#The Unconcerned Embalmer: Aesop Carl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angxlyxn · 3 years

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preservation - aesop x f. reader

summary: Aesop wants to make sure that you stay as his, forever.

warnings: death, reader dies, minor gore (blood), asphyxiation/choking, obsessive behavior, usage of a syringe, death by use of pancuronium bromide.

a/n: identity v is unfortunately my current brainrot, so please take this. i’m actually pretty proud of this piece and i hope you enjoy it too!

word count: ~4.6k

When you had first arrived at the manor, you had been seen by many as strange. An oddity if you will, a disturbance in the otherwise monotonous and flat life that the others led. You had stood upon the steps of the mansion, clutching a leather case between your clammy hand and knocking definitively on the door. The oaken frame was soon flung open by a vivacious girl, her brown hair falling in locks about her face and tangling around her chin with a sort of carelessness. She had introduced herself to you as Emma, and you had given her a curt nod in return. You mumbled out your name, mindlessly letting your eyes drift about the meticulous architecture of the manor in disinterest, the girl’s lively rambles buzzing about and filtering through your previously vacant ears. She soon had led you into the warmth of the building, a creeping feeling overtaking you as she tugged you towards the dining hall, where she said the others were waiting. Your hands tightened around your skirt pocket, where the letter that brought you to this place was secured. It had promised a large sum of money for your participation in some sort of “game”, of which the details were not included. You, however, blindly jumped at the opportunity. Lack of a spouse and job had left you nearly homeless, and you had become tired of being a scavenger, tired of having your life depend on whether or not an inn had vacancies. So, the idea of a huge cash prize was everything to you.

You remembered clearly the moment when you had been pulled into the dining room and hurriedly introduced by an overly excited Emma, the sea of survivors greeting you with looks varying from boredom to contempt. One person, however, stood out to you as they looked on with an expression of interest, cold grey eyes analyzing your features and brows drawing together in thought. You returned his stare, not as a challenge but simply out of curiosity. Upon realizing that you were looking at him as well, he turned away from you, gently tucking the hem of his mask further over his thin nose.

A peculiar one, Aesop was. He never did grow less reticent during your time together, always staying serious and stone-faced, yet easy to fluster. A few survivors took advantage of his frightful nature, but most were too afraid of the embalmer to even spare a glance in his direction.

Which, he supposes, is where his infatuation with you began. You were like him, in a way. Generally avoided by most, with the exception of a few more social survivors, such as Kevin and Emma. Luca, it seemed, had also taken a liking to you, and often would drag you along to keep him company. Those were the times that Aesop hated the most. He never minded much when Kevin would flirt, or when Emma would insist on you helping her with her gardening, because he knew that these were just patterns of behavior, and nothing personal. Luca, however, was hard to read. He was extroverted, yet private, and tried as he did, Aesop was never able to figure him out. His motives were too jumbled to understand, his words always far too fast and convoluted. And the amount of attention you seemed to divert to the young inventor was more than enough to bring forth the feelings of jealousy and disdain that seemed to occupy Aesop whenever someone spoke of or interacted with you.

Despite these odd feelings, Aesop was disgusted by you. The living repulsed him, and you weren’t supposed to be an exception to this rule. He would hold back a flinch each time that you would breathe, the motion of your chest rising filling him with contempt both for you and himself. He hated that he was so attached to a living thing such as you.

You would be so much better off dead. So much prettier with your eyes permanently closed, the gentle flush that usually occupied your cheeks drawn out from your skin.

He knew that he had to resist these temptations of seeing you lifeless. Aesop was a calculated man, but he seemed to have much less control when it came to you. So, he decided that it would do him well to attempt to act as one usually would, and for a time he tried to fit himself into the social structure of the manor, at least more so than he usually did.

He tried to grow closer to you as someone usually would. The male would dedicate part of his day to attempting to be social with you, although this usually just meant that he would sit near you in the library or join you by the fireplace. Little to no words were exchanged between the two of you, and yet, he could not have wished for anything more. During the time he spent with you, he was able to observe, able to familiarize himself with your behavior, your quirks, and your patterns. He found immense satisfaction in watching as your expression would change as you read, taking great joy in the way that your brows would cinch together every so often. Not to mention your other more intimate expressions. It almost felt orgasmic to the male whenever the most lithe of smiles would spread across your cheeks. Sometimes he would grow flustered just thinking about the gentle curve of your lips, or the way your tongue would protrude slightly in an ever so innocent way when you would grace him with that kind smile of yours.

