#brother soap

[pricegouge]

I’ve been praying for some semblance of stepbrother soap. The thought of you coming home for the holidays or winter break and meeting your dad/mom’s fiancée’s grown ex military son who was medically discharged is soo good. “You know he has a brain injury, you’ll have to excuse him.” they’d reason in a gentle, understanding tone when he leers at you without blinking from behind heavy brows and twitching lashes. “He’s been difficult since coming home, but he likes you!” They’d say when you bring up the way he always hovers around you like a helicopter.

jesus christ, soap who's been battling depression and anger, the misplaced feelings of abandonment, and the general itch in his fingers that's always come with civilian life. he needs a fight or a fuck, doesn't particularly care which order, and can't believe his luck when he finds them both in you.

he was a little annoyed when his da said he was getting a married again. not with the old sod, of course - bout time he'd settled, but with himself, with his vacant chest and his thoughts still running crooked, illegible. he knows he should be excited, but he hasn't felt much of anything ever since waking up on that fucking cot. discomfort, maybe. pain - not unusual, but different. and agitation. short fuse, temperamental. again, not unusual, but here he's got no outlet, at least none that won't land him in a holding cell overnight.

da jokes about him coming home for the holidays. soap smiles placatingly, but he can feel how forced it is. there's no joy in it, the season much more bleak and empty than he remembers it being, back before...

the new wife is lovely, a sweet, plump little woman. he can see why she'd turned the old man's eye, but he can't muster much beyond geniality, sequestering himself to his room more often than not because he knows how he's behaving, he's not stupid. he just can't seem to fix it.

that is, until you breeze in, charming smile, snow in your hair. you smell like crisp cold, oncoming storm, and when he looks out, he sees you've brought one with you, fresh snow finally coating the ground and covering all the messy mud. and just like that, some of the magic has come back into the season.

just as there was no fixing his mood before, there's no helping him now, either. you shy away from him, scared and skittering. snap at him when that doesn't work. da's just happy to see him smiling, refuses to call him to heel. he always worked better under a stern CO.

that first morning you're home is the first time soap's noticed morning birdsong since the accident. doctors had said he'd have some hearing loss, but it's strange how you can't really notice the things you're missing until you don't miss them. he hears it fine now, cuts through the fog of his morning and has him waking with the sun. he even manages a run, though not as intense as what he's been used to. wouldn't want to overdo it, not when he's a reason to heal up okay now.

he presses his luck, finding you in the shower. you shout at him when he enters, insisting he just needs to piss, and then shout for your mum when he doesn't heed your warnings and whips his cock out anyway. he's nothing but polite when she finally comes clucking after him, insisting it was an emergency and he's 'so sorry, mam.' you glower from behind the curtain, pruny finger clutching tight to it. he washes his hands before he goes just to hear you shriek when the water runs hot. your mum just chuckles. 'big brother antics.'

the problem is, really, he seems to be the only one who sees the situation for what it really is. you're not his sister. his sisters are obnoxious little brats, or overbearing hens who drive him up the wall more often than not. you are just a cute little thing, some stranger he doesn't know beyond your pretty face and the cute way you scrunch your nose at him, hiss at him to piss off when your mums not near enough to scold you for being mean. 'it's not right.' but he sees the way your eyes linger when he's sweaty after a run, or how your legs cricket when he looms in your doorway. the guestroom that's sat empty ever since his youngest sister's refused to come by. messy divorce, can't be blamed. he's just surprised da's let you have it. ('well, she's family now.')

if he insists.

he wonders if you'll call him your brother when he's got you under him. gasping and moaning, begging him for sympathy.

is disappointed when you don't.

"though' we were like family?" he grits when you call him soap, reach behind yourself try and pull him closer, deeper. he doesn't let you, keeps you pinned with only his head tugging at your rim. teasing. more antics.

"you are not my brother," you seethe. more vitriol. good, he likes you feisty.

"then why'd ye give me such a hard time? hm?"

you don't even need to think about it. "because you're a fucking weirdo." and that's true, probably. nothing new, even. he's always been intense. but it's never worked for him in the past.

"ah'm no' the one wants to fuck their sibling, hen."

the way your head whips round to glare at him makes him chuckle, your words enough to have him leering, vicious grin.

'well then, what would you call -?'

oh, bonnie. if you just wanted your big brother's cock, that's all you had to say.

