Soap Smut - Blog Posts

More thoughts on the Dominant Alpha Nik AU. Logistics and shit.

cw: omegaverse.

Nik's a little traditionalist, which means he doesn't believe in hiding away during his rut. He will mount and mate with his pack whenever he damn well pleases. There's a technical legality to it, even if it's not as common anymore, but he will absolutely collar Soap in the gym and rail him on a bench, or lift Simon up the wall in the shower, or snatch Gaz from his paperwork to fuck on the rec room couch, or press Price to the soft spring grass in base while the others watch.

The pack goes a little crazy whenever Nik breeds Price. The way Nik presses John's wrists above his head, the way his thick cock looks stretching John's cunt, the heavy slap of his full balls, the way his powerful body moves as he kisses and sucks John's mating mark to heighten his pleasure. The low, fucked out moans of their captain as he's being bred drives them into rut, watching him arch into it, his natural omega aggression subdued by a worthy mate.

If they say no, he'll never push. But they rarely do; his scent is intoxicating, his touch equally so. It's instinctual, primal. Sometimes they might go a month without seeing him, and those first few trysts are always desperate and feverish.

Mating between alphas is for pleasure, bonding and dominance. Nik has ridden Ghost a few times, come all over his tits, but he's always the one in control. Dominant Alphas have an active Cowper's gland when in the presence of an alpha they're attracted to as a natural adaptation to their pack role. Nik's hung though, so even with his natural slick, he has to work them up to take him, humping and grinding his slick shaft over their holes until they're begging.

His alphas have their preferences. Soap loves being mounted from behind and having his Mohawk pulled. Gaz loves using his mouth and Nik ends up with his lips stretched around his knot about as much as his arse, and they have to be kissing when Nik's fucking him. Simon loves being manhandled into submission. They've fucked on the boxing ring floor more times than Nik can count, Simon's legs spread so wide and his head thrown back as Nik pounds into him, the blood from a split lip dripping down his jaw. Nik forces eye contact when he's knotted, just to see the pleasure overflow those doe eyes. They all look equally as beautiful on his cock.

Price is obviously the core of their pack. It took careful courtship and patience, but the night that John finally accepted Nik would always be one of Nik's treasured memories. He'd always thought the distinction people made between "fucking" and "making love" was cringe and snobby, but he understood their perspective once he'd watched the trust, adoration and pleasure shine in John's eyes as they mated for the first time. He was being given a precious gift, an honour, and he'd treasure it forever.

Omega-Alpha courtship is like Bowerbird courtship. Nik looks hot and brings gifts, and Price inspects and decides to accept or not. There's definitely some alpha flexing/strutting but Nik will never admit to it.

We’re not gonna talk about how I wrote this instead of finishing part two of what’s in a virtue. We’re not even gonna talk about what this is. I’m just gonna… yeah, here ya go.

!Trigger warnings: dubcon

Body swap au with soap who just wakes up one day and says, “no fuckin’ way.”

Soap who thinks it’s the best fuckin’ dream he’s ever had.

Soap who solemnly agrees with you in the mornings that yes, the two of you do need to work together to fix this as soon as possible, but who spends his nights in front of a mirror stripped down to nothing, masturbating because it’s fucking you, and you’re so pretty when you’re panting. Soap who was always convinced that making you come would feel just as good as coming himself, and now he doesn’t have to figure that out anymore.

Soap who, fuck, has his cake and eats it, too.

Soap who grins so proud at the awkward way you stumble around in his body, too big for you. Soap who, after discovering you’d had to——ahem——relieve yourself for the first time, feels his skin fucking buzz at the fact that you can’t meet his eyes, your eyes, anymore without a schoolboy blush spreading across his own damn face.

Soap who knows you liked what you saw.

Soap who makes your body come again that night, not even thinking of your body anymore, but of your mind fumbling around in his body, experimenting with touches and caresses. Soap who imagines you knowing how to pleasure him inside and out when this is all over.

Soap who records the sound of your voice saying his name, because the lines are getting so damn blurry, and emails the video to himself. Takes pictures, too.

Would never blackmail you with them, no, no, no.

But he deletes them from your phone after sending them all to his drive.