This was enough to keep him content for a long time, but at some point, that changed. He grew bored of just watching you, and longed for more. He wished to feel you against him, to feel your steady breaths reverberate against his ribs. He wanted to experience the sensation of you quivering against him, wanted to caress and tug your hair, wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty little neck and squeeze until you were begging and gasping for air. He wanted to make it so you were completely at his mercy.

Unable to refuse him.

Helpless.

But still he continued watching you, without your knowledge, of course. He familiarized himself with your schedule, and found that Tuesdays were the days you were most often matched, while Sundays you always kept to yourself, not even sparing a glance at other survivors unless it’s warranted.

Sunday was Aesop’s favorite day. Sunday meant that he could observe you without being bothered or eavesdropped on himself, it meant that he could watch over you in an environment where pests, such as the likes of Luca and Emma, weren’t constantly flitting about you.

Today was a Sunday, and Aesop was planning something special for you.

A bundle of storm clouds had gathered atop the manor. Rain had already drenched the wooden exterior of the building, and was now continuously pelting against the many window panes. The sound of the storm resounded through the manor in a way that was reminiscent of a hum. You presently were sitting inside of your room, clothed in a silk nightdress that was gifted to you by Miss Nightingale. You didn’t have many proper clothes upon your arrival at the manor, neither had most other of the participants. The majority of your wardrobe was provided for you by the woman herself, whom you had never seen.

The dress itself was rather comfortable, and draped nicely over your body. It reached the floor, the ruffled trim on it brushing against your feet periodically. You had laid yourself across your bed, pulling the blankets adorning it up to your chest and drawing the bed curtains closed. A book sat beside you on your bedside table, and yet you couldn’t be bothered with reading it. You were too occupied with watching the rain outside, memorizing the patterns of the water as it fell down and clambered against the manor.

A knock at the door brought you out of your dazed state. You waited for a voice to precede the sound, but nothing came, and so you rose from your bed, reluctantly moving out from under the bundle of blankets and grabbing a dressing robe from your armoire. You pulled it on, walking tiredly towards the door with an unconcerned expression and grasping the brass handle, pulling the hatch open to reveal the delicate frame of a man before you.

Aesop stood outside of your doorway, grasping his embalming kit and standing stock still, as though someone had forced a pole up his back.

“Mr. Carl..” You said, voice breathy and calm as you pulled your robe further over your exposed clavicle. He offered a curt nod in return, acknowledging you with a blink. You noticed how his hands were shaking, quivering around the handle of his kit as he stood in front of you, his fingers obviously clamming up. Perhaps he was nervous? “Do you need something?”

He looked up at you with a frightened expression, and you were worried that you had said the wrong thing. He looked back down, turning from your skeptical eyes and nodding profusely.

“Y-Y/n,” he began, gaze still casted downwards. “Would you mind...a-accompanying me to my room? Th-There’s a bird that flew in, and I don’t know what to do about the thing.” His voice shook as he spoke.

You squinted at him. It was raining outside. Why had he propped open his window? Why would he ask you for help? Emma and Eli were both much more comfortable with animals than you, and the latter especially had a talent with birds.

“Do you want me to get Eli? He’s much better with things like that,” you offered, your voice skeptical.

He finally looked up to meet your eyes, his pupils dilating slightly.

“No, I’d- I’d rather have you. Help me, I mean,” he finished awkwardly.

