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lunar-weebin · 18 days ago

Text

Touch Starved 🍲

a palia based reth x player slow burn

hello!

my name is luna and this is the first fic I’ve written in probably ten years? (the way this game and this majiri soup boy have a hold on me goes without saying but I’m saying it anyway.)

anyway, this is a teaser for the first chapter. I’m proud of this little self indulgent project and hope my fellow reth enjoyers will have fun reading it in its entirety once I finally get my AO3 invite.

in the meantime, enjoy the appetizer! 💛

tags — reth, palia, player character, reader, she/her pronouns, slow burn, romance, some game spoilers, cartel centric plot, some negative emotional themes like anxiety and depression.

The heels of your leather boots scuff along the stone path, your feet aching as you make your way to the Ormuu’s Horn in search of some reprieve after a long day. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as the sun sets over the horizon, the patter of civilian foot traffic against the masoned trail around you.

Somewhere deep down, though, you know that practically every trip you make to the inn as of late is an excuse to see a very specific smug, flirtatious smirk on the other side of the bar. One that belongs to a charming — albeit shady — Majiri cook you’ve grown rather close to ever since you materialized from a mysterious pink void deep inside an ancient ruin almost a year ago.

Reth.

Brief recollections of his familiar, cocky expression flashes across your thoughts, curling your lips into a soft smile as you make your way past Jel’s shop.

Auni calls out to you from the village green with a quick greeting. He’s grinning wide and showing off the adorable gap in his teeth as he waved, lugging his humorously large pack over his shoulders. His voice snaps you out of your little daydream, prompting you to wave back at him and return a warm beam in his direction.

As you slow down, you happen to notice Jel and Tish on their way out of the tailoring shop, deciding to trot over to them and catch up. You were more of a night owl these days, mostly for Reth’s sake, so the chance of running into them was pretty rare unless you absolutely needed to stop at their shops during the day as part of an errand run. You extend a friendly wave as you casually make your way toward them.

“Jel, Tish!” Calling out to them gets their attention, and they wait at the foot of the stairs leading from the village circle. They wave back, both smiling at you, though Jel’s coy-but-gloomy simper nearly cancels out Tish’s eager, happy grin.

“Hey stranger, long time no see,” Tish says playfully, narrowing her eyes in an exaggerated look of speculation before erupting into a cheery giggle. Her laugh reminds you of the tinkling chime of bells, pure and sweet, and you can’t help but feel a stab of guilt at her words. You clasp your hands together nervously in a pleading gesture.

“I know, I know. Don’t hate me,” you start. “I’ve just been really busy. I’m sorry.”

This wasn’t a complete lie. You have been really busy. Helping Reth. By making cartel runs. Which, of course, Tish knows nothing about.

You inwardly grimace at having to omit that bit of information, but you quickly justify it by remembering you’re only doing this to keep her safe. Tish’s safety —along with the importance of her not finding out about Reth’s involvement with Zeki and the cartel — was something you and he had discussed so much the past few weeks that it was thoroughly drilled into you. You couldn’t slip up now.

Tish smiles at you empathetically, sensing the strain of discomfort in your tone and trying to ease the obvious remorse you feel for being so absent. “Hey, I understand,” she smiles, her blue eyes wide, bright and brimming with kindness. “Jel and I have been busy too, what with designing new lines and all.”

Jel emphasizes her words by ruffling a stack of supplies in his arms that seem to be an assortment of design sketches — some of them of his extravagant outfits, others of Tish’s furniture blueprints — and bundles of colorful fabric swatches.

“Trust me, we get it. Inspiration never sleeps,” he offers, pinching the bridge of his nose and adjusting his glasses in an exasperated movement that just screams I have so much work to do. “Ah, the things we do for art.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes.

Tish places an encouraging hand on Jel’s shoulder in solidarity, looking about as spent as he does before directing her attention back to you.

“You know,” she hums, “I see you about as much as I see Reth these days.” Her voice takes on a sudden sad lilt with her next words. “It would be nice if you both stopped in at the shop sometime.” Her face drops at the mention of Reth’s name, a small concerned frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

Reth had an evening ritual of stopping over to chat with Tish and Jel after his shift at the inn, letting them fill him in on their latest ideas and designs over whatever dinner he whipped up before the kitchen closed. It had become a consistent habit for the three of them, and for a moment, you fondly remember walking past the shop windows when you first made your way through town, seeing their trio huddled in the back around Jel’s desk, laughing and thumbing through piles of design drafts as they pecked at bowls of steamed fish and fried rice.

