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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

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So. I saw this picture. He looks so soft and huggable. Therefore my brain spat this out. Obvi I love chubby grump Bucky who can F U C K

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2, 623 words

Synopsis: Bucky is having a mid-life crisis at 100 something years. His girlfriend is an aggravating little angel shit who doesn’t understand why. Cue pool time and ripped blonde superheroes making poor Bucky extra grumpy.

Tags: Chubby!bucky, avenger!reader, size difference, age gap (twenties and technically late thirties), pnv!sex, daddy kink, Bucky’s hating ass internal dialogue, the reader is a slut for the extra Fluff, pwp, fluff and smut, him Jealous, and Big, I tried to make it humorous heehee

Poolside blues

It was hot. Bucky sucked on his popsicle angrily, sulking under an umbrella. He wore his t-shirt even in the blazing heat. Bucky grimaced at the cloth sticking to his skin, pulling at the fabric with a huff. He didn’t want to run around shirtless when the likes of Steve and Thor were basking in the sun— the golden gods they were.

So Bucky sucked on his popsicle, his fourth one already. He flexed his metal fist, cursing it for being such an eye sore. The assassin was convinced his body had it out for him. Mess of a shoulder, ropey bullet scars, and way too much extra weight he didn’t ask for. Bucky stared down at the soft flesh adorning his midsection, lips twisting into a frown.

Hydra had royally fucked his metabolism up, serum or not. Add a plethora of mood stabilizers and Bucky looked like a damn chipmunk hoarding up for the winter. His girlfriend thought it was cute, cooing and pinching his fleshy hip. Bucky did not think it was ‘cute’. He’d never been like this in his over-extended life. Soft.

He’d held thick muscle since the serum and kept that up at the least. The brunette worked out religiously to rid himself of that extra pudge. Now he was jacked with the stupid layer over it— making him feel like a bulky lummox. Therefore if he was going to sweat to death by the pool, so be it.

Bucky’s icy eyes flickered to his best girl playing around with Thor in the water. She giggled and batted at the blonde god while he picked her tiny frame up. The brunette’s eye twitched while gripping his popsicle stick until it crushed. His girlfriend was too cute for her own good, often drawing attention from the other sex.

“Are you just going to drill holes in them with your mind or get in the pool?”

Bucky glared at his oldest friend. Steve smiled down softly, big hands on his waspy waist. He grumbled, “I’m fine. Punk.” The blonde teased, “That’s why your shirt is soaked then huh? Go get in the water you’re making me miserable looking at ya.”

“Nope,” Bucky shot back, popping the ‘p’.

Steve sighed and dove into the huge pool. Bucky pouted efficiently from the side-lines. Thor had his stupid blonde hair and stupid white teeth and stupid washboard abs. His girlfriend appeared in his line of sight, her brows knitted in concern. Bucky attempted to not stare at her perky tits— nipples peaked under her blue strappy bikini.

She hummed, “I can feel you drowning in self-pity over here. Why don’t you get in babe?”

He was staring at her tits now, he didn’t care, not really. Bucky shrugged, “You have fun I’m fine over here. Thor is waiting.” She narrowed her eyes up at him, pushing back damp hair. Bucky licked his lips, holding the woman’s glare.

In a swift motion she launched onto the concrete.

Clambering up she swayed toward the grumpy man, droplets running down her tight body. Bucky took in the view, getting lost in it really. He could watch her all day and sometimes would. The assassin grunted as she plopped onto his lazily spread thighs, soaking him. Bucky hissed, “What was that for?”

The coolness of her skin felt amazing. He willed himself to not pop wood in front of the few teammates milling around. His girl leaned over, breasts about to spill, and pressed against his padded chest. She simpered, “Buck, c’mon, you know no one around here cares. You’re perfect.”

Bucky snorted, “To you, maybe.”

She frowned and lightly slapped at his shoulder, lips pouting. Bucky hated when the pretty thing pouted— he somehow would up doing what she wanted in the first place.

Every. Single. Time.

She ran a finger down his chest, big eyes begging, “Get in the pool, please? You look so upset over here and that makes me sad.”

Once again Bucky lost to her feminine wiles, groaning out a strained ‘fine’. Her mouth split into a toothy smile, cheering, “Yay!” He rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm. Sometimes Bucky forgot she was a little over ten years his junior. If one took off the cryogenically frozen periods. She hopped back into the water, eyes eagerly flickering to the side.

