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gilbertscurls · 8 months ago

Text

All Mine ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, softdom!matt, teasing, unprotected p in v

Matt sat in his chair, his mind already starting to wander after hours of going over endless spreadsheets, graphs, and data reports. He tried his best to pay attention, but the numbers and statistics were blurring together, and his focus kept shifting to the conversation going on between his brothers and Laura.

He zoned back in as Chris said something about their video views dropping. He glanced at his other brothers, noticing their tired and frustrated expressions. He couldn't blame them, this meeting was feeling like it'd never end.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn't help but yawn, his lack of sleep from the night before catching up to him. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, silently willing the time to move faster.

Matt felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and reached in, discreetly pulling it out to check the notification. He saw that it was a text, and his heart immediately skipped a beat.

You: hey, what are you doing?

He couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement when he saw your text. He quickly typed out a reply, trying to keep a straight face while still being in the meeting.

Matt: hey sweetheart, we're in a meeting right now. bored out of my mind. wbu?

In response, he received a picture. It was you dressed in dark blue lacy lingerie. You were smirking, and the added text said, “Thoughts and opinions?”

Matt's breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the picture, a wave of desire immediately washing over him. He swallowed hard, trying to discreetly position his phone so that his brothers and Laura, who were sitting nearby, wouldn't notice. His mind quickly went straight to all the dirty thoughts and opinions he had about you at that moment. But he knew he needed to keep his cool and focus on the meeting.

He typed out a quick reply.

Matt: i think we need to finish this meeting ASAP.

He sent the message, already impatient and eager to finish up. His body was reacting in all sorts of ways now, his mind filled with thoughts of how gorgeous you looked… And what you could do once this meeting was over.

“And let's move on to the pressing issue of…” Laura babbled on, but he didn't really listen anymore.

He tried his best to pay attention to what Laura was saying, but his mind was preoccupied with the picture he had just received. He couldn't stop thinking about you and how badly he wanted you right now. He shifted in his seat again, trying to discreetly adjust himself and hoping no one would notice.

He continued to nod and give the occasional “yeah” or “uh-huh” whenever one of his brothers spoke, but his mind was completely elsewhere. He kept sneaking glances at his phone, desperate to see if you would send another text or naughty photo.

He could hear his brothers and Laura talking, but his thoughts were consumed with you. He was starting to get impatient now, wanting to leave this meeting and go be with you. He glanced at the clock again, willing the time to move faster. He knew he wasn't going to be able to focus until this was over.

And eventually, another text came. This time, it was a close-up of your tits, still clad in that lacy little bra that didn't leave much to the imagination.

He nearly choked on his own spit as he looked at the new picture, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had noticed his reaction. He felt a wave of desire wash over him, his heart racing at the sight of your body.

His phone was positioned at an angle where no one could see it, but he was still being careful as he typed out a reply.

Matt: holy hell sweetheart…

He quickly sent it before looking back up at his brothers and Laura, trying to act normal.

He could feel the heat building up inside him, and he knew he was going to struggle to keep himself together if you sent any more pictures. He shifted in his chair again, trying to relieve some of the tension in his body. He glanced at the clock again, but the minutes seemed to be passing by slower and slower.

You: i miss you :(

Matt felt a pang of longing in his chest as he read your text. He missed you too, so much. He wanted nothing more than to be with you right now, to hold you close and make love to you.

Matt: i miss you too… this meeting feels like it's never going to end. i just want to be with you.

He glanced up again, checking to see if his brothers or the manager were looking his way. They were still busy going over the spreadsheets, and he took the opportunity to discreetly sneak another glance at his phone.

The sight of the picture was still fresh in his mind, and it was making him restless. He couldn't take this any longer. He needed this meeting to end, or else he was going to go crazy. He shifted in his chair again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was no use. He was too worked up now, too consumed with thoughts of you.

You: i need you so bad

As he read your message, his heart raced and his body responded instantly. Your words were like gasoline on a fire. His thoughts went wild, imagining all the things he wanted to do to you, how badly he needed to be with you right now. He had to force himself to look up from his phone, his eyes darting around to check if anyone was looking his way.

Matt: i need you too sweetheart. so, so badly.

His body was alive with desire, his mind filled with images of you. He was on the edge, so close to just getting up and walking out of the meeting. But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to stay, even though every fiber of his being was screaming to be with you.

“What do you think, Matt?” Laura asked suddenly.

Matt's heart skipped a beat as he heard his name being called. He quickly looked up, trying to compose himself and act normal. He had no idea what Laura had asked him, his mind hazy with thoughts of you.

"Um… Sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He could feel his brothers' eyes on him, and he knew they could tell something was on his mind. He tried to focus on Laura, but it was getting harder and harder. He hoped she wouldn't ask him anything else, or he might just lose it right here.

He tried to listen as Laura repeated her previous statement, but he was only half paying attention. His mind was still fixated on you and the pictures you had sent him. He couldn't shake the desire and need coursing through his veins. He felt like he was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second now.

He couldn't help but keep glancing at his phone, hoping for another message from you. The anticipation was killing him. He longed for your words, your pictures, anything that might alleviate this desperate need he was feeling.

You: when r u coming back?

He quickly read your message, his heart skipping a beat again. He was desperate to be with you, and the thought of having to sit through the rest of this meeting was torture.

He typed out a reply, his fingers trembling slightly.

Matt: asap. this meeting is taking FOREVER. i need to be with you now.

He felt like he was on the edge of a physical breakdown, his body was aching with the need for release and the need to be with you. He couldn't keep his mind focused on the meeting for even a second, his thoughts consumed by the images and the memory of your body. He just wanted this all to be over so he could go to you.

You: i might need to start without you ;)

As he read your message, his eyes went wide and he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. The thought of you touching yourself without him was both maddening and arousing, and it only intensified his need to be with you.

He quickly typed out a response, his hands shaking slightly.

Matt: baby please don't… i can't take this much longer

He shifted in his seat again, trying to find some sort of relief but only finding more discomfort. His body was aching for release, for your touch. He glanced up again, checking to see if anyone was looking his way. No one seemed to have noticed anything, but he knew he was close to snapping.

His mind was a constant battle between the need to be professional and stay in this meeting, and the need to go to you right now. He tried to focus on the words being spoken around him, but all he could think about was you. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this worked up.

The meeting dragged on and on, and it seemed to be endless. He couldn't tell if time was actually slowing down, or if it was just his perception, fueled by the need for you. He kept sneaking glances at his phone, hoping for another message from you, something to help him through this. His body was on fire, every inch of him aching for your touch.

“I know you guys are tired, but there is one more, long matter…” Laura kept talking.

Matt felt a pang of frustration as he heard Laura's words. Another long matter? He couldn't take it anymore. He was so close to the breaking point, and now he had to sit through another long discussion.

He tried to keep his composure, but it was getting harder and harder. His thoughts were consumed by you, by the burning need to be with you. He couldn't stand another minute of this.

He was starting to feel a hint of irritation mixed with the desire. He tried to pay attention to what Laura was saying, but his mind kept drifting back to Victoria. He wondered what you were doing, if you had stayed true to your word and started without him. The thought alone was enough to make his body twitch in response.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was useless. He was so pent up now that he was struggling to think clearly. The only word that kept repeating in his mind was “now”. He needed you, now and immediately. The thought of waiting any longer was almost physically painful.

“Hey, you good, man?” Chris asked quietly, leaning a little closer to him.

Matt jerked his head up, suddenly aware that he had been zoned out for a moment. He looked at Chris and quickly plastered on a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just tired, you know.”

He tried to sound casual, but he knew Chris could read him well. He wouldn't be fooled by a simple fake smile.

He shifted in his chair, hoping to subtly adjust his crotch which was now visibly tenting against his pants. He avoided Chris's gaze, knowing that if he looked into his eyes, his brother would know something was going on.

He tried to focus on the meeting again, but his mind was in a loop between the need for you and the need to pretend everything was normal. He knew he was treading on thin ice, and all it would take was one more message or picture from you to completely send him over the edge.

And as if on cue, you sent him a short video. It showcased your body, still clad in lingerie, and your hand was trailing down your skin.

As the video played, Matt's body reacted with intense need. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning. He was sitting at the table, surrounded by people, and he had to act like nothing was wrong. He felt like he was going to explode any second now.

He kept his face neutral, trying to look disinterested. But inside, he was going crazy. He wanted to get up and go to you right that minute, not caring about the meeting or anything else. He watched the video again, drinking you in, his mind replaying your words, your touch, your scent. He was so lost in the moment that when you sent him another text, he almost dropped his phone.

His heart raced as he saw the notification. He quickly picked up his phone, careful not to show the screen to anyone else. He opened the message and read your words.

You: i can’t take it anymore baby, i need you.

Matt's body responded instantly to your message. His need for you grew even stronger, and he had to fight the urge to just get up and go to you.

He quickly typed out a message, his fingers shaking slightly.

Matt: i need you too. so badly. you're driving me crazy.

He sent the message and waited for your response, his body thrumming with need and desire.

Vee: fucking laura

He read your message and couldn't help but let out a small huff of laughter. He knew how frustrated you were because he was equally frustrated. But the fact that you were thinking about Laura right now… It was both funny and incredibly arousing.

He quickly responded, his thumbs flying over the keypad.

Matt: i know baby. i feel the same. she is taking forever. i want to leave and be with you.

He tried to keep his focus on the meeting, but it was getting more and more difficult with every message from you. He was on the verge of losing his mind, his body on fire with need for you. He wanted to go to you, to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream his name.

The meeting was entering its second hour, and Matt wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. He could feel his composure slipping, his need for you growing more intense with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the meeting adjourned and everyone was getting up to leave. Matt quickly packed up his things, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. He glanced at his phone, checking for any messages from you, and thankfully, there was none. You seemed to have enough self-control to not send him anything more while the others were still in the room.

Matt took a deep breath and tried to compose himself as his brothers approached. He was still feeling frustrated and pent-up, but he couldn't show it. He forced a casual smile.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

He led the way out of the room and towards the parking lot, his steps brisk and purposeful. He had to get out of here and to you as soon as possible. The need for you was like a physical ache inside of him, demanding immediate attention. Every step further away from you made the ache worse.

He tried to make small talk with his brothers, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't focus on anything but the thought of you, of the way you would feel in his arms, the way your body would press against his, the way you would gasp and moan his name.

They reached the car and Matt quickly got into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. He kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of you. It was taking all his self-control not to speed, knowing that the faster he got to you, the better.

His brothers chatted amongst each other, but Matt was only half listening. All he could think about was the images he had received earlier, the sound of your voice, the need he felt for you. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, praying that he would get to you before he completely lost his mind.

The drive felt like it was going on for an eternity. Matt's knuckles were white from the tight hold he had on the steering wheel, and his jaw was clenched shut tightly. He tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept wandering back to you, to the things he would do to you when he finally got there.

He was aware that his brothers were talking, but he couldn't make out the words. The only thing he was aware of was the aching need in his body, the need to be with you, to feel you, to make you his. He had never felt this level of desperation before, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

He finally pulled the car onto their street, and relief washed over him, mixed with the intense need. He parked in the driveway and turned off the engine, then turned to his brothers, who were gathering their things to get out of the car.

“I'll see you guys later,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual.

His brothers nodded, not noticing the edge in his voice, the urgency in his movements. Matt quickly got out of the car and made a beeline for his front door.

He fumbled with the keys for a moment, his hands shaking with excitement and anticipation. Finally, he got the door open and rushed inside, shutting it behind him. The house was quiet, and he knew you were waiting for him somewhere, probably in their bedroom.

As he walked towards the hallway to the bedroom, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was so close to getting what he needed, what he had been craving for hours. When he reached the door, he didn’t even bother to knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

You were already laying on the bed, a teasing smirk on your face, and you were wearing that same damn lingerie.

As soon as you came into view, Matt’s breath caught in his chest. Seeing you there, waiting for him, wearing that lace and silk, was enough to drive him over the edge. He closed the door behind him and locked it, making sure they wouldn’t be interrupted this time.

“Hi there,” you greeted him teasingly.

He couldn't find words to respond to you, he was too overwhelmed by your appearance and his own need. He simply continued towards you, his gaze fixated on your body. When he got to the bed, he reached out and touched you, his hands gently tracing over the lace of the lingerie.

His touch was gentle, but the fire inside him was anything but. He ran his hands up your sides, feeling your soft skin under his fingers. He was so close to losing control, but he forced himself to maintain some semblance of restraint.

“You like the new set?”

His eyes raked over your body, taking in every inch of you, every curve, every dip. He could feel his control slipping, but he managed a strangled reply.

“You're killing me.”

He moved to lie down beside you, pulling you close to him. He couldn't resist touching you, his hands roaming over your skin, taking in the feel of you under his touch. You were warm and soft, and you fit against his body perfectly.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging at it to bring him closer. He allowed you to pull him down, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. As soon as your mouths met, all his restraint went out the window. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, his body pressing against yours. One of his hands found the bare skin of your thigh, and his fingers traced small circles on your flesh.

His other hand tangled in your hair, holding you closer to him, his tongue exploring your mouth. He was drowning in your kiss, in the way your body felt against his, in the way your scent drove him wild. His free hand started to wander over your body, tracing the lines of your curves, his fingers teasing the edge of the lace fabric.

He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. He could feel you shiver under his touch, and it only fueled his need. His mouth traveled lower, down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts.

“God, I need you so bad,” you whispered breathlessly.

He moved his mouth from your chest to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. He placed a small kiss on your earlobe before whispering back.

“You have no idea how much I need you right now.”

His hand on your thigh slid upwards, under the hem of the lingerie. His fingertips grazed the edge of your underwear, and he could feel your body respond eagerly to his touch.

He continued to kiss and nibble at your neck and earlobe as his hand moved further up your thigh, his touch growing more possessive. He was losing himself in the feel of you, in the way you responded to him.

“I need more,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

He gently pushed you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. His hands ran up your arms and pinned your wrists to the bed, his body pressing against yours. He lowered his mouth to your ear again and spoke in a low, rough voice.

“I need to feel you. All of you. Now.”

“I'm all yours,” you whispered.

Those words sent a wave of heat through his body, and he let out a low growl of satisfaction. His hands released your wrists and began to explore your body again, this time with more urgency. He slid them under the fabric of the lingerie, slowly peeling it off your body.

As more of your skin was exposed, his lips started to follow. He kissed and nipped at your chest, your stomach, your thighs. He was like a man possessed, driven by a primal need to claim you completely. His hands continued to wander, exploring every inch of your body as he made his way back up to your face.

