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[vwrites123]

Soul Shanked 1/4

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Chapter Title: Marked and Mildly Deranged Length: 8.5 K+

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 “What Is a Man?”

You were nine.

Curious. Bright-eyed. Holding a weathered story scroll in your lap and trying to puzzle out a sentence that read:

“The man took her hand gently…”

You blinked.

Then wandered down the palace hall to where Elder Gloriosa sat on a veranda cushion, drinking bitter tea and scowling at birds.

You approached carefully, the way one does when poking a large, judgmental cat.

“Elder Gloriosa,” you asked sweetly, “what’s a man?”

She froze mid-sip.

Then very slowly lowered her cup.

Her eyes narrowed. A wind stirred. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried.

“A man,” she said at last, voice grave, “is a selfish, sweaty beast.”

You blinked. “…Oh.”

She stood, joints cracking like angry firewood, and began pacing.

“They are crude and ugly. Faces like scarred potatoes. Hair like wet dogs. Smell like smoked failure.”

You clutched your scroll.

“Are they… dangerous?”

She wheeled on you like you’d asked if snakes could drive ships.

“They drink until they are stupid. Then they fight each other shirtless. Then they find someone smaller, usually a woman or a child, and try to hurt them with charm and shoulder width.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Shoulders?”

“They are weaponized.”

She knelt beside you, eyes wide and tragic.

“They are sentient, but not like us women who are graceful, and poetic. No. It is chaotic. Sticky. Loud. They grunt and wave their bits about like cursed barnacles.”

You turned white.

“Bits?!? What are bits?”

“Weapons.”

“I thought they were gentle. The story said—”

“LIES.”

She slapped the scroll from your hands.

“They cry when you beat them and scream when you ignore them. They name swords after their mothers and ships after their regrets.”

By now, you were backing toward the door.

She followed.

“They talk over you. They interrupt. They grow hair everywhere. Even places that should not be hairy. Backs”

You were shaking.

“They eat with their hands. Laugh like donkeys. Think they deserve power just for breathing! And worse—they believe in themselves.”

A pause.

Then, low and grim:

“And sometimes… if you’re not careful…they look at you like you’re a goddess.”

You blinked, trembling. “Why is that dangerous?”

She stood tall. Looked out to sea like she could see all her mistakes lined up on the waves.

“Because you might start to believe them.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

Carved protective runes on your bedframe.

They were crooked and backwards, but you meant them. Slapped a training dummy that vaguely resembled a chin. Painted it red. Called it “Captain Grossbeard.” No one said anything otherwise.

You marched around the temple halls muttering,

“I am the storm. I am the sword. I fear no man.”

And in the dead of night, wrapped in your blanket and resolve, you whispered with all the righteous fury your little heart could muster:

“No man creature will ever get me.”

You meant it.

With every scrap of fire your nine-year-old soul could summon.

You were ready.

Unshakable.

Unseduceable.

Untrickable.

—

Fate, however, was not so humorless.

The women of Amazon Lily came in every shape and size. Towering warriors, thunder-hipped sword dancers, graceful archers with legs like spears and tempers like fire.

The empress, Boa Hancock, was as fierce as she was beautiful.

And then there was you.

No statues in your honor. No warriors fighting over your affections. No chaotic marriage proposals from lovestruck pirate captains or suitors turned to stone in the palace courtyard.

You were level-headed, practical, and, according to Hancock, a ‘reasonable creature, which is to say, only mildly insane’.

Meaning, you had come out of the Amazon Lily once before and survived without succumbing to the filth of men.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

You didn’t crave glory or attention. You liked routine. Simplicity. Being useful. And so, when Amazon Lily needed someone to run messages, inspect trade ships, deliver threats with a smile, or retrieve a tea shipment from Sabaody, you were the one they sent.

Alone on a small ship from the Amazon Lily.

The usual route consisted of very few direct interactions with men and their ilk, and it made a nice diversion for regular work.

There was no clue that today would be any different.

You stepped off the longboat onto Sabaody soil, paid the toll, and adjusted your cloak. You're frowing, striking, and very out of place in your Amazon Lily cloak and braid adorned with shells. A curved staff rests across your back.

And then your palm ignited with a dash of heat, and as you lifted it you immediately noted the soft, glowing script that appeared.

You stared at it.

At first, you thought it was a prank. Some weird ink. Maybe pollen?

You rubbed it.

It stayed.

You squinted.

“Shanks.”

That was the word. Slanted. Gold. Elegant. Disgustingly confident cursive. Written in soft cursive, right across the center of your palm.

“What the-“

You blinked.

You rubbed harder.

You shook your hand like it was cursed.

“What the hell is a shanks? Did someone infect me with a disease?”

A nearby vendor looked up.

You glared at them. “Don’t look at me. I’m having a medical emergency.”

You ducked into a quiet alley, and stared at the name again like it was a venomous snake.

Shanks, the word unchanged by your poking.

What. The. Hell.

You ran your thumb over it. Tried spitting on it. Rubbing it with dirt. Muttered a few prayers under your breath. Nothing helped.

It glowed cheerfully back at you.

Mocking you.

A type of fish? A devil fruit?

A disease?

Written in soft gold, right across the center of your palm. You narrowed your eyes at the thought of what your sisters would say.

“She caught a case of the shanks.”

“We had to put her down.”

You sat down on a crate and buried your face in your hands. 

This couldn’t be happening.

Across the sea, ten miles away, Red-Haired Shanks sat cross-legged, watching his crew bustle on the deck with a sake jug in hand.

Suddenly, his chest warmed.

He looked down.

There it was.

A name.

Written like it had always belonged there, just under his collarbone.

He grinned like an idiot. “Well, well.”

Benn Beckman, nearby, didn’t even look up.

“That’s new.”

“Well,” Shanks replied easily, tipping back his jug. “Begin the preparations gentlemen!”

He paused. Then added:

“…I’m about to meet the love of my life.”

Benn took a deep drag of his cigarette.

You pushed open the door to Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar with one foot, the other braced against the crate of sealed scrolls you’d brought from Amazon Lily. You were sweating—not from the load, but from sheer existential dread.

The gold-etched name on your palm had not gone away.

If anything, it was glowing harder, like it enjoyed your panic.

“Shanks.” Cursive. Fancy. Aggressively smug. “More like shit.”

You hadn’t dared ask the people of the island, many unfortunately men. Or the harbor guards. Or the fish vendor who said something about a ‘Red-Hair being back in town.’

Nope.

You were going to get through this like a professional.

You were fine.

You blink at the smoky interior like you’ve just entered a dragon’s den.

Shakky waves.

“Welcome, darling. Ignore the mess.”

You drop the crate onto the floorboards with a solid thunk, flex your poor back, and approach the bar like a soldier on a battlefield.

Shakky doesn’t even blink.

“You okay, sweetheart,” she says smoothly, sliding a glass of something chilled your way. “Hancock’s still upset about the soap?”

“She’s considering burning the supplier’s house down.”

“Reasonable.”

“She sends her regards,” you say politely. “And says if the soap supplier raises prices again, she’s sending snakes. Plural.”

“Duly noted.”

You glance around, subtly inspecting the room for… her male creature. The old one with the excessive amount of body hair. Glasses, holding a drink like it’s a character trait, excellent at harassing you. 

The coast is clear.

For now.

You exhale.

And then you whisper urgently:

“I have a medical question.”

That earns a slow blink from Shakky.

She tilts her head. “Go on.”

You glance around again, then yank off your glove and slap your palm down on the bar like it’s a crime scene.

“What is this?” you hiss.

There it is.

That damned glowing word.

Shanks.

Still smug.

From the corner, a chair creaks.

You jump.

Rayleigh, lounging in the shadows with a bottle, squints toward your hand.

Motherfucker, how does he hide like that.

He ignores your glare, and for once, you want an answer enough to let him look.

He squints harder.

Then bursts into a laugh so loud it nearly knocks the rum bottle over.

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

“What,” you demand, “is so funny? Am I dying?!”

“Only emotionally,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. Couldn’t have happened to a worse woman”

Shakky smirks. “So it was what I suspect.”

You slam your hand down again. “What is happening?! What is a shanks? Why is it on my skin?! Is it a threat? A disease? Some kind of cursed pirate STD?!”

Rayleigh leans forward, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“It’s the name of an old cabin boy of mine.”

You stare at your hand.

Stare at him.

Back at your hand.

“Shakky,” you say flatly. “Is this Shanks a man creature? Did he put a hit out on me? Has your pet husband gone rogue?”

Shakky chuckled, to your consternation.

Rayleigh chuckles again, this time gentler.

“Don’t worry, girl. That’s just a soulmate mark.”

You freeze.

“…Is that a disease?”

Shakky wheezes.

Rayleigh falls off the couch laughing.

You try your best not to spear the man-creature, as you know he’s Shakky’s pet.

“What is so funny?”

“Not quite. It’s… uh, a romantic thing.” Shakky explained with a hand wave, “Like love.”

You clear your throat.

“Love? Like the concept of the curse?”

 “Happens when the other half of your fate gets close. Ten miles, give or take.”

Rayleigh winks and you growl.

You sit at the bar, hand still glowing, eyes wide and glassy like someone who just saw their own funeral invitation written in cursive.

Across from you, Shakky pours you another drink— alcoholic, by the look on your face you’ll need it.

“I need clarification,” You croak, not touching it. “About… everything.”

Rayleigh grunts. “She’s gonna need a chart.”

Shakky smiles gently, lights a cigarette, and leans on the bar like she’s preparing to explain gravity to a baby.

“Okay,” she begins, “So. First things first: A man is a person—usually taller, louder, and hairier than you—who you will find deeply aggravating.”

You rolls your eyes, which she ignores.

“They have a different biology. You don’t need to worry too much about it unless you plan on—”

“Absolutely not. I’ve seen yours.” 

Rayleigh cackles.

“—Right. So men exist, unfortunately. And outside of Amazon Lily, they’re… everywhere. Now, a soulmate is someone the universe pairs you with.”

“Like… like in combat?”

Shakky pauses.

“No. Not like a sparring partner. More like someone you’re cosmically drawn to.”

You blink.

“That sounds awful.”

Rayleigh wheezes.

“Now,” Shakky continues, trying not to laugh, “Soulmates usually feel a pull toward one another. A bond. Attraction.”

“Like gravity?”

“Sure. Except you might want to kiss them.”

You stare at her.

Then, slowly:

“Why would I do that?”

Rayleigh is fully keeled over now.

Shakky takes a drag of her cigarette and starts listing on her fingers:

“Sometimes people in soulmate bonds end up in relationships. Romantic ones. Emotional connections. Some get married. Some have children—”

You immediately shove the barstool back and stand, horrified.

“Children?! With a man?! That’s what the glowing means?!”

“Not automatically,” Shakky says quickly, clearly entertained. “You don’t have to do anything. Well, to have children you do-“

You cut in.

“Except battle a mythical threat no sister has bothered informing of-“

Rayleigh laughed. “This is going to be fun.”

Shakky grins. “Amazon Lily doesn’t really get male soulmates. It’s not a popular topic.”

You stare at your glowing palm like it just personally betrayed you.

Rayleigh leans back, finishing his drink.

“Best advice I can give you?”

He raises his glass.

“Run now. Or start emotionally preparing.”

You’re already pulling your glove back on like it’s a warding talisman, halfway to the door.

“I was just doing a supply run,” you hissed, pacing Shakky’s floor like a woman betrayed by gravity itself. “I was not emotionally prepared to be icked by destinies assigned man-creature’s.”

Rayleigh was wheezing.

“He’s not that bad, really,” he managed between gasps, one hand slapping the table as his shoulders shook with laughter.

You turned on him sharply. “You know the disease?!”

That was it. Rayleigh whooped like a man being punched by fate itself. He doubled over, tears streaking down his face. You suspected a heart attack was imminent and sincerely prayed for it.

Shakky, far calmer, sipped her tea.

“He comes here on occasion,” she said, as if discussing the weather. “I told you, Rayleighs former cabin boy.”

You looked at Rayleigh, her man-creative and gave him the most disguised look a woman has ever made at him, further sending him into cardiac arrest due to laughter.

You stared down at your palm—the cursed red name that had scrawled itself across your skin like a traitorous tattoo.

Shanks.

The name of doom.

An ill-conceived destiny.

A man.

“Does the shanks disease know?” you asked darkly. “Does he get infected as well?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shakky replied brightly. “He probably saw your name appear and immediately said something dramatic like, ‘Finally.’ He’s a romantic.”

You went still.

Stone still.

Rayleigh hiccupped mid-laugh, coughing.

You slowly looked between them, horrified. Betrayed by scrolls, tea, and fate.

Then you whispered, utterly mortified.

“I have to flee this island.”

Rayleigh gave a very enthusiastic “Bye bye sweetheart” and Shakky sighed as you fled.

You returned to the docks like a woman possessed.

No delay. No farewell drink. You left the scroll receipt unsigned and muttered something about “soul rot” and “spontaneous name infections” to the stunned sailors as you boarded the ship you used to arrive..

By the time the anchor lifted, you’d already burned a loose scarf and were halfway through scrubbing your palm with seawater like it might dissolve destiny.

It didn’t.

You stared at the elegant, glowing “Shanks” etched into your skin like it was a personal attack.

Shanks barged back into Shakky’s bar, glowing.

Literally.

His shirt was half open and his smile was full chaos. Right across his chest, gleaming like sun-kissed treasure, was your name.

He skidded to a stop in front of Rayleigh and announced, proudly:

“I need a drink,” he said, voice easy. “Something celebratory.”

Rayleigh didn’t even look up from his drink, already smirking.  He seemed like he was restraining himself.

“Good news?”

Shanks tugged his shirt open just enough. Gold script shimmered faintly over his heart.

A name. Yours.

Beckman glanced up, sighed. “Don’t encourage him. He’s high on bad ideas.”

Rayleigh squinted. Blinked. Set his glass down a little too hard.

Then dropped his glass and howled with laughter.

Shanks was still proudly displaying his chest like it contained the One Piece itself. He rotated for better lighting. He even leaned into a patch of sun filtering through the bar window, just so your name would really sparkle.

Rayleigh had only just stopped laughing, wiping tears from his eyes with a bar towel and wheezing, “You’ve got no idea what’s coming, do you?”

Shanks blinked.

“…Coming? You mean the great adventure of love?”

Rayleigh snorted and almost choked on his drink again.

Shakky, merciful and amused, stepped out from behind the bar and gently placed a hand on Shanks’ shoulder like she was about to break bad news about his boat engine.

“Sweetheart,” she said patiently. “Have you met the owner of that name?”