Bucky hauled himself up and reluctantly peeled off his dark shirt, revealing his pale skin and soft parts. He willed himself to not curl into a ball or run away screeching. Steve wolf-whistled, sending an embarrassed flush across the brunette’s full cheeks. He barked, “Knock it off Rogers!”

Sam, as always, had ESP for people flustering Bucky. He shouted from the grill, “Looking thick my man! Whole slice of beef!” The assassin was convinced he was going to self combust, sliding into the water to cover himself up. His girlfriend snickered when Bucky resurfaced from his shame dive, splashing his face.

He frowned down at her, the spitfire raising a brow in challenge. Bucky slung her over a thick shoulder, hand across the backs of her thighs. She laughed and kicked, playfully squirming. Bucky had half a mind to leave a mark on her ass, show the Asgardian who she really belonged to. She stopped thrashing and murmured, “If you do not stop being jeal-“

The assassin cut her off when he dunked under the water. She spluttered and cursed at him, Bucky laughing, “Sorry sweets, what were you saying?”

“Put me down or I’m ripping your hair out!,” she howled. He chuckled and slowly let the angry avenger down. She shook her head, flicking the sensitive skin below his belly button. Bucky winced and gaped petulantly— horribly trying to block of the feeling of jiggle. The woman latched back onto him, pressing a feathery kiss to his bearded jaw. With a dirty smirk, spirits lifted, Bucky led them to the shelf in the deep end.

Sitting back he groped at her ass under the water, earning a squawk and another slap in return. She whispered angrily, “Stop that! Not in public!” Bucky grinned dumbly, eyes flickering to her perky chest. He apologized, saccharine sweet, “Sorry baby, you’re just so pretty I couldn’t help myself.”

Tony Stark and Natasha approached the pool, him lowering his sunglasses at the pair. Stark sipped his drink and loudly observed, “Horndogs at it again. Barnes you’re a nasty old man, you know that?”

Sam sniped, “They call him Bucknasty for a reason!”

Bucky’s temples throbbed with annoyance. He shouted at Sam, “No one calls me that but you! Bird brain!” He needed to scoop the girl up and take off— now. Steve was howling with laughter, hand slapping his chest, Thor smiling in confusion. She turned and grinned at Tony, “He’s my nasty old man.” The woman laid an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. Stark pretended to gag and situated himself in a lounge chair. Natasha’s lips quirked up, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Bucky rumbled quietly, “I’ll show you nasty if you keep it up acting like that in my lap.”

Her tits bounced when she inhaled sharply, shit-eating grin falling from her face. Bucky lecherously grabbed another handful of ass for example. Her voice quavered when she weakly replied, “Very funny Buck. Not in front of everyone!”

“I’m not being funny. Seeing you getting flipped around by the blondes has me feeling…some type of way.”

Bucky was proud of his updated lingo, courtesy of the sexy trembling thing in front of him. She huffed quietly, squirming minutely on his thick thighs. “Jesus Christ, they’re all going to know when we both leave.”

“I think Clint complaining about us being loud all the time lets the team know what the deal is,” he smoothly pointed out.

With another harsh look Bucky regretfully watched her get out of the pool. Now he had to walk in front of everyone without a safety blanket again. He briskly climbed out after her, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Tony complimented, “Looking yoked there Barnes, trying to bulk right now?”

Bucky wanted to hiss at the billionaire like a feral cat. He felt like he’d been bulking for months. Just not allowed to cut— so sayeth the metabolism. He grabbed a towel and threw it around broad shoulders, aggravated with how his belly was on display. She was toweling her hair off.

“C’mon then you beast,” she snickered.

“Beast?,” he echoed.

Bucky hauled her up again, the smaller one yelping. He snatched his sweaty shirt up and carried her to the elevator. She sarcastically questioned, “Do you always have to carry me around like a caveman when you get jealous?” Bucky grunted in agreement, thumbing at the soft skin of her thighs.

She said, “You do know I only think about you, like, all the time.” Bucky couldn’t help but let his heart skip a beat. Still he whinged, “I don’t know why when there’s all these… ripped guys hanging around.” His girlfriend scoffed and rolled her doe eyes. She remained quiet on the walk, ensuing quiet ride up the elevator, and the remainder of the trip to his rooms.

Deposited on the bed she informed Bucky, “No matter how many times you shrug it off, I think you’re really hot. I like a little fluff on my men.” The brunette shook his head, crawling onto the covers. He muttered, “I don’t. I follow you around like some goddamn oaf.”

