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fumifooms · 4 months

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Chilchuck’s wife and family - Facts, theories and headcanons

I want to keep this as a sort of masterpost on Chil’s family situation if I can, but if we get a lot of information on it (in the additional content that Kui is gonna make) that renders this more or less useless I probably won’t update this anymore. If you find other crumbs of information or I've said anything factually incorrect please do tell me! I'm planning to edit this as we go since I want to compile most if not all of the information and pages we get about this topic on here, and if I just wait to post it perfection paralysis will nip this in the bud. It focuses a lot on Chilchuck and Chilchuck's wife relationships, but the daughters and Chilchuck's own parents and siblings are talked about as well.

CW/disclaimer: This post talks about messy family dynamics and such, there’s no outright abuse I’m implying anywhere, but alcoholism and neglect are mentioned and discussed. I’m not here to demonize anyone! I love every character involved and I just want to theorize about the topic as a layered issue that involves complex characters. Also, I try to use very transparent language as to when I’m citing or analyzing canon information and when I’m giving a personal interpretation or headcanoning.

Abbreviated table of content:

Timeline and circumstances

Possible strains on the marriage

The hair question. Confirmation on what his wife looks like?

Other family dynamic & post-canon theories & headcanons

Parenting style + misc in a reblog addition (new)

Let’s start with the facts, shall we?

Timeline and circumstances

So, we see that Chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends, and they married at 13 years old and had two children in that same year. Since half-foots reach the age of maturity at 14, they seem to be what we'd call teen parents. It's a bit debatable though, since Laios says the age of maturity for tallmen (humans) is 16 instead of 18 or even 21, so what's considered to be the age of maturity is a cultural thing and isn't fully reliable when we want to compare to our irl understanding and what developmental stage it perfectly aligns with. Also, during the succubus chapter Chichuck says that his daughters were all now of age to be independent, and Chilchuck's wife leaves to live with Flertom, which would mean that Puckpatti was independent at age 10 and lived away from home as well (since she's the third/last daughter). Ah yes another interesting thing to note is that we don’t know the pregnancy periods for the races, since Meijack and Flertom were born the same year. It could be tight timing or it could be something else, but I don’t think they’re twins, they keep talking about them being the oldest and the middle child, them being twins is definitely the sort of thing that would get mentioned.

Him starting working on the island notably happens just one year before his wife leaves him. I don't remember the other instances of him mentioning it though I feel like it happened, but since he started working at the Island's dungeon, working as a dungeon diver and then forming the half-foot guild, that probably means he started being away for longer periods of time and having a less reliable schedule on when he'd be coming back home. It is said that he went back home somewhat regularly iirc, though he usually ends up sleeping at the half-foot guild quarters. I'm not sure if Kahka Brud is also where he lived with his family, or just since he rented someplace new after she left him. He and his timeline state that he was born in a small village "northeast of the island", which he left at 14 one year after being married, but it isn’t stated where they go after so it’s unsure how far his home was from the island if it wasn’t in Kahka Brud. We don’t know when his father died so if that factors in to him leaving his village we have no clue.

Chil also says that he hasn’t seen or spoken with his wife nor daughters since the incident, which would mean he's gone 4 years without contact with his family during the events of canon. I don't remember if Chilchuck is said to exchange letters with his daughters, beyond the initial one from Flertom saying her mother was with her, so I've been assuming he hasn't.

He also says "For about ten years I’ve been travelling to dungeons in various areas and doing work" which considering he’s turning 29 that year would mean he started around 19 years old? The panel also gives details what sort of work he’s been doing. Either way it’s confirmed that Chilchuck travels for his work a lot.

In addition, since Chilchuck has the seal of approval of the bicorn + says so himself, he has always stayed faithful to his wife. So that means that unless he's had previous adventures before he was 14 and got married, he's never dated anyone else in his life, nor had romantic or sexual encounters/experiences with others in his 16 years of marriage right up to canon (year 514). I feel it’s safe to say that it’s implied that during all these years starting from when they were married, Chilchuck's wife was a housewife whose main job was taking care of the kids and the house.

Marcille's take on what happened is unreliable, as Kui even takes the time to directly say so in the Adventurer's Bible, so I don't want to use it as a baseline even if it offers some insight on what could have happened (her feeling out of place, leaving to test his love, etc etc).

What Chilchuck says seems to be accurate though since it pertains to his perspective of the events! Unlike how Marcille's theory flows, Chilchuck was aware that something was off before she left since she "suddenly fell into a bad mood".

Piecing everything together, my theory: Chilchuck and his wife were childhood friends and have always always sort of danced around of each other, the classic movie love story with childhood sweethearts, until they ultimately confessed and got together. While dating, Chilchuck's wife becomes pregnant and they're both unequiped to deal with the situation but decide to marry, either a bit forced in order to cover it up or hopeful to make the best of it. They make it work as they can and Chilchuck works to provide for the family while she takes care of the home and the kids, which means that even though he's not a deadbeat father (he cares, he was at least a bit involved in their lives and raising them since for example he knows how to braid hair after all) he ends up being rather absent from home. It only gets worse over the years, especially when Chilchuck starts working further and further away from home and coming home less often, and since Puckpatti left home Chilchuck's wife is alone at home most of the time, never knowing when Chilchuck would be coming and if to prepare the table for two instead of one, or even if he'd be coming back at all since his work is dangerous. The humdrum and lifestyle would get to her, they've grown into different people in these 10 years of marriage and she doesn't feel the spark or feels valued & seen anymore, so she leaves. He feels confused and betrayed which turns into anger so he doesn’t try to reach out and mend things, and with the way he says they’re estranged and he moves away I think he’s avoiding his family somewhat.

Possible strains on the marriage

Tfw all your daughters are independent and your husband is gone to work almost all the time and he barely even tells you that he loves you, is there even a reason to stay together anymore? Every day it’s just you and an empty house and chores to do, wondering if you have to cook for one or for two today.

Alright it’s analysis and theorizing time! Although there are more facts down in this post if you care about Chilchuck's wife's appearajce, Chilchuck's parents & siblings or the kids, the essential facts so to speak were all in the first part.

We don't see Chilchuck showing any discontent with his wife through the manga so I'm assuming that he was content in his marriage, happy with his wife, and with how he stayed faithful to her even in the 4 years after she left (and never stopped calling her his wife. Which also shows a weird stubborn attitude since he wasn’t planning on reaching out to her and mend things but I’ll put aside the possible entitlement/coping mechanism for another time) I think he truly loved her and still does. Since she left him and not the reverse, I'm putting a lot of emphasis on his wife's side of things. Especially since we do see how Chilchuck is at work quite a bit but never see how he is at home. I’ll be sounding harsh towards Chil on this but he’s pretty much the only party we can criticize since we don’t know her, I still side with Chil on the leaving issue though, he’s justifiably pissed if she left without a word what the hell even.

Alcoholism and health

Chilchuck’s favorite food as listed in the Adventurer’s Bible is beer, and it’s shown that he’s prone to drinking until drunk whenever he gets the opportunity to. A cheerful drunk is still a drunk. (Extra reading: if interested here's a oneshot FMA fanfic by a friend that goes in depth about this very topic that really illustrates what sort of family dynamic that can bring about. It’s not dunmeshi but it’s a good read.) Chilchuck is also canonically underweight, starving himself for a strict weight management diet (Extra reading: you can look at a short compilation post about that here). Did you know under eating makes one irritable? And this is on top of Chilchuck sometimes/regularly coming back home with "horrible injuries", since Marcille guesses it and he acts like she’s dead right on everything that far.

It’s rough seeing someone you love mistreat themselves, not being able to shake them out of that and having to stay to see them wasting away. It’s rough seeing them put their work above their own health. Putting their work even above their family. Putting alcohol over family time. It's not that simple, but there's always that element when asking someone you love to tone it down with things like alcohol or such, that if they refuse, then it feels like they value that thing more than they value your feelings or opinions. That they love alcohol more than they love you.

You know how there’s often this thing of "Well I’m providing everything for this family, so whatever else that I do you don’t get to complain." I do think that it’s something they’d have argued over a little bit, not that he’d say it that way, but the essence of it. "Chilchuck, you’re drinking a lot of alcohol often, I’m worried maybe you should ease up on it." "This is what I want to do in my free time, give me a break.", "Dear, your mood gets worse when you’re hungry, I really think you should stop dieting-" "Would you rather I die in a trap because I was too heavy?", "Honey I don’t like when you work so far away from home for so long" "Well what else can I do, do you have any better idea?". That sort of thing. Even if not being passive agressive or snappy, or even spoken upon, these situations can cause tension, or a feeling of powerlessness or imbalance in the relationship. Although I personally feel like they were both rather passive in their relationship (thus having little arguments), which itself can be a problem since yes they let each other live but they grew more distant and less communicative as a result, more on that later. Content and tolerating, rather than happy and fulfilled.

Workaholism and long distance

Spending a lot (or even a majority?) of time away from home for years and years obviously can strain relationships in many ways. Besides becoming more distant, both with his wife and his daughters, there's just that side that maybe you grow apart or you end up not knowing them all that well. Like the fictional dialogue excerpts I wrote just above, the way Chilchuck puts work above most things can by itself be the source of a lot of unhealthy habits and strains that could not only hurt himself but his relationships too. Devoted doesn’t mean attentive, even if Chilchuck 100% devotes himself to only her romantically and works in the goal to support her that doesn’t transfer into being there for her, even when he physically is.

An absent father isn't necessarily a deadbeat father, but an absent father is absent. And alright, we don’t know what his schedule was like exactly, but he was busy and traveled around, I think it’s fair to assume that if we were to make comparisons it’d be like parents irl who are often on work trips. We don't know what Chilchuck's wife's social circle is like, but regardless of how big or small or supportive it is it would be easy to get lonely I think. Besides raising the kids undoubtedly falling more onto her shoulders as well. Managing a household can be very hard and tiring even when not alone, I can imagine she felt like she missed the support of Chilchuck either as help or comfort oftentimes. We know very little about her, but I don't get the impression that she'd build up resentment over it except maybe her ‘falling into a bad mood’, but exhaustion? Absolutely.

It’s also implied imo, even beyond Chil not often being at home, that they rarely go out together. And that could very well be part of why she was mad after the outing. In Marcille’s theory she says that her wife felt out of place amongst all the cool adventurer coworkers, and if it’s a rare time that they go out together and it was supposed to be about her meeting his coworkers… I feel like what could have happened was that she felt out of place yes, and even moreso if she ended up not participating in conversations much because of it and no one really seemed to care, and the evening was all Chilchuck and his coworkers chatting it up as always and she was an outsider, if she sort of just faded into the background, if it felt like nothing would have changed wether she was there or not... If she felt like her presence didn’t matter on this special outing that rarely happened, it could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back for her to want to leave, definitely. He finally comes back after a long work travel and they finally go out and this is what their quality time is like? The outing that was supposed to be about her & them both ended up being all about him, and once more she was supposed to just orbit around him and his life without complaint or her own selfish wants like a devoted wife. With how Chil said that she got mad "all of a sudden" on the way home and he didn’t know why, plus that he was probably drunk (which may very well have made the whole thing worse), I feel like it supports that he didn’t pay her much attention during the evening, not that I’m assigning him ill intent at all, I’m sure that for him, it was a casual and fun night out and he didn’t think it'd been unpleasant or alienating for her.

That night

And all of this speculation in order to try and figure… What happened? Why did she leave? I've already gone into it a fair bit, but this is where I discuss it fully in depth.

We can’t rely on Marcille’s theory. Neither in the why she felt so out of place enough to want to leave, nor if her intention when leaving was to "test" him. I definitely agree that the reason why she left is layered and that the night/outing was the straw that broke the camel’s back more than the cause perse, but besides that it’s hard to say how much of it was impulsive and how much was because nothing else had worked to fix their relationship, or how long she'd been thinking of maybe leaving him.

Personally my favorite interpretation isn't that she found herself to be boring surrounded with Chilchuck's adventurer coworkers, or her reason for leaving is super centered around insecurity and if Chilchuck even loves her anymore, but that she sees how rich and eventful Chilchuck's life is and at the same time realizes how stagnant her own life has been. Chilchuck has adventurers for coworkers and they go out to bars and spend evenings together chatting it up, while she always does the same house chores every day and waits, and wonders, uncertain about when her huband would come back, and waits some more. She has a sort of passive role in her own life that gets pulled in one way or another by the people around her at their whims and needs, which is also a recurring theme in the manga: having a passive role in your own life, or a role that's devoted to others. Like with Falin who's always following her parents' directives or following Laios around, being the party's healer and eventually sacrificing herself for Laios and Marcille (she also doesn't seem to think much of marriage, as seen with Shuro proposing to her and her not having answered yet, which fits with how she was supposed to have an arranged marriage in her hometown too; a loveless marriage isn't something alarming to her). Izutsumi too, whose whole arc is about her gaining freedom and figuring out how to use this empowerment for herself and what she wants.

So she'd sit there, not knowing anyone except Chilchuck and not being able to follow their conversations about dungeons, and think about how this is a world she's totally apart from. How she knows so little of the world compared to him. She'd realize that while she's always waiting for Chilchuck to come home, dedicated to him and their family, Chilchuck's world doesn't stop and end at where and when he sees her, that while she's waiting he's living and experiencing things and being self-fulfilled. She's so passive and devoted and her tasks seem almost senseless now that the house is empty except for her, and in that time he's formed half-foot unions and she understands so little of what his life has become outside of her sight. This isn't a diss on Chilchuck or his attitude, I just think that it'd make her ponder about happiness and lifestyles, what's worth it and if she's content with her life. I think she'd find that her and Chilchuck aren't on the same page anymore, and probably they don't communicate much or even that they don't know how to communicate with each other anymore.

Other factors

They really do seem to be on different pages and not know how to communicate with each other well, since for example Chilchuck thinks that on the way back home she "suddenly" fell into a bad mood and seemingly left it alone, or otherwise they didn't talk until he knew what was wrong. Or like how she left and Chilchuck never reached out to her to talk or mend things, just like she never reached out either. According to Marcille it could be that she wanted to "test his love" and see if he'd even care if she was gone, but Chilchuck just got angry that she left like that and never reached out to her, so if that's true they definitely have incompatible expectations or ways to deal with things like that. Maybe she thought of leaving as something he should react to by trying to win her back, but Chilchuck did nothing and let her do her thing, and tbh if that were me I'd also have waited on her to reach out because I figure out that if someone leaves me they want space from me idk. He seems to be rather passive when it comes to interpersonal relationships and how they can mess up, made an analysis post here that talks about it, so the way he reacted by not reacting doesn't feel surprising, maybe she didn't know/remember that part of him, or wanted to shake him out of that tendency. He has no clue why she left, and there are just so many misunderstandings here that it's impossible to know what happened and how she felt and what she wanted for the future.

Also, we’re shown that younger Chilchuck, when he started dungeon crawling, is much more "innocent" and optimistic, less closed off on himself and bitter, and maybe he hasn't even developed his famous "sarcastic retorts" and "abusive remarks" yet as is plastered on all his character introductions and stats. Chilchuck has definitely changed a lot over the years, and some would argue not for the better. Staying with someone for so long has implications that they'll change and be different of course, but signing up for marriage with someone can still leave you questioning that choice decades down the line when they're so different

We get to see his freckles fade in sync with his corruption arc /j

Tfw when you can’t recognize the man you fell in love with.

The hair question

Edit 1/13/2024 leak!!!! Things aren’t officially confirmed but this is a safe bet. You can still read this section to see my reasoning to thinking she had black hair prior to this tho haha

It's not all that important rationally, but the community's been split on the topic: is Chilchuck's wife blonde or not?

Kui highlights Chilchuck being attracted to blondes a grand total of three times, and many assume that his wife is blonde due to this. However, the only vision we see of Chilchuck's wife is Marcille imagining herself as a halfling, so it's up for debate! Flertom has black hair, and that's mostly been the key clue that has people arguing.

I'm not an expert in genetics but black hair is a dominant gene, but it also doesn't mean a black haired parent can't have a brown haired kid, or that two brown haired parents can't have a kid with black hair. As long as one of the parents have it in their genetic code from somewhere in their family tree, it's possible, if not maybe unlikely.

People have been taking Flertom having black hair as evidence that Chilchuck's wife has black hair, but it could be Chilchuck that has the gene and could pass it on. Although...

That seems unlikely. We don't know what Chilchuck's elder brother's hair color was, and his elder sister does have a darker brown hair color, but in the case their parents had black hair or the gene for it, it seems highly unlikely if not impossible for the dominant black hair gene to miss this many amount of time in the gene russian roulette game.

