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horror102 · 1 year

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Night time massacre!

Slashers x Asylum therapist GN! Reader

TW: Midnight Angst, Heavy Angst. Emotional Hurt! Manipulation, Lying,

(Slashers: Gabriel May-Hannibal Lecter-Norman Bates-Brahms Heelshire-Jacob Goodnight)

Your plan was to get the slashers to trust you, that was what you were instructed by your peers and boss. And it was a hefty deal of money. And being a little middle class or below it, you needed the money. And when you were done you left.

Norman bates

His mother kept telling him it was a trick, utter buffoonery! But he didn’t listen, he insisted it was love. And that you felt the same way!

The way you would bat your eyelashes at him. How you’d lightly wake him up from his solitude.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you practically sticking his head through the bars as your feet tapped the cement floor of the halls.

He’d watch how you step, notice a pattern in your walks, grow shy when you’d pay attention and bring up what he said in far later notices.

One day he’d even take it up to himself to make you a mattress flower, ripping his mattress up with raw strength and shaping it into a flower with his teeth and peeling cement off the walls.

He planned to give it too you Friday, so you won’t have to come back the next day and think about his proposal while you were on your two day break.

But Friday never came, you weren’t there. He thought, maybe you were sick. Oh my! Maybe you were sick! You probably caught the flu. Maybe it’s pneumonia, god you could die! No, no, no, no, his precious angel couldn’t die before he confessed.

He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, he didn’t even listen too his mother. He thrashed out on his own. Growing agitated after days passed. Monday, where were you? Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. And on and on. He couldn’t fathom the fact that you were gone, Completely.

Hannibal Lecter (series)

He knew you didn’t care for him, he acted in such a job himself. He knew, oh god he knew, but he was so lonely he couldn’t help but enjoy the company.

He loved everything about it, from the clacking of your shoes as you stepped in the room to the way your eyebrows tilt when you were confused.

How you’d laugh at his stubble seriousness or jokes that were “so unfunny that they were actually funny because it wasn’t!” You stated.

Mesmerizing his favorite color, his phrases, adapting some of his manipulating habits.

He began to fantasize, creating this delusional realities of intimacy of you two in his mind while he slept uncontrollably.

He began to obsess, Thursday he mesmerized your schedule, trying to learn about you. But then Friday came and you weren’t there.

It was hard to keep up with time in the asylum so he just assumed you were off on Friday’s

Until you were off on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and back to Thursday.

Maybe you got hurt, best case scenario rather then the image in his head of you getting murdered by one of his enemies.

The image of you being eaten and cut up like he did to his victims, a piece of your jewelry hung up as decoration.

His mind became distraught, keeping his usually calm demeanor but eye bags were clearly shown. Agitation in his voice and hatred as he talked to the new therapist.

Gabriel May

For a while he didn’t trust you, he didn’t believe someone would try to understand a “parasite.”

He was utterly surprised when you called him Gabriel instead of “IT” when you called him by his normal He/him pronouns instead of “a parasite.”

He grew a little agitated at the fact that you made your way into his little heart, giving him more time then his sister to talk to him.

Letting him take turns to draw with his sister as if he was still a little kid.

Once you talked to his sister longer than you’d normally would, he’d show verbal aggression. Going occasionally silent, or making tiny whispers to his sister, threats of any kind.

He began blocking out his sister, so while you thought you were talking to her you were actually talking to him.

Learning what you’d tell her while she would usually block him out due to her command.

He’d wake up early so he could take control.

Make her hallucinate so she’d be scared and have a fearful nap.

Make her have extra long nightmares, just so she could complain about them to you which made him angry.

Watch as your eyebrows furrowed when you would talk to him and scold him about what he did.

But something that made his heart flutter is when you always forgave him.

Thursday he did it again, he terrorized her. And you scolded him and Friday he was supposedly going to give you his apology for attention.

But you didn’t come, maybe you were sick, it could only be a cold, right?

Maybe you left him, just like his mother, just like how his sister tried to block him out, just like how the doctors tried to take him out. Just like everyone else in his life.

No! You couldn’t have you promised said you would come back the next day.

Why would you lie? You had no reason too. You wouldn’t just abandon him, would you?

He started to listen in when his sister would talk to the guards. Hearing something he wish he didn’t.

No that can’t be true, they left.

Brahms Heelshire

He quickly became attached. As soon as you walked on the door, watching you eye the cracked up doll and him. Watching you observe the two.

Asking him normal questions and not pondering him to leave the doll.

Asking him how the doll was, did it chip again? You could help him fix it.

Those words were like music to his ears, as you fixed it, he was eyeing you down. Watching how your hands delicately took the doll from him as if it was a real boy.

Calling them both Brahms.

Saying hello and goodbye to both of them, complimenting both of them, acknowledging them. Seeing them as two in one. Instead of seeing the doll as some parasite.

Eventually Brahms behavior became more erratic more irrational. He was openly jealous, he always asked about other patients and what you’d talk about with them.

Angered how’d you actually talk about them in such a delightful manner.

Angered at how you had mostly male patients.

One day he took it to far, as you went to leave him stating “I’m off to another patient, have a nice rest of your day Brahms.” He flipped, the chains on his hands almost breaking as he tried to flip the table over it shaking as he used all his might eventually going so in the spam of little minutes.

He was punished, he wasn’t allowed to see you until Friday. So Monday-through-Friday he didn’t see you. He was driven crazy when you didn’t show up at the end of the week.

He began to get angry. Immediately he assumed you left him. How could you possibly love a murderous monster!? So foolish of him believing someone could actually love him.

You left him, without saying goodbye. Just like his mother and father and all the tiny bit off friends he had before he was locked away as a boy.

But he was going to promise you. “He’d be good, he will”

Jacob Goodnight

He didn’t see the evil in your eyes, you looked uncanny, you looked sweet.

You respected his beliefs and you never told him yours out of respect. You respected his mother.