She pinched his cheek, grinding out, “You’re a little soft and I happen to enjoy you fucking me into the bed. Stubborn mule.” Bucky’s dick twitched at her words, grabbing an ankle to pull her closer. She continued matter-of-factly, “It’s also nice to have my big scary boyfriend behind me. It turns me on.”

Bucky peered at her, face set in suspicion. She ran a hand down his side, finishing it’s path at the laces of his swim trunks. Her face was cutely set in determination, deft hands untying the shorts. The assassin groaned low in his throat as the cloth fell down, exposing his aching cock. He climbed out of them and threw the shorts across the room.

Bucky eyed her up, watching her cheeks heat at his gaze. He gently positioned himself between her legs, pointedly keeping his weight off to her chagrin. Bucky sealed his watering mouth over a covered nipple, sucking eagerly. She whined and flexed under him, thighs wrapping around his hips.

“Ah! Buck!”

Her long lashes fluttered when his other hand untied the strings on the top. Bucky eased off the flimsy fabric, whistling lowly at her full tits. He nipped and flicked his tongue on a peaked bud, tweaking the other. She cried out, rutting up against his heavy cock.

Bucky’s lips split into a grin when he realized she was also untying her bottoms with shaky hands. He pulled off a nipple and teased, “That needy for it, huh?” She yanked off the offending fabric with a nibble at his jaw. Bucky would purr in contentment if he could. Until the nip at the flesh under his chin— which granted he has always had but still didn’t appreciate it.

He grumbled and lightly swatted her ass with a grimace. She mused, “You’re so hot. Honestly. I wish you would believe me Buck.” The assassin ignored her comment, instead sucking marks on her collarbone. She writhed underneath him, the wetness of her pussy sliding against him. The woman whimpered, hands holding his cheeks insistently, “C’mon and fuck me, please daddy.”

Bucky almost exploded, came back, just to explode again into a puddle of goo. She wanted to play like that today. He gripped her hips with low moan, eyes traveling up the expanse of skin. His girlfriend’s chest heaved, eyes darkly glazed. Bucky growled, “Y’want me to fuck you? Shouldn’t daddy finger you first?”

Huff. She shook her head no, dragging the molten slick across his need. Softly she begged, “C’mon daddy please, want to feel the stretch, need you.” Bucky’s eyes rolled in sheer desire, nudging the blunt head of his cock against her opening. He slid in with a curse, eyes clenching shut.

She was snug as always around him, pulsing and seemingly sucking Bucky in. The woman whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. She gasped, “So big, fuck daddy, don’t stop!” Bucky was not going to stop unless he magically disappeared.

He braced an arm beside her pretty flushed face to get leverage. With a lewd smack Bucky clapped his hips into her, enjoying the wanton whine. The brunette pulled back to give another roll of his hips, moaning lowly. He got into the rhythm he knew she liked— slow but forceful. Bucky smiled down, cooing.

“You’re so pretty babygirl, taking me so well,” he emphasized with a deep thrust. She clawed at his shoulders, pressing sloppy kisses to his throat. Wide eyes met his, her breathing, “No you’re pretty.” Bucky narrowed his lids, apparently his girl wanted to be a little shit.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me- shit! Daddy!,” she cried out with a smile, “Compliment you!” Bucky picked her legs up and hiked them higher, driving his hips into that silky-soft spot. He grunted in pleasure as she arched and yanked at his hair, mouth hung open with punched out ‘ah’s’.

Bucky rumbled, “I don’t like it- fuck sweets so tight- because it’s exaggerated!” He was panting with exertion now, reveling in the tell-tale slaps of skin echoing. The petite Avenger under him whimpered when Bucky hit her g-spot dead on, tears pricking her eyes. Bucky kissed a droplet, murmuring sweet nothings.

“Keep fucking me daddy, I’m gonna hah- cum!,” she wailed. Bucky urged, “Yeah babydoll, want you to, c’mon need it.” He thumbed around her clit, breathing into her lax mouth, swallowing up those broken keens. She sobbed his name into the kiss, clawing and scrabbling when she clamped down on him. Bucky’s eyes rolled up at the pulsing and gush of slick, fucking her through the orgasm.

