#super soap sunday™️

[brewed-pangolin]

4Runner wingman

A scene inspired by the car sex scene in Say Anything. The scene isn't graphic whatsoever but it's their first time and it's very sweet.

Breathe

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes, Angst to start, fluffy smut to smooth it out (Tasteful smut. Not my usual filth)

Synopsis: Your first time being intimate with Soap is within the confines of his 4Runner and after a lengthy deployment. And he shows you exactly what kind of sessions you have to look forward to.

I decided to use this as a scene where Soap and reader become intimate for the first time. Because why the hell not. Nothing sexier than a good first romp in the back of a 4Runner to heal the wounds of heartache and yearning.

And this is another piece for @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up Challenge. I used prompts 16, 19, 25 and 26.. Let's steam up them windows a bit, shall we.

WC 1.6k (Oopsies)

You could feel it. Feel it in the marrow of your bones and in the ever growing ache bellowing out deep within your chest. An ache that grew with every shallow breath, desperately trying to cage the sob in your throat and put on that calm and stoic demeanor for him while your mind branded every ounce of his being into your memories.

You were falling for him. And you were falling hard.

Like a dense boulder listlessly plunging further into the depths of his soul. Unable to find purchase on any parcel of reality as the world around you disappeared and all your focus turned solely onto him.

John MacTavish. The man who pulled you out of your own manufactured hell just as you were about to be shackled in a realm of unending misery.

--

"Ts'alright, bonnie. Only gonnae be gone a few months, yeah?"

His soothing voice abruptly snatched you out of your downward spiral. Batting your eyes with a quick shake of your head to rid the sorrowful thoughts leaching themselves into your weakened mind.

"Only a few months. Yeah," you replied.

Body silently trembling beside him in the passenger seat, fingers clawing at the denim of your jeans to take your mind off the loneliness you were about to endure in his absence.

And that debilitating ache burrowed itself deeper into your chest. Squashing out all notions of confidence, defeaning the electric cadence of your heart, and turning you into a hollowed husk of your former self as you slowly began to wither right in front of him.

"Eh. Look at me." His call yet again pulled you out of your tormented descent.

Gently placing his hand on your thigh to cement you back into the realm of unbearable reality.

Your eyes lingered on the calloused skin of his hand. Grit embedded underneath his nails, streaks of oil, and delicate scratch marks peppering over his knuckles.

In that moment, you cursed yourself for deciding to take it slow. Not giving him the chance to use those talented hands and work you over and over into a frenzied mess.

And you find your voice once more as the emotional toll ultimately breaks down the levee of your weathered composure.

"We haven't even had sex yet."

"So."

"So, what? What if you don't come back? What if I never get to see you again? Feel you again? Kiss you again?"

Mentally, you try to stop.

Breathe.

But the floodgates have burst. And your verbal torrent knows no bounds as the words of admitted misjudgment cascade like rapids over your quivering lips.

"I want to know what it feels like to have you, Johnny. To lose myself. To give in, let go. To feel you..."

You choke. Words trailing off into a breathless whimper as the lump in your throat threatens to swallow you whole.

Wrapping your fingers around his hand to feel his touch one last time in fear of him being pulled out of your crumbling reality.

"Aye. An' ya will," he replies in a promise that both soothes and breaks you entirely.

"It's not over, bonnie. This ain't no deep covert mission. More like, gettin groceries. Stoppin' at th'store, yeah."

You can tell he’s bluffing. Hear it in his voice. That same low rumbling hymn he uses to lull you to sleep now cradling your psyche within the verbal palm of his hand. 

And it works. Every time.

Eventually he forces you to pull your eyes from the aimless stare on your thigh to meet his gaze. Bringing your hand up to his mouth to gently caress your knuckles with his tender lips, muffling his words as they roll over your supple skin.

“Is now a bad time to tell ya I gotta go, lass?”

You're once again thrusted back into reality by the soft timbre of his voice. The world falling back into place, not realizing that within the walls of your own self pity you hadn't noticed that you had made it onto the base.

Your head moved on a swivel. Desperately focusing on any familiar piece of architecture while your mind raced to pick up with the pace of the sporadic beat of your heart.

“Johnny, I’m not ready-”

Your futile plea was quickly silenced by Soaps gaping maw as he swallows the whimperings of your despair. Cupping your cheeks within the palms of his hands, cradling your existence within his grasp as he breathes rejuvenating life into your lungs with a passionate kiss.

Time once again stops. Moments trickle by like slowly descending droplets off the rim of a rusted spigot.

You feel him steadily begin to pull away and greedily you lean forward for one last kiss. Searing the blazing fire of his soul on the tips of your lips to brand him into the deep recesses of your spiraling psyche.

“Stay n’th car til I get through th’door, yeah,” he mumbles quietly against your lips. “I cannae bare to see ya at the ‘elm of my Breagha.”

