Smthing That's Been Constant In My Mind When It Comes To Soap- Him Just Edging You And Then Whe He Finally

smthing that's been constant in my mind when it comes to Soap- him just edging you and then whe he finally fucks you properly and he's close to finishing he just... pulls out and cums on you instead of allowing you to feel full of him; he absolutely worships you afterwards and makes sure you're taken care of but not before being absolutely evil

ohhh thats just cruel anon. i love it and it's something soap would totally do!! he likes to be a wee shite before absolutely worshiping and pleasuring you, he enjoys how squirmy and whiny you get !!

warnings/tags: soap x gn reader, rough sex, teasing, degradation, slightly mean soap, aftercare

you're panting and gasping as your body is continuously pushed further and further up the bed from johnny's strong thrusts. his hips smack into the meat of your arse, and it hurts so good - dark bruises bound to show up afterwards.

"tha' good hen?" johnny groans, a wicked smile on his face as he towers above you, one hand gripping at your hip while the other trails up to your stomach, pushing down on the bulge he creates in your stomach. a high pitched whine leaves you at the sensation, your hole stuffed full, tightening and pulsing around his thick cock.

"cannae speak? c'mon, tell me how it feels." he coos, pouting down at you but as he does this, his hips pick up pace and force, pretty much making you unable to respond from the overwhelming pleasure. "fucked ye dumb, haven't i? jus' a cockdrunk slut now." he chuckles to himself, continuing his mean pace as you start to slip away.

well that is until he comes to a stop, hips slowing down all of a sudden and your head tilts up, dazed eyes staring up at him. "wh-wha? johnnyyyy." you whimper, trying to ask him what he's doing but he stays silent, instead thrusting slowly and shallowly, so he isn't hitting any sensitive spots inside of you and instead pleasuring just himself.

your hips buck up and grind down, trying so desperately to chase his cock but you don't get much chance before big hands and wrapping around your hips and forcefully pinning you down into the mattress. "yer so selfish love, jus' let me enjoy mysel for a minute and take ma time then i'll get back tae fuckin ye, awright?" he groans.

you whine and complain all through it but he pays no mind to you and before he knows it, he's close. you can tell from his tale tell signs, like how his eyes struggle to stay open from the pleasure and the way his hips twitch. your mind get's floaty with the idea of him filling you up to the brim, feeling his hot load coating your insides.

but then, you feel him pull out and instead grind down into your thigh, panting and moaning as his cock gives a slight twitch before spurting cum all over your stomach. "nononon- johnny whyyyy!" you squirm, but his hands keep you pressed into the mattress as his head tips back to let out throaty groans, his hips lazily grinding down against your skin.

once it becomes too much, he stops his hips and looks down at you with an innocent smile. "fit's wrong with ye?" he asks, head tilting to the side just like a puppy. you slap his chest, "you know whats wrong! why didn't you come inside of me?" you question, arms crossing against your chest and he laughs.

"didnae feel like it, why? ye mad hen?" he says with a dismissive laugh that has your body running hot. "...maybe." you mutter, looking away from him and he coos down at you. "dinnae worry, i'll treat ye well now eh? fuckin worship ye, tha' will make ye better aye?" he questions, one hand coming away from your hip to instead grab your face and make you look up at him again. you nod shyly up at him and he leans down to give you a messy hot kiss.

the rest of the night is spent with him between your thighs, taking his time pleasuring you with his mouth in just the right way, how you like it the most. hours spent with his tongue wrapped around your sensitive spots and inside of your hole, really taking his time with you before he finally fucks you again, making sure to fill you up just how you wanted.

he makes up for his mean teasing earlier by making you cum more than three times, watching the way your brain leaks out of you. and by the time he's done, you're almost asleep on your shared bed, eyes struggling to stay open which he finds endearing.

he cleans you up slowly, wiping down your body before dressing you in one of his t-shirts and tucking you into bed, leaving you to sleep as he holds you to his chest and gently pets your head. "proud of ye, sweetheart." johnny mumbles into your ear.