You’d give him compliments about his different color eyes, about his height, about his cheeky smile.

You’d acknowledge how much he knew about his religion, you’d pray with him, even if it wasn’t something you believed in or was.

You’d compliment his Christ, you’d learn and admire.

Religious talks soon became random chats, you’d talk about random things Like God and the color of the sky.

You’d talk about your favorite colors, and help him figure out his.

Soon enough to your surprise he became obedient. Randomly, he’d do anything you’d say. Bow to your every wishes.

“Lift your left hand up and stick your pinky down.” You’d test the guards theory, and to your surprise he did exactly what you commanded.

He was obsessed. From the way you smelled to the way your hair was. Your eyes, your nose, your pointy ears.

He wasn’t exactly too bright to know your schedule. But he knew exactly what time you’d come.

He’d count, he’d create a rhythm. Just to know and remember.

One day after all that practice he finally learned his favorite color, and he was planning to tell you but it never came.

And days passed, and immediately he was angered. He’d attack everyone who tried to talk to him about you in a disrespectful way.

He’d pray for you to come back, and when that didn’t work he’d pray for you to be safe.

He couldn’t let you disappear without gods protection.

He’d repeat, “Dear Heavenly Father, Dear God. Please protect them, and if you wish bring them back to me.”

Disclaimer! I do not mean to be disrespectful of his religion I am a Christian myself! I just wanted to make it opt for people with other religions! <3

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desafinado · 1 year

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Hello! I really love your writings, they're lighthearted and interesting to read. I also love your characterization for the characters! Would it also be alright for me to request some fluffy domestic headcanons for Alhaitham or Kamisato Ayato with their s/o as their wife? Thank you and have a nice day! <3 <3 <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 happily ever afters (?)

°｡⋆ alhaitham, ayato x reader (separately)

°｡⋆ sickening fluff, nicknames/pet names galore, suggestive (omg)

note: hi hi! thank you so much for your support and feedback !!! as for your request, why not both! hope this satisfies your domestic/fluffy desires !! also… i like framing marriages as happy endings with a question mark, because i think that pretty much encapsulates my perspective on it. you hope it is a happy one and you’ll strive to make it such, but you’re never gonna be certain of it.

(alhaitham, ayato) | (zhongli, diluc, kazuha)

alhaitham ♡

i’m desperately thinking malewife, and i will bc these are my hcs so damn it.

he didn’t completely quit his job, but if you work as well… expect him to be babying you just the tiniest bit.

he made a promise to take care of you so he very much will.

cooking breakfast/dinner when he notices you coming home a bit more tired.

buying groceries (most importantly, your favorite snacks) while he's out.

leaving little notes around the house whenever he has to leave for work (whether it be a few hours or days).

you can also expect him to rant more nonchalantly, aka welcome the inner sanctum of his thoughts he must repress in front of higher ups in order to be “polite”.

“i mean what kind of buffoonery must you partake in to even have that idea? the mental gymnastics you must do in order to get from point a to point b is-” “dear, breathe and drink this tea for a second.”

in turn, you’re also often the one to keep him in and check and remind him of his own needs (whether it be emotional or purely basic like eating and sleeping).

in relation to this, you’ve implemented cuddle breaks where if you feel he’s going too far and in too deep, you can drag him into a cuddle session for an hour.

he’s usually silent the whole time, but you can see the clear progression from him grumbling about it to melting into your arms.

also they rarely ever last for just an hour and sometimes it might even escalate (suggestive yes) if he's feeling particularly clingy.

lets address the elephant in the room, alhaitham has been touch-starved for most of his life, so you coming in and giving him all the affection (with no question or judgment whatsoever) is the best thing that has happened to him.

his little smile when you hug him from behind or leave a kiss on his forehead.

anyways, back on track, most people don’t even realize you two are married but you both don’t really care either. it's just funny to hear/see their reactions.

“dinner with someone you're calling your beloved? yeah sure, that’ll be interesting” “you can disrespect me, but i will [redacted] if you so much as think about disrespecting them.”

living individual lives doesn’t stop either of you from being particularly clingy though… whether it be you storming into alhaitham’s office demanding for him to just hold you tight or alhaitham skipping work to have you kiss all his stress away.

you’re both pretty upfront about your emotions, because you don’t want to lose anything to miscommunication… (even if sometimes, it might be a bit embarrassing)

at the end of the day, you two are married… and he couldn’t have asked for a better partner to lay himself vulnerable to.

how can you say no when his eyes are practically speaking for his heart; a vision of longing and yearning so crystal clear. you’re running a hand through his hair, and as every second passes he only leans in to your touch. he looks up at you for a second, debating whether or not he interrupt the comfortable silence; he eventually looks back down, but you’re not one to ignore that and brush it off.

“my love, what is the matter?”

another moment passes before he finally gathers the courage to say the words trapped in his throat.

“i know we’ve been over it, but i can’t believe i’m yours… and you’re mine. i’m just thankful, is all. i hope i can always be the one you can rely on, as you are to me.”

a minor blush dusts his cheeks as you giggle softly at his flustered state. it wasn’t unusual, but it certainly made you feel happy, being able to fluster the stoic and pragmatic alhaitham.