And so I shall now call a witness to the stand, and you reader shall be the judge… Dandan.

You know, this guy? He makes appearances throughout the whole manga, but only has one spoken line in an easy to brush over flashback iirc. He's most often seen hanging out around Chilchuck and other half-foots, but it's unsure how far back he and Chilchuck go.

Now. Remember how Chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends? What if, and hear me out, what if Dandan is related to her. A cousin, or a sibling. Or maybe he's Chilchuck's cousin, even, if we go the reverse route.

The chapter cover

Look at the chapter cover below! We see each member of the main party at a table that's meaningful to them and their history, mostly showing themes of family, community and routine. Laios and Falin sharing a meal by themselves, Marcille at a meal in the cafeteria at the magic academy, Senshi by himself cooking in the dungeon, Izutsumi with Inutade at the Nakamoto household, and... Chilchuck, surrounded by much more mysterious and unknown characters and surroundings.

The only face we see besides the infant is a young one on the left which strikes me as looking a ton like Chilchuck! I doubt it's Meijack or Puckpatti, or someone else, especially since Chilchuck left his hometown pretty early which must make family gatherings harder (and routine is implied with the others’ panels). If it were Meijack I think Kui would have drawn it to more closely match her too, and have her usual freckles. I also don't think it's just Chilchuck and his own family, since if that's Chilchuck the only sibling with black hair he could have is his elder brother and the infant in the middle is clearly, well an infant.

My thoughts are that the table is shared with family friends, or at least members of the community. The elderly person implies that either there's extended family or it’s a gathering, especially if Chilchuck's grandparents don't live with them. Community is implied to be very important with half-foots imo, and if Chilchuck is from a small hometown like he says that would surprise me even less. Childhood friends are often brought together as friends because of circumstances, such as proximity or their families being friends! Doesn't that kid almost off-panel on the right, with a Flertom-like hairstyle and black hair, look to be the same age as the Chilchuck on the left? 👀

Also… Notice the dragon plush she’s holding?

Passed down from mom to daughter? The "most likely belonged to his daughters" is interesting too

If he is related, Dandan could be the infant. I suppose he doesn't end up mattering all that much in the end if you theorize that the Flertom-like kid is his wife on its own though haha. But wether or not you think that this is convincing enough, it's all we have on the topic for now.

Ah yes! Lastly, I've seen the sentiment around that his wife should be blonde, that Chilchuck's taste for blondes, if not the thing that brought them together, should be an acquired taste from loving his wife. That if that's not the case, then Chilchuck's type being blondes is either out of place or insuting or unromantic, etc etc. I can't help but disagree! I think, especially with how Chilchuck and his wife are domestic and all about knowing each from a young age, familiarity etc etc, that it would be so sweet if she wasn't his type! Loving someone so deeply, even if they aren't an idealized type... Which is a common theme/story & character beat in Dungeon Meshi.

Family dynamic theories

Meijack is the most capable, takes after her father the most, seems to have her own business as a locksmith but has a stable steady life. Flertom is the most social, she works at a tavern which seems stable and is ambitious with marriage plans, she has a caring side to her since she sent her dad a handmade gift. Puckpatti is the most upbeat, though she has the most unstable lifestyle, seemingly doing odd jobs.

His daughters do seem well adjusted, which encourages me in that their family seems amicable on the whole and (at the very least) decently functional. We don’t hear what they think of Chilchuck but presumably none of them are on bad terms with him or each other. Flertom does say that "half-foot men are stingy" which, gee, I wonder what half-foot man would have made taught her that- though it does also seem to be a racial stereotype in general, with how for example Namari also says to "steer clear from stores with half-foot clerks".

Flertom seems to be the only one who reached out after their mother left (the only one who's mentioned to have done so at least), and it's because she was the one who took in her mother. It’s not implied that they exchange letters regularly too iirc, it possibly was the only letter they've exchanged since then. I wonder if the daughters even know the full story, if their mother told them all about it or very little. Maybe some are pretty out of the loop, or more distant.

It strikes me that they don't seem to be very close. We're not shown anything that leads us to believe they don't like their father, but I think they're so used to him being absent for work that such distance is normal for them and they don't really long for a deeper relationship or to see him often. They were already out of the house and it seems like they didn't see each other much at that time either so for them it would be just a bit less than the regular amount of Dad time. It's been 4 years Chilchuck what are you doing... But yeah! From what we see they seem mostly unaffected, almost indifferent, not that we can truly tell. I imagine Flertom is the one most attached to Chilchuck with how she sent him a handmade cowl, and I think he rubbed off the most on Meijack teachings wise (besides her attitude, she’s also the one who still wears braids, and we see that Chilchuck braids hair). It makes sense, since they're oldest, and on the contrary I think Puckpatti is the one that knows her father the least. It'd fit the timeline with him working away more while she grew up imo.

Wouldn't it be interesting then that she's the one that Chilchuck says is carefree, in the official translation "doesn't treat life real seriously"? That she's the most optimistic, the most go-with-the-flow, out of the bunch? To me that sounds like a result from her being the youngest and Chil being the most often at work, thus her getting raised by her mother without as much involvement from Chil. Far be it from me to say Chilchuck would raise his daughters to be unhappy btw, not at all, we just all know what down-to-earth values he wants others to have so he doesn't have to worry about them.

Although… Puckpatti spotted?? Seems like he wants to stop her from buying something? His heart meter for her is full <3 (Note: I’ve seen it be argued that this could be his wife. I disagree, since the "stop them" and way that the long haired one is off-center compared to everyone else gives the sense that it’s many of his daughters, and the fact that it’s styled after a dating sim doesn’t mean it’s romantic love as we see with the others. Otherwise imagine being her wife and he tells you not to buy stuff when you go shopping together rip)

Headcanons time:

When naming the daughters, together they choose a pool of names they’d like but only one has the final say, and they alternate between who that is. Chilchuck sticks around more near the end of her pregnancies, and he hasn’t missed any of their births. I don’t have any opinions on who named who right now, but there could be some interesting stuff to theorize with Puckpatti, like them taking extra care picking the name together because they settled on her being their last daughter for fluff, or it was supposed to be Chilchuck but he was so busy that he ended up not picking in time and she was the one to name her for angst.

Actually scratch that I have a new theory : What if it’s actually customary for each parent to pick one half of their half-foot kid’s name? So then each would have chosen half of each girl’s name… And this could be why Chil calls Puckpatti Patti instead of Puck which is her first name, because he’s stubborn since Patti was his pick lmaoooo. Pattipuck doesn’t have the same ring to it alas, his wife was so right

Chilchuck liked to do activities with the girls when they were young. He's not opposed to relaxing at home with them perse, but he likes to do workshops with stuff like arts & crafts to develop their agility some. I don't think they'd do much outings to places like restaurants or theatres for money reason, and I don't think Chilchuck is much of an outdoors type, but he could accompany them to nice fields to play in, or in winter places to play in snow and sled, and organize some activities at home. He's not home very often so when he is he likes to take it easy as a break from work and values the time he gets with his family.

Chilchuck would sometimes work from home as a locksmith, say, unlocking a chest for a customer. In those times, Meijack would take interest and watch him work, even handing him the tools he needs as he goes. In this way, Chilchuck taught her a lot about the work of a locksmith over time. He's also the one that would oil door hinges or do renovation around the house- when he's available.

Like the plushies under his table in his home that we see in illustrations, Chilchuck has a lot of mementos from his daughter (and his wife) he keeps around. Sometimes they take a bothersome amount of place, but throwing anything out isn't something he's seriously willing to consider. Flertom's the most artistic and she used to help with sewing clothes back together, so he has a cheap ceramic mug painted by her when she was really young and small embroideries around.

Imo Meijack would be the most distant in the present. Flertom makes efforts for her parents and is pretty involved, and Puckpatti's distance is more out of being a bit airheaded and being busy + not having a great grasp on time or what's a normal amount of family contact, but Meijack's the one who knowingly and intentionally keeps some distance. I think she’d be the least optimistic about their family situation, and although she’d be hopeful when Chilchuck reached out to them again she’d be a but hesitant. I think Meijack would hold some grudges, being the one most critical of their parenting, both grateful to her dad for working so hard for them and saddened that he wasn't in their life more. Since Flertom was born in the same year I think it’s possible that Meijack was pushed aside a bit to take care of the younger baby more, out of necessity rather than lack of love. Her mom probably needed a lot of help around the house too. Flertom wasn’t blind either, and she cared about & noticed her mom’s emotional states, but she’s on the whole more hopeful and forgiving.

This is my most far fetched one but it is a hc after all, but I think it'd be interesting if one of them had food hoarding tendencies/stress. I like to think it's Flertom, because she's the middle child and would get told that her older sister and younger sister are "growing and need the food" so she wouldn't be allowed to take as much refill or such, add that to them not having much money to frivolously spend on food and that makes a kid who's worried about not eating to her hunger and tends to be possessive over food (I'm projecting). Differential treatment is inevitable in families with many siblings, and it can manifest in small or big ways, maybe they realize it maybe they don't. Working in a tavern has helped eased that tendency of her though, and while she does diet a bit she always leaves a meal feeling satisfied.

When they were younger, Flertom was a real firecracker, loud and spirited with some troublemaking tendencies! She was the daughter that got in trouble & got scolded the most. You can still see slivers of it now that she’s an adult, but she’s much more poised and diligent. She has much more acquaintances than friends, but she has a couple of best friends and usually gets along well with most people. Puckpatti was always a bit head in the cloud, very kind if not gullible, and tended to make friends somewhat easily but didn’t keep them for long, preferring to keep meeting new people and not keeping in touch well. She isn’t super talkative but tends to ramble when she does. Meijack is very introverted, she has more trouble making friends, she has a good handful though they don’t meet up often, her friendships tend to last and she’s close to them. She’s grown more confident over the years, less repressed and more quiet. Meijack as the big sister tended to be the listener for her younger sisters who had more social mishaps. Flertom has dated once before and it only cemented to her that she was going to have very high standards from then on.

Meijack wears thigh-high boots because she hates when sand, dirt or snow gets in her shoes. She wears practical clothing but avoids anything frilly or flashy. Puckpatti also dresses practically, but she does enjoy pretty clothes, it’s more out of necessity and due to not having enough money to indulge. Flertom has a social stable job and she loves prettying herself up (especially as she’s in search of a husband) so she’s the one who gets the most and nicest fashionable clothes and accessories.

Chilchuck is hinted to have had a rather dysfunctional family himself (alcoholic father, distant siblings, etc). So he doesn’t really have the best model on how to raise someone and such. I imagine it was a sort of neglectful home situation, where the kids are encouraged to be independent. If they didn’t have to work or help around much, then free range parenting sort of thing. We do see how the family has full and warm feasts, where someone cleans his mouth with a rag, so it’s not like he didn’t have a caring circle or a tragic childhood though! I don’t remember if it’s explicitely stated, but he’s heavily implied to having grown up poor, as most half-foots, and I just think it's the hardened hardworking family type of childhood where just like he does with others they instill somewhat harsh life lessons in him, which in turn encourages him to indulge in the simple pleasures of life like alcohol and sex, or at least women’s beauty and crass jokes. We do see he seems more optimistic when he's younger in flashbacks, so a bunch of his harsh view on the world is still likely learned and earned rather than taught. I still think he inherited many flawed views from how his father acted, like his attitude about excessive drinking not being a big deal and worth it. That work hard play hard, enjoy life die young mentality he has, shown mostly in the "alcohol" section of his Adventurer's Bible profile, could very well be partly a result of the general poverty half-foot communities are that he grew in as well, like how he doesn't hope for things to be as best as they could be and contends with good enough. As far as I remember, his mother is never mentioned, but I doubt it implies she was out of the picture. She was probably a regular sort of mother that took care of the home as well and was still around when his father died. It looks like there’s a good age gap between one sibling to the next, that could be interesting to dig into too.

A part of Chilchuck’s character is that he takes responsibility for safety and actions of people around him and is very often looking out for them to not do faux-pas wether socially or literally with stepping onto traps. The way he says "I’ve got three people to think of here" makes me think that’s also how he’d think about having to provide for his family, and that could be a source of stress and insecurity for him. Caring for others is a pretty integral part of his character and we see time and time again that his family is very important to him, in any case.

Post-canon

This pic has so much to say!! It’s the ‘thank you for reading’ double page spread where they’re going to a big dining table at the castle with Laios and the main gang. First family gathering in 4 years perhaps?! I’ll say, not feeling very hopeful that his wife isn’t in this, not even implied to be just off-panel with a hand or anything… I imagine before this he still talked to them at least a bit and figured their family situation out, but I think this is still in the early stages of reconnecting. Haha imagine being one of them and receiving a letter saying "Hi it’s been a while… I want to introduce you to my ex-coworker the king and his friends, you up for that?" I don’t want to reconsider all my hcs for this yet, but this pic does seemingly show an eagerness from all the daughters to reunite and reconnect! Meijack’s could be seen as more hesitant, but I think it’s just awkwardness from meeting so many new people, of high status no less. Chilchuck does seem awkward and somewhat self-conscious though, and while that could be just from say Marcille and the others meeting his daughters and him not knowing how to act, I think that also shows that Chilchuck is unsure how to act around his daughters too. Can’t blame him, I’d be stressed too. Anyways, the daughters are all dressed up! Puckpatti even brought flowers! And I doubt it’s just for Senshi, or just to be in with the king. Oh also also, Puckpatti chides Meijack here, seemingly on manners?, so that implies new/different family dynamics there~

We know with the succubus chapter that he does plan on reaching out to his wife again and shooting his shot, and when Marcille was dungeon lord he told her she could help think of a plan to make up with her together at which point Marcille showered him in gifts and flowers intended for her and his daughters. So we do know that whatever happens and however it happens, Chilchuck definitely will at least reach out to her to win her back or worse case scenario get closure on the situation.

These are his plans before it’s revealed that the Island is… Well, not an island but the golden kingdom, so the news that Laios is king and that might have changed them a bit, but I think he’s still gonna stick around to help with the half-foot guild for a while.

My personal ideal post-canon Chilchuck life is that after around a year or two of helping around in the golden kingdom, especially regarding half-foot working rights, he gets his shop and finally settles down. He prioritized the whole half-foot guild because there are changes to attend to and people to help, but also used that to procrastinate a bit on getting in touch with his wife again. He does send a letter though, and when she replies they then meet face to face. They explain how it was like on their end, their grievances and their feelings, and they do reconcile. But… It’s been 4 years and his wife has frankly moved on. She’d rather they stay as friends, and Chilchuck has mixed feelings on it but is ultimately fine with it. He was halfway resigned to not reconciling with his wife in canon after all. But no longer do they have cut contact! They get together with the girls for the holidays and the ambiance is nice! He starts exchanging letters more regularly. He also gets a second family of clingy asses with Izutsumi and the main gang and so though he lives alone in his shop he’s well surrounded and well loved, and his daughters visit to check up on him every so often.

I really like the… Maturity of Chilchuck’s plotline, if that makes sense? To me the ending that fits the most is him and his wife reconciling, but not getting back together. I like that they could still be adults about it and at least amicable even after divorce, and that that wouldn’t be treated as a tragic ending. In the end, they were childhood friends and teenage parents, they rushed things a bit and I genuinely think they’re just not that compatible. If not then, at least having it be a gradual process, getting back together and making it work until they’re truly comforatble with each other. Destroy the relationship to better build it again stronger!

Although, his arc in the manga is to allow himself to form connections and be optimistic, which would fit well with him and his wife getting back together. I def think Chil would get healthier post-canon which could fix the issues they had in their relationship though. Like for one he starts eating more, which improves mood & irritability & health, and also after the whole half-foot guild he plans to settle down with a shop so it wouldn’t be long distance or unstable anymore which would definitely give his wife some peace of mind. If they still do some long distance at first while he gets the half-foot guild stable, it’d be really cute if he sent pressed flowers with his letters to her… That could make a nice fic concept, like over time all the pressed flowers and exchanged letters hehe (oh shit that’s a nice title)

My post-canon timeline is Chilchuck lives a nice life living alone in his house except his friends all visit him and care and even tho he likes living alone it’s also bittersweet and every corner of his life is haunted by mementos of the ones he loves and the moments he had with them. But then it’s also like the shared duty of everyone to pass by his shop when they can and keep the old man company and sometimes that means many people come at the same time like if both Meijack and Marcille came the same day~ Cozy life, no regrets except a lil regrets still. That’s it that’s all I want.

