#tune in for love headers

[changeling-droneco]

Hi I'm that person who made the original post about "no doesn mean no" when a small bit of the mr beast company document was leaked, well, now we have the full document (thanks rosanna) so I'm going to go over it. Please note I am not a lawyer or a business man, I'm in college for psychology, so I might misunderstand some things or make the wrong conclusion. However, if this is a document made for the average mr. beast employee, if I cannot understand it properly, then im sure some employees also struggled

First of all, the opening paragraph. Like I get it's supposed to be like, to put people at ease, but

This is so strange? Like, first of all, this is your EMPLOYEE MANUAL, you should have run it through like, a spell check? Or had someone edit it? This is already incredibly unprofessional. Also the promising of a thousand dollars if you pass a quiz on it? It's bizarre and I'd love to see if it's an actual quiz.

Jimmy, hun, please god get an editor for this you're already trying my patience.

YOU SHOULD, you genuinely should, while interconnected these are all COMPLETELY different jobs, if you think you could write a separate manual for each branch you SHOULD

I'm sure I'm about to get an answer but what the fuck is the best YOUTUBE video then? If it's not comedy, its not production, its not quality, its not look, then what the hell is left? (monetization, it's monetization)

First of all, Jimmy, why are you using internet lingo in this, it's not a text message, this is not a place for, idc, and lol, and not capitalizing your headers correctly??? Also like I said, he's chasing trends for monetization, and also he's just wrong, there are plenty of hollywood level shows and the like on youtube. You fully admit you do not care about trends and actively rush things?

This is just fucked??? Like of COURSE IT MATTERS??? Results based company is bullshit, your employees that worked for five weeks and failed aren't "lesser" then James, it's a structural failure! They still worked for HOURS to try and succeed?? That shows merit and loyalty??? What the fuck???

Rosanna covers this one in her video but it's worth restating that this is FUCKED??? It's clear overwork "your job is your family" culture. Especially the use of the word obsessive? If you do not OBSESS over your work, you are considered poisonous. NO WONDER we have so many reports of employees doing things they feel is dangerous or unsafe, if they don't they're considered POISON to the company.

The formatting in this doc continues to fucking kill me, what are you DOING man GET AN EDITOR

This feels like such an easy fix of just...make the thumbnail after the fact? Or only make a rough draft of one first? Like if production makes a red bouncy castle instead of a yellow one, that feels like an easy fix to the thumbnail OR a communication error, and again, that's on management

A lot of the next stuff is like analytics stuff that for the most part I can't really speak on as someone who does not do any of this stuff. There are a few things though

Which like???? what??? a lull??? what do you mean "watching a video without even realizing they are watching a video??" That doesn't scream good or even mediocre content to me. If I'm actively tuning out as I watch a video, that's bad. Especially because there have been plenty of times I've been like half way through a video i go "hey this sucks actually" and click off. They actively want their audience to not be paying attention to the video so it runs all the way through, that's kinda pathetic.

I don't actually know if this is common or not in this industry, but as an outsider this seems INCREDIBLY micromanaging to me, to an immense degree.

Jimmy why are you putting swears in your employee manual?? sir??? and also something about this whole thing icks me out, I don't quite have the words but the whole emphasis on "im different im special no one else can be me" just reeks of something kind of manipulative

Why is production changing so much Jimmy??? Infinite growth is the mindset of a cancer cell Jimmy! This is incredibly unstable working conditions! Also again with the word obsession, if you take time out of your own day on your own time to watch hulu, that's seen as not being obsessed enough for the company. This is nonsensical!

Again, this is INSANELY micromanaging, and also so fucking unhinged??? "God himself couldn't stop you from making this video on time" is NOT a healthy work mindset, things HAPPEN!!!

In this segment he's actually talking normal things but I did just want to highlight his use of "freaken" who the hell puts that in an EMPLOYEE MANUEL

Again with the micromanaging, and the immense pressure on employees for problems OTHER people do. While he's not fully wrong that you should be in more contact with the contractor then the example, this is too much in the other direction. How much time in the day does he think people have?!

My kingdom for a fucking paragraph break dude, my fucking eyes. Also this is a lot of "im so great and do everything and you should do more for me and if i dont know something that's your fault" for something titled "I am not always right"

I'm getting lazy with my highlighting, but again, the micromanaging? If you're SOOO busy, the first question should be the ideal? it's quick and makes a quick decision, while the second one meanders and meanders

Again, Jimmy is pushing blame for HIS mistakes on OTHER PEOPLE. For again, a section called "i am not always right" hes taking NO accountability for that and just making the SAME excuses he's berating in other places.

I can't even tell what he means here AN EDITOR JIMMY

Autism Hell tm, PLEASE email me so I can DOUBLE CHECK IT, things in writing are SO useful

Again the language towards "C-Players" which as mr beast has said, are the people who y'know, are NORMAL employees who DON'T live and breathe this company

Okay first of all, a Lamborghini is like 300k so that's already A REALLY hard task, and i sure hope don't usually put typos in the tasks. SECOND of all the fact he thinks its okay to go "hey if the studio is literally on fire around you and you stop working to get the Lamborghini, you're not doing good enough" even if he claims it as a joke is NOT OKAY what the FUCK

We've covered this before, but to reiterate this segment is named after a sexual assault reference when it could have been named ANYTHING ELSE and harasses employees and pressures them to break rules, don't do that.

I'm not an editor, so maybe this is normal, but as someone from the outside it seems strange to put this much emphasis on dividing focus between so many videos at once.

Jimmy, hun, are you paying extra for this? Because if I'm an editor and you want me FILMING stuff then i want to be paid more for doing TWO jobs and I probably still wont be as skilled a TRAINED CAMERA MAN

First of all now THAT'S a type, consteatants. Also the fact they are aware that leaving contestants out in the sun is bad, why are you not doing MORE TO STOP IT BEYOND "hey maybe giving them three hours of heatstroke is bad, try only two next time"

Don't we love favoritism, more shitty unprofessional writings, and a completely unstable work environment?

If your people have to pull all nighters period something is wrong, and if something happens to an employees car that could have seriously hurt someone, i sure hope you care more then just "LOL FUNNY" Who's picking up the broken glass? Who's reimbursing the car owner? That one meme of "your first care should be commitment to the bit" is a MEME jimmy, it's not ACTUAL ADVICE

Ah shit I hit image limit, well, you've seen enough screenshots to know these are screenshots, we're almost done I'll put them in as quotes

"Let’s say you are tasked with finding us a castle to live in for 50 hours and while doing research you find a castle and a number to call for the owner. So you do call, and he answers. Only problem is he says he quit the castle renting business to pursue his dream of building a 100 foot tall lego catapult. You can obviously tell where i’m going with this. Ideally you’d recognize that’s badass as fuck and try to convince him to let us use it when we do find a castle. This is a bad example because it’s so obvious but if you’re doing your job right you will be doing an absurd amounts of calls and data collecting. While trying to complete your prios and prepare for the video you should always be on the lookout for new things you can bring to your creative team to inspire them. Because just like me, they don’t know what they don’t know and you can’t just say “i’m in production and i’m not very creative” because that’s literally the equivalent of saying I suck at what I do. You also need to apply this same mindset when problem solving because many people lose sight of this stuff when in the weeds. If a problem appears, always always always ask yourself if your new plan is whats best for creative, not just the easiest bandaid."

First of all it's really funny seeing all the red lines pop up, second of all this insistent blurring of everyone's job seems so strange? Again maybe this is normal, but it really feels like Jimmy wants everyone working every job, instead on focusing on what they are actually hired to do.

"What is the goal of our content?

To excite me. The goal of our content is to excite me. That may sound weird to some of you, especially if you’re new but to me it’s what’s most important. If I'm not excited to get in front of that camera and film the video, it’s just simply not going to happen."

That's fucking weirddddd, like I get that he's trying to be like "im authentic" but it always feels like a bad sign when the goal of a company is literally just "What amuses the boss" like...bad sign

"this is youtube and there are constraints. You know the video can’t be a minute so you’re obviously going to need a story to hold the viewers and there are rules to storytelling. Our audience is massive and because of that you have to be simple, for 50 million people to understand something it must be simple. Content can be anything but there is structure and rules that we must mold it into that I want to teach you about, because virality doesn’t just happen. Every frame of our videos will be seen by 10s of millions of people"

Gross

"I'd say the average MrBeast viewer is a teenage memer that likes video games."

Mr Beast is completely aware of his demographic and puts screen shots of it, he is very aware his stuff is aimed at kids, even when its about gambling or hiring people not around near minors

"I feel silly for having to write this but all the time I talk to 32 new people that have at most seen like 5 or 6 of our videos and it’s mind blowing that they don’t see a problem with that lol."

It's almost like your audience is teenage memer and that people who working here are not in fact, teenage memers.

"What you consume on social media, when you watch youtube, tv, the games you play, etc. are what I like to call your information diet.

How do you stay up to date on the latest memes? How do you know what’s going on with celebrities? What’s trending on youtube? What other creators are doing? What’s popping on tik tok? Your information diet. Consume things on a daily basis that help you write better content."

If my job as a creative writer had my boss tell me to have to see whats "popping on tik tok" as part of my job i'd quit also again, the micromanaging of someone's life as well pops up again, it's weirddd

"It’s okay for the boys to be childish

If talent wants to draw a dick on the white board in the video or do something stupid, let them. (assuming they know all the risks and arn’t missing context on why it’s not safe) People like when we are in our natural element of stupidity. Really do everything you can to empower the boys when filming and help them make content. Help them be idiots"

More favoritism

"If you’ve made it this far you are probably at least semi interested in this being your career. So I wanted to chat about it. Because if you're ambitious and want to dedicate your life to work, you picked the best company in America to do it at. I really don’t care to hoard a bunch of money and I deeply believe in rewarding the people that help this business get where it needs to be. But before I get into that, let’s talk about the future. As I write this we have 2 teams, that will grow to 4 in the next year. (and possibly 8 in the next 2 years but I can’t talk about that cause james will kill me haha). We need more leaders in the company. Weneed hard working, obsessive, coachable, intelligent, grinders that can step up and take some of these leadership spots over the next 2 years. Every single department has an opportunity for you to grow in and you’re in luck because we don’t do yearly reviews. We do whenever the fuck you want reviewes"

Lack of communication from management, and more emphasis on grinding and crunch culture, goodie, all while riddled with typos! God.

"I see a world where this company is worth billions and one day 10s of billions. And those of you that help build this will be rewarded. I want nothing more then for you to go all in, obsessive all day everyday, and become so god dam valuable this company can’t operate without you. And in return for becoming so valuable I hope to give you incredible experiences, a fun place to work, and of course, more money then you could ever dream of making at any other company."

I feel like I'm reading a fucking pyramid scheme document here, "youre so so valuable spend literally every minute of every day on this company haha" good GOD man

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[suntoru]

─ ✰ BREWING AFFECTION.

✧˚ · . NAGI SEISHIRO loves sleeping, soccer, and gaming. he also doesn’t mind you coffee too.

— warnings: coffee shop! au, fluff, crackfic, reo hating on readers barista skills, downbad nagi (hes oblivious af), maybe ooc?

— author’s note: NOT TUMBLR BUTCHERING THE QUALITY OF MY HEADER. THIS IS NOT OK.

"…so… this was the coffee shop you were talking about?” reo probes nagi tentatively, face crinkled in slight confusion. the small café nestled in the hidden corner of some obscure street— nothing extravagant, and certainly not what he expected. it’s a quiet sanction, only a few patrons savoring the quiet ambience of the modest establishment.

"mhm," nagi hums in affirmation. his eyes are glued to his screen, fingers violently tapping his phone as he skillfully maneuvers through the critical attack from the boss battle. reo doubts he was listening to a word he was saying. he raises his eyebrows skeptically, surveying the surroundings of the quaint little shop. he’s well aware nagi sacrifices fifteen whole minutes of his precious sleep on wednesdays and saturdays to walk all the way here— there must, has to be something special about this place. yet all he can spot are a couple of worn-down couches, cute decorations, and the smell of grinding beans in the air; nothing particularly stands out.

'is the coffee just that good?' reo wonders to himself, his thoughts interrupted when you hastily set a tray down at their table. your hair is tied in a messy bun, name tag displayed largely at the side of your stained apron. "i'm so sorry— morning rush! two triple foam lattes, half a shot of espresso with a dash of cinnamon, right?" the words tumble out, an apology and a question all in one, accompanied by a warm aura that absolutely nobody else in customer service seemed to carry.

…that’s… not…. even close… he deadpans. “um, actually—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted by nagi cutting him off. “t’s good. thanks.” he mutters, hazy half-lidded grey eyes boring into your oblivious, starry-eyed ones. the tips of his ears turn the slightest bit pink as he blows a tuft of his hair out of his eyes. his phone is completely discarded, ‘GAME OVER.’ pixelated largely on his screen as reo’s eyes widen slightly. …did he… die on purpose? no way. but… he was just about to beat the whole game…?

you smile giddily. finally, you got an order right!! “really? i’m so glad! enjoy your drink!” you eagerly exclaim as you walk away, feeling encouraged to pump out the other orders.

“…we ordered two large macchiatos.” nagi shrugs lazily, fiddling with the plastic straw in his drink. “tastes the same. ‘t’s too much of a hassle to correct them.”

“whatever,” reo sighs, “we’ve been waiting thirty minutes for this— it better make my mouth orgasm.” thirstily taking a huge slurp of the drink, he lets the coffee settle for a moment before not so subtly gagging at the aftertaste. how can someone possibly screw up this badly? it tastes like… tepid brown water. this should be a war crime. no offense, but who thought it was a good idea to hire you? “uhm… it’s *retches* certainly an acquired flavour…” he represses another gag as the fluffy white haired male tunes him out once again.

as reo contemplates the questionable quality of his latte, nagi remains blissfully unaware of his own feelings, doing what he does every wednesday and saturday morning— unconsciously admire you from a distance, his attention shifting from reo to you. his fingers idly trace the ridges on the rim of the cup, distractedly watching as you struggle to get the coffee to start brewing.

and he can’t exactly understand why his heart is beating out of his chest (perhaps he’s having a stroke), why his face is tinted red (is it the cold nipping at his cheeks?), or why he only seems to want coffee when you’re there (it simply tastes different). it all doesn’t make sense to nagi’s simple little life, a simple repetition every day; sleep, soccer, game.

nagi seishiro finds the easiest of tasks to be a hassle. yet for some strange reason, waking up early on wednesdays and saturdays isn’t one of them.

©kaeffeinee 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[labs]

Hello, Tumblr. Labs division here!

Back in June, we announced our comeback as a new team that would imagine big ideas for Tumblr—and would build them in public (aka with you).

Today we're very excited to announce our first failure. The first experiment we want to loudly, publicly admit didn’t work. We’re pretty excited about this because trying and failing are a big part of learning.

A little background

A few months ago, we ran interviews with lots of people on Tumblr to get a better sense of what works and what needs to be better. 

Among other things, we heard that people discovering (or rediscovering) Tumblr really struggle to understand how to make it work for them. They sometimes don't know how to follow the right blogs to curate their dashboard, or how to use likes, replies and reblogs to interact with a particular fandom. 

And that's just the tip of the iceberg, really! Some might be lucky and have friends to teach them, but many come here to find friends in the first place, and leave feeling lost and overwhelmed.

So here at Labs we're working on ideas to help people discover what makes Tumblr a unique corner of the internet, making it easier for them to find belonging here.

Our (failed) idea

Our first idea was to simplify certain parts of our interface, thinking through each element and putting what is important to you front and center. We called it "Mini"—mostly because it was a cute name.

We started work on the post interface first, because that's the most important part of your experience on Tumblr, and we wanted to improve some of the problems there.

Our goal was to make labels and actions on posts easier to differentiate, and make each post the same height, so diving into a long post is a choice. To achieve that, we designed a new header, a new footer with separate actions, and a mini version of the post:

As we started to build it, we realized that scrolling through the dashboard after the changes… didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like Tumblr anymore. But we didn’t want to make a decision based solely on our own gut feelings… we needed to ask the Tumblr community. 

An essential part of how we're working in Labs is speaking to people who use Tumblr (and those who don't use it, but could love it) pretty much on a daily basis. So we showed them this idea, and their response was indifferent at best, and confused at worst.

We learned that it's hard to limit the height of a post without sacrificing the magic of reblogs, and that loss was too meaningful for us to pursue this any further. So we're putting it in the trash.

What's next

So Mini didn’t work out! That’s okay. We’ve learned a lot. While minifying posts might not be the answer, there were parts of the idea that worked, and you might even start to see some improvements being tested from what we learned. We’ll see where that goes!

We're working on other ideas at the same time, and some of them are getting a lot of love from people in research. So the next time you hear from us, we'll hopefully have something more successful to share—stay tuned!

With love, Labs division

[twinsimming]

Spray Tan by Twinsimming 🌅

This mod adds a new Spray Tan object to the grocery store.

This is an scripted object that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

Thank you to Lemurphs for the mod idea and @aroundthesims for allowing me to use her lovely mesh!

Requirements

This mod requires The Sims 3: Seasons and The Sims 3: Island Paradise to function.

Spray Tan

Spray Tan functions just like my custom Sunscreen object and has the same effect as the tanning booth from The Sims 3: Seasons.

Sims will switch into their swimwear and spray themselves down. When they're finished, they will switch back into their original outfit with a nice, even tan... most of the time.

It costs §20 at the grocery store and has 5 uses per container.

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

Conflicts & Known Issues

This is a new object so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3, mesh by Around The Sims 3, Visual Studio 2019, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, and TSRW.

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

[navybrat817]

Negotiations

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You meet with Andy to discuss the terms of your potential contract. Word Count: Over 4.2k Warnings: Slow burn, reader is broke (is that a warning?), sugar daddy offer, tension, slight insecurities, negotiations, inner monologue, Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Header - yours truly A/N: Welcome back to my Terms and Conditions AU! Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thanks!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Work felt like the longest shift even though it was only a few hours. You saw the customers through a different set of eyes as you served them. You wondered how many of them struggled like you or what they would do if someone like Andy entered their lives. If you came to an agreement with him on everything, you weren't sure if you'd ever step foot in the diner again after you quit. Not because you were embarrassed.