His baby’s loud keens turns into little whimpers as he kept thrusting into her tight body. She quavered, “Cum in me please daddy!” The woman nipped along his jaw again, rubbing at his flexing ass. Bucky felt his lower belly tighten, a swirling fog gathering in his brain purely driven by need. He growled, “I’m gonna fill that sweet pussy up, you want that from Daddy, huh?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Ask and one shall receive. Bucky felt his balls draw up and he came with an embarrassingly slutty groan. He drooled onto her neck, gasping through the brunt of his body emptying into her wet heat. She cooed, “Oh, so good, ah thank you daddy.” Bucky collapsed halfway onto his girlfriend, still firmly snug inside.

She rubbed a trembling hand across his bloodied shoulders, serumed body already working on knitting the claw marks back up. Bucky simply breathed, unable to come up with intelligent words. His brain had probably shot out of his dick. She maddeningly caressed his, ugh, love handle.

Bucky groaned, “Stop it.”

She retracted the touch and rasped, throat bruised from yelling, “One day I’m going to convince you Buck. Perfect as you are.” Bucky snorted, “We’ll see about that.” He softened at her lithe hands pushing his sweaty hair back, grinning like he’d hung the moon. He murmured, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She giggled and cuddled up like a damn koala. Bucky didn’t truly mind, albeit she may be delusional and think overweight one hundred year old former assassins are sexy. He was glad he’d been able to find the loon, all his to boot. Bucky shook his head in amusement, the feeling of her sharp teeth on his chin again, him starting to protest.

#bucky barnes x reader #chubby!bucky #avengers are shit stirrers #bucky barnes smut #dom bucky barnes #reader is sunshine rainbow bitch #Bucky Is Over It #centenarian life crisis

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tiddygame · 2 months

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hello im sorry i wrote more for @myriadblvck ’s streamer au ghoap

I time travelled and around 4,000 words magically appeared in a document titled: "you didn't juju on the fucking beat soap" I think I was possessed by something. anyways here’s that:

tw: is it a panic attack? is it just typical ghost angst? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just be careful it's mostly fluffy (ghost is mean to himself cause he almost kissed soap on the forehead)

also i just realized after i wrote this whole thing, this is based on my general knowledge of dog tags… as an american. writing about the british military. so if you know your shit about the british military, uhh sorry in advance. my bad. from a very brief search i think a lot of it’s the same or at least same enough but this might hurt for people that know a thing or two. whoops!

fun fact: did you know for a brief stint (iirc, >40 years from around 1960s to 2010ish) the american military was printing soldiers’ ss numbers on their tags? yeah can’t imagine why they switched back to serial numbers.

Ghost had been pacing outside of his office for three minutes before he actually entered. When he did, he didn’t say a word. Just sat down in one of the chairs, fidgeting. It wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence, he was normally either gathering his thoughts before talking to Price about something more personal or hiding from what/whoever he didn't feel like dealing with.

When it came to mission debriefs, he was clear and concise. However, personal matters were a different story, and based on the way he anxiously opened and closed his hand, he'd guess this was a personal matter.

Price didn’t ask. He knew that whatever it was Simon needed to say would come out eventually. For now, he continued filling out paperwork and trying to figure out what it was that had Ghost so worked up.

Honestly, there wasn't much guesswork involved. Chances were, it was probably yet another leave request. He knew from Gaz (who was such an awful gossip he sometimes wondered how the man made it through interrogation training) that Simon had been visiting some social media person he had taken a liking to.

(Look, yes, Price knew about Twitch and live streaming and everything. He’s not actually that old. However, as long as he kept up the front of the old man who complained about the keyboard on his phone being too small, he didn’t have to deal with social media. Sure, it caused all of them to joke that he was geriatric and on his last legs, but he was able to convince Roach that he doesn’t know what TikTok is, meaning he wasn’t in charge of reviewing all the bullshit he and Gaz posted. A fair trade if you ask him.)

He also knew that Gaz was convinced the two were in love to the point that he and Roach had a bet going to see when they would get together. Price thought it was rather stupid, but he had to admire their ability to keep it under wraps; if the lieutenant found out they’d been placing monetary bets on his love life, he had a feeling he would need to find replacements for the 141.

Regardless, Price hoped that one day Simon would tell him about the friend but, until then, he was happy to fill out any paperwork that would get the poor man off base. God knows that idiot needs a vacation.

Simon was bouncing his leg, messing with his fingers, and staring off into space.

Three of his nervous habits at once? He must be even more worked up about this than Price thought. But, he was a patient man. It was about seven minutes of companionable silence before Simon spoke.

“I need replacement dog tags. I seem to have lost mine.”

Price looked up. He could see the chain around his neck and the outline of them still under his shirt.

