Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the z-team would be such a bad influence on grace and def bring out his "been a long time since I've taken a pill from a stranger without knowing what it was" era
I'm still figuring out how to write for GenderNeutral! Reader so let me know if anything is off pretty please. Like usual, these aren't beta read
SFW but Barely imo. He's a repressed pervert and I stand by that. 4k words
Your skin was cold. It took everything in him to not wince immediately and having to give up on the idea the flusher he pressed himself against you. Your fingers were coldest. Held in his hand like icicles, stiff and unmoving. A clamminess starting to form. You stirred, hissing from the touch. It must have felt like he was burning. He thinks of the oil that splashed on him when Senshi had him use the fire trap. Or the feeling of steam coming from a boiling kettle. He feels you try to move away, but the ache of the cold keeps you there.
It makes him want to apologize, but he knows that you need this. He’s the warmest member of the party, he’s the only one here, and you are not going to last otherwise.
Things weren’t looking good. They haven’t for a few hours. An unexpected fight, was, well, expected at any point of their journey. But that didn’t make them any easier to deal with. The farther they get into the dungeon, the more bullshit that gets thrown at them. The fewer spots for reprieve. It was their fourth encounter in the span of a day. Marcille was low on mana, Izutsumi out of patience, and the rest of your party was low on stamina. But what was most worrying were your injuries.
The first two fights were fine. Swarms of angry things, annoying yet manageable. But in the third they were stuck in a trapped room, Chilchuck needed to get a gate open that was their only way to avoid being crushed. The stress, the adrenaline running out, he made a mistake. Setting off some other trap. And you’d pushed him out the way. Taking the blow that was meant for him just to give him more time. The party barely made it by the skin of their teeth when the exit forced them into a water tunnel, one that was freezing and windy. Ice slurry and snow flowing along the stream next to them. It felt a lot like the 6th level which was off putting considering how deep they were. But there was no time to focus on that. Not when you fall into the water in exhaustion, blood starting to flow and stain a bright crimson that only darkened the longer it took for them to get to you.
Marcille and Senshi form a human chain to get Laios down to grab you. When they finally have you back at the bank is when they get caught up in another fight. You were dead weight, consciousness barely hanging on. Spite moving you forward as everyone drew their weapons. Your arms were heavy. And the wind burned you. The tips of your ears, your nose, your fingers, were burning. You feel something coming towards you but can’t react before you’re knocked to the ground. A familiar metallic twinge coating your tongue, flooding your airways. This isn’t the worst way you’ve died, you think. It still sucks. But it isn’t the worst.
You barely hear the shouting of your party members over the wind. Over the pounding in your ears. You make out your name once or twice before you’re out cold.
You’re back. Everything was moving so fast. What was going on?
There was shouting, the howling of wind at the cave’s mouth. A cave? The howling of something else too. An angry monster. It made you feel silly to think that. Like a small child afraid of the dark. You feel your body be moved and know it isn’t you moving it. Why can’t you move?
And it was getting darker. Harder. To. Breathe. To think. Thoughts flowing in and out of your focus. Just as you made sense of one you’d lose it. Forget it. And start to follow another.
Then a change. All your thoughts come to one point.
Pain.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
“You can’t be serious!” Chilchuck sputtered while he and Senshi dragged you into the center of the room. Marcille was busy starting a magic circle next to you.
“It’s our best shot right now-” Was all Laios could say before he heard Izutsumi call out to them.
“A little help! What’s taking you guys so long?” Her annoyance was not unwarranted, considering the bind she was in. Despite her agility, she had to be exhausted too. Especially now that she was the only out there distracting that thing for them. The ground shook with the impact of it trying desperately to catch the artificial beast-man. “If I kill another thing all by myself again you guys OWE me!” A growl in her voice that could barely be heard over the wind.
A slight yellow glow had started in the middle of the room. The hue catching on your wet hair, shifting and shimmering as you shiver. Senshi tries to lay you down gingerly while Marcille rushes to your side. Her words wobbly, “Oh no, this is bad.”
“Can’t you just heal her?” The picklock doesn’t mean to sound angry. And he knows that no one holds it against him in these circumstances. Still, the twinge of guilt bites at the back of his tongue. He watches as Laios pulls out a bedroll and starts pulling blankets too. Confusion takes over the panic for a second before their leader speaks.
“Hypothermia.” The tall man grabs another large bundle from one of their packs. Working the tanned fur hide of the shapeshifter work to cover the cave mouth just as they did in the sauna. “Cold-sickness. Laying in that water, and the air. Even after Marcille's healing magic, if we can’t heat up-”
Cries fill the air. A sound you know but can’t place. A burning in your abdomen, like a knife, like acid, like fire, like death. Your voice. Contorted and raspy. The feeling of your nerves coming back to life. The moving of flesh coming back together. Things gone flat, filling back with blood, with air, with energy. And the pain that follows. Air catching in your lungs, ice cold air that dries out every inch of your mouth. Trying to cough and feeling your throat get stuck on itself. Pain. Panic. Your heart beating impossibly fast.