Soap who, after everything is over, after you’ve both found your ways into your own bodies, trots after you like the dog he is wherever you go.

Soap who, after you check the deleted folder of your photos app, gets a good and proper scolding.

Soap who managed to record the entire reprimand, listening to the anger in your voice, the how dare you do that to me——to my body?! That’s so fucked up, Soap!

Soap who rewards himself yet again that night, teeth gnawing at the hem of his shirt that he hadn’t bothered taking off, just pulling up high enough to jack himself off with his back against his front door. Panting at the dash he’d made up his flat’s stairs, then panting your name, whimpering disingenuous apologies to your chiding voice.

Soap who doesn’t stop, who won’t stop until he’s got the real you screaming his name.

"dinnae act innocent bonnie, we all know where your wee lil' mouth was 10 minutes ago"

you hear johnny's smug voice through that damn walkie talkie along with a muffled chuckle from gaz.

fuck! you forgot to turn off your damn mic before sucking what might be the biggest cock you've ever seen, and also enjoying the hottest blowjob that you've given. no amount of excuses is gonna save you now, everyone knows that you like being face fucked by your superior commanding officer, lieutenant ghost.

but who were you to deny that anyways, you did love sucking his hung cock so much, suckling the tip, peppering the shaft with small kisses, letting the precum drool down your cheek before you actually start taking him fully while he has his hand behind your head guiding his sweetheart through the blowie. Although he's a pinnacle of patience, determination and resilience, it all breaks when he has your soft plump lips wrapped at the base of his cock, the thrusts get sloppy, uneven as he chases his release. And mutters a "swallow it, yea pum'kin jus' like that, All of it" as you drink on his cum, its bitter sweet as per the taste, but its a bit easier now since you're used to it.

it had been noticed by everyone around the base how much the atmosphere charged when ever you and him made even the slightest of contacts, the veterans seemed to ignore it, having had their fair share of flings in their prime, the rookies enjoyed it, but it was soap who enjoyed it the most.

johnny doesn't knows when the lieutenant will share his bird with him. But he's certain that he will one day and its not that far away.

@codnasties insipred me to write this. The original post here

Everyone thinks Soap needs a sweet little lass to you know, even out the feral mutt in him, but no. Soap wants someone like him. Someone who is just as disgustingly horny as him, someone who isn't afraid to stare, get handsy, an average Monday afternoon for Soap.

So when Soap found out his pretty neighbour was just as unashamed in staring as he was.... Well he had to use that to his advantage.

It was a Saturday morning, a rare day of peace for him. You went outside to have your coffee in the early morning breeze and just by chance Soap went outside to take the bin bags out it was one plastic bag with literally nothing in. He was shirtless, wearing grey joggers and no boxers. You got a full view of his thick, heavy cock and you stared. You didn't care if he saw you because if he didn't want you to stare then he wouldn't wear joggers with nothing else.

'G'mornin' Soap smirked but you paid no mind. Too busy watching his cock twitch and gods it was mouth watering.

You whined. WHINED. Slightly when Soap walked back inside. Abandoning your coffee, you went back inside and found which room he was in. Lucky for you he was in his bedroom and you could see everything from your bedroom. Again, you had no shame in staring and the smug bastard Soap is, smirked and pulled his joggers down slightly so you saw some bush and it made your knee's weak.

Oh 2 can play at this game

So the next morning, at exactly 7:30am you went outside to have your morning coffee but this time you wore the tiniest sleeping shorts you own and the tightest vest top you bought yesterday and waited. As soon as Soap walked outside with a little plastic bag again and just his grey joggers you quickly pushed your boobs together and leaned against your door.

'Mornin' Johnny' You purred his name so sweetly. Now this time it was Soaps turn to stare.

Unfortunately, or maybe not, for you Soap has absolutely zero restraint for his pretty neighbour. He's honestly so surprised he lasted this long but seeing you in the tiniest, tightest sleepwear had his cock twitching and getting hard. Soap hadn't even made it to you properly before his joggers were pulled down enough to show his beautiful cock. He pushed you inside before you manage to get onto your knees for him.

