crush culture â lee jeno ᥣđ©
summary : liking jeno was a mistake. kissing him didn't make it any better.
warnings : mentions of alcohol/drinking, kissing, cusswords, angst!! (this does not portray how the idols are irl, all the things here are written to match the song crush culture by conan gray!!)
wc : 6.3k
a/n : reader uses she/her pronouns !! jerk!jeno and bestfriend!mark :D thank u for 100+ followers ~~ cant believe i managed to pull out more than 5k words out of my ass >< my finals are currently happening so that's why i've been ia for soooo long :( i promise when i'm done i'll be clearing out both my drafts and requests ^^
Seeing your best friend, Belle, flirt with Jeno on your couch hit harder than you ever expected. The way they leaned into each other, laughter spilling from their lips like a sweet melody, made your stomach churn in a way that felt foreign and unwelcome. You had no right to feel this way, not when you knew about her crush on him. You had even agreed to be her wingman tonight, setting up this moment so she could finally have her chance. But somehow, along the way, you fell for him too, your heart weaving itself into a tapestry of unspoken feelings and bitter regret.
You should feel happy for her, after all her efforts to catch his attention, but the tight knot in your chest made it impossible to be anything but miserable. âItâs fine. Be happy. Itâs your birthday, after all,â you whispered under your breath, trying to convince yourself. The words felt heavy, lacking the enthusiasm they were meant to carry. You exhaled a shaky breath before heading to the kitchen, desperate to escape the sight of them together.
The kitchen was warm, filled with the faint scent of alcohol and fruity punch hanging in the air like an unwelcoming fog. Mark stood by the counter, effortlessly mixing drinks with an ease that told you heâd done this a hundred times before. He glanced up as you entered, and a flicker of concern passed over his face when he caught sight of your downcast expression. He flicked his eyes toward the living room, and you knew he had noticed. Most of your friends knew about your crush on Jeno. It wasnât something you talked about much, but the way your eyes lingered on him said enough.
âYou okay?â Mark asked, his voice low, but the concern was clear, filling the space between you like a fragile glass.
You could only shrug, unsure of how to explain the whirlpool of emotions churning within your chest. It felt too complicated to articulate.
Without a word, he whipped up a drink, something colourful and sweet, and handed it to you. The condensation from the glass cooled your palm, but it did little to soothe the fire raging inside. The drink looked vibrant, but you could already tell it was just a disguise for the hollowness you felt.
âSheâs kind of a bitch for doing that in front of you,â Mark muttered, glancing back at the couch, his fingers absentmindedly wiping down the counter. His words hung in the air like a lifebuoy tossed your way, and for a moment, it felt like they were offering you a chance to vent, to express all the things you were holding back. But you shook your head, pushing the thoughts down.
âNot really,â you sighed, taking a sip of the drink. The sweetness coated your tongue, but it tasted like nothing, a mere distraction. âIâm the bitch here. Liking the same guy as my best friend, after she tells me she likes him, that kind of thing breaks girl code.â
Mark furrowed his eyebrows, his confusion evident. âGirl code? Really?â He scoffed softly, shaking his head. âCome on, Belle falls for every guy who looks her way. Everyone knows that. Besides, you actually have a better shot, Jeno knows you, trusts you. You should go for it.â
You nearly choked on your drink, laughter bubbling up despite your mood. âYeah, and get a reputation for stealing my friendsâ crushes? No thanks, Mark. Iâll pass.â You handed him the empty glass, watching as he refilled it, his movements swift and practiced. The glint of the alcohol under the dim kitchen lights reflected how your emotions felt; messy and swirling, a whirlpool threatening to pull you under.
Mark sighed, exasperated. âItâs your party. Donât let them get in your head. Go have some fun.â He handed you the new drink with a smile, but before you could take another sip, he added, âAnd donât drink too much. You canât handle it, and we both know it.â
But after two glasses, fun was the last thing you felt. The sight of Jeno and Belle still played in your mind, a vivid loop that made the alcohol churn uncomfortably in your stomach. You tried to find Belle in the crowded room, but she was nowhere to be seen. After asking around and realising Jeno wasnât there either, the pit in your stomach grew deeper. You knew what that probably meant.
You found yourself wandering back to the kitchen, your mind foggy but determined to drown out the ache with another drink. Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see you again. When you asked for yet another glass, he sighed deeply, a mixture of concern and frustration in his expression.
âThis is your last one,â he warned, handing you the drink reluctantly. âYou canât handle much. I donât want to have to carry you out of your own party.â
But Markâs warning felt like a distant echo in your ears. By the time you were begging for a fourth drink, all caution had slipped away, and you couldnât care less about the consequences. The music in the living room was thumping, laughter echoing like a cruel reminder of your current situation, and all you could feel was the weight of everything you couldnât have â Jeno, your peace, the ability to not care.
âI already told you, no more drinks. Youâre cut off,â Mark said, frustration clear in his voice. âIâll get you some water instead.â
As he turned to open the fridge, you took your chance. The cold metal of a beer can brushed against your fingertips as you snatched it from the counter. You were so focused on your mission to drown out the pain that you didnât notice Mark turning back toward you.
ây/n,â he snapped, his tone stern, âlet go of the can. Youâre going to regret this.â
You raised the can to your lips, but Mark was quicker. His hand reached out to grab it from you, and in the struggle, the can slipped from your grasp. The beer splashed everywhere â over your shirt, dripping down your arms, and pooling on the floor. The cold liquid seeped through your clothes, clinging to your skin, making you gasp at the sudden chill. Mark groaned, grabbing a napkin from the counter as you stood there, drenched, with a look of defiance still written across your face.
Undeterred, you tried to tilt the can toward your mouth, desperate to drink whatever was left inside, despite the mess. âCome on, y/n, youâre making this harder than it needs to be,â Mark sighed, exasperation laced in his tone as he managed to pry the can away for good this time.
The alcohol-soaked shirt clung to your body, the sticky sensation uncomfortable, but you were too far gone to care. The frustration bubbling inside wasnât going to be soothed by just a drink anymore. You were angry, angry at Belle, at Jeno, at the fact that you had let yourself feel anything at all.
Before you could make another move, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, prying you away from the counter. You froze, looking up into the familiar dark eyes youâd been avoiding all night â Jeno.
The world felt like it stopped as Jeno glanced from you to Mark, his brows furrowed in mild concern. âHelp me out here, Jen. Sheâs had too much already, and she wonât listen to me,â Mark said, his voice weary but relieved that someone else could take over.