“and you are, my love. celestia could send rains of fire and stampedes of thunder, and i would only ever run to you. i’ve entrusted my soul to yours, whether you know it or not, and you’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

ayato ♡

lord kamisato, this. lord kamisato, that. he does not care, he will take time out of schedule specifically for you and only you.

because no one could compare to the way you call his name, when you wake up first thing in the morning, your voice still groggy, or while you’re both walking in the garden and you spot a beautiful flower.

you specifically request him not to make you any food though, because there's a 20% it will be inedible (the chances are low, but never zero)

instead, he’ll order your favorite pastries and have them delivered every morning in time for breakfast.

once he leaves for work, you both are very reluctant to let go… as if you’re not gonna sneak into his office every hour or so.

having you sat on his lap, arms around your waist while he’s going over documents.

if he has some plans that require him to be out and about, he takes every chance to sneak away and have a secret little moment or two with you.

this only escalates during festivals when his stress levels reach new heights. you steal him away, so you both can actually enjoy the festival the way everyone else is.

hearing him quietly chuckling feels as though you’ve been welcomed into an eternal paradise that only you two know of.

on the rare occasion that you don’t see him the entire day, you change or do things around the house to it feel more like a home for the both of you

ayato’s been complaining about back pain? you spend the day searching for a pillow that fixes that (worse comes to worse, there’ll be a new mattress when he comes home…)

the walls feel a bit bare and drab? you’ll just frame and hang up some of your favorite memories together.

you’ll also often find yourself experimenting with new boba recipes and having him try them all when he comes home; because of this pastime of yours, his favorite milk tea flavor has gone through a variety of changes.

anyways, when he does come home from work, you very much try to leave it outside (unless he truly needs to get things off his chest by venting).

he just wants to spend an evening with you watching a movie, having homemade dinner, or simply cuddling in bed.

the rest of the world fades into obscurity whenever you’re holding him close, face snuggled into his chest.

you’re just whispering compliments and words of comfort, because archons know he doesn’t hear it enough (/srs i feel like he gets used to the courteous praises coming from his colleagues and such for doing a good job, but you telling him how pretty his face is, is simply unmatched)

to hell it be damned, he fought for his marriage to you and he will fight everyday to protect the home you’ve both built together.

“in the kitchen!”

your voice makes itself known as ayato is quick to rush to the kitchen to see what you’re up to. there’s some flour scattered on the counter and floor as well as some unwashed dishes in the sink, and you’re in the middle of it all, giving him an awkward smile.

“i was just trying a new recipe and tried making pearls, i’m sorry about the mess…”

you laugh awkwardly as he only moves faster towards you. the moment he reaches you, he takes both your hands, soft and still covered in flour.

“i’m sure it turned out great. your hard work clearly shows.” he chuckles, bringing a hand up to your face stroking your cheeks. “i think… it’s missing a personal touch though. would you mind?” he closes the gap between you both, his lips barely grazing yours, waiting for your confirmation.

“indeed it does. i’ve missed you… a lot.”

your lips eventually find his and you can’t help the smile that creeps on to your face. its moments like these that you cherish and keep in your heart; these memories of him that belong to you forever more.

requests are open!! please do not repost on other sites.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #genshin fluff #genshin impact #airi.writes #airi.hcs

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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 4 months

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flame-bright | part 1

The second installment of the HHU Universe has been completed!

F2L, slow-burn, reader is in major denial and also goofy af, sports statistician!seungcheol x fem!fashion designer!reader, reader is described as wearing heels/dresses often, lowkey implied that cheol is somewhat bigger than reader, I think gendered terms may be used??? Idk this is barely proofread, mentions of toxic relationships/habits that make reader’s life more difficult, mentions of cheating, eventual smut (18+ only, underage readers will be systematically hunted down and whooped), lots of mutual pining, probably some drinking, bad decisions are made generally throughout, Mingyu and Wonwoo and Vernon will make cameos (references to the Hope in the Fault Lines couple), and there will be a hefty amount of painful against in the next two parts. Lmk if I missed anything!

If there was one word you’d use to describe Seungcheol, it would’ve been passionate.

At least, while you were being kind. As it is, you’re using a litany of far less flattering descriptors while you wait for him to pick up his phone, your breath curling into soft gray tendrils in the chilly night air. You watch the clouds moving slowly, backlit by an occasionally-visible yellowish-orange moon, and curse as you get Cheol’s voicemail message in your ear.

From the minute you’d met Choi Seungcheol, your life had been struck with misfortune. It wasn’t his fault -- not at all, in fact. Most of the time it was yours. Or maybe Seungcheol was just one of those people who made you realize your own buffoonery. Whatever the reasons, it seemed like you’d been down on your luck ever since you met him, and you were starting to wonder if he was some kind of bad omen for you.

Your first conversation had happened because you were trapped in an elevator with him when it broke down on you. You had been trying to visit your boyfriend, at the time, who had been “sick” -- which apparently was code for “sleeping with someone else.” You had found out because Seungcheol was his next door neighbor, and he didn’t waste time telling you about the girl he’d been bringing over that wasn’t you. A short conversation on the phone with the boyfriend was enough to confirm the story.

You’d broken up with him instantly, right there in that stupid broken-down elevator. Cheating was a dealbreaker for you, which was saying something. You knew that you tended to allow all sorts of poor treatment from men that made your friends worry about your love life, which is why you never told them about anything anymore, which is why you started to open up to this handsome stranger in the elevator who was attentive and sympathetic and kind and who you’d probably never see again. You told him almost everything: the long string of first dates that never went anywhere, the flings, and the off-and-on relationships you’d had until you’d met the guy you just dumped. He listened perfectly -- made disgusted noises in all the right places, gasped, said “no he did not” at all the antics that men had put you through -- and when you’d finally left the elevator you’d thanked him for letting you unload.

He’d smiled then -- his first smile at you. It was probably just how fragile your heart was, but it made you all warm and fuzzy inside to see the way it changed his entire face from intimidating to soft. “No problem,” he said. “Sounds like you needed it.”

“I did,” you moaned. “I really really did. I’m so sorry you had to listen to all that.”

“It really wasn’t bad. I’m glad that I got some entertainment while we were stuck in there,” he said, gesturing at the elevator. “I hope your love life gets better.”

You had fully intended to leave the apartment building and never see him again. But you had -- he’d been exiting the elevator when you’d come to pick up the odds and ends you’d left at your now-ex-boyfriend’s apartment. The way his eyes lit up when he saw you, the way he crowed, “hey, elevator girl!”, it had all made you laugh.

“Elevator boy!” you’d replied. “How nice to see you.”

