Soap X Female Reader - Blog Posts

Soap has found a playful way to entertain yourselves with the new lights you’ve bought for the Christmas tree…

| 🍪 mdi please, suggestive, fem!reader is 21 and johnny is waaay much older, I had this one shot in mind for a while and thought I would write it down for soapy (probably first and last time cause I’m a loyal price girlie)

“don’t really trust these things ‘nny…”

your sweet voice is tinted with worry and hesitation as you wiggle your wrists, the motion only tightening the knot that bounds them together over your head and against your mattress “what if they start burning?”

johnny, as the faux gentleman he is, coos condescendingly down at you, but the sound that was meant to be reassuring reverberated like a deep, sultry growl in your ears — almost mocking.

“christmas lights that burn at the touch were a thing back in the 80’s, lass, not now,” he lectures you amusedly, his words inevitably pointing out to your evident large age gap — perhaps too large.

“they were so pretty, they played Christmas music an’ ye could hear it all the way from yer room... but ye werenae even born yet at that time, bonnie lass, ye couldnae know about it”

he lets out a rough chuckle, eyes fixed on the way the colorful lights shine over the skin of your wrists at an alternated rhythm, your belly twists with the familiar warm tingle that makes you blush every time he reminds you of how much, much older than you he was.

“you’re going to break them, we’ve just bought them” you whine, raising your head against the pillows to look at the colorful bulbs that tie your hands together, orange, green, red and blue alternating their shimmering “we have to put them on the tree”

“don’t worry, dove, won’t,” he smirks down at you, scarred hands ready to uncover the treasure that lies between your legs — they start pulling down the fluffy pajama pants you’re wearing, the tip of his calloused fingers tracing a hot trail along your thighs “n if I do, I’ll get ye new ones before Christmas Day comes”

once your lacy white panties are revealed, he nearly purrs at the sight, the best gift he could ever get lying down underneath him, ready to be unwrapped, his pretty, sweet girl. “I’ll make ye feel s’good ye won’t even have to write any letter to Santa, ye’ll give me all the cookies”

he must’ve been a pretty good lad all year to deserve such a precious thing as you.

“y’trust yer man, right dove?”

it’s hard not to crumble down like gingerbread cookies with the way he looks at you, cunning and sly eyes pouring down all the love and desires he has for you — so you just blink cutely at him, red, puffy cheeks and fluttering, big eyes. “i do…”

he grins at that, his hand swiftly grabbing his buckle and almost ripping the zipper down, his other hand tugs you in by your waist, harsh enough to press his crotch against your blossom and hips slam together.

“that’s my pretty girl, I’ll take ya to the bookstore right after, what’ya say? ye can pick however many ye want and I’ll get ye hot chocolate, deal?”

and with that, he knows you’re sold.