#gotta take advantage of the weather while it lasts

[brightgnosis]

At a certain point you just want to throw your hands up and say "this is not my fucking problem anymore", and unfortunately in some cases you can't actually do that. But I'm so tired ... Just, emotionally, I'm completely exhausted and done; I feel incredibly taken advantage of and uncared for, honestly. And after the last incident last night prior to the fall, I'm also now filled with a blinding rage that still hasn't quite simmered down. I honestly don't know if it will.

@drinkbooksreadtea and @genderfluidgothwitch / @wanderlust-----witch got to hear about it a little last night, but because I had capped out my post limit for the day like a dumbo I didn't get to say anything about it broadly. But yesterday was just a shit sandwich (quite literally in some areas). My Mother in Law breaking her leg and pelvis was just the bright red screaming EMT cherry on top of a particularly bullshitier day than most. To summarize as briefly as possible, though:

I got woken up at 6 am yesterday (2 hours before my usual up time, which is not good on my Fibro) because we can't seem to get my Father in Law to understand that he is walking on the ceiling of our bedroom, and he walks like an Elephant constantly.

I was tired all day as a result. And I was in pain because it's been cold and raining, and the weather system keeps shifting- and my conditions are annoyingly sensitive to weather pressure, rain, and cold. But CBD and Pine Oil were only taking the edge off the pain barely. So I just had to suffer through it, because I can't be high while taking care of my Mother in Law.

Except I basically didn't take care of my Mother in Law yesterday because she had 2 appointments. Which I was informed about. But when we spoke about the 2nd one, I was told he'd be back at 11:30 to try and get out the door by "12:30 at the latest"- and then they'd be back "at or around 2:30". Which did not give me enough time to nap, because I know my body. If I'd fallen asleep, I wouldn't've woken up by the time they were back, as tired as I was. Except they weren't back when he said they'd be. They were back almost 2 hours later, at near 4. So I stayed awake, bone exhausted, in pain, and completely sober, for nothing.

That's ok, though, because my Husband got off work early. Maybe I can finally get a nap, take a gummy, and chill! But for some reason, the second he gets off work, in rapid succession: He takes the Dog out with him when he goes to smoke, lets the dog back in while he checks on Mom ⇾ Dog vomits at the top of the stairs without me hearing her and I step in vomit going to check on dinner in the crock pot, and have to clean it up ⇾ I go to the bathroom after, and his mom's had an accident at some point and stuffed both her underwear and her diaper in the toilet to hide it like a toddler. So now in order to piss I've gotta clean up all the adult shit all over the bathroom and fish those out of the toilet ⇾ Come back downstairs and throw the underwear and towels in the wash ⇾ Step in another mysteriously appearing pile of dog vomit ⇾ Hobble step from that one right into a mysterious third pile ... And fall on my ass.

At that point I snap and just wind up sobbing on the Basement floor for two hours, my last thread having just completely severed for the day. So my Husband cleans up the two new piles of dog vomit for me and gets my pants off, cleans my feet, and gets me new pants ... And the second he gets done with that, the dog vomits a fourth time; she literally has not been fed yet today and is vomiting up giant piles of half digested dog food. The only thing we can surmise is that someone must've thrown something over our fence- and I will fucking murder them the second I find them.

That's all fine, though, right? Because at this point it's 6:30 and my Father in Law should be back in half an hour for the night ... Oh, except he comes home for 5 minutes to change and then go to a fucking church meeting half an hour away, that he didn't inform us he was going to go to, and which he really shouldn't be going to. But priorities, amiright? Gotta go talk to God and Congregation, because Sundays aren't enough. Nevermind that your Wife has Cancer and needs care, and won't let my Husband or I change her shit stained clothing she's been laying in for hours!

Nevermind that the person doing the main amount of care for her right now is also the other disabled person in the house, who is currently in pain and recovering from an injury that made them completely unable to walk- after already having a bad luck string of illnesses that left them bedbound for the last 2 / 3 months (what is math? I've given up now). And nevermind that they currently have another communicable illness and honestly shouldn't be around someone with a severely compromised immune system right now. It also doesn't really matter that the longer they're forced to care for her, the more they risk reinjuring their own current injury, to the point where they literally can't stand anymore without their Piriformis muscle immediately seizing and spasming. This is what family does!

He was maybe been home for like 40 minutes when the whole fall thing happened.

#Personal #2023 #Alphabet Soup #Multiple Myeloma #Multigenerational Households Are Fun Until They're Not #Sciatica #Piriformis Syndrome #She Called Me 'Her Ruth' #Trigger Warning

[forelevenses]

of matzo and the sniffles

rating: G fandom: team fortress 2 warnings: no archive warnings apply characters: scout (tf2), medic (tf2) pairing: scout (tf2)/medic (tf2) summary: Medic has been feeling under the weather, and Scout decides it's nothing soup can't cure. Written for the TF2 Rare Pair Mini-Week Day 2 prompt: 'Sweet'

with lovely art done by @verchielmarch​ ! 💕 read here or on ao3!

“Yeah... Uh-huh... Uh-huh... 'Course I got that down...” Scout crumbled the small sticky note with his free hand idly and flicked it straight to the wastebasket. Boom! Nothing but net! Let's see that fancy Spy do any better!

But before he could picture Spy worshiping his clearly superior paper ball throwing skills, an irate tone on the other side of the line killed his daydream and he groaned, “Oh come on Ma, will ya quit your worryin'? It's just soup, I got this! Look, I'll tell Doc you said 'Hi', alright? I gotta go,” He looked to his left. And he looked to his right.

“Love you too Ma, I'll talk to ya later,” he added softly and hung the phone back up.  

The base was quiet for the most part— a rare day off that everyone took no issue taking advantage of.

Well, almost everyone.

It started a few days ago with a sneeze. Doc paid no mind, what with all the birds hangin' around in the med-bay, of course he'd sneeze every once in a while. Not a big deal. But then the one sneeze turned into a few, then the sore throat came in, plus the fever and now the poor guy is stuck in his room with the worst “upper respiratory infection” he's had in years.

Or a cold, as Scout eloquently put it.

It broke ya heart lookin’ at the guy, all bedridden and miserable. Scout thought he hadn’t seen his Doc look that bad ever– he's even got him wearin' a mask whenever he stops by (and the guy's been elbow-deep in everyone's gaping chest with his bare hands before, so this had to be serious). He asked why he just can't point his Medigun straight at himself and bam! Cold gone! But the Doc sneezed, said he's tried that multiple times already in fact, and argued that even that can't cure the common cold.

And that's where Ma comes in. Cause you see, no fancy egghead (and he means 'egghead' with all the love and affection in the world, he swears it) science, mumbo-jumbo crap will fix colds. But his Ma's famous Matzo ball soup will definitely kick that cold's ass for sure! Whenever his brothers or him got sick, just a few spoonfuls of that and they'd be up and runnin' in no time at all! He didn't know what his Ma puts in it (well he does, that was the whole point of callin' her in the first place), but if this didn't end up helping his poor Doc then nothing will.

Scout looked over his scrawl once more: chicken, schmaltz, matzo meal, celery, carrots...

He ain't stupid, he can pull this off easy!

~

All right, perhaps there may have been some unforeseen difficulties.

Not entirely all his fault: the first store he went to only had the canned stuff and his Ma insisted the balls had to be homemade. So, Heavy and him drove all the way across town to the other grocery store to get the Matzo meal, but then! Their vegetables were complete crap! Can’t give Doc no crappy vegetables! Then they drove all the way back to the first store, finished the rest of the shopping there, came back to the base, and wouldn't you know? Spy was hoggin' up the stove with his sorry lookin' French pancakes or whatever the hell they're called.  

What kind of friggin' pancake is so thin anyway? Nevermind that he ate three of them and was the best thing he put in his mouth all day- it just ain't right.

As he stirred the pot one last time before shutting the burner off, it hit Scout this was the first time he made food for someone other than his Ma or brothers. It made his palms all sweaty thinkin' about it- it's not like he was a shit cook or anything, but there was just something about going through all that trouble to make such a small thing for someone. But Medic wasn't just anyone, and he'd gladly go through everything again if it meant it helped him feel better.

(God, how did Doc make him all mushy and stuff?)

But it was starting to get late, and he'd rather not keep Doc waitin' forever. He plated up the best looking Matzo, made sure there were plenty of chicken bits in there, and even threw in a piece of toasted bread for good measure. Not to brag or anythin', but it's probably the best damn soup he's ever made. He made himself his own bowl before loading it up on the tray and made his way over to the med-bay.

Doc's own corner of the base was quiet and still for once, and it didn't feel right at all. Trying his best not to drop the tray, Scout opened the office door. Archimedes perched on top of his favorite skeletal model, cooing in welcome. Scout chuckled and dug out some sunflower seeds from his pocket, catching Archimedes ' interest.

“Hey birdbrain,” Scout said, offering the seeds. Archimedes ruffled his feathers in appreciation and began to peck away at the seeds. “How's our Doc doin' today?” he asked. He cooed softly and a muffled cough rang out. Scout hummed, “'Bout the same, huh?” After Archimedes finished the last of the seeds, he scratched the top of his head and looked towards the private quarter's door.

(Ya know, maybe the soup was a bad idea, what if he-)

No! It was gonna be fine, ya big wuss!

Scout drew a deep breath and walked over to the door. The coughing stopped, but he could imagine how miserable Doc was feeling. He balanced the tray once more, and knocked.

“Hey Doc,” Scout said softly, “Mind if I come in?”

A coughing fit answered him and after it subsided, a miserable “Ja” invited him. Alright, it's go time. Scout fished out a mask from his back pocket, hastily put it on with his free hand, and opened the door.

While the medical office itself was rather cut-and-dry and like any other doctor's office Scout has been too, Doc's room was anything but. It was homey, and if Scout didn't know any better, he would have believed he was in some cottage in the middle of the woods rather than the base. Right in the middle of the room, Doc laid in his bed, nestled in his blankets looking anything but cozy.

“How're you feelin' today?” Scout asked, walking closer to the bed.

“The mucus has subsided, but the cough has been persistent,” Doc said, “No signs of my appetite returning, I'm afraid.”

“Ya know, that's too bad,” Scout hummed, “Guess I gotta finish these two bowls of Matzo here all by myself.” At that, Doc perked up.

“Matzo?” Doc sat up in his spot in the bed, Scout snickering at how fast he adjusted himself, “Recent studies have shown soup has wonderful medicinal benefits for the common cold, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” Scout laughed, setting the tray down onto the bed. “Well, ya better start chowin' down then! The one on the right is yours,” he said as he pulled up a chair.

Without any hesitation, Doc picked up the bowl, pulled his own face mask down, and took a good spoonful of the broth down. He hummed delightfully and took another big spoonful.

“Hey, hey, careful there or ya gonna burn yourself,” Scout laughed, picking up his own bowl from the tray.

“But taybele,” Doc said, the pet name making his chest flutter harder than the time Archimedes spent stuck inside, “This is wonderful! And you made this?”

“Yup!” Scout said, puffing out his chest, “Family recipe! Don't worry, I'll show ya once you get better!”

“Please do!” Doc said, taking a bite off the bread. “Thank you, liebster.” Scout smiled and took his dear Doc's hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Anytime, darlin'.”

#team fortress 2 #mediscout #blunt trauma #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #I already posted a link once but I am cross-posting here to now don't mind doo doo doo #miki.fic

[whole-wheat-trolls]

Simple Man

The moons beam down through the cracks of cloud cover, illuminating the prairie where a man drives a stake post deep into the dirt. From a glance, he’s rough and weathered despite being many sweeps younger than what one would call ‘old,’ probably not even fully grown at this point in his life though he stands just under eight foot. After the last stake is driven he wipes the sweat from his brow and carries his hammer back to a tool shed, only to emerge with a shovel instead.

His name is Jonice, although mentioning this and pronouncing it correctly is bound to get a scoff and a, “who, me?” Nowadays it’s just Jon, a simple name for a simple man, who takes care of the land around this prairie farmhouse. Jonice takes that shovel down the way, until the sounds of clucking chickens overpower the chorus of crickets and other animals. Passing through the gate into the pen Jonice mutters quiet platitudes at the birds, asking them politely not to try any funny business while he works.

I’ll spare you the details of cleaning the pen, it’s a menial task he’s performed at least a thousand times, there’s no getting around it. He does it without complaint, life may be messy but there’s routine in it now, the coop needs cleaning, cows need milking, sheep need shearing, and fences need repairing all like clockwork. There’s enough comfort in that truth to last him a lifetime.

“JON? YOU BEEN OUT THERE ALL NIGHT, HEAVEN’S SAKE COME N’ TAKE A LOAD OFF,” the voice of reason yells at him, well versed in shouting across the sprawling expanse of land.

Jon doesn’t hesitate to heed the master’s call, hell, they’ll just yell the same thing again if he doesn’t show soon enough. They own the dang farm after all. Jon’s leisurely stroll ends on the front porch, pausing in a recliner just long enough to unload his work boots.

“AND TAKE ‘EM DAMN BOOTS OFF, I AIN’T GON’ HAVE YOU TRACKIN’ MUD AND MANURE ‘ROUND MY CLEAN FLOORS,” it yells again from just inside.

“Good grief Folsom, I’d just about reckon y’like them floors more‘an me,” Jon says as he ducks under the doorway, his soft spoken chiding hitting a perfect bullseye.

“I’d reckon I’d be more fond’a ya too had I been put in charge’a keepin’ YOU clean instead,” Folsom replies, tossing a rag at Jonice. “Get yerself tidied, supper’s in ten.”

“As you wish,” Jon’s sarcasm is hard to detect, but he does as he’s told and wipes his face clean in the washroom.

“Y’know Jon, you ain’t gotta do everythin’ I ask ya to in jus’ one night, y’already do enough.”

“and ain’t I already told ya it just ain’t in my nature? ‘Sides, y’know I’m jus’ happy t’help,” it’s a sentiment Jon expresses often.

Sometimes Folsom feels like they’re taking advantage of him. Other times, they watch him in the chicken pen talking to all the hens like they’re old friends, they see him grin when it tells him what needs doing around the farm. They see a troll satisfied with a hard day’s work whenever it calls for supper time. Jon’s a simple man, but sometimes Folsom wishes they could read his mind, it asks him what he wants for twelfth perigee always to the same answer.

“S’pose a hot meal, a bed t’sleep in, an’ another sweep a livin’ oughta be fit for me,” every time no matter how often Folsom asks. That’s just the kind of man he is.

“Wouldja kick on the telly while yer out there Jon? Think they’re playin’ that horse an’ pony show Everest was in,” Folsom asks to keep the mind from wandering further.

They hear the television turn on from the kitchen, it sounds like a court case, one of Folsom’s guilty pleasures from a short stunt as sheriff. The channel doesn’t change immediately. Jon in the other room fixates on the screen. A young oliveblooded boy sits on trial while a tall cerulean lawyer accuses him of murder. The court looks full of apprehension, but nobody says a word that could save him. The gavel hits its mark, nobody says a word. The boy is sentenced to death, nobody says a word.

The channel flips after the verdicts given, it’s odd, Folsom never took Jon for a man who’d like court dramas. The two enjoy their supper quietly as usual, then it’s lights out for an early rise tomorrow.

#eheh #Folsom uses they/it btw #Drabble Tag #Jonice #Folsom #Fantroll #Homestuck #OC #TWO old folks I TRICKED YOU ALL #They are domestic partners they love each other they could not handle life without each other #But they both just do things for the other and don't say it

[taraemory]

Another day, maybe it’s time to take a break. The aftermath of last night’s pyrotechnic set up. I had the circuit board /space ship surface set up on the table and the thing to ignite the squibs is just a car battery, a switch and then it goes to two pins that poke into the Squibs. The squibs themselves are little gelcaps (herbal supplements emptied out) filled with gunpowder and a chunk of steel wool poked with the pins Run 12 volts through the steel wool and them boom! It sets off the gunpowder. And yes I know, that switch ought to be a momentary contact trigger- I built this with what I had on hand Actually I learned first hand how bad a solid off/in switch is for this as one time I pinned a charge when the wire was hot and it exploded in my hands. It’s such a tiny amount of gunpowder it dint burn me at all I did all this outside just to be safe but truthfully the charges set off so fast nothing ever stays on fire I could’ve done it indoors We’ve been blessed with nice clear nights with no winds I better take advantage of the weather while I can. All in all I made charges and exploded them until I ran out of the couple of teaspoons of gunpowder that I had that I actually had leftover from making films in college with pyro So I just gotta figure out where to get more gunpowder ( I only need like the equivalent of a 35mm film canisters worth of it) For larger explosions in models that had some space inside my technique was always to fill balloons with propane and put them in there as well, do get a bit more of a fireball. Usually the whole thing would burn out and put itself out so you could generally set up the pyrotechnics for another take All in all I mostly set about a dozen charges and I had 2 cameras set up for recording with occasionally an iPhone recording slo no video as well. Of course half the shots didn’t come out that good so really you’re shooting for hours just for maybe one or two decent looking takes that you can use in the film I think I managed to get one decent dolly shot while setting a charge So what’s next? We’ll see! https://www.instagram.com/p/CfecUfhuJrP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[daredevlls]

a refreshing breeze, a picnic basket and a red-white gingham cloth spread over the grass, two sandwiches - river x steve x eddie (but i think you gotta leave it at 2 sandwiches because its funnier that way)

a/n: I give you fun picnic date <3 in which eddie is all of us

pairing: steve harrington x oc x eddie munson

The weather was perfect for a picnic.

River wanted to take advantage of the weather while they could. She and Steve whipped up a few snacks and asked Eddie to tag along on their picnic. She'd hope to make this a nice date for them.

The grass swayed in the gentle breeze, and a few clouds floated in the sky.

Everything was perfect.

River's dog, Rex, laid next to them on the blanket, happily resting. Steve and Eddie were eating the sandwiches she'd prepared as she laid back, enjoying the beautiful weather.

"This is a nice change from fighting monsters." River was relieved to finally have some time alone with them. They all needed it, especially with how crazy their lives got.

"Don't jinx it," Steve said, still chewing. "If I have to fight anything else, it'll be too soon."

Eddie was busy feeding Rex the lunch meat from his sandwich. "Next time, though, it's my turn to pick our date."

"Somehow that scares me," Steve muttered.

Eddie flipped him off, though neither of them were very serious.

"We'll do whatever you want next time, Eds. I promise." River sat up, stretching. "And stop feeding my dog. Now he's gonna think you have food all the time."

Eddie laughed, scratching behind Rex's ear. "Maybe I will. Just for him."

River snorted and rolled her eyes playfully. "And I thought Steve was the dork."

After a while, more clouds started to form. It wasn't long before it started to rain.

They quickly picked up, packing everything back into Steve's car.

"Shotgun!" Eddie called out.

"What? You got shotgun last time!"