It was merely time to look forward.

And look my best.

You turned to the side when you checked your reflection. Estelle had way too much fun picking out an outfit for you. After carefully searching and sneakily looking at the price tag so she didn’t splurge, you opted for a sleeveless, blazer style dress. Nothing over the top or too fancy. You still wanted to look like you while looking professional.

Though she insisted it was your birthday gift, along with the surprisingly comfortable black heels, you planned to pay her back. Whether from the money Andy gave you or once you got your paycheck months from now at your new job. If she refused, you’d tell her the only gift you needed was her support and she gave that to you. Like she knew you were thinking about it, she messaged you.

“Good luck! I know you look hot! Knock his socks and pants off! He better give you everything you deserve!”

You had to smile at her enthusiasm. “It’s his office. His pants are staying on.”

“You say that now, but he’s the boss. You’ll change your tune once he has his hands on you.”

Laughing as you tucked your phone away, you couldn’t completely disagree with her. Andy robbed you of your breath whenever you saw him and it surprised you that you could maintain logical thinking when he was close by. You had to maintain that rational headspace today. He was a man used to people telling him what he wanted to hear. As an ex-lawyer and businessman, he could sway things in his favor if you weren’t careful.

Considering what he was offering you, it didn’t once feel like he was taking advantage of your misfortunes.

You stopped yourself from messaging Andy that you were on your way. He was a busy man with more important stuff to deal with than a check-in from you. It would be one of the topics of discussion shortly anyhow. Would he want to know where you are at all times or would he be content with the occasional message?

How much control will he want over me? How much do I want to give him?

Thanking and paying the cab driver as you arrived at the building, you didn't feel as out of your element the way you did at the restaurant. The office setting was familiar. It was bittersweet going inside though for something that wasn't work or an interview. Maybe this was better.

You held your head high as if it was.

I can do this.

You handed your bag over for the security officer to check while he verified your identification. Satisfied once he double checked your name and ID, he handed you a guest badge and allowed you to go to the elevators. It comforted you that Andy and his employees were safe when they went into his building. You wondered how often you'd be here or if he'd keep you away from his office outside of functions.

You avoided looking at anyone as you got into the elevator, though you felt the eyes of a couple of men sweep over your body. It didn’t matter what they thought. Andy was the only one you wanted to look good for. As you passed by each floor, the more you worried about breaking into a sweat. You shifted back and forth until the door opened.

One step closer.

It took you a second to move your feet forward and turn down the hall. It seemed to stretch on for miles, the door at the end of it was large and daunting. It was like entering the lion’s den, but you weren't afraid. Even if you did pause again before you turned the handle and walked in.

An older woman, Irene according to the nameplate on her desk, sat outside of a set of double doors, giving you a kind smile as she looked up from her keyboard. You didn't let her appearance fool you. Anyone who worked for someone as powerful as Andy likely had thick skin and a "take no crap" attitude.

"How may I help you?"

"Hi. I'm here to see Andy Barber," you replied, giving her your name and inwardly wincing. Of course, she knew you were there to see him. Why else would you be there?

"Yes, Mr. Barber is expecting you," she smiled, pressing the intercom on her desk. "Mr. Barber, your 4pm is here."

"Send her in, please."

It isn't fair that he sounds sexy through a speaker box.

"May I get you anything to drink?" she asked.

"No, thank you," you smiled, following her as she opened the double doors.

This is it.

The office was just as you imagined, the walls lined with a mixture of art and accolades. A small table and chairs sat on one side with a couch on the other. It was elegant, but the man behind the desk drew your attention. Sunlight filtered in through the floor to ceiling windows behind Andy, casting a halo around him as he stood up. A symbol of power and authority in his black suit with the skyline behind him, you found it difficult to take your next breath.

He looks like he was born to be in charge.

"It's good to see you again," Andy smiled, walking around the desk and gesturing to the table. "Why don't we sit over here? Did Irene offer you a drink?"

"Of course, I did, Mr. Barber. And before you remind me, I know to hold your calls," she chastised him, which only made him chuckle before she smiled at you. "I'll be just outside if you need anything."

I knew it. Take no crap.

"Thank you," you said, giggling as you walked to the table. "I like her."

"I do, too. She keeps me on my toes," he said as he pulled out the chair for you. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful," you replied, setting your bag beside you. It was nice that he asked. "How are you?"

"My day was just fine," he said, taking a seat. He had a notepad waiting there, similar to yours.

"That's good."

He gave you a half smile and you debated whether or not to continue with small talk. "Nervous?"

“A little bit,” you said, refusing to lie to him. It wouldn’t start things off on the right foot if you did. “I didn’t have ‘Sugar Daddy Negotiations’ on my BINGO card this year.”

He chuckled, the sound beautiful in the large space. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t either," he joked. "And you don’t look nervous.”

“It actually does,” you smiled. “How do I look?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Oh,” you said, your cheeks growing warmer the longer he gazed at you. While you wanted that to be his reaction, it was somehow unexpected. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, by the way.”

“And I wasn’t taking the bait. I’m telling you what I see.”

“Thank you. This was a birthday gift from Estelle,” you said, smoothing out the dress even though you were sitting. Why you felt the need to tell him, you weren’t sure.

“It’s a beautiful dress, but I was talking about your smile,” he said, his lip tugging in a small smile of his own before he cleared his throat. “As much as I’d like to sit here and continue to shower you with praise, maybe we should save that for another time.”

Your throat went dry at the implication, but you didn't want to get ahead of yourself. “Of course."

"Today is about figuring out our terms and setting expectations. I plan to take notes as we go along, if you don't mind."

"That's fine because I plan to do the same," you explained as you took out your notepad. "I’ve made a list of things I believe we should discuss and agree on before moving forward."

“You’re prepared,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "And getting down to business like last time."

“I do what I can,” you said, glancing at the first item on your list. “First thing is the length of our contract. You mentioned Mr. Huffman’s merger could take a few months, but there’s no definitive timeframe. My proposal is six months or when the job becomes available, whichever comes sooner.”

He considered your words carefully. “I spoke with Scott again and a merger like this may take a minimum of six months due to the range of variables. I propose a year or when the job becomes available. It hopefully won’t take that long, but I’d feel more comfortable if we have more time as opposed to less.”

A year was a long time, but you understood his perspective. “Why don’t we meet in the middle? Nine months.”

“Nine months, but if the merger is still pending at that time, we can revisit the contract and extend it if needed,” he proposed.

“Agreed,” you said, jotting down your notes on your pad while he did the same. “My job. You said I would need to quit and I’d be unable to take another position while under contract. I have no objections to that, but I won’t flat-out quit the diner. I’ll put in my two week notice. If they tell me not to come back, that’s on them.”

“I think that’s the respectable thing to do,” he said, nodding to your pad. “I don’t know where living arrangements are on your list, but I’d like to discuss that next.”

You wanted to discuss your free time since you wouldn't have a job any longer, but you would circle back to that. “Okay. You said over lunch that you’re not comfortable with me staying in my current place.”

“I did and I stand by that. I understand that my building doesn’t guarantee complete safety over yours because anything could happen anywhere at any time, but knowing you’re close by would help put me at ease. I have a loft ready to go and you can treat it as your own place. If something isn’t to your liking, we can change it within reason.”

“Within reason?”

Andy smirked slightly. “I can’t exactly take a sledgehammer to the wall if you want to make the space bigger,” he said, taking out his phone and pulling up an image. “But it’s a nice place. Feel free to swipe through it.”

The photos were beautiful and the living room alone looked larger than your entire apartment. “Is spending time at your place an expectation?” you asked.

“I’d like it if you did for an occasional dinner, but I understand if you'd rather not. I'd also like to meet you once a month outside of contractual obligations to talk.”

Sounds like a date. Is it though?

“I agree to the loft, the occasional dinner, and meeting with you once a month," you agreed. It wasn't overwhelming or demanding. You'd still have a sense of independence. "But I’d like to keep my current apartment. If I take this job in the upcoming months, I can't expect you to cover the loft anymore and I doubt I could afford it even with a decent salary. I’ll need a place to go back to until I find something better.”

"I own it," he said. He wasn't bragging in your mind. He was stating a fact.

"I doubt I could afford your rent then. I keep my apartment."

“Done,” he said after a moment. You were glad he agreed. Your apartment was still yours. “Which is a good segway into expenses. As a reminder, I plan to cover the rent for your current apartment, along with any bills associated with it such as cable or internet. If you prefer to shut those off during the contract, we can. I’ll also cover your cell phone, insurance, credit card bills, student loans, any debt you pay on a monthly basis. Oh, and groceries.”

Tears filled your eyes as he opened his mouth to continue. The more you tried to compose yourself, the more your face scrunched up. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. You hadn't expected to get emotional, but actually hearing him say he’d cover your monthly bills and help you stay on top of everything was unreal. You'd sleep better at night knowing you had nothing to worry about.

I probably look ridiculous.

“Don’t be,” he said gently, handing you his handkerchief so you could dab your eyes.

“I’m just,” you stopped to take a breath. It was okay to be vulnerable. That was part of communicating. “I’ve carried this stress on my shoulders and knowing that you’re going to take some of that weight away is… I’m never going to be able to repay you for that or thank you enough.”

“I don’t expect a monetary repayment nor would I want that. I told you, honey. You're an honest and kind person. Your company is going to be more than enough.”

He sounds too good to be true.

“You say that now, but you'll grow tired of me,” you teased, holding out your hand to give him the handkerchief. “Thank you.”

He shook his head and refused to take it back. “Keep it. And considering I offered a year for this, I know I won't grow tired of your company,” he said, a bit of concern in his eyes as you sniffled. “Are you okay to continue? We can take a break.”

“I'm fine,” you promised, straightening up and feeling lighter, like the weight was already gone. “We were discussing expenses.”

“Yes,” he smiled, gesturing to your outfit. “I plan to take you shopping so you can have a few outfits, jewelry, shoes, make-up, and whatever else you need ready for the planned upcoming events, as well as some dressed down outfits so you’re comfortable when we travel and to spruce up your wardrobe if you’d like.”

Careful. You’re going to spoil me.

“I’m also going to deposit two thousand dollars into your account each month for your leisure,” he added, writing it on his pad as if that was the final say in the matter.

“Two thousand dollars?!” you nearly shouted. You weren’t trying to sound hysterical, but you failed. “I’m sorry, but who spends that much on clothes each month?!”

Andy looked like he was trying not to laugh at the incredulous look on your face. “You don’t have to spend it on clothes. It’s for you to use as you wish.”

“But you’re already buying me a whole new wardrobe AND covering all of my bills and expenses for nine months. I’m assuming you're covering travel expenses, too?”

“I will,” he confirmed.

“Then there’s no reason why I’d need that much money,” you said with a shake of your head. Estelle would probably tease you for not agreeing, but it was too much. “I can’t possibly need more than five hundred a month.”

“One thousand,” he said firmly as you narrowed your eyes. “Humor me, honey. Please?”

You tapped your pen against the pad as you thought it over. You really didn’t see a reason for that much, but you could put any leftover funds each month into savings. It would be good to pay Estelle back.

Plus, how could you argue when Andy gave you a sweet smile?

“Fine. One thousand each month,” you said, ignoring the look of satisfaction in his eyes. “Okay. We’ve discussed the length of the contract, my job, living arrangements, expenses, which includes traveling. How about traveling itself?”

“Is your passport current?” he asked.

“It is.”

“Good. Some of the traveling will require us to go out of the country and you’ll need it handy. We’ll need to coordinate our schedules so you can block off dates in your calendar. We’ll most likely share a suite for any non-local events, but I’m not going to make you share a bed with me. You have my word.”

You nodded as you wrote that down. It was a bit of a surprise that he didn’t expect you to sleep with him. “Thank you, Andy,” you said, pointing at him with your pen. “But I’m planning to tell Estelle about every function, big or small, so she knows where I am. I won’t budge on that.”

“You’re allowed to give her the details. You said you trust her and that she can be discreet.”

You could never picture Andy as a creep, but the confirmation that he wouldn't force you to sleep with him and that Estelle would know what's going on helped you relax. "If I'm not working or going to functions with you, what am I doing with the rest of my time?" you asked.

Does he expect me to be at his beck and call?

"I'm glad you asked. It's your time to do what you want. Relax, hang out with friends, pamper yourself. Minus the days you'll have blocked out in your calendar, the time is yours," he explained, lightly twirling his pen in his hand. The motion momentarily distracted you. "I only ask if you plan to leave the city to tell me, that way I know you're unavailable if anything last minute comes up."

You weren't sure what you were going to do with that extra time. While a nine month long vacation sounded nice, you didn't want it to be all leisure. You needed somewhat of a routine. Maybe you could take some self development courses to prepare for going back to the office.

"That's fair. I don't have any plans to leave the city, but I'll be sure to let you know if I do," you said, hoping you weren't missing anything as you looked over what you had written down. "What if I’m sick or there’s an emergency and I can't be with you?”

“Then you won’t go," he said as a matter of fact. "I’d never ask you to choose between this arrangement and your well-being or family. Depending on the situation, I could miss it to help you.”

That was unexpected. Andy shouldn't have to put you ahead of any of his obligations. The offer though, even if it never came to fruition, warmed your insides. "That's kind of you, Andy," you said softly before you cleared your throat. “The last topic I have written down is sex.”

“No,” he said, something unreadable in his eyes at the suggestion. “Sex is not on the table because I’m not going to pay you for that.”

“Oh,” you said, quickly scratching it off your list. It was admirable on his part, but also slightly disappointing. Clearly you misread some of the signals. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, placing his hand over yours before you could pull it away. “If I sounded harsh, I’m sorry. I understand sex is an expectation for some arrangements, but it isn’t for me and I would never want you to feel pressured to be physical with me. I also have no judgments against anyone who pays for sex. My preference regarding intimacy is for it to happen organically.”

“I appreciate the explanation,” you said. This was a business transaction to him. That much was clear. But knowing his reasoning behind it did help. “As far as being affectionate at functions, what’s your take on that? Or going on dates?”

“I may have my arm around you or keep you close to my side, but nothing more if you’re uncomfortable with that. If you are, please tell me and I’ll stop immediately,” he answered before a moment of silence stretched on. "You're asking if we're going to go on dates?"

"You mentioned meeting once a month. Is that a date?"

He waited a few seconds before he answered. "It's a chance for us to meet up and talk. I don't want to demand a title for those moments. That isn't fair to you."

It wasn't a "yes" or "no" answer. Maybe after his divorce and not knowing if people genuinely wanted to connect with him, he wasn't interested in the dating scene. "Okay."

He leaned back in his chair with a hum. “You deviated from the sex discussion quickly.”

“You said it wasn’t on the table,” you reminded him. You weren't about to make a fool of yourself by pushing.

“I said I wasn’t going to pay you for sex. I never said sex wasn’t on the table at all,” he pointed out. You jumped to the conclusion that he didn't want it because it wouldn't be part of the contract. “Any discussion we have regarding that, I’d prefer not to be in a contract form.”

“So if it does happen, we’ll work through it together naturally?” you asked, not wanting to get your hopes up.

His gaze softened considerably. “Yes, we would. And I’d hope you’d trust me enough to know I’d treat you well and take care of you.”

"I do," you said.

"But sex and a relationship aren't expectations of our agreement or outside of it," he said, taking his hand away from yours. "I want to make that clear."

Andy driving the point home was what you needed, as saddening as it was. At the end of the day, it was a contract. He was paying you for your company. Surely he didn't want anything else. "Thank you for reiterating that. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss that I missed?"

His expression remained neutral, but you imagined it disappointed him that you shifted the conversation back to business. Wishful thinking on your part. "Yeah. The only other thing I wanted to discuss is the possibility of you having a driver."

"A driver?" you asked. Wasn't that a bit much? "I don't mind taking cabs or Ubers."

"I understand that, but I'd prefer if you had a driver. If you have to meet me for an event and I can't escort you myself, they will know exactly where to go. You also won't have to pay for someone to drive you around if you want to go anywhere."

"But you're paying them," you said.

"My job is to cover your expenses," he shrugged, leaning his head back and reaching up to loosen his tie. You stared for far too long. "Told you I want to take care of you, honey."

You shifted in your seat, hoping he didn't take any notice. "I want to pick the driver," you said, a little more breathy than before.

That poor driver is likely going to be bored for the next three quarters of a year being my chauffeur.

"From a selection of my choosing. They're all trustworthy."

"I'm giving Estelle the details of that, too," you said.

"I expect nothing less," he smiled, catching your eye. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

"Not that I can think of," you said.

He tapped the notepad with his pen. "I'm going to have a contract drawn up, but I won't ask you to sign it for a week. This will give you time to back out if you need to and it will also give you a few days to contact me should you think of anything else."

"One week," you whispered. Could you wait that long? What if you did think of something else?

"Until then," he said, standing to walk back to his desk. He came back with a letter sized envelope. "So you know I'm serious."

Your eyebrows shot up when you opened the envelope. It was a cashier's check for two thousand dollars made out to you. He had it ready for you. "Andy, this-"

"I know we agreed on one thousand, but I was set on two thousand before we talked it over. Even if you decide not to move forward with this, I want you to take it."

Afraid you might cry again, you set the check down and stood up to hug him. He stiffened in your hold and you wondered if you overstepped before he exhaled and wrapped his arms around your back. You thanked him already with your words, so you wanted to do it again with a hug. The way he held you in return, it felt like was saying "you're welcome".

And that you weren't alone.

"I wish we could have that dinner tonight," he whispered, his mouth close to your ear. You shivered before you reluctantly pulled away. "Unfortunately, I have to get drinks with a few executives."

"That sounds terrible," you teased, drawing a chuckle out of him. "I should get going then."

"It is terrible," he agreed, making sure you had the check and your other things as he led you to the door. "I'll see you back here in a week at the same time."

"And I'll hopefully speak to you before then," you said, not wanting to sound clingy.

