What is this month's hyperfixation?

 cw: smut,p in v sex, kinda of a porn trope, an american trying to write a scottish character, potentially inaccurate herb talk

A/N: im so sorry this is so bad but i just had to write this 

—

‪‪❤︎‬ Johnny had never been in an apothecary. The only herb he frequented was the Mary Jane when he was younger, but now that he was in the military, weed was a hard no.

‪‪❤︎‬He didn’t like the look of your regular customers. Most of your clientele were women, with their husbands or boyfriends accompanying them. Not hot-as-sin muscular guys with mohawks. Maybe he’s buying something for his partner? 

‪‪❤︎‬You greeted him, then he asks what you recommend if one has trouble sleeping. You suggested a tea blend of valerian root and blue lotus, or  tart cherry and catnip gummies mixed with skullcap and chamomile. 

‪‪❤︎‬You learn his name is Johnny, and he seems very kind. He was attentive when explaining the benefits of each ingredient. He even complimented the sundress you wore today. 

‪‪❤︎‬Expecting him to walk out when he sees the price, or make a remark on how it was cheaper to buy online– you’re taken by surprise when he chooses both.

‪‪❤︎‬He says he’s not a fan of tea, but he knows a brit that’ll enjoy it. 

‪‪❤︎‬You’re done ringing him up but before you can finish wrapping his purchase, he asked if you offer deliveries. Which confused you because duh, he’s already here. Johnny just smiled and asks if you can deliver them to his place personally, so he knows exactly how to take them, when to take them…

-  -  -  -  -

“Shot for shot, yeah?” The dusty glass slides across the table and a weathered hand catches it just before it can completely slip off the edge. His hand circles around the glass as his lazy brown eyes lift from the whiskey inside to the man serving him.

“You allowed to drink your product?” The question comes off as its own version of a joke because in this town who the hell cares?

“You’re buyin’.” Johnny returns the jest with a tilt of his head and then both their attention is taken by the creak of the stairs.

The early morning hours shouldn’t have been a time when anyone was in the saloon and yet here he was, Simon Riley in the flesh, drinking instead of being at the stables. Though it wasn’t as if Johnny could blame the Brit for wanting to drink in the morning, Johnny was willing to join him.

“Mornin’ Sunshine, got somewhere to be, today?” Johnny asks the question with a generic intent that is wholly hiding the underlying inquisition about your dress.

Something that’s well made and looks pretty on you, far prettier than the other girls who work here would wear. It almost makes you look like a governess rather than the newest saloon girl.

“Oh. I’m…” you fiddle with the skirt of the dress and avert your eyes—another contrast between the newest job you’ve acquired and the sweet nature of your natural personality. “…I have things to do.”

“Things?” Johnny raises an eyebrow and looks you over before he sides his eyes toward Simon. “New girl, met ‘er yet?”

Simon turns his head, his seemingly uninterested expression taking in the image of you wearing a pretty dress in the dingy saloon. Though you’d been a saloon girl, a whore labeled by some, you were beautiful. Young, and despite your income, you were innocent.

You were beautiful, damnably so.

Sheriff Price had put both a target on your back and an unshakable security barrier around you. He had made it known that your "Johns" were not to put their hands on you to bruise. And that threat had given you little customers despite your beauty, though it seemed as if the sheriff himself was subsidizing your income.

“Simon Riley,” Johnny cracked a grin as he motioned you to come toward the bar he was standing behind, “owns the stables. Got some fine horses.”

“I remember.” You mumble but follow Johnny’s direction anyway.

When you stepped toward the bar to be introduced to the tall intimidating man, Johnny had reached across to rest his hand on yours. The touch was innocent in nature yet it contrasted starkly with the fire in his blue eyes.

“Fine dress for a saloon girl.” Simon raised an eyebrow as he studied the cut and the material that complimented you well. “Steal the damn thing or is it a gift from John?”

Not Johns but John Price himself.

“It’s my mother’s.” Your voice is soft, melancholy and there’s a reflective sadness that makes your eyes doey. “It was my mother’s, she…it was her best dress.”

“Look good, hen. Like a city girl, eh?” Johnny reaches and tugs on a few strands of hair that slip from your braid. Like a schoolboy that’s teasing a girl he’s got a crush on, he’s toying with you to get a reaction. “Where are ya goin’?”

The conversation is light compared to the causality behind the introduction. While Johnny is talking you up after introducing you to Simon, Simon is committing every detail of you and your body to memory. While the sheriff can’t keep you from entertaining men for money, he can pack your night with men who won’t beat you.

Simon was going to be one of the regulars that would keep you from the vile nature of mean spirited bastards that’d be rough with you. Simon could be classified as a mean bastard in his own right but he wouldn’t try and pull half the shit men try on the other girls. And it was his loyalty and respect for Price that made him agree to being one of your steady customers.

He had the income to buy your time, he had the means to keep you occupied every night but there would be a shared understanding.

Between Sheriff Price, Deputy Garrick, Simon and Johnny, you’d be isolated to themselves. A woman only for them, and the owner of the saloon would be wise not to try and disturb your cycle of men.

John Price was a man with a temper, like they all were capable of, and he had unofficially claimed you. They all had.

You were their girl, and until this whole affair with the bank and your daddy’s farm was cleared up, you’d be their shared girl.

A whore by some standards but by Price’s definition you were a wife-to-be.

Shared between them all.

Once the matter with the bank was dealt with, your daddy’s farm would be in safe hands with John, Simon, Kyle and Johnny. As safe as you would be with a ring on your finger, and to John’s plans, a baby in your belly.

But that was all an eventuality, and until then you would take them all to bed for money until you could simply be a wife.

“C’mon, darlin’. S’not like it’s a guarded secret.” Johnny teased again and his eyes darted from you to Simon.

It was his night tonight, Simon was going to fuck you all might to secure you from meaner men.

“I’m-” the saloon door opens and shuts again, stirring the conversation away from the pretty dress you’re wearing and what you’re going to do, toward the deputy.