“My name’s Choi Seungcheol,” he told you. “And the pleasure is all mine. Please tell me you didn’t get back with my neighbor.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Absolutely not. I came back to fight his new girlfriend for my blow dryer.”

“Do you need help?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Are you offering to fight in my place?”

That had made him laugh. “No, I don’t fight women. What if we tag-teamed? I’ll fight him and you fight her.” He pretended to size you up. “I can definitely take him, and I gotta say I’d put my money on you beating her.”

“Well,” you’d said, pretending to consider it. “I hope it won’t come to that, but if you wanted to be moral support, I would promise to never ever tell you my entire disappointing dating history ever again.”

“I really didn’t mind that,” he said in protest. “Maybe we should take the stairs this time, though. If we get stuck in there again I might have to tell you something this time.”

“I’d probably feel less guilty if you did,” you’d told him. “But sure. I don’t have the time to get stuck in an elevator today.”

You’d followed him to the stairwell, jogging behind him up the stairs. You’d arrived at the doorstep a little out-of-breath and even more unprepared to come face-to-face with your ex and his new girlfriend.

It became clear within the first few minutes that there was no way she was giving you back your very nice, very expensive hair-dryer. She claimed, in fact, that it was hers. (Never mind that there was a piece of duct tape with your name on it stuck to the cord.)

Thus had begun the plans for the Great Hair Dryer Heist of 2018. Seungcheol had invited you across the hall to his apartment, where the two of you had brainstormed ways to get the hair dryer back. He vetoed your first idea (murder), and you vetoed his (military intelligence-level blackmail). Back and forth you went until you had come up with the only feasible, if illegal, plan.

To break in.

It amused you how seriously Seungcheol took the assignment to canvas the ex’s apartment. He had discreetly attached an audio recording device to his door and hid it with a welcome mat, so that he would know the couple’s routine. He wrote down the timeframes of their comings and goings. He even tracked patterns -- “if they come in later than 10:30 PM, they won’t leave the house again until after 10 AM,” he’d told you as you joined him for what had become weekly intel meetings. “Does your ex even work? How can he afford to leave his house so late?”

“He’s a nepo baby,” you’d told him. “His daddy’s his boss.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “You sure can pick ‘em, sweetheart.”

“You have no idea,” you mumbled.

Finally the big day came. Seungcheol had planned it down to the last second. He’d practiced picking his own lock while he knew the neighbors were out. He’d told other people on the floor what was going down so they wouldn’t be suspicious. He’d even bought a pair of leather gloves for both of you to avoid leaving fingerprints. It was, as he said himself, “go time.”

The breaking in part had gone pretty well, but then, just as you were approaching the door of their apartment with the hair dryer in hand, you’d heard the clattering of keys outside. You froze, but Seungcheol acted fast, pulling you into a closet and gesturing for silence.

Which was also going well, until your phone had gone off, blasting “Toxic” by Brittni Spears. You hurried to shut it off, but you heard the person outside pause, as though listening. When they came in, they said, “hello?”

The girlfriend was home.

As she passed the closet and went into the bathroom, Seungcheol whispered, “leave with the hair-dryer. I’ll be there soon.”

You slipped quietly from the closet and dashed out of the apartment, diving into Seungcheol’s apartment before the other apartment door had even closed. The problem was, the sound of the door shutting meant that Seungcheol was compromised. You could hear the new girlfriend screaming at him. Fighting a laugh, you went across the hall and knocked at the door, brandishing the hair dryer.

“Hi,” you said when she opened the door, red-faced, a shell-shocked looking Seungcheol behind her. And you held up the hair dryer.

She had been so shocked that all she could do was splutter. “I’m here for him,” you said, reaching around her and grabbing Seungcheol by the front of his jacket.

Impulsively she grabbed his arm, but he ripped it from her grasp. “Unhand me,” he said coldly. “And you’d better hope there’s nothing else of hers here.”

And with that, the two of you had left, triumphant.

This is how your friendship had started -- and the mishaps with dating continued, almost comically accelerating the closer you became to him. The problem was, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your friendship or end it, because you’d gone on to become really good friends with him. Not just “talk occasionally, never meet up unless one of you is going through something, cancel plans with each other” kind of friends, either -- he had become one of your best friends in the world. You saw each other almost every day and had weekly movie nights and lunch dates. Choi Seungcheol, for all his flaws, was the person you knew you could always call, no matter what went wrong.

So why, when you really needed him, was he not answering?

With a final curse aimed in the general direction of Seungcheol’s apartment building, you begin to walk to the bus station in the dark, your car sitting dead and useless in the empty museum parking lot. You debate whether or not to tell Seungcheol the real reason you called him twelve times when he inevitably calls back in a panic, hoping it’s later when you’re safe at home and not while you’re on the bus. You decide what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him and pull your flimsy jacket closer to you in the chill October air.

As is your luck, though, Cheol calls when you’re still two stops away from home. You answer him immediately, knowing it’ll be worse if you don’t — the last time this happened he had actually called the police. “Hey!” you say brightly. “What’s up, Seungcheol?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a mix of relieved, exasperated, and amused. “You called me twelve times.”

You sigh. “I know. I really wanted to not have to pick up my own dry cleaning,” you lie, using the only feasible excuse you could formulate during the half hour you’d been on the bus.

“At this time of night? So you called me twelve times?” he asks skeptically. “Just do your own laundry and then you won’t have this problem.”

“I don’t have dry cleaning technology, and if you think I’m about to put vintage rockabilly sweaters into a washing machine, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

He sighs. “I can pick it up tomorrow. Was that really all?”

“Of course,” you respond too quickly as the bus makes another stop. “Why didn’t you respond, though?”

Seungcheol hesitates. “I had a date,” he finally answers.

“Really?” you exclaim, even as your stomach drops. “How was it?”

“It…uh, it went really well. She’s still here,” he replies.