Misc

I didn’t know where to put this, so new category time! Family truly is a central theme of Chilchuck’s character. His reaction to learning more about how life gets made is so awed by the wonder of the world. Life indeed…

The implication of this page is that Chil didn’t know about the science side of how procreation works, though of course he did know about the practical side of it. This is speculation, and we have no clue how widespread the information of how reproduction scientifically works lol, but I think it’s fair to think that half-foots’ education especially in smaller communities is handled by the parent, school of life style, or if there are schools then the education is very general and it probably ends early. I think this is supported by how for example half-foots’ jobs we’ve seen are based on experience rather than knowledge, like being a locksmith. Of course any job has its fair share of specialized knowledge to learn, but jobs you learn on the fly pretty well. This sort of dynamic contrasts a lot against elves many tallmen communities, like with the magic academy, where education and knowledge are valued almost above experience, this is what the mandrake chapter was all about after all. Poorer communities tend to have poorer education systems as well irl, it’s a whole issue.

So I already said my piece about his wife not being blonde and it being nice and romantic because literally you don’t need someone to be a beauty ideal to love them and that’s fine and normal and even more romantic imo. But!! I do have an headcanon, now that his wife’s appearance is all but explicitly confirmed. While their hair is blonde, yes their hair is wavy and the ‘main’ one has deep-set eyes, not unlike his wife! Now this is a ‘which came first the egg or the chicken’ question, but while most people seem to be assuming that he got with his wife because she was his type, since they’re childhood friends I feel like it’s his love for his wife that shaped his preferences in that deparment. Like ok he loves golden hair and hers is black, but isn’t it so much more romantic that he has so much love and devotion for his wife and has stared lovingly at it so much over the years, that it’d become his ideal? He loves her eyes <3

Conclusion

Reminder that I’ve got more stuff in a reblog addition now. What I've got left to add at some point:

Compile more info on Chilchuck's father and his other family

Reread the manga and catch details like exchanged letters & his work schedule. Reword some things to repeat myself less maybe

A buddy is planning to make a name analysis post for everyone, and I might have more to say especially about the daughters once I know what possible meaning their names have

Other stuff I may be forgetting about

And thus I leave you with a lil web weaving I made about Chil & his wife’s relationship~ And this is where I’d put panels of Chilchuck’s wife… IF THERE WERE ANY

Should we call Chilchuck's wife Mrs. Tims... We don't know dunmeshi marrital traditions though, and half-foot already have somewhat complex naming conventions... I hate that we don't really know if the daughters' last names are Chils or Chilz. Oh yeah the last names change each generation, that’s odd right? But in english it sounds like saying Chil’s, like, [father]’s, so I think this also supports how half-foots communities tend to be tightly knit and live in the present, for them to be like "Ooh so you’re [father]’s little one eh? I know who that is and this is insightful as to who your family is to me!". Iceland’s a place where last names are like this, though I don’t know about pros and cons of it in that context

Ah and I have a bittersweet spotify playlist about her and Chil too, here if ya want. That’s it the post is over

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #spoilers #chilchuck tims #delicious in dungeon #chilchuck's wife #chilchuck’s family #Tims family #puckpatti #meijack #flertom #Analysis #Meta #Despite my best tries I am not omnipresent it's always fun when piecing together these topics is a community effort!!#please do build upon this if you have anything to add #but yeah editing is up in the air. I'll probably be adding stuff maybe even cutting stuff out #this is a giant post i am slightly overwhelmed #Kui puts so much importance in details it's incredible. It truly feels worthwhile to get into the weeds #We support chilchuck’s wife on this blog #I covered how stressful her life could have been a bit in my Grind Me Down Sweetly fic funnily enough if ya want to give it a read. It has #Daughters mentions too hehe. And my post-canon marchil take #Oh also if there’s already theory and compilation posts out there about this i’m down to link them in or smth. I haven’t seen it done but #If it’s been then i’m very interested in reading & seeing #Apparently chilchuck being an absent dad is a heated debated topic. Oops #Pls do not murder me… Peace and love in the dungeon meshi fandom? He’s my second fave have mercy on this humble stan #This is 7k words btw. Pls do pick and choose what you’re interested in or skim or take breaks or anything

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shadeysprings · 1 year

Text

On the Lookout

—Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The excitement rolling through your veins as a new ranger in Jackson County turns into fear when you realize the true intentions of your partner.

Warnings: This is a dark fic. Noncon, unprotected sex, age gap (about over 20 years, reader is over 18), breeding kink, implied use of drugs, somnophilia. There may be more but kindly proceed with caution.

A/N: I know I promised something else but the pull of Joel is just too strong. As part of my sleepover, this is my second gift to all you amazing people. Might be a bit sloppy but oh well. Maybe some sort of spoiler if you haven't seen/played the game.

Your likes do nothing but your feedback and reblog are everything. Support content creators. Enjoy! ❤️

Purple and pink hues paint the sky, the beautiful sight making you smile as you peek out from the window of your garage home. The spring chill blows through the open pane, signifying a new day and the beginning of your new community duty as a ranger in Jackson County; a task you’ve been wanting since you and your dad joined the settlement.

The conversation you had with Maria two days ago is still fresh in your memory, how she pulled you aside while preparing lunch for the residents, looking at you with a worried expression while she explained the dangers of patrolling the perimeter. But such concerns didn’t dampen the excitement rushing through your veins, giving the county’s leader a smile of gratitude for giving you such a great opportunity to help the community along with a promise to do your best.

But doubts soon began swimming in your head as you watched the rangers take off that same evening. It made you think why, after several times asking Maria to switch your post, it’s just now that she agreed to the change. And your thoughts immediately shifted to Joel and Ellie finally having enough of your rambling about your distaste for working in the kitchen.

You don’t even question if Ellie caught on to your envy of her. That a kid of fifteen was already being one of the first picks amongst the others your age or older when going out to clear the area of infected and clickers alike. Though you try to reason with yourself that you’re good with a gun, Joel and Tommy said so themselves when you would tag along with the brothers and Ellie to go target practice at the edge of the county.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re ready.” Joel said when he caught you that night and asked if you were finally told the good news. “Your daddy would be very proud of you.” He added and that was enough for you to believe in yourself.

You take your dad’s old revolver and run your thumbs against the cylinder. They were empty of bullets when Joel gave them to you, rendering the weapon useless. But still, you keep it safely beside you in your bed, a small trinket to feel his presence and to give you a sense of safety despite his absence.

A breath of surprise escapes you when a knock resounds on your door.

“You up yet, sweetheart?” Joel calls from the other side. “We’ll be on the first group to ride out.”

“I’ll be right there.” You call back, placing the gun back under your pillow and checking your pack, making sure you brought everything you need before zipping it close and heading to the door.

Joel greets you with a smile when you open the door. “You ready?” He breathes.

“More than you know.” He chuckles at your response and gives you a playful wink. He then cocks his head to the side and you follow him after setting the locks of your door in place.

As the morning light shines down from the heavens, you can’t help but notice the difference in Joel’s features. His hair is combed back and his beard looks freshly trimmed, far from the usual unkempt look that you’re used to seeing. There even seems to be a spring in his gait, a sense of ease washing over him and in extension, bleeding over to you.

The chatter at the stable takes your attention off of Joel, a nervous smile grazing your lips as the reality of your first day as a ranger begins sinking in. You follow Joel and group up with the others around Tommy, Ellie standing at your side and greeting you a ��good morning’, one you return with the same exuberance.

“You ready to kick some infected butt?” She grins and you nod.

You can’t wait to learn the ropes and do something meaningful for the community that took in both you and your dad, to prove to them that you’re worth more than mixing stews and setting out plates at the mess hall.

You can’t wait to make your father proud.

“Ellie, you’ll be partnered up with me,” Tommy announces and you startle in surprise when Ellie cheers in excitement. “We’ll take the route east. The last patrol said they saw some infected scattered around the area.”

You tense slightly but make to hide it amongst the others. You didn’t want anyone to think you were weak and faint-hearted. That it was a mistake giving you a spot within the rangers.

You try to latch onto Ellie’s energy, keeping your morale high yet take some of Joel’s gravitas to give the impression that you’re serious about your job.

Once Ellie calms down, you scoot a little closer to her. “You’re not scared?” You whisper while Tommy continues giving the other pair their assignment.

“Scared of the infected?” She scoffs and then glances at Tommy. “A little, but Tommy will be with me and he’s a much better shot than Joel.” The grin on her face is mischievous, looking at your other side and sticking her tongue out at her surrogate father who only rolls his eyes at her.

“Aren’t you usually partnered with Joel though?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” She sighs playfully then stares ahead at the big wooden gates of the county. “But you’re here and he’s always partnered up with the new recruits.” She says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry, you’re in safe hands. Tommy may be great with a gun, but Joel—he’s better at surviving.”

You suddenly stand in attention when your name is called, your heart pounding in nervousness as Tommy checks his ledger before facing you.

“You’ll be partnered with Joel.” Tommy nods to his brother and you look to your side to see Joel already looking at you. “You both will take the lookout tower by the west ridge. It may be the farthest but it is the safest.” He states, flipping another page in his notebook.

“Updates on infected in the area?” Joel inquires.

“None for three weeks now. Though Dylan mentioned he saw some at the next ridge over.”

“They’d have to fall off to get to us, so I’m not worried.”

“You’ll be able to spot them from the tower. You’ll just have to keep watch though if you can get rid of them, that would be better.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Joel assures.

“Alright,” Tommy shouts and the chatter in the barn quickly dies down, seriousness waving over in the atmosphere. “Y’all know the drill, children. Run your routes, mark your log books, and clear any infected you see along the way. And if you run into something you can’t handle, you come back home. Am I clear?”

A resounding ‘yes’ echoes through the stable.

You look around when the others disperse from the group, feeling a little lost on what to do next. But a hand on your shoulder takes your attention, looking up to see Joel standing close, his fingers drumming over the strap of your pack.

“You wait for me up ahead. I’ll grab our horses and guns.” You nod in agreement at his words and leave him to stand by the open gate.

Slowly, the settlement begins to wake up, the sun peeking out from the mountains on the horizon and shining its light from the sky. You still can’t fathom how normal everything feels living in Jackson as you watch the residents greet each other with happiness, that somehow, you’ve gained some semblance of your old life before the pandemic struck.

From where you stand, the threat of the outside world feels distant, and that nothing could go wrong as long as you stay within the walls. But since that night your dad came home after a night patrolling the area, his body laying lifeless in the arms of Joel, you became a cynic.

His luck eventually had to run out and the bite marks that decorated his body along with the bullet lodged into the side of his head only proved it to be true. Joel tried to explain what had transpired, apologies spilling from his lips while he stayed with you to mourn for your father. But you knew well enough to piece things together, that what Joel did saved him rather than kill him. And for that, you were grateful.

Though you can’t help but think when it’ll be your turn.

“Seem to be digging deep there, sweetheart.”

Blinking away your thoughts, you turn to face Joel as he nears you. The reins of two horses clasped in one hand while the other carries two rifles.

“Uhh, it’s nothing.” You smile and reach for one of the horses. “Just—just thinking about my dad.”

He stays silent but gives you a nod of understanding, thankful for the lack of questions or explanations others usually give when you talk about your father. But with Joel, you don’t feel obligated to show a strong facade, to lie about being okay because out of everyone who showed you sympathy, he’s the one who understands you the most.

Pushing the thoughts of your dad at the back of your head, you take a firm grip on the saddle and lodge your foot into the stirrup, a strenuous groan erupting from your chest as you struggle to hoist yourself up. You fail a couple of times, dropping back to the ground yet you only push yourself to try harder. But each attempt leaves you frustrated, only successfully slinging your upper body atop the animal before you slide back to the ground once again.

“Here,” Joel nears you and you huff out a breath. “Let me help you, baby,” You startle slightly when his hands find purchase on your waist, his face only a breath away from your own when he speaks. “Grab tightly on the pommel and at the count of three, you push your foot and pull yourself up, okay?”

“Okay,” You mumble, your face heating up in embarrassment.

“One, two—” You do as he says, fingers gripping tightly on the pommel as he continues to count. “Three.” Kicking off the ground, you grunt as you pull your weight forward. “Straddle, baby.” He instructs and you carefully lift your other leg to stride over the horse, a blush creeping up your cheeks when you feel his hand caress the curve of your ass, only pulling away when you successfully take a seat.

“Good girl.” He praises and you look down at him when he gives your thigh a light pat, the heat on your face spreading down to your neck. “You know how to work one of these?” His question comes all of a sudden, holding out the rifle for you to take.

You reply with a shake of your head.

“Best I show you when we get to the tower.” He hums but still lets you keep the weapon, gesturing for you to sling it over your shoulder. “You got a gun?” He asks.

“Only my dad’s but I kept it at home.” You frown. “No bullets.”

He nods then reaches behind him and holds out a small pistol. “Feels like it weighs nothing.” You comment as you grip the gun, amazed at how light it feels in your grip.

“That’ll help you move and attack faster.” He notes. “An infected comes running at you, it’ll only be seconds from when you take it out and pull the trigger.”

“Got it.” You stare back at the gun before stowing it in your pack.

“Now, here are a few things you have to remember.” The seriousness in Joel’s tone makes you tighten your grip on the reins, keeping your focus on him as he lays down the rules. “Stay close to me. If something feels wrong, or you hear something that didn’t come from either of us, you tell me. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good. You’ll be okay,” He smiles, his hand resting once more on your thigh. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You smile back at him.

Without it being said, you trust Joel with your life. He’s taken it upon himself to look after you since your dad passed, even after insisting that he shouldn’t bother. But his persistence was impeccable and slowly, Joel became a constant entity in your life. And if there is anyone you could rely on to save you from any danger, it’s him.

If he and Ellie survived traveling all the way from Boston to Wyoming, a ride to the lookout tower would be nothing but a walk in the park.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You try to hide your discomfort as you glance at Joel, huffing out your pain as the horse continues to jog you on his back. You and Joel have been riding for almost two hours and it was after the first stop that your lower back began to protest getting back on the horse and riding further up the incline of the ridge.

You thought you’d be okay, that you came prepared for the intensity of being a ranger. But with each step the horse takes and even with just a small bump on the dirt path, your back screams for you to stop.

“It’s my back.” You admit, frowning to yourself as you try to keep still to at least alleviate any of the pain. “It’s my first time riding.”

You hear him sigh and it’s enough to make you feel worse. You broke a rule; you didn’t tell him that something was wrong when he specifically told you to do so.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks, concern laced in his voice.

“How far til we get there?”

“About twenty more minutes if we keep this pace. Five if we run.” He confirms, moving his horse closer to yours before pointing up ahead at the tower that grows larger by the second. “Can you hold up til we’re there?”

“Yeah,” You agree breathlessly. “I can manage.”

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as soon as you arrive at the foot of the tower. You steer your horse by the stairs and grip tightly on the saddle as you try to ease yourself down. But Joel is quick, his hand already reaching for your hip while the other makes to grab your hand and free your grip on the pommel.

“Nice and easy, sweetheart.” He says softly. “Arm around my shoulders.”

You do as you’re told and wrap your arms around his neck, allowing your legs to freely slide off the back of the animal. Though before your feet could even touch the ground, Joel hooks his arm under your legs, effectively carrying you as he makes his way to the steps of the tower.

“You don’t have to, Joel.” You tell him, feeling awkward to be carried like some child. “I can walk.”

“Can you?” You blink in surprise at his sternness. “It’s four flights of stairs.”

Four? You look up at the tower and swallow thickly upon seeing how high it is up close. You want to say no and agree to have him carry to the top but you’re unsure if Joel would even make it himself. He’s not that old, and the strength he shows is usually unmatched for a man his age. But you’d rather be cautious than selfish and the last thing you want is to injure the both of you and have the others come to your rescue—that is if the infected or raiders don’t get to you first.

So, you gauge the pain that radiates from your pelvis and throughout your lower back, determining that if you pace yourself properly, you’ll be able to make it without much hassle.

“I’ll keep up.” You tell him earnestly. “If I fall, I’ll call for help.”

You think for a split second that he would agree with you and put you down but from the way his mouth slants and his forehead creases, you can already tell that he’s made up his mind.

“I promised your daddy I’d take care of you before he died.” He says as he begins climbing up the steps, your eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears at the mention of him. “So that’s what I’ll do.”

You acquiesce to his decision and stay silent on the way up, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders while looking toward the trees scattering over at the next ridge over. The small ranger’s cottage takes your attention and your mind flutters into a daydream, thinking how peaceful it would have been to stay there alone and pass the time enjoying the scenery before the world went to shit.

You gasp in surprise when a couple of infected appear out of the blue, their screeches and grunts echoing throughout the vast clearing. You sense Joel stop from his ascent and you look up to meet his eyes, the worry ever-present in his hazel orbs.