Deputy Garrick with his pretty brown eyes that, just like Simon’s, rake over you with slow building heat.

“Sheriff’s waiting for you.” Kyle speaks and crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s afflicted by the idea that tonight isn’t his night. “Don’t keep him waitin’ miss.”

You step away from the bar and approach Deputy Garrick, shivering in response to Simon’s hand that flits against your waist. His brown eyes have lost all measurable hold on his desire and lust, and he nearly pins you to the place you’re standing with those eyes alone.

“Good day, Mr. Riley.” Your voice is soft, sweeter than honey, and laced with innocence that doesn’t befit your job. “Mr. MacTavish-”

“Dinnae call me tha’, love. Else i’ll drag your ass over the bar and spank ya.” Johnny grins and teases you until you squirm and turn away, eyes widening.

“Keep in your pants ya fucker.” Kyle mumbles under his breath and offers you his arm for you to take, adhering to the treatment they all give you—treating you like a real lady regardless of your financial predicament.

Johnny waits until you and Kyle are gone before he faces Simon again and exhales sharply.

“Fuckin’ ass gonna be the death of me, Simon.” Johnny breathes out his desire, his groan animalistic and wanting.

“Wait your turn, asshole.” Simon downs his shot and slams the glass down on the bar top before he rolls his shoulders back. “Have to wait until the little doe is broken in ‘fore she takes two at a time.”

The Bloody Devils // Knight John Price x Female Reader

Disgraced former knight John Price finds himself with too much time on his hands—and he and his band of mercenaries have nothing left to lose. Gaz, the bastard son of Price’s former lord. Johnny MacTavish, a Scottish Catholic stuck in Protestant England running from his past. And Ghost, a ruthless pit fighter with more than a few scores to settle. When a cloaked stranger appears with a seemingly easy enough job, they heartily accept. But everything is not as it seems. Tracking down a Viscount’s kidnapped bride is simple enough, but the Devils soon realize that the return comes with a deadly cost. Chivalry is dead. Hail to The Bloody Devils.

Overall Warnings: Medieval AU, historical fantasy, violence, sexual content, forbidden love, forced proximity, slow burn, virgin!reader

Chapters (ongoing):

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty

ao3 // main masterlist

author's note: many thanks to @id-get-sleazy-for-ron-weasley for helping me flesh thing out to its fullest potential. I am always grateful to have you.

Cobra Kai did a fantastic job with Sam and Tory’s eventual resolution. It hit the right notes and brought genuine closure to their feud. Sadly, the same cannot be said for how the show handled Miguel and Robby’s storyline. Their resolution fell flat in comparison. 

In this analysis, I want to dig into what made Sam and Tory’s arc so rewarding, and also examine why I found Miguel and Robby’s resolution so unsatisfying. Of course, this is just my perspective, and I deeply welcome respectful disagreement and open conversation. 

Let’s start with what went wrong for Miguel and Robby. Their resolution doesn’t work for me because it singles out one character and assigns him nearly all the blame. Even though, clearly, both played a part in the conflict. 

The show’s so-called “resolution” glosses over much of the history between these two. It almost pretends that their rivalry began with Miguel’s fall, overlooking the drama that happened in the first two seasons. The narrative turns Miguel into the primary victim by focusing only on his pain and what Robby did to him, while virtually ignoring Robby’s pain and Miguel’s own actions. 

The resolution ignores several critical moments: Miguel kissing Robby’s girlfriend, Miguel attacking Robby first during the school brawl, Miguel drunkenly going after Robby in a fit of rage, and Miguel targeting Robby’s injured shoulder during their AVT match in a clear act of poor sportsmanship. None of these moments are given any weight or even mentioned in their resolution. The only incident the show seems to focus on is Robby accidentally kicking Miguel off the railing (a fight, might I add, that Miguel initially started.) 

The biggest mistake Robby is harshly judged for is something he did without malice or intent. It wasn’t planned, and it certainly wasn’t a conscious act of cruelty. Yet, all the actions Miguel took against Robby, many with clear intent and even bitterness, are simply ignored. Robby doesn’t get a real sense of resolution from this scene. 

Instead of closure, Robby is vilified for “not holding back,” as if Miguel himself was always the model of restraint during his time with Cobra Kai. Let’s be honest: Miguel had his own share of moments where holding back was the last thing on his mind. 

But it isn’t just Miguel’s wrongdoing that is brushed aside. Even events that truly should have counted against Robby, moments I think deserve honest critique, never get addressed. Robby’s decision to join Cobra Kai and teach them Miyagi-do’s techniques, despite knowing firsthand how much harm they caused, could easily have been mentioned. Robby forcibly shaving Hawk’s hair could have come up as well. 

There’s also the very foundation of their rivalry aka both boys’ jealousy over the other’s relationship with Johnny. This underlying motivation is never even brought up, even though it has shaped much of their actions. 

Instead, the entire focus lands on one event: Robby kicking Miguel off the ledge, an action that wasn’t calculated and for which Robby can’t truly be blamed. Robby didn’t start the fight. He didn’t force them upstairs. He didn’t design the conditions for that accident to happen. 

Why not focus on Robby’s real mistakes, the ones he made with intent? Why use an accident, and not Robby’s deliberate actions, as the basis for this resolution? It’s hard to take this resolution seriously when it’s built on an event that doesn’t reflect Robby’s true agency or responsibility. 

It’s even more frustrating that this “resolution” hinges on Miguel beating Robby into submission. What kind of lesson does that send, exactly? What are viewers supposed to take away from this? That if you manage to come out on top after someone wrongs you, you should expect harsh payback for finding a way to win? That true resolution comes from one person physically overpowering the other, rather than honest reflection and accountability? 

--- 

Now let’s look at Sam and Tory’s resolution and why it stands out as near perfect. The timing of this resolution is absolutely essential. If you look closely, it actually begins back at the end of season 5, when Sam takes the initiative to visit Tory’s house. That single step leads to an important transformation in Sam’s character. 