You turned over his question in your mind, surveying the man’s frail appearance. Aesop had never talked to you much, but you supposed he did have a habit of staying around you. Sometimes you would find him following you places, and he never seemed to be more than a room away from you. You knew very well the male’s nervous tendencies, as well as his difficulty with interacting with others. Part of you felt sympathetic for him, but your place in the manor’s social structure wasn’t much different than his. Still, you felt obligated to help him. Not many other survivors, or hunters for that matter, acted too kindly towards Aesop. If he had worked up the courage to ask you something, you might as well comply with his wishes. He never asked much of anyone, so you supposed it was a rare occasion that you should indulge.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly. He looked up at you, his eyes the most telling they had ever been. His grey irises swirled with probably the closest thing to joy you had ever seen him express, mixed with a bit of shock. You supposed the second part was warranted. You weren’t particularly one for helping others around the manor, especially because of how selfish and cruel many of the survivors were. You sure as hell weren’t going to help Freddy if all he would do is be stingy towards you, neither would you help Naib, who would just yell at you if you tried to assist him. You couldn’t be too upset with him for his reactions, though. You supposed you would do the same. Your life before the manor, which was generally spent in poverty and isolation, had bestowed upon you the gift of independence, as well as a lack of selflessness. You saw this as good. Why help others if they have nothing to offer to you?

You were only helping Aesop because...well...you supposed you enjoyed his company, however solitary the time you spent together would be. And you supposed he had never asked for anything before…

And so you were off, following Aesop down the winding hallways of the manor. He led you through sets of doors, each strikingly similar and equally as eerie as the next. The clothed floor creaked beneath you as you walked, carpet growing indents in it each time either of you would take a step.

After what felt like an eternity filled with nothing more than the sound of monotonous footsteps, you reached what you presumed to be the embalmer’s door. It was a tall door, one that was crafted from mahogany and glazed to be a darker, more sultry color. He hesitantly turned to face you, an unsure expression on his face as he gazed at you with distrust.

“I…” He began, only to leave his sentence hanging.

“You wanted me to shoo away the bird, right?”

Aesop tried not to panic as he looked at you.

Vulnerable you.

Standing outside of his room.

Once you were within the confines of his abode, he could do whatever he wished to you. You were going to look so wonderful dead.

He wrapped a milky hand around the doorknob, pulling it open and letting you into his room. He watched you with narrowed eyes as you walked through, observing your surroundings with a sort of careful skepticism.

You had a distinct feeling that something was wrong. Aesop never allowed anyone into his quarters. He never even let anyone see inside of his embalming kit. He was excessively private. This was strange. And the feeling of eyes burning into your back was not helping with your nerves.

“Mr. C-Carl,” you said, shifting to face him. “Where was the bird?” Your words knocked him out of his unconscious stupor, and he shut his door behind him before pointing to a place near his clothing chest. You turned around, walking towards it as he discreetly locked the door behind him.

He watched you intently as you bent over, looking carefully through his meticulously organized room with part curiosity and part concern.

“Aesop,” he corrected, his voice barely a whisper.

You hummed in confusion, looking back to face him.

“My name...please don’t be so formal.”

Your eyes betrayed you as utter confusion seeped through your pupils. Aesop had always been one for formalities, and he had always been perhaps the strictest about respect out of the group. Only a few survivors called him by his first name, all of which did so without his permission. This wasn’t like him.

By now you were certain that something was wrong. However, you just nodded compliantly, still foolishly putting your trust in the male and shoving your suspicions down. He was probably just trying to be nice.

You breathed in a sigh, turning back to to corner and continuing to look for the bird. There were no signs of one, and you grew increasingly irritated at the male for calling you as you came to the realization that there was probably no such thing in the first place. Bringing a finger up to your temple, you muttered out once more.

“Mr. Car-”

“I told you to refer to me as Aesop.”

You felt a deep presence take its place near you as you stood stock still, the clarity of the young embalmer’s voice indicating that he was directly behind you. Lurching upwards, you whipped around, an unintentionally accusatory expression on your face.

“Please don’t...be so close to me. I- Why are you..” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your discombobulated words drying up as he leaned into you, moving his face down to meet yours as you looked on with discomfort and shifted away from him as far as you could. He just hummed in satisfaction, eyes narrowing as he observed the power he currently held over you, how you were bending away at the mere prospect of his touch. Anyone else might have found this hurtful, but your actions just submerged Aesop into an unmistakable feeling of power, one that he faintly remembered from his time before the manor when he was still working as an apprentice.

He carefully reached out a hand, feelings of longing spreading through his fingertips as he drew them close to your face. A slender digit traced up to your hairline, shifting some stray hairs aside. You stood there, quivering.