“You talk like you love her more than me, Johnny.”

“Shu’it, lass.”

With one final blissful connection, he pulls away and exits swiftly out the driver's side door. Your eyes watching his every move as he grabs at the duffel bag from the backseat.

“I’ll text as often as I can, yeah.”

It’s a statement more than a pull for more conversation as he shuts the door before giving you time to answer. Pushing the lump in your throat down into your chest to let in fester and seep through your veins over the coming months.

You do as he asks. As always.

Waiting. Watching him stride over the pavement and disappear from your existence beyond the doors that you are prohibited to enter.

And with all the strength he bestowed on you with his life giving kiss, you shift over into the driver seat and easily adjust it to your body’s specifications.

Pushing down the unfamiliarity of being behind the wheel of his precious ‘Breagha’ as you subconsciously begin counting the days to his return.

--

The next three months are tortuous. Calmed only by the sporadic texts from Soap when he has the briefest of moments on base. They're never more than a few words at length, generally referring to his mental status of him and his fellow squad mates than the actual status of their missions. 

You’ve grown fond of Gaz. He sounds like a true lad, one you’d like to share a pint with. And Price permeates the notion of a father figure to the team. A born leader not afraid to get his hands dirty when the line of duty calls for it. 

And Ghost is exactly that. A ghost. Hauntingly working his way into Johnny’s texts, barely perceivable yet you feel he lends himself to be a mentor in the field to your Scottish soldier. 

All these intermittent communications ease and soothe your weary soul until that final text jolts you out of bed at 2:30 in the morning. 

‘RTB, bonnie. Coming home.’

--

Soap Mactavish made a promise to you three months ago. A pact sealed with a kiss that gave you the strength to carry on in his extended absence. Finding meaning in solitude and letting your heart yearn for him in a way you had never imagined.

And as a true man of his word, he kept that promise.

By God, did he keep it.

--

The air within the confines of Soap’s 4Runner was heavy. Thick with the sweet scent of sweat and sex as it lifted and blanketed the tinted windows with a dense layer of condensation. Leaden and rounded droplets descended down the slick surface that mirrored the meandering motions of your hands down the curve of his sweat ridden back. Curling your fingers to claw at his flesh as he pulled yet another orgasm from deep within your pelvic core.

You had lost count at how many times he brought you to the peak of pleasured ecstasy. Time becoming a meaningless construct as you found solace in each others embrace and allowing the blazing bonds of intimacy to mold your souls into one conjoined entity.

Arching your back and tilting your hips to meet his stuttering thrusts as you gasped for air. The muscles of your abdomen spasming and denying the much needed life force in selfish desire of unending release.

“Breathe, bonnie. Jus’ breathe fer me,” Soap managed breathlessly through his own heavy panting. Holding himself up to hover and give your chest room for much needed expansion.

You take the moment in its entirety within your grasp. Lengthening your diaphragm to fill your lungs as the burn of multiple climaxes flows like flames through your trembling muscles. 

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” you exhale on a low, breathy moan. “Is it always gonna be like this?”

“Aye. It can be.”

“Jesus Christ. Only you would make me have to build an exercise routine around how you fuck me.”

His icy blue gaze bores into your exhausted and blissful expression with a smile that could electrify an entire city block.

“Nah, bonnie. This ain’t fuckin’ ya,” he mutters against your lips, leaning in for a passionate embrace as his muscular frame envelopes over you once more.

“I’d break th’suspension if I did that. Rather break th’bed. Easier ta replace.”

Your arms instinctually wrap around him to keep him firmly flushed against you. Fingers splayed out over the back of his skull to knead through his drench thickened hair.

An all too familiar lump forms within flesh of your throat, not out of anguish or loneliness. Something deeper. More meaningful. More affectionate. 

And without a thought to hold you back the words spill out of your lips by their own accord before your mind has a moment to register the immensity of their meaning.

“I love you, Johnny.”

Soap pulls back immediately. A sudden silence bridging a gap between you as his blank expression is intensified by his piercing blue stare.

You hesitate to breathe. To move. Fearing your unconscious admission has created a rift that will ultimately pull himself away from you.

“Say it again,” he demands. The air of authority around him sending a pulse of renewed arousal coursing through your veins as all fears disappear within his commanding presence.

“I love you.”

There’s a sudden an enigmatic shift that sets deep within him. Eyes blowing wide as he lunges with an almost animalistic growl against your lips.

“Ah love ya, bonnie. So fuckin’ much.”

You had uttered those three words twice while he spent the next thirty minutes declaring his love for you by showing you the true power held within his hips. 

He’d eat the bill. Take out a loan rather than deny the love of his life what she truly wanted.

Auto repairs be damned.

All you had to do was hold on and enjoy the ride. And focus on one word that he so patiently repeated.

