him as he ran desperately down the road. Behind him, screaming and pushing each other, was his mother, the milkmaids, the farmhands, a talking (squealing) cow, a cat in boots, and a headless man on a horse. What did all of these people want with him?

Damn it, he was tired, scared, disenchanted with life, and his feet hurt. If he stopped running and let his entourage catch him, at least he would only have to worry about being torn to shreds and eaten alive. As long as he didn't have to serve as an old lady's sex toy for his brief lifespan, he figured he didn't care what happened to him anymore.

"Maybe I'll have better luck in my next life," he said bravely. He turned around a bend in the road, ready to let his momentum run out and embrace his dismal fate.

Instead, he ran headfirst into a tawny-haired man with yellow eyes.


Fox L. Bad had seen a lot of crazy things in his life. His brother was a pretty sordid character and Fox often ended up on the borderline of the law just by association. He'd cleaned up pigs butchered inside of their straw houses and delivered slightly threatening letters to old ladies trapped inside shoes. He'd been around collecting money from a fiddler right about the time of the tragic murder-suicide of Travis Dish and Janie Spoon. But nothing Wolf or anyone else had ever roped him into doing quite prepared him for this.

This was pretty pleasant on all the senses. Heated tan skin and white-silvery hair, a delicious smell of gingerbread wafting around, and that terrified 'take me now' expression along those cherry-licorice red lips and in the bright blue eyes. This was also naked against him, clinging to him and begging Fox to…eat him? That was pretty forward. Fox wasn't the most reputable of men, but he at least liked to feed a potential date dinner before he got down to the dirty stuff.

Then the posse turned the corner and the kid in his arms went limp in surrender. Fox groaned. Damn it, he was gonna have to rescue the kid now. Add a few more clothes and give the crowd some pitchforks and he would have been in just about the same situation that Fox had grown up with. He felt for fellow mob-dodgers.

A well-projected growl that was hell on his throat had the chasers halting in their tracks. Even if he wasn't the biggest Bad, his family had enough of a reputation that the rest of the world was wary on principle.

Holding them back with a glare, Fox scooped up the boy (who was lighter than expected, given he was kind of lanky and looked only a few years younger than Fox). He broke from the road and darted towards the forest. No one, not even the hormonal-driven feeding-frenzied mob would dare cross a Bad on his home turf.

Or if they did, they wouldn't make the same mistake twice.


Gin trembled in his rescuer's arms as he was carried deeper and deeper into the forest. He felt a weird, nervous churning in his stomach when he thought about what a big, strong guy like that could do to him now that they were all alone. It wasn't a violently ill reaction like he'd had when his mom had tried to…to…do that, but it was unsettling nonetheless. When they finally stopped and saw that no one had followed, Gin looked up at him with eyes brimming full of sugar water.

"Please, make it fast," he said, trying not to cry. It was as much as he could have hoped for, being eaten quickly and gently by an attractive man. At least he'd have a good view during his final moments.

The man put him down and studied him with those yellow eyes. " 'the hell, kid?" he grunted. Like he didn't know.

"Eat me fast," Gin begged. "Please." He caught those yellow eyes and gave him his best teary-eyed, imploring stare.

A blush stained his rescuer's rugged cheeks. "Wha-? Jesus, kid, what's your problem?" he hissed. He took a step back from Gin and broke away from his gaze. His eyes dipped down and the blush spread across the rest of his face. He quickly dragged them back up to somewhere right above Gin's left ear.

Gin crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around the man. He bared his neck so he could get a clean bite. "If I have to die, I want it to be quick," he moaned.

Disappointment flooded over Gin when his rescuer untangled Gin from his limbs and pushed him away. "No one is dying here," he growled. Then, more quietly, he added, "You're safe now."

The gingerbread man burst into tears. His rescuer was so kind. Gruff, but kind. "Out of all the people that could've eaten me, I'm glad you're the one," he said. If he wrapped his arms around his yellow-eyed devourer, it might even feel like he was being held, like someone loved him.