“Infected.” You whisper and look back to the cottage, Joel following your line of sight, grunting before resuming his climb.

“We’ll take care of them.” He drones, his breathing slightly labored. “But we’ll take care of you first.”

The lookout tower is larger than you’ve anticipated, cleaner, and very much intact than the ones you’ve come across before. With the tower being the farthest checkpoint from Jackson, you’re certain that some of the night patrollers camp out here when the sun gets too low and the ride back is too dangerous to take. The single mattress lying in the corner is enough to prove your theory. And the cabinets lined on one side of the wall and locked shut with chains, you don’t doubt that it’s stocked full of supplies.

“You get comfortable,” Joel says as he takes you to the bed, a groan escaping his lips when he bends his knees and gently sets you down.

He makes quick work of you, hands taking hold of the straps of your pack and peeling it off your shoulders along with your leather jacket. Setting your things aside, he kneels in front of you and takes his bag next, flipping open the flap of a pocket and taking out an orange bottle with several pills sitting inside.

“How painful is it?” He asks. “From one to ten with ten being the highest.”

“A six?” You answer him, unsure.

You watch him hum in thought while he stares at the bottle, popping off the cap soon after and slipping two round white tablets into his palm.

“Better to take two, just to be sure you’ll be okay on our way back.” He states, taking your hand in his and placing the medicine in your hand. “Though you might get a little incoherent with it so best to lay down.”

Without hesitation, you toss the pills in your mouth and take the bottle of water he offers you to wash them down. You’re caught off guard when he suddenly places his hand on your cheek when you finish, your spine tensing as he runs his thumb across your lower lip—the gesture feeling too intimate—before pulling it down and urging you to open your mouth.

“Let me see.” He commands.

And you furrow your brow in confusion as to why he has to. You keep your mouth close but the tick in his jaw startles you. Doesn’t he trust you taking the pills? He wouldn’t be angry over that, would he? But nonetheless, you choose to disobey and part your lips for him to see your empty mouth.

“Good girl.” He grins and moves his finger under your chin to close your mouth again. But he keeps his hand on your face, his thumb rubbing light circles on the apple of your cheek before he pulls away, seeing the reluctance swimming in his eyes. “I’ll take care of the infected and keep guard while you rest. The medicine should kick in soon.” He says before taking hold of your shoulder and giving you a gentle push to lay down on the mattress.

You frown up at him. You should be helping him guard the tower and keep an eye on the perimeter yet here you are, first day on the job and you’re already a liability. Joel seems to notice your distress and places a hand on your hip, his fingers tickling the exposed skin.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me how to patrol the area.” You hiccup. “But you’re taking care of me instead. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be.” He coos and scoots a little closer to you. “This is all part of learning and we’ve learned that you need more practice on horseback.” He chuckles lightly but the mirth in his voice doesn’t penetrate your melancholy. “I’ll teach you how to ride when we get back home, but for now, rest. I won’t be able to defend you when you’re in pain.”

“Okay. Thank you, Joel.” You mumble and then groan when you start feeling light-headed. “I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.” You tell him, blinking your eyes several times when your vision goes blurry.

His response comes out muffled and you think it’s because the meds have finally entered your bloodstream. You don’t fight the drowsiness that consumes you, instead, you give in. The feeling of your shirt riding up your torso is the last thing you feel before the darkness completely takes over.

The sound of gunshots fills your dreams as the darkness continues to keep your consciousness at bay. A cool sensation kisses your skin, a groan which you cannot place coming from the void. You think it's you but you’re certain it’s someone else, though all thoughts fly away as you feel your body being moved, a tickle trailing from your calf and up to your inner thighs.

Your core burns and you mewl at the weird feeling building in the pit of your stomach. You try to move your hands, wanting to put a stop to it but your arms feel heavy, effectively pinning you to the bed. The fire grows stronger, heat prickling your entire body and you hear yourself once more, moaning softly and then loudly all at once.

You wake in a jolt, your eyes bursting wide as you pant heavily against the mattress, your hips trembling and your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You stare at the ceiling, dumbstruck as you try to piece together where you are. But you have trouble forming your thoughts when you feel your skin tingling once more.

You look down to see what’s causing it but your heart constricts when you see that you’re naked from the waist down, the top of Joel’s head resting against your stomach while he plants wet kisses on the length of your hips. His hand is unseen but your feel it caressing your inner thigh, a strangled groan escaping your throat as his fingers run up the folds of your wet cunt.

“Joel!” You shout and try to move your arms to push him away but you grunt instead, your body still too heavy for you to even move an inch.

“Sweetheart—” He drones and lifts himself to his knees, your eyes growing wide in fear when you see him stripped off of his pants, leaving him in only his shirt and boxers briefs. “You’re awake.”

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” Your voice trembles when you meet his hazel eyes. “What’s g-going on?”

A smile forms on his lips, one that looks kind and unassuming. But the way his jaw tightens and his nails digging painfully into your flesh, you immediately know that his sentiment is the complete opposite.

“I’m fulfilling my promise, baby.” Joel hums, taking both your hands in his and lifting them to his lips to press a kiss on your knuckles before pinning them on both sides of your head. “I’m taking care of you.” Tears slip from your eyes when he leans down, his lips pressing on the crook of your neck before trailing them up to your chin and finally capturing your lips with his own.

He starts out soft and gentle, exploring more than taking as if trying to savor the moment with you. But he becomes demanding all too quickly, forcing his tongue into your mouth and devouring your hungrily, swallowing your moans of protest as you try to struggle against him and free yourself from his grasp. Still, his grip on you is too strong and your efforts are useless as your body refuses to cooperate with your head.

You try to bite his tongue, to at least gain a sense of control of the situation but he pulls away just in time, a low and dangerous growl rumbling from his chest that has you cowering in dread. He furrows his brows and releases his hold on you, only to wrap his hand tight around your neck, panic driving you to move your hand and grab onto his wrist but your lack of strength leaves you helpless to his anger.

“I’d be good if I were you, baby.” Joel taunts, releasing your other hand and reaching down to cup his crotch before pulling himself free from his boxers. “We’re far away from Jackson and who’s to say you didn’t accidentally fall down the stairs and hit your head or that you were reckless and got a little too close to an infected and got yourself bit, huh?”

You gasp in shock at his words, fear running up your spine that he would insinuate such things blatantly.

“You wouldn’t—” You choke.

“You don’t think I can, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly, a reluctant moan escaping your lips when he begins rubbing the tip of his cock against your cunt. “You think Michael was stupid enough to get himself bit?”

It's as if the world stood still when you hear your father’s name come out of his mouth.

No.

He must have been jumped while patrolling the area, the infected outnumbering him and eventually leading him to his demise. But he had a partner then, surely they would have helped him right? You try to wrack your brain for information, something you missed while you were grieving your father’s death.

Then it hits you.

He was with Joel that night. It was him that brought his body back to the settlement.

It can’t be—Joel couldn’t have—

“Don’t worry yourself, baby.” Joel pulls you away from your thoughts, a devious smirk painted on his lips. “I promised him I’d take care of you, remember?”

“You murderer!” You shout but your voice dwindles down when he suddenly thrusts his cock in you, pain flaring on your hips as your walls stretch around him, his size too much to handle that you feel like you’ll be split in half.

He groans when he sits himself to the hilt, your pussy walls fluttering around him when he pulls back slowly only to push in once more, your body rocking against the mattress as he begins to roll his hips against yours, thrusting at an easy and languid pace.

“It’s just gonna be you and me, baby.” He drawls, a low grunt mixing in his voice with each thrust he makes.

His hand leaves your neck and moves to grab your tit through your shirt, fondling and squeezing while his other hand presses down on your stomach, his thumb rolling against your clit. Your body writhes from the unwanted pleasure that slowly crawls up your skin, your back tensing, and your cunt fluttering around his cock when he begins to quicken his pace, the sound of your skin slapping against each other taking over the silence that fills the lookout tower and echoes loudly in your ears.

Joel doesn’t relent and you lay weakly on the bed, succumbing to his strength and torturous depravity. Your tears roll down your face as you think of how it came to this. He killed your father for reasons you don’t know and now he’s taking advantage of you, betraying the trust that you have willingly given him and tainting the way you saw him, how you treated him as family.

He snaps his hips at a merciless rhythm, his pace growing erratic and desperate as he pulls away his hand from your waist only to grab onto your hand and pin it once again at the sides of your head. He growls and presses his forehead against yours, his musky scent mixed with the smell of your arousal wafting in your nose.

“Your mine, baby.” He groans.

A whimper leaves your lips when you feel his cock slide deeper in you, your mouth hanging open as you try to gasp for air, the intensity of his lust suffocating you, squeezing you tight. You let out a cry once your core begins to burn, the coil within tightening further and further that your mind goes blank from the bliss that wants to escape yet fight hard to keep your release at bay to not give him that satisfaction of bringing you such pleasure.

He whispers your name and you moan when he kisses you once more, sloppy and wreckless, teeth clashing against each other then yelping in pain when he bites down on your lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood scattering on your tongue.

“You feel so amazing, baby.” He groans as he presses his nose against your temple, his warm breath fanning over your face as you cry out once more when you feel yourself getting closer to your peak. “You’re so perfect—so mine.” His voice is low and possessive, his hand leaving your clit and hooking his finger into your mouth, pushing it down to keep your mouth agape.

You move your arm to wrap your fingers around his wrist, gripping it tightly as your spine arches and your body stills, a wave of sheer pleasure consuming you, drowning you when the coil finally snaps and you fall apart around him. Your pussy walls flutter around him and you moan incoherently, your juices coating his cock, lubricating him further and allowing him to thrust even faster, deeper.

But he doesn’t take long, stilling his hips and burying himself deep into your core, whimpering when spills his seed inside you, mixing with your own essence. Your name flows from his lips like a prayer as he keeps his face pressed on the side of yours with his lips sloppily moving against your cheek.

You're breathless and limp against the mattress, your body void of strength, and your mind slowly giving up and giving in to Joel's desires. You think of running away, of leaving Jackson and getting away from him. But you know such attempts are a suicide mission and without your dad, you're unsure of how far you'll make it before you get killed or before Joel catches up with you.

“I’ll take care of you, baby.” He repeats once more, unhooking his finger from your mouth and trailing his hand down to your breast, stopping to rest it over your stomach with his fingers lightly caressing your skin.

Your body shivers from his touch the implication bringing you dread. “And pretty soon, we’ll have a family of our own.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springlibrary and turn on notifications.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #dark joel miller #dark!joel miller #dbf!joel miller #the last of us #au #on the lookout #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal imagine #dark fic #joel miller fanfiction #shadeysprings fics

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 3 all chapters

-You try to make a peace offering with Mr. Wick, bringing him the local paper that someone left behind. You’ve noticed that sometimes he likes to read it. You don’t plan to bother him, just slip it on his table as you pass to make your rounds of the dining room.

“Brian must be gone for the day,” he deadpans to your turned back. His mood is telling just in the utter neutrality of his tone.

“Sorry?”

“You never talk to me anymore, when he’s around.”

It’s ridiculous, how this sullen comment twists like a knife in your gut.

“I thought I was bothering you,” you admit.

“You're never a bother,” he assures you quietly, and you watch him soften a little, in spite of himself. As though he’s embarrassed, he averts his eyes back down to his book. “Half the town comes in this place just to see you, you know.”

You’re not sure that’s exactly true. You do your best to be cheerful, and render good service, but you’re pretty sure coffee and pastries are the reason people come to Clear Forks Coffee Co.

You decide he’s given you permission to linger a little, and you feel that old familiar flame rekindle in your heart, that inexplicable yet aching fondness for this man. You never kicked the habit, you just covered it up with a thin veneer of brittle plaster.

“So…how’s Dog?”

“Good. He looks for you at that park bench every time we go for a walk now.”

This warms your heart, and you smile.

Your next question is a little bolder.

“And how…is Vicky?”

He meets your eyes then, and you cannot look away from the pull of his dark gaze.

“Haven’t seen her for weeks,” he admits. “Must be hunting season somewhere else.” The last he delivers with the slightest quirk of his mouth, and you press your lips to suppress a grin.

It works for about three seconds.

“I almost warned you…”

He snorts. “That would have been nice.”

“Well…you survived your encounter with the Clear Forks Cougar. You’re practically a local now.”

His smile widens at that, and you feel as though you have received a generous reward.

You probably need your head checked.

The eye contact between you is a heady thing. It’s like he’s hypnotized you; you can’t look away. But the spell is broken when someone new comes through the door, the happy little bell jingling, and you man your station behind the counter.

-Sometimes you feel like the things in your shoebox of an apartment are just slightly out of place. A pen is not quite where you left it, or a fashion magazine is open to a different page, or your mug is clean on the counter when you’re sure you left it in the sink. One day, you notice your nicest pair of panties goes missing. The black silk ones, with the lace details and the little bow in front. You can’t find them in the laundry, or under your bureau, and you can’t fathom where they would have gotten off to…

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #yandere john wick #yandere john wick x you #bittersweet john wick imagine #john wick fic

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ladykailitha · 10 months

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Royal Pain Part 1

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the story that has had my entire weekend on lock. Like every spare moment was writing this story. I wrote over 6000 words in two days. So yeah. Don’t worry. I’m still working on Boy With a Bat (I just need time to research season 3 so I don’t over step on the show’s timeline {like I did with “Little Runaway”}). And of course I love working on “All My Roads Lead Back to You” and will continue working on it as well. Also these first two parts are long. I don’t know if all the parts will be as long, but as you can see when you read them there isn’t a lot of places to stop (and not make them super short).

Summary: No Monster Modern AU. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, have a steady gig at a bar in Indy where they play every weekend. Eddie's life takes a left turn when his regular tattoo artist, Max Mayfield, moves to New York with her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair, newly traded to the New York Knicks. Now needing a new tattoo artist, Jeff recommends "Royal Pain", which even Max agrees is a good shop. On arrival, Eddie is shocked to find Steve is the shop's artist. They hit it off, and slowly move from the barest of acquaintances to boyfriends.

***

“God damn it!” Eddie growled, throwing his phone at the sofa and snarling when it bounced to the floor.

“One day you’re gonna throw it so hard and it will break,” Gareth grumbled from behind his drum set.

It was Corroded Coffin’s weekly practice. They weren’t big or anything, but they had a steady gig at a local metal bar and it paid good money. They drew large enough crowds that they were able to play their own music.

Eddie hopped to his feet to retrieve the discarded phone from the floor. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered darkly.

“What’s got your panties in such a twist?” Jeff asked from the same sofa Eddie had tossed the phone at. He was tuning his guitar, ear bent toward the strings.

Eddie scoffed. “Like you have any interest in my panties.”

Jeff lunged and grabbed one of Gareth’s drumsticks from the bucket he kept at his side and threw it at Eddie.

“Hey!” both Gareth and Eddie protested.

“Just answer the damn question!” Brian sneered from his place on the battered old floral armchair. “You usually like bitching, so what’s your deal?”

Eddie flopped gracelessly on the lavender two-seater. “That was my tattoo artist,” he groused, crossing his arms petulantly. “Her boyfriend got traded to the New York Knicks so they are moving there and if I want to get my dragon finished before she leaves, I better ‘haul ass’ according to her.”

Eddie’s friends winced. They knew finding a tattoo artist you could trust in a style you liked was hard. And for Eddie to lose his? That sucked. Max Mayfield was one of the best in Indy and to lose her to New York? That was even worse. But her boyfriend, Lucas Sinclair, was an NBA raising star and she went where did. Which meant Eddie had to start all over with a new artist.

Suddenly Eddie straightened up. “Hey, Jeffie!” he said. “Did you ever get that tattoo you wanted done?”

Jeff lit up. “Oh yeah!” He set his guitar aside and rolled up his sleeve and showed them his tattoo. It was of a bullet tearing through the flesh. It was fantastically rendered, where you could see the torn muscles and broken bone. It covered the scar there perfectly. “Isn’t it fucking amazing?”

“Holy shit!” Brian cried. “That is so wicked.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder. “Yeah fuck, man. Where did you get that?”

“It’s this little place called Royal Pain,” Jeff explained. “The artist, Stevie is so fucking good.”

Eddie chewed on his lip, thinking hard. “Hey, can I get the number?”

Eddie was standing in front of a shop that he wouldn’t have in a million years would have even suspected was a tattoo parlor. It was a clean and bright storefront. The sign was black with a golden crown was on the R. It was a far cry from any other tattoo parlor he had ever been to. But despite his reservations, both Max and Jeff highly recommended this place and specifically this ‘Stevie’.