And then it slows again. So slow. You’re still desperate for more air that you can’t catch. Can’t hold onto.
Not when you’re so tired.
“That’s why you need to do this.” Chilchuck doesn’t have time to argue. Everyone is moving in tandem, trying to move you into a bedroll, trying to disrobe you. Extra blankets fluttering open and being laid across the top of you. “I mean, half-foots are notoriously hot-blooded right? Skin to skin is the fastest way.”
“Not notoriously…” There wasn’t much he could say to get out of this situation. He knew things were only going to get worse. You were getting paler by the second, lips unnaturally colored. And then Izutsumi calls out again.
Voice haggard, exhaustion starting to get to her too. “Can someone get out here already!” And then another yell. Senshi runs out of the cave at the sound, knife and pot in tow. Marcille is still fussing with your clothes by the magic circle to dry them out.
“It’s gotta be you Chil, you’ve got the best chances of doing it quickly.” Laios is readying his sword when Marcille stands. She has her staff at the ready, still nervously glancing at your still body. She puts the foot of it by the magic circle, imbuing it with more heat before Laios stops her. “Not too fast. It could make things worse.” She pulls back just as quickly as she starts before another slam shakes the cave. It forces the pelt to move just enough that a gust of cold air gets in. “We’ve got to lead it away from here if we can, go, help the others.” The caster joins the fray.
It’s rare moments like this where Laios earns the respect of his party. It’s rare moments like this where everyone listens. So Chilchuck finds it hard to say no again. Especially when Laios looks at him that way. Like he knows that this is the best option. The only option. Like he knows that he can trust the pick lock to do the right thing. And then he’s gone too. Chil stares at the pelt as it falls back into place, and then to you.
And he curses the air. Anger and embarrassment and shame all swirling in familiar uncomfortability in his stomach. Of course he’d do it. He has to. But he hates it. Hates this. This is how parties break apart. Crossing lines in the name of it ‘being the only choice’. Healers dealt with it the most. Got away with it the most. And then the guilt gains its own voice as he stares at your almost lifeless form. “You die without this. Without him.”
He strips. Hating every second of it. Even with the magic circle working to heat the space the air was still frigid. The cowl comes off first, then boots, and the rest of his layers follow. The cave floor was like ice. He keeps his underwear on. No amount of coaxing from Laios was going to make him do full skin-to-skin. Chil gets closer to you and can see the discomfort on your face. It pulls your brows together, lines that can’t fully form as you get closer and closer to sleep. When he pulls the blankets back he tries not to look directly at you. Instead focusing on how he doesn’t even have to touch you to feel the coolness of your skin. He hears the party grow more and more distant.
He looks at the makeshift door as he climbs behind you. His thoughts can't focus. Not flinching away from every point of contact, or, deciding on the likelihood your party wipes here. What are the odds that this cave belongs to that creature out there. Dying next to you, with you both in your-
Oh.
Oh No.
Marcille had truly removed everything. Out of what he assumed was an abundance of caution. You had to have been drenched in that water. Soaked to the bone. You were freezing. On the off they chance you both were revived he'd never live it down.
You felt like a corpse. Now was not the time. Your skin was cold. It took everything in him to not wince immediately, having to give up on the idea the flusher he pressed himself against you. Your fingers were coldest. Held in his hand like icicles, stiff and unmoving. A clamminess starting to form. You stirred, hissing from the touch. It must have felt like he was burning. He thinks of the oil that splashed on him when Senshi had him use the fire trap oil. Or the feeling of steam coming from a boiling kettle. He feels you try to move away, but the ache of the cold keeps you there.
It makes him want to apologize, but he knows that you need this. He’s the warmest member of the party, he’s the only one here, and you are not going to last otherwise. He tries not to jostle you too much, just trying to get you on your side, have you face the fire. He braces himself and gently starts to lift you. One hand slinking beneath your mid-back, and one on your shoulder to try and pivot you. He has to use his knee to push on your hip. You let out a hoarse groan at the repositioning, and he lets out a curse at how cold your back is on his chest.
It forces a breath out of him that moves some of your damp hair onto his face. He brushes it out of the way before moving his hands to your shoulders. And then your face. Your nose burned against his palm. Cheeks slightly warmer before your ears burned the same way. He could feel you breathing. Slowly. But steadier than before.
"Are you there?" Nothing. Chilchuck moves his hands to your side, trying to find a place to rest them that was appropriate yet still gave you as much warmth as possible. "Do you…" Oh he was going to curse Laios out in so many languages. "Do you want me to hold you?" The words get quieter the longer the sentence goes. Ridiculous. This was so fucking stupid. He puts his hands to your hips. Ignoring the tenderness of the flesh. Ignoring the way goosebumps build just below his fingertips. Ofcourse you have goosebumps. You're freezing to death.
He can hear your heartbeat slowing. Hyperaware of every movement you make. Or aren't making. The hoarseness of every shallow breath.