Breathe.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @astraluminaaa @punishmepunisher @writeforfandoms @thetrashpossum @luismickydees @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @haurasha @designateddeadend

[jolapeno]

Sundays are now officially

Soap Squad Super Sundays ™️

😏😏 you know it @irnbru32 !! SOAP SQUAD SUNDAYS 🧼

i love that this is catching on. i’m already trying to think of what i can do after this trio — so if you have ideas or things you wanna see, lemme know

[brewed-pangolin]

Call him Johnny...he smiles, bright eyes with a glowing aura.

Call him John...he smiles, dark eyes with a growing hard on.

Call him Johnny MacTavish...he smiles, boaring eyes as he cups your face and gifts you a torrid kiss.

Call him John MacTavish...his smile shifts as he bends you over and shows just how much he loves you.

Call him Soap...he'll quickly turn to putty in your hands.

Call him Soap MacTavish...clear out your schedule, you're not escaping him.

Call him John Soap MacTavish...either you won't be able to walk for a week or he's already in the next county because he knows he's done fucked up.

(Call him Johnny Soap MacTavish...and he'll immediately come in his pants)

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap MacTavish has a sweet tooth.

He once mistakenly ate an entire plate of freshly made brownies in one sitting while you were out purchasing a quick grocery list, thinking it was your usual recipe.

As you entered your home, your eyes immediately went to the empty metal tray that sat on your counter as you took in the sight of the crested Scotsman splayed out over your couch.

Quietly, with only the slightest aggravated smirk, you stepped towards him as his glazed eyes mindlessly followed the images of SpongeBob flashing on the expansive TV screen.

"John," you said with a hushed tone. Patrick's voice echoing behind your shoulder as Soap's eyes lazily moved to meet your questioning stare.

"How ya feelin', babe?"

He answered simply with a smile. Unable to speak as the effects of copious amounts of THC coursed through his veins and clouded his mind as you gazed upon him, lovingly rolling your eyes at his mind-numbing state.

"Yeah. That ain't nothing yet."

You sat by his side for the next 10 hours as he rode out the high he had so inadvertently thrown upon himself. Only moving when he muttered 'got'a pee, lass', which was a feat upon itself as you shouldered the inebriated Scotsman ever so carefully down the hall to the bathroom (yes, you helped him because you love him and he's too embarrassed and high to ask)

You vowed never to leave a tray of special brownies unattended if you knew he were to be home alone. The man could not be trusted, especially since he had no discipline around your expert baking.

And you'd hide the newly made gummy bears in an inconspicuous container. Margarine, perhaps. Anything to keep his greedy hands from embarking on yet another cannabis fueled adventure.

Although you'd be lying if you didn't love the dopey smile he gave you as you rode him on the couch. Limp body with a throbbing dick. Accompanied by a dilated stare that melted your heart as you pulled the most delicious moan of your name from between his permanently kissable lips.

Drabbles Masterlist

[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.

[brewed-pangolin]

Corner Lot Creamery

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader

MDNI 18+ Explicit smut, unprotected p in v, backseat sex, Soap being a vulgar little fiend, creampie if you look closely, just absolute filth

WC ~1.3k

Synposis: Everyone loves that new car smell. Except Soap. He prefers a more natural scent. Yours. And he knows just what to do to get that new leather lathered in it.

@glitterypirateduck @deadbranch this one's for you💛

Soap MacTavish is a simple man.

He appreciates quality over quantity. And prefers subtlety over indulgence in regards to the finer things in life.

This is nowhere more prominent than when he signs the down payment on a new 4Runner. Him being handed the keys, his mind already playing out the next strategic maneuvers needed to inact his plan while he aids you in effortlessly moving the belongings from one vehicle to the next.

"You alright, babe?" You ask. Glancing over your shoulder with a smile, scrutinizing the knowing grin etched in his lips.

"Aye. M'good, hen."

It was the simplicity and deep brogue of his reply that had your mind tumbling. The sound of his toolbox jiggling in the back not too dissimilar to the gears turning within your thoughts. Nestling the distinctive red Milwaukee chest in the corner, keeping it in place with his duffle bag that rarely left the vehicle's trunk.

"God. Is there anything better than new car smell?" You boast. Sliding into the passenger seat, the fresh leather molding to your frame, softened by the heat radiating from your skin.

His silence to you was unusual.

Soap was always a talker. Rarely going an hour without interjecting himself into any discussion, and more than comfortable putting his own view on any and all topics of the day.

Your eyes narrowed at him. Trying to decipher his unreadable expression; gaze focused on the road, barely a twitch to the corners of his lips. And his eyes, normally bright and expsoed in the midday sun, were darkened by his Ray-Bans, impeding your perusing stare.

"Johnny. What's going on with you?"