When he got there, he looked into your eyes with raw hunger. He had almost completely lost control now, his body on fire with desire.

When he felt your hands on his skin, his body reacted instantly. He lifted his arms so you could pull the shirt off from over his head and toss it aside.

As soon as his chest was bare, your hands were back on him, running over his skin and igniting a fire in his veins. He kissed you again, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, his body pressing your back into the bed.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every contour, every curve. He was drunk with the feel of you, the way you responded to him, the way your breath hitched and your moan echoed in his ears. His lips moved back down your neck to your shoulder, his teeth lightly biting at your skin. He needed you closer, needed to feel all of you, to possess you completely.

His hands slid under your body, cupping your backside and pulling you up against him. He could feel your bare skin against his, the heat of your body driving him wild. His mouth found yours again, his tongue demanding as it invaded you. He was consumed by you, lost in the feel and taste of you. He wanted more, so much more.

His hands moved up your back, tracing your spine. He could feel the heat in your body, the way you arched against him, craving his touch just as desperately as he craved you. He started to lower his body in between your legs, positioning himself against you.

“I can't wait any longer,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I need to be inside you, now.”

You had to surpass a moan. “Please…”

Your plea only heightened his need, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He reached down, unzipping his jeans and quickly pulling them off. He was fully exposed now, his body taut with anticipation. He positioned himself between your legs again, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice ragged with desire. “And you're all mine.”

He paused for a moment, looking at you intently, taking in the sight of you lying there beneath him, your body waiting for him, completely open and vulnerable. It was a sight that always took his breath away, always filled him with an overwhelming sense of possessiveness.

He reached down, his hands moving to your hips, holding you firmly. He started to press into you slowly. He watched as your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling back against the bed. A gasp escaped from your lips, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He started moving inside you, his body and yours finding a rhythmic dance that was both familiar and new at the same time. His hands were still on your hips, his grip strong and sure, as he began to move faster, deeper. His mouth found yours again, claiming you as he took you, owned you.

The sound of your moan was like fuel to the fire burning within him. He moved his lips to your neck and sucked on your skin, hard, leaving a mark that would be there the next day as a reminder of this moment.

“You're mine,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “All mine. I'm never letting you go.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust and the moan that escaped from his lips.

He needed to hear you, wanted to know that you were as lost in this as he was. He moved his lips back to your ear, his voice low and ragged.

“Tell me you're mine. Tell me you're mine, and nobody else's.”

“Yours,” you choked out in between the moans. “Only yours.”

Your words sent a wave of possessiveness through him, and he claimed your mouth in a rough and hungry kiss. He had you. Completely, utterly. You were his, and no one else's.

His body moved against your, finding a furious pace. He needed you, needed to claim you completely, to make you his in every possible way. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of you, as if trying to memorize your very existence.

Every moan, every gasp, every breath that escaped your lips only served to drive him on. He needed to hear you, to know that he was giving you everything you wanted, everything you needed. And you were giving him the same, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears and feeding the fire within him.

He moved his lips down your body, his teeth nipping at your skin. He wanted to leave his marks all over you, to brand you as his. He knew he was being rough, but he couldn't help it. The primal need to claim you was too strong.

“Fuck, Matt…” you moaned loudly, your hands finding themselves on his back.

The sound of his name on your lips, the feeling of your hands on his skin… It only fueled the fire inside him. He wanted to hear that moan again, to feel your body shaking under him, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You're so beautiful when you moan like that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I love hearing you say my name like that.”

He continued to move inside you, his body moving against yours in a fevered rhythm. He could feel himself getting close, but he needed you to be there with him. He needed you to come undone completely, to completely let go.

“Matt, close, I… Please… Don't… Don't stop…”

He was getting closer, and your pleading words were like an accelerant to the flame. He moved his lips to your ear again, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

“I won't stop,” he assured you, his voice ragged with desire. “I'm gonna make you come, baby. And I'm gonna come with you. But I need you to let go, I need you to give me everything. Can you do that for me?”

He could feel your body tightening around him, and he knew you were close. He picked up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a low growl. “I want to hear you, I want to feel you. Give it to me, give me everything.”

And with one last deep thrust, you came, his name on your lips, and your nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

The sound of his name and the feel of your nails on his skin, the way your body convulsing around him… It was all too much.

He didn't even have time to warn you before he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering violently as he found his own release. He buried his face in your neck, gasping for air and trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, god,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I love you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice still unsteady.

He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply, the scent of your skin filling his senses. He was still breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. After a moment, he spoke again.

“You were so beautiful,” he said softly. “I've never seen you more beautiful than you were just now.”

He lifted his head to look at you, taking in your flushed face, your mussed hair, your breath still coming in short gasps. You were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, and the fact that you were all his only made you even more perfect.

He gently pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin.

“You're mine, you know that?” he whispered. “You're completely mine. And I'm never letting you go.”

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cressidagrey · 28 days ago

Text

Supernova

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri realises that his daughter is more similiar to his wife than he thought. Set in Summer 2023.

Notes: Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse. Happy Birthday, Oscar!

Enjoy Oscar having a nervous breakdown about his tiny daughter being a genius.

Warnings: mention of toxic parents, I think that's it?

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Actually, maybe Oscar shouldn’t have been surprised.

Maybe he should have seen it coming.

That’s what you got when you married a woman whose mind burned brighter than a supernova.

Still…nothing had prepared Oscar for the moment he realized—

Bee was different.

Not in the soft, every-parent-thinks-their-kid-is-special way. No.

His daughter’s brain didn’t just work faster.

It raced.

Oscar had always known Bee was clever.

She’d hit her milestones early, sure. First words before she was one, stacking blocks in color groups before she could really walk straight, always watching, always listening. But he’d chalked it up to her being sharp—inquisitive. Like her mum.

Then came that afternoon.

It was raining outside, the kind of soft, steady drizzle that made everything smell like damp leaves and sleepy chickens. Felicity was running errands and he had a free weekend after a triple header.

Oscar was home with Bee, who was two and a half and curled up on the carpet with her coloring book and a collection of crayons that were organized by shade and tone like she’d invented her very own personal Pantone system.

He was sitting on the couch with his laptop open, watching race footage while taking notes, when she looked up and said:

“Papa, your car had too much rear degradation in the third stint.”

Oscar blinked.

Looked up slowly.

“…What?”

Bee didn’t even glance away from her coloring. “The tires. On the back. They slid more.”

Oscar’s brain stalled like a bad engine.

“Where did you hear that?”

“You said it.” She pointed to the screen. “You said ‘rear deg was bad.’ And the yellow line goes down. That’s bad. It means grip is going bye-bye.”

Oscar stared at the tire degradation graph on the screen. The yellow line. The drop-off at lap 29.

His daughter—a toddler—had connected his own debrief to a data graph she’d only just glanced at.

And used the phrase “grip is going bye-bye” with the complete confidence of someone who understood the concept.

He slowly closed the laptop.

Stood.

Walked to the edge of the rug and crouched down.

“Bee.”

She looked up at him with impossibly serious eyes.

“Do you… know what tire degradation is?”

She tilted her head, crayon still in hand. “It’s when the rubber gets tired and stops holding on.”

Oscar made a sound he’d never made before. Something between a laugh and a stunned breath.

Bee frowned. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No,” Oscar said, reaching out and brushing a curl behind her ear. “No, Bumblebee. You said it exactly right.”

Oscar sat back on his heels, feeling a little dizzy.

Okay.

Don't panic.

Bee just sat there, perfectly unbothered, organizing her crayons with the precision of an entire McLaren pit crew mid-tire change.

Oscar rubbed his hand over his face.

She was two and a half.

She wasn’t supposed to understand rear tire degradation.

She wasn’t supposed to diagnose race data off a glance.

Sure, Felicity had joked before — lightly, fondly — about Bee being "too smart for her own good," about how she needed bigger puzzles, bigger books, more challenges.

But Oscar had always thought that was just parental pride, the way any parent thought their kid was clever.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Now he was staring at his daughter, who had just casually, effortlessly, decoded live telemetry like it was a bedtime story.

Bee glanced up at him again, frowning slightly. “Papa?”

He blinked. “Yeah, Bumblebee?”

She held out a crayon toward him. “Do you want to help? You can do the red ones. They’re the soft tires.”

Oscar choked back a sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob.

Red. Soft tires.

She even knew the color codes.

He reached out, took the crayon from her tiny hand, and sat down cross-legged next to her.

Bee went back to coloring, her little tongue poking out in concentration.

Oscar looked at her — his daughter, his brilliant, impossible little girl — and felt his chest squeeze so tightly he thought he might actually break.

He needed to call Felicity.

He needed to tell someone.

Someone who would understand that this wasn’t just cute.

This was different.

Because Bee wasn’t just clever.

She wasn’t just bright.

She was gifted.

And if they weren’t careful — if they didn’t get this right — the world could very easily mistake her brilliance for something else.

Something inconvenient.

Something wrong.

Oscar sat there, coloring in slow, stunned silence, while his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter explained the “different compounds” of her crayons like she was hosting a pre-race strategy meeting.

He swallowed hard.

He would do anything — everything — to protect that mind. To give her the space to be exactly who she was, at exactly her speed, no matter what the world expected.

Bee leaned against his side, warm and trusting, and pointed at a particularly dark green crayon. “This one is the soft tire,” she said seriously. “It goes zoom fast but wears out quickly. Like in Spa.”

Oscar blinked at her.

Bee beamed at her own brilliance, then went back to coloring.

Oscar stared at the crayon in his hand, then up at the rain drizzling against the window outside.

Maybe he should have suspected it earlier.

Maybe he should have known.

After all, that’s what you got for marrying a woman whose mind burned brighter than anything he’d ever seen.

The rain had deepened to a soft drumbeat by the time Felicity pulled into the drive.

Oscar heard the car door shut, the gentle thud of boots on the porch. Bee didn’t even look up, too busy giving Button the frog a full race briefing using her crayon-coded "compound chart."

Oscar scrambled to his feet, heart still pounding with the kind of stunned, proud panic he hadn’t been able to shake for the past half hour.

He met Felicity at the door, practically vibrating.

She was peeling off her rain jacket, cheeks pink from the cold. She took one look at him—wide-eyed, disheveled, practically buzzing—and froze mid-motion.

“…What happened?” she asked, calm but sharp.

Oscar opened his mouth. No sound came out.

He tried again.

"Bee—" he croaked. "She—"

Felicity raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. She slipped off her boots, hung up the jacket, and stepped past him into the kitchen like she didn’t have a husband clearly moments away from a full existential crisis.

Oscar followed, helpless. “She—she diagnosed rear tire degradation, Felicity."

Felicity didn't even blink.

"Yeah," she said casually, reaching for a tea tin. "She does that sometimes, Oz."

Oscar gawked at her. “You’re not surprised.”

“Nope.”

“You knew.”

“Suspected. She identified geometric symmetry in a butterfly wing when she was nineteen months old, so I started to wonder,” Fliss said lightly, setting the kettle on."The way she watches. The way she categorizes everything. The way she remembers the smallest details."

Oscar ran a hand through his hair. "You suspected months ago and didn’t think to—?"

Felicity turned, one hip leaned casually against the counter, tea mug in hand. "I figured you’d figure it out when you were ready."

Oscar opened his mouth. Closed it.

He stared at her, at her easy calm, like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of his neatly organized world.

Oscar sank onto the edge of the kitchen counter like someone who had just realized they were living with a small wizard. “She asked me why understeer felt like a bad dream.”

“She’s very intuitive.”

“She told me Button the frog prefers oversteer because it’s ‘more exciting.’”

Felicity didn’t even blink. “I mean… same.”

Oscar dragged his hand down his face. “Felicity, I know every parent thinks their kid is special but I think we might be raising a genius.”

Felicity finally looked up, eyes soft. “Oscar. We are.”

He blinked. “You knew.”

“I had a spreadsheet,” she said casually.

“A—” He paused. “Of course you did.”

“I’ve been tracking her vocabulary progression, math intuition, pattern recognition, memory retention, and motor skill crossover since she could talk.”

Oscar stared at her like she had grown a second head.

“She also has synesthesia, by the way,” Felicity added drily. “Numbers have colors. She says three is green and ten smells like soap.”

Oscar made a helpless little noise. “I thought she was just creative.”

“She is creative,” Felicity said. “And scarily perceptive. And analytical. And basically a tiny version of what I could’ve been if anyone had let me be weird and brilliant at the same time.”

"How are you so calm?" he asked hoarsely.

Felicity smiled again, stepping closer to him, brushing a thumb along his cheekbone.

"Because I married a man who's going to show our daughter what it means to be loved exactly as she is."

She paused."And because I am her mother. I know exactly what it feels like to have a mind that doesn't fit the molds."

Oscar opened his eyes then — really looked at her — and saw it all there:

The knowing.

The fierce, quiet certainty.

The promise that she would burn the whole world down before she let Bee be boxed in.

His heart ached with love.

He kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment.

Behind them, Bee’s soft voice floated from the living room.

"Papa, I made the medium compounds yellow! Like the chart!"

Oscar laughed under his breath, chest tight and too full.

"See?" Felicity whispered against him. "She's going to be just fine."

Oscar held her tighter.

No, he thought fiercely.

She's going to be magnificent.

And he and Felicity were going to be right there, every step of the way — holding her up, cheering her on, fighting for her when she needed it.

Because Bee wasn’t just brilliant.

She was theirs.

He tugged Felicity into a quick kiss — grateful, overwhelmed, so completely in awe — and then they both headed into the living room.

To where their tiny, brilliant daughter was waiting.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri smau #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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theflyingsealion · 2 years ago

Text

I'm sorry this is driving me insane -

There is no label on the y-axis what on earth are those percentages supposed to mean???

If you want to know why people have lost faith in capitalism, this might help

#like cool graphic but- that doesn't- that doesn't mean anything???#160% of WHAT? What it was in 1985? That can't be right because 1985 is 0%#Is it how much it's increased since 1985?#That... doesn't seem right because it says it's inflation adjusted and this would suggest the median household income #has substantially increased since 1985 which-#wait #Is it median??? Is it average??? What fucking data are we using here???#If it is increase since 1985 that would...feel right for rent #but also has interesting connotations for the fact household income is rising as well-#The point is. Including a vague source is great but label your graphs holy shit #it speaks

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buldakcorn · 15 days ago

Note

Do you have anything for Choerry while I patiently await Taboo? 🥺

Morning Glory

LOONA/ARTMS Choerry x Male Reader

Genre : Girlfriend, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink

6466 words

As the soft light of dawn spilled into the room, you tiptoed out of the enveloping warmth of the shower, gently dabbing your skin with a plush towel. You couldn't help but steal a glance at Choerry, her peaceful features framed by a halo of disheveled hair, as she slept on soundly in your bed. Her gentle breathing and the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, a reminder of the love that had grown between you both over the past few months.