“Shanks grinned. “Not a clue. But I got a feeling you do.”

Shakky shook her head slowly.

“No, no. This isn’t a vacation. Not without armed backup and a plan for extraction.”

Shanks stared.

Stared harder.

“…Why?”

Paused.

Rayleigh grinned. “Tell him, Shakky.”

“She’s from Amazon Lily.”

There was a pause.

Shanks tilted his head. “…The Amazon Lily?”

“The very same,” said Rayleigh, pouring another drink. “Land of no men, no mercy, and statues made from the unlucky.”

“She’s not just from there,” Shakky added. “She’s one of them. Top of her class. Favorite of the Empress. Tried to file paperwork to have her mark declared a battlefield injury.”

“…The island that turns men into stone with eye contact and keeps them as warning statues?”

“Exactly.”

His smile faltered.

Shanks’s smile twitched.

“…Wait. So you know who she is?”

“Oh, we know,” Rayleigh said, far too pleased. “We’ve known since earlier today, when she stumbled in here clutching her hand like it was cursed.”

“She asked me if soulmates were a disease,” Shakky muttered, eyes distant. “Dead serious.”

Shanks blinked.

“She meant it,” Rayleigh added, raising his drink.

Shakky nodded grimly. “And now she thinks she’s been infected. By a man-borne plague.”

Shanks slowly sat down, the light dimming behind his eyes.

“So what you’re telling me is—my one and only soulmate… is an Amazonin Lily Warrior, sworn off all men-”

“Correct,” Shakky said.

“…and thinks I’m a walking biohazard.”

“Bingo,” Rayleigh toasted. “To fate.”

Shanks groaned as Rayleigh drank an entire shot and Shakky smiles sympathetically.

Benn refrained from commenting.

Shanks exhaled. “Okay, I can work with that. At least it saves me the trouble of a chase. So I can’t visit the island without—”

Shakky: “No. Don’t cause a war.”

“…” Shanks tilted his head,: “…Can I send something?”

Rayleigh huffed, “Only if you want Boa Hancock to hunt you like a rabbit.”

Shakky smacked his shoulder.

Shanks leaned forward, face in hands. “Maybe I’ll write her a letter?”

“Start with an apology. And maybe… include clarification that you are disease free.” Shakky, dryly replied.

Shanks chuckled.

Then he drew a long breath, adjusted his coat, and rolled his neck with deliberate calm.

He looked up, steady and sure again.

“I’ll speak to whoever’s in charge first- Hancock, right. Properly. Face to face.”

There was silence.

“No.”

Beckman didn’t even look up, but reached for another cigarette.

Shakky blinked. “You’re going to what?”

“I’ll reach out to Hancock,” Shanks said. “Ask for a meeting. Just talk. Emperor to Empress-”

Rayleigh started laughing again—slow, wheezing laughter that didn’t stop.

“She’ll listen,” Shanks added. “If I’m respectful. If I make it clear I’m not a threat.”

Beckman groaned. “You are the threat.”

“She won’t turn me to stone on principle,” Shanks reasoned. “I’ve got manners.”

“You’ve got audacity,” Shakky snapped.

Rayleigh wiped his eyes. “You’re going to walk into Amazon Lily. Alone. After giving the Empress’s favorite a soulmate mark. And you think reason will win her over?”

“I’m an emperor,” Shanks said, shrugging. “Surely she won’t deny a simple conversation.”

“Not with her,” Shakky muttered. “She turned a man to stone for saying hello too confidently.”

“I’ll be diplomatic.”

Beckman sighed. “You’re going to get yourself turned into an art feature.”

Shanks leaned casually on the bar, unfazed. “If she kills me, at least I’ll go out looking good.”

Rayleigh raised his glass. “Send us a statue. I’ll put it in the garden.”

“Life-sized,” Beckman added. “We’ll use it to hang hats.”

Shakky poured herself a double shot of something unlabeled. “You’re all idiots.”

Shanks gave her a slow, confident smile. “What would you do if fate carved a name on your chest?”

“Button up my shirt,” she snapped.

He only chuckled.

“I’ll ask nicely,” he said again. “That’s all I’ll do.”

Beckman exhaled. “Give me one hour’s notice before you sail. Just so I can update your will.”

Rayleigh raised his glass one last time. “To love.”

“To statues,” Shakky muttered.

Shanks smiled and tapped the spot over his heart.

“You don’t meet fate halfway by standing still. Besides, if she kills me, at least it’ll be interesting.”

The moment you reached home, you marched into the palace, slapped the crate of trade receipts down with enough force to rattle the columns, and declared in a clear, unshakable voice.

“I’m never leaving again.”

Ran raised a curious eyebrow.

“Did someone insult the empress?”

“No,” you muttered, pulling your glove back on. “Worse.”

“…worse?”.

“I am spiritually unwell,” you added. “I have been afflicted.”

Gasps echoed across the hall.

The guards stood. “I’ll call for the snakes.”

“No, I need to speak with the Empress, right away.”

And so you were whisked away to Boa Hancock.

You stood before the Empress, palm out, the glow flickering like a curse that wouldn’t die. It shimmered just beneath the skin—his name, etched in gold, resting traitorously against your lifeline.

You had come to her for wisdom. Reassurance. A solution.

What you got instead was—

“WHAT. IS. THAT?!”

The words cracked like a whip across the throne room.

You flinched. Somewhere in the rafters, a dove actually keeled over.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, holding out your hand like it might explain itself. “It appeared when I stepped off the ship to go visit Shakky. She said…it might be a… soul… thing?”

Silence.

The word no one dared say hovered in the air like a ghost.

Soulmate.

You didn’t speak it. Neither did the Empress. But every woman in the room felt it sink into their bones like a divine hex.

Hancock was frozen on her throne, eyes locked on your palm. Her expression was a war between horror and something much worse: recognition.

Then she moved.

“What disgusting, treacherous man has dared mark one of my-“

She Grabbed your palm like a curse, reading the name with visible recoil.

Then, she snatched a report scroll from a nearby guard—half unrolled, seawater-stained, stamped with the last Sabaody ship logs. Her eyes scanned the names fast, each flick of her gaze more furious than the last.

She stopped cold.

Her hand clenched around the scroll.

Her face went pale. Then dark.

Then incandescent with rage.

She screeched.

“Shanks!”

You blinked. “You… know him?”

“Know him?!” she roared. “KNOW HIM! Everyone knows him! Do you have any idea who he is? What he is?! The threat he is to women everywhere?”

The word hit you like a slap. It’s not that you didn’t memorize many male pirates, but your experience was limited. To be frank you never memorized male names if you see them regularly. 

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Rayleigh mentioned he used to train him—”

“Rayleigh’s old apprentice?” Hancock barked. “He is not some scruffy cabin brat! He is a global force of nature with a bounty in the billions and diplomatic immunity because no one wants to risk his crew tearing through the Grand Line like a divine plague!”

Your knees shook. Blood rushed to your head.

“Oh.” You squeaked.

“Oh?” Hancock’s voice shot up an octave. “Oh?!”

“I mean, that’s… it could be worse, right?”

“Worse? He’s one of the Four Emperors! You might as well have gotten branded by a tidal wave!”

Were those stars forming at the edge of your vision?

“Shanks!” You choked, feeling dizzy. “As in Red-Haired Shanks?!”

You were a trained warrior, a scholar of naval threats, and a woman of discipline—but your knees still buckled a little.

You did know of the fucking Emperors who ruled the sea.

You stared at her. “He didn’t do anything—he wasn’t even there! I never saw him!”

“Exactly!” Hancock shot back. “You never even saw him, and still—still—your soul reached for his?!”

Her sisters in the court murmured in terror.

Gloriosa, ancient and unbothered, sipped her tea in the corner. “At least it’s not Kaido.”

“Not the point!” Hancock snapped.

She rose to her feet, the motion sharp and dangerous, her cape whipping behind her like a flag of impending doom.

She pointed at your palm. “That’s not a name. That’s a problem.”

You looked down. The mark still glowed innocently.

Warm. Gold. Unbothered.

“Is there a cure?” You squeaked, not really joking. “Or a way to hide it? Perhaps he’ll find it inconvenient and ignore it?”

Hancock paced now, one hand in her hair, the other gesturing wildly. “He probably doesn’t know every detail, but make no mistakes, he’ll figure it out. He’s a famous romantic- and that man Shakky houses for some reason- he has a soft spot for degenerates. And when he finds out? Oh, he’ll come. Of course he’ll come. Men like him always do. Smiling. Apologizing. Making it worse.”

You stared.

“You think he’s coming here?!”

She stopped. Slowly turned back toward you.

Then said, with the seriousness of a woman already preparing her war face.

“Start practicing your ‘go to hell’ and for the love of the sea gods— do not accept rum from him. Don’t even leave the belly of the Lily, lest he discover a way to…compromise you!”

The entire palace erupted in chaotic wailing.

Sandersonia fanned herself. “A pirate has claimed her!”

Marigold shouted, “Prepare the ship! Prepare the cannons!”

Hancock paced, furious and rattled.

“He’s powerful. Annoyingly flirtatious. Laughs like a goddamn wind chime. And now he’s tethered to her?! One of my own?!”

You raised your gloved hand slowly.

“We have time, don’t we? I didn’t meet him. I didn’t even see his ship. I ran.”

“You ran correctly.” Hancock whirled, pointing a dramatic finger. “We must break the bond before he discovers it!”

“Is that possible?”

“I will try anyway.”

You fainted.

The message was hand-delivered with the kind of care usually reserved for ceasefires and war declarations.

Shanks had written it himself—ink smooth, edges clean, the handwriting firm and respectful. No roses. No flirtation. Just facts. Just a name. Send with a female on an aligned crew.

And an apology.

To Empress Boa of Amazon Lily,

I write with great care and no intent to offend. It has come to my attention that a mark—bearing my name—has appeared upon one of your own. I understand the nature of such an event is complex, unwelcome, and possibly distressing.

Know that I intend no intrusion. I ask only for the chance to discuss with you the implications of such an event.

With respect,

Shanks

The return message arrived exactly three hours later.

Folded into a seared chunk of driftwood.

Branded across the front in aggressive knife marks were two words:

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Beckman, watching from the deck, just sighed.

“She’s going to try and sink the ship if you push this.”

Shanks unfolded the second, more official scroll tucked inside the burned envelope.

It read:

Should the Yonko known as Red-Haired Shanks approach the shores of Amazon Lily, he will be considered an active threat and treated accordingly.

There will be no meeting.

There will be no negotiation.

This is your only warning.

Shanks folded the message quietly.

Then he looked up toward the horizon, where the Calm Belt lay—still and wide.

“…She didn’t say I couldn’t send word again.”

Beckman rubbed his temple. “You’re going to escalate this into an international incident with that carefree attitude.”

Shanks smiled.

He simply turned, opened a second scroll, and began to write again.

To Empress Boa Hancock,

I got your message.

Dramatic. Charred edges. Good handwriting.

I understand your position. You’re furious, protective, and probably trying to have me classified as a natural disaster.

Fair.

But I’d like to remind you—I’m still asking.

Politely.

I didn’t choose this mark. Neither did she. But it’s there, and now so am I.

And like it or not, this situation now involves me.

I’m not trying to provoke anything. I’m not trying to cause a scene.

If I were, writing first would not be my opening move.

So please—don’t make me come to your island while I’m still being nice.

A quiet meeting. Just once. If you refuse that?

Well.

I’m famously bad at hearing no.

You know where to find me.

Shanks

He tied it with red twine. No wax. Just a smile on his face like he’d already made peace with whatever storm followed.

Beckman, watching, groaned. “You do realize she’s going to throw that in the ocean.”

“She might,” Shanks said. “But I wrote it anyway.”

“She might also fire a cannon.”

“I’ll duck.”

Beckman pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re flirting with death.”

Shanks grinned. “Only if she’s interested.”

The second letter was delivered by a trembling pirate courier, who clearly had no idea whether handing it over counted as a diplomatic act or an execution request.

Hancock ripped the thread binding with one fluid flick of her nail.

She read the first line.

Then the second.

Then she froze.

“Don’t make me come to your island while I’m still being nice?” she repeated aloud.

The entire throne room fell still.

Gloriosa slowly set down her teacup like she was bracing for a seismic event.

Hancock kept reading—face locked somewhere between seething and visibly calculating the surface temperature of lava.

“He thinks he’s being polite?!”

“I believe he does,” Gloriosa said cautiously. “Shanks is notorious for his diplomacy.”

Hancock’s eye twitched.

“I will polish the cliffs with him!”

“He did ask before he came,” Murmured Sandersonia helpfully. “Could be worse.”

“He’s still asking,” Marigold added, eyes wide.

Hancock hissed through her teeth. “You don’t ask an Empress. You bow. You beg. You certainly don’t smirk through the ink!”

“Technically, there was no smirking visible,” Gloriosa offered.

Hancock whipped around. “He charmed. In calligraphy!”

Gloriosa held up her hands. “I’m just the tea auntie.”

Hancock stomped to the edge of the dais, fists clenched, hair fluttering in her fury.

“He thinks this is a game. A charming letter. A little rogue diplomacy. He doesn’t understand. I will petrify him into a lawn ornament.”

There was a long silence.

Then Gloriosa spoke again. Quietly.

“…Should we inform her?”

“Absolutely not. She is in a fragile state, thanks to that pig.”

You were sitting in the palace garden, sipping tea, watching a bird hop sideways in the grass.

It was peaceful.

Which was suspicious.

You’d learned that silence in Amazon Lily usually meant someone was planning something—or someone had just made a very bad decision.

But today?

Today was—

“Hmm,” you muttered, looking down at your hand.

The mark glowed faintly. Again. For the third time this week.

You shook your head and pulled your sleeve back down. “No.”

You weren’t going to think about it. You weren’t going to ask questions. And you absolutely weren’t going to read into the fact that every time it flared, the guards on duty went tense like someone had set a cannon off three islands away.

Across the courtyard, a group of royal guards were whispering urgently with Marigold and Sandersonia. You caught snippets:

“…He wrote again.”

“…Still polite, technically…”

“…‘Don’t make me come while I’m being nice’—is that a threat or a proposal?”

“Empress broke a vase.”

“Make that two vases.”

You blinked. Then looked back down at your tea.

No one had told you anything.

And if the Empress breaking crockery over international pirate diplomacy was about you?

…Well.

You didn’t want to know.

You picked up a scone.

Ignorance was peaceful.