Jenoâs gaze softened as he looked down at your soaked shirt, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing his face. He let out a small sigh, his grip gentle but firm as he took the can from your hand and replaced it with a bottle of water. âYouâre done with the drinks for tonight, okay?â he said softly, his voice holding the same care youâd heard earlier.
Before you could protest, Jeno wrapped his arm around you, guiding you out of the kitchen, away from the noise and the eyes of your curious friends. The walk to your room was a blur, but the warmth of his hand on your waist kept you grounded, even as the alcohol swirled in your system.
The sight of Belle sobbing into someoneâs shoulder as you passed through the hallway barely registered in your hazy mind. You were too focused on the warmth of Jenoâs presence beside you, the way his touch lingered longer than necessary, as if he was anchoring you.
Once in your room, Jeno gently guided you to sit on the edge of your bed, his touch careful as if he was afraid you might fall over. His eyes roamed over your beer-soaked clothes, a soft chuckle escaping him. âYouâre a mess,â he teased, though his voice held no judgment. If anything, it was laced with concern, the kind of worry that felt warm and comforting instead of scolding.
You glanced down at yourself, wincing as you finally took in the state of your shirt. The beer stains were obvious now, dark patches clinging to the fabric and sticking to your skin in an uncomfortable way. You grimaced, the sticky sensation making you feel even more self-conscious. The alcohol had dulled the sharpness of your embarrassment, but not entirely. A faint blush crept up your cheeks as you mumbled, âI should changeâŠâ
You attempted to push yourself off the bed, but your limbs were heavy, sluggish from the alcohol coursing through your system. Your balance wavered, and you nearly stumbled forward before Jenoâs hand gently pressed on your shoulder, keeping you steady.
Without saying a word, he crossed the room to your closet, rummaging through the clothes until he found one of your oversized t-shirts. He walked back to you with that same quiet focus, kneeling down to your level, holding the clean shirt in his hands. His gaze met yours for a moment, and something in his expression made your heart skip a beat.
âHere,â Jeno said softly, his voice just above a whisper. âLet me help.â
Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers reached for the hem of your beer-stained shirt. He moved slowly, giving you plenty of time to object, to stop him. But you didnât. You couldnât. The closeness of him, the way his eyes held nothing but tenderness. It was like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of you in this charged, intimate bubble.
Jenoâs hands were careful as he lifted the fabric, peeling it away from your sticky skin with a precision that made your pulse quicken. The cool air hit you, contrasting the warmth of his touch. Every time his fingers brushed your arms, it sent shivers through you. It wasnât overtly intimate, but the care he took in making sure you were comfortable made the moment feel far more meaningful than it should have.
Once your shirt was off, he handed you the fresh one, his eyes deliberately focused anywhere but your body, giving you the privacy to finish. You quickly pulled the oversized shirt over your head, feeling the soft cotton fabric glide down. Your cheeks burned, not from the alcohol, but from the way Jenoâs thoughtfulness had disarmed you, leaving your heart racing in its wake.
When you were finally settled in your clean shirt, Jeno took a step back, his hands awkwardly fumbling at his sides, unsure of what to do next. âBetter?â he asked, his voice quiet but sincere.
You nodded, not trusting your voice. The warmth pooling in your chest wasnât just from the remnants of alcohol, but from the way Jeno had cared for you, so gentle and attentive. The kindness in his actions made your emotions swirl even more intensely.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. The room felt smaller with Jeno in it, the atmosphere charged with a new kind of tension. It wasnât uncomfortable though. If anything, it felt safe. Like he was there to make sure you were okay, to take care of you, in a way that made your heart feel lighter despite the whirlwind of the night.
Jenoâs eyes flicked from the bed to you, a soft concern still lacing his gaze. âYou should get some rest. Itâs been a long night.â
You climbed under the covers, feeling the exhaustion settling into your bones now that the noise of the party was long behind you. As you laid down, Jeno lingered by your side for a moment, his hand briefly brushing your shoulder before he moved to sit at your desk. His presence filled the room, grounding you in a way you hadnât expected.
âJeno?â your voice came out as a soft murmur, barely loud enough to reach him, but he turned to you right away.
âYeah?â
You hesitated for a moment before whispering, âThanks⊠for everything.â
A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, the soft light in your room making his features look even kinder than usual. âGet some sleep, y/n. Iâll be here if you need anything.â
You closed your eyes for a brief second, trying to process what was happening. Jeno was in your room. The Jeno. The one who was always surrounded by friends, admired by so many. The same Jeno your best friend had been talking about for months, and the one you, slowly but surely, had found yourself falling for.
The alcohol still buzzed in your veins, loosening your inhibitions just enough to make you bolder than usual. This was your chance, maybe Mark had been right all along. Jeno was here, with you, taking care of you in ways that felt like more than just friendly concern. Maybe, just maybe, you werenât imagining the way he stayed close tonight, the way his eyes lingered a little longer.
It was now or never.
The air in the room felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. Jeno sat at your desk, his steady gaze unreadable as you shifted under the covers, a mix of nervousness and warmth blooming in your chest. The alcohol had numbed your inhibitions, but the electricity between you both was impossible to ignore.
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to ground yourself in the fabric, though it did little to help. âItâs cold,â you mumbled, barely audible, your voice betraying the hint of vulnerability you didnât want to show. In truth, the room was a bit chilly, but more than anything, you longed for his presence next to you. The space between you felt far too wide, like an unspoken barrier you didnât know how to cross without risking everything.
Jenoâs eyes flickered toward you, his hesitation lingering in the silence that stretched between you. After a beat, he stood up from the desk, his movements slow and deliberate, as if carefully weighing each step. Your breath hitched as he approached, and your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation curling in your stomach.
Wordlessly, Jeno slid under the covers beside you, his warmth instantly chasing away the cold. His scent, a comforting mix of cologne and something undeniably him, wrapped around you, making your head spin. Instinctively, you leaned into him, your head finding its place against his chest. His arm moved naturally around you, pulling you closer, and you melted into the embrace, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.
With Jenoâs warmth cocooning you, the outside world felt like a distant dream. The partyâs once-loud music had faded into a faint murmur, barely audible over the sound of his steady breathing. Every now and then, his breath grazed your hair, sending tiny shivers down your spine. You stayed perfectly still, afraid that even the slightest movement would break this fragile moment, this perfect stillness.
âIs it still cold?â Jenoâs voice was low, a gentle murmur that seemed to sink into your very bones.
A small smile tugged at your lips, and you pressed yourself closer to him, allowing the exhaustion of the night to wash over you. âNot anymore,â you whispered, your voice barely a breath. His arm tightened around you in response, as if silently saying that he wasnât going anywhere. That, even just for tonight, you had him.