You felt a swell of affection as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly against your lips, but she didn't wake. With a quiet smile, you retreated to the sanctuary of your home office, fully dressed up, ready to face the day that stretched out before you.

Settling into your ergonomic chair, you took a moment to appreciate the orderly chaos of your home office, where piles of paperwork and screens of data danced in harmony. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen, a comforting scent that signaled the start of a new day.

You glanced at the digital clock on the wall, noticing that your online meeting was just minutes away. The anticipation grew as you clicked open your laptop, the screen flickering to life to reveal a series of notifications and emails awaiting your attention. You logged into the virtual conference platform, checking your appearance in the small thumbnail before you allowed yourself to be seen by your colleagues and investors.

With a deep breath, you clicked the 'join meeting' button, ready to navigate the intricate dance of numbers, strategy, and ambition that lay ahead. The video feeds popped up, displaying familiar faces along with a few new ones, and the room filled with the buzz of greetings and early morning banter. You straightened your tie, took a sip of your coffee, and plunged into the day's challenges.

The meeting unfolded with surprising ease as you navigated through the agenda, your voice confident and clear despite the occasional interruption from the hum of the early morning outside. You presented your latest financial reports with a flair that seemed to captivate even the most stoic of investors. Their nods and approving murmurs filled the virtual space, a symphony of affirmation that resonated deep within your chest. As the discussion grew more intense, your eyes flickered over to the time, noticing that it had flown by without a trace of sluggishness.

Suddenly, your professional focus was shattered by an unexpected sensation. You felt a strange force against your crotch, and your eyes shot down to find Choerry kneeling beneath your desk, her fingers deftly tracing the outline of your growing arousal through your trousers.

She looked up at you with a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with a mix of love and playfulness. Blowing you a kiss, she continued her ministrations, her touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. The meeting participants, oblivious to the intimate scene playing out beneath the conference table, carried on with their discussions.

Your heart raced as you struggled to maintain your composure, trying to keep your voice steady and your mind on the figures and graphs displayed on your screen. The tension grew, not only from the business matters at hand but also from the unspoken erotic dance happening right beneath your professional veneer.

The moment the conversation shifted to a colleague's presentation, you seized the opportunity to mute your microphone.

"Choerry, w-what are you doing?" you whispered, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and arousal. She giggled softly, her hand still moving rhythmically against your growing hardness.

"Just giving daddy some little motivation," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr with the pet name that sent a shiver down your spine. Despite the tension in the room, her playfulness was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile back at her. You reached down to gently tug at her ear, the silent communication between you a secret shared only by the two of you in this professional setting.

The thrill of potentially being caught only served to amplify the desire pulsing through your veins, and you felt your resolve to remain unflappable slipping away. Choerry, ever the tease, took this as a challenge, her touch growing bolder, her eyes locked onto yours with a fiery determination that dared you to ignore the passion smoldering between you.

As the conversation flowed back to you, your mind racing with the dual tasks of dissecting financial jargon and resisting the exquisite pleasure, you took a deep, calming breath and unmuted your microphone.

"As for the Q3 projections," you began, your voice a tad shakier than usual. Choerry, undeterred by the professional facade you were trying to maintain, took this as her cue.

She leaned closer, her warm breath ghosting over your skin as she took out your cock and placed it in her soft, wet mouth, her tongue flicking tantalizingly against the sensitive tip. You bit back a groan, focusing on the numbers and graphs on the screen as your body screamed for more.

"We're looking at a... a significant increase in revenue," you managed to say, your eyes darting between your presentation and the erotic show unfolding just out of camera range. The taste of your precum mixed with the bitter tang of coffee on her lips, and she moaned around you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. You clenched your fists, trying to keep from bucking your hips up into her mouth.

Choerry's pace increased, her cheeks hollowing as she took you deeper into her mouth, the wet sounds of her suctioning echoing in the quiet room. The sudden urgency of her actions sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you couldn't hold back a moan that slipped out, only to be hastily disguised as a cough.

You felt your face flush with heat, hoping your colleagues had attributed the unexpected sound to a mere throat tickle rather than the illicit act happening right under their virtual gazes.

In the midst of your impromptu performance, you caught the knowing glint in her eye, the way her hand slipped into her own panties, her fingers moving in time with her mouth. The realization that she was getting herself off while you tried to keep your cool was almost too much to bear, and you felt yourself approaching the precipice of climax. The tension between keeping your business persona intact and succumbing to the rapture of her touch grew tauter with each passing moment.

As your voice grew hoarse with restrained passion, the sudden sensation of Choerry's throat contracting around your cock made you stumble over your words. One of the investors raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her gaze piercing through the screen.

"Are you feeling alright?" she inquired with a hint of concern, noticing the tremor in your hand as it clutched the mouse. You managed a strained nod, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

"Yes, I'm... I'm just... a bit of a... dry throat," you croaked, trying to cover your discomfort with a hasty sip of coffee that nearly scalded your tongue. Choerry's eyes danced with mirth at your plight, her own hand now a blur in her lap, matching the rhythm of her mouth on you.

Her eyes never leaving yours, Choerry's mischievous smile grew wider as she shifted her attention to your balls, taking one into her mouth and rolling it around with her tongue while her hand kept a firm, teasing grip on your shaft.

The sight of her, kneeling before you, so attentive to your needs, was almost too erotic to handle. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter, your hips instinctively pushing forward despite the professional decorum you were desperately trying to uphold. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched your reactions, clearly enjoying the power she had over you in this moment.

As your colleagues droned on about market trends and profit margins, you fought to keep your voice steady, your mind racing with the sensations of her warm, wet mouth and the gentle tug of her hand. The sound of her soft, eager slurps filled the silence in your mind, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated words you were forced to speak.

With each stroke of her tongue, you felt your control slipping further, the pressure building to a crescendo that you were dangerously close to losing hold of.

The room outside your screen was a blur of graphs and faces, their voices a distant murmur as Choerry's mouth and hand worked in perfect harmony. You clenched your fists so hard that your knuckles turned white, trying to hold back the inevitable. But the way she looked up at you, her eyes shining with love and lust, made it impossible to deny the primal need that surged through you.

With one final, masterful tug, Choerry brought you to the brink, her eyes locked onto yours in a silent challenge. You could feel the heat of her breath against your thigh as she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowed with effort. The dam broke, and you couldn't contain the deep, guttural groan that tore from your throat.

You came, your release spilling into her waiting mouth, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile never faltering.

You managed to muffle the sound with your hand, hoping that the cacophony of voices in the virtual meeting would cover it up. As your orgasm subsided, you saw the triumph in her gaze, the satisfaction of a challenge well met.

With a final kiss to the tip of your cock, she withdrew her mouth and sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She winked at you, the picture of innocence, before slipping away from beneath the desk and leaving you secretly to face the aftermath of your secret rendesvouz.

As the final words of the meeting faded from the speakers, the screen on your computer went dark, leaving you alone in the suddenly quiet room with the echoes of your passionate encounter. You let out a deep, shaky sigh and leaned back in your chair, the leather cool against your dampened skin. Your heart pounded in your chest as the reality of what had just transpired began to settle over you.

The thrill had left you both physically and mentally drained, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure now giving way to a warm, contented lassitude. You took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your rumpled clothes and straightening your tie. The smell of sex lingered faintly in the air, a tantalizing reminder of Choerry's impromptu visit.

With a final, wistful glance at the now-empty space beneath the desk, you stood and stretched, feeling the delicious ache in your muscles. The sun had fully risen outside, casting a warm glow through the office windows, and the scent of breakfast wafted in from the kitchen.

You made your way to the kitchen, the scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon guiding you to the welcoming embrace of a well-deserved breakfast. As you sat at the table, the plate of steaming food already set before you, Choerry emerged behind you from the kitchen, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and an apron draped over her nightgown. She wrapped her arms around your chest, her cheek resting against your back as she leaned into your shoulder.

"Why are you starting your day with an empty stomach?!" she scolded playfully, her breath warm against your neck.

"You know you can't perform at your best without a proper breakfast." Her voice held a teasing lilt, the mischief of her earlier actions still dancing in her tone.

You couldn't help but chuckle, the warmth of her touch seeping into your bones as you took in the sight of your perfectly prepared meal, and your perfect girl.

"You're right, as always," you conceded, turning to kiss her cheek.

"I guess I had other... priorities this morning," you added with a smirk, your eyes sparkling with the memory of the meeting.

Choerry giggled, her hands slipping around to squeeze your abs gently.

"Well, now that you're all fed and energized," she whispered, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "I expect nothing but the best from my man today."

Her words, a siren's call, sent a thrill through your body, igniting a fire that hadn't yet had time to die down from your earlier encounter. You felt your cock begin to harden once more at the thought of her sweet, willing submission. You turned in your chair, taking her by the waist and lifting her onto your lap, her nightgown riding up to expose her bare thighs.

"Choerry," you murmured, your voice thick with desire, "you know I can't refuse you."

With a grin that was both adorable and predatory, she straddled you, her wetness pressing against your now-throbbing erection. "Then don't," she purred, rocking her hips slightly. "Punish this naughty slut, daddy."

You stood, her legs wrapped around your waist, and carried her towards the bedroom, the warmth of her body against yours setting your skin alight. The weight of her was heavenly, and you felt your resolve to keep the day professional dissolve away like sugar in hot tea.

Her loving smile never wavered as you carried her back to the bedroom, the playful lightness of the moment a stark contrast to the intense passion that had just transpired.

You couldn't resist showering her face with gentle kisses, your love for her spilling over into every touch. Choerry's giggles filled the air as she squirmed in your arms, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

"It tickles, daddy s-stop!" she murmured, trying to swat you away with a feigned look of annoyance. But the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her, revealing the thrill she found in your affectionate assault. You chuckled, feeling the warmth of her body against yours as she melted into your embrace.

With a playful growl, you set Choerry down on the bed, her body bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. She watched you with wide, hungry eyes, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as you began to undo the buttons of your shirt. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with each piece of clothing that fell to the floor.

Her gaze roved over your bare chest, her pupils dilating as your abs rippled in the soft morning light. She bit her finger, a silent plea for you to hasten your movements, her own need evident in the way her chest heaved with each shallow breath. The air was charged with sexual tension, the echoes of your earlier encounter still resonating in the space between you.

Your cock, now fully hard again, pointed towards her like a compass needle drawn to true north, a silent declaration of your intention to claim her once more. As the last of your shirt fell away, you stepped out of your trousers, revealing your nakedness to her eager eyes.

The sight of you, raw and aroused, sent a thrill through her, making her squirm with impatience. She reached for you, her hand tracing the length of your cock, her touch featherlight but filled with a promise of what was to come.

"I need you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that you were powerless to resist.

With a growl of need, you pushed Choerry back onto the bed, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath her. Your mouth claimed hers in a deep, hungry kiss, your tongue delving into the warm cavern of her mouth as you explored the sweetness of her taste.

Your hand wrapped around her right wrist, pinning it to the bed, while your other hand began to roam her body, your fingertips tracing the soft curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts, and the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

She moaned into your mouth, her body arching towards you, eager for the touch she knew would come. Your thumb grazed the sensitive peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her nightgown, making her gasp and her eyes flutter shut, her body responding to your every command.

"No underwear? Such a naughty girl."

Her eyes snapped open at your words, and she giggled, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

"I wanted to surprise you, daddy." she admitted shyly, her voice barely a whisper. Your cock twitched at her admission, and you couldn't help but lean down to kiss her again, your teeth grazing her lower lip before you pulled back.

"And surprise me you did, baby." you murmured against her mouth, your hand sliding beneath the hem of her nightgown to find her wet and ready. Choerry's breath hitched as you parted her folds with your thumb, her hips rising to meet your touch. The soft, slick sound of her arousal was music to your ears, and you felt your own desire swell in response.

"So fucking wet. Do you want it so badly?"

Choerry's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, her breath coming in quick gasps.

"Yes, make me cum so hard daddy," she whimpered, her hips bucking against your hand. You took mercy on her, sliding two fingers inside her, her warmth enveloping you as she moaned with pleasure. Her walls clenched around your digits, her body begging for more as you pumped into her steadily.

Her free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered some encouragement full of love and need. Her freed right hand found its way to your cock, her grip firm as she stroked you in time with your movements inside her. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.

"F-faster daddy, I'm so close."

"Bad girls don't get to cum easily."

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your teasing words, a playful pout gracing her lips.

"But daddy!" she protested, her voice a delicious blend of need and wantonness, "I've been such a good girl for you."

Her hips rolled against your hand, her internal muscles tightening around your fingers, as if to prove her point. You smirked, enjoying the way she writhed beneath you, her body a canvas of desire painted by your touch.

Leaning in, you whispered against her ear, "But the best rewards come to those who can wait," before withdrawing your hand and moving to kiss a trail down her neck. Her protests turned to whimpers of anticipation, her body quivering with the unfulfilled need you had so expertly woken within her.

You felt a thrill at the power you held over her, the way she submitted so beautifully to your will.

Your kisses grew more insistent, moving lower still, until you reached her pert nipples through her gown, teasing them with your teeth as your hand found its way to the apex of her thighs once more. This time, instead of sliding inside her, you gently pinched her clit, watching with dark delight as she arched off the bed with a silent scream, her eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and frustration.

Her hand tightened around your cock, her strokes becoming erratic as she attempted to coax you back to where she wanted you most. But you had other plans, your mouth moving lower, the fabric of her nightgown damp with her arousal. As you reached the juncture of her thighs, you pushed the gown aside, exposing her glistening folds to the cool morning air. With a grin, you dipped your head and took a long, lingering lick, savoring the taste of her sweetness. Choerry's eyes flew open, her pupils dilated with desire as she watched you, her breath hitching in her chest.

"Daddy..." she breathed, the single word a plea and a prayer, her legs spreading wider in an unspoken invitation.

"Oh God... Daddy eat me so well."

Taking her words to heart, you lowered your head to feast on her pussy, your tongue swirling around her clit before delving into her wetness. Choerry's legs trembled as you devoured her, her whimpers and gasps filling the room. You felt her body tighten around your fingers as you curled them inside her, hitting that magical spot that made her toes curl. Her hand on the back of your head held you in place, guiding your movements, her hips bucking against your face in a silent demand for more. The taste of her, the scent of her, the sounds of her pleasure – it was all too much, and you knew she was close.