[vwrites123]

When the Sea Gives You Tangerines

shanks x fem!reader

after years spent loving each other you have many stories to tell to the strawhats.

words count: 2.2k

a/n: I got inspired by the kdrama When Life Gives You Tangerines, I just hope it didn't come out too cringy honestly...

tags: childhood friends, storytelling, bickering, comfort, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The fire’s warm. The moon hangs heavy above the ship.

Luffy leans back, arms behind his head, grinning “So, how’d you two end up together anyway?”

You blink “Us?”

Shanks smirks, sitting beside you on a crate “You wanna tell it, or should I?”

“Like hell I’m letting you tell it.” you mutter.

Nami leans in, curious. Sanji pours wine for Robin. Zoro pretends he’s not listening. Even Usopp’s wide-eyed. They’ve heard of Shanks the Yonko, but they never thought they’d hear him laughing like this.

You sigh “It started when we were kids.”

“She hated me.” Shanks says.

You shoot him a look “I ignored you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“She’d walk past me every day like I was just a chair.”

“You sat like one. On the dock. All day.”

“I was watching the sea! I was thoughtful.”

“You were stupid.”

Shanks grins at the crew “See? True love.”

They laugh. You roll your eyes.

You look down at your hands “We were kids in the same village. I liked books. He liked trouble.”

“She liked pretending she didn’t care.” he adds.

“I didn’t.”

“You still don’t.” he teases.

Your voice softens “He followed me everywhere.”

Shanks turns to the crew “Everywhere.”

You smack his arm “Stop making it weird.”

He grins “I’m just saying. If she climbed a tree, I climbed it. If she stole an apple, I stole two.”

“And got caught.”

“I let them catch me so that they wouldn't catch you.”

You scoff “You cried.”

“I was seven!”

Everyone laughs again, but this time it fades slower.

You rest your chin on your hand “We grew up. He left first. Said the sea was calling. I said ‘Good. Don’t come back’.”

“But I did.” he says. Quiet now.

“You always did.” you say.

There’s a pause. The kind that only happens when people are listening too hard.

Nami’s voice breaks the silence “But when did you fall in love?”

You look at Shanks. He’s already looking at you.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe when he stopped being an idiot.”

“So never.” Luffy says.

Shanks chuckles “I knew before she did. I was always waiting.”

You swallow. Your voice is barely a whisper “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Luffy asks.

“Because he was everything I didn’t want to need.”

Shanks leans back, watching the fire “And I was just waiting for her to look at me the way I looked at her.”

Zoro snorts “That’s depressing.”

Robin smiles “It’s real.”

You toss a tangerine at Shanks. He catches it, grinning.

“You’re still annoying.” you say.

“And you still love me.” he says.

You don’t answer but you don’t deny it, either.

You throw another tangerine at Luffy. He dodges it, laughing with his mouth wide open.

“Why are you asking so many questions, huh?” you say, pointing at him “You’ve heard this story a million times.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning “Because I love it!”

You squint at him “You didn’t even listen the first hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I remember all of it now,” he says “When I was a kid, I used to look up at Shanks like he was the sun. Strong. Loud. Impossible.”

Shanks rubs the back of his neck “Don’t make me sound too cool.”

“But when he was with you,” Luffy continues, softer now, “or talking about you… he changed.”

You blink. The fire crackles again.

“It was like you were his captain.” Luffy says.

Everyone goes quiet. Zoro pauses mid-drink. Nami watches you closely. Robin’s smile grows just a little.

Shanks doesn’t look at you. Not yet.

Luffy’s voice drops “And that always made me feel like… maybe the Shanks everyone fears... wasn’t that scary after all.”

Shanks finally glances at you. There’s no teasing in his eyes now.

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s true. All those years he was off sailing, getting stronger, louder, more famous... he’d write to you like nothing had changed. Like he was still that barefoot boy chasing after you in the mud.

You hated those letters. You kept every single one.

“He never stops talking about you.” Luffy adds.

Shanks groans “Luffy—”

“No, really! He’d be telling us about a fight or a treasure, and then... bam ‘That reminds me of her’ or, ‘She would’ve laughed at that’ or—”

“Luffy!” Shanks throws a cork at his head.

You hide a smile behind your hand.

“So,” Sanji says, leaning forward, “who confessed first?”

You and Shanks speak at the same time:

“He did.”

“She did.”

The crew erupts.

“What?!”

“Liar!”

You point at him “You kissed me first. And you were obvious since you were 6.”

“Yeah, but you said it first.” he counters.

“Only because you were dying.”

“I wasn’t dying!”

“You had a spear in your shoulder!”

“A tiny spear.”

“You fainted.”

“I was tired!”

Nami shakes her head “You two are a mess.”

Robin sips her wine “A beautiful mess.”

Luffy lies back on the deck, hands behind his head again “I just knew you two would end up like this.”

“You weren't even there... But yeah,” you say quietly as you look at Shanks, and he’s already watching you “I think deep down… I always knew too.”

“So you didn’t join Shanks on the sea from the start?” Usopp asks, still wide-eyed like he’s listening to a bedtime story.

You snort “No. I didn’t want to.”

“She followed me anyway.” Shanks says, puffing his chest like a proud idiot.

You roll your eyes “I studied. For years. Maps. Languages. History. Ship mechanics. All of it. I worked harder than anyone.”

Robin tilts her head “So you could sail?”

You pause “So I could stand next to him without being a burden.”

Shanks turns to you, slower now, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment “You never told me that.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve “Yeah, well. You never shut up long enough to hear it.”

The crew laughs, but it’s gentler now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, turning back to Luffy “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was your mom and Shanks used to make fun of me.”

“What?” Luffy blinks.“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did,” you say “You followed me around, asked if I had snacks, and called me ‘Miss Cool Pirate Lady’ for three days.”

Shanks throws his head back, laughing “I remember that!”

“You sat in the corner and drew me with a sword,” you add “And then said I was cooler than Shanks. And you called me mom by mistakes multiple times.”

“I WAS FIVE!” Luffy yells, red in the face now.

You smirk “Still true though.”

Shanks puts a hand over his heart “He used to blush like crazy everytime he realised he called you mom.”

There’s a quiet moment as the waves lap softly against the ship.

“Going back to that question... I didn’t plan to go to sea at first,” you admit “I wanted a small, quiet life.”

Shanks smiles, listening.

“But then he left,” you say, eyes on the stars “And I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d die without me.”

“That’s romantic,” Sanji says, dreamily.

“No,” you shake your head “That’s just the truth.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Shanks says softly.

“No,” you nod “You didn’t have to.”

You turn back to the Straw Hats “I joined the crew two years after he left. I showed up with a packed bag and told Benn, ‘Don’t make a big deal’.”

“And I immediately made a big deal.” Shanks grins.

“You tripped running down the dock.”

“I was moved, okay?”

“You fell into a crate of bananas.”

“It was an emotional day!”

Everyone’s laughing again. The air is full of warmth now, wine and fire and stories wrapped around the mast like wind.

Luffy lies on the floor of the Sunny, staring up at the sails “You two were the first people I ever saw who felt like family.”

You go still.

He says it so easily, like it’s always been true.

“I didn’t understand it then,” Luffy goes on, “but… when you were together, it felt safe. Not boring. Just… safe. Like home.”

You glance at Shanks. He’s not smiling now, not in the big, cocky way. This one’s smaller. Quieter. Like he can barely hold it.

“I guess I raised two idiots” you mutter, wiping your nose.

“You did,” Shanks says “And somehow, we both turned out okay.”

“Debatable.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours “Speak for yourself. I’m perfect.”

“You’re loud.”

“You love it.”

You don’t answer.

You just lean into him, just enough.

Luffy’s snoring now. Flat on his back, mouth open, arms spread like he owns the whole ship.

You nudge him with your toe. Nothing. Just louder snoring.

“I guess storytime’s over.” you say, standing and brushing off your pants.

Shanks stretches, groaning a little too dramatically “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, already turning to leave “Let’s let the kids sleep.”

“Wait—WAIT.” Nami’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You freeze “What?”

“You’re not leaving yet,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips “You haven’t told us the best part.”

You sigh “Oh no.”

“How did he propose?” she grins.

“Oh no...” you repeat.

Usopp leans forward “Did he cry?”

Sanji fans himself “Was it romantic?”

Chopper is bouncing now “Did you say yes right away?!”

Franky still crying over your romantic stories.

Robin smiles “You must share. We’re invested now.”

You turn slowly toward Shanks.

He looks like a man standing in front of a cannon.

“We were supposed to not to tell anyone” you whisper.

He grins sheepishly “I didn’t!… Yet.”

You groan into your hands “You’re a menace.”

“But a charming menace.” he adds, winking.

“Don’t wink at me. I’m still mad.”

You face the crew with a deep sigh.

“Fine,” you say “But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Yes it was!” Shanks says.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I tried to make it romantic.”

“You proposed during a storm.”

“It was dramatic!”

“We were sinking.”

“That’s memorable!”

Robin’s eyes sparkle “Please continue.”

You sit back down, crossing your arms “Okay. So. We’re in the middle of this horrible storm, waves taller than the ship. I’m tying down barrels, he’s yelling commands, the usual chaos.”

“And she looks amazing.” Shanks adds.

“Drenched.” You glare at him “Hair stuck to my face, one boot missing, and I’m yelling at the crew.”

“Very commanding... and sexy...” he says dreamily.

“And then,” you continue, ignoring him, “this idiot climbs the main mast with a ring in his mouth.”

Gasps around the fire.

“You didn’t...” Nami whispers.

“I did.” Shanks says proudly.

“And he screams... screams ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?!’ while lightning is literally striking the ocean behind him.”

“You said yes.” he grins.

“I said, ‘GET DOWN BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU LUNATIC!’”

Robin is laughing quietly now. Chopper is wide-eyed. Usopp is trying not to cry while Franky is bawling.

Sanji puts a hand on his heart “That’s the most pirate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro raises a brow “So when did you actually say yes?”

You sigh “Two days later. Calm seas. Clear skies. I was brushing my hair.”

“She just looks at me and goes, ‘I guess I’m stuck with you now’.”

“And then I threw the ring at him.” you say.

“You missed.”

“I aimed for your face.”

Everyone laughs again. The fire’s burning lower now, but no one wants to move.

Shanks wraps an arm around your shoulders, casual. Warm.

“And you still married me.” he says.

You glance up at him.

“You forgot the ring at the wedding.”

“It was in my other coat!”

“You don’t have another coat.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you’re smiling now. Soft. Quiet. Real.

“He’s a disaster.” you say.

“She’s the reason I survive it.”

The fire’s nothing but glowing coals now.

Luffy’s curled up like a kid. Most of the Straw Hats are asleep, heads resting on arms, backs against barrels, dreams thick in the night air.

You and Shanks sit side by side, knees almost touching.

He’s quiet now. Not laughing. Just watching the waves.

You look out too.

Then he says, softly, “You never really wanted this life.”

You don’t look at him “I didn’t.”

“You wanted quiet.”

You nod “I wanted peace. Soft mornings.”

“And you got storms. Blood. Chaos.”

You smile, just a little “And you.”

He swallows “Sorry.”

You shake your head “Don’t be. I said yes.”

Shanks looks at you “Even after everything?”

You finally meet his eyes “Especially after everything.”

The ship rocks gently.

“You know,” you whisper, “when we were young, I thought you were the kind of boy who would burn the world just to see what was under it.”

“I was.” he says.

“And I thought I’d spend my life trying to stop you.”

He smiles faintly “Did you?”

“No,” you say “I ended up helping you light the match.”

You both laugh, soft and low.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a candy.

Shanks raises an eyebrow “You still carry those?”

“I always do, they're my favourite.” you say. You hand it to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into you, warm and steady.

And in the quiet, in the dark, with the sea all around you and stars blinking like old friends overhead, you think:

No, I didn’t get the life I planned. But I got the one I chose.

And more importantly, I got him.

[vwrites123]

I had this one waiting to be published since 2023. Might as well give it a go. Enjoy!!

୨ৎ

Kiyoomi is screaming internally. He can’t believe his luck today. First, his alarm clock didn’t go off because its batteries had run out. As a result, he arrived late to practice, which earned him a lot of teasing from Atsumu. And because he had to leave his apartment fast, he forgot his wallet, thus he wasn’t able to show the traffic officer his driving licence, and so, he got his car confiscated. He tried to breath in and out, stay calm and keep on with his day, but then the worst thing so far on his day happened. After giving the officer his information, he started heading to his apartment. He knew could short-cut his way through the park two block away from his flat. He could almost feel the scalding-hot shower he would be taking once he had crossed the threshold. However, as he kept on fantasising about relaxing, he didn’t notice the lurking beast getting nearer and nearer. Ungracefully, he felt on his butt over the pavement, the beast all over him. The first thing he noticed was that the creature was heavy. It must have weighted around 40 or 50 kilos. The second fact he realised was that it was hairy and fluffy (he would admit that its long, brownish strands feel soft to the touch had it not been harassing him). The third, and by far the most disgusting thing, is that the monster had a really drooling mouth. He could feel its tongue licking all his face, leaving spit traces all over it. He tried to set himself free from the 40-something kilos beast but to no avail.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry for this. Kira is usually a good girl. I don’t know why she did that.” There is a voice full of concern coming from behind the fur ball. After a few more attempts, the drooling monster is moved away from Kiyoomi, and he is at least set free from some of his suffering. “Are you ok?” The same voice keeps talking, now feeling like it’s nearer to him. However, he is not o.k. He is less than o.k. He has had a HORRIBLE day today, and now he’s just got the cherry on top of all of it. He is lying on the dirty, filthy, grimy floor of a park. He was tackled onto his butt in the middle of a park packed with people. And lastly, his face is full of dog saliva. He has made up his mind already. This is the worst day of his life. He thought that the day Atsumu was recruited to play for the Jackals was the least desirable scenario, but he was so wrong.  

When the pro-volleyball player opens his eyes again, he is captivated. At first, he focuses on a pair of eyes, full of worry and apprehension. After a moment, his focal point moves to the mouth that is a bit lower and moving, yet he can’t hear what it is telling him. He tries to concentrate and makes the effort to actually come out of his mind and sit up. Eventually, he does sit up. Now that his mind is clearing, he can see the whole picture. A golden retriever, with better hair than his, is sitting next to a sweet and nice girl. What a contrast. A beast with such character having you as owner.

“Please, say something. If you don’t, you may have a concussion and I’ll need to call an ambulance!!” You say a bit more apprehensive than before.

