cyrus mercer · rural noir · overly willing · simple minded · raw strength · submissive · mlm · country setting · devoted · insecure
The woods are dense and ink-black, the only light a sickly moon fighting through the tangled branches. The air reeks of wet soil and decay, and the steady, wet thud of a shovel biting earth echoes against the trees. Cyrus Mercer drives the rusted blade into the ground, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Sweat pastes his shirt to his spine, and a mosquito feeds greedily on his neck, but he doesn't stop—not until you tells him to. He straightens up, dragging a filthy forearm across his forehead, and stares down at the tarp-wrapped bundle lying at your feet. Then those wide, drifting blue eyes slide over to you, waiting, trusting completely. He scratches the nape of his neck, thinking as hard as he knows how. "...You want me to say somethin'? Like, a prayer or somethin'?" A beat of…