"You do?" Price shuffled his documents around, eventually finding a blank piece of paper he could write on.

"Yes sir."

“And do you know what happened to them?”

“I believe they were knocked off during the fight from the last mission. I didn’t notice until later that night when we were back at base.”

Price paused and looked up from where he had been writing.

The last mission had been an odd one. Ghost normally stuck further away, their eagle-eyed lieutenant typically stayed at long to mid-range, watching for hostiles and making sure whoever else was in the field wouldn’t get caught off guard by someone they hadn’t seen.

During the last mission, he decided to engage at close range, a far cry from his usual approach of sniping hostiles from the shadows.

At one point, their lieutenant had been tackled and almost strangled. The fight had pretty much ended, his attacker was the only one left there. Ghost, being The Ghost, dispatched him with ease, but it stuck out to Price. Ghost may prefer to stay further back, but that didn’t mean that his hand-to-hand combat skills were lacking by any means.

He remembered thinking at the time that it was a clumsy mistake, that Ghost would have had to be intentionally trying to fuck up to get knocked down. He assumed the man had just been caught off guard, but he knew that theory wouldn’t hold up to any scrutiny. Ghost isn’t one to get caught off guard.

What was stranger yet still was Ghost specifically pointing it out in his mission report, calling even more attention to it.

Price set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“You planned this?”

“I plead the fifth,” said the British man.

Price just continued to stare, curious to see if this was actually going where he thought it was going.

“Is this off the record?” Simon eventually asked.

“Of course,” almost everything the 141 did was of dubious legality. Not reporting a conversation about possible wasted assets was far from the worst thing that had been swept under the rug.

“Then yes.”

“Why?”

Simon didn’t answer. Price waited, giving the man time to gather his thoughts, but based on the way his mouth opened and closed before he slumped in his chair, it seemed he didn’t know what to say at all.

Price had an inkling he might know what this was about.

“You know, Gaz likes to keep me informed,” Ghost looked up at him, somewhat panicked yet resigned, like he already knew what Price was going to say.

“He tells me you have a certain someone you’ve been visiting?”

“Yes.”

“Is this person a friend or…?” Ghost once again paused, calculating the potential consequences of his available responses.

He didn’t answer.

“Hmm,” Price paused, wondering how far to push before he continued, “You want to give this person your old dog tags?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would pre-plan “losing” his dog tags. Price mentally chuckled, leave it to Simon to be such a sap that he wanted to give someone his dog tags yet still make sure to follow protocol so he never actually risked going without them.

He had to hand it to him, it wasn’t a bad plan.

Price had a smile now, knowing his grumpy hard-ass lieutenant had a sweetheart he wanted to be sappy with.

“Romantic or platonic?” Price tried again.

“… I don’t know,” he’d never seen Simon look quite so… forlorn.

Hmm… That would explain his hesitancy.

He was pushing how much Simon was willing to divulge.

“And does this person know the significance of you giving them your dog tags?”

Well, curiosity killed the cat…

“No, they don’t.”

…But satisfaction brought it back. How interesting, the plot thickens.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

There was a long pause, after which it dawned on Price, “You want to give them your dog tags because they don’t know.”

It wasn’t a question, he already knew. Simon somehow slumped further, attempting to hide his face as if he weren’t wearing a balaclava.

His grumpy hard-ass lieutenant. Absolutely smitten with someone yet too shy to say anything, deciding on a quiet confession, one they likely wouldn’t pick up on.

Price chuckled, jotting down the necessary information he would need when he got his hands on the right paperwork, polishing up some of the details of Ghost’s story to make it more believable, before reading off what he had written to Ghost to make sure he got everything right. Ghost nodded once, and that was that.

“Replacement tags will probably be here in two to three weeks.”

“I would like to request leave for two to three weeks from now.”

Price handed him the form, having already grabbed it. He noticed how the man seemed to calm at just the thought of getting to visit his mystery person.

Oh, he thought to himself.

I am definitely joining Roach and Gaz’s bet.

<><><><>

They were lying on the daybed in his streaming room, or, well…

No, that’s not quite right.

Simon was lying on the daybed.

Johnny was lying on top of Simon.

His computer was still softly playing quiet (non-DMCA) music from where his stream had just ended. Instead of turning it off, he had decided to unplug his headset and leave it on, the music just loud enough to be heard.