But the smile he gave you was a sign of hope. "I'd like that."

This is going to be the longest week ever.

I don't need to wait a week. I'm signing on the dotted line! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[iovetecchou]

Pairings... Sigma x Reader

Contains..! soft!smut, established relationship, making out, dry humping, premature ejaculation, praise, use of 'good boy'

A/N; this week's episode had me thinkin... the header image is the whole premise of this blurb (:

GN Reader.

775 words.

“I don’t know why you insist on twirling me around like this, l-love…”

Sigma's face was painted a deep shade of crimson as you spun him around your shared apartment.

One of your hands intertwined with Sigma’s, and your free one came up to his waist. Lovingly holding him close, chests flush to one another as you hummed to the tune emitting from the radio.

“Because it’s fun! Plus, your expression is to die for. Why are you so flustered baby, hm? It’s just us!”

You chuckled, finishing your sentence by dipping your boyfriend. Your grip around Sigma’s waist tightened as you supported him. Your leg came between his own as you found your footing.

“See? Fun!”

You leaned in closer, coming face to face with your lover. The top of your thigh pushing further between Sigma’s parted legs.

“W-Wait, stop— ah!”

Sigma whined, immediately scoring his lip with his teeth; to avoid any more obscene noises from slipping out.

You examined his expression closely, worried that you might have hurt him. But the feeling of his semi-hard cock straining against your thigh put those worries to bed.

“Sigma— are you…?”

Your boyfriend quickly shot upright. Averting his gaze from your own as he struggled to find the words to explain himself.

“I-I oh god, my love… I’m so sorry. Please, excuse me— w-wait! I… hah…”

Your grip on Sigma’s waist tightened as you pushed impossibly closer to him. You added more pressure between your boyfriend’s thighs. Smiling to yourself as his hips bucked, chasing for more friction.

“Why are you apologizing baby, hm? You know I don’t mind helping you. Especially at times like this.”

You whispered, lips ghosting along his. Sigma refused to look you in the eye. Still, far too embarrassed from getting hard while doing something so trivial— so innocent; with you.

“Look at me, baby. It’s okay, I promise. There’s no reason to be shy.”

You cooed. Untangling your hand with Sigma's, opting to soothe his flushed face instead. But still, no luck. Sigma sealed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply through his nose as your leg languidly moved between his. Stimulating his clothed cock faultlessly.

“Hmm… this won’t do.”

You thought aloud, grasping his chin between your thumb and forefinger before pulling him in for a kiss. Sigma gasped from the sudden embrace, eyes darting open for a brief moment before fluttering shut once more; losing himself as you deepened your shared kiss.

His hips were twitching so much as he tried his hardest not to hump against your thigh. But his resolve was melting away with each passing second. Your tongue gliding along his had Sigma’s eyes rolling back behind his closed lids.

Your hand around his waist trailed lower, grasping his hip. Guiding him in his movements and giving him the confidence he needed to let go.

Sigma pulled away from your lips with a strangled whine. His muted eyes finally met your gaze.

“There we go… good boy.”

You praised, hastily sneaking your other hand between your bodies. Your fingers worked on the button of his pants, never once ceasing your movements between his thighs.

Sigma was entranced by you. His gunmetal gaze followed your every movement. Breathy whimpers fell from his lips as he humped against your thigh with more vigor. You managed to tug his zipper down right before Sigma cried out,

“W-Wait! Stop, I’m—!”

Before your boyfriend could finish his sentence, his whole body shuddered. You watched as his eyes rolled back into his skull. A mantra of your name spilled from his lips. Your eyes widened as you noticed Sigma still against you, a wet spot now forming at the front of his trousers.

“Oh baby… I didn’t realize you were that—“

Sigma buried his face into the crook of your neck. His hands came up to wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly in an attempt to hide against you. Hoping the ground would open up at this moment and swallow him whole.

“Not… not another word, p-please.”

Sigma whispered into your skin, nearly inaudible if not for your proximity. You couldn’t help but smile, finding your boyfriend immensely endearing at this moment.

You held him tightly against you. Carding your fingers through his two-toned locks; in an attempt to soothe his nerves. This went on for a few moments before you sunk to your knees in front of him.

Sigma watched your every move with a puzzled look. He only caught on to your intentions when you began tugging his pants down along with his underwear.

“W-What are you—“

“What does it look like? I’m going to clean you up, baby. So, just relax. I’ll take it from here.”

[jwanniie]

Hii can I ask for gp minji just fingering reader on the back seat of the car while the other members are sleeping and also the manager doesn't know because he was playing music on the radio.

Btw, I love your theme and especially chococat as your header, beautiful^^

Aww thank you so much, that’s so sweet!!^^

Warnings: public sex (?), fingering, squirting, teasing, and smut!!!lmk if I missed anything more!

As the day was winding down and the sun began to set, the ride back to the dorms provided a much-needed respite from the day's hustle and bustle. The car's engine hummed softly, blending seamlessly with the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The peaceful atmosphere was a welcome break from the noise and chaos that you absolutely loved that came from the members. The soothing rhythm of raindrops gently tapping against the windows creates a peaceful and serene ambiance.

You sat alongside your girlfriend, Minji, when she reached out and clasped your hand with hers, interlocking your fingers together.

The members had already dozed off, exhausted from a long day of rehearsals and dance practices. Meanwhile, the manager drove the car, playing some soothing music in the background. The atmosphere in the car, peaceful and serene, causing the members to drift into a more profound state of sleep.

She smirked to herself, knowing that you had no idea of her next move. The same hand that intertwined your fingers minutes ago was now sliding down under your pants. Under your panties, earning a small gasp of shock, her fingertip teasing your slick. The fact that the manager was driving having no idea what was happening in the backseat. He was in his reality. Humming along to the tune and melody of the song. Gently swaying his head side to side, along with the addicting beat of the song.

Her fingers never stopped the teasing, bringing it up and down continuously, from your hole to your clit. Rubbing it quickly and the perfect amount of pressure. Then again rubbing the outer corner of your hole, before sliding towing digits in. The buttons and zipper of your pants restricting her fingers movements. You unbuttoned the buttons and unzipped the zipper. Giving her more access to your cunt.

Her slender digits sliding smoothly in and out of you, and her thumb rubbing your clit doubling the pleasure. You felt bad, too bad. Minji finger-fucking you while not even a meter away from her groups two oldest members, and their manager focusing on the road, having no idea what is happening in the back.

You dozed off from your thoughts when the pressure in your stomach started welling. Her fingers were hitting the right spot, and with every other thrust she curled them. She always knew how to use her fingers right, so right. With every passing second the tent in her pants grew and the knot in your stomach was close to snapping. The lewd sounds of your squelching pussy growing louder and louder. Luckily the rhythm of tge new song covered them up.

With one last curl of her digits, and one last ram of her fingers inside your cunt. You felt your juices run down your thighs. Damping your pants and Minjis fingers. A loud satisfied sigh fell from your lips, biting your inner cheek instantly. Looking over at Minji who was now looking out the window. Acting like she just didn’t just finger you and make you splash your juices all over her fingers. You looked down at her small bump that was across her pants. Once you are at the dorm, you need to help her get rid of it.

Managers voice made you snap out of your trance “we arrived!”.

The girls next to you were quick to wake up from their deep slumber, yawning and stretching their arms. Nobody knew or would ever know what just happened, it was a secret between you and minji!😉

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: I'm sorry…but also not sorry this man has been rotating in my brain like a rotisserie chicken and I just need to get these thoughts and ideas done and out because hnngg. It’s gonna start off with normal relationship headcanons and then some added nsfw stuff further down the list. There will be a header for when the nsfw stuff starts.

Content Warning: mentions of sexually explicit content (genitalia, sex positions/habits)

Bigby Wolf - Relationship Headcanons (w/ some NSFW HCS)

- Congratulations! After much perseverance and patience…you've acquired a sheriff werewolf partner! 

- Once Bigby finally comes to terms with his feelings, it will still take time to adjust. 

- He's not used to being vulnerable and open, but if he was going to start…there was no better person than you.

- Bigby trusts you with pretty much everything he is and it means the world to him that you trust him tenfold with your own heart.

- Bigby can be very, very protective of you. He tries not to come off suffocating or controlling, it's just in his nature to protect those he loves. 

- He's not a huge fan of PDA. The most he will do is hold your hand or shoulder and/or maybe kiss your forehead if you guilt trip him enough to do it (poke out your bottom lip and do your best puppy eyes and he'll cave)

- There are many instances where Bigby would have liked to kiss you, but you'll likely have to be the one to initiate it and commit to it in order for it to happen.

- Sarcasm is one of your own love languages you share between each other. 

- Bigby may not be the best at remembering dates for certain things but he does remember the things you like/dislike especially if it has a distinct scent. 

- Speaking of his heightened senses, he's got them practically tuned into you most if not practically all the time. (Albeit again he isn't weird about it. It's just something that naturally occurs)

- If you're someone that has menstrual cycles he picks up on it earlier than you do and tries what he can to make the time of the month less dreadful. 

- Bigby is definitely hot blooded both figuratively and literally. Which makes him great for winter nights and a nightmare for summer nights.

- Speaking of which, he'll always have dibs on being the bigger spoon, you can try but not without Bigby being a smart-ass about it. 

NSFW Relationships Headcanons: 

- His favorite ideas for dates are: going for long walks to nowhere in particular (bonus if it's in the woods) and/or nights in at your place  (or his, but…considering the state it's in he feels more comfortable spending time in your home) with some take out food. 

- At the end of the day, Bigby may still screw up and make things messier than they were at his job but as long as he has you to love him unconditionally and smiling at him...he really couldn't ask for anything more.

- Bigby will primarily be the dominant one in your relationship.

- Even if he lets you take the reins every now and then, in the end he always reminds you he's always in control. 

- I hope you love a hairy man, cause with Bigby it's basically a given. Especially down there.

- Moderate length but very girthy dick that stretches and fills you perfectly to make you see stars.

- Not much of a tease at first but as you grow more comfortable in the newfound relationship he can be a bit of an asshole about teasing you.

- Especially when you know that he knows you're turned on from your scent alone and he does nothing about it. 

- Some encounters can get pretty intense and his eyes have glowed yellow and his claws have come out but he's never scared you or hurt you drastically. (Likely just turned you on more)

- He won't admit to many kinks outright but by all means please praise and validate this man, let him know he's doing something right. 

- Nothing motivates him more than hearing you moan, beg, and scream his name and how good he feels.

- Bigby has a preference for sex positions that have him above you in some capacity, he wants to have full access to all of you. 

- He can go slow and steady or fast and passionate, given his job it's more likely you guys have to learn to settle for a quickie. 

- Sex has also become a way for Bigby to relieve his stress and of course being the doting partner you are, you're more than willing to help him. 

- He's fairly caring in after care. He'll ask if you're okay (especially during your first encounters, he'll worry about being too rough or carried away please reassure this man) and/or if you need anything.

- He has no qualms about you cuddling up into his side or resting your head on his chest as he likely wraps his arm around you in return as he nods off to sleep soon after the moment is over. 

[sugoi-writes]

This is Not a Love Story, This is an Autopsy - Part 1

A/N- PHEW! I wanted to kick out of my hiatus with something I've been itching to do... An original series! I wasn't quiet happy with some of my longer works (and trust, they will probably be rewritten, too). So, this is the start of something new! Something that'll be fresh!

I've been heavily inspired/influenced by @minkdelovely and @hazelfoureyes, who keep encouraging me to just... do it. So I'm doing it!

BEFORE you get too invested, this story WILL be dark. It will be GOREY, graphic at times, there will be filthy, raunchy smut... But this is gonna be a LOT of hurt, with VERY LITTLE comfort. Alastor will NOT be a kind man. The title should be taken seriously, if you wish to continue. BUT FOR NOW... PHEW... sorry, here's part one!!!

Warnings/Promises: Mystery murder woman, Alastor is intrigued, a poor demon suddenly doesn't have a face, cursing, banter, Mystery woman wants to kill Alastor, and Alastor doesn't have GREAT intentions either... Just-- Alastor being ALASTOR! (Mystery woman is referred to in 3rd person, but this may change! Not sure yet)

Please enjoy! ❤️ Header image created by bat-boness on Tumblr! ❤️

Alastor's evening stroll simulated any other: pleasantries exchanged with himself, and his dainty, dated tunes filling the air. This served as a chipper contrast to his surroundings of hurried footsteps, startled shrieks, and the general cacophony on this side of The Pentagram. Oh, tonight was certainly a good night! ...But it was about to get so much better.

The sound of wet squelching, akin to a crushed watermelon, caught his attention. His deer-like ears twisted in it's direction, his smile expanding. What a curious sound! One he was aptly familiar with! It could only be one thing...

Gurgling, disjointed cries and the sputtering of fluids sounded like a grotesque melody. Alastor could hear steady, heavy breathing keeping the tempo. An act of passion... well, in the killing sense, surely. Ever the curious sort, Alastor sent his shadow to investigate. Its wide eyes take in the sight of the alleyway expectantly, eager to witness the fuss first.

A large figure loomed over a hapless victim, the arms flinching and trembling subconsciously as the attacker worked diligently. The sounds from before had morphed into a gut wrenching cutting noise: the unmistakable sound of a sharp knife carving through flesh... but where?

The shadow blinked, inching closer to the scene to get a better look. However, the attacker flinched, turning towards the apparation with a speed that would snap the neck of a human. It was spotted.

In the blink of an eye, a knife came off of a thigh garter belt, hurdling full force towards the Shadow. The knife struck between the entity’s eyes, a heated hiss thrown back to the stranger. Alastor's obedient pet slinked back to its master, unable to give a more helpful report. Alastor hummed in amusement, taking two wide strides to his right. Now, he was stationed at the mouth of the alley, his teeth gleaming under the dim streetlight.

"Do forgive me, dear, I am not known to eavesdrop," a lie, Alastor thought," But I couldn't help but overhear a scuffle~ What did that poor beau do to deserve such fury?"

Alastor wanted to be nearer, to see what you had done to the now-corpse of the demon... but alas, he couldn't just yet. Even with the back facing him, the Radio Demon got a better glimpse at the disheveled stranger.

A large, wide shoulder span dipped in and flowed back out in a delightful curve: a tasteful hourglass shape. Brunette and blonde hair cascaded just past the shoulders, spattered with blood… that was even more tasteful. Judging from the spray's pattern, this blood came from somewhere else… or someone else, in this case. The broad shoulders led to muscular, intense looking arms. The limbs were so red that it seemed they were dipped in a vat of coagulated blood. He could scarcely see the little nicks and scars that littered the taunt skin.

When Alastor continued to walk forward, a sharp turn of the head greeted him. Startling, grey eyes with bloodshot whites glared back at him. The figure didn't answer him, staring him down with a look that could frighten a dictator. Blonde and brunette fringe framed the face, a soft contrast to the rest of the body. Full, flushed cheeks from exertion, complimented by wide eyes and a set of thick, heavy lashes. And, dozens of shallow, silver-white scars littering the pale, plump face. Alastor's eyebrows rose with interest, the silence only motivating him to get closer.

The figure growled, snarling like a caged animal as it turned fully towards him... a woman, he assumed. This woman had blood sprayed across her entire upper body, indicating that this was indeed a passionate act of murder.

Alastor ceased his advances, both hands coming up in mock-surrender.

"Oh come now, dear, I mean no harm... 'just curious~ Won't you humor a demon for a spell? You might just hear your little story on my broadcast tonight~" he nearly sang, eyes squinting and watching carefully. He could tell that this beast of a woman was on high alert, and would likely try and jump him if he so much as thought the wrong word. Though he was confident in his abilities to defend himself, he was no bodybuilder: a fisty cuff that got too heated could mean his second death.

The woman’s gaze remained unphased as she came to her feet. Then, it morphed into a look of recognition.

While the mystery woman realized who was speaking to her, Alastor discovered what she had been carving off of the victim: his face. Alastor watched with an irrational sense of delight as the heavily scarred woman faced him properly. He couldn't help but shift his eyes to the scalped face of the victim, feeling his hands ball up into eager fists behind his back.

The cadaver’s face was grasped in the brunette’s calloused, large hands, blood sliding through her knuckles like a babbling creak in the woods. Had he been a sane man, he would have found the image unsightly. But between his fall from grace and his afterlife of trouble… he found the sight utterly delicious.

Alastor swallowed something in his throat... nerves? Excitement? A mutual interest between strangers? What an evening to find a like-minded individual…

"...You're the Radio Demon..." the murderer said simply. Her voice was a hard, uneven gravel, as if she hardly spoke at all. Alastor's smile widened, giddy at the budding interaction.

"Ahh, my reputation precedes me~ But you can call me Alastor, sweetheart. And what may I call you, hmm?" The tone of his sing-song charm did not match the cannibalistic mania of his too-wide smile. His voice was the cheese, nestled inside an obvious mousetrap.

Alastor stepped even closer, extending a hand out to the rabid-looking woman. Her steely eyes looked to his hand, before back to his face. Her expression remained unchanged.

"...I don't do handshakes," she replied bluntly, her gaze burrowing holes into Alastor's complexion. She seemed to watch him just as intently, acutely aware of his dark aura. Her words sought to disguise her own intrigue.

"Ahh, apologies, dear-- Deeeaaaar...?"

Alastor raised a brow while he drew out the last word, eye twitching with annoyance. He cocked his head slightly as he leaned in, trying to goad her into a response. He expected a name sometime tonight. A name... just a name. If he had her name, he could work with that. Just let him get under that barrier, even if it's just a crack--

"I don't have one," the woman spat back, either uninterested or able to see through Alastor’s antics (of which, the Radio Demon wasn't sure).

A record scratch leaked through his frequency at the abrupt response. The curtness throttled his already thinking patience... Alastor's wide smile stammered for a moment, a tense chuckle bleeding through his clenched jaw. His fuzzy and sound-dampened amusement was practically oozing irritation...

Likewise, the tension that hung between the pair was far too thick.

This needed to be carved through with a knife, Alastor thought. He could still do this.

