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kiame-sama · 2 days ago

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Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 22

(Sebek's fur is sticky and somewhat uncomfortable to touch for very long. This is because- though it looks like fur- it is actually very thin and fine crocodilian scales that shed like fur. His 'fur' feels like twine mixed with sherpa. He does shed a LOT but he is double-coated and quickly becomes compacted. He needs to be brushed at least twice a week to keep it looking good. Lilia or Silver usually brush him, but he cries in joy when Malleus brushes him.)

Warnings; Yandere, multiple yanderes, platonic intentioned yanderes, romantic intentioned yanderes, yandere vs yandere, yandere teams, social media team vs guard team vs outsiders team, Lions can't purr but magic lions can purr, loose yandere alliances, social grooming behavior, foreshadowing for those text analysis savvy folks, cooking, a new group of yanderes have entered the chat, Grim is a little brat to everyone except his Human, Hellcat, Gnoll, Werewolf, Nemean Lion, mention of Dragon, Raiju, Cervitaur, and Vampire Bat, Harpies galore, Water Nymph, Drider, Merman, Bakeneko,

~~~~~~~~

Grim purred sleepily as he lay across your shoulder, watching you cook away and marveling at the warm smells of food. Like the many times you had cooked prior, you knew there would be many following their noses to the kitchen area of the dorm and you figured Ruggie was busy keeping guard. If there was one thing that was certain no matter where you were, it was the fact that Ruggie would be nearby any time you were making food.

Though a few days had passed, you had finally felt like you were getting accustomed to the behavior of the dorm and their enigma of a Dormleader. The entire dorm acted like one big pride of lions despite being made up of many different species. It was likely due to the fact that Leona was the leader of their group, so they adhered to the social customs of their leader. Luckily for you, it was part of the Lion's social customs that females and Cubs- as he seemed to affectionately call Grim- were regarded to be a rank above most males of the group.

At first you had felt a certain animosity from the group, now it felt like you were some kind of precious pet put on a pedestal to be admired but never touched. No, the only three who were allowed near you or Grim were the three assigned to guard you. Leona was a particularly strong enforcer of this expectation and even ran off several of his own dorm members for getting too curious about you or the kit.

You felt a bit more at peace with Jack, but there was still a strong stress that ate away at your comfort any time the Wolf was nearby. Sometimes you could stand to be almost brushing against his fur with how close you let him get, other times you startled when you saw him enter a room. Jack was quite patient despite your mixture of warm and cold attitudes towards him and always seemed to take it in stride. At least his presence seemed to somewhat be helping you come to terms with what had happened.

Ruggie was thrilled to be at your side any time he had the chance, especially whenever you were cooking something. For your morning and evening meals, Ruggie had always been a constant and had even become part of your schedule. Honestly, it would have felt wrong to be at any other dorm because then Ruggie wouldn't be able to whine and cackle for food at meal times.

Beyond the two, the Lion King himself had been quite the persistent presence in spite of his usual refusal to attend classes. He didn't try to keep you from classes again following the rough reprimand from the lovely Selkie, but he did start showing up to any of his classes that overlapped with your own. Leona had been akin to a frightening beast that stood just behind you, making most run away before they even worked up the courage to approach you.

Apparently it had been a good call to stay in the dorm of the Lion, as Ramshackle had more than a few unwelcome visitors in the time you had been away. Idia ensured to tell you about every poacher or thief that tried to get in- always angrily chastising the 'failing protection ward' around the school- and how they were subsequently given a rather shocking reminder that you were not an easy prize to obtain. Hearing about it really didn't offer you much comfort, but it seemed to give Idia some pride to know these interlopers were repelled by his inventions.

You had not seen hide nor hair of Malleus yet you always felt like you could hear the faint sound of thunder in the distance. Even when you thought you were alone, it was as if somewhere in the back of your mind you felt like you were being watched. Silver had checked in many times in the past few days and never seemed convinced when you told him you were alright. Lilia also seemed to seek you out between classes and was far clingier than he had been before.

"Hey, Mama?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"I like it here and all... But I miss home."

You paused at the almost sad tone Grim had as he looked up at you with those large blue eyes of his. He had seemed to be getting along with everyone in the dorm- or they all at least tolerated the kit- but his words concerned you.