The soft light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, its dim shadows creating a cozy, intimate space that felt removed from reality. The world beyond your bedroom door seemed to slow, leaving only the two of you in this quiet bubble, suspended in time. You found yourself wishing that you could capture this feeling forever, keep this warmth and peace bottled up in your heart.
Jenoâs hand rested on your waist, his fingers moving in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your shirt. His touch was so gentle, so careful, that it sent little sparks dancing across your skin. It wasnât just the alcohol making you dizzy; it was the tenderness in every brush of his fingers, the way he held you like you were something delicate.
âYouâre always running around, taking care of everyone,â he murmured softly, his words carrying a weight that tugged at your heart. âWho takes care of you, y/n?â
His question hung in the air, the raw sincerity in his voice cutting through you. A lump formed in your throat, and you blinked rapidly to keep the sudden tears at bay. You hadnât expected him to say something like that. Who did take care of you? For as long as you could remember, you were the one who held everything together, the one who put everyone elseâs needs before your own. But in this moment, with Jenoâs arms wrapped around you, it felt like someone was finally seeing past all of thatâseeing you.
âI⊠I donât know,â you whispered, your voice trembling as you admitted the truth aloud. âI guess Iâm just used to it.â
Jeno shifted beside you, his body pressing closer, his breath now warm against your ear. âYou deserve more than that,â he said softly, his voice low and earnest, each word landing like a promise. âYou deserve someone whoâll take care of you, too.â
Tears pricked at your eyes, and you swallowed hard, trying to hold back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. His words felt too good, too perfect, and a part of you was afraid to believe them. Afraid to believe that someone like Jeno could really see you like that, could want to take care of you.
Still, in this moment, wrapped in his warmth, you allowed yourself to pretend â to imagine, if only for tonight, that this could be your reality. That Jeno could be yours.
His thumb traced another slow circle on your side, his touch so gentle it was almost hypnotic. âI donât want you to forget tonight,â he whispered, his voice even quieter now, like he was sharing a secret meant just for you.
You turned in his arms, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked with his. There was something in his gaze, something soft and unspoken, that made your heart race. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop altogether.
You swallowed, the words escaping you before you could think twice. âWhat if I do?â
For a moment, Jenoâs expression darkened, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. Then, in a movement so gentle it felt like a dream, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The contact sent a shiver through you, your whole body reacting to the warmth of his touch.
âThen Iâll remind you,â he murmured against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper.
The night blurred into a series of quiet moments. Soft touches, shared whispers, and a closeness that felt too tender, too fragile to belong to the real world. You could have stayed in that moment forever, tangled in Jenoâs warmth, pretending that the world outside didnât exist.
But, as always, reality had a way of creeping back in.
Jenoâs phone buzzed on the desk beside him, the soft vibrations shattering the stillness. He sighed, his arm loosening from around you as he reached for the phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. You watched as his brows furrowed, his expression tense as he scrolled through the dozens of missed calls and messages.
âShit,â he muttered, sitting up, his warmth slipping away from you entirely.
The cold rushed in immediately, filling the space where Jeno had been, and your heart sank. You knew what was coming next.
âWhatâs wrong?â you asked, already knowing the answer but dreading hearing it aloud.
Jeno ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. âThe guys⊠Theyâve been calling me nonstop. I told them Iâd leave with them, theyâre my only ride home.â His voice was tinged with regret, but beneath it, you could sense the guilt.
You forced a smile, trying to mask the disappointment that was tightening in your chest. âItâs fine,â you lied, propping yourself up on your elbow. âYou should go.â
Jeno glanced down at his phone again, then back at you, his jaw tightening as he hesitated. âI donât want to leave you alone,â he said quietly, his voice thick with the conflict swirling inside him.
You shook your head, the ache in your chest growing. âIâll be okay,â you whispered, your words feeling hollow. âReally. Go.â
For a fleeting moment, you held onto the hope that Jeno might stay. The way he looked at you, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that made your heart race, felt like a promise unspoken. But then the phone buzzed again, shattering the delicate moment. You watched as his resolve shifted, the warmth in his gaze giving way to a distant sadness.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bed, the fabric of the moment tearing slightly as he slipped his phone into his pocket. The air around you felt colder, thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions, as if the very room held its breath. Just before he reached the door, he hesitated, turning back to you one last time. His eyes softened as they met yours, and he stepped back toward the bed, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was soft and lingering, yet it carried the weight of finality.
âIâll see you on Monday,â he whispered, his breath brushing against your skin, leaving a warmth that contrasted the chill that enveloped you after he left.
And then, he was gone.
The weekend stretched endlessly, an expanse of silence that felt like an aching void where his presence had been. No calls. No texts. Just the stark absence of his warmth and the echo of the night you had shared. With each passing hour, the memory of Jenoâs embrace faded, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and an unsettling sense of regret.
You spent the next two days trapped in a loop of memories, replaying every moment over and over. The way he looked at you with such intensity, the way he held you close, the sincerity in his voice when he told you that you deserved better. You ached to reach out to him, to check if he still remembered the fleeting magic of that night. But every time you reached for your phone, a wave of fear stopped you cold. The thought of his response, what he might say or, worse, what he might not say, paralyzed you.
By the time Monday rolled around, you had convinced yourself that maybe it was better this way. Pretending nothing had happened would be the safest path. After all, he would slip back into his life with friends, back to the way things were before, and you would have to bear the weight of your choices alone.
As you stepped through the school doors, you immediately felt the weight of stares bearing down on you. Whispers trailed you down the hall like a shadow, and you quickly pieced together the rumors that had spread like wildfire. Word had gotten out about you and Jeno, and Belle had undoubtedly heard every detail.
It wasnât long before she found you. Standing by your locker, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, her glare twisted your stomach into knots.
âI canât believe you, Y/N,â Belle hissed, her voice sharp and full of venom. âYou promised me youâd be there for me. You said youâd help me with Jeno, and instead, youââ She cut herself off, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.
You swallowed hard, guilt and shame coiling tightly in your chest. âBelle, Iââ
âNo,â she interrupted, her eyes flashing with hurt. âDonât. Donât act like you didnât know. Everyoneâs talking about how you left the party together. You think I didnât see the way he looks at you?â
Your heart plummeted, a heavy weight in your stomach. You longed to explain, to articulate that it hadnât been what it looked like, that you hadnât intended for any of it to happen. But deep down, you knew the truth: you had crossed a line, and no amount of explanation would erase the breach of trust.
âI didnât mean for this to happen,â you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.