Now, Kiyoomi is not indifferent to beautiful, young girls. He has a vast and ample number of women following him and thinking that he is the reincarnation of Kami-sama himself. Models, influencers, peers from other teams, actresses, even. However, none of them has had this effect you are having on him. It’s funny, really. On the one hand, he has the unbelievable urge to invite you for coffee. On the other hand, he really wants your dog as far away from him as possible. But as it may seem, Kira is your baby. Her hair has been brushed thoroughly, is well-trimmed and shines brighter than Atsumu’s smile when he gets free food from his brother; her nails are cut just as they should, and she is wearing a baby green ribbon that combines with your outfit. Talking about you, he pays a bit more of attention to your appearance. You are a bit sweaty but not excessively. It looks like you are coming back from exercising. Good, he thinks. He likes girls that are active and lead a healthy life. Wait!! Has he just said ´like´?? Oh, man, this is not good, he thinks.

It takes him a good minute to react. People are looking, and he thinks he sees the bright spark of recognition from a group of school girls sitting near while having lunch. And that’s when his self-preservation instincts kick in. Suddenly, he realises that more people are watching, some of them are a second from starting to record this embarrassing moment and sharing it on the internet. He can vividly picture the whole team laughing their asses off when they see the video. So, in a desperate attempt to avoid mass media mortification, he rises up, dusts his clothes a bit and says the most eloquent thing he could think in a moment like this.

“Never again let that hideous creature near me. Ever again.” He then rushes past you and your attempt at a civilised and educated dog, and leaves both of you looking at each other. Kira only snorts, as if offended, and you are left as a fish on land, gasping and restless. Maybe, if you weren’t lost in your own thoughts, you would have seen this weirdly charming stranger’s blushing while taking off.

[vwrites123]

Art by Julia Peng

[vwrites123]

Shinji x reader

wc: 720

fluff. Dedicated to @tomitsulikeslemons 🎂 happy birthday love

You blow out the candles for the hundredth time, making the same wish you’ve been making for the past century—give or take a few years: to be reunited with your beloved—the exiled traitor.

And for the hundredth time, wishing proved useless. You wasted your breath on a tradition more commonly practiced in the world of the living—the world where your husband had taken refuge but his exact whereabouts was unknown.

You were one of the few who believed in his innocence.

It was the morning of your birthday. You followed your usual yearly routine—sticking a lit lantern candle into a steamed bun, blowing it out, making a wish, kissing the picture of your husband tucked beneath your futon, and then rushing out the door to get to work.

You did not return home that day.

You were entrusted with a mission to investigate an unusual spike in Hollow attacks surrounding a particular town. The Hollows were of elite level, and you quickly realized you couldn’t handle the situation alone. Bleeding profusely from the chest, your vision became blurry and with that you proceeded to loose consciousness. Just before everything faded to black, you caught a glimpse of a man with short blond hair wearing a Hollow mask. He sliced through the enemies with effortless precision. Despite his Hollow-like appearance, there was something familiar about his aura.

That man was your husband.

Months passed and seasons changed, yet you remained in a coma. Major events had come to pass, and justice was served, but you were not awake to witness such a feat. However on the 100th day, you had finally awaken and he was there to greet you.

“Good mornin’ sleepy head”, he whispered softly to make sure he did not startle his wife.

You blinked a few times to take control of your vision. His handsome face came to view.

“Miss me?” He grinned, his familiar wide grin displaying a row of pearly whites. His hair was short– very short. He wore his Captain Haori, a clear declaration of his reinstatement.

You opened your mouth, but your voice was still warming up, and all that came out was a strange gurgle.

“Ah ah…slow down, doll. I know ya got lots to share and lots to ask. Don’t ya rush it. I ain't goin’ ‘nywhere”. He placed his index finger gently against your lips, which should have been dry and chapped but instead felt soft and plump. Clearly, someone had kept those lips nice and moist while you slept.

For a few minutes, both sat in silence, simply absorbing each other's presence. Time had passed— a century or more— and the anticipation you once held was casted over by a thick cloud of doubt and despair.

Did he still love you?

Or did time slowly wash away that love, receding like the tide and leaving behind only memories etched in the sand?

He took your hands in his, and if his warm, familiar touch didn’t quiet your doubts, the ring on his finger spoke louder than words.

——

With your anchor by your side, you recovered quickly and were discharged a few days later.

He didn’t let your feet touch the ground. No—he carried you from the hospital bed all the way to his squad, a journey that took several hours. He could have moved faster, but he didn’t want to jolt your fragile, healing body.

“You must have suffered back in the world of the living”, you whispered with your head resting against his chest as he held you close to his heart.

“Nah. Those 100 years were nothing compared to the few months watchin’ ya do nothin’ but sleep. Now that was torture”.

He placed a tender kiss on top of your head and continued with the journey in silence. There was so much to say, 100 years worth of stories to share. Yet both choose silence and a quiet celebration that awaits.

After gently tucking you into his bed, he placed before you a cake topped with 100 candles—one for every birthday he had missed.

100 days late.

100 years of wait.

His face was only inches from yours as he hovered over the cake resting on your lap, his short blond hair falling like a curtain around his face.

“Let’s get married once more”, he whispered—a wish he had made for both.

[vwrites123]

Grandmas were so right about puzzles and knitting and crocheting and solitaire and reading slow and slippers and baking and watching deer in the backyard send post

[vwrites123]

JLPT Tips and Tricks: Conquer the Exam with Confidence

The Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT) is a standardized assessment of Japanese language proficiency for non-native speakers. Whether you're aiming for N5, the introductory level, or N1, the most challenging one, thorough preparation is crucial for success. Here's a comprehensive guide to help you ace your JLPT exam:

1. Understand the Test Format

Familiarize yourself with the JLPT's structure and scoring system. The test consists of three main sections: Vocabulary, Grammar & Reading, and Listening. Each section has a specific number of questions and allotted time. Knowing the format will help you manage your time effectively during the exam.

2. Set Realistic Goals and Create a Study Plan

Establish achievable goals based on your current Japanese language proficiency and the JLPT level you're targeting. Develop a realistic study plan that incorporates daily or weekly study sessions. Allocate sufficient time to cover all the necessary grammar points, vocabulary, and Kanji.

3. Gather High-Quality Learning Resources

Utilize a variety of effective learning resources to enhance your preparation, such as textbooks, online courses, language learning apps, and practice tests, choosing those that align with your learning style and preferences.

4. Practice Regularly and Consistently

Regular practice is essential for success in the JLPT. Take practice tests frequently to familiarize yourself with the question formats, timing, and scoring system. Consistent practice will help you identify areas for improvement and build your confidence. Focus on Active Learning Techniques

Active learning techniques, such as flashcards, mnemonics, and summarizing key concepts, can significantly enhance your memorization and retention of Kanji, vocabulary, and grammar rules.

Besides, immerse yourself in Japanese, surround yourself with as much Japanese as possible. Listen to Japanese music, watch Japanese movies and TV shows, and read Japanese books and articles. This exposure will improve your listening comprehension, reading skills, and overall language proficiency.

5. Stay Positive and Believe in Yourself

Maintain a positive mindset and believe in your ability to succeed in the JLPT. Your confidence and determination will play a significant role in achieving your goals.

Remember, the JLPT is a challenging but rewarding exam. With dedication, perseverance, and the right strategies, you can conquer the test and achieve your Japanese language proficiency goals.

Goodluck for guys!

[vwrites123]

"thank you"

There’s a lot of things you’ve done that Becky doesn’t know about

[vwrites123]

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.

Ray Bradbury

[vwrites123]

[vwrites123]

[vwrites123]

guess who loves the season 3 op so much they redrew it in timeskip (this guy)

[vwrites123]

ugh it's 130am and im just sat here thinking muchly about Higuruma Hiromi and a "there was only one bed" trope >>_>>

it's definitely been years since he's shared a bed with anyone and he doesn't want to be weird about it, least of all with his mission partner that he's known for 3, 4? years now.

So he's not going to be weird about it it's not like there is anything weird about it or about how his limbs might bracket yours (inadvertently), how his arms might accidentally loop through yours, how he's trying to quiet the hammering in his chest pressed to the small of your back

and it's not weird that he notices there isn't the elastic band of a bra or its hooks to chafe against him. you had mentioned something about the habit once. and you'd reiterated how humid it was this evening

it's unintentional isn't it (isn't it?) how you've got yourself cocooned right beneath him, so he feels the swell of your curves pressing against his shoulder, the hypnotic- no, just rhythmic rise and fall of your chest lulling his pulse to keep pace with yours now, to slow down enough to savour the softness of your cheek snug against his, still not quite desaturated of its roseate hue

and it's not a fixation, he's not fixating, definitely not, on the slight part of your lips, the plush of them, how shapely the indent of your cupid's bow is where he could notch his thumb just so, to feel each moistened exhalation dampening his skin ever so slightly.

and it's not like he's had such ruminations before in his own bed alone, the sleep deprivation isn't owed to tracing and reminiscing every quiver and contour of those lips; the twitches in acquiescence to the wit at least, of one of his sardonic quips, if not his actual point, their stubborn press bordering on sullen when your agreement is all but verbal, vibrating from how stiffly you've set your jaw, how your mouth melts into that generous pout when he's goaded a concession from you on some triviality that he'll beguile further flexibility from.

And Hiromi's definitely never spared a thought for how your corners quirk when he's gotten too high off his own supply delivering a diatribe with just the tiniest fragment of fallacy you're going to flay his fifteen minute argument apart with with a single callback, isn't constantly revisiting in his dreams your grin when you've trapped him into trading hypotheses for hyperbole yet again, how it's triumphant, sagacious but rarely smug, more satisfied by the joust rather than his actual defeat (with his own words, nonetheless)

hiromi's not smitten, where's the evidence?

he's just going to lay here awake, all night, with you practically cuddled into him, practicing arguments for the morning on how you're culpable for his insomnia.

the prosecution does not rest.

(the prosecution barely strangles a groan when you snuggle against his throat, with a slumber-cloyed murmur of his name pressed to his flesh, like the most saccharine blade held to his jugular.

There's no where else in the whole damned world he'd rather be.)

[vwrites123]

I fell asleep while reading. I was almost finishing it. Today, I woke up with my phone in my hand and the chapter already open. Of course, I started re-reading it! Wonderful chapter!! Really well-written and compelling!!

SO MUCH TO LOSE - Chapter 15: Going Quiet

pairing: dark!Joel x f!Reader

rating: 18+

tags: this chapter has tags that will spoil plot points and lots of folks hate that, so I am making a HUGE pink spoiler list at the VERY BOTTOM of this page (after the taglist) so y'all can scroll there if you want tags for this chapter. That way everyone is happy!

a/n: I'm back from the lake and couldn't make y'all wait until next week. I really am excited to know what you think of this chapter (good or bad... but I hope good!).

Secondly, I read each and every single one of your comments/tags on here often more than once. They are the true reason these chapters keep my tippy tappy fingers flyin. Seeing your reblogs, your hilarious comments, your meaningful analysis, you are all so dang supportive and I love y'all so much.

masterlist

Chapter 15: Going Quiet

"Just be honest with her," you murmur to yourself as you boots crunch over the old snow. “She’ll understand.”

You're on your way to Jennifer's place with a plate of freshly baked muffins in your shaking hands. The chill of the day is biting your cheeks and your fingers are numb on the ends because you were so distracted you left without grabbing gloves.

You’ve been up since six, running over every scenario, getting dressed with trembling hands because while you know that Jennifer is your friend you’re also worried she’ll be upset about what happened with Joel. You hate thinking of your one true friend here as being upset with you.

There’s a small part of you that’s furious with Jennifer endearing herself to you in the first place. Why did she have to worm her way into your affections like that? It was so much easier when you kept to yourself, so much easier when you didn’t have to take other people’s feelings into account.

Something happened during patrols with Joel Miller and even if it means nothing to him you have to tell Jennifer because it's something to you. You can't stop thinking of how gentle he was. How soft his mouth was, how he called you baby.

And if you stay feeling this way about him you’ll be unable to keep away from him. And you’re terrified this means Jennifer finding out about your affection for him from someone else, like Margaret who saw you on your way to Joel's that one evening for Ellie’s dinner.  

You're also uneasy because you haven't talked about anything with Joel. You don't know if it was a one-off or the start of something. You want things cleared up.  

You're intercepted by a smiling Tommy that has rope over his shoulder. He's heading to the stables but he waves at you as he approaches. You internally grimace, frustrated with being derailed temporarily from your plans.

"Afternoon, where you headed?" 

"Over to Jennifer’s," you say holding up the plate. "Bringing my classic chocolate chip muffins." 

In your overzealous desire to set the record straight with Jennifer and because you were up at an ungodly hour you made far too many muffins. A whole batch of coconut lemon is at home, sealed and ready for consumption. 

Tommy looks at you strangely, shifting the rope onto his other shoulder.

"It's her patrol shift today," he says with a bemused look. "Ain't you two friends?"

In all your rush to tell Jennifer everything you've totally lost track of the day. You sigh, eyes closing in frustration. 

"You're right, shit." You look down at the muffins and sigh. "You want 'em?"

"I gotta check on the horses. How about you take 'em over to Maria?” Tommy suggests. "She could always use the company." 

You actually have a gift for Maria so it wouldn't be out of the question. And at least this way the second batch you made at home won't go to waste.

"Okay, I will." 

You send a wave his way before heading back to your place where you grab the paper flowers you prepared earlier in the week, bright yellow daffodils. They were harder to fold, took a lot longer, but they were worth it. You just know Maria is going to love them. 

You noticed how overwhelmed she looked at the town meeting the other day and you want to check in on her. There’s something about the harried way she appears lately that makes you a bit anxious.

Hank welcomes you in when you arrive, the door already ajar. Faint music plays in the background and he greets you warmly, his jacket and boots still on, having clearly just entered into the home.

"Maria’s in the living room, I came by to grab Tommy but seems like he’s already gone."

“I saw him on his way to the horses.”

“Ah shit, okay, I’ll see ya.”

You swap places and he strides down the porch steps while you slip off your jacket and head towards the living room. The place smells like apple cinnamon and you see a pie cooling on the counter. This gives you hope that Maria is continuing to be in good spirits. You place your muffins on the table and head towards where you hear the radio playing faintly.

You clutch the paper flowers in your fist and move towards the music. When you round the corner you abruptly still, eyes widening  Maria sits with a drowsy Douglas in her arms, smiling at Joel who sits on the edge of his chair. 

That's not what shocks you; it's the fact that Joel is strumming a guitar for the baby. 

His thick forearm rests on the body of the guitar, long fingers plucking at the strings playing a soothing melody. 

Seeing Joel after everything that happened feels strange and slightly surreal. It makes you gape at him as he continues to play, strong hands moving deftly over the strings. It takes you back to his fingers between your legs, his mouth on your ear.