Before this visit, Sam was not sympathetic toward Tory at all. In Sam’s eyes, Tory was nothing more than a bully and a lawbreaker who deserved every bit of trouble she got.  

Sam had every reason to stand her ground and never offer Tory an ounce of understanding. After all, Tory had been her main adversary, someone who hurt her and made her life difficult. So honestly, Sam is the last person on that show from whom Tory could expect any sort of sympathy (nor was Tory owed it from Sam). 

But what makes this resolution so compelling is that, regardless of the past, Sam chose empathy/sympathy anyway. Seeing Tory’s difficult home life opened Sam’s mind and heart, allowing her to see her rival in a new light. This moment (this honest shift in perspective) is the most powerful driver of resolution. It’s what turns enemies into people capable of understanding each other.  

And this is exactly what we never got from Miguel and Robby. Their arc jumped straight from aggression to forgiveness, with almost no sign of either one having a real epiphany about the other’s side of the story. You blink, they’re fighting; you blink again, and suddenly they’re friends. There’s no journey, no realization, nothing that actually explains the change. 

Sam’s change wasn’t something she owed Tory, or something she did out of obligation. It came from her own compassion and willingness to look beyond their rivalry. That’s what makes it so moving. 

For Tory, the resolution is just as meaningful. Sam showing up at her door stops Tory in her tracks. Tory had already tried to reach out once, and it didn’t work. So she retreated, not expecting another chance. In Tory’s eyes, Sam was stuck-up and unreachable, far too absorbed in her own moral high ground to listen. That’s why Sam walking through that door is a shock. It challenges everything Tory believed about her rival. For the first time, she realizes Sam is willing to put aside their history and genuinely help. That willingness sparks a shift in Tory, allowing her to see Sam as more than just an enemy. 

In that moment, both girls gain the chance to genuinely see each other as people. This is the real spark behind a true resolution: understanding, vulnerability, and mutual recognition of each other’s struggles.

Another thing that makes Sam and Tory’s resolution so strong is that it doesn’t happen all at once. Unlike Robby and Miguel’s reconciliation, which jumps straight from violence to sudden friendship right after Miguel beats Robby, Sam and Tory move much more realistically. Their progress is slow, hesitant, and a bit awkward. Right after the end of season 5, they aren’t suddenly close. There’s no immediate trust, and certainly no instant friendship between them. 

Their interactions at first are stiff and driven mostly by their boyfriends’ new friendship. It’s not about forgiveness or healing yet, it’s just about tolerating each other for the sake of those around them. Robby points this out directly: while Sam and Tory have stopped hating each other, that doesn’t mean they’ve become friends overnight. That’s how a genuine resolution should unfold. There should be space between acknowledging the other’s pain and truly building a new relationship. Especially considering just how fierce and personal their rivalry was. 

This in-between space (where neither is an enemy, but they’re far from friends) is important in a story like theirs. A shift like that should feel strange. It should take time for animosity to fade and trust to grow. This resolution in progress is messy and uncomfortable, but that’s what makes it work and feel real. In contrast, Miguel and Robby’s rushed move from conflict to camaraderie, without any period of discomfort or adjustment, undermines the believability of their story. That’s why I just can’t take their reconciliation seriously or feel moved by it. 

Next comes the key moment where Sam and Tory actually work together which is something that sets their resolution far above what happened between Robby and Miguel. When a fight breaks out with Kenny, Sam and Tory step in as a team. For the first time, they see each other not as opponents, but as partners with a shared goal. This marks a major turning point in their journey from rivals to allies. 

The significance here is huge. Working together, trusting each other in a tough situation, is much more real and satisfying than just having one person overpower the other. In contrast, Miguel and Robby’s so-called reconciliation comes out of nowhere. Robby is suddenly able to see Miguel as a friend in the middle of being beaten up? It’s not believable or earned. 

In Sam and Tory’s case, the presence of a common enemy is what finally breaks the old pattern. Sam genuinely trusts that Tory will have her back, and Tory does the same for Sam. This is a huge leap forward, and much more authentic than simply moving on because one person “won” or forced the other to submit. 

The writers could have ended Sam and Tory’s arc with that powerful team-up moment, and it still would have stood miles above the shallow resolution between Robby and Miguel. But instead, they took it a step further and delivered something we hardly get from them: true closure rooted in honesty. The final stage of Sam and Tory’s resolution shows exactly why putting both parties’ faults on the table is critical. If you skip addressing the root cause of hurt and conflict, nothing is truly resolved. 

Their final interaction of this resolution is beautiful for three big reasons. First, both girls openly lay out their grievances, and both have the chance to defend themselves. This isn’t a lopsided scene designed to blame just one side or gloss over one person’s actions. Every major event that contributed to their feud gets named and discussed. It’s not one-sided, and it never feels like only ONE of them is expected to change or apologize. 

Second, the scene doesn’t let anyone walk away painted as “more responsible.” It respects how messy rivalries, pain, and misunderstandings really are. You could spend all day debating whether Tory escalated things or whether Sam started the friction in the first place. The point is, both made mistakes, and both hurt each other in ways the other didn’t deserve. There’s no need to build some moral ranking of who did what. They both own their actions, and that recognition leads to genuine apologies on both sides. 

Third (and maybe most importantly) the apologies feel real because they’re mutual. Each girl gets to express how she was wronged, and each receives the apology she’s owed. It’s not about who suffered more. It isn’t about assigning a clear “winner” or “loser.” Instead, it reflects real growth and real healing. In the end, neither Sam nor Tory is let off the hook, but neither is unfairly burdened, either. 

Both girls apologized on their own, without any pressure or demands from the other. They recognized the pain in each other’s eyes and understood the importance of owning up to their actions. By choosing to admit their faults independently, they displayed genuine empathy. 