'Fuckin' tease' He groaned

I hope I did this justice. That image is now burned into my mind, in a good way. Love me some grey joggers

It won't let me attach the photo :'((( so again the original post and photo is here

I love me a man who EATS like I think I definitely have a food kink cause like the image of going down on Soap while he monches on a burger AGHHSGKDJHSKSBKN Like I need his cock rn (also side note love the term chub or instead calling a cock fat calling it chubby like 😮‍💨😮‍💨)

Another Random Cod Thot!!!!

soap x reader.

Cw: swearing... honestly that's it this part is pretty chill. (There's a nsfw bit at the end but you don't have to read it! I've sectioned it off!)

When Soap comes back home from being deployed for god knows how long, it's like he's walked through the gates of heaven. There's literally nothing he loves more than coming home, taking off that god forsaken uniform, and lounging about in some shorts (And nothing else. Because he's a lazy fuck and it's his house. he can choose not to wear underwear or a shirt whenever he fuckin wants!).

And the food...God the foooooooooood. It's probably his favourite part of coming home. No more MREs. No more mess hall food. No more stale bread with a slathering of some indescribable spread. Finally, he can eat like a king.

And he'll eat just about everything and anything you serve him. Takeout? Abso-fucking-lutely. Quick 10 minute packet food? He'll be having seconds and thirds if you let him. A proper home-cooked meal? Just marry him now, for god sakes.

I have this image in my head of him on leave, lazing on the bed in just his underwear with his large hairy chest on display, heaving in deep content sighs as he absolutely devours a pack of donuts you brought home and savouring every second of it. It's his personal bliss.

NSFW BIT BELLOW CUT

Cw: Freeuse (Reader using Soap). BJs. Big hairy horny man.

There's also the added benefit of a limitless supply of BlowJobs on your part. And he's a free use kinda guy when he's on leave. You never have to ask to take his fat cock out of his boxers, sweetheart. He's already half chubbed for you.

It's not like you can resist him anyway. He walks around the house in exclusively his undewear and nothing else. You can see the print of his dick against the fabric as he goes to town on a burger you made for him.bAnd he moans like a whooooooooore when he eats. So no one can blame you when you cozy yourself up into his side and slide his boxers down just enough to get a taste of that bright leaky tip of his.

So he gets excellent food, a warm bed, and a partner who is more than happy to wrap their lips around his dick and go to town whenever they like? He could die right there and be the happiest man alive. This is a better reward than any medal they could give him for his service.

MDNI 18+

Johnny getting a tongue ring solely for the purpose of your heightened pleasure when he eats you out. He's obsessed with being between your thighs, craves it like a starved man, and will do anything and everything to make you beg for his mouth.

Loves the way your hips buck against his face when he glides the metal ball rhythmically over your clit. Humming into your folds as your thighs clench around his head. Meeting your heady gaze with his darkened blue stare, plunging his tongue into your wet cunt, allowing the ball to caress the top of your slick flesh.

And just when you can't take any more of his languid torture, you hear a muffled buzzing within the depths of your pussy. His tongue fiercely pressed up to the flesh of your mound, placing the vibrating ball precisely over your clit, drawing a choked groan of his name from your throat as you come against his chin. Thighs trembling around his head as he laps victoriously at your pleasured end.

"So good fer me, lass." He purrs, voice low and husky, accentuated by the constant thrumb of the ball in his mouth.

"Johnny-.." You manage with a shaky breath, hips stuttering as he drags the humming ball over your sensitive bud just to see you come apart again.

"So fuckin' sensitive. Can ya gimme another one, bonnie?"

Without giving you a moment to think, he sinks his tongue into your core once more. Keeping his face pressed firmly into your folds as he lets the constant rhythmic vibration of the ball guide you to another orgasm. Arching your back as he flicks the tip of his tongue into the clenching walls of your cunt. His growls muffled into your cavern, gripping tightly into your thighs, keeping you immobile as he pushed you into the blissful realm of overstimulation.

Only pulling back when he's satisfied with your umpteenth orgasm. Tasting his triumph in the back of his throat as he swallows down the last remainder of your pleasured undoing.