Almost instinctively, and with the speed and fluidity of a hardened servicemen, he reached out to wrap his hand around the flesh of your thigh. His unwavering stare focused on the road, his fingers traveling up the suppleness of your inner thigh, only to nestle between your legs and press his fingertips into the seam of your pants. Feeling the throb of arousal beneath the fabric, pulling a sinful whimper from your lips, adding the perfect amount pressure to the area around your clit.

"New car smell's fine, yeah. But I want somethin better," Soap growled. Pulling into a vacant parking lot, hurdling the sparkling new SUV into a corner spot with a dramatic jolt. Barely able to unfasten his own seat belt, his hands shaking with need, crawling into the backseat before grasping at your clothes to drag you back with him, an excited shriek erupting from your chest from his needy exuberance.

"M'gonnae make 'er smell like you, bonnie. Want yer scent on me, every time I get in 'er."

His hands were on you like a feverish fiend. Tearing your clothes away, fabric tossed to the back with reckless abandon as the scent of arousal permeated into the pours of fresh leather.

Silencing your protest with his mouth, tasting the sweetness of promiscuity on your tongue, exhaling a growl between your lips while he rocked his hips, grinding his hardened cock into your core, feeling the heat radiate over the fabric of his jeans.

Breaking the kiss with a wet pop, he fumbled with his belt, opening his pants with a determination you knew all too well. Thankful for the tinted windows and private brick cove of the parking lot. Not wanting to add indescent exposure to the days events as he moved to hover over your naked frame. Fully intent on christening his latest 4Runner with the spicy bouquet of sex.

With a focused purpose, Soap pierces your silken cunt with the throbbing hardness of his cock, devouring the moan escaping your throat with a heated kiss. Gliding his tongue in a sultry dance tandem with the languid roll of his hips.

"Gonnae make ya come...fuck...got'a make ya come, bonnie. Cannae pull out til ya fuckin clench 'round me."

If it wasn't the desperate plea echoing on a breathy growl, it was the steady and determined roll of his hips that ultimately sealed your fate in that parking lot.

The thick, spongy head of his cock kissing the sensitive wall of your cervix. Refusing to pull out entirely with every backward thrust, keeping himself buried within your velvety walls, pushing you towards overstimulation with every labored exhale. The metal carriage keeping the world at bay as your mind and body succumbed to climactic euphoria.

"Johnny..."

"Tha's it, hen. Come f'me. Feelin ya fuckin wrap 'round me."

Your orgasm moved with a chaotic symphony of gasps and moans.

Wanton and unadulterated.

Muffled by his lips, tangling with his animalistic growls. Legs wrapping around his waist to keep yourself grounded to reality for fear of drowning in the abyss of his own intrepid making.

The rhythmic roll of his hips steadily began to falter. Every forward push accentuated by a groan.

Gravelly and unfiltered.

Raw.

"F-fuck, bonnie. Gonnae come-...fill ya up. Make ya-...spill me outta ya."

You never tired of his vulgarity when he was on the cusp of emptying himself into your cunt.

He was breathless. Beautiful. And altogether beastly as a surge of warmth and pressure filled your canal. Prompting him to give one final thrust as your combined fluids dripped out of your fluttering hole and onto the maiden and unblemished leather beneath.

"Johnny-, you-, you're gonna stain the seats." You plead, attempting to push him off, halted when met with the weight of an immovable Scottish brick wall.

"Tha's th'fuckin point, lass. Gonnae mark 'er up wit ya. Douse 'er in tha' sweet fuckin scent a'yers."

You knew better than to deny him when he was like this. Hell bent on replacing that distinctive new car smell with the aromatic scent of sex and natural arousal.

Letting the quietness surround your conjoined bodies. Acting like a soothing blanket, ignoring the world outside to feel the qualitative euphoria in the afterglow.

Reluctant to move, Soap instead laid himself down and buried his head into your chest. Stifling a moan into your flesh, tilting to the side as he blanketed your naked body with his sculpted frame.

You realized then, gazing up onto the brickstone wall outside, that he had found refuge in the back parking lot of your favorite custard creamery. The familiar font gracing the red barrier catching your eye, exhaling a quiet moan of contentment, watching it rustle over the Scots distinguishable mohawk.

"What?" He breathed. Voice low, muffled against the supple flesh of your breast.

"I think I've thought of a name for her."

"Aye? Wha's tha'?"

You let the silence hang for a moment. Allowing his mind to settle on suspicion, tilting his head to rest his chest between the valley of your breasts.

"Well? Wha' is it, lass?"

"How about CeeDee? Cookie Devil. Our nickname at Culver's, to where you just so happened to park us."

Soap lifted his head, taking a quick glance at the signage above. Replying with a perplexed brow, softening his expression with a gentle yet appreciative grin.

"Aye. Cannae lie, hen. Kinda like it."