In contrast, Miguel and Robby’s resolution lacked this true sense of empathy. The focus was mainly on Miguel’s experiences, and even Robby’s brief empathetic gesture was tied back to Miguel’s struggles. Sam and Tory’s approach was the opposite—their empathy centered entirely on the challenges the other was facing. 

This final stage in their resolution process served as the perfect finishing touch on what I believe is the most satisfying resolution in the series. For all these reasons, the Sam and Tory storyline stands out as my favorite resolution in the entire series.

What do you guys think? Let’s talk!

He shakes the bag again, like a human trying to lure a cat with dried seafood treats. It’s annoying more than it is insulting and yet you still want to reach out and strike him. With a side eye that makes him chuckle huskily, Johnny sets the sealed bag down on the console between you two and returns his hand to the steering wheel.

“Awful quiet over there, hen. Somethin’ on your mind?” Johnny’s question is trailed with the flicker of a smirk and the subtle raise of an eyebrow.

Only an hour into the drive, and for all your silence, Johnny had tried desperately to make you talk. You have five hours in a vehicle with him, to head back to your parent’s place for the weekend. Five hours from London, from the safety of a large campus that kept you two apart.

“Got your favourites, lovie.” Johnny tried again, tapping on the package of sour gummy worms that remain on the console between you two. “C’mon, cannae still be mad at me, yeah?”

“You’re sick, Johnny. You know that?” The look you give him is one of disgust and distaste, your eyebrows furrowed with the glare that doesn’t seem to do anything to him. It rolled off him with a simple shrug that was hidden by the overlaid excuse to crack his neck.

“For wha’, huh? For sleepin’ around? For getting my dick wet-”

“Johnny you’re sick!” You reach out and smack his chest as hard as you possibly can, for the sake of getting him to shut the absolute hell up. “I don’t want to hear about you screwing girls-”

“-jealous cause it ain’t you?” He asks the question and follows it with a laugh when you go to strike him again. “Calm down, girl!”

“You’re a sick piece of work you know that?” You huff and turn away from him, staring out the window of the passenger’s seat as the scenery goes by, as Johnny drives. “You’re a man whore.”

Johnny doesn’t deny what you’re claiming, doesn’t dare to deny what you say because he’s sure you both know it’s true. Though he doesn’t deny what you’ve said, he drops his hand to his jeans and adjusts the belt that’s sling through the loops. He grunts to himself as silence fills the vehicle and then after a few moments passes, he reaches over and taps the package again.

“C’mon, hen…got them just for you.” His voice sounds genuine and you relent even though you really don’t want to give in, you don’t want to give him a single quarter but damn him.

Damn him because he got you your favourite gummy worms.

Damn him because he got you all your favourite snacks, sweet, salty and drinkable without you having to ask. You don’t need to accuse him of anything, you know they’re in a bag tucked behind his seat. You know that you could just reach behind and—

“Our family’s been friends for years, ever since ya moved in next door.” Johnny watches you from the corner of his eyes as you rip off the top of the bag and look inside, first only grabbing the green and yellow worms.

“And what’s your point? Our families have been friends and you’ve been an ass since secondary school?” You bite the top of the yellow gummy worm off, chewing a few times to stifle your tongue from staying anything else.

Johnny doesn’t say anything either, not at first. No, instead he stays silent and grips the wheel tightly in his fists, his blue eyes fixated solely on the road in front of him. His jaw clenches, he’s got something on his mind but he won’t speak and part of you doesn’t want him to either.

You don’t want to have this conversation because you know it will ultimately be fruitless. It won’t lead anywhere but an argument between the two of you, you’ll lash out at Johnny and Johnny will deflect.

“Hen, will ya just….hen, I really…” he stumbles over his worlds and runs his hand over his head where his hair has been shaved down. “…that kiss-”

“Johnny we can just forget it. It was a party, and you were with too many girls that night-”

“Nae, lovie.” He lets slip another pet name, same one as before, and draws his eyes over toward you. “I cannae stop thinking’ about it, dinnae want to. I jus’…dammit, darlin’.”

He doesn’t look so incredibly confident like you had seen him before. The cocky co-captain of the rugby team that exudes confidence and power, seems to have been reduced to something of a mess. Stirring in the driver’s seat, unsure of himself with a nervousness that seems to stifle any arrogance he displayed that night at the party.

“I won’t tell your ma about all the girls, Johnny. You can still be the good Catholic boy your mom sees you as.” You blow through any ulterior conversation he could bring up, not willing to have this talk when you still have five hours left to go.

And Johnny, after you shut down the opportunity, lets his shoulders sink and his hands relax against the steering wheel. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes and then turns back, blue eyes fixated straight ahead of him.

Always Mine

Pairing: John Price x Reader

♡You reunite with the one that got away before your wedding.♡

AKA - John fucks you before you’re supposed to get married.

warnings: cheating ( reader forced into marriage), Cunnilingus, rough p in v sex , somewhat proofread, bad smut SORRY ,

A/N: how the fuck did this get so long this was supposed to be a drabble

 ♡the picture above does not reflect reader’s appearance, only the aesthetic of the overall story♡

----

This was supposed to be one of the greatest days of your life. But the butterflies in your stomach were filled with dread. You were a guest to your own wedding, yet the star of the show. Your family played you like a marionette so here you were, soon to marry a monster.

You frowned at your appearance. A Dominican blowout turned your curls into silky, pin-straight hair. As beautiful as it was, a grand occasion called for your natural curls.

Your necklace was decorated with heavy diamonds, and the earrings were just as clunky. A simple unclasping and it was off, but the weight suffocated you. 

The silver robe was the simplest article of clothing in your wardrobe. You dared to walk down the aisle in it, instead of the extravagant t gown your fiancé's mother picked out.

The engagement ring was a marquise cut made of 18 karat diamonds. The stones around the band pricked your finger, but beauty was pain, according to the rich.

It was cliche to ponder about the one that got away, but your day dreams were your only refuge to your hellish reality.You begged your mother for an hour of solitude, which she begrudgingly allowed or you would’ve “ thrown a tantrum”. 