Keep goin', baby, I'll take ya there.

His expression is playful as he looks at his nephew, the half-slumbering child that seems calmed at the sound of Joel's playing. And then it's like Joel feels new eyes on him and he turns his gaze on you just as his fingers hit a sour note. 

Your knee gives out a moment as you step closer into the room, causing you to half stumble.

Then there's silence in the room, confusion on Maria's face and your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Maria turns to where Joel’s eye line goes and she smiles with a tired joy when you enter into the room.

"I was wondering when I'd see you!"

"Just keeping my promise," you say with a shy smile. “I brought muffins too but they’re in the kitchen.”

You can't help your eyes from drawing back over to Joel who has leaned back in his chair. He places the guitar next to his chair on the floor. 

"I didn't know you played."

Joel nods non-committal, looking almost irritated at being caught out. 

"Douglas loves when Uncle Joel plays," Maria coos at the not quite sleeping baby. You hold in a smile at the term Uncle Joel. 

"I just wanted to come by and drop off my latest arrangement," you smile handing her the flowers and dropping down onto the couch next to her. "What do you think of ‘em Douglas?" 

You hold one of the stems in the baby’s direction, giggling to yourself when his tiny hand attempts to bat at it. 

"He loves them," Maria laughs, glancing at her son and then over to the quiet man by the fireplace. "Doesn't he Joel?"

"Sure seems like it." 

You dart your eyes to see Joel gazing between you and the baby. He's leaned back, one hand on his thigh. 

"These are so gorgeous," Maria says with a beam. She takes them from you before shifting a sleeping Douglas up in the crook of her arm. "Here, take him. I'm gonna add them to the other vase."

Before you can reply to her she's placing the warm Douglas into your arms. You gather him against your chest, looking into his sweet face. 

"Hi little boy." 

You tickle him under the chin, smiling broadly when Douglas gives a gurgling laugh in reply.

"He's so lucky he has so many people that love him," Maria says as she gazes down at him. "I hope you'll always come over to see him."

"Of course," you promise as you stare at the baby's chubby cheeks. "Someone has to teach him the fine art of flower folding after all." 

You feel a hand on your shoulder as Maria smiles down at you, a faraway softness in her dark eyes. Then she's gone, striding from the room and leaving you and Joel seated across from one another.

You're curled at the edge of the couch with the baby in your arms. You're unable to stop yourself from nuzzling the end of your nose to his. He's warm and smells like sweet milk and when you're this close you feel like the world is a little more bearable. You keep your attention on the baby, too nervous to look at Joel

The fire crackles in the quiet of the room, the sound of children playing outdoors, the smell of the apple cinnamon pie; it all contributes to a strangely warm and cozy atmosphere.  It makes you feel more at ease, able to eventually shift your attention over to Joel. You're curious to see him staring at you before his attention moves to Douglas in your arms. 

"Pie sure smells good," you finally offer. 

"S'Tommy's favorite."

You hum a reply, your eyes trained on Douglas's face. His eyelids are starting to flutter but he keeps catching himself, forcing himself to stay awake. 

"He looks like he's trying not to fall asleep," you smile indulgently before lifting your gaze to Joel. "Maybe you should play a little more for him."

You don't know what possesses you to make the request other than a secret desire to hear Joel play again. To squirrel away this secret part of him for later dissection as you lie awake that night. The desperate desire to know more of him. 

Joel's mouth curves slightly, almost like he's amused but not quite. You think he's going to ignore you or brush you off. Your brows rise when he reaches down to lift the guitar back into his denim-clad thigh. 

"Any requests?"

You feel a smile creeping over your face. You're about to shake your head, thankful for whatever he'll play when an idea hits you. 

"Your favorite song."

He drags a hand through his short beard in thought, eyes rising to the roof as he contemplates. 

"That's tough. Hard to pick just one."

"Play 'em all then."

Joel grins now, a real one that shows his dimple and has your heart fluttering. What is it about making him smile that makes you feel so accomplished? 

"Dunno if we have time for all that. But let's start with this one, s'the first one I ever learned to play the whole way through."

You rock Douglas gently in your arms, settling back in the worn sofa like an expectant audience. Joel darts his eyes to you before he looks at his fingertips suddenly nervous. You watch him transform in front of you in that moment. Gone is the overbearing, perfectionist. In his stead is a man who clumsily plucks at the strings in a tune you think you recognize. 

"I keep a close watch on this heart of mine."

Your mouth drops open as his raspy voice reaches your ears. 

"I keep my eyes wide open all the time."

Joel is singing. 

"I keep the ends out for the tie that binds."

You can't take your eyes from his face. There's something about his singing that's almost hypnotizing. His raspy voice hugging the notes, sending them on their way with a stern push between his plush lips. Lips you know for certain now feel as soft as they look. And when his dark eyes travel from the other side of the room to the baby and finally end on your face, you feel your body start to catch fire from the inside. 

"Because you're mine, I walk the line."

You can't explain it, you don't know if it's the eye contact or the lyrics or his husky voice, but in this moment you've never wanted anyone so badly. It makes your body ache all over, your throat running dry as the second and third verses keep coming. Only now his eyes have gone back to the guitar, worried about his fingering. 

"As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

And happiness I've known proves that it's right.

Because you're mine, I walk the line."

Douglas is asleep now, curled in your arms. But he might as well not even exist because everything in you is attuned to the broad man across from you, sitting there strumming beautifully and sharing something with you that you don't think he shares with many. 

"You've got a way to keep me on your side," Joel rasps and you feel something bloom in your chest when his eyes flick back up to yours. "You give me cause for lo-"

Joel breaks off sharply when you both hear a thump coming from a nearby room. 

"What was that?" 

You rise with a now squirming Douglas in your arms. Joel drops the guitar onto the seat he just vacated before both of you move into the hallway, following the light spilling from the room down the hall. 

Joel is first, his boots slapping against the floorboards. You follow close behind and when he peers in and you see his shoulders jump you pause. He holds an arm out, pushing you back behind him.

Something is wrong. 

Then there's that familiar metallic scent of blood. One that you know all too well. One that has you stumbling back with Douglas. It has you whimpering anxiously to yourself, putting Douglas in his crib, brushing his hair back and whispering words of comfort.

You lean over the railing of the crib, catching your breath. The baby’s eyes shutter, not understanding what’s going on, but too tired to care. You can hear Joel murmuring and Maria sobbing softly and your stomach is cramping up in fear.

Not blood. Please no more blood.

You feel darkness starting at the corner of your eyes, black tendrils that threaten to take you from consciousness entirely but you fight it. You go onto your hands and knees beside the crib, inhaling deeply and waiting for the darkness to ebb.

When it does you raise shakily, moving back to the room at the end of the hall. Its door is cracked halfway open and you can see Joel’s feet. You watch him moving back and forth in his knelt position. You focus only on those boots, forcing your feet to him.

When you finally push open the door with a creak and see Maria you have to swallow your sob.

Her back is against the wall, slumped there with her chin resting on her chest. Her legs splay out on the tile floor as if she's a marionette who's had its strings snapped. There’s so much blood, pooling around her, seeping into the knees of Joel’s jeans. Her one arm is in Joel’s grip, wrapped tightly with a towel.

You spot the razor blade next to the tub, covered in blood and you know exactly what's happened. 

Oh Maria.

Joel is wrapping more towels around her left wrist as Maria moans "I'm sorry I'm sorry," over and over. You don’t know if she’s sorry she did it or sorry she didn’t have the chance to slice the right wrist as well.

The blood is seeping through the thin towel and you rush into the hallway, scrambling to find a linen closet or something close to it. When you don't find one you go back to Douglas's room and in a panic and grab several of his blankets in the corner, rushing back with your heart in your stomach. 

"Here."

You step partially into the bathroom, thrusting the towels into Joel's outstretched hands before you press against the wall, in the room but as close to being out as possible. You look away as Joel attempts to make a tourniquet with the latest blanket, ripping and wrapping overtop the towels at her wrist. 

"Not Dougie’s blankets," Maria groans, trying to wrench from Joel's grasp. 

"Quit," Joel snaps and she obeys, growing still. 

You step more fully into the bathroom and Joel darts his attention over to you. His eyes are wild and his neck bobs anxiously. You know that Joel feels fear just as much as anyone; he’s just so much better at keeping it in check.

"I'm goin' to get the doctor. You stay here with her."

You can’t find words so you just nod. Joel stands, gripping your chin.

“You hear me?”

“Yes. I’ll stay here.”

Joel nods and he's taken off as you swap places with him beside Maria on your knees, praying that Joel gets to Tommy and the doctor in time. You who presses the extra towel to her wrist, keeping her from moving.  

Maria's dark skin has a grayish tinge to it, her face crumpled. She's too weak to fight you as you hold the towel to her oozing wrist. It's clear she cut straight up the middle. She wanted this to be fatal.

"Hey, just stay still."

The blood and her whimpers are making you feel cold all over. A sense of disassociation overtaking you. Your mind is traveling through time, stretching over consciousness, trying to guide you away from this moment because all you can hear is screaming and all you can taste is blood and all you can see is your sister’s face-

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Maria whispers again, tears running down her cheeks and bringing you back to the present. Your eyes stutter over the peeling linoleum before falling on your friends face. 

"Just breathe Maria," you soothe, brushing her hair from her tacky forehead. "Just breathe."

But Maria doesn't hear you; she's lost in her own torment. She cries out, her back arching in acute pain that you can't see but know she feels deep in her soul. The kind of black pit that consumes and doesn't stop. 

“NO MORE!”

You bite back tears as she shrieks. She slaps her right palm to her side of the floor in anger, soaking it in blood. Then she lets out a mournful cry that you would have covered your ears for if they weren’t holding her injured wrist still.

Without warning she grips at your collar with her free hand, her sticky palm trailing against your mouth as she does. You taste copper. 

"I can't do it anymore."

You can see the hollow look in her eyes, can smell the acrid scent of her anxious sweat. You tug her hand away, wrapping it tighter in the blanket and holding both wrists so tightly she cries out. You look at her with sympathy pooling there in your gaze.

"What can't you do, Maria?"

"Live." 

The word is ripped from her lungs. Four letters that feel sharp from all angles. Like little needles line her throat, tearing them to shreds causing her to bleed them inwardly.

And perhaps to combat that sharpness you cup Maria's cheek in your hand, all round curves and softness, holding her tenderly in your grip like a mother would a child. She leaves her wrapped wrist on her lap, gazing up at you lost and terrified.

"I know that feeling, I'm so sorry you're experiencing it," you murmur gently. "We're gonna get you help. I promise, Maria."

Footsteps have entered the home, moving quickly over the wood floors.

“You can’t help me.” Maria starts to cry now, big tears falling down her cheeks. “No one can.” 

The door bursts open and you start as Tommy stands there. When he sees you holding the bloodied Maria on the floor he goes white in the face. He staggers towards you both and slides down heavily against the bathroom door when his legs fail him. 

"Honey…honey, no."

He crawls to her, streams of tears running down his cheeks as he pulls her against him. She's tired, too tired to offer apologies or explanations. She just sits there slumped until he drags her into his grip, sobbing into the crown of her head.  

You watch when the normally smiley, affable Tommy's face crumbles as he holds his wife, hiding his howl of anguish in her shoulder as he rocks her in his arms. The sound prickles tears and raises goose bumps. 

You let yourself out of the room to give them privacy and needing to get a breath of fresh air. Air not tainted with the coppery scent of blood. It’s so thick you can taste it, like pennies rolled sideways over your taste buds.

A tall woman with short salt and pepper hair comes into the hallway with a bag. The doctor.  She looks at you curiously until you shoot a thumb over your shoulder, indicating to the bathroom door.

"She's in there." 

She rushes by you and you walk out of her way, not stopping until you're nearing the kitchen.

You feel shaky, like you’ve forgotten to eat for days. You recognize that feeling. You collapse in a chair at the table, forehead in your arms. But its happening, that tightness in your chest that doesn’t stop even when you try to blink away the image of all that blood.

And then hands are on you, wide, warm hands that rest on your upper arms. Joel drapes himself over you, arms bracketing your body, his arms crossing over your front to hold you against his chest.

“Hey,” he rasps. “Calm down.”

But you can’t.

You can still smell the blood; you can still see it when you blink. You can still hear Maria’s moans as the doctor works on her and the low sobs of Tommy as he watches on. Your body shakes, unable to shut all this noise out until suddenly Joel’s soft mouth is at your ear.

“Breathe with me. Right now.”

He holds you against his chest and you feel him take a deep inhale before slowly forcing it out through his mouth in a gentle stream. He murmurs instructions in your ears, never releasing you. In and out…. In and out… In through the nose, out through the mouth… C’mon, be good for me In and out.

And like magic that tightness in your body begins to lessen. The noise that has been so loud is dimmed. All that exists for you is the sensation of Joel’s body leaning against you heavily, the strong arms that hold you, the deep rumble of his voice telling you to breathe.

After a few moments the spell has passed, your body feels in control again. Joel must sense this because he loosens his arms from where they were wrapped around you. You miss the contact as he pulls back, straightening.

“You need a minute?”

You glance up at him, shaking your head. Your part in this is done. You can't really offer anything but paper flowers and baby snuggles. 

“No I think… I think I should go home.”

Joel hangs by the front door looking ashen as you rise on shaky legs. When he sees you approach he takes down your jacket from the hook, holding it open for you. 

"I'll walk you home."

You go to tell him it's not necessary, but you don't because fatigue is suddenly taking you over. You just allow him to slip your jacket on over your shoulders before following him out of the house. You don’t even notice when his hand finds the small of your back, guiding you to your home as you trudge after him in a daze.

The two of you walk in heavy silence down the mercifully empty street. You still can't quite believe what you just witnessed. Joel tilts his gaze in your direction. 

"You okay?" 

You shrug. "Scary."

"Yeah." A beat. "You handled yourself well back there."

“Until I almost passed out.”

“That was after,” Joel reasons. “A good time to fall apart is after everything is said n’ done.”

"I'm better at taking care of other people in a crisis, not so much myself I guess."  

He hums in response, and the two of you walk in silence the rest of the way to your home. 

Walking with Joel now feels different then with patrols. It's easier, less tense. But it's still carries a modicum of weirdness after everything. You watch your footsteps match in tempo despite Joel's longer legs, the crunch of snow, the slick of ice. 

At the door to your home you fish your key from your pocket, confused that Joel still stands there in the golden sun of afternoon like some flannel-clad statue. He slides his tongue over his back teeth, un-sticking his next words. 

"You’re not planning on tellin' your friends what happened, right? Jennifer n' Luke?" 

This question surprises you into frowning.