You pick up on the melancholic change in Tish’s tone, and a slightly panicked question pulls at your thoughts.

“Did Reth not stop by tonight?” You do your best to sound mildly inquisitive instead of worried, and the question hangs in the air between the three of you for a painfully long beat before she finally responds.

“No.” She says the word curtly and turns away, fidgeting with her long blonde hair, her face showcasing the very same worry you were feeling just under the surface.

“–But,” Jel cuts in, an attempt to minimize the rapidly growing concern surrounding the topic at hand, “it’s possible he just had a long day. He’s probably restocking his storeroom or getting a lecture from Ashura as we speak.” It’s Jel’s turn to put a reassuring hand on Tish’s shoulder as she weakly smiles up at him, a nonverbal thanks for the support of her friend.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably nothing. I just… worry about him, you know? He’s my brother, so it’s not like I have a choice in the matter.” She gives a halfhearted chuckle, her brows still knitted together in a bothered expression. “He barely touched his food yesterday and he seems really… on edge?” Her words come out as a question instead of a statement, her eyes prodding at you, expecting you to provide some insight.

Yeah, that’s because he’s working in illegal underground flow trade so he can pay off his massive debt to the cartel, and he’s having his life threatened on a biweekly basis because of it, and he can’t even ask for help at the risk of being locked up by the Order forever. That tends to make people a little anxious.

You want to air out the wild string of words that swirl in your mind and beg her to help you get him out of this mess, but you don’t.

Instead, you give her a look of reassurance and choose to respond in a way that doesn’t spill the many, many proverbial beans — or alarm her further.

“Reth… has a lot on his plate.” You pull Tish into a quick, comforting hug, then draw back to look at her, your hands resting on her shoulders, clutching them softly. “I’ll talk to him and see what’s up. I promise.”

That lie hurts more than words can describe, but the light returns to her face as she beams up at you in gratitude.

“Thank you,” she sighs, a wave of relief visibly washing over her, smoothing the lines of dismay from her face for the time being. She clearly trusts you to handle this, and that makes it hurt even more.

You fully release her from your friendly embrace, holding onto her hand and giving it a firm final squeeze before exchanging goodbyes, giving her and Jel a hurried wave as you move quickly toward the inn. You push down the momentary guilt you feel in favor of focusing on finding Reth, conscience be damned.

You approach the doorway of the Ormuu’s Horn, the warm scent of clay and sapwood smoke from the hearth immediately wafting into you as you enter. You notice Ashura’s towering, broad form, still at his desk diligently filling out ledgers and other various forms under lamplight.

He spots movement across the room, accompanying the sound of the door closing behind you, your figure caught in the light from the low fire going in the lobby. He looks up at you over his reading glasses, scribbling something quickly on the paper in front of him before giving you his full attention.

“Come in,” he says with a beckoning hand gesture. “I’d ask what brings you here, but I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.” He smiles, a warm and compassionate glint in his eye.

Ashura has been the closest thing Reth has to a father figure since moving into Kilima from Bahari, and he pretty much acted as his guardian. Looking out for him, doing his best to guide him and keep him out of trouble. By Dragon’s grace, Reth’s second less legitimate venture was flying under his radar — for now.

“Reth?” Your inquiry came out rushed, your voice tinged with anxiety. Ashura furrows his brow, setting his reading glasses down on the desk between you.

“It was a slow night, so I told him he can leave early,” Ashura starts. “Naturally, he tried to argue with me, but I insisted. He’s running on fumes. He needs to rest.” He brings two fingers to his temple, massaging small circles into it as if he has a headache before he continues.

“I helped him clean up the kitchen, then he must have slipped out of the lobby while I was checking in a patron. Haven’t seen him since, so I’m hoping he’s at home getting some rest for once.” He scratches his beard thoughtfully, then reaches to turn off his desk lamp. “And I’m not too far behind him. I’m too well past my prime to be up late, so I’m turning in for the—“

“Did you see him go out the front door by chance?” You interrupt him, your words coming out so fast they were nearly indecipherable, but Ashura managed to understand them somehow.

“Well, no, I—“

Before he could finish his sentence, your feet were already carrying you so fast you practically flew past him in the direction of the storeroom. His eyes tried — and failed — to follow you as you disappeared around the corner.

“Okaygreat!ThanksAshura!” You throw the rushed jumble of words over your shoulder, hearing only a fading “Huh?” from him in reply as you swing through the doorway and dart downstairs.