If you were marrying him, you could have had it your way. You would have donned a rose-gold ballgown, accessorized with a locket gifted to you by your grandmother. No straight hair but curls free, clipped back with a sparkly headpiece. And you sure as hell wouldn't tie the knot in a  depressing chapel.

Would he wear a dress uniform or a tuxedo? Would he have wanted a photographer, or a live painter. Would he tell anyone he was married?

But, he made his choice. He answered his nation’s call, time and time again. The ring on your finger was a consequence. 

The floorboards creaked behind you. And then in the mirror, some movement.

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

He just stood there, taking in your appearance. You felt small standing across from him, he had that intimidating impact on people. It was hard to tell what he was thinking- but it felt like he was sizing you up, quietly disapproving. Anger flooded your veins at his audacity.

“You need to leave,” you stated firmly. 

“You look beautiful.”

You curled your hand into a fist. “ You can take your compliments and shove them up your ass.”

You wanted to smack the smirk off of John’s face. You haven't seen him in a long time,but he looked the same. His eyes are a little more tired and his beard has grown out. As pissed as you were, he was still a handsome guy. And John’s smirk made you want to jump his bones.

“What, am I not allowed to pop in and see the blushing bride? Thought Laswell was taking the piss when she said you were actually getting married.” He peered down at your engagement ring. 

“ Okay, you saw me, now you can leave.”

John being here is dangerous. All he was doing was standing there and he made your head spin like a compass gone haywire. You were ready to walk down the aisle to another man, but he always made you throw sense out the window. 

“ You’re really doing this?” 

“ I am.” I don’t have a choice, the words died on your lips.

John wasn’t lying when he said you looked beautiful. Not a hair was out of place, pretty jewelry that shone against your skin. The ring was obnoxious, but pretty. But it didn’t look like you.

There was nothing sexier than you in one of his t-shirts, wearing your bonnet. Your grandmother’s locket was always on your person, no matter what you wore. He loved helping you untangle your curls and was fascinated when hours of maintenance produced the loveliest coils. You wanted to get married near the beach, not a gloomy chapel. 

Hell, the fucking robe was more you than all the get-up you had on. 

There was no way John was turning a blind eye to you marrying another man– taking his last name and wearing his ring. Your fiancé was a cruel man. John knew about all the monsters that went bump in the night. People that hid their egregious sins with money and pretty faces.

John considered himself a monster, too. But a fool he was not; he wasn’t losing you again.

“ Then don’t.”

“ You say it like it’s easy.”

John took a step forward. “Do you want to marry him?”

Your eyes were fixated on the door. If anyone came in, you could say John was your cousin or-

He pushed your hair back, tracing your collarbone with a calloused finger, then up to your neck. Just as he suspected, your pulse fluttered under his touch.

“ You know the answer to that.” 

“I need you to say it, gorgeous.” 

You thought your eyes did the talking for you, but John wanted you to admit it. You still loved him, but he had no right. He was the one that left.

“ I know you’re angry with me. And you have every right to be. I’ll fuck the frustration out of you, love. I need to hear you say it.”

You were shifting as you stood, trying to quell the ache between your thighs. You were an idiot to think you could ever forget him– not when his touch was so deeply imprinted into your memory. He smelled like cedar, a scent you once found comfort in. It made your stomach twist, but not in fear. 

The price of honesty was deadly. But you did ask for an hour alone. And it had only been 15 minutes. 

“ I don’t want to marry him.” 

—-

You tasted just like he remembered. He blew air into your clit, inducing you to wrap your legs around his head. His lips were at home, kissing your pretty thighs; he flicked his tongue, moaning into your cunt. 

 Pinning you to the vanity he sat you on, the casual show of strength making your head dizzy. He drew a figure eight into your pussy with his tongue , and then another one, and another one.He allowed you to grab his hair, but he didn’t want you  controlling his face. 

John wanted you soaked on his tongue before he even bothered touching your clit.

More slick leaked out of your cunt when he blew on your clit more; it was muscle memory how you reacted to his touch.

“ John,” you whispered, “ Keep doing that please.”

He heeded your command, then pressed a gentle kiss to your clit. John’s beard tickled your thighs as he flattened his tongue and licked from side to side. With every swipe of his tongue , any inclination to stop left your mind.His knees ached and his lungs burned for oxygen, but he wasn’t stopping until his face was soaked.

You had to be mindful of potentially sweating out your makeup and blowout, but a man like him made you lose any sense. You still tried to keep your moans low, but he made that an impossible task. 

A jolt of pleasure shot through your veins when he began reading your clit with the tip of his tongue,Your body was a traitor for submitting to him so quickly. Getting on his knees and eating you out was a property apology. 

You bit your lip, reminding yourself you had to keep quiet, until John pushed a thick finger into your pussy.

“John!”

He pulled back and grinned. “ Keep it down, yeah?. I’m tryin’ to apologize so you have to keep it down for me.” 

“ Need’ to stretch you out for my cock.” 

The stretch had you slipping off the vanity. He attached your lips to your clit and sucked hard, while simultaneously pumping his finger in and out of your cunt. One finger and your brain was scrambled.

“Taste so fucking good,” John mumbled. “All for me.”  It was damning how he forgot how easy it was to get drunk on your pussy. Swallowing every drop of you in between using your clit like a pacifier was the best part.

Your heart was jackhammering in your chest. “m’ close.. please.. please”.”

John curled his fingers and the coil at the base of your spine sprung free. Bitting your hand, you trembled, squirting on his face as he continued to hit your g-spot. John eagerly lapped up all you gave him, not stopping until you tapped out.

You  pulled his face away from your pussy. He licked his finger clean– admiring how fucked out you were.Your eyes glanced towards the door. If anyone came in, you were dead. There was no doubt you sweated your makeup off. The sweat on the back of your neck threatened to revert their curls back to its natural state. 

This was supposed to be the greatest day of your life. And maybe it could be. 

