#soap sqaud

[brewed-pangolin]

[brewed-pangolin]

Super Soap Sunday's....

...will return...

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap MacTavish is the kind of menace that will kiss you so sweetly, whisper the most endearing sonnets of your beauty into your ear all while his thumb ravages your clit and finger fucks you like the man whore that he is.

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Captain MacTavish, who makes you ride his face while leaning against the headboard every morning. Won't stop until your legs are quaking around his head and dripping yourself all over his stubbled chin. Whimpering that you're too sensitive, further urging him on as he grips tightly into your thighs and plunges his tongue deep into your overstimulated hole.

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Being a demolitions expert, Soap MacTavish has to be very good at math.

Which means he knows the exact mathematical equations for perfectly banging his cock into your pussy and this makes absolutely no sense but it made me laugh and I'm too tired to think or care otherwise.

[brewed-pangolin]

Imagine you and Soap relaxing on the couch after a particularly hard day.

Your eyes glazed, barely paying any attention to the moving pictures flashing on the television screen. And the volume down low enough to be nothing more than a stuttering hum.

You catch him lightly bob his head in the periphery of your vision. His eyes heavy, lips parted just enough to expell a series of slow rhythmic breaths.

He hasn't slept well since coming home from his last deployment. Mind tormented by unspeakable horrors. Voice hushed and muffled by an objective that violently tore your energetic Scotsman from within your grasp.

And his eyes. Usually, bright with cerulean vigor and a lust for life have been pulled behind a smoky curtain of uncertainty and dereliction.

You crave to console him. Wrap him in the emotional blanket of your affection to null the pain and remorse extruding from his motionless form.

Yet you hold back. Aware of the classified nature of his career and inability to discuss the happenings that eat away at him.

You resort then to the one concept you can give him.

Comfort.

-

"C'mere, honey." You urge on a hushed whisper. Extending your hand to him, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to guide him down into the comfort of your lap.

Soap responds with only action. Following your gentle command as he lays himself onto the couch and places his head into the makeshift pillow of your thighs.

"Lay on your side, baby. Let me take care of you."

He again follows your instruction without question. The ever obedient soldier taking orders from the one he loves as he loses himself in the encompassing mantle of your affection.

And you oblige him to the fullest extent. Soothing his troubled mind with the gentlest of touches along his crested scalp. Continually running your fingers through his hair as you feel the heaviness of his exhaustion fall graciously into your lap.

You remain like this for the remainder of the evening. Letting the muffled sounds of scripted chaos wash over your molded spirits as the unabashed devotion to your plagued Scotsman ever heals his broken soul.

Drabbles Masterlist

[brewed-pangolin]

The Adonis belt. Gym Rat Soap's most prized secret weapon.

Smug bastard teasing you with it by wearing a tattered gym shirt torn just below his navel.

Those sculpted devil horns luring your gaze to the waistband of his shorts, then dangerously lower to the Scottish iron hidden just beneath the veil of nylon fabric.

You don't care when he catches your eyes staring at him. He's used to it. Boosts his ego. Puffing his chest out as he moves on from the bench press to the nearest rower. Your addicted stare never leaving his and that overly confident stride.

"Are you done?"

A loud voice asks, pulling you out of a daze. Realizing you've been sitting on the bike motionless with a gaping maw for the better part of two full minutes.

"Oh shit. Sorry." Is all you can manage, another apology rolling over your lips as you hastily wipe down the seat of the bike.

Escaping to a corner bench to lick your wounds of embarrassment. Taking a few long sips from your water bottle, cooling the heat radiating in your lower belly. Unaware of the figure turning around the corner until he blocks your view of the gym completely.

"Ya a'right, lass?" He questions, noting your flusterd state. His voice hoarse and low. A sinfully thick accent particularly accentuating the 'ass'.

You nod. Barely.

Words a far gone cry. Mind blank. Fully dumbstruck as this 'sculpted by the God's' man stands above in all his smug glory.

"Aye? Ya sure? Could use a good cardio partner."

You hesitate. Pondering his words in your garbage disposal of a brain, leaning over to take a quick glance at the packed running section behind him.

