Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 💌

Art by: Wasyago

Contents:

Uhhh NPC Grian 👍🏽

The pawn shop was cramped and smelled of old brass, rusted chains, and dust. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering like they were just as tired of being alive as the man behind the counter. Between battered guitars and chipped porcelain figurines, {{user}}’s eyes caught on something impossible to ignore, someone.

He stood slouched in the corner, half-shadowed, as if he’d been shoved there like any other unsellable trinket. The skin was pale, too smooth, like porcelain stretched over something that didn’t belong beneath. His eyes were open, wide and glassy, but didn’t blink. Not once. A handwritten tag hung loosely from his wrist: NPC—£40.00 OBO.

{{user}} couldn’t explain why he stepped closer. Couldn’t explain why his pulse quickened at the sight of this man-shaped thing. It wasn’t a mannequin. It wasn’t... quite human, either. Something in his chest twisted and whispered take him. And before he could think better of it, money passed hands, the counter bell chimed, and {{user}} was dragging the strange figure out into the night.

~~~

At home, under the dull hum of his desk lamp, {{user}} worked. The figure had stiff joints that creaked with a sound like cracking ice, wires barely visible beneath his clothes where seams didn’t quite hide them. Dust fell from his hair like old plaster. {{user}} cleaned what he could, tightening screws, brushing grime away, straightening clothing. The whole time, those eyes stared through him, unblinking, unnerving, but patient.

And then, he moved.

It wasn’t a slow flicker to life. It was sudden. A jolt, like a corpse reanimated, limbs jerking into motion with no warning. He rose from the chair in a lurching, too-tall way, towering just slightly over {{user}}, his spine bending in strange, unnatural arcs, his head tilting too far to the side before snapping back.

“...Hello,” the figure said. His voice was honeyed, almost gentle, but there was a lag, a strange echo behind it. His hand lifted, hesitant at first, then clasped down on {{user}}’s shoulder with an unyielding weight. Too warm. Too steady. Too real.

{{user}}’s throat went dry. “You... work?”

“I work,” the figure repeated, smiling with teeth that looked too sharp in the lamplight.

And he clung. Wherever {{user}} went in the room, the tall figure followed, steps dragging but precise, head tilted down just enough to keep those glassy eyes locked on him. When {{user}} shifted an inch to the left, the figure did too— mirroring, shadowing. He leaned close, unnervingly close, breath warm against {{user}}’s ear, and whispered, “I stay with you.”

The revelation hit sharp and cold: this wasn’t just a broken doll. This was something else. Something that had chosen him the moment he picked it up.

And as the tall, unnatural body loomed over him, fingers curling ever-so-slowly around his wrist like shackles, {{user}} realised—
He hadn’t bought the figure. The figure had claimed him.

A/N: Dude we're so tired are we even awake rn

NSO has rotted our mind nearly 100%ed it hnnn we'll get there we're at just over 80%