"Gotta be fast, Matthews." Eddie grinned and kissed River's cheek, giving her a playful wink.

River groaned and got in the back with Rex.

By the time they made it back to Steve's place, it was pouring rain. They had to rush in to keep their clothes as dry as possible.

Steve gave them some dry clothes. "I guess this gives us an excuse to cuddle for warmth," he said.

When they curled up together on the couch, Rex jumped up to join in the cuddle pile.

"Yeah, yeah. You, too, buddy." River patted his head and let him curl up with them to keep warm.

#steve harrington x oc #eddie munson x oc #stranger things #oc: river matthews #ship: two nerds and a steve #ask #sharkbaitouhaha

[crystalelemental]

What's one more?  There were some other tests I wanted to run for funsies.

Vs. Olivia Mainly, Lodge Rosa.  After seeing Lodge May in action, I got nervous.  What if Rosa is actually worse than May is?  And friends, there is a legitimate argument to be made.  May doesn't actually need anything to deal her damage potential, while Rosa kinda does.  It's a major problem for her too.  Thankfully, an EX support can give her enough power to perform a denial on DPS, and her sync is strong enough to delete center.  I just...don't think EX would functionally change her life that much here.  Which is sad.  Also Kukui's here.  He's giving the needed defense debuffs.

Vs. Kahili I also wanted to test out Lodge Steven/Roxanne as a combo, which necessitated someone helping out with crit rate.  Turns out, we know a guy.  He's Kantonian, but we'll let it slide.  Yes, Classic Blue has Dire Hit All+, complementing Steven's buffing needs perfectly.  Moreover, Hyper Beam is beautiful DPS to truck sides, while Steven nukes Center.  Roxanne, bless her, provides the team with enough gauge to spam Hyper Beam without issue.  And provides bulk, and a block of the first AoE attack against you.  Wish there were a better Hoenn option here, but oh well.

Vs. Molayne "Crystal."  Look, I don't know!  I looked at that roster of Ground-type damage dealers and went you know, we can do better.  We have to do better than Courtney for a weak option, okay?  There's gotta be someone.  And lo, someone there is.  Clay is someone.  And he is bad.  That DPS is atrocious, the speed drops do nothing to slow the opponent, and I once mentioned that his sync is an atrocity because man, who in the game supplies Attack, crit, and special defense as a support?

Anabel.  Anabel does.  Slap in some Nanu action for debuffing and flinch, and you've got yourself a core.  Now, Anabel absolutely requires 3/5 for this, and needs MPR on her trainer move, and a whole lotta luck.  You want as many MPRs as possible to get the special defense buffs rolling too.  And even then, you will eat a sync.  Nanu can stall a bit, but it's not going to do much.  Also it turns out the decision to bring Screech utility was wasted, because Molyane will boost his own defense.  Let's pretend it helped take care of sides, and that there weren't better options in my life.  The good news is, with shields up, Anabel will keep Clay alive.  The bad news is, this is quite the endurance contest, and Clay is a problem.  But, he won.  Because Anabel is huge.

Vs. Acerola I thought to myself, when was the last time I even considered Helena?  It's been a bit.  So I wanted to test her out a little more with C!Elesa.  This was under half time to sync conditions.  Not ideal.  Worse, Helena's sync must've missed crit or something, because it bounced off for like 3.5k damage.  Fortunately, Lillie's special defense buffing and Elesa's surprise Light Screen allowed everyone to survive with surprising ease.  Also thankfully, Mimikyu's attacks are single-target, and the AoE attack missed thanks to Helena buffing her evasion a bit.  I think this is one of those moments where random luck tells a story.  Gordie felt wildly disappointing because he kept missing crits, but Helena here has impressed me solely by getting lucky at dodging.

Vs. Hau Some of you may have seen the off-type clears from this team.  That started here.  And with good reason.  I wasn't super confident, but knew Lisia could handle on-type at least.  What I did not anticipate was how good the CS adjustments would be for her.

Lisia's always had a mild advantage in that she has Defog, which can remove Crit Shield from the No Critical Hit condition.  Unrelated, I personally think that things like No Status and No Debuffs should be shields too, but I digress.  As a 150 point condition that Lisia just ignores, this frees up points, usually in the form of offenses.  Crit Shield costs as much as Atk +5, after all.  But no, there's another free condition: No Changing Weather/Terrain/Zones.  Another 150 points.  And now, we're dealing with a situation where you've taken off all offense boosting parameters.  Suddenly, Jasmine can take physical hits, thanks to Lucian's attack debuffs.  And even with heavier DPS spam, Lisia can draw aggro and tanks better than she can.  All of this is then backed by Team Endurance after Jasmine's first sync, or Lisia's Dragon Pulse DPS.  Of note, Lisia gets some modifiers based on the foe's evasion being debuffed, and when her HP is lower, so drawing aggro and spamming Defog early on does somehow help.  In a lot of stages, careful play can actually result in the team surviving sync easily, Lisia getting knocked to 1HP, but then having attention shift back to Jasmine as Lisia cleans up.

Final Thoughts I still can't get over winning anything with Clay.  That's gotta be a record.

Lodge Rosa's alright, but exactly as limited as I remember her.  I think she has it a bit easier than Lodge Silver just because of the buffing requirements, but it's still not great.  Lodge Steven, by comparison, had a great time finding out that Blue supports his exact needs to partner with his good Rock Pal Roxanne.

Helena's fine, but really underwhelming.  That sync was just sad, girl.  And her DPS isn't exactly keeping pace with Shauntal, or even Agatha, who has a stronger status.

Lisia's divine, though.  On-type, this is fantastic.  I'm absolutely going to try this with Fairy damage when that comes back around.

#champion stadium

[raystxntz]

Gotta admit, it feels kind of nice to go around not worrying about the world potentially imploding in on itself for a change. Everything is just....quiet. Peaceful. In a way that I feel like it hasn't been for....quite a while. Nothing bad is happening to me, or my friends, or anyone else in the Nexus that I'm aware of, at least. And my mind isn't preoccupied with thoughts of something potentially going wrong, either. I just feel....happy. At peace. Calm.

Can't even remember the last time I felt that way, honestly. So much has been happening that it's kind of....weird to not have anything to be concerned about for once. Not that I'm complaining.

Now, I can just focus on my time spent here. Maybe help out with the repairs on the inter-dimensional device. Weren't we talking about a road trip at some point, also? That might be nice. I should start researching places to go that aren't too far from the city.

In the meantime....I think I'm going to go for a late-night walk. The weather's actually being decent, for a change. And I might as well take advantage of the good mood that I have.

#ghostbusters rp #ray stantz #roleplay blog #open rp

[moonbcrry]

life is good! super busy and hectic and my social battery is like non existent but i’ve been having fun now that it’s warm outside lol gotta take advantage of it while it lasts! how are you what’s going on in your life misses <3 - ❄️

oh yes i agree gotta take the advantages of the weather before it turns to hell 😬 tho don't overwork on yourself, take some breaks if you feel like it!

it's finals week bestie i am struggling!! but after this two weeks ill be free (not that free tho, my mum called and told me about our summer plan and i was like ?? woman when am i gonna lay in bed and rest ??? anyway at least the place we're going for vacation is good)

#lmao i talk too much someone shut me up #with kissing 👉👈 #hattie gets things clear #❧ ❄️ anon

[alvsstudies]

Punishment to Reduce Aggressive Behaviour

🌱 Note! Please reach out to me if you notice any mistakes or inconsistencies as I don’t want to spread misinformation. Besides, I’m here to learn so letting me know would only be of help! With that said, happy reading!

Source: Aronson, E., Wilson, T. D., Sommers, S. R. (2021). Social psychology (Tenth Global Edition). Pearson Education Limited.

Severe punishment and its (lack of) effect

Let’s get straight to the point: Punishing aggression to get rid of it? No-no. Bad approach. Ineffective approach. While threats of immediate and harsh punishment may stop the undesired aggressive behaviour short-term, it won’t get to the roots of the issue. The reason the person acted out in the first place still isn’t dealt with. Despite the punishment, their aggressive values remain (and might even turn more extreme!) Besides - especially when it comes to raising children - severe punishment is a way for the punished person(s) learn that 'oh, if I'm tired or frustrated with someone it's okay for me to scream at them and grab them', which, Yikes.

Harsh punishment (screaming, threatening, getting physical, extensive negative consequences, etc.) -> Target is likely to respond with anxiety and/or anger (not increased cooperation or a change in their internal values)

Physical punishment (punching, hitting, grabbing, spanking, hair-pulling, etc.) ->  Increased risk for development of low self-esteem, depression, and violent behaviour. Target is likely to become even more aggressive and antisocial over time

In sum, we shouldn’t use severe punishment because:

Aggressive values that caused the behaviour in the first place remain; No long-term effect

Teaches the punished person that the punishing behaviour is okay, e.g., ‘ It’s okay for me to hit people if they’re being unreasonable’

Only teaches the person who behaved aggressively what they shouldn’t do, not what they should do instead; Doesn’t present them with an alternative; No constructive feedback to promote change 

Will bring about a heap of negative consequences unrelated to the act that’s being punished, e.g., low self-esteem

So no punishment? At all?

Does this mean that no punishment whatsoever works? Is punishing someone always wrong? No, not necessarily. An alternative that seems to work better is mild punishment. Even a punishment just powerful enough to stop the behaviour in question (e.g., giving someone a stern look) is more likely to make the behaviour stop long-term than severe punishment is. The psychological principles behind this method are quite interesting, actually. I’ll keep it short and concise, but basically what happens is that when you refrain from acting the way you want to act without sufficient external factors to explain why you’re restraining yourself, your brain tries to find the ‘why’ and comes to the conclusion that ‘hm, maybe I didn’t want to do that thing that much after all’. It does this in an attempt of reducing the discomfort you feel when you’re resisting a temptation. In a situation like that it simply makes us feel better to have some sort of justification, such as thinking ‘I didn’t really wanna do that anyway'.

And that’s that on that! Hopefully you found this an interesting read and will think twice before you decide to start yelling at someone. Good luck with your studies & take care! ☀️ 

#if you want to read more about that last bit you should look into 'insufficient punishment' and 'dissonance' #:) #oh and ! #don't forget to go bask in some sun !!! ((if she's out wherever you are)) #gotta take advantage of the weather while it lasts #aggressive behaviour #aggression #punishment #violence #parenting #psychology #social psychology #studyblr #psychology studyblr #psychology facts #fun facts #academia #psychology student #learning #studying

[mindofharry]

In which bucky and you are hooking up and he doesn’t appreciate you until you’re gone.

angst!! so much angst!! swearing, bucky saying stuff he doesn’t mean and a whole lot of crying. feedback is welcome as always <3

roughly based around the time the falcon and the winter soldier meet up again :D enjoy, lovers!

losing you masterlist.

You met Bucky just after he moved into the apartment block. He looked pretty lost and you, being you, decided to lend a helping hand and help out a neighbour.

You did not expect him to end up in your bed the next morning.

It was unexpected and kind of childish, but he made your heart pound and your lips to as red as a cherry. Bucky barnes had you wrapped around his finger before he even knew your name, he just had that kind of charisma. You wanted to be around him all the time, be more than just the causal hook up. Not just someone he calls when he needs to let off steam. You want to be it for him. Bucky is unpredictable and stubborn, but you were sure you could fix him or at least help him onto a better path.

He just wouldn’t let you in.

You’d have sex, and then he’d kick you out. He wouldn’t even let you stay the night. Which at first you didn’t really care about as he would always greet you with a smile and walk you to the local bar. Bucky would have actual conversations with you, that was only for a week. The sex got more hot, more steamy and a lot more fucking rough. He didn’t greet you in the morning, not even a smile and he most definitely didn’t walk you to the bar anymore. He said it was a waste of his time.

You’re a confident person, you don’t usually let people like bucky barnes hurt you this much.

But he was so much more than a hook up to you, you loved him.

It was wednesday, so that means when bucky is done with his lunch he’d text and you’d meet him at his apartment. That’s what happens every wednesday and you never question it. Why would you? A strapping man like bucky wants you in some way. You’re not going to let it go because you have feelings for him.

It might be a little selfish, but you loved him too much.

You made yourself something to eat and watched some downtown abbey to calm yourself down. Bucky liked it when you were chill and not your usual bubbly self. You’ve changed yourself completely for this man. You hope it’s all worth it in the end.

After eating and relaxing for a bit, you decide to shower and get ready for buckys. You want to look nice, show him what he’s missing.

You wash your body with multiple shower gels, and decide to shave your legs - which really, you didn’t want to it’s a lot of effort and you’re just not in the mood today. But if bucky likes it, you’ll do it.

He mentioned once while you were in bed that he loved how smooth your legs are. So you shaved them before every hook up.

“You’re amazing” You reminded yourself, putting on your mascara. The make up will only come off, but again you want to make a good and lasting impression on him. You never used to wear makeup, just a bit a blusher and the occasional gloss. But bucky likes it. It’s always about what bucky likes and dislikes. Your mother would be so disappointed in you.

You shake your head to get rid of those thoughts and walk into your room. This time you pick something you want to wear. Opening up your closet you pull out your flowery, summery, dress that got at a marker in spain. Your family flew there and spent the summer in a nice little villa. It was the only bit of a peace you felt. When you came home, it felt like everything you left behind came crashing down.

Maybe that’s why you depend so much on bucky. You never wanted to be that person, but bucky makes it so hard. And you’re definitely not blaming him for you becoming so attached, you’re definitely the one to blame. But bucky is just, he’s just this great guy.

Or at least he was.

You get it, he lost a lot of people in the blip and after the blip. You lost people too. But it obviously affected him more, so you’re cutting him some slack.

Even if he doesn’t really deserve it.

After getting dressed and making yourself look some what presentable you text bucky to let him know you’re on the way to his apartment - it was only a 30 second walk, but you know he liked his privacy, so you warn him each time.

There was no response. As per usual, you thought rolling your eyes. You strolled down to his apartment taking your time, the weather looked nice enough. Maybe you’ll go for a walk after this, you know you won’t be staying long in buckys home.

You knock on the door, looking down at your phone. Still no messages. Now this, was surprising. Even if he didn’t text he’d always let you know in some way if he couldn’t make it. Bucky may be a dick, but he’d never leave you waiting.

You wait outside for a minute and contemplate leaving, but your hear footsteps walking towards you. You look over and see the man you love.

Bucky Barnes.

And he did not look happy. Angry, frustrated and confused maybe, but not happy. Usually he’s in a good mood after meeting up with his little friend for lunch. Did something happen? You don’t want to pressure him, but you need him to know you’re always there for him.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when bucky stepped infront of you, his eyebrows furrowed and scowl on his face.

“What are you doing here?” He asked fishing out his keys. You start to get annoyed, this man is really testing you. But you push that feeling down and put a smile on your face, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky shrugged it off, the smile fell off your face. Bucky noticed, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m busy today” He said putting the key into the door, trying to open it. He obviously put the wrong one in, frustrating him even more.

“We always meet up on wednesdays, and i did text you. But you never replied so i just assumed” You said, messing with the hem of your dress.

You wish he’d compliment you.

“Well you assumed wrong and i need you to leave. Got a date tonight” He said finally opening up his door. Your heart broke, it actually felt like it shattered into a million different piece. A date? With another person? Fuck, you didn’t think this far ahead. You thought that one day he would just realise. That it’s been you, you’re the one he wants. But obviously you were wrong.

You were wrong about a lot of fucking things.

But you put a brave face on and walked into his apartment, closing the door behind you. Again, you didn’t want to intrude but you needed to know how serious this date is. You need to know if this is the end of you and bucky.

Bucky sighed as he saw you standing in his hallway, he looked exasperated. Like you were a chore he forgot about or had been putting off. He looked at you like you were exhausting. Maybe you are. You should’ve never agreed to this hook up, friends with benefits shit. It always ends badly.

“Y/N, i said you need to leave” Bucky said placing a hand over his eyes. You nodded and instead of leaving you sat beside him. Bucky looked over at you and you’ve never seen him angrier.

“Are you deaf?” he asked and you flinched at his tone. “I have a date, and i need you to get the fuck out of my house” Bucky said and you sighed standing up.

“You’re an asshole” You mumbled and bucky stood up as well.

“You don’t say that when i’m balls deep in you” He replied, placing a hand on your cheek. He wasn’t rough when he grabbed you, but it did scare you a bit.

“This was just sex Y/N. Nothing more. You’re not my type, you’re too exhausting and tiring for me. I’m not interested in that sort of shit. Get the hell out of my home” Bucky said sternly letting go of your face. You searched his eyes for any sign of remorse or guilt, but nothing. He looked proud of himself really.

You sighed to yourself and wiped under your eyes. This is it. Fuck, ok don’t cry Y/N.

“I hope you enjoy your date” You said walking past him.

“Oh, I will” he smirked, watching as you left his apartment. You held back a sob as you ran to your apartment, ignoring on the stares and pitiful looks. You needed to leave the place.

You called your mom and told her the whole story and surprisingly she wasn’t disappointed.

“I could never be disappointed in you, baby. look at you, you’re amazing” Your mom said making you giggle. “That man doesn’t know what he just lost. a great friend is one of them. Now, men aren’t something you should be crying over. Go get yourself freshened up and then relax. You deserve it, honey” She said and you nodded to yourself, sitting up on your bed.

The tears were almost instant. Your mother hated to hear you cry. She lived so far away, and you just needed her hugging and cooking to make all of this pain go away. Heartbreaks are normal, their natural and everyone goes through it. It just hurts even more when the person you love the most doesn’t love you back.

“I love him” You admitted and your mom sighed. You could tell that she hated this too. “I met him when he was kind to me, he would walk me to the bar sometimes work too” You said and tried to stop the tears, but they just kept coming. “He was sweet. He would cuddle with me and not throw me out of his home. And he would listen, he would listen to anything i had to say” You sobbed.

“What did i do wrong? What did i do to make him hate me, mom?”

Your mother let out a pained sound. She just wanted to hug you and tell you everything would be ok.

“You did absolutely nothing wrong. This is all on him, honey. He didn’t appreciate what he had. He took advantage of your kindness and love towards him. You did nothing wrong. Never blame yourself for something like this.” She said quickly and groaned.

“I’ve gotta go” You said, and before your mom could get a word in you hung up and threw your phone against the wall.

Another thing to get fixed.

You did actually have work; but you decided you would get anything productive done. So giving yourself the day off would be good. Sit around, pig out and do not think of bucky barnes.

That lasted all of 5 minutes.

You’re now watching the notebook and didn’t get through 5 minutes of it without thinking of bucky. It’s not like you guys did actual couple things. Why are you so upset? Because you loved him, you idiot.

And now you have to get over him. If he was going on dates, you would too. If he was sleeping with other people, you would too. It’s time bucky barnes got a taste of his own medicine.