"The treadmills are full." You state, trying to contain the silent tremble in your voice. Failing due to the dark look on his eyes.

He scoffs. Shaking his head. The frills of his mohawk swaying from excess sweat as he closes the distance. Never removing his hungry stare.

"Wasn't referrin' to tha' kinda cardio."

Fuck.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

[brewed-pangolin]

Gym Rat Soap is the kind of maniacal bastard to use a more 'hands-on' approach to help you loosen up following a vigorous workout.

18+ MDNI

--

"C'mon, lass. Let me stretch ya out. Loosen up for me, yeah," Soap murmured while pressing your knee up to meet the top of your chest.

His calloused hand wrapped around your calf, using his body weight to lengthen the muscles of your hamstrings while his free hand delved beneath your shorts to rub his index and middle finger against your pulsing nub.

"Johnny, we can't-" you pleaded, stuttering in a breathless whimper as you clenched your eyes. "We're at the fucking gym."

"No one suspects nothin'. Jus' workin' ya out, is all. Now loosen up," he urged with a demanding tone.

Pulling your leg to half extension, only to push harder and further stretch the fibers within your glutes as his fingers worked tirelessly against the flesh of your clit.

"Fuck, Johnny. Please," you whined. Tilting your head away as the scent of synthetic leather and sweat filled your sinsues.

Your fatigued muscles screamed in agony. Begging for release from yet another round of painful excursion as he worked you into a pleasured mess at the tips of his gym hardened and skilled fingertips.

"Tha's it. C'mon. Relax into it, bonnie. Let it go."

You clenched your fingers into the leather fabric of the mattress. The sudden crescendo of an orgasm leaching through your veins as you discretely as possible arched your back off the stretching table to push your mound into the rounded palm of his hand.

Biting your bottom lip to silence the moan threatening to escape within the bowels of your throat. Eyes clenched, jaw set as the waves of pleasure and release moved over your spasming muscles as the pace of his fingers slowed to the steady loosening of your exhausted flesh.

Breathing wavered, a silent whimper rolling over your parting lips while your body tremored in the aftermath of an overly cautious climax.

"Mmm, yeah. That feels good, baby."

"Aye. Nice and loose now, aren't ya, lass?" He coaxed while pulling his hand from within your shorts.

Holding your calf and thigh within his grasp, gradually extending and flexing your leg to bring it back down fully against the mattress.

Opening your eyes, you were met with the bright cerulean gaze of your lover as he stood before you in nothing but his weathered tank top and 'barely hiding anything' gym shorts.

An overly satisfied smile curling into your lips as your voice lowered to a husky whisper.

"Thank you, Johnny."

"Hm. Don't thank me yet, lass," he retorted, brows knitting with a defined smirk.

"We're not done yet."

"What'ya mean?" You asked, lightly raising your head off the mattress"

"Need ya spin 'round. Gotta do the other leg."

Fuck.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @glitterypirateduck @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @mykneeshurt @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @kkaaaagt @obligatoryghoststare @writeforfandoms @haurasha @thetrashpossum @simpingoverquestionablemen @luismickydees @designateddeadend @queen-ilmaree @foxface013

Edited because I'm le dumb and forgot the tag list

[brewed-pangolin]

Pseudo Climactic

OG Soap MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Explicit Smut, Established Relationship, Alcohol Use, Intoxication, Reader turned into a pretzel, Slight Dom/Sub themes if you look closely, Absolute Filth

A/N: The continuous brainrot of Captain MacTavish carries on. I was supposed to drop this last night but had to partake in some New Year's festivities. Hope y'all had a fantastic night bringing in 2024, and that you didn't drink too much of the bubbly because...

Word count: 1.6k

Imagine trying to fake an orgasm with Captain MacTavish because you were too drunk off New Year's champagne.

You were currently folded in half, knees against your chest with strong hands pressing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you perfectly positioned for him against the continually whining mattress.

Soap MacTavish was lost. Mind blank and body in overdrive as he relentlessly thrusted his throbbing cock into your open and soaking cunt.