"Fuckkk, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cu-"

Choerry's body spasmed as she reached her climax, her sweet nectar spurting forth like a fountain, soaking your face and chest. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out an ear-piercing scream that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. You didn't relent, continuing to lick and suck at her clit, drawing out every last drop of ecstasy until she collapsed against the mattress, her body slick with sweat and satisfaction.

"We're far from being done."

"Strip."

Choerry complied eagerly, her trembling hands pulling the nightgown over her head and tossing it aside, revealing her flushed body and hardened nipples. You took in the sight of her, a goddess laid bare before you, and felt your cock throb with anticipation. You climbed onto the bed, knees straddling her thighs, and took her face in your hands, kissing her deeply, sharing the taste of her pleasure. Her legs wrapped around your waist, urging you closer, and you felt her warmth against your shaft, beckoning you to claim her once more.

Without wasting a moment, you claimed her nipples with your eager mouth, sucking and teasing each peak until they stood at attention, pebbled with desire. Choerry's breath hitched, and she arched her back, offering herself to you fully as your tongue swirled and flicked against the sensitive flesh, eliciting soft moans from her parted lips.

Her hands roamed over your back, her nails digging into your flesh as you continued to worship her breasts, your passion for her a living, breathing entity that consumed the space between you. Each pull of your mouth on her nipples sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own.

"The milk won't c-come out until you p-put a baby in me daddy."

"Is that so? Is that what my sweetheart wants? To be filled with my cum?

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, stoking the inferno of your desire even higher. You pulled back, your eyes locked onto hers, a silent question in your gaze. Choerry's expression was a mix of longing and need, her body quivering with the aftershocks of her recent orgasm.

"Yes! Fill me up daddy! Make me carry your child!"

With a nod, she confirmed her wish, and you couldn't resist the urge to claim her fully. You lined up the head of your cock with her slick entrance, pausing for just a moment to appreciate the view. Her pussy glistened with desire, the perfect sheath for your throbbing member.

With a growl, you plunged into her, filling her up in one smooth, powerful stroke. She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head again, as you began to fuck her with a rhythm that was both punishing and loving.

"Oh my gosh.... So b-big..... Don't s-stop!"

Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through her body, and she met you with an equal fervor, her hips rising to meet you, her legs tightening around your waist. The room was filled with the slap of skin against skin and the sweet symphony of your mingled moans.

You leaned in to capture her mouth once more, your kiss deep and possessive, as you claimed her body in the most primal of ways. Your hands roamed over her curves, gripping her hips to pull her closer, to drive into her deeper still. Choerry's nails dug into your back, leaving a trail of fire as she held on tight, her breath coming in ragged pants.

"Daddy, I love you," she whispered, her voice a hoarse whisper lost in the crescendo of pleasure.

"I love you too, baby," you murmured, your own voice thick with emotion, "now cum for me again, show me how much you want it."

Her eyes cross each other in ecstasy as you pounded into her, the force of your thrusts shaking the bed with each powerful stroke. Her nails dug deeper into your back, leaving little half-moons of pain that only served to heighten your pleasure. You could feel her walls tightening around you, the muscles in her stomach tensing as she approached the edge of another orgasm. Her breaths grew more ragged, and her cries grew louder, each one a testament to the unbridled passion you shared.

Choerry's legs tightened around your waist, her heels pressing into your lower back as she met your every thrust with equal fervor. Her hips rolled in a desperate bid to take you even deeper, her need for release becoming more urgent with each passing second.

"Yes, baby, just like that," you grunted, feeling the beginnings of your own climax coil in your lower belly. You leaned down to nip at her neck, eliciting a scream that was music to your ears. "You're going to take all of me," you growled, your voice thick with desire.

With a groan of pure lust, you released her legs, pushing them up and back until they were bent at her shoulders, her pussy exposed and open to you like a flower in bloom. Choerry's grip tightened around her own legs, holding them in place as you took full advantage of her newfound vulnerability. The angle changed, allowing you to drive even deeper into her, and she moaned in pleasure as you did so. Your eyes never left hers, the connection between you burning hotter than the sun outside the window, as you claimed her completely. Each stroke was a declaration of your love, each thrust a silent promise to give her everything she desired.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving as she fought to maintain her grip on her legs. You knew she was close, could feel her tightening around you with every movement.

"Cum for me, baby," you whispered, your voice a dark caress, "let me feel your pussy milk me dry."

Choerry's eyes went wide, the heady mix of pleasure and pain in your words pushing her closer to the edge. She nodded, her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she braced herself for the deluge.

"I'm cumming now, daddy please," she begged, her voice a breathy whimper, "I'm cumming!"

And with that, you felt her walls clench around you, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. Her juices spilled over your cock, coating your abdomen as she rode the wave of pleasure. You watched, enraptured, as she lost herself to the sensation, her eyes glazed over and her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

As her orgasm subsided, you felt your own building, the pressure at the base of your spine growing unbearable. You knew you couldn't last much longer, and with one final, powerful thrust, you released your own flood of cum deep within her, filling her up and marking her as yours in the most primal of ways. The room seemed to spin around you as pleasure coursed through your veins, leaving you gasping for breath and trembling with the aftershocks of your release.

Choerry's legs slowly relaxed, and she let out a contented sigh, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she looked up at you. You collapsed beside her, your chests heaving in unison, your bodies slick with sweat and love.

As the final pulses of your orgasm subsided, you couldn't help but revel in the feeling of her body, still quivering with the aftershocks of her own. Your hand moved to her belly, pressing gently to feel the warmth of your cum inside her. With a knowing smile, you pushed against her stomach, watching as the excess fluid began to flow out of her, painting her inner thighs with sticky white streaks. The sight was incredibly erotic, a tangible proof of your union, and it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. Choerry giggled, a sweet sound that seemed to resonate through your very soul, her eyes fluttering shut as she enjoyed the sensation.

"Look at you," you murmured, your voice filled with awe and love, "so beautiful, so fertile."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink at your words, a soft smile playing on her lips as she opened her eyes to meet your gaze. "All for you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr that sent your pulse racing once more.

With a groan, you pulled her closer, your cock still semi-hard against her thigh. Your hand trailed up to her breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh as you kissed her again, unable to get enough of her taste, her touch, her scent. The room was filled with the sweet musk of your love making, a scent that seemed to envelop you both in a warm, comforting embrace.

Choerry's body was still quaking from the intensity of her climax when you felt your own hand acting of its own accord. Without warning, your fingers found their way back to her soaked pussy, gently sliding through the mess of cum and her juices. The sensation of being so completely filled and then touched again was almost too much for her to bear. Her eyes shot open in surprise, meeting yours with a mix of shock and overwhelming arousal.

"Daddy, no more, I'm still sensitive!" she breathed, though the plea was weak and her hips betrayed her, moving against your hand despite the protest. You couldn't resist the urge to test her limits, to see just how much pleasure she could handle. Your touch grew bolder, your fingers moving in small, teasing circles around her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her already oversensitive body.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out as the overstimulation built once more. You watched her intently, the way her body reacted to every touch, every stroke, and you felt your cock twitch back to life, eager to plunge into her once again.

"Be a good girl and cum for me again."

"I love to see your face when you cum. Give it to me baby."

Choerry's eyes widened with a mix of shock and excitement at your command, her body already responding despite her earlier protest. You watched as she bit her lip harder, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh as she fought against the waves of pleasure that your relentless fingers brought forth. Her breaths grew shallower, her chest heaving with the effort to remain silent. But it was clear that she was enjoying the torment, her eyes shining with a mischievous light that told you she was ready to push her boundaries even further.

With a smirk, you leaned down to capture her nipple once more, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as you continued to tease her clit with featherlight strokes. Her body arched off the bed, and she let out a muffled moan that was music to your ears. You knew she was close, the tension in her body building with every passing second.

"Daddyyyy!"

Her squirt was more intense than before, her juices arcing high into the air like a celebratory fountain. The force of her release soaked your hand, the bed, and even splattered against the wall. Choerry's eyes squeezed shut tightly as her body contorted with the overwhelming pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, and her breath was a series of sharp gasps as she rode the crest of her climax.

When the spasms finally subsided, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a strangled sound came out, her voice lost to the power of her orgasm. She panted heavily, her chest heaving, as she struggled to find the words to express what she felt.

"Is my baby okay? Did I went too hard?"

Choerry managed a weak nod, her cheeks still flushed and her chest rising and falling with the aftermath of her intense release.

"I'm okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're just so... amazing." She reached out to cup your cheek, her eyes shining with adoration. The room was still filled with the sweet scent of your love, and the sticky evidence of your shared passion was a testament to the depth of your connection.

You kissed her forehead tenderly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the exertion. As your hand pulled away from her still-throbbing pussy, you brought your fingers to your mouth, tasting her on your skin, the salty sweetness of her arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of your cum.

"Fuck me more, daddy. Treat me like I'm nothing but a slut. Make me your cumdump."

Her sexual drive suprised you. But who are you to ignore an angel's request.

And so you did. The day unfolded into a tapestry of carnality, each room in your home becoming a stage for your unbridled passion. From the soft caress of the living room rug to the cool embrace of the kitchen countertop, you claimed her in every way imaginable. Her moans of pleasure and the slap of your flesh against hers became the soundtrack of the day, echoing through the house like a siren's call that drew you back to each other time and time again.

You took her from behind as both of you work your way to the bathroom to take a shower, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and as you whispered dirty words into her ear. You had her ride you reverse cowgirl on the couch while watching your favorite shows, her ass bouncing with every eager plunge she took onto your cock. You bent her over the dining table midway through eating lunch, her legs shaking with the effort to hold herself up, as you fucked her so hard the chandelier above you swung with the force of your love. You fucked her against the windows of your office, her bare ass thumping on the glass surface, free for anyone to see. Each position brought new sensations, each touch a declaration of your insatiable hunger for one another.

As the shadows grew long and the day's warmth began to fade into the embrace of nightfall, the scent of your love lingered in the air like a potent aphrodisiac. In the dimly lit bedroom, you found yourself behind Choerry, her glistening skin bared to you like an open book. She was on her hands and knees, her back arched beautifully as she presented her soaked pussy to you. Each slap of your hand against her ass sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, her muffled cries of "more" urging you on. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by the wet smack of your cock disappearing into her depths. Her eyes were screwed shut in ecstasy, her teeth digging into the fabric of the bed sheet as she tried to contain the moans that threatened to spill out. You watched the pink slapmarks bloom across her ass, each one a brand of your ownership, a map of your passion.

"What are you Choerry?"

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your question, a fiery determination blazing within them. "I'm your slut, daddy, a nasty whore that needs to be punished and filled," she moaned, pushing back against you, her movements frantic and desperate for more.

You grabbed her hips tightly, your grip leaving marks on her skin, and slammed into her even harder, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. "That's right, baby," you growled, feeling the head of your cock hit her cervix with each forceful thrust. "You're mine to fuck whenever I want."

Her pussy tightened around you, her walls fluttering with the beginnings of another orgasm. You felt your own climax building, your balls drawing up tight, your cock swelling.

"Take it all!"

With one final, powerful drive, you buried yourself to the hilt and released, filling her up once more with your hot seed.

"YESSSS push your cum deep in me, daddy. I'm cumming on that big fucking cock!"

Choerry's body convulsed around you, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her screams were muffled by the pillow she'd bitten into, but the intensity of her pleasure was written all over her face.

As your climax waned, you leaned over her, kissing the nape of her neck, feeling her body quiver beneath you. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

"Good girl," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction, "you take it so well."

Choerry collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving with the effort to catch her breath. "I love you, daddy," she whispered, turning to look at you with a soft, adoring smile.

You pulled out of her with a wet pop and moved to lay beside her, pulling her into your embrace. "And I love you, baby girl," you said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your love, the room still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away if you loosened your grip. Choerry snuggled into you, her head resting on your chest, listening to the steady thump of your heart.

As the night descended, you knew that the next day would bring more challenges, more responsibilities, more of the mundane. But in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body against yours and the promise of more passionate encounters to come.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you heard was her sweet voice whispering, "Thank you, daddy," a soft reminder of the power and love that flowed between you, unspoken but ever present.

#loona smut #artms smut #choerry smut #kpop smut

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pukefactory · 1 month ago

Note

Okay I’ve gotten way to much back into ENA and I had an idea of Ena from dream bbq with reader were the reader speaks a whole new language and Ena takes time to learn and understand this new language just to feel closer to reader. I’m not sure if it should go romantically or more platonically lol

I more just wanted to put my thoughts out there! Thank u if u do write for this! Have a good week <3

•☽────✧˖°˖ SOMEONE WROTE THIS SONG BEFORE ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson Ena X Reader Who Speaks An Unknown Language

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ Salesperson Ena was immediately fascinated when she realized you spoke an entirely unfamiliar language. “A rare commodity! A unique dialect with limited market exposure! Tell me—what’s the valuation on fluency?” She started taking notes right away, promising to invest time into learning.

☆ “WHY CAN’T I UNDERSTAND A SINGLE THING YOU’RE SAYING?! WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KIND OF ORACLE?! SOME COSMIC JESTER?! A MESSENGER OF GØD WHO WON’T JUST SPIT IT OUT?!” While her Salesperson side was taking a structured, strategic approach, Meanie Ena was screaming into a dictionary, shaking it like the words inside might rearrange themselves into something she could grasp.

☆ Ena’s learning methods were… questionable. At one point, she tried to absorb your language through osmosis, pressing her forehead against yours while mumbling, “Downloading linguistic data… recalibrating neurons… okay, that’s not working.” Then she switched to frantically gesturing at objects and waiting for you to name them.

☆ One day, Ena decided to fully commit. She put on a little presentation, flipping through a self-made slideshow. “Ladies and gentlemen of the universe, I present to you—MY NEW LANGUAGE ACQUISITION BUSINESS PLAN. Featuring: memorization! Pattern recognition! And my personal favorite—aggressive trial and error!” She even had graphs, though they didn’t make any sense.

☆ As she improved, Ena started offering (unwanted) translations to everyone in her bizarre world. “WORRY NOT, CITIZENS! I HAVE DECODED THE ENIGMA THAT IS MY PAL’S SPEECH!” She would then proceed to provide the most inaccurate translations imaginable. “They just said… ‘All business transactions should be made in good faith!’ See? Deep philosophy!” (You had actually just asked for a snack.)

☆ There was a moment—rare, fleeting—when Meanie Ena stopped shouting and just sat in quiet contemplation. “You… really spent time teaching me,” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “That’s… nice, I guess. Ugh, shut up, I didn’t say anything sappy!” (She totally did.)