You smack your forehead. “Shit, man. You should’ve said something. I’ll let you get back to it.” And before he can protest, you hang up, your heart beating too fast for someone just sitting on a bus.

He was on a date, you think to yourself, willing yourself to believe it and let it sink in. Of course. Because there was only one thing that Seungcheol would ignore you for, only one thing he’d put ahead of helping his (supposedly platonic) best friend — his love life, which was not nearly as pitiful as yours but which somehow made you feel just as bad about yourself. You cursed yourself for not seeing this coming and for letting yourself feel somehow betrayed by it, because there was nothing between you and never would be.

You fume for the full five more minutes it takes for you to get to your bus stop. You’re furious at yourself for calling him, and furious for interrupting his date, and furious that you’re furious. “You’d better work,” you growl at the elevator as you push the button in the lobby of your apartment complex. To its credit, it does carry you slowly up to your floor, where you are finally able to collapse onto your couch, looking around the small apartment cramped with dress forms and fabric and your industrial sewing machine (all out and in use as you prepared to send samples for a new collection for the brand you worked for to your suppliers). You rub at your eyes, feeling yourself growing more overstimulated by the minute.

And then your phone’s text tone rings through the quiet apartment. You glance down at the name attached to the notification, and your heart drops.

Jinho: [23:34] “Hey, hope you’re doing well. I’m going to be in town for a couple months preparing for a trade show, and I’d love to meet up if you’ve got time.”

All thoughts you might have been capable of before this moment evaporate, replaced by a drawn-out scream of horror. Because it’s not like Jinho was the ex from hell — quite the opposite, actually. He was the only ex you had who wasn’t a deadbeat, a cheater, or extremely toxic. Jinho was a regular person with a stable job in art curation, and you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. In fact, you privately attributed your string of bad relationships to losing Jinho. Ever since he’d ended things with you, you’d been reeling, almost haphazardly grabbing onto anything that got close enough and seeing if it’d stick.

After staring at this text for what feels like several days straight, you decide you have no business answering it tonight. You are so far behind where you hoped you’d be if he ever reappeared in your life. Although you no longer have feelings for him, there was a part of you that had pictured the two of you reconnecting when you’d started your own fashion label, and you were married to someone else. Neither of those things having happened yet, you could almost feel the justification for Jinho’s departure from your life weighing on you like a wet blanket. Of course he wouldn’t want to be with you. You couldn’t keep a partner, and the closer you got to taking the leap with your own brand, the harder it became to leave the company you worked for now.

The telltale signs of a stress migraine start to sneak into your body — a dull pinching pain starting right where your hairline begins on the back of your neck, almost like gravity gets heavier there and weighs down the rest of your skull. It’s easy for you to determine what you need. You strip your clothes off and head into the shower, relishing how the hot water feels like a reset on your skin. Today is over. Tomorrow, you can figure out how to deal with everything else.

After your shower, you do your hair and skincare routine and change into your softest cropped tank and sweats. As you round the corner to plug in your phone, you nearly collide with a man in your apartment.

You nearly shriek as the man grabs your shoulders to keep you from falling, but stop yourself when you realize it’s Seungcheol. He’s looking you up and down, coughing with the force of your collision — although you didn’t hit him that hard. “Nice outfit,” he chokes out.

“What the hell,” you hiss at him. “I thought you had a date!”

“I did,” he says defensively. “But I had this sneaking suspicion you were lying to me about what you really needed. So I asked her to pick it up where we left off tomorrow.”

“Did she agree to that?” you ask him with a raised eyebrow.

“Duh,” he says with an eye roll. “I’m a catch.” He inspects your face closely. “You were lying to me, weren’t you? I didn’t see Bertha.”

Bertha was the name of the obscenely old car you drove, distinctive because of its smoky black color — it looked like the whole car had been dusted with gunpowder. You sigh and extricate yourself from his grasp. “You should be a police chief.”

“Where’s Bertha?” he presses, ignoring your sarcasm.

“She died. At the museum,” you say shortly, not looking at him as you rummage around in the fridge for ingredients.

“So you took the bus?” he asks indignantly.

“Yes, because you were on a date, and I’m trying to make sure at least one of us doesn’t die alone.”

“And I’m trying to make sure you don’t die. Period.” He shakes his head in frustration, watching you with dark eyes and muscular arms folded across his chest, his jaw set in a sharp line. “I’ve told you to call if you need help. I’d rather have to come get you when it isn’t convenient for me than get a call later saying that they found your body somewhere.”

“Okay, dad,” you say sarcastically, moving to the stove. “It is not a long bus ride and I brought my pepper spray.”

“Don’t call me dad,” he says, his cheeks pink. “And I don’t care. Please just tell me next time.”

You sigh heavily. “Fine, whatever,” you agree tiredly. “So, wanna tell me about your date?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to rub it in.”

“Nah, come on,” you plead. “Hearing about a good date might give me hope that they actually exist!”

He cracks a smile. “Well,” he says, pulling out one of the chairs at your table and taking a seat. “She’s pretty. We met at the baseball game. She’s a sports marketer. She really knows her stuff,” he muses, sounding impressed.

You suppress a surge of violent hatred for this pretty, competent, sport-savvy woman and smile at his assessment. “That’s great. And you got her to come home with you, so she must have liked you too.”

“I hope so,” he murmurs. His eyes travel over to the pot you’ve placed on the stove. “Didn’t they feed you at the exhibition?”

“They fed us those stupid little hors d'oeuvres,” you grumble, flipping the eggy batter in the pan so it lands perfectly on the other side. “I wanted jeon, and I knew I’d be hungry later, so I made the batter ahead.”

“Wise,” Seungcheol says. He leans back in his chair, watching you for a minute. “So other than your car dying, how was your day?” he asks.

You give him a look, and he chuckles. “That good, huh?” he asks.

“Oh, Seungcheol, you have no idea.” You bring over the jeon with the sauce you’d made for it and push some over to him. “Jinho texted me like an hour ago.”

