#automatic is easy to animate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moon-fics · 13 days ago

Text

Pepper Spray Lovers

Pairings: Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

A/n: I'm going to need a break after this one. Holy shit.

It was the same every night for you. Serve drinks, clean cups, chat with pilots, and never give out your number. It was a loop that you found comforting and easy to follow. At the Hard Deck, there was a guaranteed safety with the amount of trained pilots around.

You never have to memorize names because the call signs they have are way too ridiculous to forget. They stand out, and based on their personality, you can match them easily. For Hangman, you chalk it up to him always talking to a woman at the bar, but never taking her home. For Rooster, it's because his mustache sometimes looks like a beak to a bird.

You treat each customer the same and smile when they order. You highly doubt any of them know your name, but why should they? You serve them drinks, and they pay their tab. That's all you need or want from them.

"Can I get a water?" A soft voice asks from behind you. You're cleaning a pile of cups while Penny takes orders. You aren't supposed to be bothered, but you assume Penny is busy. You can fetch some water and return back to your cleaning.

Without even looking at the person who ordered, you grab a clean cup and fill it with water from the water dispenser. You spin around and place the cup on the bar top. You only look up for a second but you immediately stop on him.

It's his smile that catches you off guard. It's almost silly how adorable a Top Gun pilot can look by just smiling. His hair is gelled back neatly, and his glasses are a little lower than where they should be.

"Thank you," He nods while taking the glass. His fingers graze yours, and you realize you're still holding the cup. Your hand flinches away automatically. "Busy night?"

You force yourself to speak because you cannot just stare at him. "Yeah, it's definitely busier than usual," You say while clearing your throat. He nods and takes a sip of his water. "There must be something huge happening for so many Top Gun pilots to be here." You glance around the room to see it practically filled with people wearing navy uniforms.

"I'd tell you if I could," He chuckles. "I'm Bob," He holds out his free hand to shake. You gladly take it, and there's a shiver that goes up your spine at how nice his arms look. Before you can respond, someone is calling him over. He gives a little wave as he parts from you.

Throughout the night, you catch him staring at you. Usually, you'd find it creepy or enough to cut him off, so he leaves. Instead, you try to catch him. It gives you some enjoyment to watch when he nervously looks away after getting caught. After a while, he understands the game and begins playing along.

It's closing time, and by now, everyone has left, including Penny. The beach waves are all you hear as you check the register and count the cash left over. There's still a smell of alcohol in the air, but it's mixed with salt and sunscreen.

After shutting the register and turning off the lights, you lock the doors. Right as you pull the key out, you hear rustling. No one should be out this late on base. So, either you have a wild animal nearby or someone is stalking you. Either way, it could mean trouble.

Silently and slowly, you reach for your pepper spray. You unlock the safety feature and press your thumb over the top of it. The rustling gets louder, and your body trembles from anxiety.

"Do you need someone to walk you to your car?" A familiar voice rings from behind you. On instinct, you swing around and aim the spray at them. "Hey, hey, wait!" The person yells while putting their hands up in surrender.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness to see Bob standing in front of you. You don't put the pepper spray down, but you remove your thumb from it.

"What are you doing? That was so scary!" You scold. One corner of his lips turns up in a half smile that is still charming.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home alright," He explains. He lowers his hands and puts one in his pocket. He looks concerned that you're going to spray him anyway, but you decide not to. "It's late, and I know that sometimes it can be dangerous on base." He mumbles.

"So, you waited out here for me to close up? It's been like an hour since I saw you leave the bar." You raise an eyebrow. There's no way he waited that long for you.

"I waited," He admits with a nod. You suck in your cheeks at how honest he is. It's refreshing but also a bit odd. "Sorry that I scared you. I thought you heard me walking up to you." He chuckles to himself.

"It's alright. Just, next time, announce yourself or maybe wear a bell." You smile.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, "I'll think about tying a bell around my belt next time."

"Next time?" You tease. You aren't sure what he means by it, because it could simply be a joke. You don't know if he'll be back at the bar because sometimes people show up once and never return.