The tawny-haired man shot him a quizzical look. "You born yesterday, kid?" he asked.

"No, today," Gin interjected.

The man's nose wrinkled as he frowned. "Huh? …look, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you, ok? I don't know what kinda cannibal-fetish you've got goin' on, but you're safe with me.

Gin froze. "You aren't going to eat me?" he asked. "Am I…unappealing? Did I get burnt? I tripped and fell that one time, but I swear I wasn't on the ground for more than five seconds!" The tears streamed down harder, making his face feel all soggy and gross. No wonder this guy didn't want him…he was a crummy catch.

The bigger man rolled his eyes and breathed a long-suffering breath. Guiding Gin over to a fallen log, he sat down beside him and turned Gin's face toward him with a callous hand. "Why would I want to eat you?" he asked slowly, as if he thought Gin was crazy and liable to throw a fit.

Gin took the hand on his cheek and brushed the fingers against his soggy, tear-stained skin. A few moist crumbs stuck to his rescuer's fingers.

"I wasn't born yesterday," he repeated. "I was baked this morning.


Fox blinked. He blinked again. "So…you're tryin' to tell me you're a giant walking cookie." The tanned boy nodded.

"But you don't look like a cookie because ole lady Baker made you human-shaped so she could sex you up."

"She was rather invested in my being atomically correct," Gin replied delicately. He pouted at the skepticism in Fox's voice.

"An' you ran away and all those people were following because they want to eat you. Or fuck you, you're not sure which."

Gin sighed. "Yeah, that's kind of why I asked you to eat me. You know, put me out of my misery. I'll crumble in a few days anyways, and I'd really rather skip the whole going stale phase, thanks."

"Dude, just because you have issues doesn't mean I'm gonna go all cannibal on you. Stop bein' such a drama queen." Fox rubbed his temples and tried to think of something to tell the kid before he slit his wrists and started oozing melted chocolate or something.

"You obviously need help," he said to himself. He always reasoned through things better when he talked out loud; it ran in the family. The Bad family monologues had become vehicles of parody within the community at large, but neither he nor his family could quite break the habit, no matter how much the "I'll huff and I'll puff" came back to haunt them. "A lot of help." He looked Gin up and down. Yep, still forlorn, still sugar-based, still naked. He shrugged out of his black leather jacket and tossed it at the cookie-man.

Gin stood up and pulled the jacket on. The cuffs went a little long on his wrists and the bottom hem just barely covered his ass. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't wearing pants underneath it, but at least the poor kid wouldn't get jumped by any crazed milkmaids.

"The gingerbread thing's gotta go; can't have you getting carried away by ants or hungry kids or nothin'."

Gin's blueberry rock-candy eyes went wide. "You can do that?"

Fox snorted. "I can't…but I might know a guy who can. Blue Fairy owes me a favor. Transforming inanimate objects into real boys is kind of a specialty of his."

"I could be human?" Gin asked quietly. Jesus, were his eyes quivering? Fox had to wonder what sort of crack old lady Baker had been on when she made him. Who the hell designed a sex toy with puppy-dog eyes? He guessed she had probably placed most of her concerns south of his eyes, but still, pedo much?

The tawny-haired man looked away from the kid. "Yeah, sure, why not? We just gotta find the right star to wish off of."


Gin didn't realize the star thing wasn't just a figure of speech until a few hours later. Before that particular epiphany came into being, Fox had led Gin out of the forest. It had been a slow trek, with Gin picking his way carefully due to lack of shoes and pants to protect him and Fox stopping and looking back at him impatiently. Gin had decided then that Fox was kind of a jerk.

Then, at the edge of the forest, Fox had pulled a camouflaged tarp off of a sleek black motorcycle. The man slid a leg over it, straddling the seat, and revved the engine. Gin revised his opinion: Fox was kind of a hot jerk. Fox pulled on his helmet and motioned for Gin to climb on behind him.

The gingerbread man may have kept a few inches of space between them, to keep the Bad boy from feeling the hardness that may or may not have been throbbing underneath the short leather jacket.