Sighing deeply, he yanked open the door and took two steps into the shop. The decor was nice enough, it had a ‘royal’ theme to it, he supposed, but he really didn’t look that much. Because suddenly Eddie knew who Stevie was. The name, the royal decor, and Robin fucking Buckley as receptionist.

He was going to kill Jeff. Or maybe just his next three D&D characters. Because there was no way on this insignificant planet did Jeff Lawrence not recognize King Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. They had all gone to school together. Robin was Steve’s best friend. His soulmate if the rumors were to be believed.

He was about to turn around and walk out, Jeff and Max’s recommendations be damned. Even he wasn’t that masochistic. But he was stopped by the cheerful, “Welcome to Royal Pain! How can I help you?”

Eddie winced and rubbed his eye in frustration, but made his way up to the counter. “Munson, Eddie. I have a two o’clock with Stevie.”

Her smile grew genuine. “Not your first tattoo, I take it.”

Eddie pulled down the collar of his shirt to show of his finished dragon tattoo. “Yeah, no. Some asshole jock absconded to New York with my tattoo artist, so here I am.”

She grinned. “Stevie will be out in a moment.”

Before Eddie could chicken out, the man himself came out of a backroom, wiping off his hands. Eddie gulped. Steve looked very much the same as he did in high school. Same hazel eyes, honey hair, tight jeans and a fucking polo. This guy couldn’t have looked less like a tattoo artist if he tried. Except for one thing.

He could see tattoos on Steve’s arms. He couldn’t get a good look at them without staring but yeah, okay. Steve Harrington, tattoo artist. Who would have thought?

Steve looked up and smiled brightly. “Eddie?” Eddie nodded. “Hey! It’s so good to see you. I had hoped when I saw the name that it was you. How’s it been?”

Robin tilted her head in confusion and made an odd chirping noise.

“Come on, Robs,” Steve teased her. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember Eddie from school.”

She looked Eddie up and down and then cocked her head. “You do look vaguely familiar.”

Steve laughed. “You know, ran the D&D club, had that rock band–”

“Metal,” Eddie corrected. “Not rock, metal.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s right, sorry. Oh! And stood on tables ranting about the man and how schools fail the kids they are supposed to teach.”

“You stepped on my sandwich,” she said deadpan.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Whoops.”

She grinned and pushed his shoulder. “Just kidding. It was Tammy Thompson’s sandwich.”

“Isn’t she the one that sings like a Muppet?” Eddie asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Steve laughed. “That’s what I said.”

Robin looked between them both and growled, “I hate you both.”

“You’re only saying that because you had a crush on her,” Steve teased.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you swung for the other team, Buckley.”

She grinned. “What can I say, I do love a pretty girl.”

Eddie shrugged and cocked his head, nonchalant. “I wouldn’t know.”

Robin wagged her eyebrows at Steve, who rolled his eyes. He turned to Eddie. “So what am I doing for you today?”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Oh!” He pulled out a picture from his back pocket and handed it to Steve.

“This is the Evenstar from Lord of the Rings, right?” Steve asked, tapping the picture. “Arwen’s necklace.”

Eddie lit up. “Yeah. I’m impressed, even uber fans have a hard time remembering that.”

Steve blushed, ducking his head. “I have this friend that hosts huge parties watching the extended versions of the movies every year. Complete with full Hobbit meals. It’s hard not take in something from the films.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, suddenly feeling less like murdering Jeff with each passing moment.

Steve smiled back. “Actually, you might remember him. He was in your club, your final year at school.”

Eddie cocked his head. “Oh?”

“Actually, you had three of Steve’s nuggets in your club,” Robin interjected.

Eddie turned to Steve. “What nuggets would those be?”

Steve blushed again. “I used to quasi-babysit these kids. There were about seven of them, if you count Erica and Elle.”

“Which I absolutely do,” Robin crowed delightedly.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he leaned forward. “You babysat kids?”

Steve shrugged. “They were good kids and their parents worked a lot, so they just kinda imprinted on me. Like ducklings.”

“Wait...Lucas, Mike, and Dustin, huh?” Eddie asked putting two and two together. “Holy fucking shit. I loved running their characters. The ranger, the paladin and the bard.” He couldn’t believe it. He had missed out the chance to run with their friend Will, but he had come back to Hawkins after Eddie finally graduated. “Which one was Dustin?”

Steve smiled and then ran his tongue over his teeth. “Floofy hair, trucker hats, Weird Al shirts, and a huge theater nerd.”

Eddie clapped and pointed, “That’s the one!” He tapped his finger over his lips. “Which means it’s Dustin that hosts the Lord of the Rings fest, isn’t he?”

Steve beamed up at him. “Yeah. Sadly I haven’t been able to go the last couple of years.”

Robin made a sympathetic noise.

“Why not?” Eddie asked, the curiosity getting the better of him.

“Migraines,” Steve said with a wince. “Too long staring at a TV set can trigger them, who knew?”

“That sucks.”

Steve looked back at the picture in his hand. “Did you draw this?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, big boy!”

“And would you want me to tattoo it in your style?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked rapidly. “You can do that?”

Robin folded her arms, looking smug. “Hell yeah, he can!”

“I mean, if you can that would be amazing,” he said breathlessly.

“Where is it going, the tattoo, I mean?” Steve asked.

Eddie tapped his chest. “Sternum.”

Steve chewed his lip thoughtfully. “That would be awesome, but have you thought about putting it on your back. Like a shadow covering your spine?”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

Eddie shook his head. “As tempting as that would be sweetheart, I have plans for my back.”

Steve looked a little disappointed. “And what would that be?”

“I want big black bat wings on my shoulder blades,” Eddie said gleefully. “I just haven’t found anyone who’s style I liked well enough to trust doing it.”

Steve hurried around the desk and pulled out a large three-ring binder. “This is all my work, flip through it, see if you like my style enough for me to do it for you. Because I would love to. So take a look and let me know if I could be your man.”

Eddie blinked. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiled brightly. “Great! I’ll go set up and I’ll call you back when I’m ready.” He practically skipped to the back room again.

Eddie opened the binder slowly and began to shift the pages. They were all amazing pieces of work that only seemed to get better the further he got into the pictures.

“These are amazing,” he breathed.

Robin leaned on the counter and stage whispered, “If you do not get his number after he does your tattoo, I will murder you and no one will find the body.” She leaned back to look down the hall. What she saw Eddie didn’t know, but she leaned back into whisper to him, low and menacing, “I am not paid enough to listen to his rom-com pining bullshit.”

Eddie looked behind her and then back at her. “I’m–I mean–what the hell?”

“Eddie!” Steve called.

Eddie slammed the binder shut and stomped to the back. He stopped short when he got to room. Again he was blown away at how opposite it was from other shops he’d been to. It wasn’t sterile white or anything like that but it was brightly lit and nicely decorated. It was a place that most ‘normies’ would feel comfortable getting their first tattoo. And he got the appeal.

Steve looked up at him with a lopsided smile as if he understood why Eddie was brought up short. “Other tattoo artists give me such shit about my set up, but it’s not about the aesthetic of what people think a tattoo shop should look like. It’s about people feeling comfortable about permanently altering their bodies.”

Eddie nodded. “No man, I get it. It’s just a pleasant surprise, you know?”

Steve grinned at him. “Thanks. Come on, have a seat. Take off your shirt. Relax.” He paused for a moment. “But not necessarily in that order.”

Eddie laughed and pulled off his shirt, tossing it on a nearby chair. He got on the lounge chair and laid back. He noticed the way Steve dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and smirked. Maybe Buckley was right.

“You’ve got a lot of great tattoos,” Steve said, wiping down Eddie’s chest with a mild anesthetic to clean the area. “Your old tattoo artist do those?”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, I mean most of them. A couple were stick and poke when I was high school.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Shit, really? I wouldn’t have guessed. They’re all really good.”

Eddie blushed. He figured Steve was just being polite because he thought it was fairly obvious which ones were the stick and poke. “Speaking of high school, I would have never in a million years thought that King Steve would become a tattoo artist. You been doing this long?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I got voted most likely to run my own business, but I’m pretty sure they thought something closer along the lines of hair care or some such shit.”

“At least yours was nice,” Eddie grumbled. “I got voted most likely to still be high school at the ten year reunion.”

Steve winced. “Was that the first time or the second time they held you back?”

“First.”

“That’s harsh, man,” Steve commiserated. “Yeah, no, I’ve been doing this for the last five years. Three years at my own shop.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait really? That’s epic, dude.”

Steve nodded. “I went with a friend of mine to see about apprenticing under Hop. He caught me doodling on myself because I forgot to bring my drawing pad and offered the apprenticeship to us both.”

“I can see why,” Eddie said. “You do some pretty impressive work. Who was the friend? Robin?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, no...I love Robin, and she is a lot of wonderful things, artist just isn’t one of them.”

Eddie laughed, too. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Steve picked up his gun and sat down on the rolling stool. “Nope, Max Mayfield. One of my nuggets, as Robin called them.”

Eddie blinked. “Shit, dude. She was my old tattoo artist? You two really apprenticed under Hop?”

Steve hummed. “Yup.” He turned on the gun and then shut it off again. “I know you said that you wanted it in your style, but can I add my own flourishes to it?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Yeah, sure. I liked what you did with Jeff’s tattoo, so yeah. Knock yourself out, man.”

Steve grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

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#My writing #stranger things #steddie #tattoo artist steve #modern au #ladykailtiha writes

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 months

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Rusty | Chapter 9 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - You and Spencer embark on a night on the town and things grow awkward fast when you met a handsome stranger. Spencer’s jealousy leaves him determined to show what he’s capable of. But even that doesn’t go quite to plan.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - drinking, smoking, making out, swearing, jealous Spencer, tears, mild argument, erectile issues, fingering, titty sucking, coming untouched, coming in pants, vomit, build up to dissociation.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 9 - A Cowboys Cowgirl

Spencer sat on the porch as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, jabbing his finger at the screen of his new phone. It had no buttons, just a large touchscreen. It unlocked by reading his face and didn’t have the same kind of tactile quality he was used to in a phone.

Unfortunately, they simply didn’t make devices like his old one and he’d had to settle for this iPhone, for which he had no idea how to use.

You’d somehow managed to sort it so it could keep the same number and magically transferred all of his existing contacts onto it. It all went over Spencer’s head and he stopped questioning it.

Now he was attempting to send Garcia a text message after receiving one from her, positively disbelieving he had spoken to both Luke and Morgan but wouldn’t answer her calls.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to write a reply, his fingers not dexterous enough to figure out the touch screen keyboard. As he finally corrected all of the spelling mistakes and hit send, he heard the door to your lodge open.

He was hesitant to go along with you to the 11th Street Bar for multiple reasons. For starters, bars were not fun when sober, not that he’d ever particularly enjoyed them when he did drink either. Then there was the fact that in two years he’d never interacted with these people and according to you they already thought him rude. He didn’t like socialising, why could no one understand that?

He pushed himself up from the chair, his knee aching slightly but the pain was lessening. You locked the door to the lodge before gliding down the stairs and down the path until you were closing in on him.

It was only when you were in front of him that he could fully appreciate you and he felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he took you in. You wore a floral, off the shoulder dress which stopped at your knees and showed more skin than he ever dreamed of seeing. Pairing it with your red riding boots and you looked almost like a local, the epitome of a cowgirl.

You also looked absolutely ravishing. Spencer’s raging heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest to show you exactly how divine he thought you looked. But his slack jaw and wide eyes said enough and you blanched a little, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” You scuffed your boot in the dirt. “Never seen a genu-wine cowgirl before?” You impersonated a southern drawl.

“I…I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, you just…you look…jeez Y/N.”

You giggled at his inability to form a coherent sentence. You had rendered him speechless.

“Well you know, I want to fit in around these parts.” You swung your hips side to side, the dress billowing around you as you did so. “Don’t look so bad yourself, stud.”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush red, the heat quickly spreading down his neck. He still wore his black jeans, the ones he’d noticed you checking him out in yesterday. He also dusted off an old button down from back in his BAU days, in a dark purple colour.

He tucked it into his jeans and left the top few buttons undone. He spent a long time taming his hair and forewent a stetson once he was happy with how it looked.

“Uh, thanks.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“Gonna make being friends with you real hard if you keep looking at me like that.” You smirked at him, still impersonating that thick Texas twang.

“Just get in the car, okay?” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your outfit made him quiver.

You hid your amusement by turning towards the car, Spencer following behind. You paused at the driver’s door.

“Just gotta grab something from the trunk, jump in.” You called over the hood and Spencer nodded before cautiously sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Once he closed his door you sidled around to the trunk and opened it. You glanced up through the car to make sure he wasn’t looking before you lifted the trunk lining.

Hidden away in the empty shell that had once held a spare tyre was a black duffle bag. You quickly unzipped, revealing the wads and wads of bills concealed inside. You grabbed a couple of twenties and folded them, stuffed them in the side of your left boot before zipping the bag and secreting it back away under the trunk lining.

Soon you were hurrying around to the driver’s seat like nothing had happened.

***

The discomfort distended to every single one of his nerve endings the moment the two of you stepped inside the 11th Street Bar. The place was packed and all eyes were instantly on you.

As you sauntered inside you were met by wolf whistles and catcalls and it made Spencer feel incredibly protective of you even though it wasn’t his place.

He watched their hungry gazes linger on your bare legs and bare shoulders and move onto your clothed breasts and backside.

It made a pit form in his chest, more so when you sent smiles and winks across the room in various directions.

He wanted to blanket you, both physically and metaphorically. He wanted those animals to stop staring at you this way. He wanted you to stop enjoying the attention so much.

He followed you like a stray dog towards the bar, where you leaned on the counter, no doubt giving the balding bartender an eyeful of your cleavage.

“Well looky here, if it ain’t Miss Lizzie come back to join us.” The old man hissed as he spoke. “Lookin’ mighty fine tonight if I do say so too.”

“What, this old thing?” You glanced down at your dress before waving a dismissive hand at him.

Spencer felt more out of place than he ever had done in his life. This was quite honestly the last place he ever wanted to be.

Sensing the presence hovering behind you, the bartenders gaze lifted over your head to where Spencer awkwardly stood.

“And if it isn’t Cosmo, gracing us with his presence.” The older man scoffed. “Nice of you to finally show your face round here.”

Spencer swallowed, chewing on his lip.

“His names, Spencer and be nice.” You clucked. “Spencer, this is Cole.”

“What can I get ya missy?” Cole ignored the introduction and looked back at you. “No more of my home brew I hope.”

“Definitely not.” You shook your head. “I will take a shot of tequila and a beer though.”

“What’ll you have, Cosmo?” His eyes shot back up to Spencer.

“Uh, a ginger ale?” He posed it as a question.

Cole pulled a face of disdain and shook his head.

“Ain’t ever met a sober cowboy in all my life.” Cole muttered, turning away to get your drinks.

You felt Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him.

“I hate it here.” He whined. “Can’t we just go home and you can drink that bottle of scotch?”

“I want to stay. I like it here. You can go if you want.” You shrugged, turning back to face the bar.

Turning your back on him. You were turning your back on him.

“You think I’m going to leave you here with all these creeps staring at you?” He moved closer to you, his chest pressed into your back and he spoke against the shell of your ear. “There is not a man in this bar who doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, not turning back to him. “Might just be some guys lucky night then.”

Spencer felt the pit in his stomach grow larger, his heart practically falling into the open chasm. He put his hand on your shoulder again, skin against skin, and spun you slightly roughly back to look at him.

“Don’t make jokes like that.” He growled.

“Who’s joking?” You shook him off with a frown of impatience. “Just because you don’t want to bed me, doesn’t mean someone else can’t, Cosmo.”

Spencer’s mouth fell open, somewhat hurt at your crude summation of your fleeting relationship. Is that really what you thought? Did you really believe he didn’t want to? If only it were that simple.

He wished he didn’t want you so much. It would be far easier for him to not want you with a white hot desire. It had nothing to do with not wanting you, he just couldn’t have you. Not in that way.

When he couldn’t form any words of response, you spoke again, folding your arms over your chest.

“We’re just friends, Spencer. You made that perfectly clear. So as far as I’m concerned, I can do whatever the hell I want. You wanna hang around? Fine. You wanna go home? Also fine. But I’m staying.” You spat, once again turning your back on him as Cole brought your drinks back over.

You were quick to down the tequila before thanking him with a flirtatious smile and paying him with a bill from inside your boot. You practically shoved Spencer’s ginger ale into his hand before brushing past him with your beer.

Cole was looking at him, an odd expression on his features. Spencer felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

“Girl’s a heartbreaker.” Cole shrugged after a while. “Knew it the minute I laid eyes on ‘er. Careful how you tread there.”

With those sage words, Cole was walking away to serve his next customer, leaving Spencer reeling.