Drabbles Masterlist

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Reader Additional Tags: Task Force 141, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Polyamorous Task Force 141 (Call of Duty), John Price Acting as Task Force 141's Parental Figure (Call of Duty), Task Force 141 as Family (Call of Duty), Eventual Romance

MDNI 18+ / ~ 2.6k words / Oneshot

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games), Modern Warfare II (2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Reader Additional Tags: No use of y/n, POV Second Person, Smut, light fluff, Oral Sex, gender neutral reader, Brat John "Soap" MacTavish, A little bit anyway, Gender neutral terms of endearment for reader, Light Dom/sub, Hand Job, briefly, Soap gets most of the attention in this one folks, Light Possessive Language, Oneshot, Author Has Played Call of Duty, not well, but I did, Reboot John "Soap" MacTavish, Reader is an Operator, Desperate John "Soap" MacTavish, Not Beta Read, we die like (redacted), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary:

Soap and you find yourselves in a safe house all on your own, in a rare moment free of danger, and manage to steal it for yourselves, indulging in some much needed RNR.

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"Tha's it, pet." Soap praises, his voice low and soft, a sound that's gradually been growing to be more and more of a comfort to you as of late, it mixes beautifully with the slick sound of his cock easing in and out of your mouth. He always takes his time with you when you let him have you like this, as if making sure to savour it, even his thick, scarred fingers which were tangled amongst the roots of your hair had a certain gentleness to them, amplified further by the way his other hand was caressing your cheek, the pad of his thumb tenderly brushing over the corner of your eyes, wiping away the involuntary tears that had gathered there and clung stubbornly to your lashes, before doing the same to the bit of drool that managed to escape from the corner of your mouth, and had been lazily dribbling down your chin.

Despite the way it makes your jaw twinge, getting to see the way his breathing gradually gets shallower, louder, adding to the symphony that always accompanied your intimate moments together alongside his staccato groans and grunts, made it all worth it. "Jus' like tha'." Every sound he made was nothing short of addictive, and you were determined to make it your life's mission to pull all of them from Soap's lips until you memorized them all.

Which is why you fight against his grasp to push him deeper into your mouth, until you can feel the weeping tip of his cock kiss the back of your throat, before you swallow around him. A low strangled groan forces its way out of Soap's body, seemingly startling the man himself as much as it delights you. He huffs and pulls you back up some, his hips twitch off the bunk, chasing the warmth of your mouth reflexively, as he shoots you a reprimanding look, one that didn't really come across as anything other than fond, which had his striking blue eyes — that are as vibrant as ever, even in the low lighting of the safe house, as if taking personal offence to anything that'd dare to try to hide them, and shining anyway from a mix of spite and Soap's special brand of unbridled defiance — narrowing minutely, doing nothing to hide the way they practically glinted with amusement and want. "Easy wi' tha', dinnae need ye hurtin' yerself."

You roll your eyes at him, and huff through your nose. With the tip of your tongue you follow one of the veins along the underside of Soap's cock up the length of his shaft, only to smooth your tongue right back out on the underside of his tip and running it right back down, over and over again. "Cheeky." Soap barely manages the word, his voice trailing off into another unsteady vocalization of his pleasure as his lashes flutter, fanning out when his eyes were mostly closed. That doesn't spur you to relent though. You both know that he likes it— he likes when you mouth off to him, when you walk by him brushing your hand along the small of his back, when you squeeze his arse when you know you can get away with it, when you eye him up, especially if you do it at a time where he's not allowed to immediately get his hands on you and retaliate, like during briefings.

Even with how much Soap seemed to live for you riling him up till he snapped, he never got rough about it, not unless you went out of your way to ask for him to. No, your big bad Sargent liked to keep a soft touch— even after you teased and prodded him to his limits with fleeting touches and words of filth whispered against the shell of his ear whenever they'd pop into mind, leaving him redfaced and caught off guard, often resulting in him staring at you like a puppy that just had a steak pulled out from under it as you'd go back to whatever it was you had been doing, teeth pressing against your bottom lip as you fruitlessly tried to force down your smirk.

When he'd finally break — and he always did no matter what it was that you had been doing to him — and take you over a desk, or against a wall, in the armoury, in your rooms in the barracks, or like now, on an old lumpy bunk that creaked at any and every movement, tucked away in a remote location in a safe house that was held together with little more than rusty nails and a fraying hope, with a crackling fire and the soft moonlight easing through the windows acting as your sole sources of light, he was still so fucking gentle. Touching you as if you were something delicate, or fleeting, like he thought if he moved too fast or pressed too hard you'd flit out of his touch like a startled finch, or as if you were a vase at risk of shattering into countless shards.