☆ Ena started mixing your language with her usual speech patterns, much to the horror of those around her. “DEAR CUSTOMER, LET ME OFFER YOU A ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME DEAL ON—” she suddenly switched mid-sentence into a phrase in your language that made zero sense contextually. Even she looked confused. “…Wait. Did I just say ‘fermented pancake’ instead of ‘investment opportunity’? Oh dear.”

☆ One day, she threw you a curveball. “Now it’s YOUR turn!” Ena decided you had to learn her speech patterns in return. Suddenly, you were being quizzed on sales jargon and cryptic Meanie Ena-isms. “QUICK! WHAT’S THE CORRECT RESPONSE TO ‘SPONSOR MY BUSINESS’?” (…There was no correct response. Only suffering.)

☆ Once Ena became confident, she started using your language for private jokes and secret commentary. If someone was annoying her, she’d lean over and mutter something in your dialect that made you stifle a laugh. “Ugh, what did she just say?!” a bystander demanded. Ena grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just business talk!”

☆ Finally, after who-knows-how-long, Ena approached you with something clutched tightly in her hands. “TA-DA! My final product!” It was a handwritten letter, completely in your language. The grammar was awful, the spelling was questionable, but the message was clear: “Thank you for being my friend. I hope we can talk like this forever.”

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gyuswhore · 8 months ago

Text

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

[full fic here]

kim mingyu x reader

est. word count: 10-15k [fat chance]

est. release date: 10th September

warnings: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], angst, statistics, more to be added in final post

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

‼️ JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post. AGE INDICATORS ON YOUR BLOG ARE NECESSARY. ‼️

[a/n]: first look into the TA collab fic!!! @camandemstudios has been along time in the making and I cant wait for you all to read all of the fics in full. accept this piece offering from me and please let me know what you think of it so far!

masterlist

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him.

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, Mingyu blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page.

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell.

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he genuinely wanted to know.

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer.

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and wording were the problem.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words.

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes as the next words leave you in a low voice, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he says it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand.

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger.

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did.

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered different colours of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag.

It’s only then that you spot the segregated stack of papers in your bag that you remember.

“I almost forgot,” you say, grabbing the pile and placing it in front of him.

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply.

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he says something. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.”

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

#seventeenTAcollab #mingyu #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu imagine #mingyu fic #mingyu x reader #svt #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen fic #seventeen fic recs #svt fluff #svt smut #svt angst #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

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unsolicited-opinions · 1 month ago

Text

3/26/25

Haviv Rettig Gur on deaths in Gaza:

The full list of Gazans killed in the war has been released in Gaza. Possibly. At the very least, as Israeli analysts are now finding, there aren't duplicate ID numbers or other tells one finds in obviously manipulated data sets. But here's another reason to trust the data: It shows just how much Israel's warfighting tried to separate combatant from civilian. It seems unlikely that a faked Gazan data set would show such a result. The graph in the first tweet of this thread shows male to female deaths. If female deaths are assumed to be a civilian baseline (the age distribution is roughly the general Gazan population's age distribution), then the enormous spike of the blue line, right in the area of the graph that represents fighting-age men, is the best likely measure of combatant deaths. According to this analyst, the gap comes to over 16,000 dead, or almost exactly a third of total deaths. That's a Gazan data set, not an Israeli one. And it's the most complete one so far, the only one that claims to give all the names of all the dead, the one most likely to be an honest recording of the actual dead. And according to this data set, the death toll in Gaza is two civilians to each combatant, well in line with the highest standards of modern democratic armies. To be clear - this caveat is obvious, but it's important enough to say it explicitly nonetheless - the debate isn't over whether children died in Gaza or crimes were committed. The answer to both is yes. There were definitely and unquestionably war crimes committed in Gaza, air strikes that should not have been carried out. And there are thousands of dead children in this data set. The debate is over the extent, whether these are at a level consistent with the inevitable costs of even the most legitimate kind of war, which will always be horrible, or whether the best data we have shows wanton Israeli killing and disregard for moral rules and international laws. Israel's haters will tweet pictures of dead children in response. If they did that for every war, I'd take them seriously and sympathetically. But the vast majority of them don't. They don't care about dead children, only about destroying Israel. And so they can't actually tell us anything about whether our army, broadly speaking, has fought morally. But this data set can. All war is evil, all war is hell, all war is a kind of civilizational failure. But war is sometimes nevertheless legitimate and inevitable. International humanitarian law came about not to end war, because ending war is impossible, but to mitigate its evils. If this data set is correct - again, a data set released from Gaza and not at all intended to validate any Israeli argument about its battlefield standards - then the costs imposed on Gaza by Israeli warfighting methods are consistent with what is generally considered in the West to be moral and legitimate. It is a comparable ratio to the 2016 Battle of Mosul in which Iraq, the Kurds and America drove ISIS out of the city. War is bad. I respect people who vehemently oppose this one, who question the Israeli political leadership's decisions, who use the war to debate the larger question of Palestinian independence and statehood. These are all legitimate responses to the suffering of Gazans. As is the argument I personally agree with that this war was the only path available to us to rid ourselves and Gaza of the neverending and endlessly destructive scourge of Hamas. But it nevertheless matters - indeed, it may be the most important thing over the long term - that this war's civilian casualties were not worse than other comparable wars, and that even Gazan data sets show that to be the case.

The thread to which Haviv refers is here

#jumblr #Haviv rettig gur #israel #Gaza #I/P

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itsbenedict · 5 months ago

Text

That's Right: It's Another Hot Take About That Dead Healthcare CEO

The websites are abuzz with debate on the utilitarian calculus of whether some guy getting shot was a good thing. What are the odds that the assassination will scare the horrible greedy health insurance companies into changing their ways and fixing the system? Is it worth killing someone over? Will the fear of being blasted by some guy with stylishly-engraved bullets put the fat cats in line? Or will their greed win out over their fear, leaving the nightmarish system unchanged?

Well, what if that was totally irrelevant?

You may have seen a graph that looks like this:

I've seen a few of these going around. These are the rates at which various health insurance companies say "no, you don't get the money" when someone says "hey I need money for this medical thing". UHC, the one whose CEO got shot, is notably really bad in this respect. They've got algorithmic claims denials and all kinds of nasty things that people don't like. All that money they're saving on paying out on claims must be making them rich, right? Let's look at their own financial reports:

Whoa! Big numbers! Six percent looks like a small number, but multiply and they make like thirty billion dollars doing this! That's a lot, right?

Well hang on. They're an insurance company. We can roughly model their profit as the amount people pay them for insurance, minus the amount they have to pay out for claims. Let's look at 2023: simple subtraction, their expenses are $339.2 billion. We simplify other overhead and assume that's all claims. So... that represents those 67% of claims they don't reject. What happens if they approve all the claims?

Multiply: $506.3 billion. They don't have that kind of money. They have $371.6 billion in revenue. So okay- they have to deny some claims. That's pretty normal. But let's pretend they're extremely afraid of assassins now and want to be completely non-greedy: they're okay making zero profit. They make $32.4 billion in profit- how many otherwise-rejected claims can they now afford to approve?

...uh. Well, they can afford to pay out, at most, 73.4% of claims. Still a denial rate of 26.6%, higher than most of their competitors. Not a huge improvement. And in reality, they can't afford to make 0 profit- a company that's making 0 profit is a company investors pull out of immediately, leaving it to collapse, because they can make more money investing in the ones that aren't as afraid of assassins. They've got to at least hover around the same profit margin as their competitors. Which is...

That's average profit margins for the whole US healthcare industry. So, okay, if we match those other companies' profit margins and try to hover around 3-4%... uh. Wait. Hang on. Here's another graph with more recent data on UHC specifically:

Wait, they're still just making that little 3-4% profit margin, even with all these shady automated denials- so how are those other companies doing better on claims? They're obviously not less greedy. They must be making more money somehow, right?

(My guess, sight-unseen, would be that they charge more for their plans, or offer less comprehensive coverage, or use a network of less expensive providers, or other things that make the amount they have to pay out smaller and the amount they're taking in larger. I don't feel like doing a comprehensive consumer review of what every insurance provider's healthcare plans are, but there's always these tradeoffs to make. UHC seems to be offering the tradeoff of "better or cheaper care, on paper" for "but there's a higher risk of getting denied", which is one annoying tradeoff among many.)

Okay But That's Enough Graphs

"Yeah yeah yeah shut up about profit margins and coverage tradeoffs. Is it a good thing that the CEO got shot or not?"

Well, their profit margin at the time he was shot was 3.63%. A company can't survive making 0 or less, so whatever effect fear of assassination has on UHC's greediness, it is going to be no larger than 3.63%.

They may learn the lesson that having their denial rates too high will get them assassinated. Accordingly, they may decrease that metric- by charging higher premiums, kicking expensive doctors out of their network, or reducing their stated coverage. They will not (because they cannot, without ceasing to exist as a company) simply start approving more claims without squeezing their customers elsewhere. They legally cannot do that. No matter how afraid you make the CEOs, you cannot make them afraid to a degree larger than their profit margin.

Well What The Fuck, Then

Like, what, are we supposed to accept that things will literally never get better and that this horrorshow is the best we can hope for? That's some bullshit! If we can't scare the CEOs, who can we scare?

Man I dunno.

Like, for some reason healthcare is stupid expensive! People can't afford to pay for healthcare without insurance- it's like thousands of dollars for basic procedures! Why? Maybe...

Doctors inflate their prices 10x because they know insurance companies will use complicated legal tricks to only pay 10% of the asking price, and this is a constantly escalating price war that serves mainly to fuck over the uninsured

Drug manufacturers and health technology companies fight tooth and nail to maintain monopolies over treatment, so they can charge gazillions to make back the gazillions they had to spend on FDA approval trials

(Trials those same companies lobby to keep necessary because the more money you have to pay for FDA approval, the harder it is for competitors to enter the market since they don't already have the gazillions)

Doctors operate as a cartel and lobby to gatekeep access to medical training so that they can keep doctoring a prestigious and exclusive position, and keep their own salaries high enough to pay their medical school debt and make them rich afterwards- leading to a (profitable) shortage of medical professionals

There is no limit to how expensive things can get but how much people are physically capable of paying, because frequently the alternative to "pay a ridiculous amount for healthcare" is "die", and so healthcare is subject to near-infinitely inelastic demand

Also like a thousand other equally annoying and complicated perverse incentives and stupid situations

This is the human condition: Shit is annoying and complicated and difficult to fix, pretty much 100% of the time forever. A few bullets in some fucko's back isn't really going to make a dent.

(But like, sure, fuck that guy. He probably sucked, as do the hundred other identical suits in line to replace him. Just... don't expect this to help.)

#uhc ceo discourse

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bucketgetter535 · 8 days ago

Text

No Margin for Error: Chapter Five

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

CW: Drinking,mild sexual content (no smut you freaks…yet)

WC: 5.1k

Notes: Annndddd we’re back. You guys should like this chapter probably. Lmk what you think 😊

The wind at Silverstone always felt like it had an attitude, like it knew it was hosting one of the biggest races of the year and wanted everyone to feel it. Paige pulled her jacket tighter around her as she crossed the paddock toward the Ferrari garage, her eyes narrowed against the cool breeze.

It was early still, but Mercedes had already sent a message. Their car was fast. Maybe not on raw one-lap pace, but over a race distance? Dangerous. Paige had seen the data. She didn’t need Luca to tell her that if Ferrari didn’t find something extra, this weekend was going to be a fight.

She found him exactly where she expected — leaned up against the pit wall, tablet in hand, scrolling through sector times like the rest of the world didn’t exist. His hood was up against the cold and he looked about as happy as she felt.

“Morning,” Paige said, tugging her gloves on.

Luca glanced up briefly, offering a grunt that passed as a greeting. He tapped a few things on the screen and flipped it around to show her.

“They’re quick,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious.

Paige studied the graph, then sighed. “Long runs look worse than quali sims.”

“Yeah.” Luca smirked. “Your favorite.”

Paige shot him a look but didn’t bother arguing. He was right. She could handle a fast lap. Managing tires and fuel while fending off a Mercedes breathing down her neck for fifty laps? Different story.

She shifted her weight, glancing over toward the garage. Mechanics were moving around like usual, but there was a weird energy. Like something was missing.

“Where’s Azzi?” she asked, frowning.

Luca hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Sick. Flu or something. She’s not running practice today.”

Paige straightened immediately. “Wait. She’s sick sick? Is she gonna race?”

He shrugged, a motion that somehow said both I hope so and no clue. “Depends how bad it is. Doctors are with her.”

Paige pressed her lips together. Silverstone wasn’t just another track — it was Azzi’s track. If she couldn’t race, that would be an issue.

Before she could ask anything else, a voice cut through the buzz of the garage. Chiara, Ferrari’s head of PR, appeared, tablet in hand and moving with the kind of urgency that always made Paige suspicious.

“Paige,” Chiara said, in that polished tone she used when she was about to ruin your day. “We’ve scheduled a meeting for you. In a few weeks.”

Paige blinked. “Okay… with who?”

Chiara smiled tightly, like she was about to hand over a corporate gift bag. “Dirk van de Meer.”

There was a half-second where the name didn’t register, then it hit her. Van de Meer. Adrian van de Meer. Former Ferrari driver from the early 2000s. Legend in his own right. Which meant—

Paige fought back a groan. PR boyfriend alert. She didn’t even have to ask. She could see it already — some clean-cut golden boy from the Netherlands, shoved into her orbit for “optics” and “future potential” and whatever other nonsense PR liked to throw around.

“Awesome,” Paige said dryly. She caught Luca’s glance out of the corner of her eye. He was trying — and failing — to keep a straight face.

She crossed her arms. “How old is this guy, anyway?”

Chiara didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-seven.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. Older than her, but not by much. Old enough that if this was some weird matchmaking attempt, it wasn’t technically creepy. Still. She could already picture it: the cameras, the rumors, the endless speculation about Ferrari’s future power couple.

Fantastic.

Luca coughed into his hand, and she shot him a death glare. He only shrugged, like hey, don’t shoot the messenger.

Paige exhaled slowly and looked back at Chiara. “Fine. I’ll meet him. Just… after Silverstone.”

“Of course,” Chiara said with a bright smile, before disappearing back into the chaos of the paddock like a storm had passed through.

Left alone again, Paige leaned against the wall next to Luca. For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Luca said, deadpan, “You’re gonna love him.”

Paige closed her eyes. “Shut up.”

–

Paige Qualified third

It wasn’t that third was bad.

It was that third at Silverstone, when you knew you could’ve had more, felt like a punch to the ribs.