“You know I only know your exes by numbers,” he complains, poking gingerly at the jeon, which is still too hot for his hands.

It’s frustrating to watch, so you tear a bit off with your fingers, blow on it, and hold it up to his lips. “Jinho is The First Ex,” you say as you do this.

“I’m convinced you don’t have nerve endings in your fingers,” he says before he takes it from you with his teeth. “And you’re talking about Ex #1?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically. And while Seungcheol didn’t know the full story of Jinho, he knows enough to know it’s a big deal. His eyes go wide, and you can tell he’s trying not to be nosy as he watches you. “He wants to catch up.”

“Are you gonna do it?” he asks you, taking a pair of chopsticks from the table and swirling the jeon around in some sauce.

“Why not?” you say in what you hope is an offhand voice, picking at the jeon and not looking at him. This does not fool Seungcheol for a single second.

He clears his throat pointedly. You look at him like a child about to receive a scolding, and he groans. “Don’t give me those eyes,” he says. “I guess I can’t really blame you. I’d probably do the same thing if I were you.”

You brighten a little. “So you think it’s a good idea?”

“I never said that,” he says with a grim grin. “I just said it’s what I’d do.”

You scowl at him. “Rude.”

“Just true,” he says with a shrug. He rises, only to collapse on the couch. “Since tomorrow night I’ll be occupied, would you like to do movie night tonight?”

“I really didn’t need the reminder that you’re getting laid, but sure,” you say, plopping down beside him. “I think it’s your turn to pick.”

Cheol smiles wickedly at you before reaching around you for the remote. “Okay. Action or romcom or horror?” he asks.

“Horror,” you reply. “It’ll make me feel better about my life.”

He chuckles and makes his selection, opening his arm for you to snuggle into his side. He knew -- from experience -- that if you weren’t snuggling something during a horror film, people (usually him) were likely to be injured by the way you jumped in fright. You willingly nuzzled yourself into the warm cream sweatshirt he wore, eventually falling asleep there despite the anxiety the movie had induced.

Waking up in an empty apartment after movie nights with Seungcheol was always a bit crushing, but waking up on the couch with your favorite pillow from your bed, perfectly tucked into one of your favorite blankets, made your heart hurt in a different kind of way. You usually didn’t fall asleep during movies, but the stressful day you’d had had evidently worn you out. As you blinked the tiredness out of your eyes, you tried not to imagine how Cheol had probably carefully extracted himself from your grasp, tiptoeing to your bedroom to grab the pillow and blanket. How he’d probably have had to lift your head to put it on the pillow. How he’d draped the blanket over your sleeping form. It wasn’t good for your mental state to think of things like this, because it’d force you to admit something about yourself that you were extremely unequipped to handle.

So you sat up. It was Saturday, so you didn’t have work -- thank goodness -- and you decided to sketch a little to clear your head. But as you went to grab your sketchbook, there was a tiny note from Seungcheol in the corner of the open page:

“Why is this the only paper you have in your house? Lol. Anyway, I had to go home to sleep, but I put the leftover jeon in the fridge for you to eat this morning. Have a good day today :) be happier than me!”

Happier than me. This was how Seungcheol closed all of his communication with you. You seemed to be in a days-long, never-ending conversation most days, but in the rare instances when you had to part for more time than usual, he always said that. And every time, it made you melt. (Followed almost immediately by sternly reminding yourself that that was stupid.)

And so you stare at the note, half of you wanting to frame it, and the other half wanting to rip it to shreds. Instead, you just flip the page over and grumble, “he could’ve texted,” to yourself, hating the half-smile on your face that you can’t resist.

*******

“Thanks for waiting for me,” Minghao says, sitting at the head of the long table. “So, we’re talking about fall/winter of next year?”

“Menswear,” you confirm. It’s just you and he in the room, and you pull some of the pieces off the portable rack to show him.

“Want to explain why it’s two weeks late?” he says, inspecting the soft fabric of the brown suit you hand him.

“Production still hasn’t recovered back to pre-pandemic speeds,” you tell him tiredly, knowing this would come up. “We had the designs in by the deadline, but they didn’t get here until now.”

“Did Ali already cast models to wear these?” Minghao asks, moving on to the next piece and peering carefully at the design details on the cuffs of a leather jacket. “I want to get someone in this week if we can.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Our usual models come from across the world.”

“Then recast,” he says simply. “I know that we have a good relationship with the agency you usually go through, and I understand we’ve burned bridges with a lot of the local agencies back when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was in charge, but I think it’d be kind of fun to use some new faces, too. It’ll catch the eye.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip in thought. “So, do you want me to do a social media sweep? Find guys in the area and invite them in?”

“Yeah, or just ask your friends. That’s how we got the deal with that producer,” Minghao reminds you, referring to a collaboration you’d arranged with one of your friend Jihoon’s proteges.

“True,” you said, thinking to yourself. “I’ll ask around.”

So you go to your office after the meeting and text Seungcheol.

“You: [10:34] hey, do you know anyone who might want a bit of extra cash? we need models for a shoot this week.”

“Cheol: [10:44] how much?”

“You: [10:46] uhhhh like $500? if they become a regular model for us that could become more”

“Cheol: [10:50] I got you. Wanna meet up for lunch?”

You have to laugh at this abrupt change in subject, but it’s been a couple days since you’ve seen Cheol, so you respond quickly.

“You: [10:51] sure!! where?”

“Cheol: [10:55] Bernini’s, I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”

***

“What can I get for you?” the friendly, bright-eyed waiter asks.

“I’ll have the caprese bites and the spinach and apple salad,” you say without any hesitation.

Seungcheol is squinting at the menu. “I’m still deciding,” he says. “What do you recommend?”

“Oh!!” The server exclaims, looking excited that someone has asked. “I really love the tri-tip sandwich.”

“Yeah, that sounds awesome,” Seungcheol says. “I’ll have that.”