Keeping your hands flat, you gently smooth your palms over the tops of his thighs, savouring the way you could feel the slightest of tremours in them. His belt buckle jingles softly, hitting against itself from your fingers catching the hem of his pants. In your rush to get at him earlier you had merely pushed down as much as they had to be, leaving them quickly forgotten after the fact.

It was about time you corrected that.

Shifting on your knees, you draw back until only the head of Soap's cock remained in your mouth so that your tongue could still lap at him while giving you just enough space to fuss with Soap's clothes, an action that has Soap letting out a broken off whimper. A sound which is quickly chased by a slew of what was presumably curses, but was so enwrapped in Soap's accent — now much thicker from how worked up he was and worsened further by his budding frustration from being pent up — that you couldn't make out anything intelligible. Your hands trail lower to fumble with Soap's combat boots, pulling at the knot of the laces until it loosens, and you can ease his feet out of both of them, dropping them behind yourself to be found later. Eventually he seems to pull himself together enough for you to catch a few things, at least. "Yer nae playin' fair, pet. Cannae jus' dae this ta me." He whines rather petulantly.

Just for that, you pull off of him properly, his poor cock twitches where it lays against his abdomen, making an absolute mess of his shirt. To stop him fussing further you wrap your hand around him and lazily pump him, the quiet slick sounds filling the space between you both, as your other hand works on pulling his pants and boxers down the rest of the way, letting them fall in a heap at your knees. Soap's hips twitch up into your movements, as if trying to goad you into moving faster, but you simply use your elbow to press into his hip, keeping him down while you continue to stroke him. "You're so spoiled, you know that? Should just leave your sorry ass like this."

A proper grin pulls at Soap's lips, and he looks down at you through his lashes, with a glint in his eyes that was the pinnacle of pleased— like a puppy that had managed to charm its way into stealing an entire bag of treats. "Aye, ah ken, but ye wouldnae dare. Ye like spoilin' me, luvvy." There's just something about the way he looks above you, his chest heaving and a healthy flush darkening his skin along his cheekbones, while he's blatantly biting his bottom lip and looking at you like you're the only thing in the world worth looking at, that causes something in your chest to ache and twist in a way that shouldn't be as heady as it is.

Instead of dignifying Soap with an actual reply right away, you just grunt softly, vaguely providing him with a, "Maybe." as you hook your arm under one of Soap's knees, guiding it up so that his thigh presses against his stomach; you can feel the muscle jump under your touch. "God knows why I do, you're always such a fucking brat about it." Your protests are contrary, you know they are, especially with the way you're fisting his cock and lazily rolling your hips against the leg Soap still has firmly planted on the ground in a rather fruitless bid to take a bit of your own edge off. You spoil him because it's him, and as much as he can be a prick or a brat sometimes, at the end of the day Soap had still batted his eyes at you, and managed to sidle up to you enough that he found a nice warm place to curl up in your chest like a stray dog in a sunspot. He was a brat, a loud mouth, a bit of a know-it-all even when he wouldn't let on that he was, and he seemed to find a new way to get himself in and out of trouble every day, but god damn it, he was still your stray dog, and like hell were you going to give him anything less than every breath you took, every bit of blood rushing in your veins through your pounding heart, and every bone in your body.

You'd give him everything, because he was yours, and there was no way you'd ever let this ridiculous man forget it.

"Shite..." Soap hisses through his teeth, both his hands move to tangle in the thin sheets laid over the bunk, as the way his hips meet your hand begins to grow sloppier and more uneven. "M' nae a brat." The protest passes Soap's lips weakly, any bite it possibly could have had was dulled even further by the way his cock was practically drooling all over your hand, and the persistent groans and whimpers leaving him.