[shotmrmiller]

it's always the two boyfriends fight fucking to let loose, get all those pent up emotions out before showing some soft, gentle love to their girlfriend but not with ghost & soap.

naturally they don't fit the mould. instead, it's soap sitting on the couch watching a movie and eating lunch because he came with 10 minutes (in his defense, he was in you while simon was in him) and so now you're the one being fucked cruelly through the mattress and you can't even tag team out because simon's got you pinned down with his bulky mass

[yeyinde]

surreal/psychological horror + Soap where you agree to house sit for a coworker when they take off for a vacation. but a man shows up and tells you he's supposed to be staying there too.

their son, he shrugs. came home on leave from the military. crashin' here. thought mam might'a said somethin'.

she didn't, but it's fine. and he's harmless. sort of. maybe. you're not sure, really. because he's a little pushy. has a wild temper that ebbs and flows at intervals you can't really keep up with. tempestuous. mercurial. but he makes dinner. he tells you about what he did—not all of it, but some. like why he was sent home as he gestures to the raw scar on his temple.

need some tlc, he quips with a sharp grin. and lucky him because he found the prettiest little doe waitin' fer him.

harmless. a soldier. you can trust that, right?

but he stares at you with a naked hunger, like he wants to eat you alive. but it's gone when you really look. and sometimes, things go missing. your clothes. panties. odd stuff around the house. he hides the newspaper in the trash before you can see it. says the cable is out on the television—Netflix only. no news. he can't—he can't bare to see it. trauma. you wouldn't put him through that, would you, doe? no. you're a good girl. the best.

(at night, asleep. a nightmare; his rough voice in your ear: his good girl. so good for him. so wet—)

and it's just three weeks.

you'll be fine.

(—even though you taste him in the morning. on your lips. your tongue. the back of your throat. salty, bitter. but—there's a pack of salted licorice on the table. fifteen pieces, it reads. maybe you ate them. fuck, got such a pretty mouth, doe. you count each piece. gonna make me cum. fifteen. it's fine. it's fine. there's an ache between your thighs. a tenderness you lie to yourself about as you ignore the stickiness pooling in the gusset of your panties. fuck, doe, ahm gonna—)

absolutely fine.

until your coworker calls after finally getting cell reception. chatting in your ear about her vacation. normal. totally normal. and her son? you tell her. he's been a real help around the house, too (but she should maybe talk to him about sneaking into your bedroom at night because that's so weird, it's so strange; you don't want to wake up to a man staring at you in the dark, or catch the scent of sage on your pillow anymore, the lingering heat—please tell him to stop doing that because when you do, he just gets a weird look on his face like you're the problem, and it's just all so—)

"what son? we don't—we don't have a son—"

the phone line cutting out doesn't really surprise you. and neither does the creak of the floorboards. the solid weight of a chest against your back. the press of metal. a warm, firm palm folding over your throat, anchoring you in place.

a soft, mournful coo:

"ah really didnae want ye tae find out like th', doe. ah thought we had time together." his hand tightens. breath heavy, ragged against the shell of your ear. "but we gotta go, doe. it's time for us tae leave—"

(maybe you should have pushed back harder against letting him hide the paper, or barring you from watching the news. you might have seen a familiar face.)

[wombywoo]

boyzzzzz 👦💥

[ilovelosermen69]

Girls when they see a man in uniform

[reds-skull]

There's a lack of Gaz angst out there I feel, so I'm doing my part and letting him suffer as well.

[gaybirdnerd]

Ghost, put back in the coffin years later and losing what sanity he has left.

He unburies himself for the second time ofc, but this time he comes out inherently wrong.

Soap will try to get him to talk to him, to quip and make puns and dad jokes like before "the incident" as they've taken to calling it, and only gets blank stares that don't quite meet his gaze or drift just too far to one side to not be focusing on something that's moving when nothing is behind Soap but a wall.

Price, who tries to get Simon to therapy and gets reports of him ghosting (ha) his team of mental health professionals. Who will get responses from Simon, things a good soldier would say, and then hear frantic muttering as Simon's attention runs away to the corner of the room.

Gaz, who's the first to be sent on a mission with him, Simon's first since the incident because he needs to be kept in rotation because he's only a tool, because Soap is already deployed elsewhere. Who sees as Simon absolutely LOSES IT at the sound of gunshots and tears people apart with a ferociousness he didn't think humans could attain, only to be met with frantic whispers and wide eyes and shaking hands once it's all done. Hearing apologies to a Joseph and Tommy and Beth because Simon somehow got it into his head that it's THEIR blood on his hands, as he tries to claw it off and needs to be sedated to be brought back to base.

The 141, who all get a retirement house together after a couple of last missions simply so they can help Simon recover. So they can protect him when he's at his worst and celebrate with him at his best. The 141 who give up their lives in the military not because they don't care about their country or job anymore, but because their friend and brother and lover needs help, he needs them, and he needs to be reminded he's alive.

[ghostsinmachine]

this is so....!

[pricegouge]

coming to u with the thought of stepbrother (or...maybe actual brother??? depends on the vibes.) soap who FINALLY brings his adorable little sibling to get drinks with his team on the odd occasion they visit him on leave.

they're insanely close. Soap's absurdly "caring."

Price's fist is clenched under the table.