Paige yanked off her gloves the second she pulled into the garage, her jaw clenched so tight she thought she might crack a molar. She didn’t even look up at the screens flashing provisional results across the pit lane. She didn’t need to. She knew it already — Mercedes locked out the front row, Ferrari in third.

Behind her, the red garage buzzed with energy, trying to spin it as a good result. And technically, it was. Ferrari was miles ahead in the Constructors’ standings. They could afford a race or two where they weren’t perfect.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting like hell.

Paige hopped out of the car and tugged her helmet off, running a hand through her sweaty hair. As the adrenaline faded, the other weight settled back on her shoulders — because, of course, qualifying frustrations weren’t enough.

No. She also had Dirk van de Meer waiting for her.

Apparently, PR Boy couldn’t even wait until after the race. Chiara had texted her mid-morning: “Dirk will be joining us today. Please meet him before media commitments.”

Translation: Smile for the cameras, be friendly, and don’t scare off our sponsor’s golden child.

Paige set her jaw and stalked toward the back of the garage, her race suit half unzipped and tied around her waist. The second she turned the corner, she spotted him.

Dirk. Tall, blond, textbook Dutch features. White Ferrari polo shirt like he belonged there already, laughing too loud at something Chiara said. He had the same easy, polished look that always seemed to follow sons of ex-drivers around — born to be here, even if he hadn’t earned a damn thing yet.

Paige slowed her steps, dragging out the inevitable. She caught sight of Luca off to the side, pretending to busy himself with a laptop but definitely watching the whole thing unfold like it was reality TV. Paige gave him a look that said I will murder you in your sleep and kept walking.

And then, a little farther down, she saw Azzi.

Azzi was sitting on one of the spare tires near the wall, still in her race suit, helmet resting beside her. She looked pale, miserable, and more frustrated than Paige had ever seen her. Normally, Azzi at Silverstone was a weapon — sharp, deadly, untouchable. Today, she looked like she was barely hanging on.

Their eyes met for a split second, and Paige’s heart twisted. Azzi didn’t have to say anything. Paige could see it — the sickness still weighing her down, the frustration of knowing her body was betraying her at one of the biggest races of the year.

Paige hesitated, torn between storming over to check on Azzi and dealing with the PR nightmare standing a few feet away. Chiara, naturally, solved it for her.

“Paige! Over here,” she called, bright and fake.

Paige gritted her teeth and turned toward Dirk. He stuck out a hand like they were old friends.

“Dirk van de Meer,” he said, flashing a perfect grin.

“Paige,” she said shortly, shaking his hand once before dropping it like it burned. Her voice was calm, but her mind was still with Azzi, still furious at herself for not putting the lap together, still pissed she had to deal with this circus instead of being able to focus.

Dirk didn’t seem to notice the iciness. Or if he did, he powered through it with PR training so thick you could smell it. He asked some polite question about her qualifying — she didn’t even remember what — and she answered automatically, her eyes flickering back toward Azzi every few seconds.

Azzi hadn’t moved. She was just sitting there, staring at the floor, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.

Luca finally drifted closer, mercifully inserting himself into the conversation under the guise of checking her data screen. Paige barely registered what he said, only that it gave her an excuse to pull away from Dirk.

She muttered something about media duties and ducked toward the garage exit, not waiting for permission.

She needed a second. Away from cameras. Away from fake smiles. Away from the growing pressure in her chest that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Silverstone was supposed to be a statement. And now it felt like they were barely surviving it.

–

Paige barely made it to her little room off the back of the Ferrari motorhome before she collapsed face-first onto the narrow bed.

It wasn’t exactly glamorous — a twin mattress, a chair, a tiny desk piled with unopened water bottles and a couple half-eaten protein bars — but it was hers for the weekend. A place to disappear for five minutes and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She kicked her shoes off and stretched out with a groan. Every part of her body felt heavy — the adrenaline crash from qualifying, the pressure, the PR nonsense — it all layered over her like a second fireproof suit she couldn’t peel off.

And somewhere, at the back of her mind, a new and very real fear was setting in: if Azzi gave her the flu, she would kill her.

Paige flipped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, arms sprawled out like a crime scene.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, voice rough, “if I get sick and have to race like that, I’m taking her out at Turn Three. I don’t care. Straight up.”

She was halfway considering napping — just a quick reset — when she heard the faint sound of someone moving next door.

The shuffle of feet. A door closing quietly.

Azzi.

Paige blinked up at the ceiling for a second, debating. She should probably stay here. Germs. Sanity. Self-preservation.

But… it was Azzi. And Paige couldn’t just ignore her.

Grumbling under her breath, Paige hauled herself up and wandered over. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the doorframe.

“Hey,” she said, voice still low from exhaustion. “You alive in there?”

The door cracked open, and there was Azzi — messy bun barely hanging on, race suit half undone, a hoodie pulled on over the top. She looked like hell. Pale, tired, dark circles under her eyes. Still, she managed a half-smirk.

“You sure you wanna risk it?” Azzi said, voice scratchy but teasing. “I’m like… one step away from biohazard level.”

Paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, if I get sick, I’m running you off track tomorrow. Fair warning.”

Azzi snorted and stepped back to let her in. Paige followed, already regretting it a little because holy hell, it smelled like Vicks and cough drops in here.

“You already look sick, bro,” Azzi said, dropping onto the edge of her bed with a wince.

Paige froze. “What?”

Azzi looked up at her, half amused, half serious. “Yeah. You’re all pale and sweaty. Gross.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “That’s just… qualifying stress.”

“Mmhmm.” Azzi wrapped herself tighter in her hoodie like a burrito. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Paige huffed and sat down in the only chair, immediately regretting how much her legs ached. Now that Azzi mentioned it… she did feel kind of weird. But it was probably just adrenaline.

They sat in silence for a minute, the quiet hum of the paddock barely leaking in from outside. It wasn’t awkward. It never was with Azzi. Even sick and miserable, she was still Azzi — the one person who didn’t make Paige feel like she had to perform every second she was wearing red.

Paige leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Just don’t breathe directly on me,” she muttered.

Azzi laughed weakly. “No promises.”

–

From the second Paige opened her eyes, she knew it wasn’t going to be a good day.

It wasn’t the flu — not yet, anyway — but something gnawed at her edges. A bad mood, raw and restless under her skin, tightening everything until her muscles ached before she even got in the car.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the fact that Azzi was apparently going to race today, despite what every medical professional in the country of Britain had advised.

Paige dragged herself through morning meetings and media duties on autopilot, nodding at the right times, signing autographs, posing for the same pictures she always did.

It all felt distant. Like she was wading through static.

By the time she was strapping into the car on the grid, helmet already steaming with her own breath, she forced herself to focus. Third place. Good start position. Damage control today. Don’t do anything stupid.

The lights went out, and Silverstone roared to life.

Paige got off the line clean, tucking neatly behind the two Mercedes and immediately slamming the door on the McLaren trying to sneak up the inside. She held her position through the first lap, her car heavy and twitchy with fuel, the tires screaming on cold asphalt.

By Lap 10, she was in a rhythm. Controlled. Mechanical.

3rd. Still 3rd.

“Update on Azzi?” Paige asked over the radio, voice steady even if her stomach twisted at the question.

A crackle of static, and then Luca’s voice, clear and professional:

“Currently 7th. She’s holding pace but dropping a little.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. Good enough, she guessed. Azzi had no business being in the car today, but if she could survive the race, that was all they needed.

Turn One came up fast, Silverstone’s brutal high-speed right-hander. Paige flicked the wheel in — and the front end didn’t bite the way it should.

Understeer. Subtle, but real.

“Understeer, Turn One,” she said calmly into the radio, adjusting her steering mid-corner.

There was a pause. Then Luca:

“Sorry? You’re feeling understeer?”

Paige blinked, irritation flaring hotter than it should have. “What? No. There is understeer. In Turn One. Track’s getting greasy or the wind’s shifted or something, I don’t know. Figure it out, Luca.”

Another beat of static.

“Copy,” Luca said, way too neutral for Paige’s liking.

She gritted her teeth and kept pushing, heart pounding harder than it should for Lap 11 of 52. Every time she turned the wheel, it felt like the car was a second behind her, lazy and stubborn. Every time she thought about Azzi, still fighting through fever and muscle aches, it twisted something deeper in her gut.

She wasn’t sick.

She wasn’t tired.

She wasn’t anything.

She was just angry.

At the track. At the car. At herself for caring so much.

At Azzi for racing when she shouldn’t.

At Dirk and his stupid PR smiles.

At the universe for daring to make her feel anything today at all.

Paige slammed the car over the curbs and punched out of the corner, engine screaming under her.

3rd. Still 3rd.

But it felt like barely holding on.

–

Fourth place.

Not a disaster. Not a win, either.

Paige went through the media gauntlet like she was sleepwalking — same questions, same fake smiles. How was the car? Was she happy with the result? How’s the team morale heading into the break?

Smile. Nod. Say the right things. Don’t think too hard.

She hadn’t seen Azzi since the cooldown room. Actually, she wasn’t even sure Azzi made it through the whole race. Someone said she finished, someone else said she got hauled straight to medical. Paige pretended she didn’t care. Pretended really hard.

After the last interview, Paige peeled off her race suit in the garage, pulled on a hoodie and leggings, shoved her duffel bag over her shoulder, and left without another word.

Hotel.

Shower.

Flight.

Forget Silverstone ever happened.

The two-week break stretched out in front of her like a life raft. She hadn’t been home to Minneapolis for longer than a few days since preseason testing. All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed, see her family, remind herself she was still a person and not just a Ferrari-branded robot.

Paige got to the private terminal just after sunset, the Silverstone sky bleeding into deep blue and gold.

And there it was — Azzi’s jet.

It looked exactly how Paige expected it to: sleek, polished, expensive enough to make her bones ache.

She wasn’t even sure if she was invited on it. But someone from logistics had just said, “Yeah, you’re flying with Azzi back to the States,” like it was no big deal. So here she was.

Paige climbed the short set of stairs and ducked inside, half expecting to be tackled by security or something.

Instead, Azzi was sprawled across one of the big leather couches, hoodie up, headphones half-on. She looked up when Paige entered, blinking like she was still coming back to reality.

“Hey,” Azzi said, voice rough but better than yesterday.

“Hey,” Paige answered, shoving her bag into an overhead compartment before flopping down across from her.

The engines started to hum underfoot. A flight attendant offered water, snacks, blankets — all of which Paige awkwardly declined. She wasn’t used to flying like this. It felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

The jet taxied and lifted off with barely a bump, angling toward the U.S. East Coast.

Azzi pulled off her headphones and tossed them onto the seat beside her.

“You headed home?” she asked, voice casual.

“Yeah. Minneapolis,” Paige said, stretching her legs out.

Azzi smiled faintly. “Two weeks of peace and quiet.”

“Hopefully.”

They sat there for a while, the noise of the engines soft and steady around them.

Paige realized it was the first time since that night in New York they’d really talked without helmets on, without the garage screaming around them, without strategists hovering nearby like vultures.

Azzi looked different outside of a race suit — softer, almost. Still competitive under the surface, but quieter about it.

And Paige… Paige didn’t know who she was right now. Just tired, probably. Or maybe remembering there was a real world out there, somewhere beyond press conferences and tire compounds.

“First time on a private jet?” Azzi asked, smirking.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

Azzi chuckled, low and scratchy. “Not bad, right?”

Paige leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Not bad at all.”

–

The hours blurred together in the kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward.

The hum of the engines, the soft lighting, the low, steady rhythm of flight — it all made it easy to forget everything they were usually supposed to be.

Paige stared out the window for a while, watching the stars scatter across the dark sky.

When she turned back, Azzi was still sitting there, hood pulled low, looking half-asleep but not quite gone.

“You got family back home?” Azzi asked finally, voice rough but curious.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. My little brother, Drew. Probably taller than me by the time I land.”

Azzi grinned a little at that. “They grow fast when you’re not looking.”

“Tell me about it,” Paige said, smiling despite herself. “And my dad’s there too. He’s — he’s great. Still thinks he knows more about Formula One than he does.”

“Classic.”

Paige laughed under her breath, feeling herself loosen up. “My mom… she’s out in Montana now. Bought a ranch or something after the divorce. Not really in the picture anymore, but it’s fine. I think she’s happier that way.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood without needing all the messy details.

Paige shifted, pulling one leg up onto the seat. “What about you?”

Azzi smiled faintly, her fingers tugging at the hem of her hoodie. “Parents are still in D.C. I’ve got two younger brothers. Jon and Jose.”

“Yeah? You close with them?”

Azzi shrugged. “In the way brothers and sisters are. They were always around growing up — annoying me, taking my stuff. Pretty classic younger brother stuff.”

Paige laughed again, genuinely this time. “Sounds about right.”

Azzi tilted her head back against the couch, looking at Paige through half-lidded eyes. “You probably would’ve fit right in.”

Paige smirked. “Probably would’ve been grounded every weekend.”

“Definitely,” Azzi said, smiling wider.

For a minute, they just sat there, letting the conversation breathe. Then something clicked in Paige’s brain.

“Wait,” Paige said, sitting up straighter. “If your whole family’s in D.C., why the hell do you live in New York?”

Azzi blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “Wanted some space. After I signed with Ferrari, it just… made sense to be closer to everything. Europe flights, brand stuff, whatever. Plus, D.C.’s a little too — I don’t know — perfect sometimes. New York’s real. Loud. Messy. I like it.”

Paige thought about that, nodding slowly. She couldn’t blame her.

There was something about New York that made you feel small and big at the same time. Like you could be nobody and still belong there.

“Besides,” Azzi added, grinning lazily, “I wouldn’t survive another Christmas with my mom setting up matching pajamas.”

Paige snorted, shaking her head. “God. I feel that.”

The conversation slipped into another lull, but it wasn’t heavy. Just comfortable.

Until Paige sighed and slumped further into her seat, muttering, “Fucking Dirk.”

Azzi’s eyebrow arched, sharp and amused. “Dirk, huh?”

Paige groaned into her sleeve. “Yeah. Fucking Dirk. Ferrari’s latest genius PR move.”

Azzi laughed, coughing a little. “The Netherlands guy?”

“Yep,” Paige said, popping the p. “Supposed to be some golden boy. Son of a former Ferrari driver. I’m probably supposed to be fake-dating him for sponsor points or some shit.”

Azzi looked way too entertained. “You gonna?”

“God, no.” Paige rubbed her face. “The guy probably irons his jeans.”

Azzi cracked up at that, the sound low and a little raspy but real. Paige smiled despite herself, basking for a second in the normalcy of it all.