"Do you miss Ramshackle or are the students here not being nice to you?"

"Lion-a-guy makes sure they're all nice to me, but I still wanna go home. The beds here aren't all big and soft like the nest. Lion-a-guy is warm, but he isn't like cuddling Antlers or Bat-wings. I kinda even miss Loud-Dog."

You almost snorted at the names the kit had given the other Hoard members, knowing he wasn't the best at remembering names. That or he truly didn't care enough to learn their names. Either way, the kit's casual naming of the group was rather adorable and straightforward.

"Even Sebek? Seems like you're feeling homesick."

"Home-sick?"

"It's where the newness of somewhere wears off and you get tired of being somewhere other than home. You want to go back home enough that it feels like a chore to be anywhere else."

"Yeah! Like that! I miss Tsuno too. He always made sure you were safe. I guess Lion-a-guy does that now, but Tsuno does it better. Even Flames, Sad-Guy, and Fire-ball aren't too bad."

It took a moment to figure out who the last three were, but once you recalled Papa Hades and the Ignihyde dorm leaders, it wasn't too hard to figure out who was who. Naturally, you held Grim's opinions on the others in high regard and it was nice to get a gauge on his views of them.

"What do you think about Ruggie and Jack?"

"Chuckles is funny! He always looks so silly with his tummy up in the air after he eats, but I don't like that he wakes us all up for that dumb training. ... I don't know about Fluffy-tail. I don't think I like the wolves, Mama."

"Yeah. I'm trying to relax around Jack too. You have to remember, he isn't like those other Wolves. He hasn't chased us or tried to hurt us, but I get it. It's hard to just forget what happened, especially so soon after."

Grim frowned at this, his ears drooping down and he rest his chin on your shoulder. It had occurred to you shortly after your injury that Grim was not going to be okay and would need help to handle what happened. Here was this little kit who had been trying to survive alone for his entire early life. He only recently has learned the comforts of a home, a consistently full stomach, and protection. Naturally he would be deeply rattled by anything that threatened the comforts of his home. You were one of those comforts.

"Grim, Honey, I think we need to have a talk with everyone about that day."

"But... it hurts."

"I know. But it also hurts me to know you saw everything that happened. I wasn't even awake for what happened when Tsuno found us. These kinds of things... They hurt. They hurt a lot to talk about, but it helps the hurt feel less painful when we face it. But if we don't talk about them, they become like injuries that are infected and hurt even more."

"I don't like thinking about it..."

"I don't either, but if we never address what hurts or why it hurts, we can never really heal from that injury."

Grim looked from you, to the stubby and ripped up wings on his back. The torn limbs stretched somewhat before he pulled them tight against his side.

"Like my wings?"

"Sort of. Your wings were hurt beyond what your body can fix. Papa Hades said he could possibly fix your wings, so it will take outside help to heal them. It might take outside help to heal the hurt, but we need to talk about it first to see what it is we need to heal."

Grim nodded, gently pressing his forehead into your chin as he began to purr again. You were quick to reciprocate that affection to the little kit that snuggled closer to your neck. A thought briefly crossed your mind as to what you would do if Grim couldn't go with you to your true home and your heart hurt at the thought of leaving the small kit behind. If it truly came down to it, you didn't know if it was worth abandoning the kit to go back to your true home.

"How about we finish up breakfast and then we can see about chatting with the others, okay?"

"Okay, Mama!"

~•§•~

You looked out at the group of Savanaclaw students practicing for the Spell Drive. You still struggled to grasp the rules of this seemingly odd game, but Leona only seemed invigorated by your presence. Apparently the seven chosen to play- Ruggie, Leona, and Jack included- had been benefitting greatly from the meals you cooked them. Even the four students you didn't know well seemed to be energized and strengthened by the meals you created.

Every time Leona scored or managed to block the unfortunate students selected for the opposite team, he would turn to you with a cocky grin. It almost seemed like Leona was showing off just for your sake. Truthfully, it bothered him more than he would admit to see you weren't looking up the many times he had glanced at you.

You were busy texting several of the staff members to run your idea by them, hoping they could provide more insight into the situation. Divus was of the mind that you and Grim both needed to share what happened to help yourselves move past it, but he insisted it was a staff only matter. Trein was of the mind that the Housewardens and the Vice-Housewardens should be included in these talks as they would have to be the ones to help comfort you on particularly bad days.