“He seems like a really nice kid,” you say to Seungcheol after the server scurries away to put in your orders. “Reminds me of Mingyu, a bit. He has that same puppy .”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but can’t hide a fond smile at the mention of his friend. “Except that guy hasn’t spilled anything on you yet.”

“How is he? With the job and everything?”

“Apparently the kid is actually awesome,” Seungcheol replies. “And it seems like the kid’s guardian is even better.”

“Does our friend Mingyu finally have a crush?” you ask, grinning widely.

“Of course. He showed me pictures. She’s some high-powered publishing whiz with her own business. She’s pretty.” He says it in an offhand way, and yet you still feel uncomfortable.

“And Wonwoo? When we went to see Vernon’s cousin perform, he seemed like he was pretty into her friend who does her makeup.”

“You know, you could just come with me to hang out with them,” Seungcheol reminds you. “Then they can tell you all about their lives in person instead of you having to hear it from me.”

You’re about to respond when you hear a familiar sound that sends every cell in your body into attack mode. It’s a grating female voice, seemingly echoing through the small restaurant. “Cheol,” you say, gripping his arm.

“What?” he asks, alarmed at the sudden shift in tone.

“We have to move. Now.”

You tug him to his feet with surprising force and nearly dive underneath a big banquet table covered by a long white tablecloth. All you can see are the feet of the people passing by, so you wait. It isn’t long before the signature chunky red heels appear.

“And don’t give me a table here in the front, I need to be seated somewhere with easy patio access. For my health,” says the woman’s voice. You are positively cowering into Seungcheol under the table, and he is dumbstruck.

“Why are we here?” he asks with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Ex #3’s Aunt Betty. She hates me,” you squeak. “If she sees me, she’ll verbally abuse me and I’ll cry in front of everyone.”

“Why does she hate you?” Seungcheol asks, trying not to sound amused and failing.

“Because I accidentally killed her Chihuahua. Spilled an entire bottle of Benadryl on the floor and missed a few pills as I was sweeping. The poor thing weighed next to nothing. Didn’t stand a chance.” You bite your lip. “We broke up a week later.”

“That’s terrible!” Seungcheol exclaims. “No wonder she hates you.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I’ll have you know he was the most evil chihuahua in the world, which is actually saying a lot, because chihuahuas are generally pretty awful to begin with.”

He rubs where you hit him ruefully. “Okay,” he allows, his eyes reproachful.

“Oh, I forgot to ask. Who was your friend who you wanted to model?” you whisper to him under the table.

“Is now the best time for this?” he asks.

“Well, what else do we need to discuss? Now’s as good a time as ever. Plus it’ll calm me down.”

Cheol purses his lips. “Well, it’s me.”

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You heard me.”

“You want to model?” you ask.

“I’ve modeled before,” he assures you. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked. Do you think I’m ugly?”

You glare. “It’s most definitely not that.”

“So you think I’m hot?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

You groan. “I’m regretting this conversation so much.” Pinching the bridge of your nose and avoiding eye contact, you actually manage a chuckle. “You’re actually perfect, but it just surprises me that you’d be interested.”

“Perfect?” he exclaims. “Wow, that’s a new one. How did that taste coming out of your mouth?”

“Don’t make me take it back. Are you broke? Do you need money for some reason?”

He actually laughs. “I’m doing fine. I just think it’d be fun. Plus, I love the clothes you design.”

“I don’t design for menswear,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but it’s still your brand.”

You scoff. “Hardly. It’s Minghao’s brand. I just work there.”

“And how is starting your own thing going?” Seungcheol asks, watching you carefully.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you mutter. “Honestly, I wish I had the energy to do more design work after my regular job, but I’m too busy and burnt out.”

He nods sympathetically. One of the many wonderful things about Seungcheol was his compassionate nature. You know he wants to see you succeed, but also understands there are a lot of obstacles between you and what you really want to be doing.

He changes the subject so you don’t have to. “Well, anyway. Modeling is fun, and it’ll give me the chance to learn more about your company and meet your work friends and stuff.”

“Do you have a portfolio I can show Minghao?” you ask. “There’s no chance he’ll reject you, but I figured it’ll help him warm up to you.”

“Sure,” he says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll text you the link.”

You tap it on your own phone and your jaw immediately drops. “Choi Seungcheol,” you gasp.

“Why the government name?” he protests defensively.

“You -- these are --” you stutter, unable to find the right words. “I was expecting something else.” You hope that Cheol doesn’t notice how flustered you are. Photo after photo showcased his wide, broad chest, that wavy hair, his beautiful eyes with those long eyelashes, his stunning eyebrows, and his absolutely perfect lips. The clothes are nothing but a shallow accessory to emphasize a truth that you’ve always known, but until this moment, have downplayed (for your own protection).

Your best friend is absolutely devastating.

Conveniently, you are interrupted when your server pokes his head under the table. You all stare at each other for a few seconds, blinking, before the young man speaks. “Why did you guys run away?” he asks, bewildered.

He stares at the photos visible on your phone. “Are you guys being weird down here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Cheol demands.

“I’m pretty much weird wherever I go,” you offer.

“Well then come sit back down so I can give you your food,” the server says, giving both of you a strange look.

As you head back to your booth, you nudge Seungcheol. “Why did you become a statistician when you could’ve been a model and made really good money? I mean, seriously, Seungcheol.”

“Because I loved sports?” Seungcheol answers, his voice amused. You look up and he’s watching your gawking with a nearly smug expression on his face. “I’m starting to rethink my choices after this reaction, though.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you scold, shaking your head in exasperation. “I don’t need this going to your head.” You finally tear your gaze away from the photos to make eye contact with Cheol -- a grave strategic error on your part. The way the overhead lights of the cafe hit his face, bringing out the subtle golden tones in his dark brown hair and illuminating the shadows in his nearly black eyes, has you feeling dizzy and uncomfortable. His expression isn’t helping anything, either. He’s wearing his signature half-smile, one dimple poking through his cheek, and the expression in his eyes is soft and fond. It’s a look he wears often when he lays eyes on you, and it’s currently making you clench your teeth against how gooey it makes you feel inside.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, offering a mock-salute, and you give a dry chuckle, trying to play it cool while your heart makes its best attempt to beat itself out of your chest.