you try and fake an orgasm with Simon (based off this post)

when you and Simon fuck, it's always passionate. he refuses to give you anything less than his all, sucking on your clit and pumping your cunt full with his fingers, curling them just like he knows you go crazy for. and it's divine. it brings you nirvana just to slam you right back into your body with its tingling nerves and fizzing skin. he always says the sweetest things, mumbling about how perfect you are, how he can't get enough of you, caressing your body like its a marble statue of a forgotten goddess he can't stop mumbling the name of.

nothing's changed about his love. not his lips on your skin or his cock shoved into your cunt, metal piercings stimulating that spongy spot inside of you. you should be clenching around him, crying out like a bitch in heat, but all the intense emotions that you know should be there are muted. all that pleasure is watered down by some other insidious emotion that's severed that delicious connection that should be there between you and Simon.

still, despite that pit in your stomach eating up that tasty stimulation, you perform. he pulls countless moans from your lips, has your fingers digging into the tense muscle of his shoulders, and yet you are nowhere close to finishing. it feels like you're so far from an orgasm that you've never once experienced it in your entire life. but Simon's been going for so long, pushing all the right buttons in all the right ways, getting you so close to your release and yet so far from it. perspiration sits heavily along his hairline, wetting his hair and making it stick to his forehead in small clumps.

you're taking too long. he's never cummed before you before, Simon's always prioritized your pleasure before his, and the poor man is basically edging himself and has been for what feels like eternity. hushed words always fall from his mouth like a saccharine waterfall when he's close, and he hasn't stopped muttering praise after praise into your ear.

"so fuckin' beautiful, takin' me so well, aren't 'cha?"

when his thumb begins its gentle massage on your clit, you almost cry. it feels so good, but it's tantalizing, promising you the release you desperately crave and yet can't seem to obtain. utter torture. and Simon's watching you through heavy lidded eyes, eager to watch you come undone, and it's all too much. so you arch your back with a desperate pornographic moan while your eyes screw shut in feigned ecstasy. and it's terribly pathetic, pitiful even, but it's all you have. one stupid, paltry faked orgasm.

Simon's movements cease. the pumping of his cock in your cunt, his swirling thumb on your clit; everything. your panting mixes with his in some dull harmony as he leans forward, hands resting on either side of your head while his body hovers over yours.

"sweetheart... what was that?"

all the moisture is sapped from your mouth the moment that question leaves Simon's lips. your current position is terribly vulnerable. stark naked with your boyfriend between your legs and his dick nestled deep inside of you; you couldn't get more exposed than that. however that question made things all the more daunting.

"w... what do you mean?" you ask, unsure if your voice is unsteady because of your exhaustion or anxiety.

"that just now," he explains. "are you tryin' to fake it?"

all you can do is lay there and stare up at him, eyes as wide as saucers and growing with moisture by the second. white hot shame burns through you, searing through your chest and stomach to the point where you feel like you'll be sick. you don't know what to say. lie further, or fess up and tell the truth? instead, you take the secret third option that is bursting into tears.

as soon as the tears fall from your face Simon has you wrapped up in his arms within the instant. no longer inside of you, he makes it so that both of you are lying on your sides, facing one another as you bury your face in his chest. he shushes you, tries to comfort you as he smooths a hand over your head but all you can do is apologize.

"talk to me, sweetheart," he urges, "what's goin' on?"

snot runs thick and heavy in your nose, forcing you to sniffle and nearly choke on the sensation, and still you keep your face hidden away.

"i'm sorry, i just- i just can't. it feels nice but i just can't finish and i was taking too long and, and i just- i don't know-"

"hey, s'alright," he coos, "these things happen sometimes. you just gotta let me know what's goin' on, yeah?"

"i know, i'm sorry," you sniffle.

"nothin' to be sorry about," he assures you. "there's nothin' in the world that you could say to me that would make me mad at you, love. if somethin' isn't workin' for you, i wanna know, yeah?"

all you can do is nod your head in response to him, and he places a firm kiss against the crown of your head. he holds you for a while longer before pulling away so he can sit up. you wipe any remaining tears off of your face as you watch him slip out of bed before holding his arms out towards you.

"c'mon, let's get you cleaned up," he says.

still sniffling, you sit up in bed and stare up at him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "but... what about you?"

equally as confused, Simon leans forward and takes your hands into his as he helps you off the bed. "what about me?"

"you... didn't get to finish," you say meekly.