Simon was sleepily scrolling through his phone, trying to pretend like he hadn’t almost dropped several times while dozing off, desperately trying to stay awake. Johnny had watched his struggle and decided to lay down right on top of Simon, not even trying to pretend like he was trying to fit on the remaining space on the daybed. Why would he when Simon was right there?

It was meant to be a joke, having thrown himself on top of him to annoy the man into sleeping on an actual bed (he claimed he wasn’t tired but the comically loose grip on his phone and the waking world said otherwise.) However, unfortunately for said sleepy man, Simon was very, very comfortable.

His head was resting on Simon’s chest, arms under his back like he actually was just a pillow, one hand reaching higher to feel where Simon’s hair had begun to grow out slightly.

I wonder if he would let me help him cut it…

Simon had said he was like a clingy cat, his free hand running through his hair in the same manner one would pet a cat to prove his point. The joke's on him though, he likes it.

Simon had tried to stop but Johnny didn’t let him, threatening to tickle him if he did.

(“I’m not ticklish, I just don’t want you throwing a tantrum.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” he was definitely ticklish, and one of these days he was going to prove it.)

At some point, Simon had given up on keeping a grip on his phone, letting it drop to the side. They would probably have to go digging through the cushions to get it out of whatever crevice it had fallen to. As of right now, the idea of ever leaving his spot was comical at best.

The sun had begun to set, orange and pink tinted light filtering through the sheer curtains, making everything look more like a dream. Or maybe it was just the proximity to the man below him that was making him feel so serene.

Johnny took a second to inhale and exhale slowly, appreciating the moment. He hoped that this memory, this beautiful tranquility with Simon, would be something he cherished for a long time to come.

He knew that they had things to do. Soon, Simon would be catching a flight at some ungodly hour, headed back to save the world yet again. But for now, he was happy to nap away in their own little bubble. He never was a religious man but here in the arms of Simon Riley, he was tempted to think heaven was real, and that it was right in front of him.

“I almost forgot,” Simon mumbled, not sounding any more awake than he looked, reaching up for the collar of his shirt. Thankfully, the hand that was running his hair remained. He didn’t like proving the cocky bastard right, but he probably would have thrown a tantrum had he tried to remove it.

“They had some fuck up along the line or something and accidentally printed me an extra set of dog tags. I was just gonna toss ‘em but thought you might want—”

Johnny was now wide awake, sitting up and yanking the chain out of his hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw them away, of course I want them!” Simon’s face reddened, a frequent treat for Johnny now that he had gotten more comfortable going without the mask. Simon might have been good at keeping a poker face, but without his mask, he was a blushing mess.

He wondered if the blush was from his obvious jubilation at the gift or if it was because he was now straddling the man. Such pesky details, however, (even ones that would keep future Johnny awake at night) were far less important than examining the necklace in his hands.

It was obvious this was the older set, the metal worn and dented in some spots though the writing was still clearly visible.

“Calm down, I’m not going to take it from you,” the gruff tone was severely undermined by the aforementioned blush. It was hard to sound tough while half asleep on a daybed and being used as another man’s pillow.

Johnny stared at them for a little bit longer, feeling every dent and wondering the story behind how they got there, before putting them on.

He smiled at the man under him, “How do I look?”

He was going to joke, asking if he looked like a rough and tough soldier ready for war, but something in Simon’s eyes made him stop short.

He was looking with… with… Reverence was far too intense of a word for the softness of the moment but it was the only word that came to mind.

Simon reached up with his hand, grabbing the tags, his knuckles grazing his chest.

Well, that’s just fucking unfair.

Simon was supposed to be the blushy one. Not him, goddammit!

Though, he thinks when they make eye contact, they end up tied for who is blushing the most. They stare for a while, maybe it should have felt awkward but it was too adoring for either to feel any form of uncomfortability.

Neither moved.

It was Johnny that broke first, smiling at him, yet again tracing all of the scars he could see. It was his new favorite hobby, especially when Simon would blush making the scars on his face all the more visible.

He took one more second to sleepily appreciate the man before him, then went back to using him as a pillow. His hands went back to where they were before, one under Simon’s back and one playing with his hair. His head, however, did not fall back to his chest, instead resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Simon’s hand returned to running through his hair, his other now coming up to rest on his back, rubbing up and down a few times before the sleepiness from earlier fully returned with his hand stopping somewhere around the small of his back.

Johnny leaned up slightly and gave a chaste kiss to the part of his neck that he could reach, then settled back to where he was. The hand in his hair paused.

“Thank you, Simon.”