***

Two hours later Spencer had procured a table for himself but you wouldn’t stay still long enough to join him. The more tequila you drank, the more energy you seemed to have and you appeared to talk to everyone in the bar but him.

He was still nursing the same ginger ale, feeling much like a spare part. He deliberately missed two calls from Luke, staring at the device as it rang in his hand. He’d hoped after they spoke yesterday Luke would stop with the incessant phone calls. Spencer had half a mind to block his number. He didn’t want it to come to that, but something had to give.

He ignored his phone after a while and watched the way you worked the room. The whole bar was eating out of the palm of your hand, hanging off you every word. You were undeniably in your element.

And it only went to further Spencer’s belief that the two of you were from completely different worlds.

***

You lit a cigarette and meandered out the back of the bar for some fresh air, which you didn’t miss the irony of. The large rear garden of the 11th Street establishment was about five times the size of the inside, with a stage at one end and even an outside bar.

You leaned up against the nearest wall, the tequila pulsing through your veins and offering you that blissful tipsy sensation. You sucked on the cigarette and observed the goings on around you.

You’d managed to hide yourself in plain sight. No one would ever think to look for you in this little backwoods town. You’d taken all the necessary precautions, didn’t leave a paper trail.

The car parked outside was the fourth you’d stolen on your journey. Take one, drive it for a distance, abandon it and then find another far enough away from the first they wouldn’t be tied together.

You’d picked up this car just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. You’d broken into a junkyard for this particular vehicle as it was likely they may never notice it was missing. You changed the plates just in case.

The money in the trunk had been procured from your mother’s safe which not even her scumbag second husband knew about. She’d kept the nest egg of cash ever since you were a little girl and only you knew the combination.

“It’s for a rainy day, Y/N. One day I won’t be around anymore and I want to make sure you have everything you could ever need.”

It was as though she’d envisioned something bad happening to her. When she married the second time, he’d convinced her to put all of her savings into a bank account under his name effectively meaning you’d never see a dime.

But he didn’t know about the safe.

You’d taken a bunch of your late mother’s clothes too, brought a few more items with the cash, including the dress you wore now. Only ever cash, couldn’t leave a trail.

Bandera might not have been your first choice of hideout but you couldn’t deny it had its perks, and you were certain no one would ever find you here.

And if they did, you would simply run again.

You took another drag on the cigarette as a tall, dark and handsome stranger headed your way. Although on closer inspection he wasn’t entirely a stranger to you.

The man wore all blue denim, a large eagle on his belt buckle, bolo tie and black stetson. He was smiling at you as he approached.

“Hey there little lady,” he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“You work at Busbees? I think I saw you there yesterday.” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“Oh, you’re the big tipper.” He chuckled. “I never forget a big tipper. Or a pretty face.”

“Elizabeth.” You held out your hand.

“Charmed,” he took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Grant.”

Without warning he plucked your cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag on it. He sucked in the smoke and spoke again as he exhaled it.

“Things’ll kill ya.” He chuckled.

“Live fast, die young.” You shrugged.

“Leave a good lookin’ corpse?” He laughed too, a deep, vibrating sound.

“Certainly appealing.” You agreed.

He took another drag on the cigarette before placing it back between your lips. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip as he did so. It lingered there for a moment or two, while you took your own drag.

Removing it from your mouth, you held it between your fingers as you blew smoke over his head. You leaned further back against the wall, puffing your chest out. He took a step closer to you and you didn’t mind at all.

You caught the scent of a musky cologne as he drew closer.

“I don’t mean to forward ma’am but you are hotter than a firecracker that’s been lit at both ends.” His lip quipped into a smirk.

You shuddered, the hunger in his eyes causing your legs to shake. You inhaled sharply as his hand came to rest on your cheek.

“Imma kiss you now, if that’s okay with you, little lady?”

You whimpered but couldn’t speak, so instead you nodded. Grant chuckled as he leaned in closer. His lips soon crashed against yours, his whole body pinning you to the wall.

You dropped the forgotten cigarette on the floor and wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you fiercely, deeply. Your legs trembled at the sensation.

His hand that wasn’t on your face ran up your thigh and you moaned into his lips. And Spencer Reid was the furthest thing from your mind.

***

Spencer finally decided he’d had enough when two old twins who called themselves Boone and Butch invited themselves to sit with him. They proceeded to mock him on everything from his clothes, his hair, his accent, even his ‘city boy good looks’. He’d eventually excused himself to go in search of you.

The bar was small and it only took a few minutes to ascertain you weren’t inside. He pushed his way out the back door and breathed in the fresh air. It took only moments to find you, pressed up against a wall by another body who was kissing you with force.

One hand was on your thigh, beneath your dress and Spencer swore his blood froze in his veins. His brain must have short circuited because normally he wouldn’t have been so bold as to square up to a man of his size, but he found himself marching over and grabbing the large shoulder of the man kissing you and tugging him backwards.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer raised his voice, glaring at you and your kiss swollen lips.

You wiped the back of your hand over your mouth, chest heaving.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” You spat. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Spencer?” The man spoke up, looking between you and him in heavy confusion.

Spencer tensed, slowly turning back to face the man whose lips were equally as puffy as yours. He hadn’t recognised him by the back of his head and now he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“G-Grant?” Spencer croaked.

“You know each other?” You took a step away from the wall. “I didn’t think you had any friends around here?”

“We’re not friends.” Grant spat, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “How do you know each other?”

“I asked first.” You cocked your head to the side.

Spencer was unable to speak, paralysed by the unfortunate situation he had found himself in.

“He asked me on a date and stood me up.” Grant hissed.

“Oh…oh.” You looked between both men. “Well this is sufficiently awkward. Looks like we have the same taste in men, Spence.”

Spencer reddened, averting his gaze to the floor and wanting to crawl into a dark crevice somewhere and never come out.

“Are you two…?” Grant frowned at the two of you.

“Friends.” You finished for him. “Isn’t that right, Spencer. We’re just friends. Which is why you had no right to march over here and tear us apart.”

“I really don’t want to be a part of this conversation.” Spencer mumbled to the floor.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you interfered. Why, Spencer? Why did you interrupt us?” You took a step closer to him.

“Please,” he looked back at you, eyes full of torment. “Please can we not do this here.”

“I ain’t looking to step on any toes, I didn’t realise y’all were-”

“Friends.” You barked, cutting Grant off. “We’re fucking friends.”

Without warning you shoved Spencer backwards by his shoulders, the sudden touch causing him to flinch. But you didn’t notice it because you were already storming away. Spencer huffed out a breath and dared to glance at Grant who was looking at him in something close to pity.

“If I were you,” Grant clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, again causing him to recoil. “I’d go after her.”

“Duly noted.” Spencer groaned. “But can I just say…” he trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I should have apologised. I really am sorry for standing you up. I got here and I just couldn’t make it inside. I wanted to, I really did. But, uh, I’m honestly terrible at dating and I freaked myself out. I should have apologised, I wish I had. And I’m sorry.”

Grant inhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not expecting that from him. He let his arms fall to his sides and offered Spencer a melancholy smile.

“You hush your mouth, it's water under the bridge.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Listen ‘ere Spencer. There ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit, you get me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Spencer shook his head.

Grant chortled deeply, slapping his palm on his knee while Spencer simply stared at him, brows pinched.

“Layman's terms: there’s somebody out there for everyone. Don’t you go thinking there ain’t. Whatever it is you been through, ‘cos you have been through somethin’, don’t write yourself off. Go after your lady.” He patted Spencer’s shoulder again and Spencer winced.

He wanted to argue with Grant but it was completely pointless. Instead he forced a smile and nodded before turning on his heels.

He made it back out the front of the bar without incident and found you kicking around the dirt with the toe of your boot.

“You don’t get to do this.” You spat, arms wrapped around your body like a shield. “If you want me you can have me. If you don’t let me go.”

Spencer shuffled down the front steps, ambling towards you.

“I really wish it were that simple.” He reached you and cupped your jaw in his good hand, leaning in and resting his forehead against yours. “I want you but I can’t give you everything, there’s a huge part of me I just can’t give you. And you deserve the whole world, Y/N. I want you to have it all. But selfishly I don’t want you to have that with another man.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do or do not deserve? Spencer, I didn’t want to kiss that guy. I did it because I wanted a rise out of you. I want you to want me.” You felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Let me be clear here,” he moved his hand to your cheek. “I have wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. This has nothing to do with that.”

“I’ve never felt like this about someone before.” You confessed. “And I barely know anything about you. I don’t care if you can’t tell me your life story, I don’t even care if you don’t want to have sex with me! I just want…I want someone to care.”

A few tears escaped your eyes and Spencer brushed them away with his thumb. His breath was hot on your face and his forehead was a little sweaty against yours.

“I do care,” he admitted. “Too much considering I barely know you either. I don’t want you making out with other guys. But it’s unfair of me to ask that of you.”

“Spencer?” You whispered.

“Yes, Y/N?” He replied in equally hushed tones.

“Do you have any kind of proclivity towards me making out with you?”

He hissed, his body quaking at the mere thought.

“Right now?” He breathed. “I have an extreme proclivity towards it.”

And then his lips were on yours, chapped and rough just as you remembered. His tongue was quickly plunging into your mouth and he held you so close as though afraid you would disappear.

It grew exceptionally heated in a matter of seconds and you wanted to tear all of his clothes off right there in the middle of the street. He guided you back towards your car without breaking the kiss and soon you felt your back pressing against the side of the vehicle.

When he did end the kiss, his pupils were blown out wide with lust.

Not another word was shared between you. You handed him the keys silently and you both climbed into the car. In the passenger’s seat you had to clamp your thighs together as a heat spread through you.

You hoped that by the time you made it back to the ranch he hadn’t let himself overthink this.

***

He tensed up when he invited you into his lodge, hands shaking as he opened the door and closed it behind him. His nerves were written all over his face.

He slowly moved closer to you, once again cupping your cheek in his hand in such a delicate manner.

“I want to make you feel good.” He whispered as his lips ghosted over your own. “The way you made me feel the other night.”

You whimpered at the thought, desperate for any kind of pleasure he wanted to bestow upon you.

“P-please?” You whined as his hand slipped into your hair.

“I just, uh…you don’t need…I don’t need you to, uh, return the favour? So don’t…” he trailed off, frowning at himself.

Don’t touch me, you heard the underlying words.

“Okay.” You nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you. I think I just need to…test my boundaries if that makes sense?” He whispered before pressing his lips against you again.

“Hmm,” you mumbled into his lips. “Boundaries. Sure.”

He led you towards his bedroom blindly, holding out his casted arm so as not to bump into anything. He kicked the door closed behind him before toeing off his boots. You did the same.

He tore his lips away from yours and ran his fingers down the fabric of your dress before stopping at the hem. You nodded, giving him the green light to proceed.

You had to help him remove the garment as he only had the use of one hand. Together you got it over your head before tossing it on the floor.

He made a whining sound between parted lips when he cast his eyes upon your body, clad only in a pair of lace panties.

His jaw clenched and you noticed it. You smiled at him, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. You kissed him again and moved your hands to the buttons of his shirt but stopped before you could undo any of them.

You weren’t sure if he meant he didn’t want you touching him at all and you didn’t want to risk this ending before it could begin so you moved your hands away.

Spencer led you backwards again and then laid you gently on the bed. He stood over you for a moment, eyes wandering almost lazily up and down your torso.

Swallowing a lump in his throat to stave off any fears, he started on his own buttons, again not the easiest feat with only one hand. Once undone he dropped the shirt to the floor leaving him in a t-shirt, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove that.

The bandage still remained snug against his bicep, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his tee. His purple cast started at the crook of his arm, only allowing a sliver of left limb to be revealed to you.

He did however pop the button on his jeans and shimmy them down his legs. You noticed a matching bandage on his thigh, you could only hazard a guess it was shielding wounds that were created by his own hand.

You tried not to look too long and let your gaze flick to his tight fitting underwear. There was a slight tenting within, but it was apparent he hadn’t reached full tumescence, maybe not even half.

His cheeks reddened as he noticed your slightly sad gaze on his crotch and he quickly climbed on top of you and stroked your cheek.

“It’s not you.” He insisted, kissing you again. “I swear to you, it isn’t you. It doesn’t always…do as it should.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that so you said nothing, opting to kiss him deeper instead.

He was trying to view it like an experiment without sounding too clinical. He wanted to gauge his boundaries, figure out how far he could push himself without crumbling. And with any luck over time those frontiers might expand to cover more ground.

His hand wandered your body in a vain attempt to recreate the pleasure you’d given him. His fingers brushed across your collarbones a few times before dipping between your breasts, across your sternum.

He palmed the swell of your left breast, fingers swiping out to ghost over your hardened peek. You moaned into his lips, bucking your hips against him at the sensation.

He did it again and elicited much the same reaction before doing the same to your other breast. You hummed into his mouth, writhing beneath him.

His own hips rutted against your leg and he was certainly getting harder. He didn’t let himself focus on his own arousal though, this was all about you.

And who knows, if he managed to take this step he may be able to take others too.

His fingers wisped down your torso, hand splaying out across the planes of your stomach. It travelled left towards your hip and his soft touch caused goosebumps to erupt beneath your flesh.

The fingers brushed over the waistband of your panties, down towards your thigh. He could feel the heat emanating from between your legs and he had to pull back from your lips to let a feral moan escape him.

He let his fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and you wriggled under him.

“More.” You whined, the same way he had done to you.

He kissed you again as he toyed with them, teasing you in a way that he could tell was driving you wild.

He let his fingers dance between your legs, feeling the soaked material and moaning again. He couldn’t resist any longer, he was desperate to feel you. He also worried if he took too long he might change his mind entirely.

He pushed the fabric aside and dared let his nimble fingers glide between your folds. He bucked against your leg and moaned into your mouth. He was fully erect now, you could feel it as he grinded against you.

His lips had slipped from yours in lieu of sucking on your neck, teeth nibbling against your skin. The friction caused by his stubble tingled and stung in the most intoxicating way.

His fingers brushed back and forth between your legs as though he wanted to collect every tiny drop of your arousal.

You were whimpering, begging him for more without saying the word. And he must have read your mind because suddenly, with no warning, he plunged two fingers inside of you.

You mewled at the welcome intrusion, back arching off of the bed and you swore you felt him smirk against your neck.

His long, nimble digits thrust as deep as he could, until he was completely buried inside of you. He hissed against your neck, unable to remember the last time he’d been inside a woman like this.

You clenched around his fingers, walls fluttering, tight and pulsing. It was such an unfamiliar yet conversant sensation. It caused a pinching in his stomach, a tightening in his chest.

He remained still for several moments, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, adjusting the overwhelming feeling that flooded his entire body.

It was new yet well remembered; he was both a novice and well versed in his craft.

You wriggled beneath him as he was still for so long you worried he was going to freak himself out. He raised his head from your neck so he could look at you.

His eyes were brimming with emotions, lips curled into the softest smile.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just a little overwhelmed by how amazing you feel.”

You cupped his chin and brought him closer, placing a chaste kiss to his lips and mumbling, “more, please?”

Spencer sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He curled his fingers inside of you, driving impossibly deeper inside of you and brushing against your cervix.

A wanton moaned travelled from your mouth to Spencer’s and your thighs clamped around his hand.

He withdrew his digits enough so he could plunge back inside of you, gently at first but after a few thrusts he got a little rougher. But judging by the sounds you were making, he was doing something very right.

He continued with this rhythm, curling his fingers each time he pushed back inside of you, and each time he brushed against you, you shuddered beneath him.

He started scissoring his fingers, pushing his fingers against your walls and finding it dizzying how your body bent to his will. He was continuously rutting against you, the friction it caused was delirious.

His lips roamed across your collarbones, travelling further south. When his lips wrapped around your nipple your back arched off of the bed again and you whined.

He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the swollen bud. He teased a third finger between your legs and your staggered breaths sounded out in delight.

As he dove three fingers inside your weeping cunt at the same time his teeth grazed your nipple, you howled so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard from the stables.

Spencer smiled to himself around your hardened peak, slightly disbelieving he could make anyone feel this good.

He pumped three fingers into you, once again feeling the way you stretched around him. It was a heady feeling, and caused his cock to leak with precum.

The sounds of your arousal as he continued his thrusts filled the room as well as a string of moans from your lips.

He moved his lips to your neglected nipple and offered it the same treatment as the first.

Your thighs clamped hard around his hand and you could feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs. Spencer was relentless in his ministrations, pitching in and out of you, stretching you and curling his fingers, ensuring to hit your sweet spot over and over again.