This was uncomfortable. You had to go. Even Aesop must know that this wasn’t normal. Your eyes darted across the four walls of his room before falling on the door. You spared him one more shaking glance before pushing him away from you, shoving the male to the side and sprinting towards your only viable exit. You heard him stumble a bit behind you, the satisfaction of having stunned him motivating you to move faster. You grasped a hand out, searching blindly for the doorknob in a less than futile attempt to let yourself out of the room. You grabbed a hold of it, shaking wildly when it failed to click open.

An unforeseen force grasped you by the back of your collar, pulling you backwards and eliciting a few chokes from you. Your body collided with something soft behind you, the slim torso of the embalmer pressing up against yours in an uncomfortably heated manner. His breathing was thick and shallow, as though he were struggling for air as he grasped you within his horribly depraved hands. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you further into him as he breathed down your neck, heavy sighs falling against your skin and creating a sensation of chills within your shoulders.

“Don’t run,” he said between heavy breaths, voice shaky and thick with something akin to arousal.

Without warning, you were shoved against the cold wood of his desk, head banging against the surface as he wrapped his hands around your throat, his movements sharp and concise. You yelped, only for the sound to come out as a series of gasps due to his inhuman grip on you. You clawed your hands against his, eyes glazing over as you fought against the male. He refused to let up on you, his mask itching down his face and revealing a sick half smile.

You felt as though you were about to die. Correction: you were going to die. But you were nothing if not a fighter. You kicked your steadily numbing leg up, your unclothed foot colliding with his stomach. He grimaced, his grip loosening noticeably for what must have been less than a second. This moment, however, was enough to give you just the slightest bit of hope, and so you kept struggling. If he was going to kill you, you should at least like to go out fighting.

A flash of clarity came to you as you shoved your hands towards his face, aiming for his eyes as your outstretched fingers came into contact with the male’s milky flesh. He threw himself backwards, retracting his hands and hissing as he shaded his face from further assault.

You took off, sprinting wildly towards the door and stumbling over your own feet as you tumbled away from your attacker, lunging once more and outstretching your hand. Taking heed of your previous mistakes, your fingers slipped around the lock, releasing it before pulling the door open. The hallway never had looked so inviting before as you jumped out into it, forcing yourself through the doorway and out into the hallway and screaming for someone to help and…

And no sound came from your lips. In one swift motion, Aesop grabbed you back, his grip on your midsection suffocating. He kicked the door closed, wrapping his arm around your chin in order to muffle the cries that were threatening to spill out of your mouth. You kicked and struggled as he once again pulled you backwards, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist as he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

“I wanted to try and make this as painless for you as I could, darling. However, it appears that tried methods always work the best. Choking is far too messy of death anyways, isn’t it? I want the beginning of your new life with me to be as clean as possible, I want it to be something befitting of a person like you.” You stopped moving, freezing up as he spoke out the word death. “It’s a good thing I prepared for this, hm?”

You craned your head towards his mobile hand, spotting a syringe filled with a milky substance, the tip of it dripping slightly as he pushed the plunger forward and tested the liquid.

“What?-” You managed to spit out, gasping as you pulled against his restricting arm with all your worth.

“Pancuronium bromide,” the male said, addressing your unspoken query. “It’s a serum used in lethal injection. It should be relatively painless, well- as painless as death can be.” His voice was confident, firmer than you had ever heard it. It was terrifying, how quickly he had switched from his customary anxious demeanor to this cold, almost professional persona.

“No, Aesop please think about this! I’ll- I don’t know what you want, money, or- or information or sex- but I’ll give it to you, please we can work this out, I just- Mr. Carl please!”

He paused before answering, his grip tightening even more as he began to speak. “My love. My beautiful, exquisite gem, my precious doll. You really do not understand, do you? This is the only way we can truly be together. I cannot bear to be without you any longer, I can’t stand being without your presence. Of course, the likes of you wouldn’t spend time with someone such as myself, so you must understand that this is just me ensuring that we can stay together, forever.” He halted, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “I’m doing this because I love you. This pain will be temporary, but my affections for you won’t ever let up. I’ve never had even a concept of what love should be, but you’ve helped me to see that this is what it is, and you are the person who I have chosen to spend the rest of my time with.” His voice grew gentler as he spoke, his tone reverent as he held you. You grew numb at his words. He truly was messed up, in more ways than one. What he was describing was not love, it was obsession. It was a cruel infatuation, one that, for some reason, had led to him feeling the need to kill you.