A second of delay, and then the hand continued.

“You’re welcome, Johnny.”

Simon shuffled slightly, getting comfy before—

A kiss, on his forehead.

He couldn’t stop the blush and smile if he wanted to. He snuggled closer before drifting off to sleep.

When he woke, he was in his bed, practically tucked in. His window had been opened slightly, blackout curtains that had been drawn closed now swaying slightly with the breeze. When he focused, he realized he could smell petrichor and hear heavy rainfall outside with the occasional grumble of thunder.

There was a note on his nightstand. As he expected, it was Simon’s handwriting, apologizing for not waking him up before he left. It said that he had made breakfast for him (pancakes, with enough for when his sister would inevitably try to steal them), that he made sure to lock the front door, and left the window cracked.

He giggled sleepily at the last line. Regardless of the context, it always made Simon anxious to have the curtains open, much less to leave a window open. But, he also must've known how much Johnny loved the rain and set his worries aside, just this once, so he could wake up to the rain.

He set the note down and flopped back onto his pillows, his hand felt something cold and he remembered.

The dog tags.

John MacTavish is no stranger to crushes and heartbreaks.

He's had high school sweethearts, been in and out of love, he knows his way around the world of dating. Which is why he most certainly does not squeal and kick his legs while holding the tags like some kid with their first crush.

He did it like a grown man, thank you very much.

He grabbed his phone and sent Simon the worst pun he could think of; it was tradition at this point to send him some god-awful joke before his flight.

Simon has probably already forgotten about the whole exchange. He probably woke up and assumed he threw them away when he noticed he wasn't wearing them. It was probably stupid, an insignificant gesture with no meaning. But to Johnny, it felt like everything.

He sighed dreamily at the ceiling and felt the cool metal once more. Thunder roared outside. He thought about how he had felt in the man's arms. Thought about how much he wanted that again.

God.

His phone dinged and he immediately reached over to grab it.

I'm fucked, aren't I?

<><><><>

Elsewhere, Ghost was in an airport terminal, having far too much time to think.

Over the weekend, it was almost impressive how many times Ghost had talked himself into and back out of giving Soap his dog tags. He really hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Simon felt the spot that Johnny had kissed and wondered if he remembered it. Wondered if he had meant it.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked cradled in his arms when he carried him to his room, the way he had reached out for him when he laid him in bed. The way he had grabbed his wrist and clung to it, grumbling when Simon tried to pull it back.

If asked, he'd say that he had woken up late and that's why he was so far behind schedule. He'd keep the part where he sat there, kneeled in front of Johnny's bed, waiting for him to fall back into a deep enough sleep to pull his arm away all to himself. After all, it would have been rude to wake him up, no?

He had made sure to plug up his phone and, upon seeing the forecasted weather, hesitated before opening the window. It was only barely cracked, just enough for the sounds of the outside world to shamble in, but not so wide as to worry about water damage. He stared at it, convincing himself not to worry and that Johnny would like waking up to the fresh air.

He turned back to make sure the man was still asleep, still comfy, but stopped for a moment. He approached the bed and hesitated before running his fingers through his stupid haircut, almost wishing the man would grab his arm and give him an excuse to stay.

He didn't. Simon did, however, lean in to give him one last kiss on the forehead as some stupidly sappy goodbye, before his brain turned back on and he ripped himself away.

What the fuck is wrong with you? What? He grabs your arm in your sleep so you feel entitled to be able to kiss him?

Simon backed away, staring at the hand that had just been in his hair. He felt dirty.

For fuck’s sake, relax. It's not that big of a deal, you did it earlier; the man fell asleep in your arms, a forehead kiss isn't too much of a stretch.

He went to the kitchen and scrubbed his hands for a while, only stopping when he thought about how much water he was wasting. He still felt dirty.

Not a stretch? You don't get to decide that. How would you feel if someone tried to kiss you while you were unconscious? If they said that they felt they should be allowed to do so because you fell asleep?

He had started making pancakes. Something quick, easy, and reheatable for when Soap woke up. Like making him breakfast would make up for trying to kiss him in his sleep.

Why can't you just be normal?

Eventually, and after a run-in with Soap’s hell-spawn of a twin, he had to leave. The time on his phone showed that he should probably already be halfway to the airport by now but he has always been a selfish man.

He had snagged some paper and left Soap a quick note, hoping the apology would make him feel better about worse sins than not waking him up. It didn't.

He stared at the man for a second, admiring him, before he reminded himself that he was a fucking creep and left.