A week went by where you through yourself back into work and focused on catching up with old friends. During the day you didn’t think once about bucky, but when you got home that’s when the sob fests start. You’re pretty sure your neighbours can hear you, you feel a little bad.

Wednesday came and you didn’t once check your phone - one because it was smashed and you could barley see the screen, and two because you’re not going to be that girl anymore. You’re come to terms with the fact that bucky wasn’t for you, and although your heart is still very, very broken.

You’re doing better. You’re getting there.

On the other side of the apartment block, bucky barnes was not getting there or doing ok. You hadn’t texted him in a over a week, that’s a new record for you. Usually you send him memes or little reminders randomly. But there’s nothing, he’s been staring at his phone screen for far too long waiting for you to text.

He sighed and began typing.

‘ Hey, it’s bucky. Wondering if we’re still on for tonight? X ‘

He sent it and then put his phone down, turning on his tv. The date he went on was a bust. The girl wasn’t you, he figured that out pretty quickly. It’s not the girl wasn’t good looking or anything and she was nice enough, he just couldn’t stop comparing her to you. Y/N wouldn’t get the drink or Y/N wouldn’t sit that far away, or Y/N wouldn’t totally flipped that jackass off. He left abruptly in the middle of the date because he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t handle not being with you, and that, to him was a problem. Bucky hadn’t been this dependent on a person since steve.

And steve left.

Bucky was just protecting himself, but while he was doing that - he hurt you. Immensely. He put you through so much pain in after this relationship. It was barley even a relationship, but it hurt just as much.

10 minutes went by, and there was still no response. You didn’t even read the message. Now he knows how you feel. Instead of waiting a little longer, bucky decided to just go to your apartment instead. He strolled down the hall and knocked on your door. Your neighbour came out of his home. Bucky nodded his way, the man only tutted at him.

“Poor girl” The man mumbled walking away leaving bucky confused. He shook it off and knocked again, this time you finally answered. You looked beautiful. You were wearing a tight, red dress showing all of your curves off you hair was straightened and you weren’t wearing any make up - you still looked behind beautiful.

“Bucky....” you said with furrowed brows.

“I texted but there was no reply” He said walking into your apartment and taking off his jacket. He grinned and put his hands on your hips. You were even more confused, did he just forget about last week? What he said to you?

“Did you get dressed up all for me?” He asked you cleared your throat moving back so his hands would fall off you, bucky looked at you with a scowl.

“What’s up?” he asked moving his hands to your cheeks, you remembered how he grabbed you the last time and you flinched. Bucky froze for a second and dropped his arms to his side. Something was obviously wrong.

“I’m going on a date, bucky” You said and buckys world stopped for a second. A date? With who? This can not be happening.

“Whatever we have going on, it’s done. So i don’t know why you’re here” You said walking into your room to finish getting ready, you needed to find your black heels.

You met this guy at work, and you really hit it off. So when he asked for a date, you didn’t hesitate. You were putting you first, like you should’ve been doing all along.

“Done?” Bucky asked following you, you nodded and shrugged your shoulders. “You made it pretty clear last week” You said and bucky sighed rolling his eyes. “So this is about the date?” He said and you didn’t reply.

“It’s about what you said to to me, bucky. You’re selfish and mean. And i deserve better”

Bucky sat down on the end of your bed beside you. He knew what he was doing, you were an easy lay. Bucky hates himself for breaking your heart, god knows he broke his own letting you go and saying those awful words to you. You do deserve better.

“So with that being said, i think it’s time for you to leave”

And this time, it was you kicking bucky out of your bed.

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #tfatws #bucky barnes concept #bucky barnes headcannon #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x oc

[pikapeppa]

Geralt x Reader: What You’d Do For The One You Love

The third installment of my Geralt/Reader series, Chamomile and Gwent, has begun! The first chapter is below, and also up on AO3. >10k words, with explicit smut. 

********************

Later, you’ll think back to that moment. 

Later, when you’re lying awake in bed while Geralt sleeps the sound and unmoving slumber of an exhausted man, you’ll think back to the moment when you stopped to check the notice board at the Seven Cats Inn. You’ll think back to the fact that the contract notice wasn’t there when you arrived, and that it was only posted after you said you’d been hoping for an interesting contract that you and Geralt could tackle together.

You’ll lie in bed gazing at Geralt’s face, and you’ll wish that you hadn’t been so naïve and stupid as to hope for an interesting witcher’s contract, when you’ve always known that witcher’s contracts mean nothing but danger of varying kinds. You’ll lie there gazing at Geralt’s beloved sleeping face, at the fresh and angry-looking brand marring his left temple and cheek, and you’ll wish you had never crossed paths with the Man of Glass. 

**********************

Three weeks earlier…

It’s a perfect summer day at Corvo Bianco, and you’re in the vegetable garden. 

The weather, as usual in Toussaint, is like a fairy-tale idyll: a painfully blue mid-July sky dotted with fluffy clouds reminiscent of lambswool. The sun is bright and hot, but the heat is softened by a breeze that’s making the grapevine leaves dance in the vineyard below. The staff seem equally pleased by the weather; you’ve heard more than one of your orchard workers expressing relief that last week’s heat wave is over, and the only ailment you’ve heard about today so far is someone being stung by a bee. 

You’re taking advantage of the lovely weather by picking tomatoes: cherry tomatoes that are so beautifully crimson that they’re making your mouth water. Your basket is already half-full, and you’ve only picked the fruit from two plants so far. 

A bountiful crop this year, you think happily, and you rise to your feet and gently shake the dirt from the hem of your skirt before stepping over to the next plant in the row. You set the basket down in the dirt, then reach for a particularly juicy-looking tomato.

Your arms are suddenly grabbed by two rough hands. Before you can do more than yelp in shock, your arms are locked behind your back, and a threat gusts across your ear in a hot rush of breath: “Don’t scream.”

You don’t scream. You don’t even panic. You bend forward slightly and step one foot back between your assailant’s legs, then twist your upper body to free one arm and dip down to grab him around his knees. A second later, Geralt is on his back in the dirt, and you’re laughing helplessly as you sprawl across his chest.

He chuckles and squeezes your waist. “Nice takedown.”

“Oh please,” you giggle. “You let me take you down on purpose.” 

“I always do,” he says. “Still good practice for you. But you should’ve been able to evade me that time. Wasn’t even really trying to sneak up on you.”

“I know,” you say more seriously. “But—”

“No buts,” he says. “Gotta remember, witchers are—”

“—always on their guard for a surprise attack,” you finish dutifully as you push yourself off of his chest. Then you give him a mischievous look. “But I’m not a witcher, remember? I’m a witcher’s assistant.”

“Mhm,” he says with a faint smile. “Still, better to be on your guard.” He takes a cherry tomato from your basket and pops it in his mouth.

You playfully smack his hand. “Marlene and I are making a salad with these tomatoes tonight.”

“Mm, good choice,” he says as he chews. “They’re extra sweet this year.”

“They are, aren’t they?” you say cheerfully. “It almost makes me sad that we won’t be here to enjoy the rest of the crop while they’re fresh.” 

“Thought you were looking forward to cooking with sun-dried tomatoes in the fall,” Geralt says.

“I am,” you assure him. “But I prefer fresh tomatoes over sun-dried ones. Do you think we should take some tomatoes to Novigrad with us? A little gift for Dandelion and Zoltan?”

Geralt raises his eyebrows. “You think fresh tomatoes’ll keep for two weeks?”

You hesitate. You’re honestly not sure; you’ve never tried to transport fresh tomatoes anywhere for any length of time. “We could try taking unripened ones,” you suggest. “If they ripen on the way, then that’s fine. If they’re still green by the time we get to the Chameleon, I’ll just fry them up.”

“Fried green tomatoes?” Geralt says.

“Yes,” you say. “Have you never had them before?”

He shakes his head. “But you know me. Game to try anything you make.”

You beam at him, and he smiles faintly as he rises to his feet. “You almost done here?”

“Not quite,” you say. “I just got started. Why?”

He shrugs and folds his arms. “Seems to me you need some sensory training.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you force yourself not to smile. “More sensory training? Are you really that worried about me not hearing you sneaking up on me?”

“Real worried, yeah,” he says. “Come find me when you’re done here.” 

His tone is casual, but there’s a sly tilt to his smirk, and you smile foolishly at him before returning to your tomato-picking. As you pluck the plump red fruits from the vines, you try to distract yourself from the enticing promise of Geralt’s ‘sensory training’ by thinking instead about the more serious training you’ve been doing as of late.

It’s been a year now since you began taking Ortolan’s age-stopping elixir. With the gift of time laid out before you in an endless path, time in which you and Geralt can enjoy your lives together in whatever manner you like, you both decided that you want to go travelling together. You love the idea of seeing the world with Geralt, of travelling for pleasure rather than necessity and of having a beloved companion by your side to enjoy the travels with, and tomorrow, you’ll be setting off on your first journey together: the familiar two-week ride to Novigrad, where you’ll spend some time with Zoltan and Dandelion, followed by the voyage to Skellige, where you’ll enjoy the wild and romantic beauty of late summer on the Isles.

You and Geralt are familiar with both legs of this journey, of course. But just because a journey is familiar does not mean it isn’t dangerous. This was especially true when you used to travel alone, and it is still true now even though you’ll be travelling with the ever-famous Geralt of Rivia — particularly since Geralt’s fame means he draws attention, both bad and good, wherever he goes. 

But you’ve been preparing yourself for the dangers. Ever since you and Geralt decided you wanted to travel together, he’s been teaching you some parts of the witcher’s trade. He hasn’t been training you to become a full-fledged witcher, since neither you nor Geralt want you to be face-to-face with monsters if you don’t need to be, and you don’t want to worry him by exposing yourself to more danger than necessary. Instead, you struck upon the idea of becoming something of a witcher’s assistant. You’ve been learning alchemy and advanced herbalism so you can make potions and oils and bombs for Geralt on the road, and you’ve been studying and drilling yourself on his well-worn copy of Brother Adalbert’s Bestiary for months. Geralt has been training you in more advanced forms of self-defense so you can better protect yourself from dangerous men, and he’s taught you how to use a miniature witcher’s crossbow, which you’re decently accurate with as long as you’re standing still. He recently gifted you with a silver dagger to use against monsters in extreme cases, though you’ve both agreed that you will keep your distance from monsters as much as possible. 

With your newfound witcher‘s-assistant knowledge in mind, combined with your caution about carrying too much coin on the road, you and Geralt are planning to fund your travels by taking some small witcher contracts during the journey — small and lower-risk contracts that will let you get some hands-on practice with tracking while Geralt takes care of the monsters themselves. You know that Geralt is leery about putting you in harm’s way; just because you don’t age anymore doesn’t mean you can’t be killed, after all. But you’re genuinely looking forward to putting your witcher’s-assistant training to use in the field, even if it means keeping a distance from the brunt of the action.

Indeed, your physical training has been defensive in nature rather than offensive, with the goal of escaping danger rather than facing it head-on, and the cautionary nature of this training suits you just fine. You’ve seen for yourself how difficult it is for Geralt to worry about his loved ones being at risk of death because of him, and if staying away from monsters will protect him from that pain, then staying away from monsters is exactly what you’ll do. 

As you move along the row of tomato plants, you reflect on how challenging but satisfying it’s been to learn the pieces of the witcher’s trade that Geralt has taught you. You were exhausted at first from your studies alone, not even including the physical training that Geralt encouraged you to start doing three days a week, and for the first few months, Geralt teased you about sleeping like the dead each night out of sheer fatigue. But the fatigue has been a satisfying kind, the kind of tiredness that comes from expanding your mind and strengthening your body, and even you can tell that your memory and your muscles are stronger than they were a year ago. You’ve even started developing slight calluses on your hands, and you’ve noticed that you can walk and run now for longer and farther before your feet begin to hurt. All in all, your witcher’s assistant training has been a challenge to both the body and mind, and you can only imagine how gruelling the full witcher’s training — and the required discipline for this training — would have been for the children who survived the Trials of the Grasses, back in the days when witchers were still being mutated and made. 

This ‘sensory training’ of Geralt’s, on the other hand… a little shiver of excitement trickles down your spine. Geralt has always said that his sensory training is based on witcher techniques for enhancing one’s senses when deprived of one’s sight, and you don’t doubt that he’s at least partly serious about that. But the way he’s adapted his sensory training techniques for you is… something truly special. He may call it training, and it might require some discipline and difficult-to-contain patience on your part, but in truth, it’s pure pleasure, you’re quite sure that ‘sensory training’ is just his excuse to make you so eager that you’re wont to beg. 

Excited now, you pick up the pace of your tomato-picking until your basket is full. Then you hurry through the garden back to the lower courtyard to find him. 

He’s in the stables with your horses. He’s brushing palomino-Roach’s coat, and as you draw closer, you realize that he’s talking to chestnut-Roach in a quiet voice. “...heading back to the Chameleon, and I know you like it there. Gotta make sure Dandelion doesn’t spoil you with too many sugar cubes while we’re in Skellige, though. Either of you,” he adds to palomino-Roach.

You smile at him as you join him at the stables. “Are you preparing them for the journey?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Palomino’s raring to go. Think your Roach has gotten used to the easy Corvo Bianco lifestyle, though.”

Chestnut-Roach nickers and swishes her tail, and you laugh as you stroke her neck. “Look what you’ve done. You’ve offended her.”

“Sorry,” he says, and he fondly pats chestnut-Roach’s rump. Then he gives you an enquiring look. “Tomato-picking all done?”

“All done,” you confirm, and you proudly show him your full wicker basket.  

He nods. “Good. You wanna do your sensory training now?”

You widen your eyes innocently. “Are you giving me a choice? I thought you were telling me that I need it.”

He smirks. “Cheeky. Go on, get inside. You know what to do.”

You grin at him, then give Roach a quick nuzzle before hurrying back to the house. You quickly stop into the kitchen and drop off your basket of tomatoes for Marlene, then make a beeline for the bedroom. 

You close the door behind you and light the bedside oil lamps, then quickly start stripping down. Once you’re naked, you open the drawer of your bedside table and take out a silk scarf. 

You rub your thumbs over the silk and smile giddily to yourself. Already your heart is starting to pick up speed, and you wonder if Geralt will comment on this as soon as he comes into the room.

You kneel on the floor with your back facing the door. Then, carefully, you tie the silk scarf over your eyes. Blindfolded now, you close your eyes and settle into a witcher’s meditative pose: your knees slightly apart and your palms resting comfortably on your bare thighs.

You kneel in your dimly lit bedroom, and you wait — but you don’t have to wait for long. A minute later, you hear the bedroom door opening behind you. 

You turn your head toward the sound. “I hear you coming in,” you tell him.

“Uh-huh,” Geralt drawls. “Exercise doesn’t start until I close the door.” A moment later, you hear the snick of the door being shut.

“Now?” you say eagerly. “Has the exercise started now?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t make a sound at all — no footsteps creaking, no breathing, not a sound — and your heart flips with excitement: the exercise has indeed begun, and now you need to focus, despite the eagerness that’s already starting to thrum in your blood.

You turn your head to face forward again, and you listen hard. You listen for Geralt, listening carefully to figure out where he is in the room, where he might have gotten with his carefully silent witcher’s steps—

You hear a tiny sound, almost like a tiny ceramic clink, and you turn your head toward it. “There,” you say quickly. “Is that — are you there? To my left?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Good. Listen again.” 

You smile to yourself. His tone is calm and neutral, like he’s doing nothing more tantalizing than teaching you about rare herbs, but you can picture his smirk so clearly even in the darkness of your blindfolded eyes. 

You take a slow and silent breath through your lips and focus on your hearing again. You listen hard, waiting for the telltale signs that he’s moved somewhere else in the room, marvelling as you do that he’s able to move so silently even though he’s wearing boots…

A sound like fabric falling to the floor: you turn your head to glance over your shoulder. “There!” you say. “Are you by the changing screen?”

He grunts. “Mhm. That was an accident. Didn’t mean to drop my shirt.”

You perk up at this. “Is your shirt off, then? You’re only wearing your trousers and boots?”

“Gotta focus,” he says dryly. “One thing at a time.” 

“Can’t you just tell me if your shirt is off?” you say plaintively.

Geralt doesn’t reply, and for a moment, there’s silence: a heavy kind of silence that makes your skin tingle with anticipation. Then his fingers are gently gripping your chin.

A burst of excitement blossoms between your legs. You didn’t even realize that he’d slipped around to stand in front of you. He lifts your chin, and when he speaks, his voice is lower and more gravelly than usual. “Being pretty cheeky today. You gonna make me punish you?”

You pull in a shaky breath, and Geralt’s grip tightens a little on your chin. “C’mon, answer me. You ready to do the exercise properly, or you looking to be punished?”

“Yes,” you blurt. “I mean, yes, I’ll — I’ll do the exercise properly, I promise.”

“Mm,” he says. “Believe it when I see it.” He releases your chin, and a moment later, there’s silence once more. 

You swallow hard to control your excitement, and you focus on your hearing once more, but it’s more difficult now that your heart rate is picking up. You listen carefully, trying to focus through the pulse that’s pounding in your throat—

“There,” you say, and you glance to the right. “Are you—?”

“Nope,” Geralt says from your left. “You’re not focusing hard enough.”

I’m trying, you think plaintively, but you wisely keep this comment to yourself. You breathe slowly through your lips, forcing yourself to ignore the rhythmic thumping of your heart in your ears and between your legs, and you listen for Geralt.

You listen hard, trying to pick out any sound that indicates where he is: a breath, a rustle of fabric, a creaking of the floor. When you finally hear something, it’s coming from the far side of the room. “There!” you say, and you point. “Are you there, on the other side of the bed?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Good girl.”

Good girl. As always, without fail, the words strike a thrill through your blood. You smile helplessly at him, and you’re rewarded by his soft huff of amusement. “Keep focusing, now. Don’t get complacent.”

You nod obediently and do as you’re told. You correctly pick out his subtle little movements two more times, once while he’s close to the hearth and once more while he’s beside the tub, and you’re genuinely proud of your own success at this little game. 

“Very good,” he murmurs. “Keep it up.”

You smile proudly as you listen for him once more. But this time, you find it more difficult to pick out Geralt’s sounds. You listen hard, waiting for a telltale step or a subtle clearing of his throat, but almost a minute goes by, and you don’t hear anything but the in-and-out of your own breath.

You frown to yourself. Why aren’t you hearing him? Is he really being this silent for this long? That seems a little strange.

Then, suddenly, you sense him. You don’t hear him this time, but you can feel him, like a shifting in the air just behind you—

“Behind me,” you blurt. “Right behind me!”

He huffs a laugh, and the sound of it is right beside your ear. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Or maybe not so good, since I’m right on top of you.” 

Your spine arches instinctively at his words. From the sound of his voice, he really is right on top of you, standing right behind you and bending down to talk into your ear, and the thought of him looming over you while you’re kneeling and naked fosters a burst of heat between your legs. “I like when you’re right on top of me,” you say breathlessly.