He attempts to turn you. Because you need to get fire evenly from all sides. Feel him on all sides. The half-foot grinds his teeth. Vile. He is being vile. Still. You almost end up on your back again, but he pulls you closer, just a bit tougher. Just to keep you from falling. Just to have your back heated by the fire. But then he was face to face with you. With frost nipped cheeks and wet lashes. Closed eyes. Calm and trusting. Lips full, cracked yet so full.
No amount of logical thinking is going to help him. Your body may not be warm, but when was the last time he had laid with someone. Dire circumstances or not. Your chest is to his, your pliant arms and-
The guilt coursing through him had to be helping somewhat. Even if his consciousness grappled to be useful, the warmth of his shame had to be doing something for you. For your plight. Even if it was tauntingly serving as fuel for his own. He shifts to face away. The picklock lifts your arms around under his, grabbing you by the wrists and settling them in front. Trying to get your hands to warm up on his chest. Linking his fingers with yours.
And you finally come to. All the moving, the shifting, the pins and needles in your hands. Your feet. A whine behind his ear. He stiffens.
"It hurts. It… tickles? I," You gasp and twitch. "I can't." He can feel your hands try to move on their own. But they don't. Locked on themselves, too cold to move, too overwhelmed to pick a direction. He tries to focus on helping you. Instead of imaging your words in any other context than the one reality was based in. He presses his thumb into the meat of your palm. Pushing and rubbing it towards the center. Then taking his whole hand and trapping your four fingers into his, trying desperatley to massage them. Stretching his body to catch your cold feet with his calves. It forced your legs up, as if you were spooning him. You both hiss at the contact. At the change.
Your thighs. Your stomach. Your legs. Your chest. Every part of you touching him. His hands were holding yours as you shook and pressed your face into the crook of his shoulder.
"Oh gods, I'm sorry." Mortification seemed to rouse you further from your sleep. "How did-"
"You were freezing to death. After almost bleeding to death." He isn't sure what else to say. He's not ever sure that was the answer to your question. But you don't say anything. Instead he feels you trying to flex your hands. The slow strain as you try to unfurl your fingers, it shakes your arm just barely. "Don't push yourself." He presses your hand to his chest. "You're not nearly warm enough yet."
"I'm sorry Chil. To put you in this position. I know that…" What word do you even use here. He sits in silence with your pause. He'd go with any answer. If it meant not feeling the reverberation of your voice in his spine. The puffs of air as you speak and shiver into the nape of his neck. "that you're not. You don't approve? Of inter-party relationships. I promise, I won't read into this." He can't judge you for thinking that way. He knows exactly why. How many minutes - no - hours has he spent lecturing the party on unnecessary intimacy. On keeping calm. On understanding boundaries.
Yet.
All of that high and mighty attitude was about to crumble. If you dared to move your hands down. If you got remotely close to his stomach. You'd feel it. The extra heat. The stiffness that strained against what was left of his modesty. So he holds your hands close to his chest, and hopes that your hands were just numb enough to ignore the pounding in his chest. A feeling not at all echoed in the pulsing beneath his boxers. The blood rushing in his ears.
"Don't worry about that right now." He hopes you mistake the strain in his voice for disdain. Anything to prevent his internal struggle from being allowed to permeate his thoughts a second longer.
There’s this moment that happens in everyone’s life, where they have to make a choice. Do your principles matter?
And he has to decide. To live by his code or follow the curve of your body with his own. It’s awful. It’s stupid. It makes his cheeks heat, makes his heart race, makes him want to yell in frustration. Because in all his time, how was he supposed to be faced with his own lack of conviction, now, here. With so much else on the line?
"Chil?" He snaps back to you. Your hands pulling from his and settling into the curls of his chest hair. Finally flexible enough to splay across the surface seeking warmth. Seeking him. "Where is the rest of the party. There was that trap and then-"
"And then you risked your life. And we got thrown into a blizzard. And you fell into water. Managed to get hit again. And now the Laios and the others are trying to kill the damn thing while you take a nap." He lets frustration color his voice. Willing it to manifest as the reason for the gruffness he can hear.
You try to pull at a hair in annoyance. "Oh that's such a kind thank you. You're so welcome." Chilchuck swats at your offending hand before whirling around (as best as one can in a shared bedroll) and pushing your wrists to your shoulders.
"You should be the one thanking me. I could have just as easily let you freeze to death. The only reason I'm even doing this is because they left before I could tell them to buzz off." Liar. But you don't need to know. He's certain you don't believe him anyway, he just needs it to be any other reason the one that keeps his hips from pressing into your front. He lets you go. "I should just get up now."
"Wait!" You tense. "Please, not yet. You're so warm." Your cheeks get redder, face flushing. "I'm sorry, please, don't go." The words come out shakily, hushed. You're shivering harder just at the thought of him, his warmth, leaving you.
Torture. This had to be torture. You sounded pathetic. Sad and hurt like a lost dog. And he has to concede to his morals. He was not someone who could truly forgive himself for committing acts on base desires. Not with you. Who was so careful to maintain every boundary he has set. Who was there for every member of the party as best you could be. You who he learned to begrudgingly respect out of the bumbling fools he found himself surrounded with. So Chilchuck doesn't say anything.