He seems caught off guard by your repeating his words. "I mean, it's a popular bar. It's the best one on base, so I just assumed I'd come back," He clarifies while scratching at the top of his lip nervously.

"Would you walk me to my car every time?" His eyes practically twinkle at your question. As if your offer has brought a genuine joy inside him. "You did say it's dangerous on base at night."

"I'll walk you to your car as many times as you'd allow."

It takes longer than you expect to get home. Mostly because you're enchanted into a conversation with Bob way past curfew. Once you walk through your door, you get a sense of excitement for your next shift.

The music is loud, and so are the pilots. After a long day of training and sweating their asses off they've returned to the bar. Not that you mind anymore.

You get to continue your favorite game with Bob as he plays pool. Every time he makes a shot, he looks for you to see if you saw. When he gets a ball in one of the pockets, he waves. When he scratches, he talks to you until his turn again.

This continues until the end of the night, until he walks you to your car.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #lewis pullman

723 notes · View notes

cobbled-peach · 25 days ago

Text

love, factually

in which Spencer explains the facts behind love in a mildly suggestive way

cw: implied suggestive content, sfw. fem!reader. Spencer just yapping about biology and evolution teehee a/n: this is fully self induldgent because i love to yap about biology. maybe you'll learn something from this, who knows? a very short piece of work while i create something longer. this has not been edited <3 w/c: 900 words

‘You know, for someone so rational, you get awfully sentimental sometimes,’ you tease, voice light but deliberate.

Spencer watches the smile tug at your lips, then (dramatically) removes your legs from his lap like he’s been wounded. Offended. Insulted. ‘Sentimental? Me? Never.’

You laugh as he gives a faux scoff, only to shift your legs right back where they were. He doesn’t protest. Just lets your calves drape over his thighs and settles his hands on bare skin, fingers tracing idle circles just above your knees.

‘I’m not sentimental,’ he insists, fingers tightening in mock warning, enough to make your breath catch. ‘Just… selectively emotional.’

‘Mm, of course,’ you murmur, clearly unconvinced. ‘You apologised to my dying fern today, Spencer. That’s not giving selective. That’s giving deeply emotional.’

‘She’s struggling!’ he says with a soft laugh, head tipping back slightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and your chest goes warm. ‘She needs care.’

‘She?’ you echo, tucking a soft brown curl behind his ear. His fingers still for a second at the gesture, then resume their lazy patterns.

‘It’s a fern,’ he replies with pretend indignation. ‘It’s not going to be a he.’

You tap his nose, smirking. ‘Sentimental,’ you conclude, and it’s like putting a period on the conversation.

He turns toward you more, shoulder pressing against yours, heat radiating from his skin. Closem warm. Subtle, but intentional. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t want to.

‘Fine,’ he concedes. ‘But that’s not down to me. It’s down to science. Evolution.’

‘Oh, here we go again,’ you say, throwing your arms up in fake dispear, grinning at him. ‘Love: just oxytocin and dopamine and whatever other scientific explanation you have for sentimentality that’s stored in your encyclopaedia-brain.’

He chuckles. Short, low, lips pressing into a crooked smile. ‘Love does exist because of oxytocin and dopamine. And evolution. And natural selection.’

You arch a brow, skeptical, but amused. ‘Romantic.’ Sarcasm. ‘Please, go on.’

He leans closer, close enough for the hem of his shirt to brush your side, for his breath to caress your cheek. His thighs shift, angling your hips more toward him. When he speaks again, its in a quiet and focused tone, almost reverent. The one he uses when explaining something complex, something fascinating.

‘Mutual investment theory,’ he begins, each syllable slow and deliberate. He says it like it’s the sexiest phrase on the planet. And maybe it is, coming from him. ‘Pair bonding kept early animals together. Emotional attachment increased cooperation – sharing food, dividing work, mutual protection. It wasn’t just about sex, but survival. And survival,’ he adds, eyes falling to your lips for a fleeting moment, ‘wasn’t easy in early hominid societies.’