You smiled at his approval. Cupping his face to bring him in for a kiss. His lips still reddened from the impromptu coitus, drawing a deliciously soft whimper from the depths of his throat.

"Easy, lass. Been a while since I kissed ya like tha'."

You ignore him. Blissfully continuing with your previous conversation, feigning innocence.

"Y'know. CeeDee can actually work quite well. It's an acronym for the other name I want to give her."

"Mhm. And wha's tha' one?"

Pursing your lips, you paused. Keeping your wits about you in fear of bursting into a fit of laughter at any moment.

"Well, if you plan on us fucking a lot in her, why don't we just call her the Cum Dumpster?"

"Steamin fuckin Jesus, bonnie."

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@ohgeesoap @writeforfandoms @efingart @sofasoap @mini-metal @shotmrmiller @homicidal-slvt @astraluminaaa @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @crashandlivewrites @random-thot-generator @glossysoap @devcica @tacticalanxiety @gazs-blue-hat @chamomiletealeaf @thetrashpossum @queen-ilmaree @weebumochi @sadstone-s @slutweeds @foxface013 @lily-ilo

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap MacTavish's refractory period is basically nonexistent. 30 seconds to 5 minutes max.

Man will literally bounce off the bed, leaving you splayed out and trying to remember how to breathe while he trots over to the kitchen to grab himself a Gatorade and a protein bar.

You're still in the grips of having an existential crisis when he emerges back into the bedroom.

And this mother fucker has the audacity to ask if 'you're okay.'

To which you answer by blinking. That's it.

"Aw, poor lass. Let's teach ya thing er two bout endurance, yeah?"

And then he starts all over again.

He does two circuits of this. And by the end, you don't know whether you're on the brink of death or being reborn into another plain of existence.

[brewed-pangolin]

Drunk sex with Soap would undoubtedly almsot always end with him passing out mid thrust.

The man, thankfully, does not suffer from whiskey dick. But that stamina does not always flow so seamlessly into his physical exertion.

Instead of his usual measured pace, he'll go full balls to the wall and wear himself out in less than a minute.

He'll apologize later. Once he's sobered up. Likely following it up by giving you countless orgasms to make up for the multiple he denied you while drowning in a brain full of liquor.

For now, you're covered by a sweat ladened and stark naked Scot. Cock still hard and buried in your cunt. A tinge of annoyance to your unsatisfied need playing behind your eyes, staring up at the ceiling as a muffled snore dances across the shell of your ear.

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Gym Rat Soap is so outrageously possessive of you that if he comes home to you pleasuring yourself, he takes it as a personal challenge and will go out of his way to make you come solely for him.

And he's not holding back. He'll pull out all his pleasure tricks (except pulling out. That's a possessive no no.)

He starts with his usual tried and true method of fingering you so good against the wall that your legs turn to numbed jelly within minutes. Holding yourself up against his chest while you moan his name into the fabric of his sweat ladened shirt.

"Tha's it, bonnie. Ya come for me. And only me."

Next is his feast. Tossing you onto the dinner table like a sacrificial lamb and delving immediately between your thighs. Lapping at your folds like a starved and dehydrated animal. Hell bent on consuming you whole for his own pleasured ego while you cry his name to the heavens and writhe in steady overstimulation.

"Oh my God, Johnny!"

"No God 'ere, lass. Only me."

To finally close out his pleasured torture and culminate in his ultimate taking of you, he throws you over his shoulder and stomps his way to the bedroom to begin his pièce de résistance. Your calves hoisted onto his shoulders, his hands griping like a vice into the sides of your torso as he pistons his cock at just right angle, making you see stars and completely losing the capacity for speech and all other thoughts until all you could think of was him. And only him.

"Jo-, Jo-, John-"

"Tha's it. Say my name, bonnie."

"JOHNNY!"

And with a series of roars that would undoubtedly have the neighbors calling to report an escaped lion, he empties himself completely into the silken walls of your cunt. Marking you as his own as his hips falter. His hands grabbing at your limp form as he cradles you against his chest and reassures just how good you are for him. For him. And only him.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

[brewed-pangolin]

Neighbors Johnny is loudest when you lose yourself riding him.

So much so that you have to shove a sock in his mouth just to shut him up. There is no need to bring the cops in for a noise complaint.

Again.

[brewed-pangolin]

"Ya comfy, hen?" Soap whispers softly against the shell of your ear.

His rolling timbre echoed down the curve of your spine and into the depths of your core, punctuating the feel of him as you lowered yourself onto the thick flesh of his cock.

"Yeah. I'm good."

As you sank into the comfort of his lap, your back pressed against his muscular chest, he reached over to grab at a blanket and wrap it around your exposed lower half. Shielding you from the cool air, your skin running fire hot in contrast with his arms wrapped around your torso.

"Aye. Better than good, bonnie. Been thinkin' bout this for months."