âItâs not fair. I was so close to having him, Y/N. I was right there, and then you had to ruin it for me.â Belleâs eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her expression hardened like ice. âYouâre a liar. You promised to help,â she spat coldly, turning away from you. âYouâre no better than the rest of them. Maybe you shouldâve tried harder not to ruin everything.â
And just like that, she walked away, leaving you with the sharp sting of her betrayal echoing in the silence behind her.
You stood there, frozen, as the world around you faded into a blurry haze of whispers and judgmental stares. The hallway stretched out longer than usual, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the suffocating air thick with unspoken words. You could almost see the rumours swirling like storm clouds, brewing around you as classmates shot knowing glances. Some gleeful, others disdainful, while they whispered behind your back, oblivious to the truth.
You made it through the day by shrinking into yourself, avoiding everyone as if they were fragments of glass waiting to cut you. Each laugh from a group nearby felt like a mockery, reminding you of how the moments you shared with Jeno now felt like scattered shards, impossible to clean up without inflicting wounds on your heart. Every time you caught a glimpse of him in the halls, your chest tightened as his eyes flicked toward you for just a fleeting second before looking away, as if that one shared night had evaporated into thin air. Maybe it had for him.
The days following that night passed under a strange, silent agreement between you and Jeno. Neither of you acknowledged what had happened. No messages. No lingering glances. No awkward conversations. It was as if you had both silently decided that pretending it hadnât meant anything was the easiest way to cope. But you couldn't shake the feeling that, to him, it truly hadnât.
At school, Jeno slipped seamlessly back into the rhythm of his life, surrounded by his friends, laughter pouring from their mouths as if nothing had changed. He blended effortlessly into the crowd of popular kids, exuding an air of confidence that was painfully absent in you. Later, you overheard snippets of their conversations, casual, dismissive remarks. âSheâs not worth it, man. You could do way better,â Haechan chuckled, as if your very existence was a punchline. Jeno merely shrugged, his indifference cutting deeper than any blade. âIt was nothing.â
The words pierced through your carefully constructed defences, more painful than you could have anticipated. They shouldnât have stung; after all, you had spent the entire weekend convincing yourself that you didnât care, that it was just a fleeting moment. But those three words echoed in your mind, a relentless mantra: It was nothing.
Still, you played your part. Whenever you passed him in the halls or found yourself near his group during lunch, you donned a mask of indifference so convincingly that you almost started to believe it yourself. You laughed with your other friends, pretended to focus in class, and convinced yourself that forgetting was the best option. You were adept at pretending, had to be, but that night continued to linger, haunting you like a bittersweet melody you couldn't silence.
The only person who seemed to peel back your façade was Mark. You never spoke about that night directly, but he could read between the lines. He noticed the way your gaze avoided Jeno, how your laughter felt forced, and how your smile no longer reached your eyes.
One afternoon, when the weight of everything felt too heavy to bear, you found yourself gravitating toward Mark. He sat on the grass at the edge of the soccer field, scribbling furiously in his notebook. You dropped down beside him, the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cold ache in your chest. He looked up, brow raised, but he didnât say anything right away, giving you space to breathe.
âI donât know what Iâm doing anymore,â you finally admitted, staring into the distance as the horizon blurred with your emotions.
Mark closed his notebook, shifting his full attention to you. âWant to talk about it?â
You shook your head, frustration bubbling inside you. âNot really. Just⊠everythingâs a mess.â
He didnât press you, but his unwavering gaze bore into you, his concern palpable. âYou donât have to pretend with me. I can tell youâre not okay.â
The tightness in your chest intensified at his words, and you forced a laugh that felt hollow. âItâs not a big deal. I barely even remember that night, anyway.â
Mark didnât buy it. He never did. âYou donât have to lie to me. But if you donât want to talk about it, thatâs okay too.â
The silence stretched between you, filled with all the unsaid things that hung heavy in the air. You stared at the ground, fighting the emotions that threatened to spill over.
âJeno didnât say anything, did he?â you asked, the question slipping out before you could hold it back.
Mark sighed, leaning back on his hands. âHeâs pretending it never happened, too. His friends⊠Well, theyâre being assholes, like always. Told him he could do better. You know how they are.â
You nodded, the weight of disappointment sinking deeper into your bones. Of course they would say that. Of course Jeno would follow their lead. It was easier to dismiss the connection you had shared, to act like you hadnât been wrapped up in each other, sharing warmth and vulnerability in a way that felt almost sacred.
Sensing your shift in mood, Mark nudged your shoulder lightly, offering a small smile. âLook, Iâm not gonna pretend to understand whatâs going on in Jenoâs head. But you deserve better than this, better than being some secret he feels like he has to hide.â
His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, yet they only amplified the ache in your heart. You wished it didnât hurt so much, wished you could just move on like Jeno seemed to. But the truth was, that night had meant something to you. Even if you shouldnât have felt that way, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise, it did.
It wasnât just the gossip or the whispers that hurt; it was the entire situation. The reality that you had gotten swept up in something so fleeting, yet so consuming. You felt like you were living on a stage, where every move was scrutinised, turned into something larger than life. Belle, Jeno, his friends; they were all part of that act, and now, so were you. You thought back to the party, to the fragile intimacy you had shared with Jeno, the way you had intertwined your lives for a moment. But the harsh reality was that it hadnât been real. Not for him.
When you got home, you collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, its familiar texture suddenly feeling foreign and oppressive. The quiet of your room suffocated you, amplifying the echoes of whispers and judgment that had followed you all day. It should have been a relief to escape the chaos, but instead, it was a stark reminder of how alone you felt. Gone were the masks and the laughter; all that remained was the haunting silence, thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.
Your phone buzzed, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered inside you. Maybe it was Jeno, maybe he finally had something to say, something that could bridge the chasm that had formed between you two. But as you glanced down, the screen illuminated a message from Mark instead.
Mark: How you holding up?
You stared at the words, the glow of the screen casting a pale light over your uncertainty. Mark had always been the one to see beyond your carefully constructed façade, the only person who didnât press for answers you werenât ready to give. His concern was palpable even through the digital barrier, but the weight of your own feelings made it hard to respond.
You: I donât know.
The reply felt painfully inadequate, a thin veil over the storm churning inside you. You tossed your phone aside, pulling your knees up to your chest, as if trying to protect your heart from the world outside. What did you even want at this point? Jeno wasnât coming back to fix things, and Belle was probably rehearsing her next round of accusations. You felt caught in a strange, uncomfortable limbo, yearning to forget while being unable to erase the vivid memories of that night.
In the days that followed, you had tried to convince yourself the night with Jeno was nothing more than a fleeting mistake, a moment spurred by alcohol and the warmth of the moment. But now, as the realization washed over you, it became painfully clear: you had wanted it to mean something more. You craved the way he looked at you that nightânot with the haze of drunken affection, but with something deeper, something that could fill the void you felt inside.
