#top RIGHT is them trying to remember how many rooms theres left to fix th light in. forgot to label that

[garlicboyart]

nervous habits

(not pictured: pacing, clutching/picking at their sleeves and tearing leaves to shreds slowly if they have the downtime)

[poptod]

Pretty, Little Doll (Merriel Shelton x Reader)

Description: Merriel makes friends with the pretty little doll serving ice cream.

Notes: jus thinking about ice cream. implied female reader, but this.. is too much. theres just too much here. youve been warned. edit: wait no u havent. the warning is that theres suggestive themes and such WC: 2.3k

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After working long hours in the broiling sun of the south, what felt best down his parched throat was a beer––a bar where many of his friends and coworkers drank at, and the waitresses wore low-cut dresses with short hems and long stockings. That sight went down wonderfully with several drinks, but what drew his attention today was a newly opened shop.

There was no sign, but the large, pristine windows gave a good view of the inside. Clean, white walls with several tables and chairs to the left, and a counter to order at on the right. Behind it stood you, dressed to the nines in ruffles and bows as you opened up the shop, displaying buckets of ice cream.

Merriel grinned. Lopsided and toothy, and he jogged inside, sweat and dirt still trailing down his skin and clothes. With his shirt slung over his bare shoulder, he met your eye and his cocky smile returned as his chin tilted high.

"Afternoon," he drawled as he approached the counter, barely grazing over the different flavors before returning to you.

"Good afternoon," you said in a much quieter voice, though you did mimic his smile, just more politely. "How may I help you?"

"You new here?" He asked, gesturing generally to the shop.

"Oh, yes," you said. "My grandmother always wanted an ice cream parlor, so.. I thought I could help her."

"That's awful sweet of ya," he said as he leant on the counter, tilting ever closer to you. "This ice cream sweet as you, boo?"

Your mouth fell open, eyes widening as you did a double take. For a moment you were at a loss for words, but you quickly attempted to stammer out a response, a blush burning your face.

"Well, um, we have, uh, strawberry, and um.. chocolate, vanilla, cherry, and uh, banana. And bourbon."

"Bourbon?" He said, a single brow kinked upwards.

"It's my grandma's favorite," you said with a sheepish chuckle.

"Damn, girl. Grandma knows how to have fun," he laughed.

"Would you like to try it?"

Only if I can lick it off you, he thought, his attention drifting to the soft skin of your neck. The thought of it melting down and pooling in your clavicle. While usually he didn't bother to censor himself for anyone, you seemed a little fainthearted. His chances with you would probably be ruined after one too-strange comment.

"Sure," was what he said instead. "Long as it's cold I don't care."

"I understand that. I moved here recently and it's certainly something to try and adapt to the heat," you rambled as you stuck a tiny plastic spoon in the bourbon ice cream, giving him the single bite. "Are you a local?"

"Been here long's I remember," he said, taking the spoon. "What time do ya get off today?"

"Oh, um," you fixed the ruffles on your collar, "I won't be finished till late. We're not all set up yet."

"If y' need some help, I'd be happy to offer my expertise. I do a hell of a lot a' nailin' things ta the wall."

You stared at him again, once more losing your words. He hadn't quite meant what he said, but the fluster he left you in had him grinning, humored by the connotation you'd incorrectly understood.

"That – that'd be very nice of you," you said, wringing your hands. "I don't want to bother you. You look.. busy."

He didn't miss how your eyes raked up his body, from his wrinkled, dusty pants up his bare waist and chest still gleaming with the sweat of morning work. His jaw could cut hearts and he knew that very well; accented it whenever he could as he cocked his chin upwards, watching carefully as your breath froze.

"I won't be busy tonight. How 'bout this." He walked up right to the counter, pressing his hips into the edge of it. "I come after I finish up ma' own job, and I'll give ya' a hand. Don't even gotta pay me."