John gently led you onto the floor and hovered above you. Tugging his pants and boxers down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “ I miss you, gorgeous,” he whispered. “ Can’t believe I was stupid enough to let you go. He rubs his dick against your messy pussy , holding back a groan. “I want you to walk down the aisle to me, not that rich fuck.”

You huffed, “ Then you should’ve proposed when you had the chance.”

He didn’t flinch at your sharp tone – but something in his eyes cracked.

“I wanted to,” he murmured. “Every damn day.”

Too late, you wanted to say. Yet you weren’t ready to bury your love for him.

“Say you belong to me,” you told him.

“ I belong to you.”

John slowly pushed his dick into you. The pain dissolved into a sharp sting.You steadied your breath, inhaling and exhaling in three steady breaths. In for three, out for three. You didn't dare look down to see how much of him was inside you, or wasn't.

Everything in his body burned. John’s arms threatened to give out as he hovered above you. It took all of his self control not to come.

With the steady roll of John’s hips and his constant praise of  "Relax for me, gorgeous ”, he finally bottomed out.

God, you could feel him in your stomach he was so fucking big. Your pelvis was flush against his hips, which gave your clit the perfect amount of pressure.

“ Please, John.” you squirmed underneath him. “ I need you to fuck me.”

He slowly pulled out, until just the tip was inside of you. With a slow roll of his hips, he sheathed himself inside you. John kept the slow tempo, gauging your reactions, melting in the warmth of your pussy. You bit down on his shoulder; the cotton was weird on your tongue, but you couldn't risk anyone hearing you.

Lying on the floor did your back no favors, and your hair was for sure fucked up. But every thrust, feeling how perfect he fit inside you– banished any future consequences. 

The way you were trying to meet his thrusts told him you wanted him deeper. So he pushed your knees into your chest and sped up, dominating you, just like memory recalled.

His cock kissed your cervix, but not in a way that it hurt you. He knew your body– he knew exactly what angles to hit, how much force he should give you. And he knew you could take all he was giving you.

John wanted to hear how beautiful you sounded when he gave you a proper fucking. Your teeth marking his skin was just as hot. 

“ I belong to you gorgeous,” he said with conviction. “I belong inside you.” 

“ Takin’ me so well, like a good fucking girl." John released one of your knees and played with your clit. All the sleepless nights because you weren't by side, or waiting for him stateside– he poured that pent up anger into fucking you. 

Your orgasm cascaded in waves; him stimulating your clit, his lack of mercy, it was too much. A wave of euphoria swept over you, leaving your head dizzy .You squeezed him for he was worth– you swore you saw stars. John followed suit, pumping copious amounts of cum into your pussy, fucking you through your orgasm. 

You didn’t want him to pull out, it was too soon. But the hourglass was out of sand. The look in his eyes was unwavering– that this would not be the last time. John always got his way, even if it took blood, sweat, and tears. 

Your jaw hurt from how hard you were biting his shoulder, but you kissed him nonetheless. John’s lips were soft and spicy, a taste so addicting that you didn’t want to pull away. It was a kiss so perfect that you prayed the rest of the world would disappear so you could cherish this moment.

But alas, the world was still here, and you knew what that meant.

---------

As soon as he cleaned you up, he disappeared as swiftly as he arrived. But you don’t regret it. It was the least you could do ; you were forced to marry a monster, one secret kept under lock and key wouldn't kill anyone. 

It was so easy for him to pick up and  leave– you hated him for it. It wasn’t surprising though. The saying did go: fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. 

All of a sudden, the door flew upon, hitting the wall with a crash. Three of your fiancé’s bodyguards ran into the room and locked the door. One of them said something intelligible into the phone, another ran to the window and closed the curtain. They were all carrying their pistols, locked and loaded. 

“ What is going on?,” you asked. You had your robe back on, you didn’t want them seeing you like this. 

They didn’t even bother looking at you. You clapped, “ Hello?! What is going on?!” 

Silence. Even if they are under your fiance’s orders to be here, it doesn’t give them the right to invade your privacy.

“ Coño, can you not fucking hear me?! What the fuck is going on?!”

One of the bodyguards sighed as his eyes met yours.

“ Your fiancé is dead.”

----

Pairing : Knight! Simon Riley x Princess! Reader 

Summary: Simon fulfills a promise he made to you.

Warnings: talk of virginity, purity culture ( kind of) , sexism related to royalty , NSFW, Face Riding, fingering, possibly ooc , Not proofread

----------

You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose.1…2…3

Boom!

A cannonball shook the ground. Your eyes flew open. Smoke clouded the air as trees and the buildings of the capital burned. The townspeoples’ homes were gone as the fire raged on. The battle cries of the knights and soldiers were a distance away. If you had your telescope, you could see the bodies of slain men --- your country’s knights and Makarov’s. 

You were bound to the catacombs of the castle, to watch the livelihood of your country in a tug of war. It was the duty of a princess- to be trapped in a gilded cage away from prying eyes.

You looked behind you. Ghost was at the entrance of the room, still as a statue. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword; as ready as he was to protect you, you knew his heart wasn’t here. His heart was with his fellow kingsguard, the 141. They were fighting on the frontlines, while he was used as a marionette to protect you.

“I’m sorry.” you broke the silence.

“For?”

“That you have to be here.”

“My place is here, Princess.” he said curtly. 

You stood up. “ So you are content with being a guard dog, while the others-”

“ My place is here, Princess.”

Maybe it’s fitting. That the one person who has always been loyal to you, would be with you, come hell or highwater. Simon may be a member of the Kingsguard, but he was yours. 

Makarov’s men could be victorious against your armies. If he was successful in killing the King and the Queen, he would take you as his bride. A shiny trophy to go along with your country. 

If you became Makarov’s wife, you’d be forced to bed him and have his children. The thought makes your heart drop to your stomach. You deserve to experience the carnal pleasure that fosters with love, even if it’s for a moment. 

“Can I ask you something, Ghost?”