The lube was definitely doing its job. He'd come at you like a desperate and horny fiend and was well aware you weren't going to get wet enough for him.

He'd blame on it the dress in the morning.

You, on the other hand, were at complete fault for your currently doubled over disposition.

"Why'd ya got to wear that dress?" Soap whispered lowly against your ear. Snaking his hand around your waist to get a tight squeeze of your ass against the bar as you ordered yet another glass of champagne.

"Because I look damn good in it." You retorted, sliding your free hand down and over the supple roll of your hip. The tight, black sequin dress leaving nothing to the imagination as it hugged every voluptuous curve of your feminine form.

"Aye. Ya fuckin' do, lass. But donnae ya think ya'd had enough a-"

"Hands off."

You spat back, swatting his hand away as he tried to grab the glass from within your delicate grasp. Bringing the slender rim up to your lips with a confident smile. All while shooting him an arrogant glance over its circular base as its intoxicating effects coursed through your veins and into your consciousness.

"Easy, lass. Donnae make me pull rank on ya."

"Donnae make me pull rank on ya." You mocked deliberately, even as he narrowed his eyes at you.

His piercing cerulean stare gradually began to be shrouded by a heavy brow. The tight muscles of his jaw clenched while his hand glacially traveled from your ass the delve deeper between the flesh of your thighs.

"Keep it up, ya lit'le minx. An' I'll make sure th'ball ain't gonnae be th'only thing droppin' at midnight."

"Who says we gotta wait til midnight?"

Captain MacTavish was right. You were a little minx. And to solidify that fact, you grabbed your freshly filled glass of bubbly and pulled his hand out from between your legs.

Sauntering off as the steady thrum of the bar added to your already humming subconscious. Making you sway your hips like a sequin laced seductress, effortlessly gliding over towards the other end of the packed tavern to make a hasty exit.

You didn't bother looking back. Even amongst the cacophony of music and boisterous voices, you could hear the heavy cadence of his footsteps behind you. The very presence of the Captain made the air of the bar shift, forcing the crowd to part and allow for a more easily accessible departure.

"Like the parting of the red sea," you hummed quietly under your breath.

And as you made your way towards the open door, a sudden thought began to form in your drunkenly fueled mind. Bringing an overly confident smile to your lips as you placed the champagne glass on an empty table.

Soap MacTavish needed you. And he needed you now.

And goddamn, did he need you.

Yet just as his mind and body worked you like an overused sex doll, you were somehow still cemented in the mundane thoughts and trivial misgivings of reality. The endless glasses of champagne retaliating against your efforts to revel in his relentless pounding as continuous thoughts and regrets from the previous year perpetually flooded your mind.

"Goddamit, come on.." you managed under a heavy breath. Gritting your teeth, clenching your eyes shut to silence all senses and focus only on the feel of him.

You tried to let the world go. To lose yourself in the otherworldly pleasure that only this Scottish beast of man could thrust upon you.

But it was to no avail. Not even Captain Soap MacTavish, the love of your life and best lay you'd ever had could break the bindings of intoxicated actuality.

So you gave in.

You knew your body well enough to mimic the muffled whimpers and desperate gesticulations of an encroaching orgasm to a 'T'. Most men could never tell the difference.

Most men.

You were currently in the grips of giving an Oscar winning performance. Arching your back off the bed, eyes clenched and digging your nails into the flesh of your thighs, and putting on a verbal serenade that would put Meg Ryan to shame.

To put it lightly, your erotic enthusiasm knew no bounds.

And yet, just as you were about to reach the pinnacle of your climactic execution, he halted.

Full stop. System override.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. And when your gaze settled on him, you were met with an expression you had never come face to face with on him before.

Confusion. Resentment. But also, amusement?

"Wha' th'fuck are ye doin', lass?" He panted.

Gripping into the flesh of your thighs as a prominently furrowed brow etched itself onto his forehead. Only serving to accentuate his smug tone and inquisitive curl to his lips while his cerulean eyes threw daggers at you.

"John, I-"

"We're you tryin' to fake it on me, lass? Ya think I cannae tell the difference?"