The storm left the flight delayed by 1.5 hours. Ghost had sat waiting, wireless headphones on and connected, but not playing anything. He had far too much time to think.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked, his dog tags around his neck, silhouetted by the fading light, the sun behind his head as if even the stars knew they could never compare to him.

He stood and started pacing. Amongst the screaming children, feuding families, and people who think they're entitled to listen to their music without headphones, one middle-aged man having an existential crisis didn't stick out.

He thought about how he had never understood weighted blankets so well until Johnny had thrown himself on top of him. It should've hurt. He should've been annoyed. Instead, Simon selfishly hoped he would never get up.

It took him a while to put his finger on what he had been feeling exactly. Finally, he realized.

There, in that moment, he had never been so happy to be alive. It was a startling emotion to discern amongst the swath of negativity he normally felt. It startled him so much, he had snapped out of his reverie and stopped short in his pacing. When he checked the time, he saw he had one missed text from Johnny.

Soap (art streamer): i was trying to think of an airplane joke but none of them landed

Simon chuckled and sat down; he almost forgot about their dumb little tradition.

Ghost: Disliked.

Soap (art streamer): everyone is so mean 2 me 💔

Ghost: It is not my fault your pun was so Boeing.

Soap (art streamer): well i thought i could wing it

Ghost: Did you look up what giving do-

Ghost: About the tags, you

Ghost: I think you make me want to live

Ghost sighed and fell back further into his seat, coming to a conclusion that his subconscious had long ago discovered.

I'm in love, aren't I?

Soap (art streamer): speechless huh? finally, the Wright reaction to my comedic genius

Ghost: Absolutely awful, Mactavish.

Soap (art streamer): :D

Took you long enough, dumbass.

<><><><>

Soap’s twin spent a good bit of time staring at her brother's new accessory.

“Is something wrong?” he challenged, hoping she wasn't in a bothersome mood.

She failed miserably at hiding her shit-eating grin but didn't care.

“Nope!” she replied.

She had run into Ghost early that morning before he left.

"Detergent."

She was pretty sure he never even learned her name, just jumped straight into calling her detergent.

"Ghoul," she greeted, glaring at the man.

Being required by law to not trust him, she checked on her brother as he was still gathering his things and noticed the necklace.

“You gave him your dog tags,” she accused, like she was framing him for murder.

“Yes, I did,” he replied casually, as per usual robbing her of the fight she so desperately wanted to pick.

“Did you tell him what it means?”

“...What does it mean?”

Damn, he was good. If she wasn't convinced that he was the devil incarnate, she might have fallen for his feigned ignorance.

“100 bucks and you buy my silence.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“200 then.”

“It doesn't even mean anything.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might be right… JOHN!” their neighbors were probably going to complain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” ooh he was getting panicked now.

“If it doesn't matter then you won't mind me telling him to look it up,” she started walking to his room, “JOHNSON!”

“Fucking Christ, woman! Just— Fucking— Here.”

He pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. Damn, that was easier than she thought.

“What did you say? 100?”

“Nope! That was before inflation. Now it’s 300.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You said 200!”

“So you admit you tried to scam me?”

“Just take the 100 and g-”

She didn't even get to yell, he reached for more before she could finish taking a deep breath in.

“Just shut the fuck up! Here! Three fucking hundred!”

She was tempted to raise her price further, but she was no gambler, she was a strategist. She knew a defeated man when she saw one. If she played this right, she could extort money out of him for a long time to come.

Something, something, vampires not fully killing their victims and all that.

She took the money, counted it, and then held out her hand to shake.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wraith!”

He didn't shake her hand.

“Christ, both of you are awful.”

He packed his stuff and left, broke, broken, and defeated.

She ate as many pancakes as she could, rich and victorious.

She thought about how much power, how much blackmail she had in this moment.

“I’m fantastic actually,” she walked to her room.

I am going to be so fucking rich by the time they get their shit together.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #streamer au #streamer! soap #streamer!soap #streamer! au #ft. Old Man Price and Chronic Shit Stirrer Twin Sister (unnamed)#ghost never changes soaps contact name #my version of ghost in this au has convinced himself that he's nothing more than an incel/neckbeard #and that's why he is the way that he is #[I know my mess of 'family hcs' or whatever was derailed to shit but I still think ghost would call his twin detergent]#i’m scheduling this for when i’ll be asleep so goodnight i hope you all sleep well and drink plenty of water #my writing

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