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last-starry-sky · 12 days ago

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kinktober day 31 - scars // monsterfucking - pt. 1

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

poly!141 x f!reader

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 1.1k, alcohol mention, no actual sex in this part, just pure halloween fluff 🎃, enjoy!]

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!): @slut-lmao, @mishaglass

You couldn’t contain your happy screech when you opened the door.

When the four men who lived down the street had seen you decorating for Halloween (in August but that’s not important), it sparked a long overdue introduction that ended with you convincing them helping you with a few of the more unwieldy parts of your grand design. Soap got a kick out of the 12ft. skeleton, and Gaz only almost fell off your roof once while tying down the giant rope spiderweb.

That had been months ago, and now, every now and then, they made sure to stop by to check in on you. The four of them seemed pretty bored, and you were a single woman all alone in that big house. Having someone to look at leaks in your radiators or nail down loose floorboards kept money in your party fund and you got four different flavors of hot men to look at. How was this not a win for you?

You had invited them all to checkout the “little get together” you were planning for Halloween night. If they didn’t have anything else to do, of course. Something told you they weren’t the kind of guys to stay in and hand out candy. You loved the look that they passed around to each other as you waited for their response, all side eyes and sly smirks.

Sure. Yes. Of course, love. They all chimed, Ghost’s oppressive silence speaking for itself.

When the big night rolled around everything was perfect: your jack-o-lanterns were all lit, flickering candles inside them dancing in the night breeze, the lights the guys had helped you hang swayed in the empty branches of each of the trees in your front yard, even the moon played her part, hanging overhead shaped like a reaper’s scythe.

Your various friends, coworkers and acquaintances all arrived as the night spun on. Everyone enjoyed the massive tub of purple punch you had prepared, the bubbling dry-ice cauldron really selling it. You provided a simple charcuterie board, and had told everyone to bring a themed snack to share if they wanted. The table filled quickly as everyone arrived. Various shaped and decorated cookies were popular. Your one coworker brought his “famous” deviled eggs and another brought in a plate of sliced apples and homemade caramel sauce. Otherwise, it was bring your own beer and the party was over at dawn.

You lost track of time as you buzzed around, trying to have fun and host as best as possible. Midnight chiming on your grandfather clock made you realize that your four most anticipated guests had yet to arrive. You wouldn’t have faulted them if they just didn’t show. They were your friends, it wasn’t the end of the world. Wouldn’t have given them grief if they didn’t come in costume, either. Your brain just about exploded with joy when you answered the door to see all four of them, even Ghost, dolled up in their spooky best.

Price was the first over the threshold, turning your open arms into a hug as he swept you inside. His pointy wizard hat was almost knocked off by the door frame, making you giggle as he set you down.

“I can’t believe you all dressed up!” you said, hands admiring the rather expensive looking high-collared robe he was wearing.

Soap was next, slipping around Price to pull you in for a hug. He smooshed your face into his flannel chest, chest partially exposed and very hairy. Whoever had done his makeup was a true effects talent. The extra hair on his face and neck was blended perfectly with his natural color and the pointy ears looked startlingly life-like. He even had a dab of dark paint under his nose to make it look like a dogs. When he smiled, flashing a double set of prominent canines, you couldn’t help but stare.

“Wow!” you commented, petting his flannel because it was the most appropriate thing you could will yourself to touch. “You really went all out!”

Gaz’s hand on your shoulder made you jump before you realized it was him. He looked so different, probably the most changed of all the guys. He didn’t have any makeup, but his costume was impeccable. A black silk shirt with a loose black cravat around his neck, a rich red brocade vest that looked incredible against his skin, topped off with a black trench coat that you were pretty sure you had seen him in before. You threw yourself into his hug, squealing the whole time.

“I love your vampire costume! It’s my favorite!” you said excitedly, dancing on your toes as you did. You smiled at him as you stepped away, catching a glimpse of the set of long canines in his mouth as he replied with a simple, “thanks”.

"Hear that?" you heard him whisper to Price. "Said 'm her favorite."

“And what are you supposed to be, love?” Price asked, looking down at you authoritatively, hands on his robed hips.