The subtle yearning in his voice pulled a gentle smile into the corners of your lips. Nudging your forehead into his temple with a muffled sigh, fluttering your eyes closed as you savored the feel of him enveloping around and within you.

"Can you pass the popcorn, love?"

"Aye. What'ya wanna watch?"

"It's your turn to choose, Johnny."

Tossing a few buttery popped kernels into your mouth, you handed him the remote and nestled the oversized tub of popcorn in your lap. Leaning your head back against his broad shoulder as he thumbed through an array of films until one finally caught his interest.

"Ah. Haven't seen this one yet. Heard it's good."

"Seriously, Johnny? A horror movie?" You questioned with a furrowed brow.

Titling to give him a probing side eye, only to be met by a piercing blue glare and smug smile on his lips.

"What? I thought ya liked horror."

Rolling your eyes, you popped a few more kernels into your mouth, tossing a few his way as the opening logos danced on the screen.

"S'ides. Ya know how much I love it when ya clench 'round from the jump scares."

Drabbles Masterlist

Okay, I lied. I had one more...

[brewed-pangolin]

Enjoy some of my neighbors!Johnny brain worms...

Frustrated neighbors!Johnny, who has to run an extra mile every morning because you're on vacation, and he has to relieve the tension in his loins any way he can.

He runs faster. Works out harder. Deadlifts to the point of passing out.

The image of you so beautifully splayed out beneath him embedded in his mind. Every rep barely repressing the constant need to have you again, finally giving in as he throws himself onto his bed and relieves the ache in his cock with the depraved necessity of his hand.

His own skin nothing compared to the velvety silkeness of your heat, bucking into his grip as the image of you riding him plays behind his clenched lids. The warmth of his release spilling out onto his abdomen in thick ropes, biting his lip to quell the growing ache as you blissfully relax a thousand miles away. Unaware of he pines for you, desperate to feel you again as you soak in the sun along the turquoise beaches of the Grand Bahamas.

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Captain MacTavish doesn't play music when he fucks you anymore. Instead, he'll find some classic 90s action flick and set the volume to 11. Then proceed to bend you over every flat surface within sight as the distinctive baritone of Arnold Schwarzenegger echoes around your apartment.

You question him after a few times. Asking why he doesn't choose his usual playlist. He answers with a nonchalant, 'wanted to change things up a bit'. You don't question him any further.

And he breathes a sigh of relief. Because God forbid you ever know that he nearly blew his cover to Don Henley's 'Dirty Laundry'.

The memory of your supple lips around his cock invading behind his eyes as he took position behind some dilapidated hotel. The beat muffled and distorted through the broken speakers, yet still he recalled the way your tongue flattened so perfectly around him, nearly causing him to bust in his pants as he momentarily lost all focus on his main objective.

Once they RTB, he decides not to join the rest of the team as they watch Terminator 2. The echo of your screams while he railed into you doggy style still too fresh in his mind. He'd rather take care of business in the privacy of his own quarters. And to the subtle and enigmatic nuances of Enya's 'Sail Away'.

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[brewed-pangolin]

Cursive. Greek. Hieroglyphics. He can do it all.

[brewed-pangolin]

Ribbed for Her Pleasure

A/N: I can't recall who I saved this Soap photo from. If anyone knows, please tell me so I can give credit. 💛

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Explicit Smut, P in V, filthy banter, car sex, slight exhibitionism

Thank y'all for being patient. Seems like the writers block has started to lift a bit, and I'm finally back to indulging myself in Soap filth. Enjoy a nice road trip that turns into an exciting sexcapade. @glitterypirateduck I decided to flip the script on this one. I can't say no to Soap being a menacing tease. @waves-against-a-cliff thank you for sending in my first 🛞⭕💢⭕💢🛞, hope you like it.

Love y'all. And happy Super Soap Sunday!

WC ~2k

4Runner Soap loves to tease while driving on extended road trips.

--

It's subtle at first. His warm hand resting on your thigh as you ramble on about nothing and everything under the sun.

He'll steal a few quick glances of your expression to attempt to gauge whether or not he's having the desired effect on you.

If you meet his steely gaze with equal growing intentions, he'll keep his hand resting on your thigh with a loving squeeze as his attention returns to the road ahead.

Yet if you show no reaction to his ministrations, continuing your verbal regurgitation of the weeks events, he'll have no choice but to press onward. His one hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel as the other moved further down ever closer between your thighs.

You feel his hand meandering ever closer to your clothed heat, but pay no mind to him. Only pointing out the next exit as you once more embellish his ears with mindless and unending banter.

Unperturbed by your unwillingness to give in, he sets forth in motion the one move, his last effort against your resolve to force you to finally surrender to him.

You didn't notice the subtle shift in the vehicles trajectory at first. Too focused on your phone and following the tiny icon as it moved along the highlighted route on the GPS.