He watches your response. Pure amusement combined with total perplexion. You blink, lips parting slightly.

‘So, what you’re saying,’ you pause, ‘is that biology wants us to… cuddle?’

‘Biology is insisting on it, actually.’

Another shift. His hands now; one slides around your waist, the other supporting your thigh as he pulls you on to his lap. Slow, fluid, sure. You go willingly, legs straddling his hips, hands automatically finding the sharp line of his shoulders.

‘You’re really trying to seduce me with natural selection?’ you ask, and he smiles at the way your voice is a shade more breathless than before.

‘Is it working?’ His hands settle on your back, one tracing beneath the fabric of your shirt. Up and down your spine, featherlight and teasing, feeling each dip and ridge of the bone.

There’s heat in that question. Intentional. Undeniable. Heavy. He dips his head, lips brushing beneath your jaw. It’s barely a kiss, more a breath against your skin. You hum in response, leaning into the contact. He lets his mouth linger there a second longer, then slides towards the hollow beneath your ear.

‘So,’ you whisper, ‘biologically speaking, your instincts think I’m a good mate?’

His lips pull away, but not far, letting out a soft huff.

‘Technically, it’s your instincts,’ he murmurs. His voice sounds like smooth honey. ‘Female mate choice is a primary driver of sexual selection. Females choose their partners based on traits, behaviours, physical indicators of health and intelligence…’

He trails off, another kiss pressed to your skin. You almost groan. Because only he could make Darwin sound like foreplay.

‘But,’ he adds, lifting his head to meet your eyes. ‘my instincts are screaming at me too, I suppose.’ His gaze is slightly glassy, pupils wider than normal in anticipation, but his voice remains impossibly steady.

Your hands slide from his shoulders to his neck, thumbs brushing the hinge of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. They thumbs maintain the gentle brushing movement as you continue, feeling the tension lingering beneath his skin.

‘Are they now? And what are they saying?’

His eyes flick to your mouth again. Then back up.

‘They’re telling me that you’re very good for my survival. In an evolutionary way, of course.’

Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between a laugh and something else. ‘That so?’

‘Mhm,’ he hums. Leans in. Brushes his lips to yours. Just a suggestion, not a kiss.

You attempt to chase it.

‘Well, I can’t argue with biology,’ you whisper back.

He kisses you properly, then. Slow and intentional. Like he’s testing a hypothesis he already knows the answer to. You’re just providing the evidence – for a theory that nature figured out long ago.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #cobbled-peach #fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

573 notes · View notes

luffington · 9 months ago

Note

hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader

aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.

The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much.

He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week.

You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken.

The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank.

The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.

Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.

“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.

Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.

Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”

“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”

The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.

“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman.

“But I am sit–“

A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.

“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, “I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.”

Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision.

Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”

“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”

You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?”

Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”

Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual).

“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”

“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”

The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts.

“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”

“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.

Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end.

“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”

You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.

“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”

A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.

Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”

“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back.

“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce.

He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy.

Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds.

“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response.

“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”

“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”

Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly.

“Crocodile, please…”

“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way.

Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain.

You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.

Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.

“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…”

The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”

If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move.

“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”

“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”

Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.

“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”

Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving.

Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.

“You… you didn’t cum?”

“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”

“W-wait, give me a minute –”

“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”

Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt.

“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.

Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name.

Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own.

Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”

“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.

“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”

His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail.

#bananawani comparison bc it's what he would've wanted #sir crocodile smut #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile imagine #crocodile smut #dom!crocodile #crocodile x reader #crocodile imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #sir crocodile #crocodile #request #anon #mine #my fics #croc

1K notes · View notes

julietcpulet · 2 months ago

Text

Jinmao and Power Dynamics

I’ve seen this debated a lot and have put my thoughts on it here and there but wanted to do kind of a master post on it. I'm only really focusing on the anime because while I know future details from the LN it's a lot to include and I think most of this back and forth centers on the way people see them currently in the anime.