"You smell somethin' burning?" Fox had asked.

"No," Gin had yelped a little too quickly to be believable. Fox had let it drop and drove them to a seedy shack on the outskirts of town.

"'s not much, but I know a guy who builds 'em real cheap." Gin was beginning to form the impression that Fox knew a lot of guys. He eyed the flimsy wooden structure warily.

"It looks like a good wind would knock it over," he said nervously. The light summer breeze was already blowing the seeds away from the tangled branches that formed the walls. A few leaves struggled valiantly against the onslaught, but soon broke off and fluttered away as well.

"It's stronger than it looks," Fox muttered, looking vaguely embarrassed. He grabbed Gin's wrist and pulled him inside. "And if you mention huffing and puffing, there will be consequences."

Gin blinked, confused. "Why would I do that?"

Fox turned and studied him. "You serious? God, you are. You actually don't...? …you know what, don't worry about it. Forget I said anythin'. Let's get you somethin' to wear."

His rescuer left him sitting on a couch that had seen better days come and pass and never visit when they were in town and disappeared into a shadowy bedroom. Gin looked around the room, which was bare except for where vines crept through the wall, with rickety furniture and a table covered in beer cans and knives. The cookie-man bounced up and down on the couch nervously, hoping that if Fox was some sort of serial killer, he'd at least had enough practice with it to make it fast.

The couch groaned in protest, and somewhere beneath the dusty purple fabric and compressed stuffing, a spring snapped. Giving up completely, the decrepit seating collapsed with Gin still on top. He yelped as it crashed to the ground.

Fox peeked his head out of the bedroom. "What the hell're you doin' out there, kid?" he growled. He eyed the heap of ex-furniture. He rubbed his temples. "Christ. That shit survived five houses collapsin' on it, three mob-related house fires, an' my big-ass brother sittin' on it. You break it in two minutes." He looked flabbergasted.

Gin stood up and rubbed his butt where he had landed. "Sorry," he sniffed. "I didn't try to do it."

Fox threw a t-shirt and a pair of boxers at his head. "I mean, how does that even work? You're made outta dough. You're not heavy enough to knock down a card-house." He disappeared back into the room, and Gin could hear the sound of drawers sliding open and clothes being flung around.

"In my defense, it was practically dead when I got here," Gin argued. It wasn't his fault Fox had crappy furniture! Gin pulled the boxers on (they were rather big on him, but with the elastic waistband, they stayed on) and stripped off the leather jacket. The t-shirt was also baggy, but he was glad for it all the same. His first clothes…he was taking his first step to becoming human. He just wished his shirt could have been as warm as Fox's jacket.

"Doesn't mean it's not your fault. I mean, here I am helpin' you outta the kindness of my heart, and the first thing you do is criticize my house and break my shit. Someone might accuse you of bein' ungrateful." Fox popped out again, this time with a pair of faded jeans, a black leather belt with a silver buckle the size of Gin's hand, and a shrunken gray wool sweater. He dropped them on the once-couch.

Gin frowned. He had already said he was sorry! What else did Fox want? "I am grateful, you…you asshole!" he yelled. He grabbed the pair of jeans and thrust his legs through them, trembling with anger. Stupid jerk. Who cared if he was hot?

Fox chuckled. The sound started as a low rumble, then grew into full-blown snorts. Gin looked up from hooking the giant buckle and glared.

"Y-y-you, you're too much. You pout like a little girl when you're pissed," the Bad announced gleefully.

Gin ground his teeth (which, being made of peppermint, left his mouth feeling clean and refreshed) as he pulled the sweater on. The mismatched, odd sized clothes must have looked pretty awful, but he was grateful, no matter what that bastard said.

"Thanks," he snarled. As soon as he found himself some shoes, he was marching out this horrible place and away from the infuriating man smirking at him.

Fox stopped his laughing and held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Calm down, I was kidding. Damn thing breaks all the time. I know a guy who can fix it."