"Of course not."

"Figured as much. Just thought I'd check," Joel nods, head tilting up and down a moment as if his brain already knew before he asked. 

You recognize the look he shoots you now, he has to be the protective big brother at all times. He needs to make sure Tommy and Maria are protected. He doesn't need to worry with you though, you'd never share. 

"I don't share private information, Joel," you say rather clipped. "About anything or anyone."

Joel's eyes widen on your face before blinking down to the ground. The meaning of your words feels heavy between you both, though it's not what you meant. You meant it about Ellie and Maria. 

But yeah, for you and Joel too. 

“That’s good,” he mutters before he nods again, a slow thoughtful thing. “It’s just. . . Me and Tommy . . .we’re private people. So’s Maria.”

You nod. You understand one another.

You’ve understood each other longer than maybe you realized.

You know he's surprised at your actions today. He’s always had you pegged as a useless idiot who can't shoot and panics at the slightest hint of danger. His confusion isn't unfounded, but it irritates you a fraction regardless. 

Useless. 

Does he still think that? What exactly does he think about you?

You want to ask him about patrols but before you can his hand is pulled from his pocket and he licks the end of his thumb. You watch the pink muscle peek out between his pouty lips, so distracted by the sight that when his hand closes the distance between your bodies you flinch. 

But it's just his empty palm and fingers meeting at your mouth.  His damp thumb lands on your lower lip at the same time as his warm gaze. You hold your breath as he begins pressing lightly there before you realize he's brushing at something.  

"Blood," he informs your questioning eyes.  

You say nothing, but you don't miss that his eyes haven't left your mouth. Or that his thumb now rests there on your full bottom lip, waiting for something you can't anticipate. Then his hand is snatched back, like he just remembered that he doesn't touch you like that. Sweetly and gingerly. 

He stares at you in that impossibly Joel fashion. The shiny, fathomless way that reminds you of an oil slick at night. Then he blinks it away and it's replaced with that familiar unreadable look. 

"I'll see ya later." 

You watch him leave, the words about patrols dead on your tongue.

///

You think of Joel's words the entire afternoon as you wait for Jennifer to finish her patrol shift.

You’re not planning on tellin' your friends what happened, right?

He meant about Maria, but you'd parsed the double meaning before he’d all but spelled it out for you. He's a private man; much like Ellie he doesn't like the world to know his business. You have to respect that. But you have to respect Jennifer as well.

How to do both? 

Funnily enough it’s Ellie who solves your issue and she doesn't even mean to. She's on your porch knocking and looking anxiously up at you when you answer later that afternoon.

She glances over her shoulder at the empty street as if she's expecting a horde of people with pitchforks headed her way. 

"I need to talk to you.”

"Okay, sure," you say, concerned. You step back, allowing her to slip into your house. 

Minutes later she sits at your table with an untouched muffin and cup of tea. Her fingernails are bit to the quick, her hands pink and chapped from the cold. The end of her nose is pink too and she sniffles as you take a seat across from her.

“So what-“

"I... I like someone."

She blurts it out as if she was pinched. Relief takes you over and you tilt back, smiling toothily. 

"That's great."

"No it's not," Ellie sighs. "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about liking someone?"

"It's Dina."

"I figured.”

Ellie flushes, caught.  You try not to sound judgmental, but you’re curious as to how this worked out.

"So what changed between you and her?"

"I dunno... One second I hated her and the next second..." 

She trails off and blushes deeply. She's waiting for you to continue with your questions but when you don't she seems to relax. 

"I don't even know if she actually likes me. She just kissed me a couple days ago.”

“Congrats,” you tell her enthusiastically, dialing it back when you see her about to roll her eyes. “It’s exciting Ellie.”

“No, it’s stressful.”

Despite everything you’ve seen today you laugh. “Well, relationships can be.”

“I always thought she kinda hated me." 

Your eyes widen in surprise. Later you'll reflect on this moment and laugh to yourself that both you and Ellie got kissed by someone you assumed hated you the same week. 

“What did she say when you asked her?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been avoiding her. I told Joel I have a stomach bug.”

You hold in a laugh as she picks at the muffin in front of her, her short nails attempting to scrape off some of the coconut. 

"I just wish I could pick a different person to like," she sighs. "A boy."

"Why?" 

"Because everyone already thinks I'm a freak around here. Once they find out I like girls it’s gonna be so much worse." 

Sympathy propels your hand to cover hers. She twitches but leaves it there on the table. 

"You're not a freak for liking girls, Ellie," you tell her honestly. "Do you know how hard it is to find a connection with someone in this world? Do you know how lucky you are?" 

Ellie doesn't feel lucky. She feels exposed. She already has so much different about her. Why this on top of everything? 

"What if people say stuff?"

"There are other gay couples here, Ellie. And yeah some people are assholes about it but since when did you give a shit about what other people say?" 

Ellie cracks a smile at this, a tiny shimmer of amusement before she sobers again. She sits there quietly and you can see her absorbing the word. 

Gay. 

Ellie always thought what she had with Riley was special, a one-off since so few people were nice to her back in the QZ. But kissing Dina has made it very clear to Ellie that she is only into girls. 

"Does Joel know?"

Your voice is soft; you don't want to push her too much. She looks at the table, shaking her head. 

"Not yet."

Ah, there it is. The real reason she's hesitating. The thought that this man who has clearly been through so much with her would turn his back on her. 

"Ellie, I know for a fact that Joel loves you more than anything. And I know he won't give a shit if you like boys or girls as long as you're happy." 

Her eyes are glossy when she gazes back up at you. 

"And if you're not sure if Dina likes you just ask her."

Ellie grimaces. 

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"What if I'm wrong? What if she kissed me as a joke? Or she changed her mind?"

"I don't think people kiss other people as jokes," you offer. "And if it turns out she changed her mind then, well, wouldn't it be good to find that out now?"

"I guess."

You lean back, your own thoughts converging around a certain man with deep eyes and a full mouth. A man who you need to talk things out with as well. You and Ellie finish your muffins and you walk her to the door, noting she seems less deflated than when she arrived.

"Thank you for sharing this with me Ellie," you tell her kindly. "I promise it's our secret until you don’t want it to be. And you can always come to me if you need to talk." 

Ellie surprises you by wrapping her slender arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly before she leaves out the door. You watch her frame grow tiny in the distance, her words lingering. 

I wish I could just like someone else.

And then suddenly it all becomes clear; the solution to your dilemma. 

You need to get Jennifer interested in someone else. 

Transferring her affection to a new guy shouldn't be a problem considering she hasn't actually dated Joel or formed true feelings. She said herself she just wanted a distraction, a challenge, something fun. And if something comes of you and Joel. . . well, you’ll confess it later. You’ll tell her it began well after her crush dissipated.

After a few days of casual eavesdropping and nosing around town you find out that Oliver Chase, the butchers assistant is single having recently broken up with his girlfriend. He's tall with light hair and a strong jaw.

He's always been shy but now without his girlfriend by his side you notice he seems to sink into himself further. Someone like Jennifer would be perfect for him, someone to bring him out of his shell.

You find out what time he eats breakfast in the dining hall and you drag Jennifer with you there one morning, positioning her so that she's in his eye line. 

“Why are we here this early?”

“I wanna take advantage of the weather before the bad winter storms come in.”

It’s a pathetic excuse, but Jennifer seems to buy it. She digs into her pancakes with gusto, yawning as you covertly spy the table by the window where Oliver sits eating his breakfast and reading.

Several women perch on either side of him at the table. Younger single men like Oliver are a rarity in Jackson city and the young women have come out in droves. Some laugh, tossing their hair, others bring him coffee with shy smiles.

"He's handsome," you say, nudging Jennifer with your spoon. She yawns again, raising a tired brow.

"Huh? Who?"

"Oliver," you say subtly motioning over your shoulder. "Butcher’s son."

Jennifer gives him a cursory look before smirking over at you. 

"Aren't you interested in Luke?"

Shit. 

"No. I meant for you."

"For me?"

Jennifer looks back at the man and you can see her deciding if he's worth her time. 

"Joel is too prickly for you," you trying to assure her, subtly motioning to the fair-haired man behind you. "You should go for him. He’s smart, he’s kind, and he’s handsome . . . What’s the downside?"

Jennifer glances at Oliver again, seeming to take your information in before shaking her head slightly.

"Yeah but Joel being a challenge is half the fun," Jennifer says. She tilts over in her chair, voice soft. "The thrill of the chase you know?"

"I think he's with someone."

You blurt it out, the panic overtaking you. You're still keeping Joel's secret, mostly. But at least this way you're letting Jennifer down easy. 

Jennifer's brows reach her hairline. "Really?"

"Yeah but ... Don't say anything. It’s just something Ellie mentioned the other day. I thought you should know."

Jennifer deflates slightly and you feel guilty. But at the same time Joel is only a distraction for her, a challenge. 

"Darn," Jennifer says and you watch as she picks at her cereal, looking somber. 

"Oliver is younger and cuter," you say quickly, trying to rouse her spirits. "Definitely a challenge since I can see half the women in here drooling over him since he's single now."

It's true; Oliver has already garnered a lot of attention. He's smiling shyly at the women chatting to him. You see her wavering, tapping her fork absently on the spongy top of her eggs.

“I also heard he was telling his friends he thought you were beautiful.”

Okay, this is a flat out lie.

But that’s only because you don’t think Oliver knows Jennifer yet. When he does, he’ll agree with this assessment.  Besides its not like Jennifer is gonna go up to him and ask for clarification.

“Really?”

Jennifer's light eyes drift over to him and she takes him in as if for the first time. When his eyes dart over to the table and meet hers you can almost see the minute she decides. 

She looks away from him demurely, her cheeks flushed and you know she has him in her sights. You try not to look too pleased, but you are. This will solve everything, you're sure of it. Your friend will be happy and you can continue on guilt-free. 

“I should find out if he’s going to the party,” Jennifer says thoughtfully.

“Everyone is,” you assure her. “But I’ll keep an ear out.”

Satisfied you tilt back in your chair, trying not to grin too widely. Breakfast tastes sweeter today; even the syrup for the pancakes which normally sticks to your teeth seems perfect. This is all going to work out now, you’re sure of it.

It’s funny to think that you’ll be going to this huge event. You rarely go to the events planned by the community, you skip out on the movie nights in favor of reading at home, your meals are eaten with your book as company (and lately Ellie or Jennifer) and then you're gone back home. 

You're still unsure around people, especially big groups. It makes you anxious when too many eyes are on you. But you think you're getting better. You feel bolder. You want to go to the dinner and dance. You want to enjoy yourself. You want to become a part of this community. You want to experience life instead of just existing. 

"Speaking of which I wanted to give you your Christmas present early," Jennifer says changing the subject with a twinkle in her eyes. “Do you have time after this to hang out?”  

"Huh?" You're confused. “Christmas present?”

“Yeah.”

 "But, I don't have anything for you."

"I don't need a gift," Jennifer rolls her eyes. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You already do so much for me,” you say almost pleading. “I can’t take anything else-“

Jennifer holds up a hand to your protests. 

"It's too late; I already started on it. So eat quick so we can get to the shop before it opens since you wanted to get an alarmingly early start to the day." 

You watch her eat from under your hair; you look at her beautifully sewn burgundy sweater with its woven rosettes along the neckline. You think of how kind she is and how much she’s gone through and it’s almost there on the tip of your tongue – a confession of everything. But then she swallows and stands before shooting you an excited giggle.

“Let’s go!"

“Where’re we going?”

Jennifer doesn’t answer, simply hooks her arm in yours and takes you both careening into the center of town. You keep up, breathlessly as the store fronts pass you by before you stop in front of a familiar spot - the textile shop.

You rarely go inside here because your clothes are in good durable shape. The walls are all butter yellow with the mismatched chairs around several baby pink rectangular tables. There are old Singer sewing machines resting on several.

The space is empty due to the hour and you take a moment to marvel at how organized it is. You look at the refurbished sewing machines, the scissors, the reams of fabric hung on the walls. 

“I have this gorgeous dark blue fabric that just came in and would look perfect with your complexion.”

When Jennifer opens the far closet you're shocked at how much fabric is labeled and organized. She moves quickly, her eyes sharp as she spots the velvety fabric she was referencing.

“Jennifer, I don’t understand.”

“I’m making a dress for you,” she says almost skipping around the room eagerly. “For the party. You can’t go to the party in jeans and a sweater, despite what Luke thinks. Every girl needs a fancy dress and you don’t have any.”

She brings the fabric over to you and you wipe your hands on your jeans, feeling like they’re not clean enough to be touching such a luxurious looking piece of cloth. It’s soft under your fingertips, the color a deep midnight blue that reminds you of the nights under the moon. It takes your breath away.

 “But that’ll take you so long.”

“No way, I’m so fast,” she says, ignoring the guilt in your eyes. “And I love making clothes so will you just shut up and let me make you something?”

You hiccup a laugh.

“Okay. But I’m making you so many pastries you’ll have to be carried out of your house.”

Jennifer laughs before she locks the front door to the shop, pulling down the blinds on the windows, confusing you.

"Here, come stand on the podium in your socks," she says grabbing the rest of her supplies. You do as she says, tossing off your boots at her instruction.

The podium is an overturned crate in front of a tall, skinny mirror. Hardly a boutique but from where you’re standing it feels like luxury. Sometimes you remember the days of scouring the mall with your sisters, trying on clothes and standing in front of big, beautiful mirrors from all angles. You were pretty then, insecure as all teenagers are, but you liked looking.

"Just go down to your bra and panties."

You hesitate at her request before you realize why she’s asking you to do this. She needs to measure you. Your cheeks flame as you do what she says, stepping out of your jeans, tugging off your sweater and leaving both in a pile beside the podium.

You don't look at yourself in the mirror; you actively turn to face away from it. You don't want to see how time has taken your looks and body. Don't want to focus on all that you don't have when you're in the same room as Jennifer. Your arms cover your chest in its flimsy bra and mismatched panties. 

If Jennifer notices your insecurity she says nothing. She just comes over with measuring tape over her shoulder, holding it up to various parts of your body and making notes on a pad of paper.

“Any specific style you like?”

“I don’t know any styles,” you confess. “There was this one dress though in a magazine. The one I wanted for my sweet sixteen.”

Jennifer raises a brow at this. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s probably stupid but I had it cut out for like three months. I was really excited about it. I saw it in this magazine and I asked my mom to get it made but . . . that was before… “

You don’t have to say it. Before everything went to shit. Jennifer nods, asking you to describe it. You close your eyes, trying your best to call forth the image of the dress. The one you thought would make you look sophisticated and beautiful. You describe it clumbsily, trying to motion with your hands where it had draped and where the shoulders fell and how it looked like little stars with rhinestones in the fabric.