No helmets. No pressure. No cameras.

Just two girls, exhausted and flying through the night sky toward something that — for a little while — wasn’t racing.

–

It had been one week. Well, a little less

Five whole days of pretending she was a normal person again — seeing family, catching up with friends, trying to remember how to sleep past 7 A.M. without an alarm screaming at her.

And now here Paige was, back in New York, standing at some bougie rooftop event she didn’t even want to be at, pretending she cared about fancy cars and overpriced champagne… all because of fucking Dirk.

Dirk van something.

He was as punchable in person as Paige remembered. Tall, hair slicked back like he thought he was stepping onto a magazine cover. He smiled too much, laughed too loud, and kept finding excuses to stand just a little too close.

Ferrari’s PR dreamboy.

Paige’s personal nightmare.

She had been texting Azzi under the table all night.

PB5: i will kill him

PB5: i swear to god azzi i will catch a charge tonight

Azzi’s responses came quick, like she was laughing from wherever she was.

AF35: sounds like a u problem

AF35: i have more tequila tho

AF35: come over after

Paige didn’t even hesitate.

PB5: bet.

She stuck it out another forty-five miserable minutes — posed for a few pictures, shook a few hands, gave Dirk exactly zero smiles — and then slipped out of the event the second no one was looking.

Her heels clicked sharply against the Manhattan sidewalk as she texted Azzi again.

PB5: omw. u better have limes.

Azzi just sent back a thumbs-up emoji. Paige smirked, already feeling the weight of the night start to peel off her shoulders.

–

By the time she got to Azzi’s place, Paige was looking ridiculous — and she knew it.

Loose pink sweater. Hair slicked back. Earrings she didn't even like that much.

She looked like she was still walking into something actually important, not an impromptu tequila night with a friend who probably hadn’t changed out of sweatpants.

Paige knocked once, then let herself in when she heard Azzi call, “It’s open!”

The apartment was half lit, music low, and Azzi was curled up on the giant couch in athletic shorts and a hoodie, hair thrown into a messy bun.

“Hey,” Azzi said when she looked up. “You’re awfully dressed up.”

Paige dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes dramatically.

“I had to survive Dirk for three hours. I deserve to look hot.”

Azzi laughed, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “Fair. Very fair.”

Paige flopped onto the couch, feeling her spine crack in about twelve different places. A minute later, Azzi came back balancing two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

“You really came through,” Paige said, impressed.

Azzi grinned. “Told you. I don’t mess around.”

They poured shots — no measuring, just vibes — and clinked glasses sloppily before knocking them back.

It burned, sharp and fast. Paige winced and then smiled, the first real smile she’d had all day.

They settled into the couch, trading war stories from the past week — Paige about Dirk and the PR people trying to wrangle her into “joint photos,” Azzi about a family dinner that ended with her mom trying to set her up with someone Azzi definitely would never be into.

Paige wiped tears from her eyes at that one. “What is it with moms and matchmaking?”

Azzi shrugged, smirking. “Control issues, probably.”

Another shot. Another laugh.

Somewhere between complaining about PR nightmares and arguing about who had the worse fake dating prospects, Paige realized how easy this felt — how stupidly normal it was to be here, tequila loose in her veins, her hair slipping out of its sleek style, laughing until her ribs hurt.

Azzi nudged her with a socked foot. “Hey. You survived Dick, I mean, Dirk. That’s something.”

“Barely,” Paige muttered, tipping her head back against the couch cushions.

Azzi just smiled — a real smile, tired but genuine — and poured them another round.

–

The tequila was working its way into every limb, slow and warm, making the whole room feel softer at the edges.

Paige was stretched out on the couch, feet up, hair a mess. She wasn’t about to admit it, but she was way too comfortable here.

Azzi refilled both their glasses — smaller pours this time — and flopped down next to her, bumping Paige’s knee with her own.

“Remember the last time you were here?” Azzi asked, voice low and teasing.

Paige hummed, pretending to think. “Mhm.”

Azzi smirked. “You swore you could beat me at cards. Got your ass kicked. Twice.”

“I let you win,” Paige said lazily, grinning sideways at her.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Sure you did.”

She reached over and grabbed a deck off the coffee table. Just sitting there like it had been waiting for this. She held it up between two fingers. “Wanna run it back?”

Paige shrugged, not really caring about the cards but liking the way Azzi looked at her — half-challenging, half-daring. “Why not.”

Azzi started shuffling, but it was half-assed, the cards slipping between her fingers like she wasn’t paying attention. Paige watched her, feeling the air between them shift — slower, heavier.

It wasn’t the tequila. Or maybe it was. But it wasn’t just that.

They barely made it through one hand.

Paige couldn’t even remember who was supposed to be winning.

Because somewhere between Azzi leaning closer to toss a card down and Paige reaching across to grab another, the game stopped mattering completely.

Azzi looked at her — really looked at her — and Paige felt it like a pull under her skin. The kind of look you didn’t just brush off.

“You’re really bad at this,” Azzi murmured, her voice all soft edges.

Paige smiled lazily, heart kicking a little harder against her ribs. “Maybe I’m just distracted.”

Azzi didn’t move for a second. Just held her there, suspended.

Then, almost like it wasn’t even a choice, she closed the distance — a hand brushing Paige’s knee, the casual touch sparking hotter than it had any right to.

Paige tilted her head, smirking without thinking. “You distracted?”

Azzi’s fingers curled slightly against her leg. “Maybe.”

The cards slid off the couch, forgotten completely, a fluttering mess on the floor.

Neither of them noticed.

Azzi’s hand slid higher on Paige’s thigh, slow, deliberate — and that was it.

Paige moved first, grabbing Azzi’s hoodie by the collar and pulling her in hard.

The kiss was messy. Too much teeth, too much desperation.

Azzi pushed back into her, hands everywhere — Paige’s hip, her waist, the bare skin at the back of her neck.

It wasn’t like the last time.

It wasn’t like the first time either.

Not like the drunken, half-laughing kiss they’d had after a podium party in Monaco when they were still teenagers — both pretending it didn’t mean anything.

This was different.

This had intent.

Paige gasped into Azzi’s mouth as she felt herself pulled across the couch, practically into Azzi’s lap. She kissed Azzi harder, tilting her head, demanding more.

Azzi gave it to her without hesitation.

Their hands fumbled — over clothes, skin, fabric — too fast, too much.

Paige shoved Azzi’s hoodie up, palms flat against the warmth of her stomach, feeling the slight tremble there.

Azzi swore under her breath and tugged at Paige’s sweater, unbuttoning it with rough hands. Paige arched into her, breath hitching when Azzi’s fingers skimmed along her abs.

“Fuck,” Azzi muttered, voice breaking, mouth moving down Paige’s neck. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” Paige said, biting back a shudder.

The sweater slipped off her shoulders and hit the floor, forgotten. Azzi kissed lower, open-mouthed against the skin of her collarbone, and Paige let her head fall back, her hands tangling in Azzi’s hair to keep herself grounded.

It was frantic — months of racing side by side, arguing, shoving, pretending not to notice the way they looked at each other when they thought no one else was watching.

Years of it, really — ever since they were seventeen and F3 teammates and too stupid to do anything about it.

Azzi’s hands were rough and sure, sliding down Paige’s bare sides, making her breath stutter.

“You sure?” Azzi asked, voice wrecked, a thread of restraint still hanging on somehow.

Paige opened her eyes — dark, heavy-lidded — and smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Azzi kissed her again — hard, deep, hungry — and Paige didn’t think after that.

There was only heat and skin and the sound of Azzi breathing her name against her throat.

Only the weight of Azzi’s body pressing her into the couch cushions.

Only the wild, dizzy feeling that maybe this wasn’t just some drunk, stupid mistake — maybe it never had been.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #dallas wings

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fisheito · 1 year ago

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i went thru my gallery and tallied each char from when i started the game vs now... included eiden because i was terrified of yakumo outnumbering him. urrrrgghhhh i am so glad that eiden still reigned supreme in the end (here's the site i used to track multiple counters)

ok i made a pie chart of all the nu carnival fanarts in my phone to see who i had the most of here u go

#IF THE NUMBER OF YAKUMO PICS IN MY PHONE EVER SURPASSES EIDEN #THAT'S THE MOMENT I'LL KNOW TO SEEK HELP #and start seriously re-evaluating the state of my life. it just isn't right. eiden should win all the time forever #HOW DID REI CATCH UP TO ASTER. HE JUST GOT HERE #ooohhhh you're right . the number of pics in my gallery is NOT representative of my affection levels #i noticed that kuya and quincy were the top pollers for a WHILE because there was simply more content (and memes) of them #it was funny watching everyone stay at consistent percentages over time... excePT fREAKIN yAKUmo #the yakambrian explosion happened around 350 pics in #that was the first time he overtook kuya . and i was scared of his number from that point onward #rebagle #the data. the graphs. they compel me to count

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arc-misadventures · 5 months ago

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Right on Schedule

Jaune looked over a progress report as he was once again was inspecting the walls of, Mantle's newest fortifications. The time graph they had made was displaying good progress the wall. Displaying that for a week, and a half of work, they were well on schedule, even ahead of it in some areas. But, there was a very noticeable dip in the chart from two days ago. A dip that, Jaune didn't like.

Jaune: Hey, Major Skender?

Major Felix Skender, was an officer in the, Atlas Engineer Corp. Jaune had talked to, Major Skender quite often when he came to inspect the wall. He had come to like the fellow. He was a little quirky, though from, Jaune's experience that tended to me a normal habit of anyone into pyrotechnics. Least, Major Skender seemed to be the saner side of things.

At least he hoped he was.

Maj. Skender: Yes, Sir?

Jaune: It's nice to see how things are coming along. I dare say you might be ahead of schedule.

Maj. Skender: Ahh, thank you, Sir! Yes, we are being encouraged by the higher ups to get this completed as soon as we can. That way we can get back to work on the, CC...?!

Jaune's hand shot up silencing, Major Skender instantly. Jaune, gave the, Major a cautionary gaze as he lowered his hand.

Jaune: We do not address it as that. We address it as, General Ironwood's Project, Ironwood's Secret Project, or anthing along those lines. But, we do not say what it is. It is a secret project after all, Major.

Maj. Skender: Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.

Jaune: Good, make sure that the other officers are made aware of this as well. There are many who would take great pleasure in derailing the, General's future plans.

Maj. Skender: Understood, Sir.

Jaune: Now then, about this timetable here... What was this dip here you experience two days ago? You were delayed by about half a day, but you've made up for it. Good job on that, Major.

Maj. Skendor: Oh, thank you, Sir!

Jaune: But, nonetheless; what happened here?

Maj. Skender: Two days ago...? Ahh yes, a bunch of, Happy Huntresses came by, and were disturbing the workers.

Jaune: The, Happy Huntresses? What did they do?

Maj. Skender: They were interrogating some of the workers; They were asking them about what weapons we were installing, how long we were taking. Why did it take so long for, General Ironwood to order the reconstruction, and fortification of the walls. Things such as that.

Jaune: Weren't the people of, Mantle already made aware of these things; Why were they asking what should be seen as common knowledge?

Maj. Skender: I'm sorry, Sir, but I do not know why.

Jaune: Hmmm... Very well then...

Jaune handed back the data slate before giving one last look at the construction upon the wall.

Jaune: I will be taking my leave then. Till later, Major.

Maj. Skender: Till later, Sir.

The Major offered, Jaune a salute who returned one in kind. Jaune then made his way down a flight of stairs. As he made away from the wall he pulled out his scroll, and typed out a simple message to, 'Finch.'

"We need to talk."

Jaune quickly put away his scroll as he walked down the many paths of, Mantle interacting with civilians as he went about. He kept walking until he felt a buzz from his pocket, and he checked his scroll, and read the message that he had been sent.

"Okay. Usual spot?"

"On my way."

Jaune quickly made his way towards the downtown area of, Mantle, heading into one of the many empty warehouses in the southern parts of, Mantle.

As, Jaune entered the warehouse, he was met with the familiar sight of, Robyn Hill resting against one of the many empty crates. She pushed herself off the crate as she walked towards, Jaune. An odd smile spread across her face that, Jaune could not quite place as she walked towards him.

Robyn: Hello, Jaune. What is it?

Jaune: Hello, Robyn. I need to ask you about something that happened a couple a days ago.

Robyn: I suppose you're asking about the incident at the wall that happened the other day?

Robyn crossed her arms, and shook her head. Jaune worried that he may have upset her, but her eyes said she was more so disappointed. Was she disappointed in him for not trusting her? No, no she wasn't disappointed in, Jaune. She was disappointed in herself. Herself, and her followers.

Jaune: What happened?

Robyn: Some of my followers... they saw how quickly the wall was repaired. So, they went to the wall, and wanted to know why, General Ironwood was taking so long to order it's reconstruction if it only took three days to do. Since the, Engineers couldn't explain it, the people got angry, and... well they got rowdy.

Jaune: And, the Engineer's had to keep them back so they didn't get too close to the construction site. Otherwise something could have happen to them. Or, worse, one of them could have gotten hurt.

Robyn: Exactlly.

Jaune: So that's why construction was delayed. Since I didn't hear anything about a mass arrest, I suppose it was dealt with peacefully?

Robyn: Yes, two of my cohorts; Fiona, and another member of the. Happy Huntresses, May Marigold came by, and dispersed them. I told them to make sure things like this didn't happen again.

Jaune: They better. The sections getting the new fortifications will have armed guards around them all the time. While I am certain of the, Atlasian Militaries trigger discipline, I wouldn't hold it past, Ironwood to get... itchy fingers.

Robyn: Do you think, General Ironwood would order his troops to open fire on civilians?!

Jaune waved his hand down, placing one on his lips as he looked at, Robyn. Her voiced echoing in the empty warehouse.

Jaune: Your voice carries, Robyn; In more ways than one.

Robyn: I'm sorry... I just... Do you seriously think, General Ironwood would do that?

Jaune looked at, Robyn before turning to look away shaking his head.

Jaune: I not saying he will, but... If he was pushed far enough...

Robyn: Oh... oh no... No wonder you want me on the council; The more I learn about, General Ironwood, the more I understand why you want someone to put a leash on him.

Jaune: Someone has to, and the only person who could is... preoccupied...

Robyn: Preoccupied with what?

Jaune: Uhhh...? A severe case of identity crisis...

Robyn: Really?

Jaune: More, or less...

Jaune didn't want to lie to, Robyn, he wanted to keep her trust in him. But, knowing about Ozpin, and Oscar was a whole bucket of worms that he didn't want to deal with. And, besides, even if she used her semblance on him, he wasn't lying. Technically.