He chuckles: a soft and growly little sound that swells hotly in your belly. “Soon. But you’ve gotta be patient. We’re not done with this sensory training yet.” He presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

A shiver of pleasure brings your nipples to attention. Then Geralt licks your neck—

You yelp in surprise: his tongue is cold! “Geralt!” you gasp. 

“Easy,” he murmurs. “Brought some ice with me. You okay with that?”

You burst out a little laugh. “Ice? In the bedroom?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Should I leave it aside?”

“No, no,” you say quickly. “No, it’s  — it’s fine, you can use it. What are you going to use it for?”

“You’ll see,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. “But if you want me to stop, just say so.” 

You eagerly nod your assent. Then Geralt kisses your neck again. 

You draw a slow and careful breath and tilt your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. His lips are teasing the tiny patch of skin behind your ear, that little sliver of skin where your hairline begins and where his lips never fail to drive you wild. When his chilled tongue darts out to trace a cool design over the sensitive little patch, a helpless little sound bursts from your lips. 

You clench your fingers on your thighs and bite your lips, but you don’t speak and you don’t move. You’re trying to be disciplined: to hone your attention onto your senses rather than on your rapidly-rising lust. And so you focus on the feeling of his lips on your neck, the gentle tickle of his beard against the side of your throat and the gradual warming of his tongue as he laps slowly at your skin. By the time his tongue is warm once more, you’re breathing fitfully through your lips, and it’s hard to keep your mind off of the distinct and deliciously-familiar tingling between your legs. 

Geralt steps away from you. “Come closer to the bed,” he says, and you hear the subtle but unmistakable clink of his belt being undone. 

Yes! you think. You listen with great interest as he sits on the bed, as he loosens his trousers with a distinct shuffling of cloth, and you quickly shuffled toward him so you’re kneeling in front of him.

“Good girl,” he says. “Didn’t even have to tell you where to kneel.” 

You smile sweetly at him. Of course he didn’t have to tell you where to kneel; you know the drill by now, what’s expected of you when you’re engaged in this kind of ‘training’, and you want only for Geralt to see what a very good girl you can be.

You hear a subtle ceramic tap. Then Geralt delivers a quiet command: “Open your mouth.”

You immediately open your mouth, and you wait for the touch of his thumb or — if you’re lucky! — the touch of the velvety-soft head of his cock. But once again, he takes you by surprise: he places a small piece of ice in your mouth.

You hastily take the piece of ice in your mouth, then tuck it into your cheek to speak around it. “What should I do with this?” you ask.

“Tell me when the ice is half-melted,” he says. “Then you’re gonna suck my cock.”

A jolt of shock and excitement zips through your body. “You’re — you want me to suck you with ice in my mouth?”

“Yeah.”

“Won’t that be… it won’t be painful?” you say timidly.

“Nope,” he says. “It’ll be nice. An icy blowjob for the summer.”

You can’t help but laugh at this, and Geralt chuckles too. “Really, don’t worry. Won’t be at all painful for me. Hope you’ll enjoy it, too.” 

“All right,” you say. If he’s sure about this, then you’re more than willing to try. You carefully suck on the ice, making sure to cool your tongue and the insides of your cheeks, and as the ice melts in your mouth, you can hear the subtle creaking of the mattress shifting in front of you. 

Then you hear the soft sound of Geralt’s exhaled breath. 

Another spark of anticipation pulses between your legs. You know the cadence of his breathing and the meaning of his breath when it sounds this way: he must be touching himself. 

When he speaks, the slight strain to his voice confirms your suspicion. “Lean forward a bit,” he tells you. “Palms flat on the ground.” 

You obey him, spreading your knees wider and placing your palms on the ground between your parted knees, and you purposely arch your spine a bit as you do. You know your breasts are more pushed together like this, that your posture is far more provocative than a mere witcher’s meditative pose, and sure enough, Geralt lets out a slow and appreciative sigh. “Look at you,” he says quietly. “Doing what I tell you right away. Good girl.”

You nod eagerly and shift the remaining bit of ice from your left cheek to the right. “The ice is partly gone,” you tell him. “May I suck your cock now?”

He chuckles. “Not gonna deny a polite request like that. Open up for me.”

You promptly open your mouth. A moment later, you feel the distinct velvet-soft skin of his cock brushing your lower lip.

You dart your tongue out to taste him, careful to keep the ice in your mouth, and Geralt sighs. “Damn,” he says huskily. “All right, take me slowly now.” 

You shift a little closer and open wide, allowing him to slide his length through your lips and past the roof of your mouth. You tighten your lips around him, and he grunts. “Mm. Yeah, that’s good.”

Eager now to please him, especially with the novelty of the ice in your mouth, you slide your lips up and down his length until his breathing is heavy. Then, with some difficulty, you carefully shift the ice chip in your mouth so it’s resting between his cock and the roof of your mouth.

He exhales hard and thrusts his hips slightly, like a tiny jerk of surprise. “Mm. That’s — ah, fuck…”

Thrilled by his enjoyment, you keep suckling him, being careful to keep the ice in place so it’s melting against his shaft. He thrusts into your mouth, small but eager little thrusts like he’s gently fucking your mouth, and this very thought arouses you all the more. You love the idea of Geralt taking possession of your mouth, of Geralt keeping you here on your knees while he guides his lovely thick cock between your lips in a rhythmic ebb and flow, and with his every careful thrust between your lips, you find yourself getting eager for more: more of his cock, more of this wonderful feeling of being his...  

You rise a little on your knees so you can take him deeper into your throat. He groans and rests his palm on the nape of your neck, and the implicit encouragement of his hand makes you even more eager to please him. You suckle him firmly and deeply for a few seconds, but the angle of your head and the melted ice in your mouth prove to be too much to manage: some of the meltwater dribbles from your mouth into the snowy patch of hair around his sex. 

Oh gods, you just drooled around his cock. Mortified, you release him and cover your mouth with one hand. “Oh no. Geralt, I’m sorry…” 

He lets out a breathy little laugh. “Don’t be. It’s fine. C’mere.” He gently pulls your hand away from your mouth, and a second later, he’s kissing you.

He coaxes your lips apart and strokes your tongue with his, and you sink into the feeling of his kiss. He’s kissing you slowly and firmly, his hand curving tenderly around your nape as he carefully licks your tongue as though he’s really trying to taste you, and his tongue feels hotter than usual thanks to the coolness of the now-melted ice that was in your mouth. You sway helplessly toward him, lured in by the hot and seductive slickness of his tongue, and when he slowly peels his lips away from yours, you can’t help but whimper at the abandonment. 

He releases your neck, and you try to find his hand to pull him back. “Geralt…”

“Easy,” he murmurs. “On your feet, now. Lie back on the bed.” He takes your hands and helps you to your feet, then guides you onto the bed.

“Arms over your head,” he says. 

You stretch your arms overhead so your fingers are brushing the headboard. You hear Geralt opening your bedside drawer, and a moment later, you feel the slippery coolness of silk being threaded around your wrists.

A fresh thrill strikes through you, like lightning singing through your blood and thrumming through your veins. Geralt is binding your wrists loosely with the silk scarf, binding you in a way that means he’s going to tease you and torture you in ways that will make your pleasure especially bright, and by the time he’s finished tying the scarf around your wrists, you’re breathing is short and sharp through your helplessly-parted lips, even though he hasn’t touched you yet.

He chuckles softly, and you give him a pitiful look that he can’t see. “What?” you whimper. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Not laughing at you,” he assures you. “Just… happy to look at you.” He trails his fingers from your sternum down toward your belly.

You gasp and arch your spine. His touch is gentle but confident, his fingers travelling easily over your navel and lower still, and your knees fall open as if by pure instinct to invite his touch, even though you know he’s not going to give it. There’s no way he’s going to stroke your pussy already, especially since he’s barely touched you at all—

He slides two fingers between your legs, and a jolt of shock and pleasure pulls a mewling cry from your throat. He’s touching you? He’s—! Geralt is touching you! He’s stroking your folds and spreading your slickness, and your brain is jumping wildly between surprise and delight that he’s already giving you what you want. His fingers are warm and his touch is smooth and light as he strokes your slick and sensitive folds, and before you can even register what you’re doing, you’re rolling your hips toward his hand, trying to get him to touch you more firmly, trying to coax him to give you what you need, please—

He lifts his fingers from your pussy, and you let out a gasp of protest. “Geralt!” you beg. 

“Easy,” he croons. “Easy, now. Lift your chin.”

You instantly obey, powerless to defy him when he speaks to you in that voice. He places his palm on your chest, then slowly slides his hand up toward your throat. By the time he’s gently curling his fingers around your neck, you’re absolutely mewling with need. The way he holds your neck, the way his fingers are both gentle and firm as they curl around your vulnerable throat: it feels so good, so right to be held by Geralt in this possessive-but-protective way, and you want more. You want more of his brusque commands delivered in his gentle growly voice, more of his gentle touch that he gives you so sparingly that it makes you want to scream, and when he’s finished teasing you until you’re at your wits’ end, you want him to fill you up and fuck you hard — gods, please, you want him to fuck you hard.

“Geralt, fuck me!” you gasp.

His grip tightens slightly on your throat. “What’d you say?”

You swallow hard against his grip and let out a wordless little whimper, and he brushes his thumb against the side of your neck. “Told me you were gonna do the exercise right,” he says. “Remind me how I told you to talk to me during this training.”

You swallow again, loving the feeling of his hand around your throat. “You s-said I have to be polite,” you say tremulously. “Polite requests and begging only. No demands allowed.”

“Mhm,” he says. “And just now: did you make a demand?”

Gods, his voice: he’s using that low and coaxing voice, the one that both calms you and makes you want to come. He’s using this voice to taunt you and teach you a lesson, and it’s almost more than you can bear. “Yes,” you whine. “I… I made a demand.” 

“That’s right, you did,” he says. “You demanded me to fuck you.”

Freya save you, the baseness in his words… a dizzying thump of lust prompts you to arch your spine. “I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I’m very sorry, Geralt.”

“You’re sorry, huh?” 

“Yes,” you insist. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.”

“Hm,” he says. “Guess I’ll accept your apology. But bad girls still have to be punished. Roll over for me and lift your ass.”

Yes, you think excitedly. Yes yes yes! You carefully roll onto your belly, keeping your arms stretched overhead as you lift yourself onto your knees, and you wait breathlessly for Geralt’s punishment. 

His palm slides over your buttock in a light caress, and you whimper and press back toward his hand. “Geralt—”

Smack. The sharp crack of skin-to-skin is punctuated by an exquisite sting of pain, and a mewl of pleasure leaves your throat. He smooths his palm over your skin, then spanks you again, and your fingers clench instinctively in response to the delicious bite of pain. 

“You gonna keep being bad?” he says, and he spanks you once more. 

“No!” you yelp. “No, I won’t, I — a-ah…” You trail off with a moan: Geralt is smoothing his fingers over your pussy, spreading your wetness as he plays his fingertips between your legs, and — fuck, gods, it feels so good, so good, please… 

Without lifting his fingers from your pussy, he spanks you again with his other hand, and a helpless cry bursts from your throat. “Ah!”

“What were you saying?” he says. His tone is a little sharper now, a little more growly, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, how can he expect you to answer him when he’s touching you and spanking you and making your whole body feel swollen and raw with need?

You force yourself to focus. “No, Geralt,” you whine. “I won’t be bad, I’ll… I’ll be polite, I p-promise, I promise!”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Gonna hold you to that.” 

You whimper and nod your head as much as you can with your cheek pressed into the mattress, and you wait eagerly for Geralt’s next command. You can hear him stepping around to the bedside table again, and there’s a soft ceramic clink. 

Then you feel a shock of cold on your spanked buttock.

You squeal and jerk in surprise. “Eek! What — is that ice?”

“Mhm,” he says. “You don’t like it?” He smoothes the melting ice over your bottom, and you squeal again and wiggle your hips to try and escape him.

“Geralt!” you cry. “Geralt, it’s — stop, stop, it’s so cold!” 

He immediately removes the ice from your skin. He’s laughing now, though, and as always, the sound of his laughter never fails to make you laugh as well. 

“Geralt!” you scold through your giggles. “You’re terrible.”

“Not trying to be, I promise,” he says. “Just trying it out to see what feels good.” 

“You can take that off the list,” you say with a grin. “All you did was make me wet.”

He scoffs, and you immediately realize what you said. “In a — in a bad way!” you say hastily. “Not in a good way — you know what I mean!”

“Yeah, I do,” he says warmly. “Which reminds me, gonna try something else…” He trails off, and you lift your head curiously. What is he going to try next? 

A few long seconds go by, seconds during which he doesn’t speak or touch you at all, and you’re starting to get impatient. You shift your hips restlessly, but you don’t say anything; if you demand to know what he’s doing or tell him to hurry up, he’ll say you’re being cheeky again and he’ll punish you. And as much as you love the pleasurable pain of his spanking, you know it’ll only delay the moment when he gives you the unmitigated pleasure of his tongue or his cock. 

You wait impatiently, biting the inside of your cheek so as not to speak. Then you feel the shifting of the mattress behind you as Geralt’s weight sinks onto the bed.

He rests his palm on your bottom. “Let me know right away if you don’t like this,” he says softly, and he draws his tongue between your legs in a slow stroke.

His tongue is cold. The thought slams into your brain with the same stunning impact as the chilliness of his tongue itself, and you cry out in surprise and — and yes, with pleasure. His tongue isn’t ice-cold but cool, and the novelty of the sensation is stunning and good. He must have been melting an ice cube in his mouth while he made you wait, and if this is the reason he made you wait…  

He lifts his mouth. “Thoughts? Stop or keep going?”

“Keep going!” you gasp. “It’s good, it’s — please, can you lick me more?”

He huffs. “Polite request like that? No problem.” He draws his tongue between your legs again, stroking your hot and swollen folds with his cool tongue and making your flesh feel even hotter and more swollen, but in the most wonderful way. He pauses for a second, then lightly presses the tip of his tongue to your clit, and the chill of his tongue against the exquisitely-sensitive little spot sends a lightning-shock of pleasure from your pussy straight up to the roots of your hair.

You clench your fists and let out a gasping little sob of need. Then Geralt lifts his mouth from your pussy and gently pats your butt. “Roll over for me again,” he says, and he slides off of the bed. “On your back.”

His voice, that calm and commanding voice: it’s gentle and soft despite the perpetual growl that you love so much, and you’re powerless to resist the command. You fall onto your side, then shift carefully onto your back, gasping for breath all the while, and as soon as you’re on your back, you start to beg. “Geralt, please, can you — can you lick me some more? Please?”

“I will,” he assures you. “Wanna try something else first.” He places one hand on your belly as though to brace you, and a moment later, you feel another shock of ice-cold on your breast.

You jolt, then gasp and arch your spine. Geralt is smoothing a chip of ice around your nipple, skimming the wet and icy surface around the sensitive peak of your breast, and — fuck, you had no idea that it could feel good to have ice on your skin, but it does. It’s like the ice is shocking your skin to life, bringing your nerves to attention and making your nipples practically vibrate with the need to be touched, and it’s fantastic. The near-pain stimulation of the ice is bringing you closer to near-pleasure before Geralt has so much as skimmed your nipple with his thumb, and you lie on the bed gasping and whimpering, arching your spine as though to beg for more, wanting him to supplement the chill of the ice with the heat of his mouth — gods, the heat of his mouth: you need it, you may never have needed it so badly as you do right now—

The ice leaves your breast. A split second later, Geralt’s hot tongue is laving your nipple. 

A feral sound bursts from your throat. All he’s doing is licking your nipple, simply tracing around the tender and tingling peak before caressing your nipple with his tongue, but you’re so sensitized by the ice that he might as well be suckling you. You arch your spine to lift your chest toward his lips, loving his mouth on your breast and the way every stroke of his tongue is making your sex pulse with pleasure, and when he finally takes your nipple in his mouth to suckle the sensitive peak, you actually sob at how good it feels. 

“Geralt,” you whimper. You writhe on the bed and twist your hips, wishing you could sink your fingers into his milk-white hair, but your wrists are bound above your head, and you don’t dare defy him by lowering your arms, in case such defiance means he’ll deprive you of the pleasure of his mouth. 

Moments later, to your chagrin, he lifts his mouth from your breast, but you barely have time to even whimper in complaint; he’s tracing your other breast with a piece of ice, sliding the frozen little shard around your nipple until you’re mewling and begging him with fitful little breaths. Then he’s licking your nipple and suckling you while you wriggle your hips and spread your legs, begging him to lick you and fuck you, Geralt please, please will you fuck me please please please…

“Please,” you sob. “Geralt, please lick me? I need you, I need you so m-much…”

 He lifts his mouth from your breast. Without speaking, he skims his palm over your belly, then along the inside of your thigh, and you shamelessly widen your legs and thrust your hips toward his hand. “Please,” you mewl.

He sighs and smooths his hand over the flat of your belly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” you whimper. 

“Looking at you,” he says. “Watching you react like this… You’re something else.” You feel the warm brush of his fingers along the line of your jaw. “Always reacting to this like it’s the first time we’re doing it.” 

“You always make it feel as good as the first time,” you pant. “It’s fun.”

“Fun?” he says. “Supposed to be training your senses. Training’s not supposed to be fun.”

His stern tone makes you giddy, and you have to work hard not to smile. “That’s what I meant,” you say, quickly and innocently. “It’s training. I’m, um, making sure to train my senses by really feeling everything.” You smile coyly at him — as much as you can while blindfolded, at least. “You’re a very good teacher. You make me feel everything so strongly so I can really train my senses and all.”

He huffs in amusement. “Nice bullshitting.”

You laugh helplessly at this, and Geralt chuckles as well. “All right. Spread your legs for me.”

“They’re already spread,” you point out.

“Are you talking back?” he says, and he pinches your nipple.

A ripple of pleasure spans from your breast down to your sex. “Yes!” you gasp. 

“Yes?” he says sharply.

“I mean — I mean n-no, I’m — please!” you cry, as he pinches your nipple harder. “I m-meant yes to you pinching me, not yes to… I didn’t mean to talk back, I’m sorry, I promise!”

He grunts. “Gonna take you at your word this time. Open your legs for me.”

You open your legs wide, and you listen with rising excitement to the soft but telltale sounds of Geralt getting undressed. There’s a soft thunk as each of his boots hits the ground, then a rustle of fabric as he pushes down his trousers, and then the mattress is shifting again as he settles on the bed between your legs. 

He slides his palms along the insides of your legs, sliding his hands down toward the apex of your thighs, and you breathe shakily with anticipation. His fingers are drawing closer to your sex, closer to your pulsing center where you need his touch the most, and when his rough warm hands pause on the tender inner margins of your thighs, you can’t stop yourself from twisting your hips with want. “Geralt,” you beg. 