There’s this general consensus that because we know Jinshi has more overall status and power in the world of Apothecary Diaries, MaoMao is automatically at the disadvantage. I’d say that notion isn’t true at all. While our modern idea is wanting to view everything through a lens of “power = bad” and the person who has it must want to use it to hurt others, we need to consider that it’s the person who determines what having power means. And if they chose to use it for the betterment of others then it’s not always a bad thing to have it in that case. Power can be given by someone who’s in the position to give it too. Jinshi may hold the power but he willingly lets it go just as often. MaoMao may not have much actual status but her superior intellect usually puts her in the power position over others as she understands more than they do.

How this works out for their relationship is easy to see. While Jinshi is quickly seen to be the one who has the greater status, he never uses it to coerce or make MaoMao do what he wants. If anything she rarely does things in the way anyone imagined and he uses his position to protect her where her own behavior might’ve gotten her into trouble overstepping.

People have mentioned that MaoMao cannot go against Jinshi now because he owns her as a servant, having bought her from the Verdigirs House. I think we’re forgetting that MaoMao agreed Jinshi taking her from there was her best option. Remember that Jinshi actually thought he was honoring her wishes in letting her go from the palace. MaoMao is the one who stupidly got herself fired thinking she couldn’t be honest with Jinshi and needed to play mental gymnastics, only to regret it. It was only when she owned up that it wasn’t what she wanted and they had a miscommunication that he again tried to find a way to help her in the best way he could, by buying her back and bringing her in as his servant. He then proceeds to never actually treat her as a servant. Instead he lets her go back to functioning almost as if nothing has changed.

Although MaoMao talks about that official / servant relationship in her head, we see she goes against it all the time. She bickers with him, she challenges his assumptions and also, he allows it. In this way it’s clear that while on the surface Jinshi has all the power, he in essence hands it to MaoMao and she feels safe to engage in this mutual back and forth with him. If anything, MaoMao is often the more “powerful” one in their dynamic as she can be rude to Jinshi, ignore him and objectify him in ways we don't see him do with her. Jinshi on the other hand is careful towards her, if occasionally teasing and hesitant to go beyond what he perceives as a limit.

For instance, he asks MaoMao before he touches her at the Verdigris House and doesn’t pester her for additional affection. When he holds her otherwise it’s almost out of necessity like when she’s injured after saving him and again when she falls after he startles her from the dance. The times when he's perceived to go beyond boundaries are usually moments when they're bantering, there's a vulnerability on either side or MaoMao is being dense and Jinshi is one of the few willing to challenge her. Examples can be like the scene where he holds onto her after she falls from the wall and him "checking" MaoMao with the head butt after she's somewhat unknowingly flirty trying to get the ox bezoar. She has sympathy on him when she sees he's upset in the first instance and in the second is only frustrated about her bezoar but doesn't think twice about Jinshi's actions, to her what they're doing is normal for them.

Jinshi is one of the few people MaoMao allows to push her on her lack of awareness related to others emotions. By persisting he's actually brought her closer to being able to relate to him and others, not just because she has to but because she might want to. And while it'll seem like a misuse of power to do these things at times, for someone like MaoMao who struggles to understand and express emotion, him using this "leverage" so to speak may be the best thing he can do for her.

This power imbalance question has come up a lot with the frog scene. I see it this way, Jinshi's the one initially uncomfortable but MaoMao persists and he doesn’t roll her off or dismiss her. He gently sets her down and tries to speak to her. It’s MaoMao who sets off their bickering. And even when Jinshi lays her down, he’s cautious and careful with her. If she felt like she were in danger in that cave there were ways to back out and she knew that. But that’s what says to me she knew there was no real threat in that moment. Were she and Jinshi overheated and pushed past their limit? Probably. Was Jinshi using his status to take things too far? Absolutely not. He was being a bit childish in the moment maybe but even MaoMao admits she provoked him and he was doing what he always does, reading MaoMao to see what is acceptable. And when she doesn’t move or object he doesn’t stop right away. He’s always listened to her when she’s been uncomfortable. I’ve done an analysis already on why I don’t think MaoMao fully objected to being in the position she was in in the cave but it certainly wasn’t due to power dynamics.