“Oh me?” you responded nervously. “I’m a witch!” you answered, looking around for your hat.

You must have taken it off when you went into the basement for more booze. The ceiling was pretty low down there, and you didn’t want to bring up any actual spiders with it. You felt a little disappointed, standing next to them in their amazing costumes while you had to sell your black and silver dress without your one accessory.

“‘er y’ go,” Ghost said, arm reaching over the shoulders of the men around you to plop your wide, decorated black hat on your head. The tatters of his mummy wrappings caught on their clothes as he pulled his arm back.

Price turned to make room for the man, letting him enjoy the full view of your sweet smile and nervous sway. This was the first time he’d ever talked directly to you.

“Thanks, Ghost,” you said shyly. “I appreciate it.”

There was something unnerving in his simple costume. It suited him, of course. Layers of dirty-linen colored gauze obscured most of his face, continuing down to wrap his whole body. Whomever Soap had found to do his makeup must have a friend in costume design, because you couldn’t find where a shirt or pants split to combine into one. The effect was near seamless. Even the tatters that streamed down his legs and off his arms didn’t look tacked on.

He had left both of his eyes exposed, too. His large brown irises and (you assumed) natural dark bags beneath them adding to his haggard, aged appearance. What made your stomach turn was how he had emphasized the few scars that crept out from behind the wrappings. You could see where each true scar ended in a bump of flesh, but the ends had been extended, made to look longer, wider, crueler.

Maybe he wanted to look flayed beneath everything, you thought. It was Halloween after all.

#mw2 #poly!141 #141/reader #141 x reader #starry writes #kinktober 2024 #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ahhhh technically done but i have SO much planned for the good shit tomorrow!!!! i can't wait to share it with yall its gonna be INSANE

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melodylnoelle · 2 years ago

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@brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 this was so lovely to read! You'd like it

You Bring Me Home

[tfaws!Bucky Barnes x reader]

Based on: Sweet Creature by Harry Styles

Words: 2,880

A/N: written for @samthemarvelfan and her Scenes From a Song Challenge :) congrats on your 1k mark, Sam!!! SO exciting! Enjoy some domesticity for tfaws!Bucky and his girl. (This is legitimately one of my favorite songs--the first time I heard it, it was two am and I was fresh off a breakup. A perfect song, really.)

like what I do? buy me a coffee on ko-fi. :)

The moment he first sees her, an ache blooms in his chest like heartsickness.

First, she is a lip worried between teeth, seen through a coffee shop window. Then, she is the last blueberry muffin on a day he craves such a thing, two orders ahead of him. A latte confused for his. A door held open because his hands are full. She isn’t a person for a long time, just a spectre which bends reality around him.

Until she speaks to him.

“I’m so sorry if this is weird, but–I see you here every day. It just seems awkward not to look you in the eye and say ‘hello’ when I do. So. Hello!”

She is the sweetest creature, and his therapist warns him against comparing her to a cosmic force, but… how else is Bucky supposed to describe how it feels to have someone so kind look him in the eye? And smile? The next time he sees her, he initiates, just as he catches the door with his elbow to let her out of the shop. It gets worse, the ache, once he knows her name.

“It’s Bucky. Just to… make it less awkward.”

“Hey, Bucky. It’s Y/n. Nice to put a name to the stranger.”

“We’re friends already.”

“Are we? Well. Remind me next time I’m ahead of you in line, and I’ll grab your coffee.”

“Likewise. Y/n.”

“Same time tomorrow, Bucky?”

“I’d like that.”

And she smiles.

Bucky spends four whole minutes of that Tuesday staring down the street, long after her head disappears into the crowd, careless of the coffee drizzling from his tipped cup. She never makes it to the coffee shop before him, after that.

The house where Bucky lets his dreams blossom is built on the foundation of a routine, in which he pays for her coffee every morning (after needling the barista, and trying to convince her that he isn’t being creepy, it’s just a nice gesture he’s trying to do, and if she ever seems creeped out by it, he’ll stop, but maybe just today she, the benevolent barista, can let him in on Y/n’s order… the barista doesn’t give it to him, but she knows Y/n, because Y/n knows no strangers, so she punches in the order along with his large black coffee).