But he didnât. He never would.
You remained motionless on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling the silence stretch around you like a shroud. Your phone buzzed again, probably Mark checking in, but you couldnât muster the energy to respond. The weight of your decisions pressed heavily on your chest, reminding you of the loss that had settled in your heart.
You had lost your best friend, sacrificed your bond with Belle for something ephemeral, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone. And maybe that was what hurt the most. The realization that in the end, none of it had felt real. Not the intimate moments shared with Jeno, not the friendship you had thought you could count on with Belle. Everything felt built on a shaky foundation, fragile and destined to crumble.
As you lay there, you reached for your phone, hoping to drown out the noise in your head with music. You scrolled through your playlist, searching for anything that could take you away from this moment. And then it started, the familiar notes of Crush Culture by Conan Gray filled the room, wrapping around you like a bittersweet embrace.
With each lyric, you felt a rush of recognition that hit you like a truck. Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out. The words resonated deeply, echoing the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. It was as if Conan had taken the scattered pieces of your heart and crafted them into a song, pulling at the very strings of your soul.
The lines about fleeting moments, unreciprocated feelings, and the pain of wanting something that was never truly yours surged through you. You closed your eyes, allowing the music to wash over you, each note igniting memories of that night with Jeno. The way he held you, the laughter you shared, the promises whispered in the dark. But with each line, the weight of reality crashed down harder, reminding you of the distance that had grown between you since then.
Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, the catharsis almost overwhelming as the song played on. You could feel every word burrowing into your heart, every melody capturing the longing you tried to hide. This wasnât just about Jeno; it was about everything you had lost, everything you had poured into moments that turned out to be nothing but illusions.
And in that moment, you felt a fragile clarity. You might be lost now, but you wouldnât stay that way forever. The lyrics continued to echo around you, each syllable a promise that you would find a way through the pain, that you could reclaim your voice, your heart, and maybe, just maybe, discover what it meant to feel whole again.
As the song faded into silence, you lay back against your pillows, allowing the tears to flow freely. It was time to face the truth, to embrace the chaos of your emotions, and to start piecing together a new beginning. And with that thought, you closed your eyes, a flicker of hope igniting within you. A hope that lingered long after the last notes faded away.
137 notes
·
View notes
đđ đđđđ đđđ đđđđđđđ
â§ïœ„ïŸ: *â§ïœ„ïŸ:* *:ïŸâ§*:ïŸâ§
dean winchester x hunter!reader | word count: 1,7k | requests are open! send yours here
âSam died, sweetheart,â he whispered, and your heart clenched at his words. Why did he have to call you that right now? âAnd I made a deal to bring him back. I had to.â
âThis isnât funny,â you said, your voice trembling. âDean, you canât be serious.â
âIâm serious,â he replied, his tone firm. âI wouldnât lie. Not about this.â
⊠on this fic: dean winchester x reader, fem!reader but this part is pretty neutral, angst, s3 spn plot
⊠a/n: this is my first time writing a reader insert for the supernatural universe. this is super angsty, and other parts to this au may come in the future so feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any suggestions! hope u enjoy the read đ€
Word travels fast in a hunterâs world.
In a job where information is everything, sharing what you know wasnât just helpful, but also expected. So, when the Devilâs Gate opened and demons started pouring out everywhere, it didnât take long before you heard about it. It didnât come as a surprise when you heard Sam and Dean Winchester had been there when it happened, right in the middle of it. You knew the boys; you knew they had a knack for getting mixed up in every kind of mess that popped up, ever.
What did surprise you, though, was Dean showing up on your doorstep less than a month later.
You knew something was off the second you saw him. First, because he was alone, and honestly, you couldnât remember ever seeing him without Sam around. But mostly, it was the look in his eyes. As soon as you opened the door, he smiled at you, but his eyes didnât follow â there was a storm brewing in his green irises, one even he didnât seem to notice.
âDean,â you said, frowning as he stood in your doorway. âHow did youâŠâ
âBobby told me,â he cut you off, like it was no big deal, not even waiting for you to finish asking how the hell did he know where you lived. Of course, Bobby had. You sighed â wouldâve been nice if Bobby gave you a heads-up, but whatever. âCan I come in?â
âYeah, but⊠whatâs going on?â you asked, stepping aside to let him into your little cabin. It wasnât much â pretty small, tucked away from the town, and didnât look like anything special from the outside. Inside, though, was another story. Your eyes flicked up to the devilâs trap right above the door, and you felt a wave of relief when Dean walked right under it. Okay, not possessed. Thatâs a start.
âCanât I just pay a visit to an old friend?â he asked, and you raised an eyebrow. Sure, youâd crossed paths with Dean more than a few times â occupational hazard of being a hunter â but something about this felt off. It wasnât like him to just show up without a reason, especially with everything that had gone down in the past few weeks.
âDean, whatâs wrong?â you pressed, not letting him off the hook. His smile faltered, quickly replaced by that familiar annoyed look he got when he didnât want to talk about whatever was actually on his mind.
âWhy does something have to be wrong?â
You rolled your eyes. âBecause you never just drop by for no reason. Whereâs Sam?â
âNot here,â he muttered, and you couldnât help but scoff. âLook, Iâm fine. Everything's fine. Bobby just figured youâd wanna know what went down with the Colt and yellow-eyesâŠâ
âIâve got a phone,â you cut in, crossing your arms.Â
Dean sighed, his usual swagger faltering for a second as he cleared his throat, almost like he was nervous. âAnd⊠maybe he also thought I could use some time away from hunting, just for a bit, you know? With someone I⊠I liked being around.â
He couldnât even look at you when he said it, a slight blush creeping up his neck. It wasnât the Dean you were used to seeing, and that made your heart skip in a way you werenât entirely prepared for.
You blinked in surprise. Dean, shy? Around you, of all people? That was rare. Youâd seen him flirt before â hell, he was good at it and he knew it. This wasnât the Dean you were used to, but then again, he wasnât exactly acting like his usual self today.
âYouâre not a shapeshifter, are you?â you asked, slowly. He huffed.
âNo, Iâm not.â
âMind if I check?â You grabbed the knife you always kept strapped to your thigh. Dean just shrugged, holding his hand out. You took it, his skin warm under your fingers, and pressed the iron blade against it until it drew blood. No reaction, a small twitch in his arm muscles the only sign heâd felt anything.Â
âSee?â he said, his voice a little rough. âNot a shapeshifter, not a demon, just good olâ me.â
Alright then. As weird as it was, it looked like Dean Winchester had really shown up at your place just to⊠hang out? You glanced up at him, wiping your knife off on your jeans before sliding it back into its sheath.