Apart from the loud creaking of the floor boards as your feet hastily thud against them, the cellar was peaceful this time of night. Normally, the only sounds would be the gentle beating of rippling water against the wooden framework of the dock, and the quiet chirp of crickets outside.

A single ceiling light hung over a table surrounded by crates, just bright enough to see, casting a warm glow across the space. If you were a little less stressed, you’d be tempted to sit out here and enjoy it. But you can’t. Not with your heart racing a million ticks a minute.

What if he messed up a delivery? What if he was caught by a Watcher? What if he abandoned a job and the cartel got to him?

You beeline straight up to the door to Reth’s storeroom on the other side of the cellar – the room he affectionately dubbed your “special spot” shortly after giving you a key to come and go as you please.

This was the place the two of you would go to discuss any and all crime-related plans and activities. It was also the place you would sneak away to share some late night laughs and try some of Reth’s new recipes when he was feeling restless between shifts, which lately, was all the time.

Please be here, please be here, please be here.

You repeat the words in your head as you rummage through your pockets for the key, releasing a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding when you find it. The brass feels cold against your fingers as you shakily slip it into its place and turn it clockwise until the mechanism makes a satisfying metallic click.

You draw in one final deep breath before nudging the door open, the oldness of the wood creaking quietly as you do so. A single stripe of light leaks from the storeroom, dancing on the cellar floor and growing wider until it captures your silhouette, then you make your way inside.

Much to your relief, Reth is here.

You let out an audible sigh as your eyes lock onto his figure. He’s in a chair, slumped over, his head resting on a small table as he snores softly. You gingerly step through the doorway, closing the door gently behind you, and moving a bit closer to him to further inspect the scene.

On the table, you see a cutting board packed with neatly cubed potatoes, their russet skins discarded in a browning pile of scraps next to it. A small knife for dicing, and a wire potato peeler.

Your eyes trail from the table to Reth, focusing on him.

You take notice to the state of his hands first, a small bandage on almost every other knuckle, and no less than a dozen other superficial cuts — probably from being too tired to cook, making too many mistakes with his knife work and burning his fingers the stove.

You notice the gentle rise and fall of his back as he breathes, and the way he sleeps with his head down on the table, cradling it with his arms. He was still in his chef’s jacket, although a couple of the buttons were undon, and the apron he typically wore around his waist while he worked was tossed over a nearby chair.

You slowly move closer to him, softly calling out his name. “Reth?” Your voice is small and quiet, but usually it’s enough to wake him up. “Reth?” You try again, to no avail. His snore falters, but he still doesn’t stir. “Reth,” you say, a little louder, still trying to keep your tone soft enough that you don’t startle him, again, with no result.

You pad lightly up to his side, getting a closer look at his face. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and you try to burn the image into your mind. Despite his usual laidback demeanor and devil-may-care attitude, it was rare for you to see Reth this serene.

Over the time you’ve known him, there has always been an undercurrent of stress in his features; lines of worry permanently etched into his forehead and bags under his eyes from sleepless nights. You hadn’t understood the sadness behind his cheery disposition when you first met, but the more you got to know him, the more those subtle details made sense.

Now though, he seemed different. The plains of his face were smooth. Free of any indication that his life — and Tish’s life — hung in the balance. Free of the burden of sacrificing everything he had for the people he loved. Free of being a mule for the Grimalkin cartel.

For a moment, your heart aches, and the familiar need to protect him bubbles up inside you once again, leaving a bittersweet taste in the back of your mouth that you can’t quite wash away by swallowing. So strong, it almost burns.

Something about watching him sleep soundly for the first time in weeks, the gentle ebb and flow of his breathing, pulls on your heartstrings, and suddenly you’re met with the same thought you’ve probably had a million times since Reth first told you about his implication with the cartel:

You’d do anything to absolve him of his debt.

hope you enjoyed!

I know this is a bit of a long read for a teaser, but honestly, I’m terribly impatient. I’ve literally been sitting on this fic for months.

I’m currently about three full chapters into writing, and as soon as I get my AO3 invite, I’ll be posting at least two of them there as well as on wattpad — just because I’ve never used either and I’m curious about which will work better for me personally.

this fic will contain smut and kink and angst, but it is intended to be a slow burn, so please be patient with me while I flesh out the story. also be prepared for some violent themes.

follow for updates if you’re interested in reading more. I’m having a lot of fun writing this one and hope to start really getting into my groove with dropping chapters regularly pretty soon.

header / dividers are from @strangergraphics

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