"John, please. I-"

You were cut off yet again as he pushed himself inside to the brim. Filling you completely with his pulsing cock as he leaned his sweat laden, muscular frame on top of yours. Eyes rolling back in your head and forcing a moan to escape from the depths of your throat as he folded you into an incomprehensible pretzel.

"Ya cannae fake that shite with me. I ain't no one night stan'. I know yer body. Betta' than you, even..."

His hot breath fanned over the curve of your neck as he brought his lips down onto your throbbing pulse point.

That familiar, deep growling brogue vibrating against your flesh and acting like a blade to finally sever you from the tight champagned fueled grip of reality.

Letting out a drawn-out exhale, you felt your body steadily begin to relax underneath him. Pulling his densely built weight up just enough to let you breathe as his steely gaze raked over your trembling and contorted form.

"Tha's it. Now, wha' does m'poor drunken, needy lit'le lass need, eh? Ya wan' it slow? I can give it t'ya slow.."

Soap's words were like honey laced venom. Putting his full weight onto your folded legs once more, letting his hips gradually rock back and forth against your pelvis. A slow, languid movement of his stiffend length pumping into your heat that threatened to instantly pull you into the realm of his pleasured depths.

And just as you were beginning to settle into his unhurried rhythm, he forcefully thrusted himself back into you. Shoving your body into the mattress and pushing your head up against the headboard with a breathless gasp. Causing you to dig and claw your nails into the flesh of his shoulders as he threw his hips back to nearly pull out, only to vigorously throw himself back into your heat once more with a deep, resonating growl.

"Fuckin' hell, bonnie. Is this what'ya need? Wanna break in tha' New Year by breakin' th'bloody bed?"

"Goddammit, John," you managed with a groan in response. Gasping for breath as your mind try to play catch up to your body's ongoing pleasured torture.

"Maybe...somewhere, in between...just..fuck...get me off, baby..."

"Aye. I'm gonnae get ya off, ya needy lit'le minx. But yer gonnae have'ta promise me one thing."

"What?" you replied swifty in a breathless whisper.

The rumbling tremble of authority wrapped around his voice working you into a feverishly desperate mess, writhing underneath him as he brought his lips down to within inches of yours.

"Donnae ever where tha' fuckin dress in public again."

"Yes, sir."

"Tha's a good lass," Soap hummed quietly against your lips. Resuming the mind-numbing pace of his hips as you closed your eyes and let yourself finally give into sensual torment.

You spent the remainder of the night continuously moaning and bellowing his name from your overworked lungs, so much that so you knew you'd be hoarse in the morning. And Soap had had you twisted and bent over in such an array of contorted positions you'd more than likely put a hardened yoga instructor to shame.

By the end, you were so overstimulated and spent after your umpteenth orgasm that you could barely conjure up a single comprehensible thought. The effects of the alcohol long gone. All you could feel was the constant tingling along your skin accompanied by the distant thrum in your core as you slowly rode out the last waves of your final climax.

"You good, lass?" Soap asked, his tone more hushed and reserved as he laid comfortably on his back next you.

Ignoring the protest in your overused muscles to turn your head and steal a glance at him. His body glistening in sweat, the dim light illuminating him in such a way to accentuate the rolling and sculpted curves of his muscular frame.

"Yeah."

That one word was all you could manage on a hushed whisper. Letting your mind and body recover from what felt like hours of erotically fueled physical torture at the hands of the legendary Captain.

Within a matter of minutes, you could feel the tendrils of sleep beginning to wrap themselves tightly around you. Lazily raking your eyes over his blissfully spent form, giving your empty mind all the delicious morsels it needed to conjure up further scenarios you would throw at him throughout the next year.

And within these thoughts flooding your mind they're were two that were the most pronounced:

You would never wear that sequin dress out in public again. And you would absolutely fake another orgasm to truly push Soap MacTavish to his erotically fueled limits. Sans the champagne to truly revel in the entire experience.