“Shh,” he croons. “Easy.” He presses his lips to your inner thigh. 

His mouth and tongue are cold, and the shock of it pulls a gasp from your throat. He treats your other thigh to a kiss, an ice-cooled kiss finished with a little lap of his tongue like he’s tasting the slickness there. Then he’s lapping at your folds with his tongue, and a shiver of pleasure arcs its way up your spine. His tongue is cool and smooth, not unlike the ice that he used to chill his tongue, and the coolness feels like it’s making your nerves stand at attention. 

He licks your clit with his usual tender care, you arch blissfully toward him. This feels so good, so novel and new, and you can’t help but marvel at the strangeness of it, even as you savour how sweet it feels. His tongue is tracing around your clit, massaging the swollen little bud with the same exquisite rhythm that he always employs to make you shatter apart, but the coolness of his tongue is different and strange — strange in a wonderful way that only serves to draw your focus straight to the feeling of his mouth between your legs. You can’t think about anything but his tongue, his tongue moving so coolly over your pussy as he caresses your clit, and in very little time indeed, you can feel your pleasure tightening and coiling in your core. 

You draw a shaky breath and grip your fingers convulsively in the pillows above your head. Geralt’s tongue is slowly warming up as he licks you, but the warmth is wonderful too — perhaps more wonderful than usual now that it’s in contrast with the cool. He’s kissing your pussy now, warm wet open-mouthed kisses as he licks up your wetness and massages the tingling pulse point of your clit, and your body is rising to meet him, your hips rolling toward his talented mouth in an eager grind as your climax roils to a head. You’re whimpering and gasping, fingers grasping the pillows and your hips rolling helplessly beneath his mouth, and his hands are firm on your inner thighs, his fingers tightening as your pleasure grows nearer and your whimpering sounds become more helpless and strained—

The climax bursts through your body in a shivery wave of heat, and a cry of ecstasy bursts from your lips. You shudder and spread your legs, and Geralt growls and slants his mouth over your pussy in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, and you mewl and arch toward him as the pleasure pulses through your body in powerful tremors that spread through your abdomen and down to your calves and the tips of your toes. 

“Yes,” you beg. “Gods, Geralt, y-yes…” 

He hums against your pussy and delicately trails his tongue around your clit, and it’s not until your climax has left you limp on the bed that he lifts his mouth from your sex. 

The mattress shifts between your legs, and you drag in a bracing breath. “Please,” you whimper. “Can you please fuck me now?”

“Definitely,” he breathes. He slides the blindfold off of your eyes, and finally, for the first time since this tryst began, you get to look at Geralt. 

Your body thrills with excitement. He’s as naked as you are, scarred and muscular and strong, and he’s smiling. His feline eyes are glittering with warmth, and he looks so beautiful that your heart feels like it’s swelling in your chest. 

You smile helplessly at him, and his crow’s feet crinkle with contentment. “Hey,” he says.

“Hello,” you reply, and you let out a breathless laugh. 

He leans over you and kisses your lips, and you savour the softness of his lips and the musky scent of your pleasure in his facial hair. Then he shifts onto the bed beside you. “Get on top of me,” he says. “One last part of your sensory training.” 

“There is?” you say in surprise. “What is it?

“You’ll see,” he says with a smirk. “Come on, climb onto my lap.” He pats his thigh, and your eyes obediently fall to his hand. But your gaze is drawn not to his thigh, but to the beautiful thick rise of his cock and the delicate vein that traces his length. 

You roll toward him, then straddle his hips with great enthusiasm and just a little awkwardness since your wrists are still bound, and Geralt helps you settle into place with his hands on your hips. “Okay, easy now,” he says, and he starts lowering you onto his cock.

You gasp and brace your palms on his abs. He always feels so wonderfully thick when you’re on top, like his cock is extra straight and hard as he fills you up inch by inch, and by the time you’re settled flush to his lap, your breath is escaping you in a fast and desperate series of whimpers. 

You thrust your hips, wanting to ride and grind against him in the way that always feels so damn good, but his fingers tighten on your hips in a firm grip. “Hey, slow down,” he warns. “This is the last bit of your training.”

“What is?” you gasp. 

He quirks a playful eyebrow, and you realize what he means — and you wilt a little bit. “Cockwarming?” you whine. “Do I have to?”

His eyebrows rise. “You’re complaining? Really?”

“I — it’s not fair,” you whimper. “I really want to fuck you.”

He narrows his eyes, then gives your butt a little spank. You yelp and instinctively dig your nails into his abs, and he grunts in pain before spanking you again. 

You burst out a moan, but Geralt is unaffected by your needy sounds. “You talking back means you really need this training,” he says. “Remind me what you’ve gotta do.” 

His voice is roughened with lust and discipline, and the sternness of his face is making your pussy thump with want. You draw a shaky breath and force yourself to stay still on his cock. “I can’t m-move until I make myself come,” you say.

“Mhm,” he says. “And after you come, then what’ll happen?”

“You’ll tell me when I can fuck you,” you whimper.

“That’s right,” Geralt says in a softer tone. “Now touch yourself like a good girl.”

Good girl. Yes, you have to be a good girl for him, you have to be good so he’ll let you fuck him hard… You lift your still-bound wrists and start stroking the borders of your sensitized clit, and almost immediately, you can feel your pleasure starting to rise. 

You drag in a breath and lift your eyes to the ceiling, forcing yourself to focus on the feeling of your clit rather than nearly-unbearable pleasure of his cock stretching you from the inside, and Geralt gently squeezes your thigh. “Good,” he murmurs. “You’re doing really good. Just focus on your fingers, and don’t think about my cock inside of you.”

Damn it, damn it, of course his words make you think about his cock — and you know this is exactly what he meant for his words to do. You want to scold him, to berate him for being mean and for trying to make you be bad so he has to spank you again, but you refuse to rise to the bait. Instead, you keep your eyes on the ceiling and you keep carefully stroking your clit, sliding your fingers up and down along the edges of the little bud to tempt your own pleasure forth.

Beneath you, Geralt chuckles. “Not falling to cheap tricks, huh? Good girl.”

You burst out a helpless little laugh, then burst out an equally-helpless moan as the laughter forces your body to clench around his cock. He groans and squeezes your thigh, and the sound of his pleasure… gods, that beautiful husky sound that proves he’s enjoying this as much as you… 

The pleasure coils and rises in your core, and you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut as you stroke yourself a little faster. Then Geralt speaks in that voice. “That’s it. Make yourself come all over my cock like a good girl. But you’ve gotta do something for me before you come.”

You force yourself to breathe. “What is it?” you gasp. “What should I do?”

“Look at me before you come,” he says.

A pang of adoration squeezes your heart, and you open your eyes. He’s watching you steadily, his gaze both torrid and tender as he studies your face, and your heart flutters at the obvious affection in his eyes. 

He squeezes your thigh again. “C’mon now, focus. Want you to come hard on my cock.”

Gods, his base words in his beautiful growly voice… you nod eagerly and close your eyes once more, and your breath catches in your throat as you coax yourself steadily toward your peak. Your fingers are moving quickly but lightly between your legs, stroking your swollen little clit with just enough pressure to feel good without feeling too much, and you can feel your climax swelling too, swelling and tensing in your depths around the thickness of Geralt’s cock — gods, Geralt’s cock, the way it feels inside of you, the way it’s making your pleasure feel like it’s growing closer and closer, gods, you’re so close… 

You gasp in a breath and wrench open your eyes, and you meet Geralt’s serious and steady gaze. “Geralt, I-I — aah!” Your words melt into a wordless cry, and then you’re shuddering and whimpering and fuck your whole body is clenching around his cock, you need his cock, you need him to fuck you right now— 

“Please!” you wail. “Please, Geralt, please—”

He grips your thigh. “Fuck me,” he commands.

You don’t even hesitate. You plant your palms on his abs and start fucking him hard and fast, rising and falling on his length in an inelegant and desperate way, but you don’t even care how inelegant you are. You need him, his cock stroking your throbbing feminine depths and driving your pleasure to incredible heights with every thrust, and Geralt’s handsome face is twisting with passion, his teeth bared and his fingers biting into your hips — gods, please, this feels so good…

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, don’t stop…”

His words sound more like a plea than a command, but you obey him all the same. He looks so handsome when he’s nearing his peak, his brow furrowed with focus and his jaw clenching with impending pleasure, and you can’t help but stare at him as you rise and fall on his length. He’s so beautiful, this beautiful witcher who touches you so tenderly and licks you with such care, whose cock fills your body so thoroughly and whose warm and affectionate eyes make your heart feel just as full, and you watch him avidly as you ride his cock. He’s growing harder inside of you now, growing harder and thicker as his climax nears its peak, and you watch him with breathless excitement as his lips fall open on a gasp—

“Yes,” he grunts. “Ah, f-fuck yes, don’t stop, mm...” He plants his feet on the bed and thrusts into you hard, and you cry out at the perfect force of his thrust. He’s shuddering beneath you, his breath leaving him in strained little groans, and you brace your palms on his chest and grind yourself onto his lap as he comes. 

He finally lets out a heavy exhale, then releases your hips and rests his hand over yours. “Slow, now,” he pants. “Slow down. Got me all wrung out.” 

He’s smiling at you again, the warm and lazy smile of a very satisfied man, and you laugh softly as you slow to a stop on his lap. You give him a coy look. “Did I do my training well?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Couple hiccups there where you just had to be bad—”

You laugh again, and a flash of a grin crosses his face as he goes on. “...but you did a good job overall.” He tucks one arm behind his head and strokes your forearm in an idle caress, and as always, the casual affection in his touch makes your chest feel full and warm.

You bat your eyes at him. “Thank you for teaching me, master witcher.”

“Anytime,” he says with a smirk. “C’mere and lie beside me.”

“All right,” you say happily. “Can you untie my wrists, please?”

“Mm, right,” he says. “Sorry about that.” He carefully unties the silk scarf from around your wrists, then adjusts the gold bangle on your wrist before brushing his thumb over your slightly-reddened skin. 

He lifts his gaze to your face, and his brow is creased in a slight frown. “You okay?” he says. “Want some ice for this? Got some left in this bowl. Mostly melted, but…”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “The redness will go away soon.” You settle on the bed beside him, then watch contentedly as he takes a clean cloth from the bedside drawer. 

He dips the cloth in the bowl of mostly-melted ice, then rolls over to face you. There’s a mischievous quirk at the corners of his lips, and you give him a suspicious look. “What are you doing with that?” you ask.

“Cleaning you up,” he says. “Open your legs.”

“Cleaning me—? But that cloth is cold — Geralt!” You yelp as he runs the cold damp cloth along your inner thigh.

“C’mon, let me clean you up,” he says, and he wipes at your other thigh. 

A rash of goosebumps rises on your thighs and arms, and you burst out laughing. “Geralt! It’s too cold! It’s — mm…” You gasp fitfully as he presses the fabric against your pussy. It’s cold, but the shock of cold doesn’t feel bad, it feels… soothing and nice, somehow, to have something damp and cool against your still-tingling sex. How utterly strange is that?

“Mm,” he grumbles. “Not so bad, is it?”

You exhale shakily, then smack his wrist. “You’re a horrible mean teacher,” you scold. 

“And you’ve got a willful streak for an apprentice,” he retorts. “Need to work on that discipline.”

You break into laughter, and he shoots you a grin before dropping the cloth in the bowl. He lays back on the pillows and holds out his arm for you to come close, and you happily curl up against his side.

For a peaceful time, you lie in bed with Geralt and enjoy the salty-sweet scent of his skin while he trails his fingers along your back in an idle caress. Then he speaks in a lazy voice. “We need anything else from Beauclair before we set out tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “The alchemy kit is stocked and I’ve got jars of rarer herbs dried and ready to go, we’ve made trail mix and jerky and dried fruit… I want to make a jar of fresh bloodmoss ointment for any wounds you might get along the way, but other than that, I think we’re all set.”

“Good idea with the bloodmoss,” he says. “You got your daggers sharpened?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “My mini-crossbow is ready, we have a stock of silver-tipped bolts…”

“Good,” he says. “Still hoping you won’t need to use any bolts, though.”

“I know,” you say gently. “And I’ll be keeping my distance during any contracts that you take, I promise. But it’s better to be stocked up just in case.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Better be safe than sorry.” He turns his head to look at you, and you’re surprised to find him looking very serious. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“Thought of something else important that you should bring,” he says.

“What?” you say with growing alarm. “What is it? I’ll pack it right away.” 

“Your trousers,” he says.

You blink at him. “My — my trousers?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Your riding trousers. Real important that you wear them during the journey instead of skirts.” 

You peer at him shrewdly, and then you see it: a hint of mischief at the corners of his lips. 

You scoff and poke his ribs. “Riding trousers, indeed. You just want me to wear those trousers because you like the way they look!”

“So?” he says. 

You tsk playfully at him. “You had me thinking you were talking about something important.”

“This is important,” he says. “Real important for my morale. If we get caught out in the rain or someone cons me out of my fee, I’ll check out your butt in those trousers and I’ll feel better.” 

“I see,” you say with a grin. “Is there anything else I should be packing for your morale? Some of my lacy underthings, maybe?” 

A slow smile lights his face. “Wouldn’t say no to your lacy underthings. Might buy you some new ones when we get to Novigrad if you’re a real good girl.”

You’re tickled by the idea of Geralt picking out lingerie for you, but you force yourself to give him a stern look. “Bribery, hm? Is that how witchers teach their apprentices?” You playfully poke his side.

He grabs your hand. “Yup. It’s a tried and true technique. C’mere.” He pulls you closer until you’re lounging on top of his chest, and you admire his lazy-lidded eyes and the warm little smile curling the corners of his lips. 

He runs his palm along your arm in a slow caress. “Looking forward to this trip,” he says softly. “Been a while since I travelled with anyone.” 

“Me too,” you agree. “The last time I travelled with anyone was when I came here with Dandelion and Zoltan.” 

“Mm,” he murmurs. “Just about two years ago, that.” 

You smile bashfully at him. It has indeed been two years since you’ve been living with Geralt, two wonderful and peaceful years punctuated by visits from various friends and the occasional small contract when Geralt was in the mood, and the coincidence of this anniversary with your upcoming trip hasn’t escaped your notice. 

His next words are a lovely match for your thoughts. “Good timing to take a trip together.” 

“Yes, it is,” you say shyly.

His smile broadens, and he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “C’mere and kiss me,” he murmurs. 

You give him a coy look. “Is that a command?” 

“Sure is,” he says. “Better obey it if you know what’s good for you.” 

You laugh, then shift higher on his body. “You’re a very bossy witcher,” you tell him. 

“And you’re my good girl,” he replies.

You beam helplessly at him, then cradle his bearded cheek in your palm and place a kiss on his lips, just as he asked. He squeezes your arm, then slides his palm up to cradle your neck as he slowly deepens the kiss, and you sink happily into the heated sweetness of his tongue. 

You and Geralt lounge naked in bed for some time, kissing and talking softly about your upcoming trip, and the more you talk about it, the more excited you feel: there’s so much about this trip to look forward to, after all. This will be your first time travelling with Geralt, and the first time you’ll really be spending the entirety of your days together as you guide your mounts through the pass of Mount Gorgon and all the way to Novigrad. This journey will also entail your first time getting involved in a witcher’s contracts — on purpose, that is — and you’re looking forward to learning what it’s like to work with Geralt as a team. You know the two-week journey will be long and that it carries the perpetual risks of any lengthy trip, but despite the duration and the possible dangers along the way, you can’t wait to be on the road. 

You’re ready for an adventure, for an exciting and interesting journey with Geralt by your side, and for the first time that you can really remember, you’re truly excited to be on the road once more.

#geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher 3 #geralt/reader #geralt x reader #geralt/you #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #what you'd do for the one you love #pikapeppa writes

[soulwillower]

stealing the show • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)

requested:  yeah! can bill get jealous because like a guy is flirting with the reader but he tries to act non-chalant about it but like she knows so she just freaking teases him about if by flirting right back until he snaps    +    baseball!bill smut?? girlfriend!reader goes to see bills baseball game and maybe one of his teammates flirt w/her and he gets all jealous and possessive?? and they do it in his car and she discovers his praise kink?

warnings: swearing, smut, unprotected sex, praise kink, jealous bill, baseball bill, car sex, unedited!

thank u @nate-isnt-great for requesting AND helping me w it ily 

[losers + reader are in college, 20+.]

3k words

♡

it's hot out.

the blistering sun seems to boil the air down near the pitch as you sit on the bleachers, leaning forward slightly as you try not to let the scorching metal burn the bare skin of your thighs. the weather was fine enough that you were able to slip on a little sundress; any other article of clothing would have just been too much to wear in the heat. 

but, honestly, you'd still come down to the university ball fields in rain or shine as long as you got to see bill. 

he's out there right now, standing in the dirt; tall and smirking, whispering something to the third baseman as another strike is called by the umpire. the game is a blowout, there's no doubt that your team will win with a lead of 12-7 in the last inning, so you're happy as you sip on your lemonade and watch your boyfriend finish out the inning at shortstop. 

it's only ten more minutes until the teams are shaking hands, bill and his teammates jumping on each other and messing around, bringing a smile to your lips as you finally stand and relieve yourself of the burn of the hot bleachers. 

as you usually do, you're leaning against the chain link fence next to the dugout for bill to come out before he meets with the other team captain and the coach to do a quick recap before leaving for the day. 

he's sweaty and laughing as you traipse up to him, hands falling on his chest as you press a kiss sweetly to his lips. "y/n, thanks for coming." he whispers into your hair as you wrap your arms around his neck. he's still holding his bat bag in one arm so you pull back, shrugging, "you know i'd never miss it for the world." 

he beams at that, cheeks warm, eyes squinting in the sun. “you look beautiful. you’re stealing the show, as usual.” he says with a smile. it makes you beam, butterflies fluttering in your chest. 

“you’re joking, bill!” you say, swatting his chest as he pulls you into his side. “you’re the star of this team, you know it.” 

shrugging he gestures out to the expanse of left field, "d'you see that hit i had? it w-was almost over." he grimaces, shaking his head in disappointment. you nearly laugh, fingers toying with the hair on the nape of his neck as you admire his features. "bill, it was a triple, and an rbi. you're ridiculous." 

he sighs, "i just want to impress my baby." he teases, laughing slightly. you laugh too, kissing him again, this time his hand falling low on your back, fingers grazing the top of your ass. 

you pull back when the wolf whistles are interrupted by the head coach calling bill's last name, and you wipe your lips with a grin as he shakes his head, dropping his things and turning to return to the field. you giggle as he leaves, and you lean back against the fence as you begin to wait for him, intending on driving home to his dorm with him. 