"You gonna look at your phone all morning, Mousey?"

A low growl rumbled from beside you and you almost jumped, not noticing the Lion's approach before he was standing right next to you. Your obvious lack of awareness displeased the proud Lion, as he was of the belief that you should be watching the team soundly beat the competition. Still, he was willing to let you explain your actions before growling out his frustrations.

"I'm talking to the staff, Leona."

"About what?"

"About what happened that day."

This made Leona's ears angle back, displeased by his own memories. He had seen blood plenty of times before and had been on the hunting side prior. Still, seeing your life fading away so quickly and how vivid the blood looked after your attack, it was not a pleasant memory for the Lion.

"... What about it?"

"Grim and I... We aren't okay. Sure, my leg has healed quickly thanks to Professor Divus, but I don't think either of us are still actually okay with what happened. Hell, I don't even like thinking of it, most days. Jack has been a great help, but I just... It's hard to not see and hear those Wolves when he is around. I still don't think it's fair to him to have to do all of this, but I do think Grim and I need more than just exposure therapy."

Leona sighed, sitting next to you as you pet the torn up ears of the Hellcat. He knew you weren't completely comfortable and he had seen the negative reaction your Cub had to any mention of what happened that day. Even now, the little Cub was shaking and pressing close to your stomach, curled up tightly in your lap.

"Your physical wounds have healed, but the mental wounds still exist."

"Yes... It feels like I'm always being hunted... Watched... I feel so worried about things, even when I know I'm safe."

Leona stayed silent for a moment before you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you and Grim onto his lap where he held the both of you gently in his arms. It was an oddly comforting feeling to have the Lion cuddle you in such a way. Sure, he had been much more snuggly in the past few days since you entered his dorm, but this somehow felt different.

A deep almost growling purr came from the Lion as he held you and Grim securely in his arms, comforting you and attempting to soothe you. As you relaxed in his arms, the large Lion nuzzled your cheek and hummed. Soon you felt a warm, rough, and semi-wet muscle slowly drag across your cheek as you realized the Lion was trying to groom you. Much like Lilia, Leona kept the grooming gentle and did not attempt to hold you closer, so you could escape if you wanted.

Something about the act was incredibly soothing despite how you had once reacted to Lilia's grooming attempts with incredulity. Maybe you were just getting used to the way the beastly men showed affection and camaraderie. Perhaps you just wanted comfort and recognized that this was how the monster men showed and gave that comfort.

Ignoring your phone, which has begun to buzz almost angrily, you lifted a hand to pet the Lion. Lilia said grooming was a way to show you were thankful, so why not pet the Lion that was trying rather hard to soothe you. As your hand rest on his fluffy ears, the purring only got louder and the Lion tilted his head into your touch.

Leona was much softer than you had expected him to be, his golden and dark ashen tresses flowing between your fingers. His ears were almost soft like kitten fur with just a touch of roughness to them that made the texture feel unique under your hand. Even Grim seemed content as the Lion rest a large hand atop the kit's head, petting him gently.

It was the loud and now incessant buzzing of your phone that drew you out of the petting feedback loop you had begun. On the screen was Crowley's number ringing angrily and buzzing with now several missed calls.

"Yes-?"

"Oh thank goodness! My little chick, you shouldn't worry me like that! I was calling to tell you about the increased security I managed to secure for the Spelldrive. How about you and your guards come up to my office so we can talk about it?"

"But, they're busy practicing-"

"Good! See you in a bit!"

You sighed at the brisk way your complaints were pushed aside. Leona was frowning deeply and his tail flicked with annoyance as you lowered the phone. No doubt the Lion had heard and understood the words of the Headmage, setting you back down on the bench and off of his lap as he stood.

"Alright, you lot! Enough for this morning. The Crow wants to talk with the Human, so that means Jack and Ruggie better have their asses showered and ready to go in five minutes."

Both Ruggie and Jack raced away to the showers, not wanting to displease the leader of their pride. The others actually seemed crestfallen at being told to hold off their practice. It was a far cry different from that first morning where it seemed like the other students were dragging their feet. Maybe the meals you made them really did help to energize them in some way.