He wills his muscles to stop tensing. Tries to lay down next to you and be… calm about it. When you realize he's not going anywhere you press into him. If you felt anything you don't say. He wonders if your limbs are still too numb to notice. Or if his guilt-driven reality check killed the evidence. A few minutes pass of silence. The whistle of the cold wind sneaking through the make-shift door the only real noise. Not even the party could be heard.
It makes him hyper aware of your every sound. Of his. And he can't stand it. But you beat him to breaking the silence.
"I am sorry you know. I didn't mean for this to happen, and-"
He can't stand the wobble in your voice. "You don't need to be sorry. It was my ass on the line earlier. You wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had just done my damn job." He feels you shift.
"One mistake or two the whole time I've known you. Pretty good track record in my book."
He wants to smile at that. Instead, he does nothing, you continue. "Compared to you lot, I'm a whole lot less driven." More feelings he doesn't know what to do with. Thoughts and learnings he doesn't want to get caught up on. Yet you keep talking.
"You all have goals, dreams. And I only came to this dungeon because I needed something to do." You laugh. It's small and turns into a cough that presses your chest to his with every staggered breath.
When you still he speaks.
"You're… a valuable member of this party…" His words are quiet. And he wonders if he is really saying any of this out loud. "Don't be jealous of us. Your life is your own. I just happen to be stupid enough to rent mine for hire."
You laugh again, more life behind it this time. "You know, I've seen that bill. Might be getting a pretty good deal." He hums in response. Choosing to be grateful for the normalcy you both were attempting to maintain.
And it goes like for a bit. Silence, shifting to keep your blood circulating, then tidbits of a conversation before slipping into silence again.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
"You miss the snow?"
"Silly isn't it." Neither of you have to say yes. Not when you were still struggling to open and close your fist half and hour ago. "But I do. I miss getting to play in it, and have the choice to come inside after."
That pulls a laugh from him, and you continue. "Warm blankets, a fire that smelled like fire. Sounded like fire. Don't get me wrong, Marcille's magic is great but-"
"What?" He can't help the interruption. "Being magic takes the magic out of it?"
"I guess I'm not making a lot of sense." Embarrassment obvious in your voice.
"No you are. It just makes you sound like Senshi." You try to give a feeble smack at his side. And it has more force to it than either of you thought. He lets out a strained laugh as the air is forced out of him. If he was honest, he likely could pull away and you be fine now. And if was being more honest, he knew he didn't want to.
Not when you laid there curled into him. Hands starting to absentmindedly play with his chest hair. Your head tucked into the crook of his neck, leg hooked over his. He can't remember the last time he just -is cuddled even the right word- had someone hold him. Chil wants to run far away from here and never move again at the same time.
And you don't seem to be moving any time soon either. But it does have to come to and end. The party approaches, their after battle banter starting to carry over the wind. You can't hear it like he can, so he tries to absorb every last minute. Catalogue the way your fingernails lightly scratch his chest. The way your breathing has evened out with spirit behind it. How in this small amount of time he has learned more about you, shared more with you, than he ever would have otherwise.
Yet the inevitable still arrives, the subtle shifts you both take, the silence of him removing himself. The shuffle of clothes returning to bodies as Laios and the others get closer. Their leader enters first, exhaustion not hiding the excitement of eating this new monster. Izutsumi is complaining about the fight. Senshi is prepping their meal.
He could pretend like things were normal. He could pretend that he wouldn't think of this for many nights to come. He could lose himself to the routine.
He could hope you do the same.
Marcille enters next, immediately rushing to your side, hand on your forehead. Chilchuck rolls his eyes at her fussing. It's a practiced motion, but can't stop the way he observes now. The way you flush when you make eye contact with him. The fact that he can still feel your touch like a whisper on his skin.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Ppl keep commenting on my art about Grace and Carl or Grace and stratt being like “oh this would make the forced coma scene even sadder” as if Carl and stratt weren’t both visibly distraught at the news that they had to send Grace off to die. Sure it was a betrayal for Grace but don’t even for a second think that it wasn’t the most difficult decision in the world for them to pull that trigger
Y'all ever think of what the person responsible for Rocky's voice bank must've felt when those videos finally got to earth? Imagine doing a voice acting gig for a bank voice on a computer or whatever that you eventually completely forget about, only for it to one day come back to you when the FIRST intellectual alien lifeform that a human being has ever met decides to use it as their chosen voice. The mild horror. The exhilaration. The emotional punch. This is it. This is your magnum opus. You have given a human voice to a sentient rock and it will NEVER get better than this. Also, they picked you over MERYL STREEP?!?!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Chilchuck x Reader One Last Treasure Hunt (Part 14) Iris - A Messenger
2.3k words
Sorry I was gone for so long... but hey! Here's an update. I've also posted a short one shot of another GN!Reader/Chilchuck so please forgive me for not feeding y'all in a bit :(
Shit. That’s all Chilchuck could think in response to the half-foot’s question. He doesn’t have much of a poker face, and he knows that DanDan can see right through him immediately.