"y/n!" calls a name from the dugout, and you crane your neck, hoping the voice calling you was bill's best friend on the team, stan. 

instead you walk over to find oliver, the right fielder, and you smile. "hey, oliver, good job today." you say, walking towards him and sipping on the drink in your hand. he shrugs, "thanks, it wasn't anything too special." he says, bashful smile on his lips. "guess our team just has a lucky charm." he says, brow raising suggestively.

 it makes you chuckle, quickly registering that the rest of the team, including stan and bill, are doing after-game maintenance, and oliver's sporting the same ice wrap that stan has on his shoulder. “you guys don’t need a lucky charm.” you counter. 

you tilt your head, "forgive me, don't pitchers and catchers usually get the ice wraps?" you ask genuinely. he laughs, shaking his head, "you're cute. yeah, you're right, that's why bill has one usually. he started pitching today and stan finished, so they both get priority but the athletic trainer gave me one, thinks i hurt my elbow tendon trying to pick the guy off at third." 

you let out a soft, "oh," before your eyes flicker to bill and stan. "makes sense. i hope your elbow is okay." 

but you're momentarily distracted, because bill's untucked his jersey and lifted the bottom of it to wipe his face, exposing his toned abdomen and smooth skin and you feel hot, hotter than before. 

you bite your lip, mind suddenly trying to recall if you had a condom in your bag today or not. you snap out of it quick as oliver hums, bringing you back to the present. 

"i'm sure it'd feel better with a little kiss." he says with a smirk. you laugh lightly, annoyed with his flirting but deciding you can use this to your advantage. looking back to bill, who's finished with his field work and is starting to make his way toward you, you hum. "i don't know, stan seems like he'd be willing to give you a kiss. for the sake of the team, of course.” you joke. 

"cute and funny. what don't you have goin' for you?" he asks, and you're sure you look as shocked as you feel. though you're shocked at the bold audacity oliver has to try and flirt with you, it must come across as being flushed or flustered by his compliment. 

"oh, please, you probably say that to all the girls who come across this dugout."  "only the hot ones. honest." oliver says with a smirk, drawing an 'x' over his heart with his bat-gloved finger. 

you roll your eyes with a grin, speaking loud enough for bill to hear, just to be a tease, "well, color me flattered. you're quite the smooth talker." 

bill's messing with his keys as he starts to zip up his bag down on the other side of the dugout. he barely bats an eye, huffing as a way to acknowledge that he heard your flirts, but he's never the one to be obviously jealous in front of people. 

"no, i'm not. you're just easy to talk to, y/n. it's nice of you to come to our games all the time. bill, maybe you should watch out, your girl is stealing your show." 

bill chuckles, looking non-chalant. "she steals the show no matter where she goes." his jaw is clenched though, and you see through his façade. your stomach coils in affection for him, and you decide to tease him a little bit. 

you smile, laying your hand lightly on oliver’s arm in a friendly way. "well, i have to come down here to check out all the hot talent." you say with a wink. bill's walking up to you by now, bat bag hanging off one shoulder, eyes narrowed. you bite your lip, looking at his face, how attractive he is...

"what, like you can't just look in the mirror?" oliver grins. you roll your eyes, "you're quite a flirt." you say gently, smile on your face. bill looks pissed as he gently wraps his arm around your shoulders. he smells like he just put on fresh deoderant and oliver looks to him. 

"sheesh, denbrough, your girl is bad.” he then turns to you, “y/n, you gotta let me take you out sometime, show you what you're missing." 

you laugh, shaking your head, "you're ridiculous." you mutter, hand sliding into bill's as he brushes past. "oliver. she's not going out with you." he says coldly. you're pulled after him, biting your lip as you follow him out of the dugout. 

"aw, c'mon, denbrough, i was just kiddin'!" he calls after you as you follow bill towards his car. "bye, y/n!" he calls, and just as the cherry on top, you turn and wave to oliver as you and bill walk away. 

you're laughing as you follow him, but bill's face shows no emotion, and you bite your lip. you hope he knows it was just fun and games - he's done the same to you before, after all. it's fun to tease each other. 

"bill," you insist as he tugs you towards his car. "-we don't need to talk about it." he says, brows drawn. you lift one of your own, "then why do i feel like i'm about to be shut out? he was just joking around. if i was uncomfortable i would have told him to fuck off." you say. 

but then you're being pressed against the side of the car, bill's chest flush against yours. "i'm not gonna shut you out." he mutters, eyes stuck on your lips before he tugs your neck toward his, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. he pulls back just as you thread your fingers through his hair, "-but you need to stop being such a t-tease." he adds. 

shivers run down your spine as bill's fingers find your warm skin, right below the hem of your dress before he tugs up your leg, kissing you again. breath leaves your body as you surge up against his strong kiss, his hand squeezing the back of your thigh and trailing up towards your ass. 

you tug it down lightly, pulling away. "bill, people will see." you mutter with a shy grin. he looks at you, "what, now you care?" he asks, and you flush more, biting your lip. he steps away from you and opens the door to the backseat, smirking. "after you, then." 

a slap falls to your ass as you crawl into the backseat and you smile, turning just as he moves between your legs, lips catching yours heatedly. "you're mine." he mutters against your lips, already rutting his hips against yours and making you mewl lightly. 

"i know," you say, tugging his hair. “you want to do this right now? even though we could get caught?” you say breathlessly, hands tangled in his hair. "how else is oliver going to remember that you're mine?” he says, staring at your lips. your stomach drops a bit, butterflies fluttering and making you shiver. even after dating bill for a while, he still makes you flush. 

“then let’s go, denbrough.” you say, pulling him down by the neck in desperation. he smirks into the kiss, kissing you so deeply you see stars. his hands hike up your dress around your hips, hands caressing your inner thighs. 

“you think it’d be hot if i fuck you in his car, huh?” he whispers quietly in your ear. your eyes roll back as his fingers rub tight, teasing circles over your core, a fire slowly being lit. you only whimper a bit, biting your lip. “y-yes.” you gasp then, as he slips a finger into you.

he still watches you intently, curling his finger slightly and making you whimper as you try to spit out your words. it makes you turn bright red. your throat gets dry. “p-please.” you say, cheeks feeling hot with need. the windows are starting to fog up in the car as he slowly slides the underwear down from your legs, kissing the skin as he goes. you’re breathing shakily and then he’s bringing his eyes up to you before lifting up the skirt of your dress and disappearing from your sight. 

you gasp in pleasure as you feel bill’s tongue dart out and lick a bold, flat stripe up your heat. “fuck,” you whisper, your hands moving from gripping the seat you’ve laid on to pulling up your dress, lacing your fingers through bill's auburn locks. 

but then, he presses a kiss to your clit and leans back, smirking at you as you stare at him. "wh-" 

"you weren't good enough for a reward. flirting with my teammates." he says, jaw clenching. "did you think that was cute?" 

you moan as he starts to tease your clit with his finger, agonizingly slowly. "did you?" he asks again. the car is hot, almost as hot as it is outside, and his skin is warm and just as slicked with sweat as yours. you bite your lip, moving your hips to try and feel some relief for the arousal seeping through you. 

"jus wanted you, bill. i'm sorry." you mutter, feeling flushed and desperate. he hums, shaking his head. "you're mine." he states, and you nod, suppressing a moan as one of his fingers dips into you just to pull back out. "how can i prove it to you?" you ask, lifting a brow and biting your lip, eyes falling to his hard-on. he shakes his head, though, hand falling to lay you against the seat fully. 

"no. i want to be inside of you." he mutters, kissing your lips, leaving you feeling feverish. "now." 

and then you're both fumbling, desperately palming him and undoing his belt, pulling him out of his pants, and then bill pushing you back to lay again. "you'll be good for me." he says, and it's not a question. his jaw is clenched, eyes bright with lust and hair mussed from where your fingers had found purchase not seconds ago. 

“yes, bill. please, please.” you mutter, cheeks red. you hear him chuckle and you open your eyes as he starts to push into you, his cock stretching you out.  "fuck!“ you hiss in pleasure, hands grasping his shoulder as he bottoms out.

he starts to move after only a mere second, hitting the perfect angle that makes you groan his name into his shoulder as his snaps snap against yours. your back rubs agaisnt the hot leather of the seat, your face being hit by the boiling sun through the window, but you don't care because it feels so good. he moans into your lips, catching you in a heated kiss as he thrusts into you. "bill, fuck, you feel so good.” you gasp out, whimpering as he pushes your dress up further, fingers tweaking your nipple. 

he groans,  watching as your body moves with the rocking of his hips, licking his lips. “baby.” he mutters, hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounds into you. “you’re mine.”

you nod as he hits a new angle inside you and you know you’re very close again. “yes, i’m yours, bill.” you mumble, blissed out as he rolls his hips hard against yours.

his head dips down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue swiping over the bud and making you gasp as he palms the other one. he moves his hips and you roll your eyes back slightly as you shut them. “bill, i’m close.” you whimper. he chuckles, “already?” you can only nod desperately, clawing at his shoulders to stabilize yourself as he fucks you into the backseat, every movement bringing you steadily to the brink. 

you squeeze his hair lightly as you whimper, the feeling euphoric as your toes curl. his name falls from your lips every few seconds as he thrusts into you, hitting deeply, the coil in your stomach about to release. “bill, please, i’m gonna cum.” you mutter, eyes closed and chest rising and falling.

"good." he says, spitting on your clit, thumb following to rub it, making you arch your back, clenching around him tight as you near your high. 

“how’s that feel?” he mutters, and you feel like you’re on fire. “fuck- bill, so good. feels s'good.” you mutter. he hums, cheeks red as he moans, and you grin - you can tell he likes hearing how good he makes you feel. 

"could oliver make you feel like this?" he mutters, and you feel yourself flush, because he's never been so jealous in bed before. it adds to your arousal and you moan out, "no, only you, bill." 

he bites down on your neck, hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, pinning down your shoulder as he leans back, changing the angle and making you moan even louder. 

“bill, please, it feels so good, don't stop,” you start to beg, arm coming to wrap around his neck as you shake. following your pull, he falls on top of you again, humming against your chest and you moan loudly - loud enough that if someone were passing by the car they’d certainly know - and clench around him. “c'mon, y/n," he whispers, eyes glinting with pride. “cum for me.”

you’re shaking and moaning his name as you finally hit your high. your breathing stutters as he starts to thrust slower, milking you through your orgasm, one hand on the seat near your head and other hand soothing your hair. your eyes are pressed shut as you clench through your high. “fuck, bill.” you whimper. he's kissing you. "so pretty, and all mine." he mutters against your lips. 

"i'm yours, bill," you moan into his ear, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. "you feel so good." 

and then he's cumming, too, moaning as he spills into you, both of your hearts slamming against the others, chests pressed together. he pulls you in for another kiss and you sigh into it, feeling full and fucked out. "i love you." he says against your lips, and you smile. "i love you, too." 

"i need a shower." is all bill says as he pulls out of you, a laugh escaping his lips. you giggle, sitting up, legs feeling like jelly as bill opens the door, exiting the car and then pulling you out, too - just to find oliver and their other teammate, jason, walking towards their cars a few feet away.

 you stare at them, wide-eyed, trying to smooth down your hair, and you realize that bill's still trying to re-do his belt on his uniform. they stare back and oliver clears his throat, clearly shocked and definitely aware of what you and bill had just done. you grin as bill mutters, "see you later, man." and his face has a wide smirk, the other two boys looking shocked. 

you're embarrassed, but as bill pulls you into his side and kisses your forehead with a shit-eating smirk, you decide you don't really care. "let's go take that shower, hm?" you mumble, kissing him softly before sliding into the passenger seat. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings  @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @chl0bee  @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters  @nate-isnt-great  @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie  @decafcoffeew @etaerealboy

#bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough smut #losers x reader #losers club x reader

[morelikedoccock]

If You Play With Fire (or Electricity) pt. 11

Summary: You've been badly burned before, so when you encounter a man who has clearly had some sort of freak accident that left him with burns even worse than yours had been, you feel compelled to offer him help, even at the cost of your safety (and maybe also your heart).

Doc Ock x gender neutral reader

Rating: M

Tags: reader with past, gender neutral reader, Canon-Typical Violence, Burns, Scars, Choking, but not sexually, caring for burns, someone's gotta notice those, First Aid, Medical Procedures, Injury, Blood, Blood and Injury, Caring for cuts, Unconsciousness, Dreams, Feelings, oooh someone’s catching feelings, reader gets injured, Nudity, Angst, Definitely more feelings, Fluff, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Near Death Experiences, Crying, Prophetic Dreams