"yeah, neither did you."

his tone left no room for argument, and you're already halfway out of the bedroom by the time you fully comprehend just what he meant. but it doesn't take long before you forget all about it. you're in the bath and Simon's washing away all the shame and embarrassment from your body. his hands scrub your body clean, and he kisses away the thoughts that plague your mind until you're full of so much love you forget all about what had you upset in the first place.

girl are you okay? you’ve been consuming so much media lately that you haven’t allowed yourself to feel one single human emotion for months

Hiii

I was wondering if you could write a smut with Simon Riley where the reader is feeling hella insecure because she doesn't look like the women in porn videos? Like she's got a bit of chub and her body type just isn't what Simon gets off to? Like a bunch of comfort and body praise?

If not, totally understand and feel free to ignore <3

ask and i will deliver,sorry for how bad this is writersblock go brrooombrooooomnm

“Say it.”

The blonde behind you ordered, thumb circling around your puffy clit—watching your eyes fall shut and lips open, inhaling shaky breaths. His freehand was groping and digging at your inner thigh, keeping the plush from slamming shut.

“Si—Siigghh.. I’m—I’m..”

Huffing out a heavy breath,he pulled you back against him; watching you in the mirror with subtle awe—you were gorgeous, how could you be so self-depreciating? You’re fuckin’ lying.

“I can’t—S’not true..”

As soon as you said that, he pulled his thumb away and watched you cry out in frustration, withering into a slump beside him, staring at the man.

“But—S’not true, Simon!”

“Yeah? Yr’ not cummin’, then. Simple as that.”

Simon carelessly laid back on the bed, sitting with the bunched up pillows propped beneath his head; rubbing and fisting at his sweatpants to ease his boner, glaring at you with stern unease.

“Why’re y’insecure? Yr’ gorgeous, if y’werent, I wouldn’t be gettin’ hard anytime I see ‘y.”

“I don’t—I don’t look like..The girls in the videos.”

When you sniffled that out, he immediately scowled and pinched your calf, sitting up to look at you headon, shaking his head.

“And? You look fuckin’ better. Id rather shag my bird than some trashy pornstar.”

Sniffling, you leant forward to rest against him, his hands gently sliding up your sides—pressing soft, calculated kisses and bites to your neck, kneading at your breasts without any shame, feeling your breath hitch for a moment.

“You’re perfect.”

A pause, and a few hiccups.

“..M’perfect.”

“Perfect, goodwoman.”

Within seconds, he was crawling to rest between your thighs, kissing at the soft chub of your pretty tummy, coercing your thighs apart with a hand; he looked so ethereal there, heavy lidded eyes looking up at you like you were gods gift, lips pursed as he splayed gentle kisses to your cunt, your heart pounding in your chest as he licked a long stripe up your dampening folds.

“What did we—What did we go over?”

Simon asked—Well, mumbled, burying his face between your cunt and sucking, tongue flickering up and down, savouring your taste in his mouth.

“M’—Oh, god..M’perfect n’—Hmn..And I—Nn’ I deserve t’cum.. Please Simon..”

Smirking, the fairhaired individual ate your cunt like his life depended on it—Two fingers sliding into your tight hole and curling ever-so-slightly upwards to hit that gummy spot, making your eyes roll back and slam shut, and back arch up and off of your bed.

The knot in your stomach tightened, orgasm pending so quickly that you could barely process it; fingers digging into your blankets with heavy pants, his tongue making soft scribbles on your sensitive clit.

“Caannt—Ohmg..Can’t hold it back—Simon..”

Your pleas made his cock harden, fingers increasing in speed as they thrusted into your cunt eagerly; his eyes shutting as you let out a soft squeal, thighs trembling as your orgasm hit your limp body, the man between your thighs made a soft humming sound as he lapped at your cunt like an eager dog, before pulling back to look up at his gorgeous girl.

Rough, calloused hands moved to rest on your stomach—thumb brushing over the plush skin with adoration, your cheeks flushed and eyes hazy, drool almost rolling down your chin, it was shameful, really!

“Fuckin’pretty girl.”

“My prettygirl.”

Pet

Dark Ghoap x Fem! Reader

CW: Kidnapping, drug mention, violence, death mention.