âSorry about that,â you muttered. âCome on, let me patch you up.â
âSo,â Dean asked, raising an eyebrow as you finished wrapping the bandage around his hand. âWhatâve you been up to? Working any cases?â
âWhy do you wanna know? Werenât you supposed to be taking a break from hunting for a few days?â you shot back, and he chuckled. You glanced up at him. âYou know I donât hunt as much as you guys. I mostly just keep an eye on this area. But itâs been pretty quiet lately.â
âYeah, well, you take care of yourself, alright? Lots of demons running around lately,â he said. âIf you ever need backup, just call me.â
âThanks,â you replied quietly. âI havenât been up to much other than keeping an eye on things. Honestly, I was worried about you guys. Heard you were at the Devilâs Gate when everything went down.â
âWe were trying to stop it,â Dean said, and you nodded.
âI figured as much. ButâŠâ You hesitated. âThatâs not exactly what everyoneâs saying.â
âWhat do you mean?â he asked, frowning a bit as he flexed his hand, checking how well he could move it with your bandages. âWhoâs everyone?â
âThe other hunters,â you said. âTheyâre saying Sam⊠and you⊠you guys made the whole thing happen.â
Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair in frustration.
âAnd did you believe that bullshit?â
âI didnât! Just⊠Please be careful out there, alright? Not all hunters are as friendly right now.â He looked at you for a moment, then let out a sigh and nodded. You hesitated. âDo you, uh, wanna hit up a bar or something? I mean, Iâm not exactly living the most exciting life out hereâŠâ
âYou got a TV and some beers?â he asked, catching you off guard. You blinked a few times before nodding. âSweet. Thatâs all I need today. We could watch a movie or something, maybe order in.â
âI can cook,â you chimed in. âIâve got a wood-burning oven outside... we could make homemade pizza.â
The way he looked at you, it was like youâd just revealed you had the keys to Heaven itself.
You finally figured out what was up much later in the night, while you and Dean were sprawled out in your queen bed.
At first, he had tried to be a gentleman and insisted on crashing on the couch, but you wouldnât have it â the bed was more than big enough for both of you. No point in him getting a stiff neck just because he wanted to play nice. Sure, you were practical, but you also just wanted him to be comfortable. You could sense something was off with him, even if he kept saying he was fine.
So there you were, cozy and ready to sleep, lights out and moonlight streaming through the curtains, lying on your side and facing the wall as you listened to his deep breathing. You were almost drifting off yourself when he said it.
âI made a deal.â
You opened your eyes right away, twisting in bed to find his face just inches from yours. Your heart raced at the vulnerability in his gaze â the angst heâd tried to keep hidden was now clear as day. It made your heart sink and your breath hitch a little.
âWhat?â you asked, concern creeping into your voice. Dean closed his eyes for a second, letting out a small sigh.
âSam died, sweetheart,â he whispered, and your heart clenched at his words. Why did he have to call you that right now? âAnd I made a deal to bring him back. I had to.â
âThis isnât funny,â you said, your voice trembling. âDean, you canât be serious.â
âIâm serious,â he replied, his tone firm. âI wouldnât lie. Not about this.â
You didnât answer, just buried your face in your hands, struggling to catch your breath as tears started to well up in your eyes. The reaction shocked you â why did you care about him so much? How could you be terrified of losing him when you were just⊠what? Occasional hunting partners? Friends?
But he was right there with you, wasnât he?
Was this why he had come to you?
âI wanted to tell you myself,â he said softly, as if he could read your mind. âI⊠I wanted to see you. One last time, at least.â
One last time. His words bounced around in your head, and you lowered your hands to face him, confusion scrunching your brow. That didnât make sense. Demons usually gave you ten years after a deal, so whyâŠ?
âDean,â you said slowly. âHow long⊠how long did they give you?â
âA year,â he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it. âThey gave me a year.â
âNo,â you said, covering your mouth with one hand as the sobs started to spill out. âOh, no, Dean, no, no, noâŠâ
He pulled you close, wrapping you tight against his chest as you cried, your arms instinctively clinging to him. Incoherent words tumbled out â trying to apologize for crying, for feeling like a hole had been carved out of your chest. It didnât feel right â you werenât the one who was supposed to be feeling this way.
Because you werenât the one dying.
You cried yourself to sleep in his arms that night. As your sobs faded into tired breaths and your eyes finally closed, Dean felt a sharp ache in his chest while watching your swollen eyes and damp cheeks.
He couldnât deal with the whirlwind of feelings churning inside him right now. He couldnât face the regret, the fear, not even that nameless feeling he had for you â because he was too scared to name it, to even acknowledge it was real. All he knew was that he had lied; Bobby hadnât sent him to you. Things werenât fine, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.
He had come to you of his own choice.
Because when his world was crumbling, he knew you were the only one who could help him pick up the pieces.
Even when everything felt hopeless.
Even when he felt completely lost.
88 notes
·
View notes
Yooooooo, you write fan fictions, don't you? Halloween is, like, right over there *points*. would you be willing to do one of mhin taking sparrow ghost hunting? and maybe even having a "guest appearance" of a certain shadow manipulator?
if this has already been done, could you point me in the right direction?
thank you~
I've never seen a fic like that but omg. This is such a brilliant idea, I love how all the pieces come together so perfectlyâVere being said to be responsible for his fair share of local ghost stories, mentions of Mhin and haunted houses in the Uquiz results⊠Premium thoughts. I had a lot of fun writing this, ty for giving me the prompt!! :>
It took a couple of extra days but it's also longer (~2900 words) so hopefully that makes up for it. p.s sorry if u meant it to be more gen bc I wrote romantic pining lol Volume Warning! Ambiance (~BEAUTIFUL FOX NOISES) for y'all /j
Cold Spots
You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, sheltering your remaining body heat from the howling wind. Â
You ignore the shiver that creeps down your spine.
Youâve been warned that the night is chilly in Eridia at this time of year, but you havenât quite scraped together enough coin to afford more layers. So you huddle closer to the swaying lamplight of the Wet Wick, attempting to leech warmth from the cheery (if occasionally overwhelming) atmosphere of the bar. Youâre on edge, wary about straying too far from the Wickâs affable open doors and the balmy light spilling out of them.
You crane your neck to peer as far as you can around the corner without moving, eyeing the myriad of nearby alleyways, all full to the brim with shadows, searching for a familiar splash of moonlight and blue sweeping through the night.
 Thatâs when you feel eyes on your back.
You freeze, all of your senses on high alert.