The walls are built from the thank you, which Y/n manages to say with a surprised tone, like she doesn’t catch on after a week of him tapping his toe at the hand-off counter, as she enters–her coffee already in his hand–that he’s too persistent to let her win.

The roof takes longer to fashion, from little moments of investment in his own bravery: Have a few minutes to sit? Can’t believe it’s snowing in April. I switched to decaf on weekdays. Train was late this morning; I can't wait until the construction is done.

Before he knows it… she starts feeling like home. He knows he’s in trouble when she laughs at something he didn’t even mean to be funny.

But the home of her–the heart of him–is furnished with her concern, the day he comes back after an unforeseen mission rips him from the city for two weeks. A flurry of relief collides with his chest two full blocks from the coffee shop upon his return, and it’s accompanied by “Oh my god. I kept seeing your face pop up on the news. I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Bucky freezes on the spot. What he wants to tell her at that moment is I kept thinking about you. I got through it, because the thought of never seeing you again was worse than dying. And I don’t even have your phone number.

She tucks her arm through the crook of his elbow and pulls him into their shop, and that afternoon, Bucky tells a woman he simultaneously knows better than anyone and isn’t acquainted with at all about what he really does with himself. Worst of all… she is so damned sweet.

“Are you okay, Bucky? Please, you don’t have to sugarcoat it with me.”

He shakes his head. He isn’t. And it’s hard to tell her why, because how do you really articulate the ache of a life that was mostly stolen away? He feels like a teenager sitting there, shoulder to shoulder at the table against the window. She slides her phone over to him with the top portion of a contact card already filled in:

Sweet Coffee Guy

He types in his phone number before he can let his therapist’s concerns filter in, and instead rebuilds his heartache on the realization that she thinks he’s sweet.

“When it’s all a lot? I’m a text away. Or a train ride. Or… just, whatever you need.”

Bucky just stares. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“Maybe I got a lot I’m carryin’, doll.”

“You can text me nice things too.”

“You always been this stubborn?”

“I think that’s you, blue eyes. Unless you don’t ever wanna see me outside this coffee shop–”

“Did I say that? Don’t remember sayin’ that. Never would say anything that preposterous.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

She bites her lip, but she doesn’t break eye-contact, tilting her head. “You’re the best part of my day. It would be nice if that wasn’t limited to morning coffee.”

“Oh. Yeah?” He blushes, because she’s bold and she’s playing at the snap on the back of his glove, and because he lives here now–this hopeful place, centered around this woman he never expected. She sends him a text so he has her number, too.

Here I am. :)

Nice things.

She cackles, and Bucky’s so victorious over making her laugh that he knocks over his coffee into his own lap, and all she does is hop up and ask for a rag at the counter.

***

One year on.

She is patient with him. She has her limits. The arguing always stops before bed, and she always slips in beside him like she hasn’t been begging him not to go again, especially after last time, and pulls his head into the crook of her shoulder, and…

“I know it’s hard,” she says softly. “But… I’m worried you’re not gonna come home alive, one of these days.”

He sighs. He has no retort for that. But he turns his lips into her skin anyway, and tries to conjure any acceptable thing to placate her, for now. “You…”

“Hmm?”

Bucky closes his eyes. There’s only one thing to say, isn’t there? “I’ll talk to Sam.”

“…you’re serious?”

“You just got done tellin’ me all about it–”

“Okay, okay. Just… if you’re really gonna talk to him–”

“I’m sayin’ I will.”

“Make sure you’re giving him a reason that doesn’t come out like ‘my girlfriend is nagging me.’”

“That’s not what you’re doing?”

Her laugh makes his head bounce from her shoulder, but she kisses his temple. “Excuse me for loving–”

Bucky winces. “Don’t say that. You don’t.”

“Why won’t you let me tell you how I feel about you?”

“Doll–you’ve been cleaning up after me for a year, and I don’t want–”

“Stop. Get up.”

“What–why?”

She smacks the flat of her palm against his skin. “I wanna argue with you, but I’m not doing it in the same place you give me orgasms.”