Johnny had an incredibly easy time keeping himself busy during retirement. There was always something to be done around the house, a new local sport team to join, or an outing he’d convince Simon to humor him on with a bat of his lashes. However, years of military service were not kind to his body. Cleaning the gutters would leave a strain in his shoulder. Bopping around at a shitty punk gig he’d dragged Simon to would wind his muscles tight for days. The nail in the coffin was at his last rugby game, an over compensated move completely throwing his back out.

That was enough for Simon, being the judge and the jury for Johnny’s sentence of doctor ordered bed rest. In the first days Johnny had still tried to keep up around the house, following Simon around and chittering on that he was fine before getting promptly carried back to bed like a sack of potatoes over broad shoulders. He’d fully given up after that point, his little spirit crushed as he laid in bed absently doom scrolling on his phone for hours. That was, before one of your videos came across his screen. Written in the stars by the algorithm.

The video was innocent enough, a ‘Get ready with me’ style set to some cute music which unknowingly doomed you. Thumbs flew across the screen as Johnny tapped on your profile, greedily drinking in your entire post history over the course of a couple hours. His favorites he’d bookmarked and watched over and over again, already memorizing whatever little song you’d picked to go over your video. His heart hammered in his chest and he swallowed a lump in his throat, hovering over the direct message option.

Hello :) Big fan! Do ye think ye could wear that black dress from 20/11 in yer next video? Loved it.

Johnny waits anxiously for your reply and decides to send another message apologizing for coming on strong, only to realize he’d been blocked by his newest little project. With a pout and a sigh he resigns himself to making another account, rinsing and repeating his actions of following you, going through your videos, and bookmarking his favorites. His head is too far in the clouds to even register that Simon had been standing over his shoulder for a minute, watching him.

“Whatcha got there, pup?” Simon’s voice sounds from above, causing Johnny to almost jump out of his skin.

“Jesus! Ye scared me,” Johnny said, placing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect.

When he saw that Simon was still awaiting an answer, he shook his head to rid the jitters.

“A real pretty lass. Somethin’ about her. She’d fit right in.” Johnny said with a dreamy sigh, looking to Simon and trying to gauge his reaction.

Simon’s hand is held out expectantly before Johnny places his phone in his calloused palm. His eyes fixate on the screen as he goes through the videos. He’s right, you’re pretty. His pup’s eyes look as if he’s a child pleading for a new toy at the store and he’s nothing if not a sucker for it. With a resigned sigh, Simon pockets the phone and ruffles Johnny’s hair.

“Bed time,” Simon says with a soft canter to his voice.

Johnny obliges, mumbling good nights and kisses before he’s out cold and Simon makes the trek downstairs to haul himself up on the couch, the room illuminated with Johnny’s phone screen.

You have piss poor internet safety. Simon gathers information quickly, half military training and half having brain cells to rub together. You make it too easy, like you are begging to be whisked away.

A video in your likes about being non contact with parents.

They wouldn’t ask where you were.

A ‘‘jokey” audio about your pet being your only friend

No one would come looking for you.

A video was taken in your work uniform with a name tag and a clock in the background during the shift.

Location and time you’d be on the premises.

Once he was satisfied with his findings Simon trudged back up the stairs, slotting in bed next to Johnny and lazily throwing an arm around him. His pup deserved a playmate while he was down for the count. Someone soft and docile like you to play with. Even if this was a big task, Simon would get what his precious boy wanted.

…

You’re a lot more bite than bark, and Simon had not been anticipating that. Muscling you into his truck and binding your limbs was easy even with the thrashing, but the deep bite mark blossoming purple and red hurt and he was not patient with disobedient mutts. Your screaming was silenced by a metal cage being strapped to the back of your head, the clasps tugging at your hair and a leather bit in the middle that made drool pool in your mouth and any noises come out hushed and gurgled.

“Really don’t wanna drug ya, love. The side effects are nasty and I’ve already got a pet on bed rest.” The masked man driving the car says, his voice deep and gravely like he’s smoked since he exited the womb.

You resign from fighting pretty early on, not missing the 9mm tucked into his waistband; a silent threat and promise. Instead, you focus on your surroundings out of the window which is mostly trees and fields as he drives out of the city limits and to, well, wherever he’s taking you. You catalog this information and commit it to memory and hold onto the delusion that when you escape you’ll be able to tell the police exactly where he took you and which way you went.