âYouâre where I asked you to be.â Mhin says in lieu of a greeting. You startle, reeling around to face them. Even when you're expecting them, they have the uncanny ability of sneaking up on you.
âYou say that like youâre surprised.â You chide, in mock affront. âYouâll notice that Iâm also on time.â Your giddiness shows on your face, a smile tugging at your lips.
âDonât act so pleased with yourself,â they snipe while rolling their eyes, âfor anyone else, thatâs the bare minimum.â They frown, looking you up and down with their arms tightly crossed. â...Is that what youâre wearing?â
Any further quips you have for them die in your mouth, drowned out by nervous chuckling. You realize they must be asking (in their own way) if youâre not going to get too cold. You know you could just ask Leander or Kuras for some seasonally appropriate attire but youâd rather not rely on further charity if you canât help it. Hence: âIâm, um, warm blooded?â You mean to inject an appropriate amount of bravado into your voice, but it comes out as more of a question.
Mhin sighs, long eyelashes brushing their cheeks as they close their eyes for one long moment.  âSometimes I wonderâŠÂ Fine. Letâs just get going.â
The floorboards shriek beneath your feet as you step across the threshold. The entire shack seems to groan and sway, protesting audibly against the wind. You stick close to Mhinâs back as they hold their gas lamp up, casting an eerie glow about the interior of the abandoned building. Their keen eyes do a quick sweep before they nod decisively and usher you inside with a single precise motion.
The bellow of the wind sounds almost like a scream as the door shuts behind you.
âSo, what are we looking for, exactly?â Your voice comes out hushed, the haunting atmosphere insisting that behave accordingly.
âLikely nothing.â Mhin responds. âActual ghost sightings are very rare. And of those, few recorded instances come from trustworthy sources. People in Eridia can be quite superstitious. Count on rats or other pests. Itâs more plausible that this is a mere infestation rather thanââ
The roof above your heads gives a long, low creeaaaak.
You both pause for a beat, listening to silence.
âHow would we know if it's a real ghost?â You ask, more out of curiosity than anything. Youâre not about to waste the opportunity, if Mhin is willing to keep talking.
âDepends on the type of ghost.â Another protest from the floorboards as Mhin wanders further into the dark. Since you donât have a lantern of your own, you have no choice but to follow close behind. Unless you want to stumble around with nothing but the shatters of dusty moonlight cast through the cracked windows to guide your way.
Mhin and you make a quick round of the small building, finding it mostly empty, only a few pieces of broken furniture left behind. You draw closer to the back wall, carefully avoiding moth-eaten curtains, heeding Mhinâs warning about a small step. Based on the layout, you think this place might have been a bar or entertainment hall of some sort. You imagine it had a nice, cozy parlor at one time, though now itâs fallen into squalor. As Mhin examines the walls for signs of pests and other clues, you examine the graffiti strewn across them: crude jokes and lewd drawings, mostly. Some scattered names, belonging to people and gangs youâve never heard of before. Â
Framed in the center, though, there's a huge riot of colorful paint. An abstract painting with no proper canvas. It's beautiful, somehow, though hauntingly morose. The artist has contained their work in a neat square, not a single streak of color escaping the precisely imposed prison. Youâre not sure what the intent of the artist was choosing somewhere like this to display itâŠÂ Â
âIs there a type of ghost that makes artwork?â You wonder aloud. You almost wish that Mhin would hand you the lantern so you can get a better look.
Mhin clicks their tongue, sparing barely a glance toward the makeshift painting. âI wouldn't define that as art.â Mhin follows the line of the wall to the corner, their lantern held up to the wall. âThatâs justâŠpaint. If youâre looking for ghosts, try looking for scratch marks. Those are a possible indicator, though not always a reliable one. A sudden feeling of hot, or coldâany otherwise unexplainable temperature change. A strange odorâŠâ
You give the air a sniff. â...I donât smell anything. Do you?â
âDust. Rotting wood. And youâve stopped using Leanderâs bath soaps, which Iâll commend you for. Why anybody would want to smell that strongly ofââ Mhin stops and gives a short whiff, their mouth slightly parted. Their brows furrow. âIt is unusualâŠI don't see or smell any signs of rats or roaches. No vultures eitherâŠâ
âMaybe something else scared them away?â You posit. You shuffle closer to Mhin, not liking the way the shadows around you seem to flow and ebb the longer you look at them, your mind making up shapes. Thereâs a silly part of you that wants to feel Mhinâs cloak between your bandaged fingers as reassurance that theyâll stay close. Theyâd probably hate to know that you see them as something to cling toâa source of comfort, safety.
You try to take another step closer to further dampen your trepidation, but instead you trip overâ somethingâand stumble directly into Mhin. They catch you on impulse, strong and quick enough to steady you with one arm while holding the lantern with the other. You breathe an apology, your lips bumping against their chin as they help you get your feet back under you. Â
You both search the ground to determine what knocked you off your balance.
It's a dirty old rug, rucked up at one edge. Â
A long line of what appears to be claw marks lies half uncovered below it. Mhin kneels beside the marks, studying them intently, carefully moving the rug to reveal yet more splintered wood. âIâm not sure what could have done this,â they admit. âThe marks are fresh, but none of the dust was disruptedâŠâ
The floorboards groan another protest, though it bounds off the walls in strange ways, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound originated.
âAural contortions.â Mhin announces. âAnd a feeling that youâre being watched. Reflective surfaces will behave oddly as well. Hold this.â Mhin hands you the lantern (more: shoves it into your grasp, really) reaching into their satchel. Their nimble hands pull out a handful of alchemical concoctions, one which shines like the inside of a seashell, a tiny silver locket, which they flick open to reveal a small mirror. Thereâs symbols etched into it, so old and worn away you canât make them out.
You draw the lantern closer at their behest, illuminating a small smile spread across their face.
Is Mhin âŠHaving fun?
âIs there anything I can do to help?â You ask, hoping they donât notice the warmth in your voice. Getting scolded would kind of ruin the mood.
Mhin glances up, blinking at you like they almost forgot you were there. Their tongue peeks out, wetting their lips as they consider. âYes,â they finally agree, âwould youââ
The lamplight is smothered by an unknown force.
The cracked streams of light from the window are gone, leaving you in darkness.
Mhin swears, their voice distorting as if they are suddenly very far away. A moment ago they were crouched beside you, but the shadows surrounding you are so inky you canât make out their silhouette at all. Instinctively, you reach your hands out in front of you before freezing and reluctantly forcing them back down. If both you and Mhin end up stumbling around with hands outstretched, thereâs a possibility that they might accidentally grasp onto you and disrupt your bandages. (You wish you had given into your desire to hold onto them earlier.) Â
You whisper their name, frantic, hoping they can hear you.