It was only when you heard the rumbling hum of the tires over the ribbed outer lines of the lanes did you finally pull your eyes and pull your attention to him.

Before you could utter a singular protest, his hand moved the center of your thighs and pressed his index and middle finger into the inner seam of your jeans. Enhancing the continuous feel of the vibrations reverberating under the metal frame as they culminated into the growing throb emanating within your swelling folds.

"Johnny," you whimpered in feigning protest as his fingertips rubbed over the raised center of your trousers.

"What are you doing? Pay attention to the-"

"Shu' it, lass." Soap barked back with a playful bite rolling off his tongue.

"Rest tha' mouth a'yers fer a minute, yeah. Or I'm gonnae 'ave ta put ta better use."

Words failed you as his thick fingers continued to push into the flesh of your clothed cunt. Still riding the jagged lines on the pavement, making you roll your eyes back and bite your lip to quell the muffled moan threatening to escape within the depths of your throat.

"Ya like tha', bonnie? Ribbed fer yer pleasure by th'roadside?" He mocked with a confidence that never failed to make you quiver.

Feeling your arousal pool within in the depths of your soaking heat as his fingers pressed firmly against your swollen folds. Only managing to moan in response, which further fueled his resolve with a guttural growl, pulling his hands away from your growing pleasure and immediately shifting to take the next exit.

"Johnny, this isn't our exit."

"Nah. Emergency stop. Got a full stauner 'ere, and I cannae focus on nothin' else except tha' sweet pussy a'yers."

You turned to face him, eyes glancing down to focus on thr growing tent in his pants. The sounds of 4Runner's engine revving mirroring the sexual tension between the seats as Soap veered the vehicle into traffic, his eyes desperate and focused on finding a secluded passage for some much needed privacy.

-

It took no more than five minutes to find one that met his growing needs. A meandering dirt road that ended against an abandoned fence with a rusted and weather tempered 'No Trespassing' sign.

You barely had a moment to unbuckle your seat belt as he made his way to your side of the SUV. Inhuman speed fed by an unadulterated need to take you, unceremoniously throwing you over his shoulder with a huffing grunt. Only to be reciprocated by a piercing snicker, accepting your fate as he threw you into the flattened back of the cargo space and greedily began tearing your clothes away.

"Aren't you afraid we'll get caught?" Your pathetic attempt to reason with him only seemed to spur him further into a needy and unbridled rage.

"Fuck 'em. My need fer ya outweighs them bloody regulations." Soap spat back through gritted teeth.

Your exposed form laying out for him as he pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the chiseled frame that always seemed to render you speechless and begging for him.

Feeling the warmth of your arousal pool within your folds, spreading your legs to invite him in with a confident stare that mirrored his own hungry gaze.

"Steamin Jesus, look a'tha. Already fuckin soakin fer me, aren't ya, bonnie?"

"Always, Johnny. Nobody makes me wetter than you."

Soap's cerulean eyes swirled with glorious intent, flickering between your desperate expression and the glistening folds of encroaching conquest as he hastily unbuckled the confines of his trousers. Pushing the fabric of his pants and boxers down to release his throbbing length, a subtle whimper escaping his lips to the cool air hitting his hot flesh as a stream of precum ran down the tip of his reddened cock.

"Yer always so fuckin pretty like this, lass. Spread out an' jus' waitin fer me."

His jaw tightened to sight of your cunt clenched around nothingness in reaction to his sultry brogue. Splaying yourself out for him like a sacrificial lamb while the deafening sounds of echoing traffic echoed from deep within the trees and rolled around the walls of your private encampment.

"Gonnae fuck ya good, bonnie," he purred lowly with a rolling timbre. Ever so slowly moving like a predator as he encroached and hovered over your flushed and exposed form.

The maelstrom churning within the depths of his eyes luring you to his turbulent sea of ecstacy, nestling himself within the crevice of your thighs as he aligned his hardened cock to the puckering hole of your swollen cunt.

"Joh-" your muffled attempt to calm his name was silenced as his mouth sealed over your lips. Piercing the fluttering walls of your pussy in one fluid stroke, bottoming out with a resonating growl while his hands found purchase under the soft bend of your knees.

"Put yer knees on me shoulders, bonnie." He coaxed, pulling away from your lips to guide the shaky limbs of your legs over the broad expanse of his shoulders.

The sudden shift in position moving him slightly within your tight walls as the greedy flesh of your cunt clenched around his turgid length. Rolling your eyes back with a hissing breath, hands flying up above your head to find purchase within the haul of the vehicle as he laid his dense and muscular form on top of your folded and contorted frame.

"Tha's it, bonnie. Fuckin' clench around me. Lemme feel how much ya need me."

As the sounds of his rumbling voice reverberated within your ears, he glacially pulled his hips back. Nearly pulling out completely before penetrating once more and filling the silken depths of your heat in one fluid and languid thrust. 