Inspired by this post

Link to Ao3

pt. 1  pt. 2  pt. 3  pt. 4  pt. 5  pt. 6  pt. 7  pt. 8  pt. 9  pt. 10  pt. 12  pt. 13

~~~

Chapter 11.

      Oh, how you glow from the inside out. Otto had kissed you. Several times. You had straddled his lap while he’d pressed his lips hungrily to yours. It was like a dream, but you know it had been real. Blissfully, amazingly real.

      You float through the next two days on cloud nine, so happy that even the depressingly wet and stormy weather doesn’t bother you. Since it’s the weekend, you take advantage of the free time to stock up your fridge, clean your apartment, and do laundry. And sleep. And when you sleep, you dream of Otto. Yes, you dream of kissing him a few times, but you also dream of those sweet, simple, domestic moments you crave. Sitting on the couch together, cuddled close, a movie playing in the background. Eating breakfast together at your kitchen table. Swaying in his arms to the sound of a soft, slow waltz. 

      It isn’t until Sunday afternoon that you realize that Otto had somehow managed to forget his coat with you when he had last been there. It sat, looking rather lonely and forgotten, on your couch. You wonder how on earth you hadn’t noticed it before.

      The leather is silky against your fingers as you pick up the jacket, and after a breath’s hesitation, you sling it around your shoulders. The scent of it envelops you in an embrace of smoke, metal, bergamot, and the smell of Otto himself. You take a deep breath, snuggling into the garment for a long, luxurious moment, then you slide it off and fold it carefully, almost embarrassed. What would he think if he saw you like this? Grinning, your cheeks hot, you walk to your bedroom and drape the coat over the foot of your bed. He’ll probably be back for it at some point. Hopefully soon.

      A few more days pass. The glow begins to subside a little, until it’s more of a candle flame inside your chest than a sun bursting from inside your skin, but it’s still so warm.

      Before you know it a whole week has gone by. Otto still hasn’t returned for his coat, which you now stroke absently every time you pass it, simply enjoying the feel of it under your fingertips. 

      You have too much time to think during the weekend, and a nagging doubt begins to drag at you. Where is he? When would he be coming back? Would he come back?

      You go straight to bed Sunday night, not interested in staying awake late due to the headache you’ve managed to acquire. Despite your determination to go to bed early, you lie away long after you’ve turned off the lights. Otto floats in front of your mind’s eye. He really has become everything to you, you realize. The idea of him not returning, it’s… it's unfathomable. 

      The fear you might lose him? You squeeze your eyes shut and do your best to stifle the thought, then you roll over and bury yourself in the blankets.

      Your feet are cold, ice cold. You look down, confused, to see that they are bare and planted on a slippery plank of wood. It’s one plank among many, you notice, many that stretch far into the dark distance. You’re standing on a never ending dock. The sky above you is empty of stars, and darker than you’ve ever seen it, a wide expanse of void. The sounds of water lapping against wooden posts is the only thing you can hear. It fills your ears, your head, until you can’t take it anymore. You begin to walk.

      And then he’s there, like he always seems to be, but this time he’s facing away from you, his shoulders hunched, defeat and exhaustion in every line of his body.

      Otto, you call. Otto, what’s wrong? Look at me! 

      He doesn’t move. You try to walk toward him, but suddenly it’s like moving through liquid. Your limbs protest, your heart pounding frantically in your chest. 

      Suddenly, Otto stirs. His coat sways, his hair ripples as if caught by a breeze. His arms lift from his sides, and his heels leave the ground. You’re unsure for a moment, wondering why he seems to be standing on the tips of his toes, then his boots lift away from the dark planks. He floats, as if suspended in water, a sinister marionette hanging dark against the darker sky. You scream his name, your throat burning with panic, then the world turns upside down.

      There’s water on your face when you bolt upright in bed, twin streaks of cold running down your cheeks, and it sends a jagged streak of terror through your chest. Lifting a hand to your face, you discover that the liquid is just tears.

      The bed beside you suddenly sinks under an unannounced weight. You jump, your heart stuttering wildly.

      “Are you alright?” a soft voice asks. 

      “Otto,” you breathe, warmth and relief pouring through you. Unable to help yourself, you reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. A moment later, your breath freezes in your chest. He’s… wet. You yank back, recoiling against your headboard.

      “Why—” you gasp, fear gripping your throat, strangling your breath, “What happened to you?”

      A hand touches your naked shoulder, a chilled, bare human hand. The shock of it startles you out of your rising panic. You’re so used to feeling his touch through leather gloves that his skin feels… strange. You suck in a deep breath, then slowly grip the hand, raising it to your cheek. After another breath, you press a kiss to his palm, just as you have been longing to do for some time.

      “See? I promise everything is okay. It’s just raining outside, quite heavily, in fact.”

      The sound of his voice soothes you even more. Able to breathe freely again, you reach for him again, this time sliding your hands underneath the lapels of his jacket, hugging him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist, and he rocks back, holding you against his chest.

      “You were calling for me in your sleep,” he murmurs in your ear. “And it’s not the first time you’ve done so.” 

      It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but when they do, heat blooms in your cheeks.

      “I was having a nightmare,” you say. You squeeze him once, then reluctantly draw back and wipe your face. “Sorry.”

      “No need to apologize, my dear.”

      Now that your half-asleep grogginess is clearing a bit, you notice that something about him is just a little off. You can’t quite place it; there’s a tightness in his voice, a rigidness in the line of his silhouette. 

      Your hands find his cheeks, feeling the chill damp of his skin, hating it with every fiber of your being. He should be warm, lively beneath your touch; this cold is wrong. Leaning forward, you clumsily kiss one cheek, then the other, struggling to not crash noses with him in the pitch black.

      “Why are you here, Otto?” you whisper, still determinedly kissing his face in an attempt to bring warmth to his skin. “I can tell you’ve got something on your mind.”

      He sighs, and the gust of his breath ruffles the hair on your forehead.

      “I can’t stay for long,” he finally says, grasping your hands in his, and a thrill runs through you at the touch of his bare fingers. “I’m at a key point in my… in my work. I have something I need to do tonight, something crucial to my success, but I…” 

      You hear him swallow, apparently searching for the right words. In your periphery, an actuator slowly opens and closes, it’s light flickering from red to pink to white, then back to pink.

      “I wanted to see you,” he rasps. “Just for a minute. I also wanted to grab my coat. And I... I brought you something, but don’t worry about it tonight. It’ll be on the kitchen table for you tomorrow morning.”

      This news barely filters into your mind. You’re too focused on the fact that he said he had wanted to see you to pay too much attention to the rest of his words. 

      “Can I kiss you, Otto?” you ask breathlessly, leaning forward. 

      “Please.”

      And when you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your mouth to his, it feels like home. His lips move against yours, welcoming you, wanting you, and you open to him, drunk on the feel of his body pressed against you. 

      Before you realize it, you’re lying down on your side, cradled in his arms. He kisses you with a fierceness that takes your breath away, his arms tight around you, as if he’s afraid to let go. Emotions boil through you. It’s a vicious cocktail of desire and love and undiluted, irrational fear. A soft whimper escapes your throat, a quiet, desperately anguished sound you’ve been trying to suppress. Otto stiffens at the noise and pulls away, his breath ragged, his eyes flashing in the dark. 

      “Am I hurting you?” he asks, concern clear in every syllable. You shake your head, but it’s too late. A sob rises in your throat, and you can’t hold it back. Warmth gathers in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You bury your face in his shoulder.

      “Th-the nightmare,” you manage between gasps. “I’m scared— I’m scared of losing you. I can feel it, I don’t— I don’t understand it, but I’m just…”

      Otto pulls you to him once more, gathering you against his chest, pressing his face into your hair.

      “Let it out, my dear. It’ll be alright.”

      And so you do let it out, no longer holding back the sobs that now wrack your body in waves. Otto rubs your back, murmuring reassurances in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. After a few minutes, your sobs begin to calm, and the tears trickle to a stop. In that post-cry mental clarity, you belatedly remember that you’re not wearing a top, and your naked torso and chest are pressed unabashedly to his.

      “Oh, lord, I’m sorry,” you mumble, trying to extricate yourself from his embrace, “I totally forgot to put on a shirt again—”

      His arms tighten, gently preventing your feeble efforts to pull back.

      “It’s alright, I promise,” he says, and there’s a hint of laughter in his voice. “I can’t see anything anyway.”

      This makes you giggle. It’s true, it’s so dark you can hardly even see his outline. The only light in the room is shed by the two pink dots above you.

      Though you’d give anything to keep him in your arms for the rest of the night, you lean back from him and stroke his cheek.

      “Didn’t you say you have to go?” you ask, your voice sounding distinctly watery. “Don’t let me waylay you for too long.”

      “I can stay for one more minute.”

      And this time he leans forward, capturing your lips with his. This time the kiss is soft, gentle, with only a hint of desperation. But this time here’s something sad in it too, as if it’s a sort of goodbye.

      When he pulls away, you feel part of yourself break off with him. 

      “I do have to go now,” he says, getting to his feet. “Take care of yourself, and sleep well.” 

      He bends down for one final kiss.

      “Goodnight,” you whisper, cupping his cheek in your scarred hand. “And— and stay safe, Otto. Please.”

      He takes your hand in his, presses his lips to the scars between your fingers, and then he disappears through the window with a rustle of leather and the click of metal on metal. 

      If it hadn’t been for the throbbing of your lips, and the fierce ache in your chest, you would have believed that he had been just another dream.

#doc ock #x reader #doc ock x reader #my fic #nightmares #cerbin writes #if you play with fire (or electricity)

[yarrowleef]

ok AVoS done. Shattered Sky is a book I remember being legitimately really into, but yeah, as is common opinion, the last three books really drop off and severely blur together (and boy Briarlight’s death was upsettingly pointless) BUT w/e I’m just listening to the audio books on hyper speed while playing pokemon so it’s not that bad

but i gotta say, actually first hand watching all the skyclan stuff go down is just making me feel even more vindicated in my old posts ranting about how much i dislike SkyClan coming to the lakes (and in my decision to just have them reject starclan and go live in the mountains in my fic lmao). Like i guess I’m supposed to disagree with Leafstar but she’s literally just right in her initial arguments, they have little to nothing to gain by staying there.  Or Rather, whatever benefits you might occasionally get from your neighbors helping during rare catastrophes (benefits most rival leaders would probably make you 'owe' them for later) do NOT outweigh the constant aggression from living border to border with those clowns. Especially when its a given that the clans will never help each other with more common life threatening problems like they wont share prey during famines and its often pulling teeth to share herbs. Leafstar was literally just right!! They simply had unfortunate timing. The main argument for returning is essentially just...Well god threatened to kill us if we went against their wishes so. that's super normal 😂

I love StarClan "we cant be clear or offer help because then we'd be taking away the clans independance!!" and also "what do you mean you're making an independent decision about where you want to live, i s2g we will harass every cat in earshot and threaten to drown you if you dont listen to us" (ok its unclear if starclan actually caused that storm, i think they have shown to have some influence over weather before and its timing was very precise, but if not they still forsaw it and used it to their advantage to make the living cats think they were being punished for disobeying starclans baseless wishes, so same difference imo. we love the cat cults)

recently I read through Shadowstar’s Life and was really surprised to see that apparently SkyClan’s old territory was already being marked for destruction by twolegs during Skystar’s time?? I know the clans all have to go through at least one or two whole other leaders to get to the ones in control when SkyClan was driven out, but...idk clearly it didn’t take that long. Leader’s can die fast. Which may imply SkyClan was literally apart from the other clans for far far longer then they were ever beside them. For like 80% of the clans total existence, SkyClan hasn’t been there. 

Anyway, i'm just saying, at least twice now skyclan leaders have strongly felt that they would be better off maintaining their home in the gorge only to be bullied into going back to the other clans (Leafstar for one, and also in a prologue scene I believe Cloudstar and his medicine cat were watching SkyClan and suggested they should go home to the gorge now that it was safe, then CLEAR SKY pressured them into reluctantly agreeing that they had to go to the lake with the other clans, and...y’know he’s their founder, its hard to argue with him. He didn’t counter their arguments, just gave them the "they MUST be together!!" line)

You know what, I think SkyClan is just Clear Sky’s vanity project and he’s kicking up a massive tantrum about it in StarClan. It's hard to feel special when you dont have other clans to compare yourself to, so he's continuing his life long tradition of putting his insecurity and ideals over the actual wellbeing of his clan, and u know what at least no one can fault him for consistency. So being a bunch of cats that haven’t gotten any wiser since dying (as is StarClan tradition), Gray Wing pressures everyone into feeling bad for his brother, and they cave because 1: Clear Sky is just so annoying that it's easier to repeatedly pacify him rather then tell him to shut up, and 2: the entire cast of Dawn of the Clans collectively have the moral back bone of a chocolate éclair. That’s why they won’t let SkyClan leave

#yarrow speaks #avos #wc criticism #skyclan #warrior cats #the raging storm

[adonis-koo]

wish you were mine

Summary: in which you may or may not be secretly in love with your hybrid but you refuse to cross that line....except he’s secretly in love with you too

Pairing: Rabbit hybrid!Jungkook/Reader

Genre: hybrid AU!! fluff, smut

Word Count: 3k

Tags: jungkook is a giant flemish hybrid, so he’s ummm big, in more ways then one :’ ), masturbation, hinted subby Jungkook, talk of heats,

Note: y’all actually liked the lil blurb I did yesterday so here you go 😭 this is probably gonna be an ask based AU mainly so pop off in my inbox if y’all are curious on their dynamics after this. unless y’all really want me to commit to this as a series then 😳

~ unedited ~

Most mornings, especially when the colder weather came around, were like this. You’d usually say goodnight to Jungkook before going to your room. But more days then less, you went to bed alone and woke up with the admittedly warm hybrid practically crushing you beneath him. Soft fuzzy ears rubbing into your skin and you could hear his teeth clicking gently in a purr of contentment.

It wasn’t really his fault, hybrids often liked sleeping with their owners, bunny hybrids particularly were high maintenance, constantly craving affection and they were massive PDA lovers, it took the first six months for hybrids to become familiar enough and comfortable to sleep with owners so Jungkook living with you for three years made sense that he’d have no problems curling up against you at night no ask needed.

“Bub, I gotta go.” You groaned as you checked your phone, Jungkook shifted on top of you as you heard a discontented sigh from him, his body curling as if to make himself smaller, sometimes you’d wake up to a little bunny sprawled out on your back, not that you didn’t think it was adorable. But Jungkook preferred being human more than rabbit.

“It’s Saturday!” Jungkook slurred with a whine, nudging against you as his fluffy ears tickled against your skin, “Can’t you skip?” He whined again as he shifted to lay completely on top of you as you huffed. Most bunny hybrids were considerably petit in nature but Jungkook...well not your Jungkook, he was a giant flemish making him...well giant...You could still remember the way he used to loathe his size, making him unsaleable to many and unwanted to venders.

But after being with you his mindset slowly changed, suddenly with your job he was glad he was tall and naturally filled with muscle.

Jungkook was a very proud hybrid now, often going to the gym when you dropped him off, always standing tall and shuffling closer anytime he thought you could be in potential danger. He secretly loved it, loved being able to completely wrap himself around. He whined once more as he felt you shift beneath him, his nose nudging back into your neck, the soft smell of jasmine and fresh rain against his nose, he often associated this smell with home... it was your scent after all.

The only thing that smelt better on you was him. “It’s mandatory Bub,” Your voice amused, no matter how big and bad Jungkook might consider himself he was still your little whiney bunny, “Come on, I need to go shower.”

After a final whine he reluctantly rolled off you and onto his back, his temperature rising quickly as pain shot through his body causing a sharp whimper to escape his lips that caught your attention as you turned to face him as you stood up, “Are you okay bub?” Jungkook debated on lying and saying no if it meant you’d stay with him, putting a hand on his forehead you sighed, “You’re burning up, it’s almost your heat isn’t it?”

You silently berated yourself on how you had forgotten, not all hybrids had monthly heats- most didn’t. But bunny hybrids had a double douse, not only was the original dog DNA the reason for all hybrid heats but also the strong urge of rabbit DNA to procreate, Jungkook had it pretty bad with monthly heats.

Luckily your friend Yoongi has a bunny hybrid as well that served as heat partners to one another. Jungkook however was...stubborn...to say the least about mating with Hyuna. Until his heat hit at least. Jungkook only curled up, grabbing your pillow as he sharply inhaled your scent that always comforted and calmed down his raging hormones. Grumbling he roughly nudged the pillow, letting you know that his shift in hormones would soon pass from whiny and clingy to aggressive and broody. It wasn’t like he could help it, not really, closer to his heat he often got aggressive over you. Aggressive and protective, always brooding and leering over your shoulder and glaring at anything he thought was a potential threat.

Clacking your tongue you made note to call Yoongi later today as you grabbed a change of clothes and walked down the hall to the bathroom to start on your shower.

He would also be aggressive towards you, never in a violent way, but it was so jarring the first time he experienced his heat while living with you, he was nothing like his usual self. But after a short research you quickly found out that it was just his animal instincts coming out, often his aggressiveness was a way of asserting his dominance over you- not that he ever got far into it before you began reprimanding him.

During the week leading up to his heat there were a lot of outlandish displays of aggression, as you had read- it was usually in show of who you belonged too and who owned you. The article nearly made you snort. This was the same man who nearly cried every time you woke up to him rutting into your back until he came himself.

Sighing you ran your hands through your hair as the warm water poured down your back. Jungkook often whined about not wanting a heat partner, ‘Why can’t you just help me?’

Tension always ensued after questions like those before you’d give a string of excuses, work being the big one but also the fact that he was a hybrid and you were a human and technically he was licensed as your pet you didn’t agree by any means with the legal system. Jungkook was living breathing human who just so happened to have two long ears and a fluffy puffball tail, but that didn’t change the fact that...that...wasn’t that technically a form of bestiality?

You mentally cringed as you began to wash your hair. Hybrid human relationships weren’t unheard of, but usually it wasn’t consenting, and if it was it would get drowned in hate and be frowned upon. It wasn’t like you didn’t want too, but that was the part that frightened you, you wanted it. And you got Jungkook didn’t see it the way you did, heat partners were very casual and Jungkook had never not once mentioned Hyuna outside of heats but…

You didn’t even want to go there with him, boundaries were good, they were healthy. And more than anything, you didn’t want to take advantage of Jungkook, who didn’t have anyone to turn to or to go too if things went sour between you both. You would never put him in a compromising situation. It was already bad enough the days you woke up to him rutting against you that you actually entertained him.

You could feel your breath hitch at so many memories of drowsily pulling his throbbing cock from his sweats, it was so thick and heavy, his size was absolutely not close to a regular human, he was 6’4 after all.

And yet despite him being able to double your weight in bench press he’d be so teary eyed and dilated while rutting his cock into your hand, you can still remember how his head was weepy with pearls of precum, the base of his cock was so tender and trying to swell into a knot. His body thrashed and he was whining and crying about wanting to cum. You groaned as you felt slick arousal form between your legs, how did you ever have the self restraint to keep yourself from crossing lines you constantly toed?

Letting your hands run up your body you squeezed your tender breasts, pinching at your nipples as your breath hitched. You’d never forgot the way he’d twist and turn and help, his hips chasing the way your hand would stroke up his cock while you edged him. God you felt sick, the sadistic side of you getting wet at the sight of his tears and his begging, it was making you wet right now and without enough time to properly take care of yourself. Groaning you let your fingers swipe through your lips, glossy arousal coating your fingers as you carefully set your leg on top of the edge of the bathtub, the hot water making your mind fog as you let your fingers circle around your sensitive little bud.

You could remember clearly that morning, the way his thick imprint was snug against your ass, his hips rutting frantically and he moaned whimpers against your neck. You had woken up tired and asking for him to stop only to realize he was asleep. It wasn’t the first and it certainly wouldn’t be the last you turned to face him and sneak your hand inside his sweats.

Your fingers quickly swiped against your clit faster as they have a seeming thrust for something that wasn’t there as you bit your lip in frustration, the memory of his high pitched moan when your hand stroked his throbbing length in his pants, hips becoming more frantic before you pulled down his pants down his hips, his cock was thick and girthy, not massive in length but a good size that complimented his insane width.

No matter how big your bunny was he was so small when you poured a little oil in your palm and stroked him, the way he’d whine and whimper waking up to his hips rutting into your hand as he moaned relentlessly.

Your free hand quickly shot down your body, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit as pleasure throbbed but it wasn’t nearly enough, pushing two fingers inside yourself you squeaked out at the feeling of your walls clenching harshly. You still remember straddling his thighs and telling him how much of a good boy he was. The way he’d curl and strain, his cheeks on fire and tears trickling down his face when you’d deny him before ruthlessly stroking his tender base that was trying to swell so desperately.

Soft moans fell from your lips, your walls clenching around your fingers as you pumped them inside you, your other hand working your clit before finding your sweet spot causing a short yelp to escape you. Just the memory of his fat purple head leaking precum was causing your thighs to shake while you stroked down to his base, gently stroking the little bump on his base as you told your good bunny to cum for you.

The way his hips lifted off the bed in chase of your hand as he sobbed, cum spewing from his little slit as pleasure took over his body in ecstasy

You let out a squeal that was a little too loud as you harshly came, your walls wrapping tight around your fingers as you moaned, slumping against the cold wall as your hips rode your fingers in chase of your pleasure. One orgasm wasn’t even close to enough to satisfy you after vividly remembering the handjob you gave Jungkook last week but you were already gonna be late as it was because of your hormones. Feeling your walls relax around your fingers before clenching you sighed. God you hated yourself.

Little did you know the bunny hybrid who always had sensitive ears could pick up on every little noise you made while shamelessly jerking himself off outside the bathroom door before cum painted against the wall.