“Spill man, I don’t want to deal with this guy any more. He pays well but he’s pushy and I’m tired of chasing dead-ends.” His black curls bounce a bit from the force of him leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got a whole shop going, you don’t really need this one box right?” His words are fast, and charged with their own nervousness. Linnel had paid him well. So well that he spent it on ales and beers and a new pair of boots. If he didn’t get that box to him soon he’d be screwed. If Linnel was the type to throw around money just to find the damn thing, he was definitely the type to prove a point.
Chilchuck was biting at the tip of his thumb. Hard. Brows furrowed, whole body practically shaking from frustration. Of course DanDan had to ask. Had to be here and see the lockpick with Linnel’s family. Whether or not DanDan knew of their relation didn’t matter. It’d come out eventually. Just like it would come out that they’ve been working on the box. Would the rest of your family come out of the woodwork too? Would they be just as meddlesome?
“Dude, you look like you’re about to tear it off…”
“Tch!” Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re worried about but it’s one box. I’m sure that it’s not even that special. Most of the shit these folks ask me to scrounge up for them isn’t even sellable.” He’s leaning forward again, he’d expected a lot less of a freakout over this.
“And why do you think that is numbskull?” Chilchuck’s voice is strained, DanDan hasn’t seen him this vexed in awhile.
“Huh?”
“Because it’s sentimental. Familial value. Something important to someone.” Now he’s running his hands over his face.
“Can’t be that important if they lost it, besides you hate that emotional crap.”
“He never lost it! Linnel is trying to steal it!” And with that declaration Chilchuck stands up, the palms of his hands flat on the table. A few heads turn but the Tavern is bustling and listening ears quickly find other things that interest them. Even so DanDan sits straight in his seat. And Chil knows he’s gotta divulge now. So he does. Fills his old friend in on all the necessary details, ignores his debauched questions on your house visit, and leans back in his own seat while he waits for a response.
“Well, I feel less bad about spending the pay now…”
“I told you, only take advance payment if you can be responsible about it.”
“You going to scold me, or are we going to come up with a plan?”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
When you get to the shop the next morning, it was closed. You knocked at the door with no response, even pulled at the handle just to check. At first you figured he stayed late at the Tavern and was nursing a headache but when you made it all the way across town his home was empty too. The sun was higher in the sky now yet the air stayed cold. You felt an uneasy feeling in the back of your neck, something that slithers down your spine and settles as a heavy stone in your stomach. You try to ignore it. To shake it off. Perhaps he was just out buying food or shop essentials. Or even still at the Tavern and rallying in an effort to stave off his own hidden feelings about your uncle’s increasing suspicion.
As you and Chilchuck spent more time together he began to tell you stories of his youth, and there’s a calming warmth that tries to fight back the chill of the season. How he would drink with random party members from his early union days. How they’d avoid alcohol sickness by just drinking more, staying up later and later to out run the hangover. You almost laugh to yourself when you remember the expression the half-foot made at his own memories of the toilet clutching failures that followed.
You take a deep breath, letting the wintry air fill your lungs. You are walking towards the Tavern as you remember how quickly he went to protect you that night he escorted you to your grandmother’s home. How he wielded that firepoker and checked all the entrances. Stories of his dungeon diving days. How he’s made of tougher stuff, that he would be fine, and that you were likely worrying for nothing.
Another deep breath as you begin to weave your way through the busying streets. You follow that mental routine, pulling yourself along a familiar path and forcing yourself to relax. And you almost do after walking a bit, but there’s something ahead that catches your eye. You had to pass by his store to get back to the Tavern, and in the windows you see two figures bobbing around in there. So he was open afterall, crisis avoided. You’re about to scold yourself for assuming the worst when whoever’s inside seem to spot something. Spot you. A freeze in their movements, and as you get closer, a fluttering about the store.
By the time you reach the door it seems like there’s no one inside. You reach for the handle and are shocked to find it locked just as it was that morning.
“What the hell?” You jiggle it again for good measure. This time you knock at the door loudly, “Chil? You in there?” Well there goes your sense of relief.
“Looking for someone?” An unfortunately known voice sounds from behind you. When you turn it’s Linnel standing there. Oh now really was not the time for this. “Maybe we’re looking for the same person.” He steps uncomfortably close to you. It forces you to flatten into the door a bit, feeling the chill of the cold wood and glass press against your clothed back. “Or the same thing?”
Had he been following you? Had he seen Chilchuck’s home? You half wonder if your sudden unease earlier was your subconscious feeling watched. You don’t have time to really think about it, not when he’s reaching towards you. There’s not really room for you to get out of the way. You’re forced to stand there as his hand goes for the door knob.
The same metallic clanking rings dully out of the lock holding fast. A displeased look crosses your uncle’s face before he pulls away. “Seem’s we’re both out of luck. For now atleast.” He wipes his hand against the hem of his coat and you frown at the insinuation. Both of them. Linnel steps back, straightening as he turns to leave. You watch as he gets further away from you and is obscured by passing townsfolk. Just when you step away from the shop’s door you feel it press into your back. Before you can fully register what’s happening you’re being pushed then pulled into the store.