"Nonsense dear! Why, EVERYONE has a name!!! Surely there is something that people use to call you? To refer to you???" Alastor was a bit surprised by his own persistence. Why did her lack of name manage to throttle him?

...right. He found her fascinating, that's all. And fascinating people in Hell were often easy to exploit... easy to force into a deal. And by extension, she would be useful and entertaining.

"...people usually don't get the chance to talk to me," the brunette replied. Her stoney, hardened face slowly shifted into a sly smile. She chortled wickedly, licking her cracked lips,"...but they usually beg for their lives right about now."

Her sudden lunge surprises Alastor momentarily, before his pitch tendrils snap into action. The mad woman is caught and suspended mid-launch, a heavy tentacle struggling to keep her knife-wielding arm in check. Alastor clicks his tongue mockingly at her aggression. Back to square one, it seemed. What a simple creature!

"Ohh dear, is that a way to talk to someone? If you plan to stab me, at least offer to take me on a stroll first. Perhaps to a coffee shop?" The deranged woman's mouth was tightly pulled into a horrifying snarl, teeth bared and glistening with spit. Had she contracted rabies? Or was she still riding the feral high of a fresh kill? Neither option seemed to startle or surprise Alastor all that much.

He paid her no mind as he walked around her in a slow, teasing circle: like a predator circling helpless prey. But the woman grunted and struggled just the same, hair falling into her face as she tried to break free. The noises she made had shivers of pride running up Alastor's spine. This interest almost seemed... more than that. More than morbid curiosity… He shook the thought away from his mind, his cheeks burning from how harshly he forced himself to smile.

Alastor stepped within striking distance, another tentacle wrapping around the knife-wielding hand as he looked at her troubled face.

"G-Go-- nnnhhhfucker-- Go fuck yourself, freak," the woman hissed, spitting towards the Radio Demon. He simply tilted his head, the spittle missing his pristine cheek. Annoying and gauche... he would have to break her of that garish habit.

"I'm afraid carnal desires haven't interested me for quite some time. Well... past the one you dabbled with moments ago. I must say I'm mighty interested in your handywork~"

Alastor's taloned hand squished the cheeks of the captured woman, turning her face this way and that. Alastor was smirking with an air of superiority as he took in every imperfection and scar that maimed her round face... To him, she was breathtaking, each scar revealing an incident or story he would be familiar with. He felt interested in dissecting her, and figuring out just what or who caused the nicks and cuts.

Thankfully, his brush with murder and other crimes made breaking down her injuries a breeze. Most of them could be summarized as self defense marks left by a weaker victim. This woman was STRONG... There was no question about that. And she wasn't afraid of getting dirty to get her desires fulfilled. He could find that quality to be quite charming... quite useful.

"If you truly do not have a name... might I suggest one?"

The question puzzles the brunette, eyes blinking in rapid succession. It took her a few moments to process the offer.

"You... want to name me?" She retorted, her squished face distorting her bewilderment," Like some goddamn PET?"

"I’m simply offering you one, dear. No need to make a fuss. Perhaps you could find it helpful, should you ever need to be referred to more... directly. With familiarity. You needn't take it, if it displeases you."

Alastor sighed dramatically as the woman thrashed in anger, shaking his head in tandem. It was quite easy to backtrack with this one, wasn’t it?

The woman stared back at the Radio Demon, intense grey embracing hellish red in a heated standoff. One could kill the other in a heartbeat, their acts only halted by straining tentacles. They were in a tense ceasefire, if only for their own sakes.

The woman sighed, relenting after what felt like an eternity," If it causes you to let go of me... you may give me a name, Radio Demon."

"Alastor," the male corrected, pinching her cheeks with harsher intent. The woman winced, but nodded curtly," A-Alastor..."

The venom that oozed from her harsh tone made molten heat fill Alastor’s chest. She could be obedient… how interesting.

The deer demon sneered, face reflecting his earlier delight as his eyes briefly flickered. The name rolled off her tongue so easily... Oh, he liked seeing her like this. Another charming quality he could get used to… and take use of.

"Carver."

The woman blinked, scoffing," Really?"

"Yes. Carver. You could always go by 'The Carver', if you wished, but I rather think the name suits you... a little on the nose, maybe, but simple. Just like you." Alastor's thumb rubs over the woman's cheek, a claw dangerously close to gouging her eye out. The demoness’ face softens, the touch causing conflicting feelings to flit across it.

Fright, anger, surprise, and… yearning. Had Alastor not been observant and experienced with reading people, he might have missed a few of these. Hell, the micro expressions lasted for seconds, if that… But thankfully, his eyes were as sharp as the blade hovering above his head.

Alastor’s hand pauses on her flushed cheek, stashing the useful information in the recesses of his dark mind.

"...fine... That name is fine, Alastor."

Carver fell to the dank and rancid ground with a heavy thud, Alastor clasping his hands together resolutely. Tentacles were dismissed as he eyed her eagerly.

“Splendid, dear! Carver it is! Now, about our earlier topic–”

Carver dusted off her knees as she stood, eyeing the deer-esque demon cautiously. She allowed him to continue, despite her better judgment to gut him then and there.

“What do you say to a bit of coffee, over lunch?”

Carver blinks for a moment, then another, arms folding in front of her chest,” You're joking, right?”

Alastor practically giggles, a dark tendril reforming to hold up the skinned face of her victim,” I'm more of an emcee than a comedian, dear… though I can never pass on a good punchline! Haha!”

When Alastor extends the face to the woman, he squints mischievously,” But no, I'm being quite genuine… Tomorrow, Cannibal Town. There's a quaint little shop by Rosie’s Emporium, the Brimstone Brew… I trust that you've heard of it?”

Curtly, Carver nods, taking her trophy from the Radio Demon indignantly,” Vaguely. I just started working a new job closeby, actually,” she admits. The moment she does, she mentally curses herself. Alastor’s eyes widen, a hand childishly coming to cover his lips. Or more accurately, like a elitist, royal woman with her hand fan, trying to stife her reaction to juicy gossip.

“Pray tell, what do you do~?”

Carver scoffs, casting her gaze anywhere other than the man’s demented smile,” …just some butcher shop. The manager apparently got… well, butchered. So there was a vacancy that the Assistant Manager filled. Soooo… I– I was pulled in to become the new assistant there.”

Alastor seemed on the verge of jumping out of his own skin, leaning forward intently.

“You? Working in one of my favorite stops? Oh, how convenient, dear! Then hows about I ‘meat’ you there! Haha!”

The joke did not go unnoticed, a gruff ‘really?’ following after. He would need to work on her enthusiasm, too.

“See, we could go for a little stroll, and you can tell me more about this new venture of yours! Why, if it's entertaining enough, I'm sure your story would captivate an audience! My audience!”

Carver didn't get the chance to protest as the dapper demon took a few steps back, tipping his imaginary hat her way.

“Let's shoot for 11 o’clock, ‘sharp as your knife! I look forward to getting to know you better… Carver.”

And within a second, the crimson and ebony demon vanished into the shadows. Carver was left confused and stupefied by the entire interaction. She didn't even get a chance to tell Alastor that she actually had work that morning… not that the Radio Demon would stand for it. But, maybe she could brush him off easier this way… She was sure her new manager would intervene or prevent the entire situation from escalating...

The woman dug around in her satchel, until she found a gallon freezer bag. She unceremoniously threw the bloody, skinned face of her victim into her pack, rolling her eyes. Maybe ‘Carver’ was an alright name after all…

What a fucking day… and what a fucking man, to have the nerve to be so… so…

Carver blinked a few times, words escaping her. He was an asshole, but also seemed to have manners… He was infamous, but didn't seem to match the dark reputation… He was bitchy, but also… surprisingly gentle with her?

Carver touched her cheek, where a taloned finger once lingered. A swift flush ghosted across her face as she kicked the corpse on the ground, huffing defiantly. The sooner she could shake this guy off her back, the better. She didn't do ‘friends’. She didn't even have acquaintances. And yet, all in one night, she was given a nickname and asked to go on a coffee date, seemingly just to… talk?

Never would she have imagined such an odd scenario before now. But, she did have an interesting opportunity. Take him out on a date before you stab him, she loosely recalled. And she was more than eager to take him up on that offer to get him off her back.

Carver chuckled, clicking her tongue as she started the trek to her apartment. Maybe she could call in sick tomorrow! Why not?

She could humor this man, if only to hear what his screams would sound like. She hoped that his terror sounded as desperate and sweet as the ones from his broadcast… An artist often immolated their work, and she had a feeling that his anguish would taste just as divine...

This is not a love story. This is an autopsy.

[fanaticsnail]

Daughter of the Sea: Chapter 4

Masterlist Here, Header Masterlist Here

Word Count: 6,500+

Synopsis: After tucking your niece into bed after dinner, the two of you finally give in to your lengthy longing and spend the night in the arms of one another. A revelation once morning arrives has the blissful world you have created with one another come crashing down around you. (Smut in this chapter, MDNI, 18+).

Themes: Unrequited requited love, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship, friends to lovers, found family dynamics, love over time, (smut, mdni 18+, NSFW - chapters will be marked accordingly), love-making, angst, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language. 

Notes: Benn Beckman x f!reader, platonic!Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader, slight mention of MiShanks ship, Beginning: Shanks is 19, Mihawk is 23, Beckman is 30, f!reader is 22, Uta is 2 months old for the sake of the plot (canonically she's 2 years old). The f!reader is suggested to be native to Kuraigana with her mannerisms and language.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @indydonuts

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Sifting through Uta's clothes and organizing her room was done hastily; placing her new clothes on hangers and setting up her small vanity. She hummed a tune, enjoying her reflection in the mirror as you worked away at neatening her treasures. 

After some time, you turned to see her twirling in place with her new skirts frilling around her in a perfect circle. You were glad her childhood has been happy, especially considering the hardships of your own. Truly glad to spoil her in all the ways you had never been, you stood tall and beckoned her over with a soft wave of your hands. 

“Ready for dinner, gorgeous girl?” You asked her, her hand reaching out to collect yours within, “Want to go somewhere that's just us, or do you want to see your crew for a meal?” You placed the velveteen, well-loved hawk plush on her pillow and fixed up her bedsheets. 

“Can we go back to the bar place?” she smiled at you, looking down at her bed before placing her hand in yours, “And maybe have a table for just me and you?” 

“Of course, sweety,” you reassure her, “Just me and you.”

As you made your way off the Red-Force, you noticed Benn Beckman standing on the deck of the bar, leaning over the side rails and looking to the ocean where you arrived from. He looked at peace, his signature frown missing from his face and a cigarette tucked between his index and middle finger. Dressed in a fine dark button-up shirt, his hair combed back, and his face clean shaven, Beckman had never looked so refined before. 

Beside him was Lucky Roux, gnawing at a whole leg of lamb while joking with him. Roux’s wide, toothy grin grew when Uta suddenly tugged at your hand to pull you inside the bar. 

“Roux,” you nodded your greeting, Uta tugged you in firmer, “Beckman.” Your eyes met, his silvery orbs mesmerized with the immediate contact. His lips parted, his mouth moving as if to speak, only to immediately shut as Uta thrust you within the doors of the bar. 

Both of you were dressed in fine clothes, Uta's new skirts sparkling as she moved towards Shanks and Limejuice who sat alone and laughing together. As she began to demonstrate her new fine-wear to the men, you walked over to the bar and began perusing the menu. 

“Need help deciding what to get, love?” a woman's voice prompted you to look up. Her hair was a vibrant green, tucked away from her face by a triangular bandana, “I'm Makino, owner of the bar.” Giving her your name in response, you nodded your greeting to her. 

“I’ll take two glasses of water for now, please,” you asked, turning over the menu in your hands to gauge an appropriate meal for your niece, “Uta will likely have some chicken, mashed potatoes and I would love to see her eat some type of green vegetable.”

“We’ve got peas or string beans, do you have a preference?” she readied two glasses with ice and began filling them with water. 

“I think the beans would be appropriate,” you shrugged, placing down the menu and sliding it over to her. She exchanged the waters for your Berry, handing them down with an inquisitive smile. You cock your head to the side to read her expression more clearly, your evidence collection being halted when she disclosed her curiosity. 

“We don't normally see women dressed in all that finery here. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life,” she admitted to you, prompting you to laugh a little in response. A soft rouge drew up her cheeks, mentally slapping herself. 

“Thank you for your compliment, Makino. I truly appreciate it,” you teetered off your laughter, reaching forward to give her hand a soft squeeze, “I'm from Kuraigana. This is the similar style worn by our locals there.” 

“Kuraigana? Is that on the Grand Line?” she asked, her curiosity growing as she readied Uta's meal for her. You nodded emphatically, beginning to talk about the land you had been living in under the rule of Dracule Mihawk. 

As you both dove deeper into conversation, Benn Beckman and Lucky Roux reentered the bar. The first-mate was in a trance, his gaze locked onto you as your actions moved slower in his mind than what occurred in reality. 

The soft bounce of your hair when you laughed, the passion in your eyes as you spoke to Makino, and your grand smile. The smile that haunted him from the moment he first saw you. His heart soared ever higher when Uta joined you at your side, you immediately stooping to aid her up onto the barstool to consume her meal. 

He was so desperately in love with you. 

Now that he knew you used both his name and love in the same sentence, he needed to make his move. Although he wanted nothing more than to sweep you into his arms and begin wooing you l like his other conquests, he physically couldn't do it. His northern star pointed him to you, calling him home to rest in your arms, but he was still unsure of where to start. He wanted to make you feel special, set aside from the rest, and most importantly: loved. 

As Uta finished her meals, dipping her green beans into her mashed potato and using it as a spoon, you continued sipping at your water and praising her for eating her meal. Giving you a wide, toothy grin, Uta jumps up into your lap and starts eagerly discussing her plans for her future. Her dreams of being a singer, her travels to Kuraigana to see you and her Uncle Hawk, and how she wants to have her captain achieve his goals. 

Just at the mention of his name, Shanks hovered over the bar, ordering another drink beside you. He pauses, leaning forward and giving you a soft peck on your cheek before leaning down to press his lips on the crown of Uta’s head. 

“Thank you for coming to see us while we were docked here,” Shanks whispered to you, collecting his drink from the bar, “Means a lot to all of us here, especially Uta.” He smiled down at his adoptive daughter, extending his arm out to her, “It’s time for you to get to bed, little miss. Want Yassop to take you?” 

“I think we both know who Uta wants to take her,” a burly voice rumbled from ahead. Beckman stepped into the bar, his lopsided smile looking first down at Uta before raking his eyes up to meet yours. You return his smile briefly before looking down at your niece.

“Shall I tuck you in, gorgeous girl?” you offered, her overenthusiastic smile immediately rising up her face. She all but sprung out of your lap, gathering your hand and dragging you onto your feet. Before you took a step towards the door, Uta’s unoccupied hand reached up and gathered Beckmans within her own. 

You both briefly made eye contact once more before she dragged you towards her lodgings for the night. She was happily chirping away to Beckman, recounting all of her day with you and her in town. He would ask the occasional question, humming in interest when it was called for, all the both of you would steal looks from one another like coy, lovesick teenagers.

You both readyed Uta in her pajamas, tucking her into her bedsheets and reading her a fairytale from one of her new books. After all the bedtime routine took its course, you gave Uta one final squeeze goodnight and kissed the apple of her cheek. 

“Goodnight, gorgeous girl,” you whispered to her, “I'll see you in the morning. We could have breakfast together, if you like.”

“Pretty A-...,” she yawned, stretching her arms above her head and nestling into her sheets, “...-Aunty, I would like that. Pancakes?”

“We can do pancakes,” Beckman nodded, smoothing over her sheets and drawing up her quilted blanket to keep her warm, “I'll get up early and make the batter for you, okay?” 

“You're the best, Uncle Beckman,” she uttered snoozily, her eyes drooping as she flopped further into her bed, “Both my favorites together.”

Quietly exiting the room, you clicked her bedroom door closed before looking around the shared communal lounge. You clicked your tongue at the miscellaneous items askew in the room, immediately setting to work and tidying up after the Red-Hair crew. 

“Leave it, Darlin’,” Beckman urged you, collecting a cigarette from his pocket alongside his lighter, “The boys’ll get to it.” You huffed a gentle laugh, continuing to collect empty drinking containers, clothing items and dirty bowls and mugs. Placing the clothes in baskets, the food utensils and containers on the bench top, and turned to face him. 

“Leave me be, Becks,” you shook your head with a soft smile, “Don't keep your date waiting, and let me put myself to use while I'm here.” You continued fussing in the room, leaving Beckman perplexed while mulling over your comment. 

“She is very pretty,” you continued, sighing as you began to fill the basin of the sink with warm, soapy water, “You always did know how to pick the best ones.” Beckman coughed out a soft laugh, choking on his thoughts. 

Spinning on your toes to gaze up at him, you waved him off with a gentle “shoo.” Beckman's mind was racing, watching you hastily turn off the tap to the basin and gather the dishes into a neatly stacked pile. Immediately drawn back to you ushering him away to rest after being so long at sea, cradling the infant Uta in your arms, supplying the Red-Force with all the ship needed to embark on the adventure: his mind zeroed in on that single moment. 

As you hummed while starting to wash the drinking glasses first, he was immediately overwhelmed by those first emotions from so long ago. He neither had the constitution, nor the energy, to make his move back then: his body too sleep deprived and seaworn to truly depict his adoration for you. 

He was under no such plight now. 

Just when you placed the last of the drinking cups to dry on the rack beside the sink, two strong arms wrapped around your stomach while a face buried itself in the crease of your shoulder. You froze in shock, eyes wide and unblinking. Lips found your neck, sweet kisses pressed into your skin and leading down into your shoulder. 

“Beckman, what are you doing?” Your breathy voice gave you away to him, truly reveling in the attention, “You're all dressed up, and your date is waiting for you-.”

“-I got dressed up for you, Darlin’,” he groaned, his lips trailing back up from your shoulder to your neck, “Only for you.” You quickly dried your hands, turning in his arms and pushing him gently on his shoulders. 

“And the woman at the bar?” you asked him, brows raised and eyes darting between his half-lidded orbs. He could barely focus on forming a sentence, his mind wanting nothing but to give into what his body was craving. 