Robyn: ...

Robyn: Very well. Is that it all you wanted to talk about, Jaune?

Jaune: That's it. Is there anything you want from me, Robyn?

Robyn: Uhh... yes there is.

Jaune: Oh, what is it?

Robyn: I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to one of my rallies I'm having today?

Jaune: Oh, why so?

Robyn: Several reasons. You've mostly heard about my political policies, and plans from my supporters.

Jaune: I have.

Robyn: Well, I was wondering if you'd like to hear it from the horses mouth. To know what I think of, and how I plan to help the people of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Jaune: And, to have a, Specialist there to... show their... No, to show, Atlas's support for you?

Robyn stopped, and stared at, Jaune. A coy smile appeared across her lips as she pointed a finger at him.

Robyn: You can say that.

Jaune returned her coy smile with one of his own.

Jaune: If anyone asks, just say I'm there to keep the peace. We'll use the incident at the wall the other day as an example.

Robyn: Alright then. Let's do this.

~~~

Jaune had never been at a political rally before. He thought it would involve a lot of wine sipping, and snobbish wealthy people speaking down to people. If this was a political rally run by someone like, Jacques Schnee it would no doubt be like that. But, no, this was more simple, more relatable. It was nice.

Although, Jaune certainly had something to say about her posters.

; Jaune? Jaune!

Jaune: Hmm? Oh, hello, Casey, fancy seeing you here today.

Casey Roll. One of the mothers he often saw when he was leading kids to school, and often was the one who gave him rather large servings of casseroles to him. While he did miss taking those kids to school, he was tired of all the casseroles...

Casey: Hi, Jaune! I haven't seen you lately, what are you doing here?

Jaune: Oh, I'm just here to make sure things go smoothly. We don't want another incident like we had at the wall the other day.

Casey: Oh, I heard about that. People were upset that, General Ironwood didn't order the repairs of the wall sooner if it was only going to take a matter of days to rebuild it. But, luckily he listened to, Robyn Hill so he decided to rebuild the wall, and fortify it!

Jaune smiled, Casey's enthusiasm was infectious, but even more so at the news that his little rumor was spreading so well. He told, Casey's friends about his little white lie, if she was repeating it, then no doubt others were as well.

Casey: So, even though you're here just watching things, are you enjoying yourself?

Jaune: To a point. I'm just inspecting the 'art' right now.

Casey: You mean the, Robyn's political posters.?

Jaune: Yes. The political posters...

Casey: ...

Casey: You hate it don't you?

Jaune: Oh absolutely. This an absolutely the worse design you can make for a political poster. I mean, give me a marker, and five minutes, and boom! Wanted poster!

Casey: ...

Casey: Oh shit... you could do that... How much?

Jaune: Hmmm...?

Jaune: At least ten thousand lien.

Casey: That's fair.

Jaune: I mean, why doesn't she have a slogan, or anything like that? 'Robyn Hill, The Hope of Mantle.' Something simple like that. At least she could be smiling in the photo. Or, is being dead on the inside a natural expression for people from, Atlas, and Mantle?

Casey: Yes.

Jaune stopped staring at, Robyn's picture to give, Casey a concerned look. But, based upon the expression on, Casey's face that she was giving him, she was in fact: dead serious.

Jaune: ...

Casey: ...

Jaune: Noted...

Casey shrugged her shoulders before she let loose a startled gasp as she darted to the side, Jaune looked over to see, Robyn, and a few of her, Happy Huntresses behind her.

Robyn: Hello, Specialist Arc, it's nice to see, General Ironwood's underlings showing some concern with the common people of, Mantle.

Jaune: Hello, Miss Hill. The concerns of, Mantle are also the concerns of, Atlas. So of course, General Ironwood is concerned about the common people of, Atlas. but, in this case, Miss. Hill I am here to keep the peace. We do not wish for another incident from your followers, like we did at the wall the other day.

Robyn: There wouldn't have been an 'incident' if, General Ironwood had rebuilt the wall once it was broken.

Jaune: So you say.

Casey had back away as, Jaune, and Robyn had begun to verbally spare with one another. As soon as she was out of earshot the conversation changed to something that carried a more casual air to it.

Jaune: Putting up a facade for your darling fans?

Robyn: We may be... allies of sorts, Jaune. But, since you are an, Atlasian Specialist, I do have to put up an air of defiance towards you, and by extension, General Ironwood. I'm glad you caught on so quickly, Jaune.

Jaune: It was simple enough to catch on to. I've seen how you act with my fellow, Specialists. So it was easy enough to play the... polite jerk with you.

Robyn: So you did... Well if you'll excuse me, I must address the people of, Mantle.

Jaune: Best of luck then... 'Councilwoman' Hill.

Jaune's comment may have been taken as a teasing jest from, Jaune. As if saying that she will never get a seat on the council. But, Robyn knew from the small smirk that, Jaune gave her was that she had his full support, and hope for her to get that seat on the council. For the good of, Mantle, and Atlas.

~~~

Robyn: Welcome everyone!

A cheer of zeal, and joy abundance echoed through the auditorium as, Robyn stood on the stage, and walked before her supporters. Jaune spared, Robyn a look as she took the stage before his eyes rested on the crowd, and watched them carefully.

Robyn: As many you have seen, Atlas have begun the reconstruction of the walls of, Mantle!

More cheers echoed as, Robyn celebrated the walls reconstruction with her supporters.

Robyn: I know many of you are happy that the people of, Atlas are supporting the people of, Mantle. That they are not only rebuilding the breach in the wall, but also fortifying it! Adding weapons to protect the people of, Mantle from the, Grimm!

Robyn: I know some of you are angry. That this should have been done years ago, that the walls should have been fortified as they will be the day they were built. Or, the fact that when they start firing those guns, it will be rather loud...

The audience laughed at, Robyn's simple remark. But, after hearing that, Jaune made a mental note in the back of his mind that they better inform people when they started test firing the weapon emplacements. He could think of several reasons why people wouldn't like that.

Robyn: But, the people of, Mantle, and Atlas are one people. We may call ourselves, Mantlites, or Atlasians, but at the end of the day, we are one people. One people who should not be fighting each other, but a common enemy: The Grimm.

Jaune could hear murmurs of agreements as, Robyn said those words. The Grimm were the people of, Mantle, and Atlas true enemy. Not each other. Jaune could agree with that, the Gri...?!

Jaune's mind abandoned his previous train of thoughts on, Robyn's word. Something was here, someone was here. Jaune had seen something. A lanky individual, a brown cloak over their head. Jaune recognized that shape. And, if it was who he thought it was, then things were about to get messy...

Jaune drowned out the world as he slowly weaved his way through the crowd. His mind was solely focused on the individual that was moving closer to the stage. Jaune quickly made his way to cut them off, but was careful to make his sure his presence was unnoticed. But, if it was who he feared it was, he knew their attention solely focused on, Robyn.

And, it was, considering they never saw him coming until his cerulean eyes locked in on his crazed yellow eyes.

Jaune: Hello, Tyrian~!

Tyrian: Wha?!

Jaune pulled out his sword, and sent it flying towards, Tyrian's face. People screamed as they ran out of the way, and started to flee the building. Unfortunately, Tyrian was a slippery bastard as he weaved out of the way of, Crocea Mors pristine white blade.

The crowd started screaming as they ran away. Jaune tapped his hip several times before deploying his shield, and taking a defensive stance at the mad scorpion faunas.

Tyrian: Whoa-hahaha! Well, hello again!

Jaune: I would say it's nice to see you again, but that'd be a lie.

Tyrian: Hahaha! Well it's nice to see you again!

Jaune: I doubt that...

Jaune was stalling for time; Jaune's greatest concern wasn't just, Tyrian, but also the civilians here. But, as he was stalling for time, most of the civilians in the auditorium had managed to escape, the only one that remained was, Robyn. She had sent, Fiona, and May off to help evacuate the civilians. With one extra huntresses, the odds were now on his side. But, nonetheless... the odds are never good when fighting a psychopath.

Tyrian: Well, since you spoiled the fun I bes... Whaa?!

Jaune stabbed forward with his sword hoping to catch, Tyrian off guard, but he managed to dodge out of the way, but, Jaune was more focused on keeping him here, and not letting the slippery bastard from getting away.

Jaune swung his sword in an upward arc, before leveling it it to stab at, Tyrian, before pulling back his blade back, deflecting the mad scorpions bladed gauntlets.

Tyrian jumped back before charging forward, and jumping on, Jaune's shield planning to throw him off balance, and take him down. But, just like many others before him, they all underestimated, Jaune's capabilities.

Jaune felt, Tyrian push on his shield, and cackle on as he readied his stinger to stab at, Jaune only for, Jaune to push his arm forward, and send him flying back. He spun in the air before landing on his feet, he let out a maniacal laugh before it was cut short as, Jaune bashed him in the face with his shield.

Jaune thought he was going to have an easier time dealing with this pyshco since his stinger was cut shot by, Ruby. But, evidently he had gotten a prosthetic tail to replace it. That just made him all the more dangerous.

Robyn: Jaune, duck!

Jaune 's body dropped into a squat before quickly standing back up as an crossbow bolt whizzed above him. Tyrian's bladed gauntlets flew through the air as he started knocking down the various blots, Robyn sent flying at him.

Tyrian leapt over, Jaune, and charged, Robyn. Robyn's crossbow changed into a bladed shield as she started crossing blades with, Tyrian. Jaune realized as he ran up towards the pair that, Tyrian wasn't just randomly here, he was here for a reason. He was here to carry out an assassination, and Robyn was the target.

Jaune: Robyn! He's a scorpion faunas! Watch out for his stinger!

Robyn: Got it!

This was the first time, Jaune got to see, Robyn in a fight, and to put it simply; She fought just like her name sake: Like a bird. Robyn's movement were as smooth, and as majestic as a robin in flight. Her skill with her weapon was as precise as a master violinist's. And she was deadly as a hawk on the hunt. It was mesmerizing to see. Almost.

Jaune's eyes weren't looking at the beauty of, Robyn's fighting style . His eyes were only taking in her passively, his attention was solely focused on, Tyrian. And, he saw something he didn't like.

A dark violet glow enveloped, Tyrian's hand as he reached for, Robyn's side. Jaune saw what a lilac field around, Robyn's side disperse, and make a hole on her side. Jaune suddenly realized something that was very, very dangerous.

That glow around, Tyrian's hand was an active sign of him using his semblance. And, Tyrian's semblance was capable of making holes in people auras! It was the perfect semblance for a, Hunter killer.

Jaune: Robyn! Back away from him!

Robyn, jumped back before, Tyrian could land a fatal blow. Tyrian charged her, but before he could he had to dash back as, Crocea Mors came flying past him. Jaune did see this as a dangerous move; Throwing his primary weapon, and leaving him relatively defenseless. But, Robyn's death was an even worse outcome for the future of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Tyrian laughed as, Jaune's sword flew past him, and he swiftly turned on him, and jumped atop of. Jaune. This action caught, Jaune off guard; Jaune had over extended himself allowing, Tyrian to land on top of him. Luckily, Jaune still had his shield on him, but, Tyrian had him pinned to the ground.

Jaune felt his aura being pulled away by, Tyrian's semblance. Jaune quickly activated his own semblance amping up his aura, trying to cover the breach in his wall, but it was too little, too late.

Jaune: AHHH?!

Jaune felt a searing burning pain as, Tyrian's stinger dug into his shoulder, injecting him with his vile poison.

Robyn: NOOO!

Robyn yelled as she fired bolt, after bolt at, Tyrian. But, Robyn had charged in too close to, Tyrian.

Tyrian effortlessly jumped off of, Jaune's prone body, and tackled, Robyn. Pinning her to the ground as his stinger rose into the air.

Tyrian: Ah-HAHAHA! It's my lucky day! Not only do I get to kill an annoying little, Huntsman! But, also the savior of, Mantle! Ah-HAHAHAHA!!!

Robyn's eyes widened in fear as, Tyrian's stinger hanged above his head, ready to dive down, and kill her. Robyn struggled against, Tyrian, trying to free herself from his grasp, but to no avail.

Tyrian laugh maniacally assured of his victory. But, as, Jaune watched, Tyrion prepare to kill, Robyn, he remembered something, something, Pyrrha had said to him years ago, back when she was training him on the roofs of, Beacon Academy, back when things were a simpler, happier time.

Pyrrha: "Remember, Jaune, landing the final blow is when your opponent is most vulnerable."

As Tyrian Laughed in mad glee at his assured victory, his laughter was suddenly cut short as, Jaune wrapped his hands around his head, and growled into the monsters ear.

Jaune: I'm not buried yet!

"SNAP, KER-CRAK!!!"

The sound of, Tyrian's neck snapping echoed throughout the auditorium like a gun shot. It was deafening in it's brutal energy, and the sound of the dull thud as, Jaune threw, Tyrian's wretched corpse off of, Robyn.

Jaune's breath came out heavily as he stared at, Tyrian's corpse, a maniacal smile still etched across his face. Robyn looked at, Jaune with wide eyes, stunned silent as she looked about her savior.

Jaune: But, you will be, you bastard son of a bitch!

Jaune yelled this out, panting heavily as before his body gave out, and he fell down, landing on the ground with a solid thud.

Robyn: Jaune...? Jaune?!

Robyn shouted his name as she ran over to him, cupping his face in her hands as she checked him over.

Robyn: Oh no, nonononono!

The doors to the auditorium burst open as several members of the, Specialist team came rushing in.

Clover: Jaune we got your message, what hap... Jaune?!

Clover, and Harriet ran over to, Jaune while, Marrow, Vine, and Elm kept the crowd out.

Clover: What the hell happened?!

Robyn: That psycho attacked us! He stabbed, Jaune with his tail!

Harriet: What psy...?! Wait, that's, Tyrian Callows?!

Clover: He stabbed, Jaune with his tail?!

Marrow: Fuck, that means he's been poisoned!

Clover: Call for a medevac!

Vine: On it!

Clover then pushed, Robyn out of the way as he looked down at, Jaune ever growing pale face.

Clover: Jaune! Jaune answer me!

He couldn't answer him, his voice had left him.

Clover: Jaune! Look at me! Look at me!

His couldn't look at him, his vision was getting blurry.

Clover: Jaune stay with me! Stay with me, Jaune!

He couldn't stay, he was leaving them.

Winter: JAUNE?!

His world faded into the darkness.

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #robyn hill #fiona tyme #may marigold #jame ironwood #marrow amin #clover ebi #harriet bree #vine zeki #elm ederne #tyrian callows #oscar pine #rwby ozpin #jacques schnee #winter schnee

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