We’ve seen times before that when MaoMao truly felt cornered she could be frightening. During the whole Lakan plot when they ended up in the pleasure district and Jinshi asked her that displeasing question, he knew immediately she wasn’t happy with what he’d asked. He tries to diffuse the situation but she shakes him off and walks away. Then later when he approaches her about meeting "that weirdo" she turns on Jinshi with the look he said he would “never want to see again”. So it’s been made clear that MaoMao can make her feelings known if she wants to and Jinshi takes notice.

She and Jinshi goad each other and go back and forth all the time in a way that breaks the boundaries between their stations. If MaoMao truly cared about not angering him she’d always be submissive but she knows she can tease him because he won’t hurt her. Will they sometimes go to far? Probably, they are only 19 and 18 at this point and two people who’ve been raised with emotional issues they have to work through. But the point is that they’re working it out.

We’re so used to taking power dynamics at face value, if one has the higher status then we assume they’re going to use it to harm or manipulate the other one. But with Jinmao that simply isn’t the case. Jinshi may have the upper hand on the outside but he submits to MaoMao easily every time. He gives her control because he wants to even though he doesn’t have to. That’s what it means to have real power, knowing you can take over the situation but not always doing it out of the best interest for the other person. He helps MaoMao and is good to her by using his better status often to her advantage.

In the end it’s been proven in a multitude of ways that MaoMao trusts Jinshi and while both push each other’s limits, they know the other’s core character. So no, I don’t think power dynamics are a problem in their growing relationship. The only reason it causes them trouble is because of outside forces who impose the societal norms both Jinshi and MaoMao have no problem breaking. All in all it’s just a fictional couple and analysis for fun but I think sometimes modern sentiments have got us too fixated on this idea of making everything too black vs white, men vs women when Apothecary Diaries has been shown to give its characters a lot of nuance, realistically so almost. Anywho, thank you for coming to my TED talk 😂

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #maomao #jinshi #mao mao #apothecary diaries #this my magnum opus haha #loved putting all the photos together from the show #jinmao rambles

507 notes · View notes

starsandsuch · 10 months ago

Text

JUPITER through the houses: Where do things happen easily for you in life ? 🍀🎰🔑

Jupiter naturally represents one’s fortune. The house Jupiter resides in one’s birth chart depicts the individual’s “luck” in life.

But one can liken “luck” and “fortune” as circumstances where things just happen to work out for you and you gain things “easily”.

This is due to Jupiter’s innate supportive nature, blessing natives with favorable circumstances wherever he resides.

Where Saturn restricts and pushes one to put in effort, Jupiter’s nature is supportive and generous with fortune.

Check the house you have Jupiter in ➡️

Can work for tropical or sidereal birth chart!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jupiter in 1H: you attract attention easily, naturally popular, respected by others, gains weight easily. Naturally protected by the universe and divinely guided. Naturally confident about oneself.

Jupiter in 2H: receiving financial opportunities easily, receiving gifts from others, spoiled with money and gifts. Easy to have large appetite. Gets financial support from family easily. Singing abilities and vocal talents come easy to you. Gets wealthy easily.

Jupiter in 3H: Easily learns new skills. Easily expresses oneself, endless creativity, ease with forming social connections. Easily gains favoritism at school and from peers. Trying stuff for the first time and succeeding. Easily succeeding at social media, gaining followers etc. Easy for you to learn and gain knowledge. Being smart comes easy. Understanding many topics without much effort.

Jupiter in 4H: Easily aligns with one’s feminine energy. Has powerful intuitive downloads, ease with home related manners, easy to live in desired circumstances. Easy to manifest dream car/ home. Supportive connection with family. If you need help they support you easily.

Jupiter in 5H: ease with creativity, having a lot of creative projects. Easy to get pregnant, “fertile”. Multitalented. Easy to have multiple talents. Trying anything creative and being automatically good at it. Easy to become famous. Effortless “star quality”. Easily attracts romantic attention.