“Aesop. I- I promise I’ll be with you. I- I love you! I do..and I will continue to do so, but you must let me live. I beg this of you, I just wish to spend time with you, I truly am o-obsessed with you, Mr. Carl.” You felt him freeze up behind you at your feigned confession. The promise of your affections had to be enough to convince him to not kill you, you were going to make sure of it. No matter what, you were going to make it away from the embalmer, alive. You would try anything, and eventually you would be-

“Doll,” He began, his arm resuming its suffocating grip on your torso, the sudden pressure enough to make you draw your breath in as you fought for air. “Please don’t be so formal. I told you to call me Aesop”

A sharp pain spread through your neck, the feeling of a needle plunging into your skin barely registering in your mind as he held you, a low hum falling from his mouth as he held your quivering self. He drained the syringe of the substance, pushing it further into your vein as he gazed down on you with eyes full of concentrated adoration. He had killed before, but nothing had ever felt as satisfying as gripping your twitching body, holding onto your vulnerable form as the fluid began to spread through your bloodstream. You shook against him as he laid you on his bed, silken sheets coming up to caress your steadily paling face.

Nimble fingers removed the syringe, wiping the needle with a nearby cloth before setting both upon a bedside table. His silver eyes drank in your form, pupils dilated as he ran his gaze over the red marks on your neck. He couldn’t manage to resist a final temptation of his, reaching his hands out once more and wrapping them on top of the strips of pink skin. He knew that the bromide would be enough to kill you, but he couldn’t deny that there was something satisfying about the power he felt as he had choked you before. As so he gazed down at you, now too weak to struggle against his hold.

His grip was what finally pushed you over the edge. A deep breath reverberated through your lungs right as the life finally faded from your eyes, pupils glazing over and cornea becoming cloudy as you gazed forward with a sort of inanimate poise. You were still, completely still.

Aesop was right.

You did look beautiful dead.

He kept his eyes on you, gazing at you distrustingly as he retrieved his embalming case, as though he was expecting you to spring back to life.

He set it down beside you before moving your limp legs onto the bed, your body significantly heavier than it was before. Such was one of the physical tolls of death.

Hands subconsciously reached for a needle and thread, used normally for repairing ripped clothes and garments before burials. It held a different purpose for you, though. You were special, a newly immortalized doll, and one that should be treated as such. He threaded the needle, gripping it between careful fingers before carefully lifting your eyelid and plunging it within the flesh that lay there. He slowly sewed it to your bottom lid, a bit of blood spurting out, which he quickly wiped away with a previously pristine white cloth. He moved on to your other eyes, repeating his same meticulous process. A finger traced over your stitches, caressing them with a sort of gentleness that could only occupy one such as Aesop. He took another glance at your features, deciding that you needed to look at least a bit more lifelike. Aesop hated the living, but he supposed you had always given him pleasure while alive. He wanted to preserve his feelings, no matter what. He plucked the corners of your mouth up into a smile before threading the string through your lips and cheeks, forcing your features into a permanent simper. He tied off the string, appeased by the doll-like appearance that the stitches gave you. He took out some blush, methodically spreading it upon your blanched cheeks and up near your nose, returning a bit of life into your body. Your robe was soon pulled open, leaving you in only your nightgown. You looked so soft, so vulnerable. Aesop was pleased.

He caressed his hand against your cheeks before bending beneath his bed, drawing out an elongated wooden box that lay there. He opened the top, revealing the plush white surface of the surrogate coffin. He pushed himself up, more careful than ever as he placed you within the tomb, manually wrapping your hands over your chest. You looked so peaceful, so utterly perfect, and you were going to stay as such.

Now you two would be bound forever, with him as your owner and you as his loving doll. Such a relationship was born out of his pure love for you, his unadulterated affection that no one, not even yourself, could hinder for any longer. This was a safer and more thorough solution, not to mention more desirable for Aesop.

He despised the living.

And so here you were, perfectly preserved for him.