For the next hour you stand facing away from the mirror as Jennifer drapes the fabric, pins it, furrows her brow and mutters. She does this often, muttering to herself and repositioning the clothing and asking you to twist this way and that.  

Finally she nods with satisfaction. 

"Turn around and tell me what you think."

You take a deep breath and spin, creaking open your eyes. You see your wincing expression as you turn to face the mirror and watch as it slowly morphs into surprise as you take in everything. 

"Obviously it'll be smoother, no pins and..." Jennifer's voice fades into the background as you look at yourself. 

The dress is a midnight sky blue fitted with small gold beads to look like stars. Jennifer has designed it to pinch at the waist and flow out to your ankles. The neckline is a sweetheart and the tight sleeves go just below your elbows. Perfect for the cold weather but also for dancing. You look like something out of a story, a princess or duchess. 

You imagine yourself swishing around the dance floor and you could cry at all Jennifer is offering you because it’s more than a dress, it’s a feeling. It’s a reprieve from the darkness of this world.

You feel beautiful. 

It's been so long since you've actually thought about your looks. So long since you've looked at clothing to accentuate your body instead of hiding it. So long since you actually felt beautiful. Tears burn the back of your eyes. 

"You don’t like it?”  Jennifer's reflection asks yours concerned. You blink back the tears before clearing your throat. 

"It's... It's the most beautiful thing I've ever worn."

Jennifer squeals excitedly, hugging you around the shoulders when you step down from the podium. You laugh overjoyed as you embrace her back and realize not only do you have a dress, but somehow along the way you've made a best friend.  

///

By the end of the week you're feeling better about things. You've gone to visit Maria a few times bringing more baking and flowers. She's pretty exhausted, in bed sleeping most of the time. But you still arrive and chat with her, rocking Douglas as you sit at the edge of her bed. 

She's thankful for your company and you're happy to be there to support her. You never let your eyes linger on the bandages around her wrist. When she tries to apologize to you for what happened, you wave it away as you smooth the sheets over her.

"I don't need you to apologize for something you can't control."

Tommy is always nearby, hovering outside the bedroom. He doesn't like leaving Maria alone and you know that must compound his workload. The second time you arrive you do so with several meals ready to be cooked and eaten for he and Maria. You don’t miss the sheen to his dark eyes.

"She really looks forward to your visits," Tommy enthuses to you quietly as he takes them from you. "You're the only one she lets come see her."

The only thing is every time you see Maria your nightmares are bad, getting worse with every subsequent visit. But you can't stop seeing her, not after what Tommy said. 

You haven't run into Joel since that afternoon, but you've been busy trying to be everything for everyone so it doesn’t shock you. Tomorrow you have patrols and you decide that once and for all when the two of you get a moment you’re going to ask him what it all meant. If the two of you are friends or if he regrets doing it. You need to know where he stands.

As for tonight, you're exhausted. You collapse into bed after a nice, steamy shower, bundling up with your quilts and hugging a pillow to your chest. You fall asleep fairly quickly, body curled on its side. 

It’s nighttime and your dream self has gone to check the traps you normally check up on during patrols. Chestnut whinnies nearby as you leave him, your feet crunching over the snow until you see the empty traps. There is blood along the serrated edges of some, but nothing is there. You turn to head back but suddenly you’re all alone. You call to Chestnut, but there is nothing but the howl of wind.

This is when the dream changes.

You’re running through the snow, calling for Chestnut over and over. Tears are burning your face and your legs ache because no matter how fast and far you keep coming back to that same collection of trees.

You stop when your air is gone, leaving you panting and kneeling on the ground. Your head jerks up when your name is called and the form of your sister comes from around the tree. She stands looking at you in the snow, her eyes nothing but white.

“Where were you?”

You jerk up in bed soaking wet with your face tear-stained. You were crying in your sleep again. You throw yourself from your bedroom and rush to the toilet, emptying the day’s contents into the bowl.

You get into the shower after, scrubbing the nightmare and the sweat and vomit from you. You brush your teeth and change into fresh pyjamas. You strip the bed and put on new sheets and you tell yourself that now you’ll be able to go back to sleep as you see the time is nearly two am. Only your brain is full of people and places and things, memories of the last week that assault you.

Charlotte.

Blood.

Maria.

Death.

You toss and turn for an hour, feeling the panic starting to creep up your spine. The inability to go back to sleep is really stressing you out now. You have to get a good night sleep before patrols. Patrols are the one day a week when you need to be laser focused. Being exhausted means overlooking noises or movements, it means potentially being sluggish in reacting. 

You hit your pillow in frustration when another half hour passes and you're no less tired. A cup of tea doesn't help and you've worked yourself up into a fit of tears. 

Charlotte.

Blood.

Razors.

Maria.

Death.

Lying.

Jennifer

Luke

Lying

Oliver

Butcher

Blood

Kissing

Joel

Chestnut

Joel

Joel

Joel. Joel. Joel.

His name is on loop, still there when you pull on your heavy jacket and gloves, wrapping your scarf around your neck and tug on your boots.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Still there when you make your way through the dark night towards Rancher Street in desperate search of deep brown eyes.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

The sound of his name in your head dims slightly when you knock gently on the door, praying someone hears you. But when nothing moves inside you give up, feeling pathetic for having come here in the first place. What were you thinking?

You’re at the first step when the door creaks open and your voice is whispered in a familiar husky baritone. You turn, seeing Joel in pajama pants and a tight white t-shirt that strains around his biceps. Despite everything you can’t stop the pulse that starts at the sight of it.

"You okay?"

You step towards him, keeping your voice at a whisper like his. Joel rubs his hands together, chasing away the cold from his fingertips. He blinks sleepily, carding his fingers through his tousled waves as you nod.

"Yeah."

"It's late."

"I know. I'm just... I just-" you can't find the words. You can't explain why it has you here at Joel's door at three in the morning. Joel steps forward, his eyes flicking around the darkened houses of the neighborhood before landing back on your face. 

"Tell me."

"I had a nightmare," you whisper. "A bad one."

The "so what?" is there in the slow blink he offers you. He shifts wearily, placing his shoulder against the door frame and staring at you through sleepily lowered lids. 

“Okay?”

"I need you to make it go quiet."

Joel raises a brow at your hushed confession; confusion clouding his features before realization belatedly crystallizes there. You’re sure he’s going to turn you down but instead he steps back, head tilting to indicate you should enter. 

"Come in. Just be quiet, Ellie's sleepin'."

You nod, moving across the threshold without hesitation and allowing him to lead you to the stairs by his silhouette. His hand reaches for you in the darkness, helping you up the stairs in the shadows. His palm slides down your forearm until his fingers lace with yours. 

You take it gratefully, navigating after him until you reach the threshold of his room. He pushes the door open with the tips of his fingers and it creaks gently. You follow him wordlessly, feeling a slight shiver go through you as he closes the door behind you both. 

Seeing Joel's room is surreal. In all the times on patrol you'd painted him as this otherworldly monster. A man more at home in a cave then a house. And yet here is this room that even in the darkness you can tell is peaceful and simple. Pale blue walls meet white wainscoting, a comfortable looking king bed lays unmade near the window. There is a pale grey rug on the floor, simple dresser and a guitar hung over by his closet. You think you see a record player and some LP’s, but that’s not your focus right now.

Joel removes his fingers from yours so that he can look at you head on, his arms across his chest like they always are when he’s confused. You stare down to see him wearing white cotton socks tonight. Something about it makes your heart jump. He’s so human in this house with its light walls and soft looking pillows on the bed.

“Why’re you really here?”

You stare at him, feeling your face go hot.

“I need you to tell me what to do.”

"Need or want?" Joel asks quietly, his dark eyes scanning yours. "Which is it?"

"Both."

"Why me?"

"Huh?"

"You got that boyfriend of yours," Joel murmurs, tongue trailing over his front teeth lazily. "Why not go to him?"

"Wh-I don't have a boyfriend," you say confused, your mind reaching for how Joel got to that conclusion. 

As you do you notice now that Joel is slowly circling you, shark-like, looking for blood in the water; a weakness. One foot in front of the other, each step slow and measured. His arm brushes yours as his meaning belatedly hits you and your eyes squint over your shoulder at him. 

"Wait, do you mean Luke?"

Joel's tanned face is muted and he stops his pacing directly in front of you. 

"Mhm... Luke." 

He spits the name out like it tastes sour on his tongue. You wince at the man being brought up, it feels like a strange third party has intruded this moment between you and Joel and you don't like it.

"He's not - we're not. No, that's not-" you shake your head sputtering, feeling flustered. "That's not us."

Joel cocks his head, his eyes narrowed.

"He turn you down?"

"No," you defend feeling both offended and exposed, head jerking back. "We've... It's not like that with him. He's just my friend." 

"You never go to him for this?" Joel purrs, his eyes slanted to you. "He never make it go quiet for you?"

"No."

"He’s no good at it?"

"No. I've just never asked him to do it." 

You're not surprised to feel your cheeks prickling with more heat at the readiness of that reply. 

"Only me," Joel amends in a rasped hush. 

You sigh up at him. "Only you." 

Joel stands there a moment longer and then his hand moves to your wrist, fingertips touching your fluttering pulse and tugging. You watch your hand as if it's disembodied, taking in as Joel lowers it, and how he curves your fingers around the vee of his pajama pants.  

His cock is already hard and warm and comes alive in your tentative grip. Joel grunts softly when you give an experimental squeeze. 

"This what you came for?" He asks in a rough whisper. 

You nod.

He keeps your hand there slowly caressing his cock, his free hand moving down between your legs. He has to crouch slightly to do it, his legs longer than yours. He slides his fingers between the seam of your slit through your sleep shorts. You know he can tell they're already sopping. 

"And this?" 

"Y-yes," you exhale. 

There's hesitation in him, a flash of it behind his eyes that trail over your face. He slides his fingers from between your legs and removes your hand from him. You're trembling in the semi darkness with him, eyes stuck on his face. 

He lowers his head, coming level with yours.

You don't flinch when his wide hand comes to rest at the back of your neck. Fingers slowly dig into the flesh and muscles there, urging your face towards his. You observe that his eyes are stuck on your quivering lips.  

"And this?" 

His voice is so quiet, so husky. Your mouth is barely a graze away from his and you pray he can't hear the way you breathe so shakily.  You lick your lips nervously, trying to find your voice to answer. He tilts his mouth as you part yours.

"Y-"

The word dies on your tongue the second Joel's mouth crashes into yours. It's all frantic and needy and clashing teeth and the strong feeling that Joel is trying to consume you, to steal your soul from your body. His arms wrap around your body, like he's never going to let you go before he pulls himself back. 

You're confused when Joel starts to peel the clothing from his body. He's never done this before. Never let you see all of him bare, even if it is in the silvery moonlight seeping in through his windowpane. 

You see the scar on his belly, the one you saw glimpses of that night of the snowstorm. Your fingers itch to touch it, to trace them down the jagged line but you worry he'd be upset and you don’t want that, especially not tonight. 

Joel sits himself on the edge of the bed, muscled thighs spread wide so you can see his jutting length. He sits with confidence, his broad chest a beautiful gold color even in the semi darkness of his bedroom. You long to touch him, but you stay standing there at his knees. 

"We're gonna do it my way, yeah?" 

"Yeah."

Joel nods before glancing over to the bedside table. You watch as his beautifully nude form tilts back, biceps curling as he holds himself back, looking at you.

"You're gonna take off all your clothes," Joel finally tells you as his cock twitches. "And you're gonna come stand right here in front of me."

Immediately you feel an intense relief at his words. Joel is taking charge. Joel is going to make it go quiet.

Joel Joel Joel.

You wonder what it'll be tonight. Will he kiss you more? Will he spend the night making you come with his tongue and lips like the snowstorm? Will he urge your mouth along his bobbing length?

You don't care, anything he wants he can have, anything he offers you’ll happily take. 

You pull off your clothes without hesitation, letting them fall to the ground in a quiet pile. Joel watches the clothing fall and when you’re fully nude his wide hands come to pull you between his parted legs. You continue to stand, looking down at him, his mouth mere inches from your heaving chest.

Silhouetted by the moon Joel takes his time travelling from your feet up to your face. Joel’s eyes devour you; that’s the only way to describe it. You see his eyes linger on the scar under your sternum and you quickly go to shield your chest and sex feeling shy. Joel’s eyes flick to your face and you wait for him to chastise you, but he doesn’t.

You watch as instead he shuffles back into the center of his bed, his muscled back resting against the wood headboard. When he’s settled he looks at you, a large hand patting the empty blanket next to him.

“Come ‘ere.”

You pause only out of surprise at the request. Joel seems to take this as refusal and you watch as his jaw tightens, but he says nothing. He just sits there, his heavy cock twitching. 

You feel strange crawling into his bed, atop his soft blue sheets. But you do it anyway, crawling over to him with a hopeful look on your face. The bed is still warm from when he was sleeping. You kneel between his legs, expecting that he’ll want oral.

"Get on my lap.”  

You swallow nervously as you look at him, eyes lingering on the scar at his side before going back to his face. Timidly you reach your forearms forward, place them on his warm shoulders. Joel nods, approvingly. It compels you to shuffle forward, his cock bobbing against your abdomen.

Delight sparks in your belly, like a flame being struck. What he’s offering is something you are shocked to find you desperately want. You lift a leg over his, delicately bracketing him before you pause. To sit on his lap means to take him all at once from this angle and you're not sure that you can. 

He watches silently as your forearms rest on his shoulders, the heat of your naked bodies warming one another. Your eyes flick to his cock and you swallow before darting them back to his impassive face. 

"Will you help me?" 

Joel's expression appears to soften at your quiet request.

“We don’t have t-“

“I want to.” Your voice holds no tremor of indecision. “Please, Joel.”

A large hand finds itself pressing against your lower back and you stagger not to fall forward in your semi-crouched position.  

"You really want this?”

You nod.

“Be good for me.”

You have no intention of being bad for Joel. Not tonight, not when just being here with him is chasing all the tendrils of your nightmares away. 

With a slow inhale you allow him to guide the mushroom head of his cock between your folds, while the other hand holds you in place. At the first brush of him against your clit you're shocked at how wet you are.

Joel exhales in what feels like approval.  

You can't help but chance a look down between your legs to watch it happening. Joel's eyes follow yours; darkening as his cock nudges your clit once more. You jolt pleasurably, your nipples tightening. Joel pauses before sliding back, coating himself in the start of your honeyed release.