“Sounds like foreplay to me.”

“James Barnes! Get up. Get your big head off of me.” She hops out of bed, swipes his own t-shirt from his fingers, and pulls it on… leaving Bucky to watch her stomp out the door. “Come here so I can be mad at you!” Her voice carries down the length of the apartment.

Bucky follows in his flannel sleep pants. Dreading what is to come. He finds her in the kitchen, butter knife in hand, standing watchfully in front of the toaster.

“Do you know what drives me crazy about you?”

“I’m sure you’ve got a list,” he chuckles, leaning against the counter.

“You are so comfortable being hurt,” she says softly. “You always smile a little sweeter at me when you’ve got a big gash in your eyebrow.”

“Are you regretting asking for ��Sweet Coffee Guy’s’ number?”

She wheels around, knife pointed at him. “Don’t. I want you to close that pretty mouth and listen to me. Can you do that?” She raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t say anything, and shoves him towards the little kitchen table to sit. For just a minute she freezes, and her gaze flicks down to his bare chest. “You couldn’t put on a shirt?”

“Somebody took the one I was gonna wear,” he smirks.

“God. I’m gonna have to be serious when I can see your nipples.”

“Take yours off? Then we’ll be even–”

“Bucky!” She turns back to the toaster, only because it springs up again. She angrily spreads peanut butter on each slice and plonks the plate down in front of him. “Here.”

“...is this part of the punishment, or–”

“You turning down a snack when I can hear your stomach growling from here?”

“Jeeze, okay.” Bucky takes a bite of the aggressive toast.

“Why did you agree to any of this?” She asks gently, while she has the thought on the forefront of her mind. “Why’d you move in with me? Hell, why’d you give me your phone number?”

Bucky blinked. “Um. Because… I like being with you.”

“You do. That’s good to know. Because every time Sam calls, you run head-first into danger like you have nothing left to live for, and it’s got me feeling like I don’t matter to you.” She hikes herself up on the counter and leans back against the cabinet. “If that’s the case, shit. Tell me now, Bucky. I’m a big girl, and it will hurt like hell to hear you say it outta those lips I can’t stop kissing, but as far as I’m concerned… I’ll be okay.”

Bucky’s heart drops into his feet. “Doll… fuck.”

She nods once. “I mean… can you blame me? You have no fucking self-preservation. You don’t give two thoughts to how I’ll feel when you come home bleeding. Do you… want to come home, or are you just waiting for the right mission to take you out?”

“Baby–”

“And if that’s the case, where does that leave me?”

Bucky is on his feet and between her knees before he can even digest what she’s insinuating. “No. No–doll, God. I…I don’t know.” His hands hover on either side of her face, but he doesn’t want to touch her unless she’ll let him. She leans into the touch of vibranium, and Bucky pulls her closer so he can kiss her forehead.

“Why won’t you let yourself have good things?” The question cuts like a knife between the ribs.

“Because–” he stops, as if he actually has any number of decent reasons why he won’t just think before taking the most dangerous jobs. “You know, I… don’t use guns anymore,” he murmurs against her skin. “Or knives. In a pinch, I’ll disarm whoever is attacking me and use their weapon against ‘em, but… I don’t let myself have anything, doll.”

“Why?”

Bucky looks her in the eye, jaw clenched. “Because then I’m not him.”

She smooths the pads of her fingers along the scarred skin where metal connects with tissue. “Know what would really set you apart from him?”

Bucky sighs, prepared for her to dress him down more–make him feel even dumber than he feels now, with his heart in his feet. But she kisses the corner of his mouth.

“If you defend yourself. With tools proportional to the job at hand, instead of just your fists and prayer.”

“I’m agnostic,” he deadpans.

She wrinkles her nose. “You know what I meant.”

“You gotta understand… When we’re out there, it just feels like… the most important thing I gotta do is stop whatever is going on, and do as little harm as possible. If Sam and I both can walk onto the jet, I consider it a success.”