Then ofc he invites everyone back to his place he's been going off about sharing with them.

my brain is rotting ♡ -🦈

the nature of your relationship becoming slowly more obvious as the night drags on is killing me. you sit too close but that's nothing unusual. soap's a tactile guy, it would make sense that he'd grown up that way, that neither of you thought anything of it. and when you get a little too tipsy, it seems only natural that soap let you lean on him, or rub your back soothingly to help get you back on the ground.

but as the night wears on, the quick pecks johnny lays on your cheek every time he gets up for a refill linger a little longer, drift a little lower. by the time he's fully tilting your face toward his so he can brush his lips against your own, the rest of the boys have grown quiet and tense, watching with bated breath as you accept his tongue easily, a quiet moan caught in your throat.

they're not quite sure how to take it, figure soap's probably just lucky enough to have realized he's got the best little pet in the world at home and will guard you with his life - which is why they're all surprised when he tucks you safely into his lieutenant's arm the next time gets up to stretch his legs. 'take care of her, lt,' he says with a boyish wink, and gaz can't help but laugh when simon jumps a foot, the hand you've kept hidden beneath the table all night having evidently found a new thigh to explore the inseam of

[rationales]

MJ ✨dramatically✨ votes to evict Joseph.

[jashonja]

I am convinced that Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths is pretty much about MW3 ending.

[clarissaweasley-10]

Imagine Gray calling a 911 meeting right after he and Lyra kissed. And then when they all have assembled, he just blurts out something like "I like Lyra Kane and we just kissed"(full stop.) All hell breaks loose with the rest already planning how their (Gray and Lyra's) wedding's gonna be like, the name of their kids and ofc teasing lil Gray bear for finally getting a girl...

P.S- Should l make a fanfic on this?

[angels-are-sinning]

tommy riley when "john" his university math tutor with a masters in is actually the "johnny" his brother talks about and is banging

[phddyke]

OH? OHOHOHO

[kismetlotts]

cw: stepcest, manipulation, dub con

Step brother MacTavish who stands outside your bedroom door, listening to how effortlessly his name rolls of your tongue while you fuck yourself silly on that pretty pink dildo you own.

Step brother MacTavish who fumbles in his jeans, one hand wrapping around his cock and the other clicking the record button on his phone. Smirking to himself as he records your moans.

Step brother MacTavish who later calls you into his room, shoving you to your knees and stuffing the video in your face. Forcing you to suck him and swallow like a very good girl.

Unless you want him to tell mum and dad.

[elexaria]

brother’s best friend trope except ur simon’s sister and you both grew up with johnny!! pt. 1 for some context <3

you remember the day the mactavish family moved in down the cul-de-sac, a loud and proud scottish family— a mother, three daughters and two sons. all were older you, which meant you seldom had the opportunity to actually talk to them :(

well, not that you could at first. you still giggle when you remember how michelle and johnny mactavish turned up outside your door, askin’ if you and simon had lost a football. "maw found a fitba in oor front gairden and was curious if it belongs tae youse?" squeaks michelle, all toothy and sweet with her fiery red hair. you and simon exchanged a look, almost like ??? was that english??

regardless, it didn’t take long for simon to become close to johnny, both at the cusp of boyhood and enjoying the exploration of manchester’s back alleys and abandoned train tracks. it was hard living at home, how horrible your dad and older brother was towards you and simon. so, he starts to bring you along on their little expeditions, to protect you.

you’ve always been a shy little thing, and johnny takes every chance he can to make you squirm and blush. “och! look at this chonky wurm!” he chortles out, dangling a slimey worm to your face. simon stifles a laugh as he watches his best mate chase his baby sister around, a potent concoction of boyish laughter and grossed out whining.

even when you’re in your teenage years, it doesn’t change the way johnny enjoys teasing you. "don't look behind ye, but ah hink that lad ye fancy is starin' at ye." he whispers lowly, nudging you gently as he motions to a haggard old man, picking his nose at the bus stop while you all wait for the bus home from school. “johnny!” you whine out, a smirk tugging to your lips as you playfully shove him. simon watches on, a quiet presence in the dynamic riley-mactavish trio.

and then something changes in the dynamic. simon and johnny both decide to apply for the military, and the rest of the mactavishes have either moved back to scotland or have moved elsewhere in england. and it breaks your heart being stuck at home, having to wait those couple of years until you could make the decision to fend for yourself. “i’m not leaving you. i.. need to do this for myself, yeah?” simon promises as he stands at the bus stop, pleading for you to understand that he’s not abandoning you— he could never abandon his baby sister like that.

but it hurts, it stings and you can’t help the onslaught of angry tears that stream down your cheeks as you watch him leave. he’s abandoned you. the last person to ever take care of you, and he’s gone and left you.

for years— no, almost a decade— you cut contact with simon. when the time comes, you haul ass and move up north to pursue a degree in the arts. you push those bittersweet memories of growing up with your big brother and his best friend, how much you all laughed until your bellies hurt, how they were both always there for you whenever you needed a break from your hard life at home.

those memories dissipate. that is, until, you receive a call from simon.