Your hips roll without thought and when the tip of him nudges into your core you can't help but let out a small coo. Joel pauses, eyes fixed on your pulsing cunt before he slots himself there at your entrance. You both hold him there, your hands on his shoulders, your thighs burning from holding yourself in position on either side of him. 

His wide hands slide up your bare thighs slowly, leaving little bolts of pleasure in their wake. You watch as his hands and eyes soak in everything that yours do, the gold of his lower belly, the thick of his cock, the way both of you are breathing loudly. Finally his broad hands land on your hips, his thumb on the crease of your trembling thigh. 

"Sink on it." 

His voice is rough and low and he doesn't tear his eyes away from where you are about to connect. You don't know how long it's been for Joel, but it's been a while for you. So when your hips widen further and you finally sink onto the head of his cock you give out a stuttering whimper.

Joel's grip on your hips tightens, fingertips dimpling into the flesh to stop your further descent. 

His dark eyes move from where you connect to flick back up to your face, a brow raised, you okay?

You nod, breathing shakily. He waits a few moments before his grip lessens, hands still curved around your hips but no longer stopping you. 

Your eyes stay fixed on his cock, intimidated at the size, exhilarated at being so close to him, caught up in your own head as to what all of this means. The side of his forefinger's knuckle taps the bottom of your chin, startling you into looking back at his face. 

"Eyes on me."

You nod again, eyes fixed to his steady gaze and you feel exposed. Like he can read everything in your eyes. His knuckles hook under your chin, guiding your lips to his and you eagerly crane forward, eyes falling shut.

His mouth moves to yours, pressing firmly. You sigh gently into his mouth, melting against him. Your arms curl around his neck, holding him as you continue to sink onto his length. The pleasure begins to chase away the sting of his intrusion; you feel your body start to move. 

"Just like that," he purrs, his forehead pressing to yours. You know he’s watching again, utterly entranced with the sight of his cock disappearing into you.

Despite his size you're managing to accommodate him, even though you're thighs burn and your pussy is stretched further than it's ever been. You do as he says, skin prickling with delight as his hands grip the plush of your hips as you take him to the hilt, your cunt flush against the full hair at the base of his cock. 

He stretches you soundly, bumping up against your walls, filling you full of him until your ass meets his thighs. You both let out a groan in unison; his is a husky lower register and yours high and broken. 

Joel is inside of you. 

The two of you sit like this in the silence of mutual realization. That you're more connected than ever before - not fingers or tongues, but him filling you to the brim and you accepting it. Joel groans lowly when you shift, his calloused hands resting against the outer top of your thighs.

For a moment the two of you just sit there looking at one another. You take this opportunity to look at the lines between his brows, the full of his pouty lips, the grey poking through his beard. He stares back at you, his eyes dancing around your features. You wonder what he sees.

Fuck," he says out of nowhere. "Fuck, one sec."

You're confused when he lifts you from his lap, urging you to kneel above the vee of his legs. 

You watch as Joel reaches into the bedside table to retrieve a little silver foil. His body stretches when he does that, allowing you to admire the strength of his arms, the ripple of his muscled back.  

He sits back and takes the condom from its sheath. And the moment isn't ruined; it isn't taken away by this preparation like you thought it might be. Instead you're thankful because you realize you want him to finish when he's inside of you. 

And when he finishes rolling the condom down his length you don't wait for him to tell you to come back. You crawl into his lap eagerly, elbows crooked around his neck before you sink onto him with a muffled sigh against his cheek. 

Joel's arms are around your waist immediately, grunting when he feels you urge him to go deeper. You pull back, wanting to see his expression as he slides into you. And when your ass hits the top of his thighs and he sits fully sheathed within you once again, you're gratified to see his eyes blown dark before rolling back into his head.

“Fuck.”

You stare into his face as you begin to shift, experimentally starting to slide along him the best you can. He holds you tightly against his body. The two of you rise and fall together, the creak of the bed and your mingled groans the symphony for your actions. 

Joel’s head is tilted back, little huffs of air escaping with each twist of your hips. Joel moves his large hands on your hips, guiding your movements back and forth slowly, causing your clit to brush up against his pubic bone at a delicious angle. 

"Doin' so good for me," he murmurs, his eyes shuttering. The praise warms you from the inside out, sending tiny bolts of lightning skittering up the top of your thighs. 

You can only hear his voice and the sounds you both make in this room. Your head is so blissfully full of Joel and empty of all fears that you don't realize you're smiling until Joel quirks his brow at you. 

"Somethin' funny?"

You can only shake your head in a slow daze, like you're coated in molasses. Joel's eyes scan your face, drinking in your expression and you think he understands because his grip tightens.  You know he can see your glassy, hooded expression and the way your mouth hangs open scant inches from his. You know that he knows nothing is funny to you right now; everything is just so blissfully perfect and quiet.

He kisses you fiercely, his hands gripping you tightly as he bounces you faster along his length, chasing his own high. The clapping of flesh, the sporadic grunts, the ripples of increasing pleasure 

"S'okay," he murmurs there, his voice rumbling against your throat. "I'm gonna take care a' you tonight." 

There's a tenderness in his tone tonight, a husky promise that you'll be stripped free of your anxieties. The tenderness makes you melt against him, your body pliant; a willing vessel for everything he'll give. 

He brings you so flush against him you're convinced he can feel your heartbeat. You moan softly while he bounces you gently in his lap, the sensation of pleasure building with each pass of his cock gliding against your clit and hitting you deep within your core.

"Uh huh, that's right," Joel says approvingly, nodding as he stares back at you with a slow nod. "Feels good doesn't it?"

You nod dumbly, feeling as his cock saws between your legs at a steady pace. Words fail you, only your body can answer him with the way it responds to him. Your arms are loose on his shoulders and your mouth is open in a silent scream when he tilts you back, hitting your walls in such a way that you contract deliciously all over. 

“Mhm,” Joel groans, watching your brows saddle. “Atta girl.”

He lifts you gently as he thrusts up into you, burrowing between your legs with a measured calm that belies the lust-blown gaze he keeps on your face. The look that has your lower belly jumping and your cunt tightening. 

And suddenly the eye contact is too much. It's too much and your eyes are rolling back as your orgasm comes crashing down out of nowhere. Quiet, quiet and then.... A thundering tidal wave of sensation.  

One that has you pitching your head against Joel's shoulder, your moan coming from somewhere deep within your body. Like a newborn's cry, lusty and unused, waiting to touch the air for the first time. 

“Just like that," Joel pants, hips jumping. "Just like that. You take it. Lemme make it go quiet for you.”

The bed creaks gently and you feel the tacky sweat on Joel's shoulders. You can't help yourself but lick at the skin there, salty and damp. 

You cry out something intelligible into the curve of his broad shoulder, your elbows crooked around his neck as you cling to him. Joel's one arm is banded around your middle, the other hand cradling the back of your head. You twitch against him, clinging to him as if you're scared to let him go. 

"Again," he orders softly, stroking a hand down your spine as he says it.

And then it happens, almost on top of the last one. Like he made it happen just by demanding it. This one has you crying out his name sharply before letting it dissolve on his tongue when his mouth reaches yours. 

You’re momentarily disorientated when you feel his body twisting, his cock slipping from between your legs. He’s holding you tightly in his grip as he lays you down in his bed, your spine kissing the blanket over the mattress.

He kisses you the entire time, groaning softly as he maneuvers your legs to fall open, the glossy head of cock at your entrance.

“Want more?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your eyes going to his cock, watching as he feeds it into you from this angle. The sensation is even better than before. It makes your grip onto his waist as he fills you, making your pussy sting from the width of him.

Your thighs spread wide for him, cradling him there as he thrusts slowly and measured. He watches your face intently the entire time, almost to the point where you wonder if something is the matter with it, if he's seeing your faults. Under such perceived scrutiny you turn your head to the side, your thighs still cradling his hips as he thrusts into you. 

Immediately his hands are on either side of your face, urging you to look back to him. He pushes the hair from your eyes before his thumbs begin trailing over your lower lip in unison. 

"Don't hide from me." 

He holds himself there above you, hands holding you as you attempt a shallow nod. 

"Okay." 

Joel smiles gently, an uptick at the corner of his mouth. You watch as his eyes fall to your mouth and your pulse pounds. 

Joel's head tilts to capture your mouth in a gentle kiss. One that he doesn't break even as he flexes slowly into you. You kiss him back immediately, sighing at the sensation of his tongue dabbing yours. 

He takes his time teasing your lips with his, exploring your mouth with his tongue as your jaw opens, silently begging him to taste every inch of you. 

His arms are under your shoulder blades, holding you in an embrace while your fingers lace around this neck. You both rest your foreheads against one another, you bodies moving in sync, like the flow of the tide in and out. 

As the pleasure increases between your legs you have the realization that sex never felt like this with Chiyo, or any of the nameless men back in the QZ's. You never felt held or desired like this. The way Joel is gazing at you and embracing you has you quivering under him. 

His body dips, heavily resting on you as he saws between your legs. Your ankles go to link behind him and you feel him drive deeper into you. 

His hand loosens your wrists before flying to land on the mattress at either side of you. He tilts back slightly, watching his glazed cock fuck into you. You're glossy and wet at the top of your inner thighs, your mouth swollen from his stubbled kisses. 

"Joel," you whimper, lips pressed to his ear. You feel him shiver, a groan pulled from low in his belly at the sound of his name.

"Say my name again," Joel murmurs against the corner of your mouth. 

"Joel," you breathe, eyes locked on his. You're completely swept up in the moment, body flexing against his. "Joel, I'm gonna-" 

"I know," he groans, his hips slowly curving as you ride him. "Let go for me." 

And it's not a command or an order. It's a sweet urge of open desire written in his features. The shadow of a breathless grin as he watches you crest.  You feel the blissful freedom of no fear, only pleasure by the one man you never would have imagined could make you feel this perfect.

"That’s it," he manages when tilt your head back into the pillow. "Fuckin' made for my cock weren't you?"

He's babbling, so close to his own climax that you know he's just saying words. But you want to cry back yes, I was! Because it feels like you were. Like his body was meant to be yours, you were meant to nestle him inside you like this, his arms meant to wrap around you. 

His lips find yours as his hips pick up speed. He licks into your mouth, groaning as he pistons himself between your legs, your arms wrapped around one another tightly. It feels safe and it feels comforting. It makes the world go quiet but in a different way, one that confuses you as you begin to crest, your mouths pulling apart as he murmurs your name. 

He takes your wrists in his left hand, pinning them above your head. You gasp in surprise at this which soon fades into a sigh as his mouth finds your nipples. You arch into him as he kisses and licks and sucks them into straining points, his hips never stopping their gyrating. 

"Fuckin’ perfect," he huffs against your throat. "Every inch 'a you."

You roll your hips, preening when you hear him groan again, only this time it's low and rich and makes your skin prickle deliciously. 

"Wish I wasn't wearin a condom," he grunts, his body undulating against yours. "Wanna fuck you full 'a me."

For whatever reason this comment from him sends your pitching over the edge of arousal, your cunt tightening as you cry out. You twitch against him, clinging to him as if you're scared to let him go. His deep voice is breathless, his full mouth resting against your earlobe as he begins to fuck into you without abandon.

“Come for me.”

And then it happens, almost on top of the last one. Like he made it happen just by demanding it. This one has you crying out his name sharply before letting it dissolve on his tongue when his mouth reaches yours. You feel his hips stutter, his moans turning into gibberish like that’s it, you needed my cock didn’t you? Just my fuckin cock like a-

And then just as Joel comes, so do you. A third, unexpected time. 

Only it's nothing like you've ever felt before. Everything inside of your body lights up and then lets go at once. Your entire body twitches and the sensation of your orgasm is making your ears go momentarily dim, your vision blurry before whiting out completely.

It terrifies you. 

"Hey, hey, you okay?"

You’re groping in the darkness, terrified until your vision seems to come back to you. You blink rapidly to find yourself in Joel’s lap. He’s sitting with you in the bed, holding you against him. His eyes look concerned and as you come back to yourself you feel his hands embracing you.

“Hey, say somethin’.”

Joel's voice sounds far away, like he's underwater. You know he's holding you, you know you're awake but you feel... Weak. Wrung out.

“Joel…”

It’s all you can manage before unexpected tears slip down the end of your nose and land on Joel's chest no one is more surprised than you when he pulls you flush against him. 

“You’re okay,” he tells you as you sniffle.

He begins to rock you there in his lap and while his chest is hard the muscled arms that hold you do so with tenderness that cause more tears to flow. You can’t explain what’s happening, you don’t understand it yourself.

"I got you, I got you," he croons. 

And you believe him. 

You cling to him, crying gently into his chest, marveling at the warmth of him, the strength of him and the safety you feel with him. It makes you drowsy, all the emotions of the evening coming to hit you all at once.

You don’t know how it happens, but you fall asleep in his arms, startling yourself awake minutes later to find you’re tucked into his bed, your pajamas back on your body. You can hear him in the bathroom and you realize that this is when you should leave. When you should thank him for how he helped you and go.

But his bed is so soft and comfortable and he's making no indication that you need to leave. In fact you feel him settle in behind you as he returns from the bathroom in just his sleep pants and your heart leaps when you feel him shuffle towards you. 

"I should go," you start, no conviction in your tone. 

"No rush," he murmurs back. 

Joel's curling around you, a massive arm thrown over your waist. You feel a tingle when he pulls you back against him, your bottom against his hips.

His hand comes to cup your stomach under your sleep shirt, fingers splaying over your midsection as he settles, his fingertips trailing over the scar. You hold your breath waiting for him to ask. But instead he simply presses a kiss to your shoulder before murmuring huskily.

“Did it work? Is it quiet?”

“Yes,” you whisper gratefully. “It is.”

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

TAGLIST (PLEASE make sure your name is not already on here before asking me to tag)

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SPOILER WARNINGS - TRIGGER WARNINGS - READ HERE

sad tags: self harm, descriptions of self harm, blood, PTSD.

happy tags: mutual pining, idiots in love, p in v (FINALLY), dirty talk, emotional sex, soft!Joel is here and I love him.

[vwrites123]

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

[vwrites123]

So, I was reading two fics and now I can't find them :(

First one is Fushiguro Megumi x reader. They both get trapped by a powerful cursed spirit and they are like Adam and Eve until they are rescued (if I'm not mistaken, I think it was called paradise Lost, like the book, can't find it though).

Second one is a SMAU in which Bakogou is dared to sleep with reader (a virgin) before the year is over. I think the title is sth like "It's just a dare".

Please, if you know where I can find them, do tell 🤓

[vwrites123]

a game im playing on twt hehe