You fall flat on your ass, a bit dizzy and like you lost the wind in your lungs. When your vision refocuses there’s a curly black mop of hair in your face and a sharp pain ringing on both sides of your ribs. Just as you go to sit you feel a hand in yours trying to pull you up.
And in front of you is -
“DanDan?”
The freckled half-foot is grinning ear to ear. “Ah, so he did tell you my name.”
Before you can respond, someone says,“You couldn’t have been any gentler?” You know that irked tone, that huff of frustration.
“Chil?” And there he was, arms on his hips in disapproval as his friend came up beside him and began ribbing him with his elbow.
“I can be gentle.” It earns him a smack upside his head.
“What is going on??” They both turn to you, then to the large store windows behind you. Both half-foots gesture for you to follow them.
And that is how you found yourself sitting in Chilchuck’s work station with him on one side of you and DanDan on the other.
“Do you still have the key?” It’s Chil who speaks, and you nod in confusion as you pull it out from under your collar. Still firmly attached to the string you used as a necklace. “Good.” He pats your shoulder when he says this, the immediate warmth of it makes you want to relax into the touch. Instead, you feel annoyance building in your stomach.
“Explanations. Now. Please, before I freak out.”
It’s DanDan who pipes up, “We’ve got one, we’ve got one, we swear.” He waits for your response and continues when you don’t give one. “Looks like your uncle’s really wanting that music puzzle box thing you’ve got, and you’re not wanting to give it right?” You huff and he waves a hand. “Just a sec, we’re getting to it. Ran into Chil at the Tavern and one thing led to another, I’m on your team okay? I’m not partial to rich assholes in the first place, especially if they’re messing with one of our own.” He bumps shoulders with Chilchuck at that. “And if you’re with Chil then I’m with you!” Another smack upside the head from the lockpick. “The two of ya are hard to please.”
“What he’s not getting to is that we can trick him.” Chilchuck talks while handing you slips of… paper? Receipts.
Turns out being the head of a guild makes getting favors pretty easy. Well, that’s what Chilchuck says but DanDan so helpfully adds that being a member of King Laois Touden’s party doesn’t hurt. You’re flitting through some of them while the two of them explain the plan. At the start you agree with it. Faking sales of the box across different half-foot led shops and other guilds that worked closely with Chil’s. “Your asshole uncle likes to make assumptions about us, might as well play into it for this to work.” DanDan prepares for another head smack but it doesn’t come. Instead the picklock is moving to be directly in front of you. That’s when you feel your heart start to sink.
For someone who wanted to appear indifferent Chilchuck wore every thought plain as day on his face when he was in a bind. He grabs your hand and lowers it to your lap. You see DanDan move out of your peripheral away from the work space. Away from you both.
“There’s a catch,” you don’t get to finish speaking.
“You’re not going to like it.” He goes quiet for a bit. A silence that realistically had to be short, still, it dragged on in your anticipation. “To be fair, I don’t like it either. But it’s for the best.”
“Well out with it then.” Your voice is quiet. The hand holding your own squeezes softly.
“We can’t see each other for a bit.” He feels you go to pull your hand away and holds it tighter. The strength is gentle yet surprising to you. “I know. But really, it is for the best.” His own voice is strained.
His whole life had been full of unexpected blunders and being at the whim of some force that loved to make everything more difficult. Yet you had felt easy, even when things became confusing, you were the easy choice. Now he had to choose to let go of you. In a life as short as his, filled with annoying perils and contradictions, he had to choose to waste time on this. On deliberately not choosing you.
He knew that was selfish thinking. A thought process that Marcille would romantically spin that he was choosing this for you, for the sake of safety. That Leed would attribute to his cowardly nature. But this was the safest way to fight for you. So he takes another breath and continues on. “We think that by the time Linnel figures out the trail is fake, you and I will have solved the last puzzle. Or, if we’re lucky, he’ll give up and have to go back home empty handed.” He brings his free hand to your shoulder. Lets it slowly move up your neck and cradle your cheek. When you lean your weight into him Chil feels a tenseness leave him.
“How long?” It was a fair question to ask, but not one that he had the answer to. And he hated that.
“Best case scenario? A couple months.” The laugh you give is hollow. You copy the shape of his hand on your cheek, fingers playing with the little bit of hair that speckles his knuckles. They still when you speak.
“Let’s be realistic. We’re not any closer to figuring out the last puzzle now than we were before. If you and I can’t work on it together,” you pull his hand from your face, bringing it where he holds the other in your lap. “, it’ll take even longer.” You clasp his hands in your own. “My uncle is proving to be difficult. And I can see him staying past the turn of the season. Are you sure you want to commit to this?”