“Just a kiss, nothin’ more, I swear to you,” he confessed hurriedly. His hands began to tremble as they held you firmly, your attention momentarily drawn to them before turning back to face him. 

“You deserve so much more than a simple kiss, Benn Beckman,” you gazed up into his eyes, both of you mirroring the same unspoken emotions you had for one another.

“I don't want to have anything more with anyone else,” he whispered, his body moving forward, his torso brushing against your chest, “I just want you,” his voice caught in his throat as he confessed, “Only ever you.”

The love between you was physically tangible, desire rolling from you both in waves. Before managing to speak a single word of confession, you both became overwhelmed by the sensation of finally holding each other in your arms. 

Lips crashed almost violently, Beckman pinning you against the kitchen counter by his hips while your hands caught his lengthy hair in fistfuls. He pawed at your legs, hoisting you up and sitting you firmly on the counter while your lips began to attack his cheek, chin and jaw with your lips. 

Turning his head, he reclaimed your lips beneath his, his hips slotting between your legs and growled into your lips as you untied his hair from within the elastic. His hair fell like curtains over his shoulders, your hands gathering up the strands and holding his head hostage to your passionate and bruising kisses. 

Sliding his hands over your thighs, he hurriedly snaked his arms over your hips and drew you in closer. Pelvises brushing, you whined into his lips when you felt the outline of his stiff cock grinding against your clothed core. As you parted your lips and shifted your chin, Beckman darted his tongue out to stroke yours and deepen the desperate oscillation. 

“Becks,” you sighed, hands perching on his shoulders as he trailed his lips along the outside of your mouth, “Becks, stop.” He immediately broke away, eyes wide and panicking. 

“I'm sorry, Darlin’,” he gasped, your hands leaving his hair and his hands leaving your body, “Did I misread something? Did you not want this-?”

“-Uta is sleeping in the other room, sweetheart,” you whispered, a love-struck smile rising to your lips as you caressed his cheek, “And Yassop was going to come and take over supervision any second,” you tucked a stray piece of fallen hair behind his ear, “I don't particularly want us to be caught, pants down and ass out by the crew.”

Beckman’s rumbled laughter was contagious, your own joining his as he stooped lower and pressed his lips against your cheek. His lips traveled again to your mouth and hummed as his warm and slow kisses pressed against yours. Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes and softened his expression: eyes half-lidded, lips parted and a small smile painted over his mouth. 

“I am truly,” he kissed you with a soft peck, “deeply,” followed by another chaste kiss, “desperately,” he held his lips firmly against yours, deepening it briefly before pulling away, “In love with you.”

His confession caused your heart to beat violently against your chest, eyes swelling at the truth he disclosed to you. You collected his cheeks within your palms, rubbing a soft circle over his lips with your right thumb.

“I loved you from the moment you placed Uta in my arms,” you admitted, your voice wavering a little as you truly came to terms with your emotions, “And I have loved you every day since.” He laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“I win,” his nose circled your own, scrunching briefly in playful teasing, “I loved you the moment I first saw you. Just before you and Mihawk got into that large brawl, from memory.” 

As the tension swelled once more between you, you shook off the feeling as soon as you heard heavy boots outside the door. Beckman broke away from you, turning away and readying his cigarette and lighter as you approached the sink. Surely and steadily as you washed the dishes, the door to the lodgings swung open to reveal Yasopp. 

His pistol lay at his side, strutting on through with a soft nod to you before sharing a pointed look with Beckman. 

“She sleepin’?” Yassop asked, brow raised high. Your back was turned, concentrating fully on the task of washing the dishes. 

“Aye, she is,” Beckman confirmed as he lit his cigarette, inhaling a deep lungful of smoke, “You eaten?”

“Makino made some lamb stew,” Yassop confessed, wandering around to the kitchen, leaning against the countertop Beckman had pinned you against moments prior, “Had to fight Roux for the last bowl.”

“Ah, that settles my next question,” Beckman uttered, his hand raising to the crown of his head and raking through his fallen locks with his fingers, “No chance of gettin’ some leftovers for us, Darlin'.”

You huffed a soft laugh, looking at him over your shoulder and smiling mischievously. 

“I have some supplies back on my ship from town,” you admitted with a shrug, “I could cook you something, if you like.”

Beckman closed his eyes, cocking his head to the side and attempting to bite back his growing smile by clamping his lips tightly around his cigarette. Yassop shot Beckman a knowing smirk, walking away from the benchtop and approaching the sink. 

“Let me handle that, Hon,” he picked up a dish and nudged you away with his hips, “Go get some food sorted for you and the big guy.” Your heart began to race, turning to glance up at Beckman through your eyelashes. 

“Thank you, Yassop,” you praised him, fully unable to tear your eyes away from Beckman's as his eyes darkened. 

The walk back to your ship passed in almost a blink. As soon as your foot stepped atop your boat, your fine dress was immediately hoisted over your head to leave you in your lingerie. Beckman's shirt was hastily unbuttoned and shrugged away from his shoulders. All while undressing one another, your lips never left seeking out new bare flesh to press themselves against. 

Finally in the crew quarters of your personal ship, your legs wrapped themselves around Beckmans hips as he wove his left hand around your shoulders, and right hand snaked around your hips to hold you firmly in place. His lips we're eagerly consuming your lips, jaw, neck and down your chest as he lined his swollen cock up with your glistening slit. 

Before he prodded you with his knob, he hesitated, snapping his face up to meet with yours. You looked up at him, eyes blown with lust and lashes half-lidded. Hand caressing his cheek, he turned his chin to collect your palm beneath his lips. 

“Everything okay?” you asked him in a airy whisper. 

“I just-...” he darted his eyes between yours, looking down to your lips before floating back up, “...I want you to know this isn't just a notch for me,” he confessed, prodding you open with his knob, “I’ve wanted this for so long, and I want you to know how much I love you”

You smiled, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his knob slowly stretching you open with shallow thrusts. Reopening them, your eyes met: Beckman's expressive silver globes pooling with love and adoration for you. 

“If you're asking me if I love you too, please know that I do,” you whimper as he sheathed more of himself into you, your walls molding to the shape of his cock with each slow thrust, “Oh, Becks. I love you,” you moaned, arching your back as his cock sheathed itself deeply inside you. 

“F-Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, his forehead falling into the crease of your shoulder and neck. He began thrusting slowly, keeping the majority of his cock buried down to the hilt. His pelvis brushed against your clit, each intentional motion his hips made had his mushroomed tip curve to hit your g-spot. 

You anchored your hands on his shoulders, hastily circling his shoulders to hold him closer. Your feet joined at the ankles, digging your heels into his back to prompt him to keep going. He picked up the pace, deep thrusts brushing your g-spot before pushing deeper to reach further depths within you. 

“Fuck, Becks,” you moaned, arching your back and pressing your head against the pillow, “R-Remind me-... Nghmm-... Remind me again why we w-weren’t doing this f-for the past five years.”

“N-No fucking clue, Darlin’,” Beckman huffed, his hips rutting faster as he bullied your walls to take more of his brutal pace, “Coulda had you so many ways in that gloomy castle.” 

“How would you’ve had me?” your mind began to fog, your smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He turned his head to face you, his grin mirroring yours between panted breaths. 

“Woulda’ had you bent over that desk a few times,” he laughed, eyes rolling back as he felt your walls clench around his shaft. “Fuck,” he groaned your name, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek, “Woulda’ had you sit at that fuckin’ desk chair, and wrap your gorgeous thighs around my face while you did your paperwork.” 

You mewled as he unwrapped his left arm from your shoulder to rake at your thigh, carefully supporting it against his hips as he continued snapping his pelvis against yours. 

“Pick a place in the grounds,” he groaned, his motions becoming staggered as he felt his release rapidly approach, “There's the maze,” he smirked, his gaze turning wicked and feral, “Woulda’ chased you through the damn thing in nothin’ but lingerie and some sensible running shoes.” You laughed, turning it into a short whine as he bullied his swollen tip against your g-spot. 

“Oh, fuck, Beckman. I-I’m right there,” you cried, feeling the coil begin to tighten in the pit of your abdomen. Your hands pawed at him, desperately attempting to find something to tether you to the world before it came crashing down around you. 

“I got you, I got you,” he chanted, his left hand leaving your thigh as he raised your hips with his right and began pistoning your body against his skin. His impossible strength heightened the pleasure he was snapping into you. Your body was flint, his hips the rock that sparked the fire to ignite your flame. 

He collected your hands from his shoulders, his index finger anchoring your two wrists together as his thumb and three fingers tugged them away from his shoulders and above your head. He pressed your knuckles against the plush pillow of your bed, using his body weight to pin you against the bed. 

“Becks,” you whined, “Becks, I'm close.”

“Me too, me too,” he nodded, his hips snapping with crude, wet slaps echoing within your bedroom. Mewls of your bliss and gruff groans of Beckman's own rapid approach harmonized together, your voices carrying chants of one another's names over the sea. 

As your eyes began to see the dancing lights behind them, your body buzzing with bliss, Beckman's voice barked over your hypnotism to break the trance. 

“Eyes on me, Darlin’,” he growled, “Wanna see you come undone. Wanna see it in your eyes.” You took your bottom lip between your teeth as you forced your eyes to stay open. He pummeled himself into you, your body beginning to shoot the buzzed sparks throughout your stomach to your toes. 

“Becks, I-I'm gonna-...” you anchored your legs firmly against his body as your orgasm began to hit you, “...Beckman-... Fuck-... Beckman, I'm cumming.” Your body erupted into pure, electrified bliss. Eyes never leaving his, Beckman could see your unravel as his own shot through him. 

“Fuck, Darlin’,” he barked, his hips staggering while his entire length was sheathed completely down to the hilt, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” Your walls wrung around his cock in rhythmic contractions, squeezing his shaft to the same rhythm he sheathed himself within you. 

You attempted to wriggle away from his grip, the overstimulation causing you to panic a little beneath him. Sensing the panic in your arms, he released your hands from above your head and drew them up to his hair. Wasting no time, you drew his face down to meet yours, your lips consuming his whole he chased his bliss within you. 

As your hands tangled in his hair, he rut himself deeply within you, his cock twitching and beginning to spill himself deeply within you. He was usually careful, wrapping himself in a barrier to hold back his spend. With you, he all but lost that thought the moment your lips met his for the first time back in the lodgings. 

“I’m g-gonna-,” he warned you, his hips staggering, “Where? Where do you-.” You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips, refusing to allow him space to pull away from you as you sucked a dark, purple oval against his neck. “F-Fuck, Darlin’. Fuck, I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Please, let me have you,” you whined against his neck, biting at his flesh as you felt the rapid approach of his hard cock within you, “Please let me have all of you.” 

He chanted your name, the crude snaps of his hips staggered while fully sheathed within you. Ropes of his spend shot deep within you in short spurts. His face eagerly sought out yours, his lips collecting your mouth and groaning deeply within. 

His hips stilled, his cock twitching as he continued to slowly rock his hips against yours. He released a breathy whisper, something you weren't anticipating to follow. Caressing your cheek, he looked down at you while whispering in his best attempt at Kuraiganan 

“I love you.”

Your thoughts betrayed you, eyes beginning to pool with emotion at his heavily accented depiction of the language. His intentions were pure, prompting you to relay your own heart in your practiced tongue. 

“I love you too, Beckman,” you whispered, your hands smoothing over the fallen strands of his hair, “More than I could ever truly say, with any uttered tongue. I love you more than you could ever dream of.” He smiled, shaking his head while attempting to understand your words. 

“My Kuraiganan is lackluster,” he admitted with a short laugh, his body and yours still tingling with the aftershocks of the bliss, “But I think I got the sentiment.” He chuckled, pressing his lips against yours and passing his smile to you. Your own lips mirrored his, you both groaning as he pulled his cock out of you. 

He rolled beside you, cradling your shoulders against him as he continued to move his lips in slow and intentional kisses. 

For the first time since early childhood, your guard completely dropped. The walls fell away from guarding your heart from the pain of breaking, each rock of resolve gently pried away by Beckman's lips coaxing you to give in. He felt your body relax, his own following suit as he allowed his hardened heart to warm to the unspoken promises of tomorrow. 

You both felt exactly in the place you needed to be, that place being within the arms of a lover you valued as equal to you. 

Basking in the soft afterglow of your love for a few more moments, you slowly got up and placed Beckman's dark, button-up shirt over your body; drowning in the fabric. He laughed at you, sitting up as you went to your small bathroom to gently rinse yourself of your prior collection of joint release. 

Upon exiting the room, you brought a small dish and washcloth to the man sitting in your bed. You knelt beside him, gently placing the warmed water onto his body and cleansing him. 

“I really should be doing this for you, you know,” he smirked as you continued to drag the cloth over his abdomen and down to his shaft. 

“Why would I expect you to, especially after you were the one who topped me?” you laughed, your hands circling a ring around his cock and drawing out the final drops of his release into the washcloth. 

“You saying you could top me?” Beckman taunted you, nudging your thigh with his knee. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you purred at him, leaning over his torso and tucking a loose strand of hair over his ear, “I was being nice letting you take the lead because you're special to me,” you brought your mischievous smirk over to him, cocking your head to the side and uttering your soft promise. “When you're ready again, I'll show you how good it can be.”

Your challenge did not end unseen, your night almost sleepless as your joint pleas, cries of bliss, and praises echoed well into the dark of the night. As your body finally gave in to the sweet call of slumber, that rest was found tucked within the strong arms of Benn Beckman. His slow and steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep, just as the gentle rise and fall of your chest had him blissfully achieve the best sleep he's had aboard a ship. 

As the sun began to rise, Beckman woke first. He felt you nuzzle into him as he began to shift, taking a moment to commit this picture to memory. His heart was with you, his love and adoration carried with every breath you took. As you stirred, he pressed his lips against your temple. 

“Mornin’, Darlin’,” his smooth drawl has you swooning as your eyes flutter open. 

“Good morning, my love,” you whispered, leaning up and pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. Marks of your night together showed itself in soft hues of purple, small indentations of teeth and scratches on your bodies. Gazing down at you, he clicked his tongue as a reprimand to himself about his rough treatment of you. 

“Shouldn't ‘a gripped you so hard,” he scolded, his index finger tracing down your body and bringing your attention to the perfect cast of his hand against your hips. 

“I probably should not have sunk my teeth into your shoulder like that, either,” you noted, nudging your face against his shoulder. A small, wicked grin began to simmer atop your lips, your eyes filled with mischief as you asked, “Want me to make it up to you?” 

Before he could utter a word, you were already straddling his waist, peppering his cheeks, neck and shoulders with kisses as the rush of morning blood swelled his cock with eager anticipation. Both indulging in chasing your highs, you skillfully raked yourself over Beckman’s thick cock until your walls contracted in blissful flutters around his girth; his seed spilling within you as your lips pressed against one another. 

This time, Beckman did all the heavy lifting with aftercare. He drew you a warm bath, your iron pipes heating your water reserves and filling the large basin with soapy water as you lay in your bed, laughing at yourself as you felt truly happy. 

The taps squeaked off, your long-haired lover returning to you with his pants hanging limply from his hips. His lips collected yours beneath his, giving you a lengthy kiss as you leant into him. Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes as his smile illuminated his face. 

“I promised our niece pancakes,” he reminded you, nudging your chin with his nose, “Come join us after your bath. I'll have coffee waiting for you back at the lodgings.” You swooned, whimpering at the thought as he laughed at you. 

“You truly are a man after my own heart, aren't you?” you uttered more as a statement than a question, “Pancakes for the princess, coffee for the-.”

“-The queen,” he hastily confirmed your title to him, reaching down and collecting your left hand within his right, “You're my queen.” He pressed his lips on your knuckles while looking deeply into your eyes. 

“Oh, stop it, flatterer,” you giggled at him, turning your left hand within his to collect his chin, “Would that make you the king?” 

“Nay, my lady,” he smiled at you, his lips pressing against your palm before tugging down at your wrist, “I am your knight,” he kissed your wrist, approaching your forearm. “Your loyal soldier,” he trailed a soft kiss down to the inner crease of your elbow. “Your fierce protector,” he trailed his lips over your bicep to your shoulder, “And, most importantly,” he kissed your nose, “I am your friend first.”

“That you are, Benn Beckman,” your dazed and lovestruck eyes held his for a moment, him falling victim to your inquisitive stare, “But the most important aspect is actually,” you sat firmly up, your faces at eye level and leaving no air for misinterpretation. “You are my love,” you confessed, “You will always be my love.”

“As you will be mine,” he whispered, his voice wavering with his confession. He surged his face down to yours, his body caging yours beneath it as he pressed his unwavering love into you to solidify his vow. Just as you moved to hook your legs around his and deepen the kiss, he chuckled, tearing himself off you. 

“Enough o’ that,” he chastised you, his eyes shut as he stood upright, “Keep that up, and we won't ever leave this fuckin’ room.” You rose up onto your elbows behind you, sensually biting your lip and carefully dragging your toes over his thigh. 

“What if I don't want you to ever leave this room?” His head snapped over to you, his gaze firm and longing. 

“You're going to be the end of me,” he sighed, catching your ankle and drawing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against it. “Pancakes and coffee first,” he growled, “Then back to this room until my queen is satisfied, yes?” 

You giggled a soft, “Aye, sir,” which prompted Beckman to fall deeper into your trap, truly not wanting to leave. You handed him back his shirt, aiding him to thrust his arms into the sleeves, and gave him a soft kiss goodbye. You watched him approach the tavern with a soft bounce in his step, as you shrouded yourself with the door. 

As you turned to approach your warm bath, a rumble of your personal Den-Den hummed to life. Puzzled, you reached for the small shell and elevated it to your ear. 

“Enjoying your time away with our niece, my dear?” the disinterested call of Mihawk hummed at you through the transponder, “She would be about five now, yes?”

“Good morning, my lord,” you smiled into the transponder as you gathered your bathing supplies to begin basking in the soft call of the water, “Have you arrived back at Kuraigana already, sir-?”