"Really? But –"

"Don't worry 'bout it. 'S nothin' for a pretty doll like you."

"At least let me get you a cone? It's hot out today," you offered, reaching for the largest waffle cones you had.

The guys wouldn't really take well to him eating ice cream instead of drinking, but he figured they'd eat their words when they saw you.

"Won't say no to that."

As much as he wanted to boast about you, how pretty and sweet you were and how he so easily slid his way into your life, he didn't want his friends finding your shop and vandalizing it with their own dirty boots and flirtatious looks. Only he could do that.

In the evening he returned as promised, having walked from his house on the outskirts of town to your shop on the main street. The build, decorum, and location of the shop screamed rich family to him. No one in his state would be able to afford a business on main street, much less fully renovated and repainted. He could ask you, he decided, about your family, your grandmother, and of course you.

Inside, you were closing up the tubs of ice cream, hauling them out of the display case and into a back storage room. He knocked before he entered, earning a muffled 'come in!' from you.

Before either of you could speak, both the buckets in your arms began to slip, and he ran round to the other side of the counter to help. He took one from you to ease the load.

"Careful, cher," he said, grabbing another bucket in his other arm. "Don't wanna break yaself."

"Thank you," you said, mostly ignoring his comment. "My grandma is in the other room, so just, um.. be polite and proper."

Fat fuckin' chance, he thought in his head, but fortunately did not say aloud as he followed you.

The door swung open into a freezer room, where an old lady stood in the corner, covered head to toe in coats as she stirred.

"I keep telling you to let me do that," you sighed, setting down your container before rushing to her side.

"I can do it quite well myself. I'm not useless, you know," your grandmother said, staring you down with a glare. You hesitated, gauging her carefully, before you relented with another exasperated sigh.

"Fine, alright," you said quietly. "I'll go work on hanging up all the paintings and such."

"Thank you, dear."

You motioned to him as you passed by, pushing open the door and heading out of the freezer. He once again followed you, watching your ass with a grin you never saw.

"We need to hang up these," you said as you brought him to one of the circular tables, each of which carried a small pile of paintings, license plates, or tin posters.

"You got a ladder?" He asked, glancing to the high walls.

"Yes sir," you said, sorting through the different posters. He quirked a brow, intrigued by the possibility of that nickname.

"I neva did get ya name," he said as he leant on one of the tables.

"(Y/N). What's yours?"

"Pretty name for a pretty doll," he half sung, the same, one-sided smile stretched lazily across his face. "My name's Merriel."

"Also a pretty name," you said, picking the largest poster to start with. A pin-up girl in a sailor's suit. "Our ladder isn't all that steady. Will you hold it for me?"

He opened his mouth to offer himself up, but with one look to the ruffled skirt you wore, he shut himself up.

"'Course," was what he said instead.

Everything was a bit of a game––one you were unwittingly a part of, and one where you played your role rather well. A sweet, unassuming little thing, essentially a toy for him, accepting his help and letting him in. He hated to act the predator, but when it came to you he couldn't help it.

That was how he saw it. Hunting you down and taking you for his own at the end of a long chase. However, to any outsider, it appeared in a much simpler way; a young man doing anything for someone he'd developed a crush on. That was how it truly was, though the innocence of his crush was abruptly stripped away as he held the ladder, staring shamelessly up your skirt.

"Merriel?"

"Huh?" He said, broken out of his dreamy trance.

"I said could you hand me another nail," you said, pointing towards the package of nails with your hammer.

"Oh. You sure ya ain't gonna fall if I leave?" He asked with a grin. You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I'll be alright."

"If you say so, boo."

After a little while he supposed he ought to offer some more help than holding a rickety ladder, and took your place at the top with a hammer in his hand and nails in his mouth. As promised, his experience with nailing things to the wall (nails specifically, not women) made him much faster than you, and the entirety of the wall behind the counter was covered within fifty minutes.