Again you’re giving him an out. But this time you don’t mean it. It’s more of a plea veiled under concern. The time you’ve spent with the picklock has been short, yet it has meant everything to you. A light in the darkness since your grandfather’s passing. A desire you had tamped down long ago to hold and be held. To indulge in hopeful love. And Chilchuck would have every reason to step away from this now. All thoughts you wonder if he can read on your face. Thoughts cut short when he pulls you forward in your seat by your wrists.
The press of his lips to yours is so warm. It catches you by surprise and when you gasp you feel his tongue delve into your mouth. Pipe tobacco and something distinctly him, a taste you’d chase if he hadn’t pulled away so soon. If the circumstances had been different.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You didn’t realize it at first, but Chilchuck liked to be praised. Everyone does, naturally. It’s always nice to be encouraged or considered useful. Marcille loved to feel smart, Laois liked knowing the most about monsters, Senshi knows all there is to know about cooking or dungeon living, and even Izutsumi was nicer after hearing she did well. Your whole team had their strengths. And your pick lock was no exception. But his reactions… were cute.
And Chilchuck didn’t like being considered cute. Or anything adjacent to that word. Which you knew and respected. Being one of the shorter races on height and life span has a plethora of issues. Downsides that he complained about often. And you tried really hard to ignore the growing affection you had for the half-foot.
Tried to ignore the pout he had when he and Marcille had to eat something they didn’t want to. The grimace that would twist his face when Laios said something cringey. The way he scratched his face in his sleep. Little moments you catalogue for yourself and only yourself.
If you were in the business of upsetting him you’d share these observations with Marcille. But she wouldn’t be able to keep it under wraps. Not only does he disapprove of inter-party romance, he could potentially change his behavior to avoid doing things that would make you feel that way. He was a secretive person, going as far as to lie about cheating on his wife to get your party’s half-elf to leave him alone. So it was better to play it safe, to watch from a distance and find simple joy in the little things. Like how he reacted to compliments.
Thinking back to your first time experiencing a trap-room with them, you remember quite clearly the pride he took in his craft. The silence of your team as he worked. What stood out most to you though, was his dedication. He removed his outer layer of scarf and gambeson, his gloves, even his shoes. He was tall for a half-foot, and without the extra weight of his clothes and accessories, you could see his build better. Toned and lithe as he tip-toes around a room. When Marcille complimented the speed he had worked, he simply shrugged and said it was nothing. But you saw it, the tell tale signs of a blush on his ears and dusting his cheeks.
The second, when he was disarming a trap in the walls of a thin walkway they had to get across. It was the shortest path, but had the most risks, especially with party members as tall as Laois and wide as Senshi. There was no way to not accidentally touch any of the hidden triggers in a hallway so cramped. He worked quickly and efficiently. His tongue sticking out at particularly challenging sections. A red berry against his pale skin. His face pressed against stone walls as he reached his arm into places the rest of your party couldn’t see. It took a long time but he got it done. Again, the members of your party showered him in praise, in thank-you’s, and in warm smiles.
It was like you could see the stress melt off his shoulders. See the vigor it filled him with to be appreciated like that.
It made you want to be the reason he glowed in that way. You had started to be more vocal in your appreciation of him. Sprinkling in praise here and there with the rest of your party. But you were greedy. Wanted to be the only reason he felt that way, just once. It was selfish and silly and difficult to do in a place like a dungeon. There was always another listening ear, some road-block or monster. And so you had an idea.
The night was just beginning to wind down. Dinner had been eaten, dishes washed up, and bedrolls laid out. When your party draws straws for watch duty, you keep your gaze fixed on Chilchuck’s hand. Eager to plan out your approach. Laios had pulled the shortest straw, so he started first. And when Chilchuck bids on going after Marcille you’re quick to put your hat in to go after him.
You can hardly sleep despite having three turns to cycle though before you can go. You were worried you’d miss your opportunity. Yet your eyes get heavy and your breath evens out. Luckily, you’re up before it’s your turn. The sound of threads being pulled taut over and over again is a quiet reminder of your mission. In the lamp light, you can see him seated against a wall. His gaze fixed on repairing a torn shirt. You watch the way his fingers move deftly, the practiced motion coming to him easily. The way the needle glints orange from the fire.
You sit up, sleep an ache in your muscles.
“You’ve still got time to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s your turn.” His voice is quiet to avoid waking the others.
He looks up when you don’t say anything, but you're not looking at his face. Your gaze is fixed on his hands. They slow the longer you stare. “Sorry, it’s just soothing to watch you work.” That’s when you look up at him.
“What?” He’s caught off guard.
“Your craftsmanship is always impeccable. You really have an eye for detail.” You’re yawning now, stretching your arms as you stand. “Do you mind if I sit with you? Just feel like I could learn a thing or two.”
“Um, sure.” He sounded more surprised than hesitant. The tell-tale blush starting already. Alas, he’s always wary. Proven by how he makes space for you to sit next to him but still eyes you suspiciously. “What are you trying to learn?”
Well, you didn’t actually plan for this part. And you have to scramble.
“You’re always sewing things up for the party…” quick, think. Think! “I’d like to help out, since you already do so much.”