âIâm here,â Mhin assures you, their voice pitched low and cautious. You feel the gentle press of a foot against yours, a light tap of reassurance against the side of your sole. âStay close.â Thereâs a brush of fingertips against your back. âIf the entity is particularly powerful, it will be able to move objects,â Mhin cautions, âbut a ghost should never be capable of causing harm to humans directly. And thereâs not much in here that it could throw. Just stay calm. If you donât keep your emotions in check, it will only be more incensed.â
Light flashes through the room again in a spotlight, guiding your gaze to a particular area of the building.
The abstract mural is defaced, dripping black liquid splattered boldly across the wall like arterial spray. You retreat a step, feeling something wet beneath your feet. Thereâs a sharp, astringent tang in the air. Musty and earthy-floral. Old velvet and leather, parchment and fresh paint.
You realize, with a sinking feeling of cold terror, that the black ichor on the wall spells your name.
   Eyes on you. Â
Touch like a gossamer spider web. Brushing against the nape of your neck.
âMhin,â you whisper urgently. âSomething justââ Â
The cold hits you then. Bone deep and all consuming. Judging by the way Mhin swears, they must feel it too. Whatever this unknown entity is, itâs close. And it wantsâŠ
Shadow flickers, fingers reaching for you, claws grasping, white glint of teeth.
Mhin sneers audibly, reaching for you and reeling you in by your cloak just before the figure can snatch you up. Their arm wraps around you, guiding you with them as they recede. They sweep their stiletto in a wide arc and you hear the clang of metal on metal, though you have no idea what it was that Mhin hit. Their night vision must be immaculateâyou can hardly see more than the fresh glint of their stiletto blade.
âTurns out it is a vermin infestation.â
A bark of laughter. Â
Very familiar laughter.
The door starts to rattle on its hinges, moving to the rhythm of Vere's glee. Mhin walks over to it, dragging your shaking body with them. With a definitive kick from Mhin and a final cackle from Vere, the door bursts open.
Mhin tugs you out into the open air and slams it behind them.
âAwful fur-bag.â Mhin spits the words out like the mere thought of Vere leaves a bad taste in their mouth.
Youâre far enough away that the black paint clinging to both of your shoes is no longer leaving footprints, but you canât say the same about the bone deep cold.
Youâre shivering so hard your teeth start to chatter, adrenaline magnifying the chill in your bones. How did Vere even do that? You rub your arms and nearly stumble into Mhin in the process. Their features twist into a half-formed scowl, eyes sweeping you before softening into something more delicate.
You find yourself staring into eyes that seem to catch the moonlight, words caught in your throat.
âYouâre freezing.â Mhin murmurs, resting a hand against the curve of your cheek, testing your temperature.
Youâre surprised at the contact. Mhin is always so careful about touching youâitâs something you appreciate, usually, this unspoken agreement between the two of you; Mhin doesnât ask intrusive questions, just makes silent hypotheses and treats your personal space with care. You appreciate itâusuallyâbut sometimes, (constantly), you wishâŠ
Mhinâs thumb pets against your jaw. They glace away from you as they do, unable to hold your gaze, but they donât remove their hand, even as the moment hangs heavy in the air. Their hand is soft, you think, fingertips like silk, though you can feel the thick calluses built up at the meat of their palm. Likely hard won and harder lost, trophies from their time as a freelancer and whatever secret misfortune befell them what led them to Eridia. Unthinking, you nuzzle into their touch, luxuriating in the coveted feeling of skin on skin. You have half a mind to turn your head, press your lips against their calluses, kiss them like youâre drawing poison from a wound.
Mhin catches your chin between their thumb and pointer finger. Their grip is assertive, certain. Youâd worry that youâve angered them somehow, but the intensity of their gaze, the subtle tilt of their head, the flush of their cheeks, the featherlight caress of their breath on your lipsâŠ
âYou think they mightâ
They back away abruptly in one smooth stride. Their hands work quickly at the intricate clasp on their cloak. Oh, now theyâre really looking away.
âWear this while we head back. You didnât come to this city to die of cold.â
They look at their bracers pointedly as you hesitate, as if itching to adjust them. You slowly reach out and put the garment on.
The trek back to the Wick is uneventful. The occasional star glances out from the pall of clouds constantly lingering in the Eridian sky. You look for the waning moon, finding its reticent light and following it home. You return Mhinâs cloak at the door, careful to hold it in a way that allows them to take it without having to touch you â touch your bandages. Â
Mhin looks, oddly, a little reluctant to see it returned. Youâre not sure how else you can possibly read their body language. Their hunched shoulders, the downturn of their mouth, their uncharacteristic lingering. Holding the cloak in their hands like they canât quite decide what to think of it.
They let out a sharp breath.
Mhin levels you with a pointed glare as they settle their mantle across their shoulders, affixing the clasp without need to look down. âBuy some warmer clothes.â they order, âTell Leander that the contract is complete and the buyerâs âghost problemâ is solved. The building should be fine for renovations, just tell them to start their renewal project on a day when the Senobium is actually holding Vereâs leash.â
Â
âYouâll come back for your cut tomorrowâŠ?â Confusion rolls off your lips.
âNo.â Mhin crosses their arms again. âI just told you to buy some warmer clothes, didnât I? Consider it hazard pay.â Again, that disgusted tone Mhin reserves for Vere. âEven with that taken into consideration, youâll still owe me, though. Donât forget. Iâll collect some day; everyone does in this city.â
Youâre not sure what to say. Mhin is insisting that this is just a loan, and you believe that wholeheartedly. But that doesnât mean it isnât charity. Mhinâs also offering you transparencyâan open disclosure of the deal youâre agreeing to. You take their cut, buy what you need, and resolve to pay it back when you can. And if Mhin needs something similar in the future, youâll return them in kind. Â
You think you stumble over your words a little, but you agree to their offer.
âIâll be back to collect another contract. Hopefully something thatâs not a waste of my time.â
And a promise to come back is a promise to see you again, isnât it? To include you in their life? Is that what youâre supposed to take from this? That Mhin cares for you, even if they wonâtâ
Â
Or is it your foolish heart, showing you a path that isnât really there? Â
âGoodnight, Mhin.â You say the words, but their back is already turned, steps already taken.
  âŠÂ EXTENDED ENDING...? âŠ
Â
 You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth down the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the covers up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable.
As your eyes finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention. Â
It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you. On top of you.
Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.Â
You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream.
âVere, whatââ
âShhh,â he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips. His breath is hot against your skin.
âI only came to keep you warm, pet.â
24 notes
·
View notes