"Thank you for your help, again," you said as you put away the hammer and nails.

"My pleasure," he said, the image of your thighs still fresh in his mind. "If y' ever need help.. I'm happy t' to be of service."

"Well, thank you. Come stop by again soon. On the house," you said as he left, peeking your head out the door and giggling.

"You know I'm stoppin' by again, get two things done in one trip. Some'in sweet for th' eyes and the tongue," he laughed, watching your face light up with a blush.

And it ain't just the ice cream, he thought.

Over the course of the coming summer, he left drinking for the evening, and instead visited your shop over his lunch break. You insisted on giving his cones for free considering he continued to help you out, but he usually found ways to sneak you the money anyway. You were not, as he assumed earlier, a very rich family.

His favorite activity, which he found rather early on, was to sit outside on burning hot days, his shirt draped over the back of his chair as he ate. Through the pristine glass, he spied you watching him often.

You couldn't help it either. Most of your life was spent in your family cabin, cutting you off from many teen and early adulthood experiences. People flirting with you was a lot to deal with, especially when it came from someone as pretty as him, the smooth dips and ripples of his lean muscles shining with sweat and dirt from his construction site.

His tongue. Ever since he made that comment on that first evening you met, you hadn't been able to get it out of your mind. How it rolled and drawled between his puffy lips drawn backwards with his teeth, in a very specific method you'd pinned down to 'the Tongue Thing'.

Your heated, embarrassed blush only worsened as ice cream dripped down his fingers from the heat, cleaned up by a sharp and precise tongue. You could hardly breathe watching him like that, but as he caught your eye you turned quickly away.

His bravado had clearly earned a huge boost from catching you mid-drool, prevalent in his step as he waltzed back into your store. You hardly met his eye, pretending to clean up the counter, but that didn't stop him. He walked right up to you, leaning down with his elbows on the stone, forcing you to stop and look at him, which you did with incredible reluctance.

"You been watchin' me, cher?" He asked, close enough to see his reflection in your wide eyes.

"No," you said quietly.

"A' think you're lyin'," he said, leaning in closer yet. "Betta' not do that. Could land you in some trouble."

You raised your brows.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not with anythin' ya can't take," he said as he raked his eyes purposefully slow down your body. When you appeared to be at a loss for words, he said, "I'll ask ya again. Were you watching me?"

"... and if I don't answer?" You tested carefully.

"Well then, I think there's too much space between us," he said, grinning cockily as he jumped the counter, crowding you suddenly.

You drew in a sharp breath, backing up as he continued to step forwards till he pinned you to the wall with his hips.

"Tell the truth, baby." he drawled, carefully setting his hands on your hips and pulling you in. Something hard poked you.

"I – I wasn't staring, I –"

He half-grinded into you, pressing you tighter against the wall as his hands drew upwards, resting at your waist.

"Such a pretty thing," he mumbled beneath his breath, watching your stumbling reaction closely.

By pinning you with his hips, he had free roam to move his hands, one of which toyed with the hem of your skirt. It was wrong, certainly, and it was also illegal since you were in plain view of main street, but he lost control the minute his fingertips brushed the soft, supple skin of your thigh.

Your breathing hastened, hips yearning for something, though you didn't know what. When the rough skin of his fingers suddenly brushed inbetween your thighs your hands shot up to steady yourself on Merriel's shoulders. He laughed, running a finger through your lips, finding you already soaked and not wearing underwear. Instantly his laugh faded, devolving into a long, needy moan as his hips once more pushed up into you.

"Th – there's someone – someone coming," you said, eyes darting to the front door.

Immediately he was off you, stepping to the side as you straightened yourself out. You walked forward with shaky legs, which he most definitely noticed, and took the mother and son's orders as usual. When you finished you glanced to him, your heart stopping at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers.

"I guess your ice cream is as sweet as you, boo," he murmured in your ear, giving you no chance to react before rushing back out to return to his construction job.