-----

“Have you confessed to her yet?”

Jungkook let out a sigh as he buried into his arms, the tickle of the hair from his ears against his skin at Taehyung’s consistent pestering, the dog hybrid’s nose wrinkling a little as he spoke, “What’s the worst that could go wrong?”

Jungkook could’ve went over to see Taehyung, but he had promised you he’d stay home today, always knowing how worried you got when he went out on his own. Hybrid walkways were made to keep them safe for passage but hybrid catchers weren’t uncommon. You’d know better then anyone given that was the cases you were usually working in.

Technology was wonderful though, being able to video call Taehyung who’s owner- Seokjin who just so happened to be your partner was also at this mandatory meeting, “Oh you mean other than ruining my relationship with her as is and how she’d kick me out and tell me I’m disgusting and that she never wants to see me again?”

Jungkook deflated, growling a little as Seokjin popped up in his mind again, grinding his teeth in annoyance, you better not let him scent you or touch you at all. Realizing what he was thinking he swallowed thickly, running a hand through his wet locks from his shower as he sat up in bed. His heat was getting closer, he could tell. It was a struggle every month, Jungkook had a hard enough time as it was keeping himself off you.

It was downright humiliating the way he acted towards you every month and every month you took it graciously but it was still embarrassing for him to cling to you and get pushy and sour. He couldn’t help it, it would be so much easier if you were the one with him during his heats. He wouldn’t be so aggressive if he could just mate with the person he wanted.

“She wouldn’t do that to you!” Taehyung objected in your defense, the german shepherd hybrid loyal to the very end, to be fair Taehyung had known you longer then he had, jealousy oozing in the back of his mind at the notion, “Look, it’s just better to be honest with her about it and you guys can go from there.”

“Easy for you to say.” Jungkook grumbled as he laid back down in bed, sharply inhaling as he felt his cock stirring once again at the moans he didn’t mean to listen to this morning, but he intended on going to the kitchen to make breakfast for you when he passed by and…”She should be home soon. Look, we’ll talk later okay?”

Taehyung frowned before shrugging, “Alright cool, isn’t your heat coming up though? Are you gonna spend it with Hyuna again?

So many fucking questions, Jungkook felt annoyance prick in him the imprint became thicker, the need to ruthlessly jerk himself off raising as he replied, “Only because I don’t have a choice,” He brooded, “But yeah, should start in a few days.”

“Just talk to her man, i’ll see you later.”

Jungkook gladly ended the call as he groaned, hand immediately pushing down beneath his waistband, talk to you about it, what a joke. Leaning over he poured a little oil into his hand as he groaned, pulling his cock from the band of his sweatpants as he gave a tug at his base, thighs stiffening as his jaw clenched.

The sweet smell of jasmine suddenly hitting his nose as he jumped up from your bed, the faint sound of jingling causing him to hurriedly tuck himself back into his pants and pounce into the bathroom to clean up his hands frantically to greet you. Had the meeting get done early.

Excitement lit through his veins and his cock tightening causing a sharp whine to escape him, tugging his loose shirt down to hide the embarrassing sight before quickly walking down the hall.

“Bub I’m home- Oh!” You had your back turned to shut the door when arms suddenly wrapped around you, a cute rounded nose rubbing into your neck as you let out a laugh, “Jungkook stop!” You grabbed the large arms that wrapped around you, the loud purr erupting as his teeth clacked, furry ears rubbing along your skin before a growl escaped him, “Why do you smell like Hoseok.”

He instantly demanded, turning you around as you raised your brows, your neck bending to look up at the tall demanding bunny, “He gave me a coffee when I got to the station…?”

Jungkook was immediately back against your neck as his lips twitched, “You smell like him.” He growled lowly as he roughly rubbed his scent gland along your skin. You gave an exasperated sigh as you paused, knowing any sort of movement would be taken as resistance and would earn you a snappy snarl.

After a minute he paused before pulling a little away from you and giving you a sniff before smiling, “Better,” That earned him an eye roll from you as he gave a semi sheepish smile, feeling a lot better now that your scent was drowned in his musk to ward off any competition, “Can you make some kimbap please.” His soft doughy lips tugged into a pout as if he didn’t just snap for you to be still five seconds prior.

Sighing you offered a weak smile, “Of course bub.” You reached your hand up, not even close to reach his head but Jungkook immediately leaned down a little, a purr of his teeth clicking as you rubbed your fingers into his hair, letting your nails gently dig against the base of his ears.

After making lunch you sat out on the couch, Jungkook immediately collapsed on top of you making you wheeze, grabbing your hand he placed it on his head as he gave a little whine, the way he often did when he wanted attention, “You left me all morning! Please.” He cried out, making you chuckle before giving in, yoru fingers slating through his soft dark locks of hair before stroking against the base of his ears.

His body melted into yours before you heard a thump against the couch, the smile crinkling on your lips as you watch his foot thump, Jungkook oftened hid a lot of his more bunny tendencies outside of home, he despised being treated like the tender stereotype that was often portrayed.

But in the comforts of his home he was relaxed, loved your fingers scratching along the base of his ears, his leg thumping in contentment and a toothy purr from his mouth. He absolutely preened for your attention.

His upcoming heat was only making him more needy than usually, wanting all of your time and affection, but luckily it was the weekend and now that your meeting was over you’d be all his for the next two days. Nudging against your soft breasts Jungkook sighed, closing his eyes as he let out a whine. He didn’t want to be with Hyuna, he wanted to share his heat with you.

Maybe, Taehyung was right, maybe he’d finally have that conversation with you.

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #sub jungkook #jungkook x y/n #hybrid jungkook

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The Great Drive: James Hunt and Niki Lauda at Fuji, 1976

I feel really sorry for Niki. I feel sorry for everybody that the race had to be run in such ridiculous circumstances because the conditions were dangerous and I fully appreciate Niki’s decision. After an accident like he had, what else could he do? Quite honestly, I wanted to win the championship and I felt I deserved it. But I also felt Niki deserved to win the championship – and I just wish we could have shared it.

- James Hunt on winning the Japanese Grand Prix 1976 to become F1 World Champion

James Hunt’s epic title battle with Niki Lauda, during what many see as the definitive F1 season, was topped off by a thrilling race in the land of the rising sun. It became an instant classic, one of F1’s Great Drives.

With everything to lose, in treacherous conditions, and with late drama, James Hunt's drive in the 1976 Japanese Grand Prix was one of the greatest of all time.

James Hunt delivered his greatest drive in spite of himself. It wasn’t just the peak moment of his career, but also a defining drive for F1.

The British gentleman racer conquering the world’s best in far away lands – Hunt embodied it.

Despite this, the Brit’s landmark drive came in the midst of late night escapades, mechanical disasters, psychological warfare and F1 politics.

As the ‘76 season approached its climax in North America and Asia, it seemed all might be lost for the McLaren team and its lead driver. Hunt had been duelling with Ferrari’s Niki Lauda throughout the year, but losing his British Grand Prix win to disqualification (announced by the FIA at Round 14 in Canada) seemed to have derailed his season for good.

McLaren team manager at the time Alastair Caldwell describes the state of affairs as they approached the North American leg of the season: “We abandoned the idea of winning the world championship. I let him misbehave in Canada and in Watkins Glen. On both occasions we were pissed on race eve, both of us in a bar after midnight getting rotten – me on alcohol and him on women, because he was always very successful with women.

“James met a girl – the leader of the band at the motel in Montreal – and so he came to the race dishevelled, in the same clothes as he’d been wearing the previous night – and he won the race!

“Even then we still thought we were out of it. Then we won Watkins Glen too! So suddenly we became serious again.”

Lauda had scored 4 points to Hunt’s 18 in this period. With the championship fight back on, the rejuvenated team and driver looked at the season finale in a new light. The championship fight was back on, and as a result, McLaren prepared for the Japanese GP with renewed vigour.

James Hunt had been in Japan a fortnight, ostensibly to test at a circuit  new to him. Delays at customs, car problems and bad weather had severely  restricted his running, but at least now he was totally orientated and, in his inimitable fashion, ‘relaxed’. That meant when he wasn’t  strutting his stuff on the hotel’s squash court, he was billing and  cooing with its latest migratory flock of pretty air stewardesses to bed. It beat  jogging.

Lauda arrived later, low-key and at a low ebb. The spirit that held  the demons at bay during his remarkable Monza comeback had evaporated in  Canada and America. Now running on empty, he was full of doubts. While  Ferrari team manager Daniele Audetto attempted to whip up retro oppo to  McLaren’s ‘illegal’ testing, his star driver looked the other way and  wished it over: Lauda was sick of Enzo and his minions, of a season in  its 10th month and of press intrusion.

McLaren’s earlier preparations were in sharp contrast to the rest of the field who arrived just for the race weekend itself. According to Caldwell, “The others all turned up on the Thursday, including Niki, you can see them all get off the plane knackered and then trying to find where this new racetrack was.”

It wasn’t just through testing and acclimatisation that Hunt and McLaren stole a march. Caldwell thought he might use interactions with the press to his advantage: “Just for a laugh we spread a rumour. A journalist said to me ‘what’s the track like?’ I said ‘It’s is good but it’s got a lot of loose gravel on it.’”

Enjoying the effect the track surface story had on the rest of the field’s preparations, Caldwell thought he’d develop the rumour into a full-blown design feature.

“Because we were bored and had nothing else to do, the mechanics made mesh covers for all the air intakes on the car, to “protect” the brake ducts and air intake.

“Then Niki (Lauda) came down to our garage, which he always did – he spent more time in our garage then Ferrari’s. He would joke with us and do mechanic’s repartee.

“Psychologically we had them on the back foot right from the start.”

“Niki had come to see what we’d done with the cars as he was also a spy. So I told the mechanics, ‘just by mistake’, to take the covers off the cars so you could see the mesh covers on all the intakes. They did this and then they put it back on in a hurry while I ‘looked displeased’.

“And so then Niki broke off the conversation, trotted back to Ferrari and said ‘f**king hell, McLaren have put vents near these grilles over everything in the car, we got to do the same.’

“The whole Ferrari organisation went out to find these grilles, find where they came from and make them for their three cars. Then we put our three cars in the pit road and took all the grilles off the T-Car. Niki came down and said ‘You f**king bastards!’ They came down the pitroad and Ferrari had this shit all over their car – these grilles all over the radiators.

“He had to tear back and tell them to take them all off. Psychologically we had them on the back foot right from the start, there’s all this psychological warfare.”

Niki was plastered across front pages because of his near-death  experience on the track; James was on them because of the life he led  off it. Their battle and clashing personalities, though they were good  friends, had made the world championship a global news shit-fight. Hunt,  outgoing but often lonely in a crowd, pretended to be okay with it.  Lauda didn’t.

Friday’s practice sessions provided blessed relief, therefore, even  though both men suffered understeer on the stickier Goodyears made  available to its faster teams because of the rare presence of  Bridgestone and Dunlop on one-off Japanese entries. The title rivals  finished the day one-hundredth apart on a provisional third row.

Each improved on Saturday – Hunt to second, Lauda to third – and  James, a notoriously slow starter who, by his own estimation, needed to  win the race in order to become world champion, was in a much-improved  mood. Niki’s never budged.

Then it rained. And rained. And rained some more.

The storm that swept in from China a day later than forecast was the  last thing Lauda needed: another element beyond his control. Mist  shrouded the snow cone of Mount Fuji, which supposedly bestowed good  fortune – when visible – and Niki felt hemmed in by circumstance.

The mind-games might well have been in vain, for the monsoon weather which rolled in on Sunday looked like putting the race in jeopardy. If the Grand Prix was cancelled, Lauda would be handed the World Championship.

Not that Hunt was enamoured with the situation. He spoke privately  with Lauda and agreed an attempt to have the race postponed – albeit not  before he stressed that he would take the start if necessary and race  as hard as Niki forced him to.

The Grand Prix Drivers Association had been formed to have some influence on such matters, to stop the interests of teams, the governing body and sponsors taking precedence over drivers’ well being. Hunt and Lauda were both members and convened prior to the race start in an effort to have it stopped.

“They were adamant the race wasn’t going to be held. Bernie (Ecclestone, Brabham team boss) and I were in the race control tower trying to convince them to hold the race.” says Caldwell “And James kept on saying ‘No no, we’re not going to race’. I tried to explain to him that no race meant no World Championship. He replied “No, no, no, it’s totally unsuitable, we can’t race”.

Alistair Caldwell, McLaren Team boss, resorted to more imaginative tactics to swing the mood towards starting the race.

“I was going down (to the pits) getting my car mechanics to start the engines every half an hour, which would make all the other teams start doing it – they didn’t know why. The engines were making this noise ‘woop, woop, woop’”.

The engineer then turned his attention to activating the spectators.

“I was trying to get some enthusiasm from the passive Japanese crowd, they’d been there for hours doing nothing. They weren’t even talking, just sitting in the rain – miserable.

“I said to our tyre man Lance Gibbs ‘Do you think you could get the crowd going?’ So he got up on the pitwall with his ACME Thunderer whistle, which had been given to the boys to use as a horn, for when they pushed the race cars around the paddock.

“He went ‘beep beep’ and hundreds of spectators did the same – got them doing a concert. We then did the business of slow clapping, when it gets to the end, people can’t keep up, they lose co-ordination and you get a huge noise.

“I went back to the tower and the geriatric Japanese officials and said, ‘Look, you’ve got a riot on your hands’ Bernie was there and he said ‘Yeah, you’ve gotta hold the race. Otherwise you’ll have trouble’. So they said ‘Ok we’ll have the race.’”

With the decision made, the cars finally lined up to start at 4pm. The deliberations had been going on so long that the light was now beginning to fade, reducing the limited visibility even further.

Hunt, nervously retching and hacking more than ever, was so  distracted that he took a leak in full view of the spectators. Cue  polite applause. Ominously, he then walked a plank laid across a puddle  and stepped aboard his McLaren M23. He tipped his helmet back against  its roll-hoop and closed his eyes in contemplation. Lauda, crushed by  all that had gone before, hunched forward in his 312 T2’s cockpit. Both  knew that fate was about to be sorely tempted.

Hunt made a blinding start and held a huge lead by the end of the  opening lap. As the rest pecked hesitantly in his rooster-tails, he was  out of sight, both physically and metaphorically.

Meanwhile, Lauda, unable to blink because of his burn injuries, was  drowning in the pack and questioning his sanity. He formulated an answer by lap two. The Ferrari – “a paper boat in a storm” – rolled into the  pitlane and drew up at its garage. Measured. The team descended while  designer Mauro Forghieri craned into its cockpit to ascertain the  problem.

After just 1 lap, Lauda had seen enough. Deeming the conditions too dangerous, and having already nearly lost his life at Nürburgring that year, the Austrian decided it simply wasn’t worth carrying on. He pulled his Ferrari into the pits and walked away from the 1976 World Championship. Lauda, the reigning world champion, had the skill but not the will to continue. It was “murder” out there – and life was for living.

Hunt, as drivers without a world title feel compelled to, pressed on  and kept his date with destiny. Hunt being Hunt, of course, he almost  missed it. Not until his post-race red mist lifted could he be persuaded  that he hadn’t.

With Lauda out the race, Hunt’s task was now a little more straightforward. He simply had to finish third, and the title was his.

The McLaren driver pressed on and by lap 10 his lead had doubled to over 8sec. Meanwhile, interesting movements were afoot further back in the pack.

Local hero Kazuyoshi Hoshino, driving a privately-entered Tyrrell 007, had made his up to third, from 21st on the grid!

More worrying for Hunt was that March’s Vittorio Brambilla had overtaken Andretti and was beginning to hunt him down. By lap 20, Brambilla had closed right up behind the Hunt.

On the next lap, the March driver decided to go for it. Brambilla, known for an erratic driving style, conformed to type on this occasion by inadvertently out-braking himself as he dived down the inside of the McLaren.

Hunt had been wary of Brambilla and was monitoring the situation constantly. In a moment of brilliant anticipation, he allowed the March to spin in front of him, performing the cutback and before carrying on as if almost nothing had happened.

Brambilla dropped to fourth, the danger to Hunt being over for now. Andretti at this point was gradually dropping back through the pack. It was Hunt’s team-mate Jochen Mass who was behind him now, with a McLaren 1-2 now looking very much on the cards.

Seeking to control the race from here on in, the team’s new concern was the drying line which was now appearing on the track. Caldwell put out a pit board sign telling his drivers to cool their wet weather tyres – this was done by searching for wet sections of the track, the water preventing the rubber from overheating.

To his team manager’s frustration, Hunt didn’t appear to be heeding the warnings: “As soon as Mass saw the sign, he pulled over in the water right in front of us. Then on the next lap he came down the right hand side of the track, splashing through the puddles, which cools the tires down, (while) James didn’t react.

“The next lap we gave it to Hunt again, the next lap again, he still didn’t do it. So we took away the pitboard, just gave him the ‘cool tyres’ sign and he still didn’t react. So then everyone in the team started pointing at it (the sign). Everybody in the team pointed, Teddy (Mayer, McLaren Managing Director) and everyone else and he still did nothing.”

Hunt carried on down the dry line, running his tyres way above their recommended temperature, seemingly oblivious to the warnings.

If Hunt wasn’t going to heed the warnings, then Andretti was: “Because we were emphasising this so much, Andretti saw it and started to cool his tyres. So he started running through the puddles. He didn’t have to stop (as a result).

“But James just resolutely drove down the middle of the dry track, and we could never bring him in, because he was never that far ahead. It was never possible to tactically stop him because there’s a big long pitroad at Fuji.”

Jochen Mass, benefitting from his team’s tyre advice, now began to reel in his team-mate. If he got past, he would have no trouble driving off into the distance to take the win.

However, the German’s diligence came to naught, as he spun off and out of contention on lap 36. This would have a huge bearing on the race later.

For now, Hunt was again in the clear. Another challenger, Shadow’s Tom Pryce, moved into second, but he too retired as his Cosworth engine expired on lap 46.

As the grand prix wore on, Hunt remained in a seemingly trance-like state as he stuck to his line, the situation became critical.

Whilst yet another to danger to Hunt had abated, the McLaren driver was now deciding whether to play the percentages. He could either pit to replace his worn tyres – and lose track position – or try and stick it out at the risk of losing so much grip he would be overtaken anyway.

Hunt took the second option. He could afford to drop to third, and this is indeed what happened. On lap 61, he was overtaken not only by Tyrrell’s Patrick Depailler, but also the resurgent Lotus of Andretti.

If Hunt managed to hold position, he would be world champion. For the next 7 laps, the plan appeared to be working. Then, on lap 68, disaster struck.

The McLaren driver suffered not one, but two deflated tyres – both on the left-hand side of the car. They were, as Caldwell puts it, “worn down to the air”. Hunt managed to drag his car round for half a lap before scraping into the pits.

F1 jacks at the time were not designed to lift a car with puncture at the front and rear of the car. While the jack was used to lift the rear of the car, TV shots show Caldwell and other team members lifting the other end of the car themselves to replace the front-left tyre.

It was a long pitstop, and once out, Hunt found himself back in fifth place. There were four laps left and Hunt was two places down on where he needed to be.

Two more laps passed and the Englishman was no further up the order. It looked as if he may have lost his championship chance.

Then, with two laps left of the race to go, Hunt started the fight back. At the exit of T1 he managed to get past the Surtees of Alan Jones. One more place and the championship was his.

Next up was the Ferrari of Clay Regazzoni. It turned out there were some Scuderia politics at play which would work to Hunt’s advantage.

Caldwell filled in the back story: “Ferrari’s reaction to Niki’s crash was to sack Regazzoni (for 1977). He had already been sacked (by Fuji).

“So he was pissed off at Ferrari. When James came charging along, he just stepped out of the way and let him by.”

After benefitting from Regazzoni’s apparent generosity, Hunt was suddenly back in the golden position, the third place he needed to clinch the championship.

The McLaren man just had to keep it on the road for two more laps and he’d take the title. The tension mounted, both in the team pit and back in the UK, where his family were watching the live television feed at 3am.

Despite two nerve-wracking final laps, the Englishman duly brought his McLaren home in third place. He was the new F1 World Champion.

Photographs show Hunt angrily remonstrating with his team as he climbed from the car. He hadn’t realised he’d got the job done.

Caldwell himself had mixed emotions about the whole affair, “He didn’t look at the board and when he came into the pits he started shouting at us, because he didn’t know what happened. He was incredibly annoying on the day. He did drive magnificently, he kept it on the road – that’s one point of view. From my point of view it was the most frustrating day – I could’ve hit him with a baseball bat! He could have won the race, just strolled the world championship. All he had to do was read this pitboard and drive in the water, which is what Andretti did, so he didn’t wear the tyres out and could paddle across the line with the same ones.”

In spite of Hunt seemingly making a championship-losing decision, he had still managed to pull it off.

However, such was Caldwell’s consternation, the two didn’t discuss afterwards.

I was so angry about it. We flew back to England and I wasn’t talking to him on the plane. He was pissed as a newt anyway – we were all pissed as a newt and totally exhausted. He just went to sleep.”

The two never discussed the reasons behind the events, but it didn’t change the result. Three years after making his F1 debut, Hunt was the world champion.

Ten weeks later Hunt arrived in Argentina to begin his title defence  feeling underwhelmed and under-prepared. A few celebratory cigs and tins with his friend Britain’s newly crowned 500cc motorcycle world champion, Barry Sheene, at Fuji and a riotous return flight had been followed by a  disorientating whirl of meetings, interviews and engagements. The  race-by-race title chase had been thrilling: a sequence of one-day  stands. Making it official had cooled the relationship. The love affair  was over.

Though both men would retire summarily during the 1979 season, Hunt  did so because he felt frightened and disillusioned, whereas Lauda did  so because he felt nothing, which frightened him.

Niki, though, had a system – plus a plan to run his own airline – and  ultimately would return to the F1 cockpit and be successful. James,  whose theories were sometimes somewhat scrambled, would not. He bred  budgies instead. You do what you have to do.

Lauda’s decision to stop at Fuji ensured that he would be able to  continue. Hunt’s decision to continue ensured that he would have to stop  sooner rather than later. One racing mind wiped clean, the other  cluttered – and racing.

In spite of his career’s decline, Hunt’s endeavours had captured the imagination of the wider world in a way no racing driver had done before.Hunt knew that life was for living, too. Tragically, however, he had just discovered how best to when fate too soon snatched it from him.

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