“-I’m sorry, dear,” he spoke over you, his tone depicting an unnatural worry to you, “I truly wanted to know about Uta and the Red-Hair crew, believe me. That will need to wait, I'm afraid. You need to sit down while I tell you this, and ensure you are alone.” 

At the swift change of his tone, you sat on your bed, your bathtowl beneath your naked form as you gathered a robe to shroud yourself. 

“I am sat, Mihawk,” you informed him in a professionally practiced tone, “What happened? What did you do?” 

There was a brief pause, a small stagger of breath within his tone, his voice betraying him as he attempted to steady it. After a moment, he informed you of his travels. 

“My bounty has been canceled, and, by association, so has yours.” You cocked your head to the side, holding the shell closer to your ear as he admitted, “I have joined with the marines to become one of the seven warlords of the sea.”

You were immediately flooded with dread, your mind racing with you at this knowledge. Your bounty was hefty, your collection of whispers on the wind keeping you informed of hunters and marines before you docked or left Kuraigana. 

“What does that mean?” You asked, shaking your head as you attempted to process the information, “I work for them now, too?” 

“Absolutely not. You work for me, and I advocated for you because you live with me in Kuraigana,” he relayed to you, “I refuse to have every Marine rat come to my door and attempt to collect your bounty each time I receive orders from the World Government.” 

After taking a few moments to collect yourself, you ready the question Mihawk knew you would ask. Although he anticipated it, he truly could not prepare for the heartbreak depicted in your tone. 

“What are you asking me to do?” 

“You need to come home, immediately,” he whispered after taking a slow and steady breath, “Leave the Red-Hairs and come back home to me.” 

The next question that fell from your lips almost broke him, the new warlord experiencing the greatest empathy for his oldest friend and closest confidant. 

“Will I ever be permitted to see them again?” 

The pause he produced had your breath stop, your heart beating heavier and heavier with each burst, “...it means no contact for at least five years.”  

You could barely process the following information Mihawk was relaying to you, his voice attempting to produce further instructions of, “That includes calls, letters, physical contact. We will not see our niece again for quite some time.” 

Your voice caught in your throat, your pulse beating heavy in your ears with a brutality you had not had since your first encounter with the fight, flight or freeze reaction.

“My dear, did you hear me?” the smooth drawl of Mihawk's voice broke you out of your rapidly panicking thoughts, your mind snapping back to you. 

“I-I can't do that,” you stuttered, your eyes swelling with immediate grief, “I can't do that, Mihawk. Especially now, since-...” your voice trailed off, your eyes immediately falling to the closed door of your ship. 

After a moment of silence, Mihawk clicked his tongue in shock, putting the pieces he feared together 

“You're finally been in bed with Beckman, haven't you?” your stifled sob escaped your lips, prompting your right hand to clap over it. Soothing assurances poured from his honey-sweet tone. 

“My dear, I'm so sorry,” his apology fell on deaf ears as your body already began to mourn the years to be lost to you. After taking a moment longer to dwell with your shattered heart, you hardened your stance and blinked back the rise of sorrow in your eyes. 

“What would you have me do, my lord,” your cool tone depicting your cast aside emotions in each articulated syllable. 

“Best to tell only Shanks, and leave him to relay what he wants to his crew,” he directed you, your body moving as automatically as it could to prepare yourself to receive your orders, “You need to come back before the spy network can draw a connection between us and them.”

You stepped into the bath, hastily ridding yourself of the prior night and morning shared in the arms of your lover and stepping out to dry yourself. Housing the chain of the plug out from your bath. In lieu of the sundress you had desired to wear for the day, you tugged on your old uniform: a hooded shawl, tanned pants and a lengthy shirt beneath a face shield that only showcased your eyes above it. 

Before Mihawk ended the call, he advised you with a swift and steady articulation. 

“You may do what you need to do to make it easier on yourself and your niece, but know,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, “The longer you dwell with them, the more danger you put not only yourself, but Uta in. Goa kingdom hosts marines, pirates and bandits alike. If you're seen with them, the marines have been ordered to kill on sight.”

“Aye, sir,” you uttered in a voice darker than night. Mihawk uttered a final precaution to you, his sorrow almost depicted in itself, “Better to have them hate you than for them to chase you.” 

Ending the transponder call, you finally had a moment to dwell in silence before deciding on what direction to take. As you looked at yourself in your vanity, it seemed as if one has already been made for you. 

[semthescientist]

so this is a part two to my lil entry and here i merely wanna talk about what actually clicked for me and how everything has changed since then. part one is right here (:

as i said before, it was until september of 2023 when i was on around the fifth or fourth day of my cruise did things begin to dawn on me. if you're familiar with 4d-barbie, (i believe her name is Ada), she has a google drive filled with book resources and some of them are already annotated (which came in clutch). well, actually before the cruise i had began reading the book One Truth, One Law: I Am, I Create by Erin Werley and i resonated with things so heavily. i kept reading bits and pieces of the book but also was determined to be present and just enjoy my cruise. as i read, i became so interested in the way Erin would have full blown conversations with I AM. especially the part where Erin told her husband and then was afraid if he'd judge her but I AM simply told her to relax and let it do the talking--and that's what happened!

so i'm sitting there and i'm like "yo! how cool is this!" and of course, it's explained how to do this yourself--how to really tune in and trust your own wonderful intuition. i wanted to do it because i didn't want to reread Erin's(I AM) answers to questions to form my own answers. i had my own specific questions and no one else could answer them for me besides me. so i put the book down and i asked my own question and trusted that the answer would come to me whenever; even if he didn't come now, it was bound to.

and i had fear...i feared if it would actually happen or not. sometimes i'd be tempted to look things up or keep rereading every answer given by I AM in Erin's book. i would kind of just do self-talk when that happened, i don't know how i got through that to be honest. i can't seem to remember. but what i do remember is the little deposits that would drop into my head randomly. i was lathering up in the shower and was like, "why would i hate my persona?" [persona, ego, Vanessa--all the same, i just like the word persona better!] and i kept going with that line of thinking, asking myself a series of questions like: wait...why do i think there's something wrong with her?

isn't the persona how i'd experience a multitude of things? things that don't necessarily exist to I AM?

and i realized i was onto something because i felt so expanded. like my heart began filling up...my chest began fluttering. i know you've felt that feeling before and that feeling always comes when you're listening to yourSelf. there wasn't much else i did after i realized this because a new way of thinking just took over me. i had so much love for everything...i mean literally everything. i started to question everything i read from others.

again, something a lot of realized masters would say is "you suffer because you think you are this body" and while that's true...it just didn't feel right in my soul. none of it felt right--at least not something to remember all of the time. i didn't feel like it had any sort of longevity and the only reason i felt that way was because it didn't feel loving enough. i really wanted to know what was so bad about taking this persona into consideration...what was so wrong about loving her and holding her hand? why did i have to become aware of what she was thinking/feeling and suddenly say "oh but that isn't Me! let her cry and whine, she isn't Me."

i go into depth about this here. it's just a diary entry so the beginning i had a different outlook on my persona than i do now, hence the different header titles.

the bottom line is i had no reason nor right to hate my persona. after all, she found Me again--she found her True Self so that has to count for something. i simply started to look at the world differently and realized that it was never about fighting anything. we all know there is no "out there" and all there is is consciousness but how many have you actually put that to the test? have you stopped fighting shadows? fighting the seeming opposite circumstances? if you know there's only the will of God (which is you), why do you keep fighting everything else? have you stopped fighting your persona's fear, Vanessa's doubts--belittling her because she can't believe in herself...not yet at least?

i quickly gathered that if i love Myself, then i would have to trust Myself. i know someone probably has the fear of going "out there" and falling asleep again--losing faith or going back to believing in the world. but that could never happen. why? because of trust. You have to trust yourSelf enough to know only your will is imposed. and what builds trust? action.

personally speaking, there was a circumstance that i'd been ignoring for the longest in the name of manifestation. but lately, i've realized that whatever can happen "out there" and not only do i not have to form an opinion on it but i can watch how it crumbles when i stand ten toes down in trusting myself. i can trust Myself so much to stand tall in what i prefer and watch as Self carries me up and over the seemingly opposed...and then i glance back and they were nothing but cardboard cutouts. like that scene in coraline where she walked away and the world started crumbling--'twas only because it never existed too.

i don't fight anymore because i know My will is only ever imposed. i know that when something dares to throw a punch, it won't connect because it has already disintegrated. and most of all, i know that i can care about whatever the hell i want. hey, if you don't care about being a realized master than cool--find something that makes your heart sing and you can't help but burst from the seams when you think of it. for me, it was shifting. (do not come for me about the terminology, human mode rn so i gotta put a label). i found that shit to be so cool and to be honest, it's helped me discover my sexuality too which is a bonus. but none of this could've ever happened if i didn't start operating out of love for my persona.

just think of it, everything you desperately want you'd need a persona to experience anyway. you can take this and make some shit shake, and really define what you want or no labels at all. you can fully be I AM and have zero needs or you can be I AM with a persona, or you can just be a persona! there's people who look to an outside god but their god is rooted in so much love!

like you know a lot more than you're giving yourself credit for and only if you'd be so determined to listen to yourSelf the way you've listened to others, then shit would really start clicking. everything is perfect in its likeness and it is because I AM is all-encompassing that everything is possible--even the things we think are "bad". i promise, every question you'd ever have there's an answer for it and it's within you. you can find what matters most to you--you'll know. it's a feeling of pure confidence that cannot be described, you'll move without thinking and take chances and do whatever else and it'll feel like you're under a trance. That is You. there is no other...fall in love with Yourself and your human form too because it's nothing but a vehicle to bring you back to Self. your persona's fears and doubts are nothing but an opportunity to rely on Yourself...to trust Yourself and i speak of the infinite You.

lol i'm sorry if this seems all over the place, i was just saying what was heavy on my heart. i've been feeling a lot of love for everything lately and i want somebody else to feel that too. i know this will reach the person who's looking for it. so because of that: hi hi! you've done well, my love.

also, one last thing. there were a couple of people who helped me come to this realization and i wanted to say thank you! heavenlythea here on tumblr, iam_love.co on instagram, and Betinho Massaro for his book Super Accelerated Living (dude's mad funny, like i legit would smile reading it) oh and Ada! she came in clutch with the resources and annotating! and really everyone else for simply existing. know that you are perfect because you exist and the only reason you can't shake Self is because You (the real you) knows you'll be just fine.

love you all!

[amywritesthings]

meet me on christmas. / an eddie munson holiday ficlet

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader ( stranger things ) word count: 1.2k / rated mature summary: It's the Christmas of '87. You and boyfriend, Eddie Munson, cruise Hawkins for your annual town lights crawl. tags: post s4, eddie munson lives, explicit language, holiday lights, christmas fluff, childhood friends, established relationship credit: dividers by @saradika / header by @nicostiel

welcome to the sixth day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!

“The rich assholes always have the good stuff.”

“Just because they’re rich doesn’t mean their decorations aren’t tacky,” you argue back, ripping a Twizzler at the center of the rope with your teeth.

"Can't argue with that," Eddie Munson quips in return, holding out a hand for the Twizzler pack.

You hand it to him — if he wasn't idle in the driver's seat of his beat-up van, then you would have tossed it.

Since the battle of the Upside Down, you could argue his reflexes have gotten much better.

Eddie likens it to Spiderman-esque rabies powers from those nasty vampire bats.

(You're just happy he's here.)

“That’s way too many reindeer on that lawn — look."

You lean over the passenger seat to point out of the windshield towards a bloated, light-infused lawn.

"The Weston's put up a ton of them, but that's inaccurate. Santa did not have twenty reindeer.”

“Damn, did Mr. Weston feel bad about the team rejects?” Eddie comments with a feigned sigh of sympathy, tone melodic. “Gave the bench reindeer the gift of playing in the big leagues for Christmas of ‘87.”

“Imagine wanting to do your job.”

“Couldn’t fuckin’ be me, that’s for sure.”

You’re lucky Eddie even agreed to do this with you.

Then again, you’re pretty certain you could have asked him to watch A Christmas Story fifteen times in a row, and he would still enthusiastically say yes. 

Whatever made you happy — when most boys said it, they never meant it.

Not Eddie.

Now that you're home for the holidays from college, you're happy to close the distance with your best friend — your boyfriend — and rekindle old traditions.

Cruising around the better-off parts of Hawkins in his beat-up van was a staple ever since Uncle Wayne taught Eddie how to drive.

Thirteen years old and all too eager.

(A little too young, but hey, 'tis the damn season.)

Truth be told, hiding here with Eddie felt more in line with the Christmas spirit than anything your family had planned for the holidays.

All of the incessant inter-connected drama...

The non-stop questions about college...

The inevitable judgment when you talk about the future they don’t wholly approve of...

None of that mattered here.

Eddie cranked Dio really loud to make sure of that.

(He loves to argue that Dio could put out a killer Christmas album, same as the Carpenters, but they’re too busy churning out the sickest tunes of the decade.)

“I think their neighbors gave up on decorating this year,” you judge, holding out your hand to get the Twizzler pack back. “Look: only a stupid wreath on the door. Remember when the Thomas family used to do that crazy display with the boombox and stuff?”

Eddie keeps one hand on the wheel as he holds out the pack to you, plucking out two final red ropes for himself.

“Apparently Mrs. Thomas divorced Mr. Thomas," he explains, "so they don’t exactly have the budget to be Hawkins’ beacon this year.”

You gasp, jaw dropping.

“No.”

Eddie smirks, chewing on the candy.

“You missed way more than real-life Dungeons and Dragons in Hawkins, Indiana in your pursuit of higher education, Miss Thing.”

He isn’t wrong — you caught the tail end of this town almost getting swallowed by a Mindflayer.

Apparently what few months you had spent away from this small town gave the evils below plenty of time to rip the fabric of reality in half.

Then there was that one time Eddie almost died from a flock full of vampire bats.

Neither of you really talk about that day.

No one involved in that mess does. 

It’s for the best.

“Oh — shit, do you see that one?” you ask out of the blue, leaning over the dashboard to point at an upcoming house littered with string lights.

“What?”

“That!” you exclaim, smudging his windshield as you press against the glass.

A two-story house is decorated from roof to foundation full of sparkling white lights, changing its pattern every few seconds.

In truth, it’s a little disorienting.

Still rad, though.

Eddie slows the car down to a near stall, squinting ahead under his heavy, curly bangs.

“It’s all white. That’s so lame.”

“Lame?” you ask, turning your chin towards him.

He turns to you, too, then a smug smirk crawls over his lips.

The boy leans over, pecking a kiss to your pursed lips.

“You’re cute when you pout. But yeah, fuck white. Multicolored all the way.”

“I didn’t think you had opinions on string lights, Munson,” you tease, smiling wider from the tiny kiss.

You want to pull him into a deeper kiss, but safety first: you have to convince him to park the car first.

“Well, my sweet Christmas angel, that’s where you’re wrong. I am very opinionated.”

“You didn’t even decorate the trailer this year,” you remind him, flopping back down to the passenger seat. “Which, by the way — I noticed. Talk about being disappointed when I rolled up this afternoon to see a totally blank canvas.”

His brows knit together in playful confusion.

“What, did you seriously think I was going to do the lights this year without you?”

The statement surprises you.

Sure, you helped the Munson duo decorate — it’s almost as much of a tradition at this point as the holiday lights crawl.

Ever since you and Eddie became best friends, you’d spend hours meticulously turning a two-person man cave into something warm and cozy, with fake buffalo snow and tiny string lights.

According to Uncle Wayne, something about your touch on the place was warranted for the holidays.

Yet you had assumed they would have started without you this year on the principle that you’d be coming home for the holidays later than anticipated.

(That, and the near death of Eddie had taken a large toll on Uncle Wayne altogether.)

But neither were the real case:

They waited for you.

Your heart swells with the realization.

Before you can turn the moment sappy, Eddie winks and turns left at a corner. 

“Let me show you a real house. C’mon, it’s down the block from here. I scoped this shit out when you were busy with finals.”

You stay in your seat, too busy staring at the curly-haired boy as he navigates the streets of Hawkins to find a perfect house.

Suddenly the town isn’t so interesting.

Truth be told, it never was.

If it wasn’t for Eddie, then you’d never come back to Hawkins.

You imagine he feels the same way about his Uncle Wayne.

He can't leave, so you'll stay.

“Why don’t we go home?” you suggest.

The boy frowns as he pulls over.

“Home? You don’t wanna look at other lights?”

He gestures to the grand outdoors.

“You love this shit.”

“I love decorating with you and Uncle Wayne way more,” you tell him.

Finally, Eddie takes a pause.

The boy studies you for a moment, considering, before a smile starts to grow so wide that he has to bite his lip to keep it at bay.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” you promise.

You raise your boot, poking it at a hole in the calf of his ripped jeans.

“C’mon. Fuck the rich assholes. We can outdo them by miles.”

It takes another pause to pass, but Eddie finally grins like a Cheshire cat. 

“What my lady wants, my lady gets.” 

He switches the van in reverse to ready a three-point turn. 

“Christmas with the Munsons, it is.”

.

[wandanatss]

heart in hand - chapter one;

things haven't been the same since you came into my life

summary: Summer of 1995 finds you in a cafe with a new-to-town Natasha Romanov. Little do you know, this day is going to change your life.

warning(s): swearing, slight mentions of guns & bullying.

word count: 1,087 words

author's note: i don't have access to the app i use to make covers/headers/dividers for my fics, so this canva one i threw together literally five minutes ago looks good enough. the dividers i used are by @cafekitsune. reblogs would help <3 i'm open to constructive criticism! i especially hope that one anon who helped a lot earlier likes it!

It all began in the summer of ‘95, in a little shop north of town. You sat there every day for want of something to do, someone to talk to. Being the friendless nerd was fine during the school year, but in the summer you always shifted from being alone to lonely. 

Your fingers tapped out an errant beat on the countertop, and you hummed a mindless tune. Your eyes droved over the menu as though your were trying to find something you wanted; as though you hadn’t already memorized it in your countless trips to the shop. In the end, though, you picked your usual - a sandwich, a doughnut, and a Coke. Picking the items up off of the counter once you got them, you sat at the only empty table there - a two-seater near the very back, where no one could see you. Figures. Invisible everywhere in the world, it seemed.