The road he’s driving on takes a sharp left and turns into more gravel and dirt than sleek tar pavement. Down the beaten path you pull up to a house, very unassuming and nice on the outside but you can only imagine the state of the inside. Every horror movie and true crime video you’ve ever seen plays in your mind. The filth, the squalor, chains and sex toys and rotting corpses in refrigerators.

The masked man gets out of the truck first, shutting the door with a surprising amount of care and then opening your side. He grabs the middle of the rope, where your hands are bound, and shuffles you out of the vehicle. When your feet meet the ground you’re tempted to run, but his gun remains front and center in your mind. Dumb idea. He crouches down on one knee then, like a parent getting on their child’s level to reason with them as he speaks to you; his grip still strong on the rope.

“Now, I need you to be good f’me and listen. If you make any fucking noise until I tell you to I’ll break your little jaw right off your pretty face and you’ll be eatin’ baby food the rest of your life. Got it?” He says in a soft tone but with no room for thinking he’s joking.

You nod your hand in understanding, too high on adrenaline and fear to cry even though your throat feels closed off and your eyes and nose sting with that familiarity. He rises to his feet then, unlocking you through the door and pulling you through the threshold. You prepare yourself for the worst but you’re met with the most mundane setting you could imagine. The walls are beige and gray, an accent wall in dark blue. A nice leather sectional couch, flat screen TV a few feet away from it. The place looks…underwhelming.

“M’ home. Just puttin’ the shopping away, hold tight up there in bed.” The man calls up the stairs to god knows who before turning his attention back to you.

He leads you by the wrists into a spare room right off of the living room which at first glance looks just as underwhelming as the rest of the house. A desk with a large dog bed under it, a few paintings on the wall, a book shelf, and a board for darts. When you’re being drug further into the room though, you notice it; a sturdy chain mounted to the wall and attached to a collar with a thick padlock. The leather is engraved with a name: Johnny.

The collar is placed around your neck and locked, gapping awkwardly in the back and ill fitting. The man tries to tug it over your head a few times but is satisfied when it won’t go past your jaw. The numb tingling in your hands draws your attention down to them as you try to wiggle your fingers and get some blood flow back. Survival is not guaranteed but you’re relieved that you’re not on the set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre at least.

You’re guided slowly onto your knees with two strong hands onto your shoulders, until you meet the plush carpet. You look up at him finally, a proper look. His eyes are dark and devoid of emotion, like some sort of a living breathing shell. He’s tall and filled out everywhere, even without the gun you now believe his promise of breaking your jaw more. You’ll have to use wit and gain trust to get out of here; you’ll have to fawn.

“M’ gonna go get my boy and you’re gonna act like you’re over the moon to be here.” He says, taking a step back from where you’re kneeling.

“I don’t like to take in strays and I sure as fuck don’t put up with rowdy mutts. Give me a reason to show you, and you’ll learn real quick darling.” He says, before opening the door and shutting it behind him.

You’re left to your own devices then, chest heaving and eyes darting around the room. With him gone you can finally let your defenses down a little so the tears start to cascade down your cheeks silently. The gag, well, muzzle makes it hard for you to catch your breath as you heave and sputter as quietly as you can. You wonder who Johnny is, the poor soul before you in this position. By the way the collar fit, were much larger than you and still fell at the hands of this man. The thought made bile rise to your throat.

Far away voices and footsteps get closer and closer to the door then as you’re frozen in place kneeling. Your chest rises and falls quickly with each breath before it hitches all together as the doorknob is turned. The door opens, and another man has joined your captor. He’s smaller, a dark mohawk and striking blue eyes. He is absolutely elated to see you, apparently. He’s a blur of moment, on his knees by you in a blink and gathering your tired body into a spine crushing hug.

He turns his head behind him to the mask man with an ear to ear grin, beaming and nauseatingly giggling to himself.

“You didn’t!” He says excitedly, like someone reviving a way too expensive present in a secret Santa exchange.

“Just for you puppy. You’ve been down since your injury an’ I figured I could get you a playmate.” The man says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

He seems to care a great deal about this man with a death grip on you, happy just to see him happy.