Jupiter in 6H: ease with health matters. Healing from ailments quickly. Easy to develop a routine for oneself, easy to get a job, easy to form bonds with animals. Easily receives favoritism at work. Easily gains victory over enemies.

Jupiter in 7H: ease with relationships. Getting into a partnership without trying too hard, romantic options fall into your lap. Easy to appeal to others in social situations. Gaining a favorable reputation easily. Receives favorable circumstances in business partnerships easily.

Jupiter in 8H: receiving money and gifts from others easily, people just give you stuff often. Easily finds a wealthy spouse. Spouse is financially generous. Able to use intuitive powers easily, naturally “psychic”, you manifest easily and get what you want through spiritual abilities.

Jupiter in 9H: gaining knowledge, and understanding spiritual topics easily. Naturally wise, intelligent, clever without much effort. Naturally a good teacher to others. Easy to guide others and give advice. Gains fortune easily and is lucky. Ability to travel internationally without much efforts. Easily aligns with destiny.

Jupiter in 10H: receiving job opportunities easily, always has a good reputation no matter what. Receiving favorable jobs and profesional positions. Easily receives favoritism from boss. Easily gains popularity and status. Naturally a leader.

Jupiter in 11H: receives gains easily, experiences windfalls of increase financially, gets opportunities easily. Receiving social popularity easily, easy to get social media following/fanbase. Effortless ability to persuade the masses, easily influential, makes social connections easily. In difficult situations you always have someone that magically bails you out.

Jupiter in 12H: receives intuitive downloads easily. Naturally psychic, easily connects with spiritual world. Can easily astral travel and tap into different realities. Spiritual knowledge comes easy to you. Naturally protected from hidden enemies. Sleeps easily and comfortably. Has dreams that tell the future.

-starsandsuch 💕✌️

Similar post: Your Jupiter sign and your philosophy in life

#jupiter #astrology #vedic astrology #astro observations #2024 #starsandsuch

2K notes · View notes

meow286 · 24 days ago

Text

some ramblings today. with a little sketch and its tie down

drawing cats is always easy and almost automatic for me since theyre basically my foundation. so when i want to warm up on some concepts, theyre usually my go to.

recently ive been studying art again more seriously, really looking at where i was lacking and doing studies, reading a lot of art theory and reference books, life drawing, everything i can. getting better at grouping shapes, values, focusing on clarity of silhouette, simplifying information, have all become my priority. i really try to think the entire time im drawing now instead of going on autopilot. so even revisiting drawing cats occasionally, now feels new as im doing it with a new mindset/perspective on what i want to achieve. i tend to practice drawing 6-8 hours a day but the goal of where i want my ability to be still feels so impossibly far away.

i havent animated very much at all in the past year, and im trying to rekindle my love and drive for it, it scratches an itch in me that drawing never does. over the years of being a lonely teenager who tied their self worth to their online art presence, my self esteem was linked to how well i could perform artistically any given day eventually lead to me crashing and burning mentally. i could not animate without significant stress and feeling like i was going to throw up because i knew the end product wouldnt satisfy me. so i avoided doing it for almost a year.

i know a lot of younger artists follow me and its easy to fall into this trap, esp with how competitive it is and the incentive of social media attention. but it will make you miserable, and upset. even know i have to repeat to myself "its ok to make bad drawings" and that comparing myself to others has no purpose. this sounds overly dramatic since a lot of you know me as a former warrior cats animator, but ever since i made animation my career this thought process became increasingly difficult to escape and would affect my performance at work sometimes. i got a job working with dogs for a while since i didnt want to have the mental toll of doing professional work anymore. im trying to get back in the game now, almost reteaching myself art in a way. and ive been feeling a lot better.

im thinking of making some sets of cat anatomy tips, reference drawings, and my thought process when stylizing them to out up on gumroad for free. maybe some animation cycles and breakdowns too. if you read this far 😀 hi

#last year was hard #i lost two people in my life and two pets #i couldnt find animation work so i gave up #i felt worthless #recovering from it very slowly #but surely

350 notes · View notes

ceilidho · 1 year ago

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.

And then it lingers.

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

2K notes · View notes