He donned his black barbute helmet, which is uncommon for any knight to wear, unless they were jousting or in a ceremony. When he bore it, he was Ghost. 

“You jus’ did , Princess .”

You rolled your eyes. “ I’m serious.”

“ So am I. What’s your second question, princess?”

You hesitate to step towards him. The sound of your boots striking stone echoes throughout the catacombs, making you frown. If you made another step, they would hear you, you were sure of it. 

But nothing. The battle raged on outside, and Ghost stood as tall as ever. 

You walked towards him. “ Do you remember the promise you made to me…when… when we were in the garden? When we learned Makarov attacked the Southern border?” 

Your virtue belonged to whoever the king deemed worthy. But if there was a possibility of choice, you would give yourself to Simon, in a way you wanted. 

“ What about it?”

You huffed. “ Do you remember it?”

“ I do.”

You touched his shoulder. “ Look at me,” you commanded.

He turned around. “ If Makarov is victorious and you..” You couldn't even put it into words, the thought of him dying to protect you. “ I do not want my virtue to be taken by…him.”you cringed.

“I’ll rip out his throat before he even comes close to you, Princess.” 

Your heart swelled. Even though his voice sounded like sin, it called something only in you, aching to be undone.

“ But that’s not the reality, is it?” you take his gauntlet covered hand. “ The reality is my life is not my own. It’s the king’s. And if Makarov slays the King, my life will be his.”

“ Do I not deserve to be selfish?” you continued “ Even if it is for a night?”

He didn’t answer. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “ Take off your helmet.”

With no hesitancy, Simon took it off. His gaze pinned you to in place, made you want to forget yourself entirely- your name,your title, all of it. 

“ Will you fulfill your promise to me?” you whispered. 

“ I’ll do anything you command, Princess.”

you love your big bear. ghost was just misunderstood. he might have seemed cold and unapproachable, but it wasn't like that between the two of you, and despite his reluctance to show you his face, he was the kind of man that you think you've waited your whole life for.

you're opposites. where ghost does not budge, you melt. where he darkens a corner, you light it right back up. you're often in a constant state of laughter, and you don't really know if ghost even has the muscle memory to smile anymore.

it doesn't matter. not to you.

you don't think anyone understands the two of you, but that's okay. the first time you met his team, johnny asked if you were a paid actress. you'd squealed with delight when you saw ghost, for the first time after weeks apart, arms wrapped around his neck as you hung from him and kissed his masked face over and over again.

"simon!" you gasped, making the most obnoxious kissing noises as you cradled his cheek and pressed your lips to his temple. "oh, simon, i missed you, baby..."

johnny did not believe his eyes that night. the way ghost's lashes fluttered at the sound of your voice. the loosening of his shoulders, the way he bent so he could press his face to yours as you mumbled in his ear and stroked a thumb over his cheek. ghost towered over you by a great deal, but you all but dragged him down to your level, lips puckered, glossy kisses staining the front of his mask now as you cooed at him and scratched at the nape of his neck.

the only downside to ghost's mask was the lack of proper kissing. you had only ever kissed him through fabric. in the beginning, it was hot. ghost's mask was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place. seeing nothing but his eyes was how you really noticed how hungry he was for you the first night you met. heavy, lidded, glazed-over when he first saw you—the same way he looks at you all the time now, the same look that got you into his bed that very first time and the same look that keeps you in it now.

he likes you on top. arms wrapped around his neck, seated up in his lap, mouth open as you pant against his mask as you bounce on his cock.

"you feel so good, baby," you whimper, your nails scratching along the back of his balaclava. you cup the back of his head, moaning softly as you sit down as low as you can and grind your hips against his. your pussy is pulsing—ghost smells fresh off an op, and you like him that way. eye-black smudged around his eyes. mask that smells like sand and sweat. fingernails dark with something bloody, cupped under your ass as he squeezes and tells you how hard it was to wait this long to have you again.

"tha' right, luv?" ghost sighs. "you missed me, yeah?"

"yeahhh," you whine. "i-i missed you, simon—missed you so much, missed how b-big you are—"

"i'm big, yeah?" ghost laughs.

"yeah—" you nod, closing your mouth around his through the fabric, pressing your tongue against him even though you can't taste him. you soak the front of his mask with a messy kiss, and he groans. "you're so pretty, simon...missed every bit of you."

you don't know why it hits him then, the kind of love you have between you. ghost is ugly. his entire body is a mess of traumatic history. his skin has been peeled, burned, branded, pulled apart. there's tattoos in the places he hated to look at the most, and where there isn't, a map of what people have done to him, a terrible story he tells involuntarily every time he lets his skin show.

but to have his girl call him pretty? to feel her cunt so fucking wet because it's him she's fucking? to have the ability to make her come just by sitting there, wordless, letting her touch herself with nothing but his body on display—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

you don't speak as he pushes his mask up over his nose. he goes no further, just reveals his lips, and your hands shake as you cup his jaw and stare down at him through wet eyes.

your big bear. what a sight.

when he opens his mouth, you see his chipped teeth. the skin of his lips has been torn apart and messily put back together, leaving behind pink, puffy scar tissue and criss-cross patterns across his chin. there's so much texture, so much you want to ask about, but the more important revelation is how pretty ghost really is.

not pretty in the conventional way, but that way is so boring. he's pretty in the way that only a few could maybe understand. pretty in the sense that he survived. pretty in the sense that he's looking at you, and he's blushing, and there's a slight smile on his face as you squeeze your thighs around his hips and come all over his cock with just one real kiss.

messy, nasty little kiss. your teeth hit his, tongue sliding over his lips before finding his own. you dig your nails into his chest as you keep your hips moving, riding out that blissful orgasm as you taste something new and warm inside of his mouth.

maybe he'll never show you his face. maybe you'll never get to reveal all of him to yourself, but that's okay.

you're on your back now, hands up over your head, and your back arches and eyes roll back into your head as ghost peels back the hood of your clit and slides that pink tongue over you.