“That’s right,” you approve, sliding to the end of the booth. “Well, I’ll show your portfolio to Minghao, but I’m confident he’s going to say yes. Can you come over tomorrow night? I’ll need to measure you for alterations.”

“I’ll be there,” he agrees. “Aren’t you meeting with Jinho, though?”

You grimace. “Yeah, I am.”

“So, should I maybe come a different night?” he asks.

“Nah,” you say. “It’ll be good to see you right after. I might need to debrief you.”

His smile slips just a little, but you pretend not to notice. “Understood,” he says, an odd note to his voice.

***

Never, ever, in a million years, did you foresee this.

Jinho showed up with flowers. He took you out to a nice restaurant, and as the two of you finished up eating, he leaned in and took you by the hand. “I need to know. Are you seeing anyone?”

You looked him dead in the face. “If I was, I wouldn’t have come.”

A brief look of relief flashed across his face. “Then...I want to ask if it would be possible to have another shot with you,” he asked. “I know we weren’t perfect back then, and I know I broke your heart. But these past few years, I’ve been comparing every girl to you. I just know it’s you that I’m meant to be with.”

These were the words that you had imagined him saying since he broke up with you. But now that he’d said them, it was a little odd. You had expected elation hidden in the shock, but it never came. Instead, you thought of Seungcheol, who was probably making his way to your house right now, and just the thought of how he looked in the cafe yesterday with the golden light had Jinho’s words coming up oddly empty.

You were surprised at your own answer. “I don’t know that I’ve fully forgiven you yet, so I can’t say that I’ll take you back,” you had told him. “But…I guess you can try.”

Jinho had beamed at this response, and that was what had cued the long-forgotten butterflies. “That’s more than I deserve,” he had reassured you. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

By the time you make your way home, Seungcheol is at your apartment on your couch, scrolling through social media on his phone. And of course, the first words out of his mouth are, “how’d it go?”

You sigh. “He asked me to take him back.”

“And did you?” Cheol asks sharply, standing up.

“No,” you say tiredly. “Well, not really, anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“I said he could try to win me over again, but I made no promises,” you explain, leaning against the wall to remove your heels.

“Come sit down,” Seungcheol says, suddenly looking worried. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, Cheol. Really.” You swat at him as he wraps an arm around your waist and waltzes you to the couch. The way you melt into his touch as you both sit down, somehow winding up with your head in his lap as he gently teases your scalp with soft fingers, is almost embarrassing. But you need him right now -- need some reassurance that the emotional turmoil you’re in is going to be okay, need some consistency and compassion, and you know Seungcheol is the man for that job, as much as you don’t want to admit it.

“I’m proud of you,” Seungcheol murmurs kindly. “The old you would’ve taken him back immediately.”

You manage a grin as you realize he’s right. “Thanks,” you say, straightening up a little. You’ve come a long way, and it feels good to recognize that.

Then suddenly, you remember why Seungcheol is here. “Oh!” you exclaim, sitting all the way up. “I need to measure you.”

“It’s okay, you can rest for a minute,” Seungcheol tells you, but you’re already on your feet, running for your measuring tape. Once you’ve retrieved it, you gesture for him to come stand in the middle of the room.

“I’m gonna have to get a little friendly,” you warn him, and he scoffs.

You begin with measuring across his shoulders, using your phone to annotate the measurement in a spreadsheet you’ll give to the tailors later. As you reach around his chest with the measuring tape, your gaze flicks to his face, and you have to catch your breath.

It’s not just that your hands are brushing up against his muscular frame in a way that, despite all your physical closeness with Cheol, you have never allowed yourself to touch him. Not to mention, he’s wearing skintight clothing like you had requested, and it’s showing off his body beautifully. But it’s also the way he’s looking at you -- his dark eyes smoldering like embers, trained on you without breaking his gaze, the corners of those gorgeous lips turned slightly up so that the pinprick hints of his dimples can be seen. It has your face feeling hot and your heart doing its stupid, reckless, too-quick tap dance routine. You swallow hard and look away, and Cheol gives a low chuckle that makes you literally stumble backwards, only prevented from falling on your ass by Seungcheol himself.

Because the minute you became startled, his arms reached around you instinctively, steadying you. And oh, he’s so warm and sturdy and real, and though you’ve been in his arms many times before, this feels new. Somehow, this feels both like the first time you’ve ever been held, and the most natural thing in the world, as familiar as coming home for the holidays. Your hands had shot out and twisted into Seungcheol’s soft white tee as you’d stumbled, and you now have to force yourself not to look at him as you extricate yourself with a mumbled apology.

Wordlessly, you continue to measure Seungcheol, unable to keep yourself from occasionally glancing back at his perfect face, while he continues to look at you, that same soft smile on his lips. You wrap your arms around his waist with the measuring tape, taking down his measurement with shaking hands, before dropping your hands lower to measure his hips. As you adjust the tape across his widest point, you look at him again, and you’re surprised to see him looking flustered, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask -- only your voice comes out husky and soft because of the way your throat has seemed to close with the nearness of him.

“Uh, no,” he says, looking up at the ceiling. “You got it. Keep going.”

You try to shake yourself out of being flustered, and focus instead on measuring his inseam and outseam, after which you measure around his bicep as your final measurement. By the end of the measuring session, you’re both sweating, and both of you are holding your breath. Seungcheol makes some excuse for why he needs to go home, and vacates himself in a matter of seconds, leaving you standing dumbfounded in the living room.

You aren’t sure what just happened between the two of you, but you know that whatever it was has left you with a hollow kind of ache in your chest and absolutely no knowledge on how to cure it.

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