He was rocking on top of you, his hardened member grinding against your leg. You could feel the wet patch forming in the front of his boxers and feel your own stomach starting to coil.

You cautiously cupped his jaw, extracting his lips from their venture. When he looked at you his pupils were blown wide, lips swollen.

You drew him by the chin for a kiss. It was messy and sloppy, teeth bumping together as tongues fought to explore each other's mouths.

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, hoping that meant you were as close as he was. He continued to kiss you and plunge deeper, deeper, until you were trembling beneath him.

“C-close…” you stuttered against his lips. “S-so close.”

He moaned at the mere idea of making you come, increasing his speed with his thrusts, desperate to give you the pleasure you’d so easily given him.

All at once the cords holding you both together snapped. With a final shuddering breath as you nibbled Spencer’s bottom lip, your walls tightened around his fingers as you gave over to wave after wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name under your breath as you came undone. The sound of his name on your tongue and the feeling of you coming around his digits pushed him over the edge.

Still rocking against you, he came with a stifled moan, burying his head into the crook of your neck and breathing frantically.

He withdrew his fingers and you whimpered at the loss of contact but you wrapped your arms around him all the same.

Your hearts beat erratically against one another’s while you fought to catch your breaths.

All at once, Spencer came unravelled. With his eyes closed he could see them, hear them.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

He’d pushed too far. The boundaries he’d been trying to test were coming crumbling down around him.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to…

Oh fuck.

“Fuck,” he suddenly pushed himself up and rolled off the bed, ignoring the twang in his knee as he got to his feet. “Gonna…fuck I’m so sorry.”

You watched him run to the bathroom through bleary eyes. He slammed the door closed behind himself and seconds later the sound of vomit hitting porcelain filled your ears along with Spencer’s retches.

You slowly pushed yourself up, the post orgasm haze still heavy and you blinked several times.

“Uh,” you croaked. “Are you okay?”

You were met with another horrid gagging sound.

“I’m so sorry.” His shaky voice followed through the door. “This isn’t…it’s not you.”

“Kinda hard to believe that right now.” You stood up on trembling legs and found your dress on the floor before throwing it back on.

“I swear it’s not…I’m so sorry. I pushed too far, I wasn’t ready.” He was sobbing, choking.

You rolled your lip between your teeth as tears welled behind your own eyes.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should go.” You swallowed.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Inside the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl, Spencer heard your footsteps get further away and then he heard the door.

Tears streamed down his face and the wet patch in his boxers made his stomach turn again. He retched once, twice and then narrowly managed to turn his head back over the toilet before he vomited again.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

“I’m not whole.” He sobbed into the toilet, emptying his entire stomach contents. “I’m never going to be whole again.”

He wailed, crying until his eyes were sore and he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face. He vomited until there was nothing left to come up.

His whole body shook violently as he drew his legs to his body, ignoring the stickiness in his pants and the pain it caused his knee. He wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his chin on his knees.

The tears wouldn’t stop, they just kept coming. He snivelled and sobbed loudly and fitfully. His temples started to throb and a near blinding headache came out of nowhere.

His vision grew hazier around the edges before it darkened. He’d been so focused on other variables he didn’t feel the rising anger in his chest.

By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. And it wasn’t at all a surprise when he awoke covered in blood once again.

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 7 months

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The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 2

Cosmic Political Game | Loki x Reader

Loki and Thor arrive at the Avengers compound and Loki gets his first look at the mortal that has everyone so confused.

Chapter Warnings: False/medical imprisonment, masturbation, language, reader shapeshifting so some descriptions of hair and eyes but not skin colour.

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

Thor and Loki arrived in the dead of night when only a single flood light was left illuminating the empty lawn that sprawled between the buildings of the Avenger’s compound. The two gods left a large, circular, burnt patch of grass when they landed, marking their dramatic entrance back into the lives of the Avengers and leaving a smouldering pattern in their wake.

Safe inside the private penthouse, Wanda took the lead explaining the vivid and detailed dreams they had all been experiencing since your arrival. Thor had laughed heartily, slapping the small witch on the back and sending her flying forwards with the force. But Loki was intrigued, a slow smirk appeared on his face as he sat to the side of the vast living room, toying with sparks of magic between his fingers and thinking of the beings he’d met that could wield such powers.

“You’re frightened of your own lusts. Typical, petty mortals. They are but dreams,” the gold spark flashed green, lighting up his face and swirling in the dim light of the early dawn. Loki’s leather trousers creaked against the contrasting white of the expensive couches that lined the living space.

“She controls these dreams, what else can she control? What else can she make us think?” Steve rushed out. Loki was impressed. He had never seen the Captain this flustered or confused. Whatever power the little mortal possessed it was surely powerful if it could render the normally clear headed Captain a garbled mess.

“So what do you want of me?” He asked, long legs resting on the coffee table with a soft thunk of his boots.

“We need to know what she is. Is it magic, mutation or something else?” Bruce cleaned his glasses, yawning as he let his eyes drift to the clock above the faux mantle piece. “I’ve run out of ideas, but she can shape shift, change her appearance sometimes, like you,” he looked over at Loki “but we’ve yet to see her pose a material threat…which is somehow worse. That we could deal with. But it’s the-” he trailed off, waving his hand in a circle.

“Not knowing.” Natasha interjected and Bruce nodded at her in agreement.

Loki went quiet, thinking, the magic he had been playing with dying in his hands from sparks to embers to nothing. Shape shifting was, really, simple magic, something his mother had taught him as a young boy. It would seem especially extraordinary to such mortals, but it was also something that, though simple, took a great deal of practice and instruction to perfect. Wherever she had learnt this trick, it must have been somewhere equally magical.

“She can shape shift. Interesting. Can I see her?” Loki bent forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and surveying the Avengers, the golden twinkles that had danced between his fingers now dancing behind his eyes.

“Tomorrow” Steve said, decisively, “I think we should all enjoy some peaceful sleep while we can and then, tomorrow, you can meet her”

“Ahh, she isn’t here, is she?” Loki asked, trying hard not to sound too eager.

“No, we’ve separated her. We thought it would be safer.” Tony tried to explain.

“You’ve imprisoned her?” He scoffed, “frightened children, scared of anything you don’t understand,” Loki stood and walked off, “I have no time for this.”

Loki waited until everyone was asleep before exploring the compound properly. The layout was in clear blocks, with apartments lining up with the offices and laboratories below. Knowing they wouldn’t have let her leave for the secondary building on the campus, one where junior agents and scientists may be living, he deduced she must be somewhere in the medical bays. It didn’t take Loki long to find the secure room in the medical wing, mostly because, once he got close enough, there were hundreds of signs telling people to stay away.

The room itself was dark, but he could see a figure inside through the two way mirror, wearing what looked like a big white t-shirt dress, but it had marks on it, measurements.

The mortals had said she could shapeshift, so it was unclear whether this was her true form, as he watched her hair fade through a spectrum of white, grey and black, curling tight and then falling around her shoulders with each intake of breath while she slept. Like the tide ebbing and flowing along the shore, she seemed to change from one moment to the next, whenever he found a fixed spot, a hair length, a beauty mark, the tone of her skin against the bedding, even her height, it appeared to change again, imperceptibly at first and then it was shocking he had ever held the previous image of her in his mind.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes thinking.

Images flooded his thoughts, she was awake in them, smiling, dancing, singing, her hair bright red, then black. She was looking at him and smiling, not smirking or smug, a warm smile. Her white shift morphing into green, gold, black and back again. A gown, a cape, a corset, nothing and back again. He saw others, women and men he had known before and felt their hands, lips, kisses and sweat in his skin. Then he felt her hand, sensed her magic as it touched his own.

He woke with a start just before dawn, the taste of her, of you, of something lost to the passage of time, on his tongue.

The Captain was right to be worried. If you had projected this on him from the other side of the glass without even seeing him, what wonders had you conjured up for the innocent Avengers? If he was right, then your powers had grown immeasurably since you’d last seen each other, but The Captain and the bossy one had suggested you couldn’t explain your powers at all.

This was powerful magic, it thrummed in his bones and called to his own sedir. He had sensed it only once before, a long time ago on Asgard, although it was definitely not Asgardian. Nor was it Midgardian sorcery either.

He smiled, it would be like an Asgardian to play such games with mortals, but equally, perhaps you truly didn’t know your strength. Either way this was going to be an awful lot of fun, Loki thought, flicking his hand to straighten his sleep roughened clothes.

He watched as you woke, blinking, using the blanket to wipe sweat from your eyes. You looked around, through the mirror and straight into his eyes, unseeing, and then turned away. Your hands worked under the thin sheet, disappearing from his direct sight, although he could see the tell tale creep of your fingers as they inched lower.

Behind the glass, you gasped and Loki took a step forward, as close as he dared, watching as you moaned and moved, sighing along with you as you panted out your release. As you moved your hand back above the hospital sheets, your hair shimmered again, blushed pink and fushia.

The sun was starting to lift and the curtains parted on the small glass window, looking out over the surrounding woods. Your arms lifted too, yawning, eyes closed and light flooded the room, your hands touched your hair, assessing the changes in texture, length and colour before dropping back to your sides. The light vanished, back to the ethereal glow of sunrise.

Drumming his fingers he watched you move around the room, you didn’t seem to have any other clothes. But you splashed your face and brushed your teeth, watching the sun rise.

Inside the room you felt hot and itchy still. You had had a vivid dream, not of the people in the compound. Now there was someone new. He was tall, hair dark around his shoulders, lithe but muscular. You had felt him in your dreams, his slender fingers dancing on your forehead and cooling your skin. The tang of metal on your tongue. In the dream he held you, his hands tantalising but not enough to satisfy. In an attempt to rid yourself of this feeling your own fingers had danced beneath the large nightgown you’d been forced to wear, but even as you woke, the feeling lingered.

Washing your face and brushing your teeth did nothing to distract you from the sensation. Instead you climbed back onto the bed, pushed the sheets down and lay back. In vain you tried to picture the man again and as you did your fingertips dipped below the elastic of your underwear. He had dark hair, her hair, in return, darkened, smoothing out the curls into gentle flicks. He wore dark clothing. His fingers were slender, elegant, you felt a nudge against that secret spot inside of yourself and pulled back shocked. Your hands looked different, the usually small palms were wider and the fingers were longer too. You pushed back inside, pressing and grinding into your palm until you felt your legs tighten, toes curling and cried out.

Hopefully that would satisfy you for now. Standing, you examined your ruffled hair in the mirror, admiring the mirror shine of the now dark locks. You were starting to enjoy the changes in your appearance, it was fun, at least, to see yourself with a different body, a different slope to your nose, a tint to your eyes and various textures of hair.

You turned from the small mirror to the larger one next to the door and approached slowly, eyeing the length of your white shift to assess her new height, much taller, at least 4 inches. Stopping in front of the mirror you made your eyes wide, gold flecks alongside dark pupils. They’d go back to grey soon but, for a moment, you enjoyed this ethereal look.

On the other side of the mirror Loki watched, inches away, as you slowly took on subtle characteristics until, suddenly, he could see his dark hair, his blue grey eyes, you even looked taller. He took a step away from the glass. The changes were simple enough, if you knew how, but how had you done it when, surely you, couldn’t see him. He was breathless. The Captain was right, this was no mortal being, this was powerful magic, old magic.

A door along the corridor banged and you both jumped, Loki looked around hastily for an excuse to be here, rifling some papers. When he looked back you were sat on the bed again, cross legged, hair a pale red, eyes the same grey as the morning light beginning to burn through the curtains of your hospital room and his heart clenched. He’d been locked up before, misunderstood and mislabeled as something so much worse than he was. Used and cast aside as a pawn in some cosmic political game.

Loki’s jaw tightened as he made his decision.

He would help you, he would get you out of this prison, he would teach you to control your magic. But he would not give you back to the Avengers.

<< Part 1

Part 3 >>

#Loki #loki laufeyson #Loki Odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki marvel #Loki/Reader #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki/You #Loki/female reader #Loki series #The Old Gods and The New

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jellazticious · 2 months

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“You can’t rush art”

I think everybody can recall the quote from Toy Story 2. From the most satisfying part of the movie where we see a montage of Woody getting restored by a toy maker. It’s one of my favourites too, I absolutely loved looking at the different procedures used to fix a single toy. The toymaker’s precision and care were found mesmerizing by everyone. As a multi-hatted artist, one that can draw, sculpt, animate, and write, I can say that it’s spot on that there’s so much to do for a single piece of work. HOOO boy, you should see how me and Beefy are organizing Cursed to Charm, there’s so much.

For the upcoming webcomic, we design characters, give each and every one of them their stand-alone story, design different clothes, create the map, draw renders and posters, polish scripts for the episodes, plan to program the comic’s own website, make the backgrounds eventually, etc. To people who aren’t artists or take art for granted, to them, art is stroking a paper using a pen and BAM instant masterpiece. No no, it’s more than that.

Another thing I’d like to say about the comic is that the progress is very slow yet very fruitful because of the time taken. Me and my co-author came up with the idea at late November, which makes the comic four months old now. However, with all that time passed, we have already finalized the list of nine episodes of season one. We have also written seven out of nine summaries from that season before actually writing the dialogue in detail. We have a rough four seasons worth of story progression in the span of four months. Nyeh, excuse the little ramble about CtC, I’m just giving insight of how much should be done for the production of anything which leads us to the next point.

Art production in general.

Movies, animation, shows, video games, books, comics etc etc

All of these are part of art, some people would deny because it isn’t sophisticated like they’re lead to believe art is supposed to be. Art is literally just creation man, can’t get any simpler than that 😩 if you made something, then you made something woohoo! Congratulations you made art, cooking included. It came free with your fucking humanity.

Anyway, just like the webcomic, every single one of these listed also have a set of different procedures that will piece together the final output.

Let’s take Disney movies as a specific example, I want to talk about something real quick.

So one time, I was watching Tarzan with my parents and we stuck around for the end credits. My mom pointed out the animators are divided into sections and there’s so much names on them. There are different teams of animators for each character and these teams are divided in two for the storyboarders and the clean up artists. When the credits rolled a bit more, it showed that the background artists and colorists also have their own sections too. There’s so much people working on different body parts of a movie. I got the habit of reading end credits of every movie I watch, animated or live action, then I would compare the credits of old and new movies. Boy, let me tell you that the work space on old movies are FILLED compared to newer movies. One thing I noticed about Disney movies although, is that the old movies have more sections compared to new ones. The major difference of old Disney and new Disney are the length of the credits and the time gap of the movies. I’m really not trusting the way new movies have way shorter end credits while the publish time of new movies are getting narrower and narrower. Before the 2000s, movies usually come out twice a year and sometimes there’s a two-year hiatus before the next batch of movies are published. Now there’s at least two or three movies that publish yearly while also releasing a bunch of shows in the middle of it. I really don’t understand business talk with the way it sacrifices quality over quantity. Like I get having money is great and all but what’s the use of hoarding it? Especially when there’s so much news of people about to be in poverty and mass layoffs. Why should companies earn money if they’re not going to redistribute it back to the economy at all? This is a little off topic but I want to point it out that people in the 80s used to buy whole houses by being a janitor but nowadays people could barely afford a one room apartment even with three jobs. The Simpsons is an example of this because it was set in the 90s and the family is constantly reminded of how “poor” they are. They even created an episode that talks about the same job that supported people’s fathers will no longer support you nowadays (Poorhouse Rock ep22 s33). It’s fishy and I’m salty about it especially because I hear so much people complaining about how they’re not being given a chance to work. Anywho! Let’s go back to art.

I’m just spitballing my thoughts here but somehow they’re connecting either way. All I’m trying to say is that for the people who care so much about the quality of art, it’s noticeable that they get downgraded, not just by the look but by the way they’re written.

Example.

Clone High.

Jesus Christ, the new show is a nightmare and an insult to the original Clone High. The difference is clear with this one. The original Clone High was heavy satire of every single high school trope used in shows and movies. Every single character was meant to have one personality and that personality is the butt of the joke. The original did not care about making the characters appealing because the appeal is found in the way they interact, they clash so much and a lot of them are idiots. The writing is funny because the dialogue flows so easily unlike the renewal. The renewed Clone High takes itself too seriously and it tries too hard to be relevant. It’s funny to me that fans can draw the original’s art style more accurately than the animators hired. What’s even more frustrating is that concept art was released from the art head and the concept art looked way better than what they decided on the final designs. Other than the art style that tries to be marketable, the writing is insufferable with the way they try to be “relatable” without understanding why the original jokes were funny to begin with.