☆ when he first arrives on the show:

comes in quiet. big. black t-shirt. combat boots. everyone else is glammed up and he looks like he just finished a hit job in manchester.

producers try to play it up like he's the "mysterious bad boy" type, but he’s not even trying. he just doesn’t speak unless he has to. sits in the shade. watches.

first confessional he says:

“don’t really care to be here. cameras are fuckin’ annoying. someone already touched my toothpaste.”

the internet is immediately obsessed.

☆ the other girls try to flirt and he’s just?? not into it??

one girl bites her lip and says “you look like trouble” and he goes:

“i’m not. i’m worse.”

walks off.

one of the gym girls sits next to him and touches his thigh and he just stares at her hand. no words. just… disappointed dad energy.

in his confessional later:

“they’re all loud. they want attention. not my thing. don’t like the fake lashes.”

☆ then you walk in. soft voice. pink sundress. hair all pretty. a little nervous.

he notices you immediately. not in a wow she’s hot way. in a why do i wanna fold her up and put her in my pocket way.

watches you talk to the other girls. listens to you say “i made everyone iced tea!” and for the first time since arriving, smiles a little. just a twitch of the mouth. blink and you miss it.

someone calls you “bambi” and he thinks it fits. soft eyes. gentle steps. heart too easy to bruise.

☆ and now he’s just… following you with his eyes constantly.

doesn’t say much. just appears near you. always.

you go to water the plants? he’s suddenly outside too.

“was hot in there,” he mutters, lighting a cig.

he’s lying.

you sit at the pool? he moves his chair.

“sun’s better over here.”

it’s not. he just wants to see your legs.

☆ in the confession booth he’s so blunt and lowkey perverse without realizing

producers ask “so what do you think of y/n?”

“pretty little thing. voice like honey. tits look good in that top. makes me wanna do things.”

sips water. completely deadpan.

“don’t want her around the other lads. they’re all smilin’ at her. makes me want to bury ‘em.”

☆ the girls talk about him and you’re just like 😳

“he’s scary. doesn’t even blink. i swear he was staring at the kettle for twenty minutes.”

“i saw him sniff your shampoo bottle when you left it by the sink.”

you’re like… he’s just misunderstood (no babe he’s pervy and weird but it’s hot.)

☆ when you’re paired for a game, he goes dead serious.

“don’t drop her,” he mutters to the other guy.

“she’s too easy to break. be gentle or i’ll fuckin’ break your hands.”

it’s supposed to be a fun, flirty competition. he’s ready to throw hands. for you. a girl he’s said 4 words to.

☆ when you finally talk to him, he’s awkward but kind of charming?? in a dark war criminal way??

you: “do i make you nervous?”

him: “not nervous. distracted.”

you: “by what?”

him: “mouth. skirt. thighs. that little laugh you do. i could go on.”

☆ and suddenly twitter’s in shambles like

"ghost is so hot he’s like if PTSD wore cologne”

"he hasn’t smiled once and i want him to spit in my mouth"

pairing : College! Bucky x Reader

synopsis: you have a quickie with Bucky in the library

Warnings: fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, bad writing?

pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader, Biker!Simon x Reader ( imagine whoever you want)

You winced with every step you took. Sweat clung to your skin like a damp rag. A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes, but you needed to watch your surroundings. The moon took mercy on you and allowed some semblance of comfort, since there was no sunlight to irritate you further. 

It was days like this where you regretted not asking your friend to pick you up from work. You never wanted to impose, but damn if you weren’t kicking yourself for it now. But you had only five more blocks left on your route - then you could collapse on your couch.

You came to a halt at the crosswalk. You pressed the pedestrian call button, which emanated a robotic “wait”. The cars on the street came to a stop as the light turned red. You looked over your shoulder before pulling out your phone. 

HONK

You jumped, grasping your phone to your chest and fiddling in your pocket to ensure your pepper spray was ready to use. You looked to your left to see a rd Ashton Martin

“ Hey beautiful,” the driver of the Ashton Martin called out to you. “Do you need a ride?”

Your heartbeat sped up and was bound to burst out of your chest. You averted your gaze, praying to the crosswalking gods that the light would change so you could run back to your apartment. But the cars turned, blocking any chance of escape.

A loud rev of a motorcycle pulled your attention back to the street. “ I know you can hear me, sweetcheeks!” the man yelled. “ Why don’t you hop in?”

You turned back at the crosswalk and it was still red. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your palms grew sweaty as you contemplated running in the other direction. The last thing you needed was this creep following you home.

The next thing you saw was a tall stranger adorned in leather and a sports helmet walking towards the creep. His gloved hand fisted the driver’s hair, pulled his head as far back as he could. Then, he smashed his head against the steering wheel.

The driver coughed and groaned in pain. The street lights didn’t provide much illumination, but you knew for a fact there was blood all over the driver’s steering wheel. 

Holy shit, did that just happen?

The creep tried to open the door, but the biker slammed it closed with a great force that sat the driver right back in his seat. 

As the light turned green, cars swerved around the motorcycle and the Ashton Martin. You couldn't bring yourself to look away from the biker. He grabbed the creep’s nose , making him squeal like a pig and pointed towards the crosswalk.

You looked straight ahead. The crosswalk symbol switched to a countdown.

Red numbers flashed across from you : 10…9…

Your feet were glued to the sidewalk. The stranger’s brutality made your heart swell. Were you twisted to think that was hot?

7…6

Should you thank him? 

5..4..

You tightened your grip on your purse and ran across the street. You didn’t stop running until they were out of your sight. The last thing you needed was the police rolling up on you.

Please please write this

Well, since you begged so sweetly ;)

No extra fanfic with this one, because my dirty multishipper heart cannon bring itself to write Jinu X Rumi fanfiction. I'm a Polytrix girlie.

Also, to the anon that requested sexy superstar, I have seen it, but my brain is running on fumes. They require much more tact.

Lian and Jai? Easy.

😂😂😂