“Carrying a gun to protect yourself doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Don’t believe me?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“No, no. I’m… I’m sorry I keep comin’ back to you all battered up.``

“I’ll clean your wounds every time, even if I hate it. Thank god you heal like a lizard. But this is your home. For as long as you want it, Bucky. And stopping me from saying that I love you does not jeopardize that, but it does hurt my feelings.”

“Humor me?” he says softly. “Why in God’s name would you?”

“Love you?” She hugs her arms around his waist and nods. “You’re always anticipating me. You pick up a new bag of my coffee the moment the beans hit the halfway mark in the jar. You drop your hoodie on my head before I even realize I’m cold. You clean up dinner while I’m cooking it so there’s no work when it’s done. Buck–you are so gentle with me that my mom still asks me how it’s possible that I found you in a coffee shop in Brooklyn, and not like… in a pet store, cuddling a litter of kittens. You are sweet to me, even when you’re grumpy. And even though I know that you’re in pain a lot of the time, you don’t take it out on me, so. Kinda easy to love you, despite what you think. Generally speaking, you don’t have a fucking leg to stand on.”

She smiles, even as Bucky’s chin drops to his chest. Her lips find his brow. “You don’t have to stop the work you’re doing, I know you’re saving the world or whatever.” He huffs a laugh. “It’s not fair for me to ask you to quit.”

“I would. If you asked.”

“You would?”

He nods. “Torres has been lookin’ to get in on more jobs, so Sam won’t be alone. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, but. I’ll find something that doesn’t make you worry.”

“I have a bigger dream for you.”

“I’m not running for President,” he says flippantly.

She pokes him in the side. “Your talent for trying to keep this conversation from being too serious is admirable, but obnoxious.”

He shrugs, but rubs her back apologetically. “Go on.”

“I don’t care if you just play chess every day in Central Park, if you find some peace.”

Bucky can’t help but smile. “That sounds nice. I gotta set you straight about somethin’, though.”

“Okay?”

Bucky leans against the counter, bracing his hands on either side of her hips to cage her in. He kisses her cheek, and then stares at the spanse of skin on her shoulder which is exposed by the shirt collar falling to one side.

“You think I don’t think about you. On jobs.” He shakes his head slowly. “Honey… since the day I met you, the one thing that drags me back again is the thought of never seeing you again. It’s the most selfish I ever let myself get. Even that first job after we met–the one all over the news, with Sam catching that truck–I just kept seeing your face in my head. I never considered that you were thinking about me too, I own that. But. I’m glad I didn’t, in a way, because if I had thought it was possible to have someone who… loves me… waiting for me at home, I probably would’ve run the other direction the moment you first talked to me. The fact that I’m here at all is kinda a miracle, as my therapist likes to remind me.”

“I’m insidious, that way.” She presses her hand over his heart. Bucky covers her fingers, curling them into his palm.

“I know it’s been hard bein’ with me–”

“Bucky–”

“Let me get it out.” He clears his throat. “I know it’s hard. I do all those things you mentioned without really thinkin’ about it, because it’s really easy to want the pretty girl who shares a bed with me to be comfy, so. Now that I know. About the rest of it. I’m gonna try to remember that.”

“Your wellbeing affects mine. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re gonna find you some peace, handsome.” She slides her lips between his and hums, nuzzling him. “I love you, ok?”

“I, um. It might take me a while. On the… emotions side of things.”

She smiles so sweetly that the corners of her eyes crinkle. “You don’t have to say it back, but. You can show me.”

“Okay. I can do that… How, though–?”

Her head bumps against the cabinet softly as she rolls her eyes. Bucky’s hands fall to her thighs, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry–”

“Eat your toast. You can start there,” she says with an exasperated smile pulling at her dimples. “And then you’re gonna carry me down the hall, to our bed, and you’re gonna get creative.”

Bucky slides his hands up her legs to watch her eyelids flutter, grinning as her lip disappears between her teeth when his fingers curl beneath her ass. “And that’ll be enough?”

“They don’t call it ‘making love’ for nothing,” she whispers.

***

Sweet creature, sweet creature Wherever I go, you bring me home Sweet creature, sweet creature When I run out of road, you bring me home You'll bring me home

my masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #ahhhh this is so good

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