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @obligatoryghoststare @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @simpingoverquestionablemen @thetrashpossum @havoc973 @kkaaaagt @shotmrmiller @haurasha @ang3lc @luismickydees

I know it's Monday, but I'm keeping the SSS tags because I'm the Soap Squad President and I do what I want. 💛🧼

[brewed-pangolin]

Sorry. Not sorry.

"Johnny, can you turn the fan on?" You asked. Your groggy voice muffled by the pillow as you curled yourself up beneath the blankets.

"Aye. Ya hot, bonnie?"

"No. It's just.." your words trail off as you shake your head. Putting his huskily drained voice into your memory for when he would eventually be pulled away from you again.

"It's too quiet."

"Ya don't like it quiet?"

You fell silent. The mattress shifting beneath you as he turns over, raising himself from the bed and switching on the fan.

Your eyes took in the sight of him in the dim light, accentuating the curves of his muscular physique as he leisurely sauntered back over to the bed.

"The quiet is so noisy when you're not here, Johnny." You manage with a silent tremble in your voice.

The ache of his absence like a distant tremor resonating deep within your bones. His heavy footsteps augmenting the reality of him as he gently glides himself back into bed.

"I'm 'ere now, bonnie."

Instinctually, you reach out to him. Clawing at his skin in a desperate attempt to meld your body with his. Pressing your head against his chest, tightly wrapping your arms and legs around him as he throws the covers over your blissfully conjoined bodies.

And this is where you stayed. Nestled into his protective and comforting embrace as you let the world dissolve into nothingness around you. Allowing his presence to soothe the till of weariness within the recesses of your mind.

Until the aftershocks of your solitude ultimately took over as your Johnny was whisked away from within your grasp once more.

I suck at angst, but at least I'm trying.

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @haurasha @writeforfandoms @havoc973 @thetrashpossum @ang3lc @luismickydees @obligatoryghoststare

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'Bravo 7-1. Going dark.'

-Soap MacTavish, probably. Right before he buries his face between your thighs.

[brewed-pangolin]

Hey, y'all. Just wanted to take a moment and say how happy I am to be writing again. Feels good.

And I wanted to say a truly heartfelt thank you for all your love on the new neighbors!Johnny series. It means the world to me.

In regards to writing, I have decided to no longer use a tag list. This decision is purely my own and one I took great time to consider. Due to this, I will update my masterlist whenever I publish a new fic (typically Sunday)

Much love to you all. And as always...

Stay Thirsty Soap Squad 🧼

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap MacTavish is a distinguished alumni of the University of Sexual Growling.

Esteemed member of the House of Delta Iota Kappa.

Graduated Magna Cum Loudly.

He demands your respect.

[brewed-pangolin]

How to break Soap's heart #427

[brewed-pangolin]

After some careful consideration, I've decided I'm going to be taking a little break.

The Covid fatigue is something fierce this time around, and it's taking a toll on me mentally and physically. Not to mention that work has been extremely busy, and that in and of itself has drained me completely.

All this has stunted my writing drive. And every time I try to go back and work on it, I feel like I'm forcing myself to do so. Which is not an aspect I enjoy.

I love writing. It's very therapeutic for me. But at this point, I think it's time to take a step back, to rest, and to let my mind and body recover. (Which is really unfortunate because I had some really thirsty cute ideas for Valentine's Day)

I don't think I'll be gone for very long. A week. Two at most.

Going to let the qeue run in my absence. Also going to throw in a couple thirsty Soap thoughts into the mix that I've been holding on to.

I have tons of Captain MacTavish content for you all to come, and I'm really excited that I got my first '🛞⭕💢⭕💢🛞' ask (thank you, love).

Thank you all for understanding, and I hope to return to you with a rejuvenated vigor and an undying thirst for that Scottish menace.

(Please tag me in as much Soap content as you want. I'll gladly drown myself in it when I get back.)

Much love 💛 and Stay Thirsty 🧼

-Soap Squad President, going dark.

[brewed-pangolin]

NO! I don't want to watch stupid football. I want to write silly little stories for my internet friends because I love them!

Do you not know what day it is!?! It's Super Soap Sunday!!!

It is an anniversary for a certain fic. Perhaps I'll reblog that in the meantime since reality is being rude.