Gin rolled his eyes. Of course, Fox knew a guy. "That wasn't nice," he snapped.

The taller man curled an arm over Gin's shoulder. "Just makin' sure you are capable of modes other than depressed and submissive. You're cute when you get mad." Fox poked his cheek, then let go of him and strode over to the hall closet door. He opened the door and bent down to rifle around though the stuff on the floor, leaving Gin, who was already flustered, with an unobstructed view of his ass. Verified hot, jerk status pending.

At least he had baggy pants this time.


Ok, the pink Hawaiian-print flip-flops were just cruel. Fox was willing to admit it. The rest of the monstrosity that was Gin's attire was all pretty straightforward- the smallest pair of pants Fox owned, the only belt he was willing to give away, and the sweater he had accidentally shrunk because he never read the tags (it had been itchy anyways, so he considered his carelessness a preemptive revenge; besides, his mother should have known better than to give him anything that took actual maintenance). Those were all logical choices. The flip-flops, though, they were just the cherry on top of the cake. He had had to dig through piles of respectable black sandals and reliable old tennis shoes to find those horrid pink ones his brother had given him as a gag gift.

In his defense, he didn't need Gin looking any cuter than he normally did. Especially if he was going to keep staring up at him with those sad, desperate blue eyes. He was not falling for a baked good. His family was full of deviants and degenerates, but Fox was not one of them. He lived a halfway respectable life, and he was not about to ruin that with kinky food-sex. Although Gin would probably be pretty vanilla. Probably tasted like vanilla, too.

Ok, that should not have been as arousing of a thought as it was. Fox was just as sick as the rest of his family, he wasn't gonna lie. But he wasn't going to act like it. Besides, Gin would probably crumble if he tried anything. Fox needed to get his mind out of the gutter and keep his sweet tooth to himself. So, Gin looking as ridiculous as possible was a good thing. A step in the right direction. He was positively a gentleman.

He stowed a backpack filled with canned soup and water bottles under the seat of his bike and waited for Gin to come out of his house. He had told the kid to pack up a few clean clothes for them. How long did it take to shove some t-shirts and a few boxers into a bag?

When Gin finally stopped taking his sweet time and came out, he was wearing Fox's jacket again. Oh hell no. That jacket was his. It made him look bad-ass. On Gin, it just looked like a circus tent.

It was not at all endearing. It did not remind Fox of how lost and vulnerable and fuckable Gin had looked when he had been wearing that jacket and nothing underneath.

The gingerbread man gave him a quick smile when he reached him. He handed him Fox's spare jacket, which was brown leather and only slightly less bad-ass.

"Here. I don't want you catching a cold," he said. Fox took the coat and pulled it on. He felt himself smiling back at the kid as if nothing were the matter.

God damned coat thief and his sugar-coated concerns for Fox's health. He wiped the goofy grin off of his face and snatched the bag from Gin. Christ, he must have spent all that time packing it full of lead. There was no other way a bag that size could be that heavy.

"Kid, we're goin' to find a star, not backpack our way to Neverland. What the hell did you put in here?"

Gin blinked at him. "Is it too heavy for you?" he asked, completely innocently.

Fox hefted the bag into his back. Oh, jesus, that hurt. "No," he grunted. "Perfectly fine." Like hell it was too heavy for him. If a damned cookie could carry it, he could too.

Ok, his spine was not supposed to make cracking noises like that. He staggered to his motorcycle and lashed the pack to the bar on the back. It didn't leave a lot of room for in the bitch seat, but Gin and his skinny-butt could deal. It would be a pretty quick journey, anyways. Just needed to find one star and the kid would be off his hands, end of story, happy endings all around.

Meh, like that would ever happen.


AN: Kinda sorta have an idea where this is going. I'll try to update this and my other (slightly more respectable) story soon. Poke me if it doesn't happen. And review if you actually want more, else I will assume I am the only one who thinks this is a good idea to continue (which, I will admit, it is probably not. LIE TO ME. 3)