Now we’re all familiar with this cheap tactic of using the title of successful franchises to grab clicks and views. It’s every live action Disney film, it happened to Scooby Doo, Marvel shows, FNAF, some Cartoon Network shows, Megamind, and now even Kung Fu Panda. Basically MILKING. It would have been better if the productions TRIED to understand the original’s intentions which they forgot about. They ended up being disappointing at best and soulless at worst. I won’t be explaining much cuz I’ve already reached the minimum word count lmao. I’m just rambling here, I better not see anyone interrogate me in asks or replies. ANYWAY, I’m gonna get to the point real quick.

Back to the quote at the start of the post, people tend to forget that. Art is a skill, not a button people press and it gives you pretty pictures or videos. Art is a job and an effort. While art is subjective and it differs from person to person, one thing for certain is that art that is made ingenuinely will never be better than art that is made because the artist loves art. This is why the Tom & Jerry reboots with the lineless art style even if they had a storyboard artist who understood the cartoon wackiness (which were discarded for a “cleaner” and faster style). This is why it’s so frustrating to see concept art of movies which have more appeal than the final 3d models. This is why FNAF Security Breach was nearly unplayable.

Because they all rushed art.

They rushed in favour of what is marketable, no matter how unappealing it is. Everything could have been better, some final products are good, but all of them could have been better. As good as what were released pre 2010s when production had a passion. You can’t spell heart without art.

I’m just really passionate about art in any form since it’s everything that created me too. I will not be here at this point in time if it weren’t for me learning that there’s so much beauty in the world if you could just squint and appreciate why that’s so. I’m defined by my works and it only hurts and infuriates me that people who have the ability and accessibility to create better art than I do waste it for their personal gain or selfish intentions. Everyone could be a better person because of art just as it did to me. Again, it came to us the moment we’re born, art isn’t just a pretty picture, it’s everything we create out of love, passion, time, and effort.

But really, to the wise words of Chef Saltbaker, “like any good bake, heart and soul is the secret ingredient”

You can’t rush art.

#Jell tells wisdom #<-keeping it PG #I wrote this

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pakhnokh · 1 year

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Today, House of Gentians is one year old 🥳🎊🎉

You won’t believe the story of how it began….

I was 7 months pregnant, and have been suffering from intense itching in my lower legs for a month. I googled it and saw that it’s a warning sign during pregnancy and can have dangerous consequences so I went to my obgyn and he referred me to take a blood test to check it.

Fortunately it was clear from that problem, but we didn’t know the reason for the itching. He did say that some women suffered from an allergic reaction like this but he suggested that I go to a dermatologist to be sure.

So finding an appointment to a dermatologist in my country right away is a nightmare, and by some miracle I found someone who had a place for me in a few days but in another city. So I took the buss and went there and the doctor was there with a student who was working with him. Anyways he was extremely nice to me and that’s something completely odd with the doctors here, that make you feel as if you’re annoying them. He was really nice, checked me thoroughly, looked at my scratching wounds with a magnifying glass and all the while was talking with great enthusiasm to that student. Later at my second appointment I realized that the reason for this was that he treated me like a case study to show how pro he is to that student cause when he was alone in the second time, he was a complete jerk to me.

Anyways, at that first appointment he decided with great certainty that what causes my itch is scabies. And as someone who considered this possibility and checked for signs of a bug infestation, especially since I have experience with other bugs, this seemed unlikely. And I’m like, telling him of all the reasons that don’t match, like the fact that my husband sleeps in the same bed and he doesn’t suffer from it and for me it’s been an experience of a month now. Surely a thing such as bug bites would affect him too, no? But he was so determined and told me “your husband gonna get it soon probably” so he gave me a prescription for creams and told me to wash all textiles in my house at a high degree, and everything that can’t be washed, to close in plastic bags and leave the house for 3 days. And like I said, as someone who already had experience with another bug infestation this was something that I already knew how to do even if at first it sounds like a pain in the ass.

So I got home, told my husband, who really opposed this idea, but I insisted on it, especially cause if the doctor was right and there IS an infestation, then we have to treat it immediately before baby is due. So I did everything the doctor said, we packed some clean stuff and moved to live with his parents for 3 days. Like I said, later we discovered that the doctor was wrong, because nothing helped and the itching continued till the moment I gave birth, proving my obgyn was right and it was, what’s called “pruritus of pregnancy”, a severe itch that is not dangerous, but can appear in some cases. I still carry those itching scars on my legs btw, even though they’re faint now 🤣🤣

Anyways what the hell does this embarrassing story have to do with House of Gentians? It was on the first day we lived with his parents and I was working on the exclusive art I make for my patrons. I was in the coloring and rendering stage and it’s really a work that makes you be really focused on details and etc… I was already so tired, but when evening came and I was done with the piece, which is still one of my favs btw:

I still wanted to draw, something quick and sketchy to “free my hand”. I just opened a new canvas and started sketching. At first I wanted to draw yllz seducing lwj, as if he was taken to cr after all and things got hot 👀🔥 But then I changed his teasing, smug expression to a sad one, and decided that it’s gonna be a Yiling Laozu who came back to Gusu with lwj and was put in LWJ’s mother’s house as his waifu 👀👀👀 and this idea had a dark side at first, with my horny mind thinking of yllz performing the duties of a spouse with lwj 👀👀👀👀 and it’s gonna be love/hate between them both.

I was really hurrying this sketch too, because my husband was calling me to our evening quality time of having toasts while watching a series on Netflix so I posted it quickly on Twitter and left. When I opened the app again that night I was really surprised to see all the excited comments on this simple sketch I did, but they really inspired me to go on, just like your comments inspire me till this very day ❤️

And just look at it now, each week I’m working on more 4 pages, it turned to be the longest comic I did in my entire 25 years of drawing (160 pages till this day and counting) and I already have the entire plot written with like 9-10 arcs planned overall 🤣 Drawing this consistently also helped improve my art, as I look at the first drawings compared to the most recent ones I can see the progress I made and hope to continue making!

So thank you all for the love and support and the wonderful comments that inspire me to give you more parts each week!

And as a b-day gift, I give you a sneak peek to a panel from page 110 that I kinda like how it turned out

#house of gentians #pakhnokh #mo dao su zhi #au #Wangxian

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

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Old Bones | Chapter Six

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): trauma/PTSD themes, talk of death, implied past abuse, gun mention

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: hope this doesn't seem too much like filler... I'm trying to build the tension 〒_〒 (not entirely proofread!)

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Trust Me

The air, once tinged with the warmth of fallen leaves and the gentle aroma of pine, now carried a crisp chill.

You were determined to build a tolerance to the cold considering the cold showed no signs of mercy, blessing you with all the time in the world to stay sharp on your shooting. Nearly every piece of bark had a bullet hole by now, some months old, others still smoking—one of the only benefits of your new isolation.

Winter's icy brush coated your nose and cheeks, seeping through the only thick pair of jeans you had left. Knelt in the snow, trying your hand at one of the hunting rifles left behind.

The dusty scope roamed over the frozen lake in the distance, then through the path of the maimed trees. ‘Deep breath, squeeze, eject the cartridge’, he’d told you once. Those days of learning how to shoot at the crack of dawn were finally working in your favor.

A sharp inhale, a stiffened finger squeezes the trigger, and then—

“You’re still playing cowboy?” The only view through the scope is his sleeve now, rendering the shot you had lined up useless. With a pursed lip, you set the rifle down in the snow next to you, now taking a stand beside him.

Simon’s holding a stuffed bag of the month’s rations; some canned goods, fresh bread, and probably more of that goddamn tea you hate. At least lately, he scrounged up a few spare dollars for a pack of soda.

He dumps the six-pack of soda into the lump of snow beside you. You wanted it, you carry it in.

You grab the pack by the yokes and follow him inside the cabin. “You mind telling me the next step in all this?” You ask, fishing through the paper bag of goods.

When he looks like he's about to sulk and deflect, you cut him off. “Don’t lie to me, Simon. You’ve been even deeper in your laptop the past few weeks.” Your brow is pitched, and he knows he’s been cornered again. He was making plans; plans he knew you had a right to know about.

Simon inhales deeply and places down the cold cuts occupying his fingers, now fiddling with the tassels of the tablecloth.

“He hasn’t moved, but his dogs have. But they won’t find us here, it’s too covert.” The roughened consonants of his accent bounced off the hum of the refrigerator.

There was some unsettling comfort; a hideout with so much solitude, not even hired guns knew about it. “Well, what does that mean for me?”

“Means you’re staying here until he shows his hand. When he does, I’ll be prepared, and then we can move on with our lives. How’s that?”

You scoffed dismissively, finishing it off with a subtle eye roll. “You seem pretty confident about that, considering you haven’t met him. If I know Cal, he’s not going to show his hand until he sees me.”

“He won’t have to see you. That bogus court date is coming up, he’s desperate.” Simon declares, releasing the fist that had formed around the tassels. “You don’t need to know the bloody details, it’s nothing nice.”

Nothing nice. He’d said that before, more times than you can count. As if you weren’t reasonably aware of that by now—all the grisly things you’ve seen him do.

“The only way he’ll show himself…” You began, balling your fists at your side in apprehension for the plan of your own you’d conjured. After a few seconds of weighing up, you finished. “He’ll need to see me.”

“No.” His voice wavers, but his tone is stubborn. “I’m too involved now, ’s on me. You’re not doing it, that’s final.”

The shambles of a faulty plan; broken bodies littered everywhere, and the enemy has the upper hand again. The last time he failed a mission—the last time he hesitated—he failed that helpless woman.

That picture of her corpse cauterized into his psyche; that was his penance.

Behind his eyes were a thousand more pictures of the other people he’d failed. The next one wasn’t going to be you. Simon would never hesitate again.

“Just,” he returns, now a downcast mutter, “trust me.”

—

The fire crackled and danced in the stone fireplace, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated the rustic interior. The scent of burning wood wafted through the air, distracting you from the cloak of tension draped around your shoulders, ever since you’d arrived here.

Cal invariably got what he wanted. Here you sat, in forced isolation, while his only thought of you is when you’ll be in the cold ground. He was free, and you felt like you were already dead.

Unspoken words hung heavy; the quiet crackling of the flames were the only words, practically mocking your motionless lips. And Simon, remained idle in the corner, still deep in his research, a mind overeaten with venomous determination.

The flames cast shadows on the walls, like a satirical illustration; one brooding figure slowly consumed by the blaze, while the opposing was alone, with your head dipped into your lap—a redundant nightly ritual of late.

Simon’s gaze had exhaustion written all over it when he finally closed the screen, walking sluggishly a few feet until he reached the soda, fisting his newly poured glass of bourbon.

You looked over, he’d tore your attention off the third re-read of the book you’d packed. That, you could thank him for, at least. Any longer, and the book would’ve been thrown into the fire. He was playing with the button of his lighter—igniting it and snuffing it repeatedly.

After his thumb grew sore, he began to hover it over the flame in a sweeping motion, maintaining his hypnotized stare on it the entire time.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” You asked, setting the tiresome novel aside.

Despite the audible sizzle you could hear, he shook his head, then held the lighter out. “Try it. Doesn’t hurt ‘s long as you’re quick.”

You held out your thumb, combing it along the small flame in a quick swipe.

The fire licked at the callouses of your finger, and it only pricked at the sensitive pores for a few seconds after. It was a bizarre way of bonding, but so was the rest of this situation. Playing with fire remained near the bottom of your worry list.

He flipped the cap back onto it and returned it to his coat pocket, looking down at his drink like he had a thousand words daring his clothed lips. God knows he had a thousand awful thoughts already, and now on top of it—he was fighting the urge to share them.

Simon was good friends with the look of loneliness, but it was in your best interest, he repeated to himself.

In spite of his efforts to keep you safe, he feels he’s been nothing but a magnet for danger. He was a different man than he was during his years of service, but the reflection of failure in the mirror handed changed—it clung onto him as deep as his desire to protect, which was all Simon had left.

Every small look of loneliness, or the desire to know more, it dared to tip the delicate balance he’d carried. For so many years, nothing was personal to him. Job to job, contract to contract, the blood he’d drawn.

Still, in the here and now, that look of damage, it was the same as that woman, the same as his own, the same one his mother had for so many years.

You knew what he had to do, and why. It was a contract, nothing more.

That didn’t change how you felt about it; Cal was still a big part of your life, a person you were planning to share your life with. There were still tender moments, even if you knew now they were a disguise—in the moment, your heart believed him, and still, was scarred in the shape of him.

You could play yourself up, imagine yourself inflicting the same pain on him, but it wouldn’t fix the scars that covered you—some internal, some physical. Nothing would; not time, not Simon, only you.

The crackling continued, filling the tense air for a few minutes, before Simon finally spoke. Once again, limited words hiding a hundred more.

“You’re better than him.” He was right, but it was a hard truth to believe, no matter how blunt he could be.

You ran your fingertips over the oak coffee table, “I know.” Just like he’d said on the roof top—though, veiled with more doubtfulness.

That stubbornness that comes from pain—something he of all people couldn’t judge you for. His showed more in a desire to destroy things, while yours bled through in words, at least when he was around.

“You are.” He insisted, but he wasn’t forcing you to believe it. He wasn’t going to fuss and cry until you did, that wasn't within his list of expertise.

The finger once tracing the veins of the wood had come to a stop, returning to your lap. You nodded slowly, thoughts shifting from Cal to Simon, the only person you had right now.

For a man so adept at isolating himself, he was showing tenderness.

Perhaps, it was to prevent you from jumping off the roof, but regardless, it brought you solace. Amidst his blunt demeanor were advantages—you knew he wasn’t lying to you, no matter how strange compassion looked on him.

You had to move, or do something, or you’d risk showing too much of yourself. It was clear, at least to you, that was off the table.

“I think… I’ll go for a walk.” Anything to avoid the vulnerability—a choice you were sure he was thanking you for, judging by the tension in his shoulders right now.

An outsider looking in might think it was unhealthy, but Simon was not a man that needed words. If he’d crossed a line, he would’ve known the second he said it.

You were just deep in thoughts, nothing more to it. You, of all people, had earned that right in his eyes.

Within minutes you were out the door, swimming in the spare winter jacket he lent you. You started down the path, the one that once you were past the cottages, led to the stream.

Along the way, you could spot the trees that fell victim to your target practice; they were your guide, despite the fact you could hear Simon’s footsteps tailing you. Months before, he was so stealthy you didn’t notice them, but now you’d learned to sense his eyes on you.

It didn’t matter how isolated you were, this was still his job.

When you reached the frozen lake, it mirrored the cloudless sky above; motionless and as smooth as glass. The only sound was your frosty breaths, then the occasional groaning of ancient trees and the soft hush of the wind.

It seemed absurd, as if taken straight out of a cliché movie scene, yet you extended your hand, sensing the snowflakes dissolve in the warmth of your palm. It was a stark contrast to the flame that had been so close just moments ago.

In the most literal sense, you were both the essence of hot and cold.

While one of you was consumed with fiery rage, toying with flames; you were filled with bitterness, playing with the wintery cascade falling around you.

In contrast to the past, his vigilant gaze no longer bothered you; it was a source of certainty. The thought of being stranded here alone filled you with uncertainty, and you questioned your ability to endure it, especially if it was his absence you had to face.

You turned to face him; stood on the ice with his hands stuffed in his pockets tastelessly. In his thoughts, he was thinking about what he’d said, how he was going to make sure you weren’t damned to the same torture he was.

What he was going to do, planning to do, he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t stress it enough, how much it was eating at him. What if he couldn’t pull it off? If he’d failed you?

There was nothing he could do in the present, not until Cal showed his hand. Nothing he could do but make sure you knew he was there, even if he might not be when duty calls him, and possibly leave him to face the inevitable end alone.

After a few seconds of contemplation, he was sure now; Cal was going to die, even if that meant he had to.

“You being here, it means a lot.” You found your voice again, careful not to slip as you stepped closer to him. You didn’t mean his protection, you meant his human side—the one he was so reluctant to show before. This road was coming to an end, it was obvious.

Part of him is clueless to your social cues, while the other can’t accept the praise. He scoffs in an acknowledging manner, as if to physically dismiss it, “you paid me. I have to be.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You replied, this being the closest you’ve been in months.

“I know.” He said it again. This wasn’t him, it never was, but he didn’t want to move. Though his instinct urged him to distance himself, he remained close, casting a rugged shadow on your vulnerable state.

He kept his breath steady, as his phone started to vibrate inside of his pocket.

The moment of tension was cut short with the sudden interruption, allowing him an excuse to withdraw from the close proximity. He took a look at the screen, then met your gaze again, this time a few steps back. “We should get back.”

Though it was tempting to feel defeated, having been so close to something with him—whatever it was, you were also relieved it was spoiled. It was too soon, at least that’s what you were telling yourself.

“We should.”

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