As you started to munch on the sandwich, interspersed with sips of your drink, your eyes watched the windows. Maybe you’d have your ‘movie moment’, where someone walked in that you fell in love with. Maybe it would be the person of your dreams. You looked down for a moment to pick up the cup, and within those few seconds, the door opened and a bell jingled. You looked up.

Y/n: I don’t know, it was fate or something. This absolute bombshell of a girl walked in. Her coppery-red hair tumbled over her shoulders, her eyes were bright, and she had the perfect red lip. She wore a thin white shirt, clinging to her with sweat. Her shorts were blue, and truly made her look like she had legs for days. When she ordered and got her food, she just wandered around for a minute before she saw me. Saw the seat in front of me. She smiled, asking if she could sit. Of course, I agreed. Neither of us knew it yet, but it was the start of something truly iconic. The girl, of course, was Natasha Romanov. We were both seventeen at the time.

Excerpt from ‘Mic in Hand, Heart in Throat’ by Kat S. Releasing 1 May 2028.

You introduced yourself, and started to make small talk about the weather – sweat-soaked Natasha’s body was a sight to see, and under the A/C breeze, her hair fluttered around her face. You were flushed, but you could pass it off to the heat, too. As Natasha waved over a waitress and placed her own order (a strawberry milkshake and a sandwich), you took the time to observe her.

She had her bicycle keys in her pocket, and two bracelets hanging from her arm. One was beaded, with the little alphabet charms reading N A T in different colours. The other was a few simple strings wound together and tied, giving the effect of a young child having made it. Now that you were closer to her, you could see the bottom of her hair bleached and cool-toned, showing her having dyed it blue a while back.

“Y/n? Do you want something too?” asked Natasha, a silent smirk in her eyes. She knew what you were doing.

Eventually, once the waitress was gone, you and Natasha struck up an easy flowing conversation. She confessed that she had biked here in the heat to get out of town, have her own ‘summer experience’. She was new. That explained why she hadn’t been in high school with you. You smiled and told her all about the high school she’d likely be joining, and joked about how she should make it a point to stay away from you. It would be social suicide, you explained.

Natasha turned slightly away at the comment, something catching her eyes, but looked back with a frown on her face. 

“I think people should be lucky to know you, Y/n. You’re a good – a good friend.”

Through the chat you have with her, you discover that not only can she play the guitar, but also the drums. She can also sing, insanely well if the competition awards aren’t a lie, and she’s just a fucking dream. She gave you her home-phone number, and her address. Call me, she wrote on the paper napkin, like she was some kind of rogueish flirt and not a schoolgirl still in her teens.

You took the napkin home with you and pinned it onto a little board, fingers moving over the bumps in the paper where she had pressed too hard with the pen. Call me. Come over sometime. You smiled, idling near the telephone. Maybe you would call her later, you thought.

Natasha Romanov: Y/n, they were an interesting person. My first friend who wasn’t my sister. We’d both been adopted, and been the town freaks for a while. Yelena, she was all spite and rage packed into a little spitfire of a ten-year-old child. It didn’t help that she wanted to give her opinions freely. It was my job to protect her, and when that backfired, we had to move. This far into the story, you already know I wouldn’t be too cut up about it. I had my sister and my adoptive parents. End of fuckin’ story, right? And then the chapter turned. After I met Y/n that day, everything changed. I finally had a reason to stay in the new town. I had made a friend.

Excerpt from ‘Mic in Hand, Heart in Throat’ by Kat S. Releasing 1 May 2028.

As you lay in bed that night, all hot and bothered about the day you’ve had, words start to form in your mind. Fragments; not enough to be worth writing, but you can see where you’ve started to... well, you’ve started thinking up a song.

The next morning, you wake up from a rather pleasant dream to hammering on your bedroom door. 

“Wake up, kid! It’s time to go!”

Oh. It was your mother, a staunch stickler for early-birds-get-the-worm. You would’ve far preferred to sleep in, especially in the summer, but the thoughts from the previous night – the song you thought of – had finally almost fully formed in your mind. You were eager to pen it down in case you forgot, but first, to appease your mother, you showered and had some cereal. Then you were back in your room, ready to write.

She’s got blue hair and a pretty pink smile

Looks that can kill and hands in mine

She’s a girl she’s a gun she’s the newest chapter

She’s a dream and what my heart’s been chasin’ after…

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist! | fic tag

[yuri-is-online]

Hi Yuri! I hope you are doing well<333 I really enjoy reading your writing and I am always more fond of reading the little octatrio fish gang! I dont really know how this usually works because I never send in any asks at all nor do I see your rules list or anything but if you dont mind I would like to make a request<3

A mc who finds an out of tune and old piano and fondly remembers that they used to play piano back in their world. And perhaps Azul hears in on this and despite the piano being old and out of tune, it is rather beautiful how you play it because of how imperfect the notes are being played out. (SORRY I WAS LISTENING TO FALLEN DOWN AND THE FEELINGS WERE JUST SURGING AND THE BRAINROT WAS TOO MUCH)

You dont have to force yourself or anything! Please take care and dont feel too pressured! <3

The Most Romantic of All Arts (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu)

Hello dear friend and I am doing quite well thank you! I'm pleased you like my writing; the octotrio is what finally cracked my resolve to check out Twisted Wonderland and put FGO on the back burner so I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up too much for writing about them so much. I am sorry I caused you stress with my lack of rules, I don't usually send requests or asks myself, so I felt really bad to have frightened you. Not too sure if this will end up being what you had in mind, it got away from me a bit.

Also when you say Fallen Down, you do mean the Undertale soundtrack piece right? It's a soothing song I listened to it while I was plotting this to try and get into a similar headspace.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, header taken from the painting Spirit by George Roux (1885) which I found on this wordpres blog article I took the title from, it's a neat painting, Azul learning to find beauty and love in imperfections is important to me ok? Other works can be found on my masterlist here.

Sometimes you wonder if Ramshakle is sentient. The old building has more rooms than you know what to do with, and lovely as the ghosts are they don't fully remember what they were used for, if they remembered in the first place. But still there was something about those rooms that seemed to love you; he guest room almost built itself up around you, the kitchen had only needed some basic repairs before it was ready to help play host again, and no matter where a fire place was found it was always eager to burst to life and warm you and Grim.

It does not have the same love for Azul, he'd complained as much when you talked about just what it was he wanted with the building after the events of his overblot had cooled between you.

"It's got a graveyard in front of it, though?" That really had been the crux of your whole argument. It was hard to be annoyed with his laugh when it sounded so nice, the genuine amusement a refreshing difference to his previous performitive indifference.

"Yes," he muses, sipping at his real before he continues, "I'm not bothered by that much, ghosts and grave ships aren't uncommon sights under the sea, but I always forget how unusual humans think they are."

"There's a lot of superstitions about places where people are buried." You mean it as an explanation, but it brings an odd look to Azul's face, like there's an emotion bubbling beneath his surface he doesn't want to acknowledge but is too strong to suppress. It settles over you both, as you try to focus on drinking your tea while your host seems content to let his grow cold.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that ruin isn't really sentient." He sounds almost bitter, disappointed in how long he has let his drink cool you decide as he reaches for the pot and warms it with some fresh tea. "Otherwise, I'd accuse it of trying to keep you."

It's a silly thought, but the sight of this latest discovery really does have you wondering. You are supposed to be in that wonderfully accommodating kitchen making snacks for when Azul decides to "coincidentally drop by" later this evening to "go over the Lounge's expenses" in your guest room. On a Tuesday. When it was almost guaranteed business would be slow enough to keep anyone from wondering too hard about where he'd gone or the twins from being too upset about running things. But instead of "just wanting to try" a new recipe, you are here, tucked in a room just a bit further down the hall from the guest room watching Grim give his best impression of Ace after completing a magic trick. Because stars know he has never seen any other magicians.

"TA-DA!" He puts both of his paws out to really sell the piano at the window. "See, I told you I had a great surprise!"

"I'm sorry for not believing you." You say and try not to laugh with just how much more proud that seems to make him. "But where did you find this? Or how I guess, unless you moved it?"

"Nah." He shakes his head before remembering he's supposed to be the "great" Grim. "I mean I could have! But I'm just so cool I managed to find a piano here already, so all I had to do was clean it up instead! You're welcome henchuman." You scratch just behind his ears and politely ignore his purrs as you examine the piano and its bench. They're old, likely just as ancient as everything else in the dormitory and likely extremely, achingly out of tune. But the mere sight of it makes your fingers itch, and Grim barely has to whine "Well ain't you gonna play somethin'?" Before you're at the bench, experimentally pressing the keys to try and sound out something.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are-

You hum it rather than sing, irrationally worried Grim will somehow figure out it's a lullaby and complain that you're babying him instead of cutely dancing along with the music like it's one of the cassettes Deuce let you borrow. He cheers for another, and you oblige, letting your muscle memory carry you as far as it can as you try searching your brain for just what it was you wanted most to hear from yourself after all this time being unable to play.

And missing the click of a heavy door down the hall in the effort.

Azul hears nothing at first, and though it does disappoint, it does not bother him. He's had a long day, one about to be made longer still by the grey zone already draping itself around his thoughts as he shrugs his blazer off to his shoulders while en route to the Ramshackle guest room. He pauses, for what he tells himself is only going to be second, at the kitchen door and is left unrewarded for his detour.

You aren't there: and that does bother him somewhat, even if it should not if his pretext is to be believed. These visits were too commonplace to be random, but maybe you'd made plans, deciding not to look past his excuses for the evening. Maybe you were asleep, tired of the day or just plain tired of him. But there is a kettle sat on it's base, mercifully not on just yet, but two mugs and the pour over cone set next to as if it was expecting company. The nerves remain knotted in his stomach, though the cause shifts towards something more welcome.

So you do have a mug purposefully set aside and designated just for him, and is that a little recpie card with notes on coffee taped to that tin? These things should worry him, the picture he snaps and immediately hides in a folder should be for a purpose. But it's separate from those ones, labeled something inane and barely full with how careful he is to have his longing remain unseen. He wonders, briefly if it would be an intrusion to make the drinks himself. If it would reveal to much to show outright he knows the way you take yours instead of just saying it in time with your order, but knows that would not be the exact issue here. He is a guest, and guests limit themselves to the halls and that room he forces himself, with haste that would be noticeable if you were there to see it, back down the hall and back towards the guest room. Azul has work to do, he can content himself with the warmth the mental image the cups on the counter produces until something forces him to pause at a door once more. The piano is old, droning out a tune that is unpolished and rusty from the player's lack of practice but filled with such a specific sort of joy it has him actually running towards it.

You sit at the bench, a serious look of determination on your face so unlike the usual Yuu it can't help but be cute. Grim sleeps contentedly on your lap as you continue searching for the threads of melody still trapped inside your head from years of only occasionally reluctant practice. It's an unfamiliar tune in composition, but not in feel. There's words to this song, maybe not in the form of lyrics, but there all the same for him to stumble even closer to as he comes to a halting stop just behind you and the music ends in a surprised crash as you whip your head around to see him.

"Azul!"

"Very sorry to interrupt." He holds up both hands in surrender, composure only just maintained as you check to see Grim still asleep and laugh nervously. "I didn't know you could play."

"Can't really." You say somewhat bitterly and more confidence comes to Azul as a slight plan froms in his mind. "I'm really out of practice ugh. I know it shouldn't annoy me! But with how everything's been since I showed up, it's just not been on my mi- Oh hello?"

Azul fully removes his jacket and sets it on a side table close to where he had been satanding, moving to sit on the bench next to you. He has enough mercy not to loosen his tie or do anything else scandalous, but the close examination he gives to the keys could have fooled you. "Pity it's so out of tune, this is a nice piano."

"I know right! I'm really happy Grim found it." You resist the urge to poke his cheeks some and Azul lightly, trying not to too openly relish in your surprise reaches one arm around your back to place his hands into a similar position as you had been earlier, tucking you close to his side.

"May I?" He's smug. Too smug it's robbing you of sanity.

"What's it going to cost?" You try too hard not to sound like you're flailing as you look to see your question hasn't even phased him at all.

"Oh normally I wouldn't dream of charging for a performance," he clearly lies "but it's been such a long day I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee." And he's off, music only marred by the off key of the piano in a clearly purposeful display of talent meant to sear itself into your mind enough that you don't think about his request too long. You and he are from two different worlds, but he knows that music has a way of gapping that if the stories of the mermaid princess told him anything at all. So when he purposefully slows the song at its end, he knows you know, that tricky smile he swore once he'd always hate kicking his heartbeat up again as you lean fully against his shoulder.

"Beautiful." You say, not bothering to give the compliment direction as he can't help but agree. "We should play together next time."

"I-" You pick yourself up and what he wants to say slows when you pick up his jacket for him and hold out a hand. Later, he all to easily decides. Later, without Grim and with specific time set purposefully aside so you know just how much it matters. "I would like that. You'll have to show me the songs that you can remember from your world." And he takes your hand just to soothe some of the ache, trying and failing not to show just how happy he is when you keep it.

[amberjazmyn]

you stayed (alt ending of "whenever you're ready, bug") 💔🫶

pairing : max verstappen x fem!younger sister verstappen reader & f1 grid x platonic!fem younger sister verstappen reader

summary : whilst max verstappen's younger sister always seemed to draw the short straw in her life, what if she actually survived and beat her cancer? what if she actually never died at the 2024 mexican grand prix and she was actually a young adult during the time of the mexican grand prix? what if she made it past all of her birthdays? what if her short straws were actually never short to begin with and they just needed some tender loving care to grow properly? 

warnings : happy ending, older brother x max, terminal illness, crying, flashbacks

a/n : the og was done for kian egan from westlife and then jared padalecki but now i've done max verstappen. i have also messed with the timeline so the first part is kind of the "alternate ending" if you will where the first one is she's younger when she dies during the mexican grand prix whereas in this one, the "og one" she's actually a lot older by the time it gets to the 2024 mexican grand prix. which i know sounds fucking confusing but please hear me out alright! so, in the first part, i had the mexican grand prix happen in 2024 and have willow be nine years old, however, in this version, she's eighteen and it was a dream she had in her "alerted" cancer state when she was nine that she had died during the mexican grand prix 2024 but as a nine year old if that makes sense. 

willow verstappen was eight-years-old when she was diagnosed with cancer. she already wasn't considered a "normal kid" because of who her family was, the verstappens. however, the moment the young girl and her mum and older brother heard the news of the heartbreaking diagnosis, they knew exactly how the press and other kids willow's age would react. to the other kids and everyone else, not only did willow's brother and his fame make the girl weird but her new cancer diagnosis made her even weirder and as though she was an exhibit in a museum.

when willow was nine-years-old when her brother and his f1 grid were starting their last race before a three week break before their next triple header, there was a moment. during the mexican grand prix, the last race before a three week break that was before the triple header that everyone, including willow herself, thought she wasn't going to make it through the entire day and wake up the next morning. but, she did wake up the next morning. she opened her eyes the next morning and cried out for her brother who was in mexico. in a rage of emotions, their sister victoria verstappen, rang their brother max in a frenzy of her own emotions. 

thinking the worst, max was mere seconds away from dropping everything at the mexico grand prix. that was until he heard the very voice he had thought, imagined, he would never hear again. he then stopped for a moment and took that as his chance to just breathe. his little sister was alive and she was okay 

willow's pov | flashback to cancer diagnosis

i could tell my mum and brother felt like the walls in the doctor's office was closing in on them. they, like me, never imagined to be getting this news. after all, it was just supposed to be just another regular hospital trip for me, eight-year-old willow verstappen.

whilst i wasn't in the office with my mum and max, whilst my doctor, dr phelps, told them, i could still hear them. especially when it's realised that the hospital is never as soundproof as one thinks, "...mr verstappen? max, did you hear what i just told you?" dr phelps questioned my brother, who until now had never really called him by his first name as max responded after blinking a couple of times

"no, sorry, what did you say? could you please repeat that?" it was obvious that max was still so far away from dr phelps' office mentally, doing his best to not tune out a second time since it was important news that dr phelps was telling my mum and brother

"i was saying that, with willow's recent diagnosis of terminal cancer, she can still try chemotherapy and maybe a little bit of radiotherapy but we are not certain that it'll work in the way it usually would if we had seen it earlier..."

ahh, yes, i could see the wheels in my brother's head start to turn as he realised what the conversation was about. his younger sister, me, had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer and were having a conversation about the roads of treatment for me. and just how successful they could be for a small eight-year-old who had many ailments before this new one. as i watched from the waiting room, i could tell that max could feel a cry building in his throat, mum also feeling it as well, holding his hand tightly as i knew they both wished they were anywhere but in dr phelps' office at this moment.

i watched as max continued the conversation, "...ah, umm, so, theoretically speaking, if my sister...willow, was to undergo a round or couple of chemotherapy and maybe radiotherapy, how long would you say we'd have her with us, realistically?" max gulped as i watched the way he fiddled with the scrunched up tissue in his palm as he squeezed mum's hand with his other hand

dr phelps paused before he continued, "now, max, i really couldn't tell you because this is so new and so late in finding the cancer in willow's system that we truly have no idea how long it could potentially prolong her life but, once the chemo and radiotherapy do start, then we can start estimating things like that..." dr phelps responded as i could tell that max felt his heart shatter

our mum feeling like she was holding all of his heart and hers together. max's face almost crumbling as he then turned away from the dr when he caught a glimpse of me. which i quickly turned my head to make it seem as though i was in conversation with his f1 teammates, daniel and charles, who had lovingly put their hands up to take care of me whilst the other drivers put their hand up to take care of kelly and penelope, once again, jos and the step-siblings nowhere to be found

hesitating to turn his head back around, he quickly did so before continuing on, making me turn to look back at my mum and brother and dr phelps, "...she doesn't deserve this..." hearing my brother so heartbroken and his voice so croaky from his tears was not something i'd ever heard before as he brought his tissue up to cover his face, mum comforting him whilst dr phelps sighed solemnly