While you let it drop for now, you most certainly plan on getting him back for back-talking you later. Right now though, you have much more pressing things to pay attention to, like the way he's so visibly close to falling apart under you, his leg was trembling under your hand as his vocalizations got even more unabashed. The way the corner of your mouth lifts as you watch him is entirely involuntary; not that you do much in the way of trying to stop it from happening in the first place, mind. Hearing how Soap keeps murmuring your name doesn't exactly do much but encourage your expression and touches, especially when he practically keens as you take him back into your mouth, even if it's just the head of his cock. You're already pressing your elbow harder against his hip to keep him from lifting them too much and fucking into your mouth mindlessly; you both know that if he wanted to he could knock your arm out of the way, but even with how little blood was left in his brain he behaved and let you keep him down.

That doesn't stop him from wrapping his thick fingers around your wrist, trying to encourage you to pump his shaft faster. "Fuck, c'mon pet. M' so close ta comin', ye gotta let me. Please, please." There's a steadily growing note of desperation to his voice, the hand he still has tangled in the sheets curls tighter, pulling them hard enough that they now lay heavily askew on the bunk. As much as there's a part of you that delights in the idea of pulling back again, leaving him there heavy and aching, you can only be so cruel to him in one night, so you let him guide your hand, squeezing him just a bit tighter, if only to hear the way his voice gets rougher, a stream of words passing his lips mindlessly as he chases his finish, mostly your name intermixed with a healthy dose of 'fuck, please, yes,' and of course a slew of babbled, 'thank ye,'s over and over again.

It doesn't take long for even that to shift into 'God ah'm so close,' and 'oh ah'm gonna come in yer bonnie mouth, pet. Gonna make sure ye taste m'fer days.'

You just squeeze the underside of his knee, not like you can talk around him, besides, you didn't want to waste any extra brainpower trying to formulate intelligible words; not when you could be using it instead to memorize every little way Soap was starting to crumble under you, the muscles in his thighs jumped as his back arched off the mattress, both of his blue eyes glazing over, wide but staring up at the ceiling unseeingly, at least until they flutter closed, your name bullies it's way out of his mouth, followed by a few more curses, and some pure unfiltered praise, as his come fills your mouth in thick spurts that you're quick to swallow down before he makes a mess, or at least, so he doesn't make any more of one than he already has.

Using his hold on your wrist, he guides you unsteadily off your knees, and on top of himself, causing your legs to tangle with his own. While he lets out a soft hiss of oversensitivity when you accidentally brush against him, Soap just winds his arms around your shoulders and pulls you in even closer for a kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a soft groan. The way he's touching you quickly lost the notable edge of desperation that had been there before, the usual gentleness taking its place. "Yer tae good 'fer me, luvvy." He murmurs, as he brushes your lips together again.

One of your hands finds its way into his mohawk, absently tugging your fingers through the strands in a bid to try to bring some order to the mussed strands, before tangling near his nape and forcing his head back, he grunts, but doesn't fight you. There's something addicting about the way he always just lets you move him about, especially with the way it makes his eyes spark, and had his breath — which had yet to return to normal — quickening once more. You were more than willing to take advantage of him tolerating this while you could. "You're not getting off that easily, MacTavish." You say in as equally as low of a tone. "I'm not done with you yet." After all, you were still worked up and aching yourself, and you well and planned on making that Soap's problem, much like he had with you.

That familiar cheeky grin returns at full force as if you had just offered Soap everything under the tree on Christmas morning. "Aye, didnae think ah'd ferget aboot ye, pet." A shocked gasp passes your lips as he abruptly flips you both over, which causes the bunk to creak in protest under your combined weight on its old springs. Your gasp is quick to turn into a soft huff of amusement as he pins you beneath him and presses close, like he's doing his best to meld you together. "Gonna take such good care o' ye, luvvy." He murmurs as he peppers your face and neck in little fleeting kisses, as if eager to please you and trying his best to love on you everywhere at once.

You can't help the way you laugh at his antics, which somehow only seems to encourage him further as his hands find your hips, dragging you closer. Rolling your eyes fondly, you use your hold on his hair to pull him back in for another kiss.

He might be a brat, and a bit of a stray, but for better or for worse, he's definitely yours.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

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Thank you for reading!

If you have any ideas/prompts of what I should write next, feel free to comment or send me an ask. I’m open to writing more stuff with Soap, or any of the other members of the 141 (either with each other, reader, or a combination of everyone).