Forcing a gravelly moan from within the cavern of your chest, fingers wrapping around the metal frame protruding from the haul as Soap braced his hands on either side of your head and steadily began to thrust himself deep into your greedy hole.

“Johnny- aren't ya gonna close- the hatch?” you groaned, gritting your teeth while he picked up his pace. Steadily pounding his hips against your ass, his lips curling into a cocky smile while his eyes glinted at his mischievous intent.

“Nah, bonnie. Gonnae give em- a good show-” he crooned in response with a breathy growl. Disregarding your concern for the outside world, continuing to pound his cock into your welcoming heat as the creaking sound of the suspension began to echo across the shell of your ears.

You attempted to lift your head and catch a glimpse of the tree laden environment around you, only to be forced back down as Soap changed trajectory once more. Your mouth falling open with a silently pleasured protest as the thick head of his cock ran over a sensitive bundle of nerves deep within your cunt that only he had managed to find.

“Holy fuck!” Your voice hollered over the sounds of the croaking suspension, finally giving into the unrelenting ecstasy only he could provide. Arching your back against the carpeted floor of the cargo space, desperate to meet his powerful thrusts and aid in his direction while he maintained a steady, vigorous pace.

“Found tha’ spot. Didnae I, bon? Gonnae make a mess on me cock? Scream me name as I fuck ya real good? Clenchin around me like-”

“Goddammit! Shut up!” 

His unending banter had finally pushed your quiet resolve to the wayside. Reaching your hand feverishly towards his neck, wrapping your fingers around the chain of his dangling dog tags to bring his running mouth down to your lips and ultimately rendering him blissfully silent. 

Sinking your teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip as you wrap your free arm around the back of his neck. Keeping his chest flushed against yours, a thin sheen of sweat forming between the sliding flesh and forcing only his hips to move as he pumped himself into the depths of your soaking heat.

The wet sounds of your pussy emanating off the plastic and fabric haul of his 4Runner, accompanied by the combined gasping breaths from your chests that formed into a blissfully erotic symphony. A duet only heightened by the most pornagraphic whimper you had ever heard against your mouth as his hips began to stutter and his eyes pleaded for his upcoming release.

“Steamin Jesus, bonnie. I’m gonnae come. Gonnae fill ya up.” Soap’s muffled words vibrated against the flesh of your mouth as your free hand gripped into the thick locks of his mohawk. 

Pulling his mouth away to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Letting your lips seal over the top of his shoulder and silence the strained bellow from within your chest as your orgasm suddenly erupted and coursed through your veins like a violent blaze.

Soap’s hot breath cascading against your flesh with a guttural growl, his hands gripping to the carpeted fabric as he bottomed out in one final thrust and emptied himself against the spongy walls of your pulsing cervix. Pulling his trembling body up to let your legs fall and extend, the burn of over exertion flowing underneath your skin as an all too familiar ache began to form within the buried tissue around your pelvis.

“Jesus Christ, Soap. Where the fuck did this come from?” Your voice hushed in the grips of blissful afterglow, hands meandering to his temples while his body steadily began to collapse above you.

“Donnae know, lass. Thinkin maybe, it was them bloody reflectors.”

Reluctantly, Soap began to pull himself off your overly exhausted frame, only to be pulled back down by your clawing hands and laid his head against your sweat ladened and heaving bare chest.

“Not yet, babe. Just rest a minute.” Speaking in a hushed tone, you pressed your lips against the drenched crest of his scalp. Tasting the saltiness against your tongue and allowing your hands to gently run down the curve of his spine as you felt him steadily give into body’s exhaustion. 

“If you don’t rest, Johnny, I’m gonna have to drive the rest of the way while you sleep this off.”

“Haud yer weesht, hen.” He retorted, his brogue quiet and muffled against the supple flesh of your breast. Your lips curling into a smooth smile as you reveled in the gentle sounds of nature accompanied by the everpresent hum of distant traffic.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @ohgeesoap @d3athtr4psworld @mini-metal @punishmepunisher @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @ghosts-goldendoodle @shotmrmiller @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @tacticalanxiety @thetrashpossum @queen-ilmaree @sadstone-s @simpingoverquestionablemen @dustycrusty09 @foxface013 @haurasha @havoc973 @kkaaaagt @designateddeadend @luismickydees

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap desperately begging you for a kiss. A slippery, wet French kiss to quell the growing need and keep him from indulging further into anything else.

You give in, begrudgingly, once he flashes those cerulean puppy dog eyes. And you lean in to take his alluring lips.

Only to be thrown onto your back and swiftly stripped bare below the waist because the sly little bastard didn't tell where he was going to kiss you, and then proceeds to spend the remainder of the evening 'French kissing' your pretty little cunt.