"...no, she doesn't max, no one her age does. she's so young but, unfortunately, these things happen and it's absolutely cruel but i promise, we'll do everything we can to make sure your little girl has the best chance of surviving and beating her cancer since she was so strong during all of her other surgeries and ailments," dr phelps was confident in the idea that once again, i was going to survive another diagnosis

but heartbreakingly, i could tell mum and max thought otherwise and it seemed as though, in my eyes, i too thought the same thing as my mum and brother.

as mum, max and dr phelps continued to chat, i silently slipped my hands into both of daniel and charles' hands since i was sat in the middle of them. i was absolutely terrified and it didn't take a genius for daniel and charles to figure it out either and the looks we shared with each other weren't as helpful as we hoped they'd be.

present time

as i remebered the day i was diagnosed, i remembered that i didn't cry like i had imagined myself i would have. because if you know my family well, most especially my parentals but specifically my dad (hauk tuh - and not in that way, jos verstappen), my family is not known to be an emotional family. that is, discounting me, i am the one in the family that basically carries all the emotions for the entire family. like, to the point that max has made fun of me in many f1 press conferences about it that the reason he isn't as emotional about things is not only by our dad's fault but also by the fault that i took all of the tears in the family. so the fact i didn't cry after my cancer diagnosis is something i'm just realising years later at nearly nineteen years old and that's insane to me. completely insane because at eighteen, nearly nineteen, i'm still the crybaby that i was until my cancer diagnosis.

right now, i was hanging out with penelope, the little girl of max's girlfriend kelly piquet. she was very young, an actual toddler, when i was going through my cancer and it's something that she genuinely does not rememeber well whereas my little step-sister blue jaye, who was maybe slightly older than penelope, has some lingers of memories here and there. i have been told though that there are times that she, penelope, does have vague memories and it makes her really upset and panicky. but what makes her upset and panicky is because she can't remember everything about it, only small little pieces of it. since then, the verstappen family has grown thanks to father verstappen having yet another wife, which is lucky number three apparently but that's okay. 

but, going back to hanging out with penelope, we were literally just getting ready to head out to the beach since i could drive and had my own car now. and, because of that, i could drive us down since mum was busy with victoria's littles and max and kelly were on a date night hence why i had penelope with me. everything was completely fine and happy as penelope and i got ready together, penelope on one side of my room and me on the other. but, i was taking a bit longer, penelope had popped her head over the divider to check in on me. i was no longer fine and happy. as i slipped on my bikini and reached up to grab my surfboard and wetsuit, i had caught a glimpse of all my scars and my porthole where i could get my chemo put in. it was really the first time i had seen it since i had been named in remission and by every technicality, cancer-free. and i hadn't realised how traumatising and ugly the scars and porthole actually was until this moment. the moment which i actually took a moment to stop and look at it after actively avoiding my glance from it for so many years.

and i cried.

i cried my eyes out nearly nine whole years after my initial diagnosis.

i hadn't cried this much or this hard i don't think since i had told victoria that i thought i was going to die during the mexican grand prix. and obviously, hearing and seeing penelope peak over meant that she had heard my break down into tears. and usually, similar to mum and max, but especialy max, i'd usually try to hide it in front of the littles, especially penelope. but, this time, i just couldn't. not because i couldn't control my tears but because i needed to stop hiding my emotions from my family, including kelly and penelope.

after her knock, i heard her voice and it made me smile, "...you okay willow?" she asked as i tearfully giggled, wiping my hand underneath my nose

"you can come back to my side of the room if that's what you're asking p, i'm fully dressed now," i tearfully chuckled as i turned away slightly from the divider and looked back at myself in my full-length mirror

i then heard the divider slightly creek as penelope walked back to my side of the room. she then noticed me in the mirror and her face fell as she saw my tear-stained face. immediately, she rushed over and pulled me in for a hug as she quickly noticed what it was that i was staring at in my reflection. my porthole and other scars being the first thing that started penelope's memories of me having cancer whilst she was a toddler.

and then, the next thing she said was the utmost sweetest thing in the world and made me cry even more, "don't let those scars upset you anymore, willow. because they're the reason why i can hug my aunty every day! you may think it's ugly but, i don't. i see them as the reason why you're still alive and got to watch me and the rest of the littles grow up ! if it's making you so upset to look at it in your bikini, which i think you great in by the way willow, we don't have to go surfing today if it's making you feel a bit icky to do so. we could just instead go for a walk along the beach and go surfing over the weekend with mum, maxie, victoria and the family?" penelope sincerely asked as she didn't let me go out of her hug as i smiled, shocked at how this little kid, my little niece was so emotionally intelligent

pulling back out of the hug, tears still streaming down my cheeks but for happier reasons this time, i nodded my head, "that sounds perfect p, thank you, baby girl! you are such a sweetheart and i love you so much, sweetheart. of course, we can go for a walk on the beach and then go surfing with the family over the weekend. i'll just throw some clothes over the top of my bikini and then we can hit the road, that sound okay p?" i asked after thanking my niece as she nodded her head, swiftly leaving my room without another question as i then threw on a pair of linen pants and a halter crochet top before grabbing my phone

meeting penelope downstairs as she handed me a pair of flip flops, my car keys and handbag, we said farewell to max's cats, jimmy and sassy. we then got into my car and we drove down to secret beach.

flashback | willow's pov

it was the mexican grand prix and my brother and the other drivers were in mexico when i thought i'd not wake up the next day. it was during the day that victoria was looking after me when i genuinely thought my life support machine and my body was going to go awol and that i wasn't going to wake up the next morning. i was aboslutely terrified to close my eyes, worried that if i did, i wouldn't wake up tomorrow. suddenly remembering all the other times i was tired and knowing that i'd wake up the next morning. however, more recently, falling asleep and just closing my eyes has been scary for me.

shaking with worry, i reached over to grab victoria's hand which she immediately grabbed, "what's wrong, love?" she asked without hesitation as i tried to calm down as best as i could

"i...i'm so scared to fall asleep, vic. what...what if i don't wake up tomorrow morning?" i whispered fearfully as victoria softened as she held my hand, squeezing it tightly

"oh, willow. don't be scared, i'll stay here, awake with you all night and make sure nothing bad happens to you throughout the night. you are safe sweetpea, big sissy victoria's got you!" she whispered as i nodded my head but still didn't want to close my eyes

however, with some more encouragement from victoria and her singing my favourite album, we managed to get me to close my eyes and fall asleep. just hoping, praying, that i was going to be able to open my eyes the next morning.

and i did. i opened my eyes the next morning.

and i cried out for my maxie, enough though i knew he wasn't here in monaco.

and in a flurry of her own emotions, victoria rushed to grab her phone and ring him.

and i just knew he was ready to drop everything, thinking the worst. ready to leave the mexico grand prix when he heard the one voice i think he also thought, imagined, he wouldn't hear again.

i was still alive.

present time | 2024

finally, after what felt like forever, and the hell that was the three week break between the mexican grand prix and the triple header, f1 was back in full swing. so, here the entire f1 family were at the dutch grand prix and it was an emotional moment, that's for sure. and it wasn't just because we were finally back as a family. but because i was eighteen, an age that no one thought i'd be able to reach because of the cancer that i was now in complete remission from. also because, the dream i had when i was younger that i would die during the 2024 mexican grand prix as a nine year old hadn't come true. obviously, because i'm eighteen in 2024, not nine. and it was also actually the anniversary of my first diagnosis back when i was eight years old and i was now eighteen. so, i just knew that at some point during the press conference, most likely when max was there, that he would talk about it. and then get emotional over it which would then get me emotional over it all over again. 

and, who would've thought, i was correct? however, i did not think it would have my brother inviting me up to the press conference couch but, in all honesty, i didn't care. i grew up with this f1 grid and the cameras so i wasn't uncomfortable on the couch and around the drivers so, i went along with it. 

smiling, i walked to the couch and over to my brother, sitting in the middle of him and daniel. getting smooshed into a maxiel sandwich has honestly always been my favourite thing about having my brother as an f1 driver. even at the age of eighteen, when max was debuting all those years ago when i was much younger, i still enjoyed all the hugs the same way i did when i was a little girl. 

max then grabbed my hand, grabbing the attention of the media personel and the moderator of the entire press conference. still giving me a shock at how easily he and the other racers could control them. he then introduced his little speech as everyone happily filmed it and took photos. 

"...i'm so sorry guys but, can i just say something?" max queries, making me giggle as the couch and media cheer at his question 

giving me a smile, he then continues, "so, as everyone possibly already knows, this is one of my younger sisters, willow, who is eighteen years old..." he trails off as everyone, including the drivers on the couch, are in shock, the shock rippling through the crowd which induces laughter

which, i can't lie, also included me too. because, i truly forget too that i am eighteen myself. 

"...i know, it's crazy to say i have an eighteen-year-old sister too so, don't worry, it's just as shocking for me as it is for you guys! but umm, that's not the reason why i invited her to join this press conference. the reason why i invited willow on the couch for this press conference is that, on this very day when she was eight years old, we were told that willow had cancer..." he trailed off as i smiled softly and squeezed his hand tighter as he smiled back, daniel, charles and lando moving closer by as well

taking a deep breath, max continued, "...and for a while, we didn't think willow would make it through the very beginning or through the races she was able to go to during her diagnosis. or in mexico during the mexican grand prix we were especially worried something bad would happen after she had turned nine. because, during this time, it seemed as though willow's chemo was not effective anymore. it was during the mexican grand prix 2014/15 that she thought she wasn't going to wake up the next morning. i remember because like i already mentioned, we were just about to start the race and i got a phone call from our sister victoria. and immediately, i thought she'd be on the other line in absolute hysterics telling me that willow had died but, she hadn't. she had rung me up because willow had woken up and had cried out for me. hearing my little sister's voice that day, just as i was ready to drop everything and leave mexico for my little sister. to then hear that she was okay and that she was still alive was all i needed to know that she was getting better. and that maybe, just maybe, she'd recover and be okay again..." max once again trailed off as it started to get way too emotional as i smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed as the crowd stayed in utter silence

which is probably why i felt a little bit uncomfortable at the same time. since, the f1 media are never this quiet and are always the ones asking for the invasive answers that max had just suddenly become comfortable to talk about. the moderator then asked if i wanted to stay on the couch for the actual recorded and shown conference and i couldn't say no so, i didn't. 

so, i stayed on the couch with the drivers and i was also asked some questions that i got to answer which was super cool. and it felt so surreal to be on the press conference couch on the other side since i was almost always either watching the press conferences on tv or in the red bull hospitality. having the privilege to even be alive and be in complete remission from my cancer. 

then, after i answered a journalists question, max raised his microphone to his mouth and spoke up again. revealing some news that we had only just found out this very morning to the point that, i don't even think he had told daniel, charles, lando or the rest of the attending drivers.

max smiled brightly as he got everyone's attention as he announced the news, "...this morning, we found out the best news in regards to willow and her cancer. we got told this morning that she is finally in complete remission and has been said to be cancer-free!" he smiled tearfully as i turned around on the couch to see how daniel, charles and lando reacted and it made me teary-eyed

giving me the answer that this was the first time they had been told as well. daniel, charles and lando then hopped off their spots on the couch and pulled us in for a group hug in which i started to cry. in pure joy that i was healthy again, my cancer is finally gone and i didn't have to be constantly in the hospital anymore.

the press conference then finished and the other drivers who were waiting for their own press conference gave me hugs and congratulations. then we went back to the red bull garage and i just hung out with max, kelly and penelope for a little bit. 

°∘❉∘°

the free practice and media day had finally finished and as we relaxed and enjoyed each other's company, i got a notification saying that max had posted to his instagram. and i just knew instantly what it was he had posted about. he had been saying all day that he had wanted to also make an instagram post, announcing that i was officially in complete remission and cancer-free. so, he did. 

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maxverstappen1 when willow was eight-years-old, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer, the uncertainty of her survival. however, all these years later and i have an eighteen-year-old, nearly nineteen year old sister, who i got to see reach all of her special milestones. like her tenth birthday, her high school graduation, her eighteenth and soon her nineteenth. she also got to see her step-siblings be born, all of their births and will be healthy enough to watch them grow up even more and watch them reach their special milestones. my younger sister stayed and it is the biggest joy to say that willow is now in complete remission and cancer-free! i love you so much, willow violet verstappen. and if i had to watch you go through cancer all over again, i would do it. because it reminded me of truly how special and irreplaceable you are. you were the final of mum and dad's angels and our favourite sister. you know we would do everything and anything to make sure you were your happiest, your healthiest and your best. and i truly do believe that this next season in your life, with you cancer-free and no longer in hospitals constantly, you'll be truly successful in every single thing you wish to do with your life! you are such a strong girl and even though you always say it was me, mum, victoria, kelly, penelope and the f1 family as the reasons why you stayed, i truly believe that it was you that made yourself stay. and that it was you that gave you the strength to push through. your older brother loves you willow, thank you for staying 🤍

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willowverstappen i love you so much, maxie! i am truly so grateful to be cancer-free! and don't thank me for staying, of course i'd stay 🤍

maxverstappen1 willowverstappen i love you more willow and i know you're grateful and so am i 🤍

victoriaverstappen these photos of our little sister! i cannot believe she's nearly nineteen 🤍

maxverstappen1 victoriaverstappen i know right? it makes me feel so old, like, we nearly have a nineteen-year-old sister!

landonorris i swear to god, we need to stop telling each other things for the first time during press conferences! but, in all seriousness, it brings me so much happiness that willow is cancer-free!

maxverstappen1 landonorris lol, we really do! and it brings me so much happiness as well, getting that phone call from dr phelps was like a dream come true!

heidiberger still in shock that willow's cancer free!

maxverstappen1 heidiberger i'm still in shock too

danielricciardo best news ever, max! hearing that willow's cancer-free was truly the highlight of the entire media day!

maxverstappen1 danielricciardo i agree! i had moments where i just wanted to scream it out way earlier in the press conference but i knew i couldn't!

francisca.cgomes this is great news max! i'm so glad that willow is finally cancer-free! it seems as though that time from eight years old to eighteen/nineteen has been a whirlwind for you all but also somewhat of a fever dream!

maxverstappen1 francisca.cgomes i know! so am i, it's been a long, windy road but, i'm glad we've finally reached the end of it! 

liked by maxverstappen1, kellypiquet, pierregasly, victoriaverstappen, carlossainz55, christianhorner and 11,000k others

willowverstappen life since being cancer-free 🤍

~

being a survivor of childhood cancer, amongst other things throughout my life, i knew i wanted to stay and stay alive the moment i was told i had the "big c". since entering complete remission and getting labelled cancer-free, i've graduated high school, i've travelled back and forth from each corner of the globe, from monaco, to the states, to australia and back. i've turned eighteen, i've gone on nights out with my parents and f1 grid family (only in europe and australia). i've gone to grand prixs with my family and i've surfed. i've been able to live my life in ways that i hadn't been able to do in years and i didn't have to worry about the scars, i didn't have to worry about being tired, i didn't have to worry about the fear of simply closing my eyes and if they'd open the next morning. i've been able to take care of and hang out with my step-siblings and my nieces and nephews, especially little p, i've seen them grow up, from when they were toddlers when i was first diagnosed to when cousins of mine came along later on when i was recovering, to their handsome and gorgeous selves now. when i was battling cancer, i couldn't do the things i can do now. i couldn't surf, i couldn't drink (i mean, that was because i was underage the majority of the time and still am in some countries), i couldn't go into physical school and had to do it all online when i wasn't violently ill, i couldn't travel back and forth around the world and had to stay in monaco or the netherlands. i couldn't have an extravagant ninth or tenth birthdays for that matter, and i couldn't go to races with my f1 family. when i had cancer, i was constantly riddled with the fear and anxiety of not being able to live another day because of how tired, sore and exhausted i was. having to see but also hear your family, most especially your brother, who isn't an emotional person, cry and not being able to help them other than offer a hand or a soft smile for comfort was agonising. the number of times i watched my brother cry as he sat in the same hospital chair over and over again just to make sure i was still breathing through the night is no longer countable since he had done it so many times. the number of times i had to watch my f1 family cry as they also sat and watched to make sure i was still alive throughout the day is immeasurable. thankfully, i didn't have to see my littles cry a lot, especially because they were so young at the time and were rarely visiting the hospital. but, at the same token, it makes me feel sick to think about the times when the other cousins were around that they did cry during my cancer battle and i wasn't there to tell them that everything was going to be okay. but now, whenever they do cry or they are upset, i can be there for them straight away. and it was all because i stayed alive and i didn't let myself have my family go through the agony of having to live without me. because i couldn't do that to them, no way.

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maxverstappen1 i love you, more than words can describe willow! you strong, brave girl!

willowverstappen maxverstappen1 i love you most maxie! and i'm only strong because of you, victoria and mum

kellypiquet crying my eyes out reading this!

willowverstappen kellypiquet i cried writing this, believe it or not!

pierregasly hearing your brother announce during the panel that you're finally cancer-free after completing complete remission is the best news to hear!

willowverstappen pierregasly i genuinely had no idea that he hadn't told you guys yet! so seeing how everyone all reacted made me cry!

victoriaverstappen i'm still screaming over the news that you're finally cancer-free!

willowverstappen victoriaverstappen so am i vic! it's the best feeling ever!

carlossainz55 i am so beyond relieved that you are cancer-free, sweet willow! i remember when i first met you when you were just a little baby and now you're a glowing eighteen-year-old

willowverstappen carlossainz55 aw, thank you carlitos! i am relieved too and thank you again!

christianhorner i'm so glad you're cancer-free willow!

willowverstappen christianhorner so am i! i cannot believe it sometimes!

fin

yay, another one-shot done and i am so glad it's over! and yes, i know i fucked up the timeline, i mentioned that in the above author's note that it would be happening. this part two is not my favourite out of all the ones i've written but that's okay! i've found it slightly hard to write for f1 because i always forget to add in the fact that they are f1 drivers lol! but no matter, it'll get better i'm sure!