"At least someone notices,” he half mutters to himself. “it’s fine, I don’t mind doing the repairs.” He sees your face fall and backtracks. “But! I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of hands.”
“You’re starting to sound like Senshi,” you joke. And to your surprise, he laughs.
“He pisses me off sometimes,” he has a content grin on his face, contrasting his words.
“He means well.” You don’t have to say it, Chilchuck knows.
“Sometimes that pisses me off more.” And this time you laugh. Your shoulder bumping into the half-foot beside you as you try to keep it quiet. But you don’t move away. It’s with a flutter in your heart that you notice he doesn’t either. You try to stay impossibly still. Worried that if he noticed that he’d pull away. He was warm. Warmer than you thought he’d be. Or maybe that was you becoming overly aware of where your bodies connected.
It’s silent for a bit. Again, the sound of a needle popping through fabric followed by the wishy washy whisper of thread being pulled taut falls into a rhythm. You’re a bit startled when he speaks, “This is called a blanket stitch.” His voice sounds so nice as a whisper. A slight gravel in it.
“Huh?” So eloquent of you.
“The stitch I’m doing. It’s good to close edges. Not the most efficient, it’s a bit more visible than I’d like for these fixes to be,” he pauses to shift his work closer to you. And now your arms are almost flush. “But it’s a way to reinforce the fabric.” You watch carefully as he pinches two sides together, poking into panels with his needle. He works quickly, like he always does. And you struggle to follow his movements.
“So you don’t pull the string all the way, you sew into that gap first?”
“Yeah, it catches on itself and makes the edge that way.” You only hum in response, eyes getting heavy again. This was soothing.
“I think so too.” Chilchuck’s hands pause.
“Hmm?” You’re wide awake again.
“It’s a good way to wind down.” Oh, you must have said that out loud. He laughs softly, “you should go back to bed.”
You're tempted to. The softness of your bedroll calls to you. Still, you stay. “You’re warm.”
He sighs, and you worry you’ve overstepped at first before he speaks. “Izutsumi says the same.” You’re both looking at her sleeping in his bedroll. Her limbs sprawled out in a way that only she could find comfortable. When you turn back to him, you see that he’s looking at her in such a content way. You half wonder if she reminds him of his daughters when they were young. A vision forming in your mind of three small girls crawling into bed with their parents.
“Why’d you learn to sew?” You were taking a chance with this question. He wasn’t one to share personal details, but this night started because you were feeling greedy. So you delve deeper. “It’s a good skill to have, you have so many.” Hoping the compliment could ease the sharing of details for him.
“You’re not without your pluses too ya know.” He’s looking at you when he says that. “You’re a valuable member of this team.” Your face heats. A deep deep heat must be working its way up your neck.
“Th-thank you.” It’s not that you weren’t used to compliments of your own, but Chilchuck doesn’t hand them out lightly.
You want to ask him what they are but you don’t get the chance. “It’s cheaper to fix things than to buy new ones. And it’s lighter on packing too.” It’s a fair response, though you were hoping for a story about making something for his daughters or fixing torn dresses. Imagining him being a father in those ways warmed your heart. Not that you think he’d ever admit to doing that without persistent bugging from Marcille. “I’m surprised you don’t know how to, seems like every adventurer has to do it at some point.”
“I do know how to sew, just basic things though.” He keeps working while you talk. “Figured it’d be good to get a refresher from someone who does it so well so often.” A part of you wondered if you were laying it on too thick. Yet another part is thoroughly enjoying sitting next to him like this. Watching him work at an angle you’ve never had the chance to view from. Seeing the way he sits straighter with each compliment or word of praise. There’s a hiss of pain from the half-foot before he drops the cloth and thread. He had pricked himself with the needle.
“Guess I’m not used to someone watching me do this stuff.” He wets the tip of his finger with his tongue before wiping it away gingerly on his pant leg.
“The whole team watches you take care of traps?” Your confusion is fair. What he truly meant was that he wasn’t used to being distracted this way. When you turn to rifle through your own pack he’s surprised to see you pull out two small jars and a scrap of gauze.
“It’s not worth bandaging.” He says it a bit softly as you gesture for him to give you his hand. Before he realizes what he’s doing you’re rubbing the sore digit with some ointment.
“We need our picklock to take care of his hands.” He nods at first, taking note of how you suddenly are avoiding his gaze.
“You know, if it was serious Marcille could always heal it.” It’s a mix of confusion and amusement in his voice.
“I know.” You give his hand a squeeze before letting it go, trying desperately to ignore giddiness at such an intimate moment. You pass him the second jar. “This is a lotion, your hands are very dry. It’ll be easier to hurt yourself with them like this.”
He hums a thanks as he starts to gather his things, his shift is over. He pockets the lotion before standing. “Well, did you learn anything?”
“Yeah, I think so.” You smile at him while he gets settled.
He was tired and certain that he’d fall asleep right away. Still, when he lays in his bedroll, his hand goes to the jar. Rolling it around in his palm he thinks to himself that maybe he had learned something too.