The man affectionately referred to as “puppy” buries his nose in your hair, sniffing deeply and letting out a deep shuddering breath. You feel his cock twitch against the outside of your thigh where he’s got himself pressed against you. You’re beginning to think this was the Johnny you were feeling sorry for a second ago.

His hands move up towards your muzzle to undo it but the other man stops him, warning that you’re not properly trained yet and might bite. He whines, but gives a nod in understanding, giving you another rib bruising squeeze.

“Don’t worry lass. We’ll take care of ya’.” Johnny says, planting a kiss on top of your head.

The larger man steps out of the room then, shutting it behind him and leaving you to get accompanied with your new playmate and acclimated to your new home. Hope slowly starts to leave as Johnny whispers promises of giving you pups and never letting you out of his sight.

Demon Gaz, who's looking for a pretty little plaything to corrupt. Maybe a priests daughter, or someone who (somehow) has never sinned before.

<3

hopefully you enjoy this crime against christianity <3 cw dubcon, religion.

looking like such an angel, kyle finds his job incredibly easy. his beautiful brown eyes look like they're incapable of hiding a single sinful thought, never mind an entirely devilish being.

his smile is so bright the local god-fearing women think it could ward off any ill fate that could befall the town--if only they knew the reason for their downfall was their darling local charmer. 

you and kyle had been friends for a while now, he was new in town and took a shine to you immediately when you sat next to him in church one day.

from that moment on, he knew that he would make you his. 

it was easy to get you alone, under the guise of bible study, of reinforcing your father's teachings. the sessions started with quiet, companionable reading. kyle would keep you company, answer simple questions you had, and ask you about your life. 

no boys, no parties, no sin. 

he couldn't ask for a prettier, more innocent little thing to corrupt. 

your descent started slowly, in a way he couldn't have even planned. he didn't have to seek you out, as you followed him around like a lost lamb, unknowingly leading itself to slaughter. you tried to spend as much time with him as possible, obsessed with the way he looked at you like no one had before. 

you could sense his desire, even if you thought it to be something simple and innocent--the kind of love and admiration your parents' marriage was built from, the kind of devotion you had for your god. 

you had no idea of the lust that lay within--the corrupting, all-consuming need. kyle garrick was a selfish man, used to turning girls like you on their heads and feeding off their sins before moving on to the next. 

something about you was different. 

perhaps it was because he'd never met one so pure and untainted, or maybe it was because, unlike the others, you had no sense of self-preservation. it could be that you always had this look in your eyes like you wouldn't really mind if kyle led you astray, you'd follow him anyway. that was something he quickly became addicted to.

the poking and questioning followed soon after, kyle subtly guiding you to question the gospel, your father, and everything you've ever known, all for him. he pretended to struggle with his faith too, though he supposed it wasn't a lie, as once upon a time he had. 

you were quick to follow, enamored by your guardian angel in every way, believing he could never steer you wrong. 

after all, questioning is normal, natural, why we were given free will--that's what kyle always says. and with the sweet way he says it, so earnest and everything... there's no way the two of you are doing anything wrong.

so when he pulls you into his lap one day, bible in hand, you don't question it. when he asks your interpretation on a particular verse, and leads you to a certain conclusion, you don't question it. 

when he takes you on a walk through the churchyard flowers and kisses you under the flower-filled pergola, lips against yours like he's devouring you, you don't question it. 

from there, the rest is easy. coaxing you into sneaking out late at night, straight into his arms, getting you to give up your vow of chastity, your commitments to the church, your devotion to god.

instead, you worship him. his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he drives inside you, taking you for him forever. spoiling you for other men, breaking all your oaths. 

he stretches you out, shapes you to him, claims you with his cock, his cum, his fingers, the way his nails scraping down your body carves his name into your soul.

you cry out for him when your pretty mouth is on the end of his cock, you cry out for him when he's gone--tears beading in your eyes either way. 

and when they try to take you away from kyle, to make you 'see the light', 

all the lessons you've been taught about vengeance and grace fall away, and you search for a new beginning--disavowing your church, your family, your upbringing. 

and with your fall complete, when it's time for kyle to skip town? there's no way in hell he could leave you behind.