"Aren't you going to shower too, Lion-a-guy?"

"Eventually, and you know my name is Leona."

"... Stinky Lion-a-guy."

"Hey-!"

~•§•~

You walked behind Grim who happily led your group forward to the Headmage's office, his tail waving as he pranced ahead. Leona walked with you, glancing outside at the storm that seemed to have been raging for several days. You wondered if it was possibly Malleus but there was no way he could keep a storm going for days on end like this, right?

"We're here!"

Grim called out, using his little paws to somewhat shove the doors. Despite how much he tried to push both doors open, they barely moved for the kit. Instead, you gave them a subtle push to help the kit and he smiled excitedly at you as they swung open, allowing you all entry.

"I did it!"

He cheered and leaped up into your waiting arms, purring and completely convinced he had managed to push the large doors open for the group.

"Yes, you did. Good job."

Grim purred as you entered the office, seeing there were already several others waiting along with Crowley. You easily recognized Vil, Rook, Divus, and- surprisingly- Cater. It was the others you didn't really recognize.

Standing with the Owl Harpy who you recognized as the head of Royal Sword Academy were three others students. Che'nya was among them with an ever relaxed and lazy grin on his face, his pronged tail waving behind him to match the relaxed appearance. There was a Harpy boy with black hair, ruffled up and mixed with gentle gray feathers, his wings reminding you of a mourning dove's patterning. The third was what seemed to be a merman with deep maroon hair and bright blue eyes. His scales held a gentle green tone to them and he somewhat reminded you of Cater despite the purple clam-shells that decorated his crisp white uniform.

"There you are, my precious baby bird," Crowley was first to sweet forward, ushering you away from Leona who just glared at the Harpy as he dragged you closer to the desk and further from the group, "I would like to introduce you to a few of the Royal Sword Academy students! Ambrose has kindly offered to have his students aid in your protection for the upcoming Spelldrive Tournament, since it will only be Night Raven students playing this time round. Though there will be many RSA students keeping watch, these three have been selected specifically as your guards for the day of the Spelldrive-"

"Wait," Leona suddenly spoke up angrily, "hell no! Savanaclaw are the ones selected to guard her this week! Not these pompous-"

"You will be participating in the Spelldrive as will Ruggie and Jack. None of you will be able to keep an eye on my precious little bird while you are playing, Leona."

This made Leona growl, crossing his arms but refusing to argue as the Crow was correct. He knew he wouldn't be able to do both at once, but he was still angry about it regardless.

"My dear (Y/n), this is Neige Le'Blanc, Erikír Helmsman, and Artemiyevich Pinker. They will be keeping an eye on you during the Spelldrive and ensuring no poachers try their luck."

Che'nya's ears went back at the last name listed and you figured that was his actual name instead of the one he commonly went by. Despite how unhappy the feline seemed about the naming mishap, he seemed genuinely happy to see you as he easily walked forward.

"Well, hey! Only been a few weeks since I last saw ya but even still, good to see your axe wound healed. How's Mr. Up-tight-Rule-Monger?"

"Riddle's good. Still mad at himself, but he probably will be for a while."

Crowley didn't seem overly pleased at the familiarity from Che'nya but he didn't stop the feline from wrapping an arm around you. Grim didn't even seem that angry and you wondered if it was because he recognized Che'nya from Riddle's Overblot.

Upon seeing Che'nya behave in such a familiar way, it encouraged the two other students to approach. You heard the faint sound of a bird-hiss from Vil as the other smaller Harpy approached you with his wing-tips slightly dragging on the floor behind him. The Harpy seemed rather sweet as he looked at you with large brown doe-eyes and a gentle smile.

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you! I'm Neige Le'Blanc, but you can just call me Neige."

"Hi, Neige. Nice to meet you."

Before the third man could approach, Vil cut in with a deep tone and clear disdain for the Royal Sword Academy students standing before him. His multi-colored wing blocked you from shaking hands with Neige, the proud Harpy glaring with his crest raised and his eyes narrowed.

"That's enough of that. How nice they agreed to help, but (Y/n) is a Night Raven College student and these boys should remember that."

"Vil," you scolded gently, the Harpy frowning petulantly as he turned to plead with his eyes, "don't be so uncouth with them. It's only fair I get to know them too if they are going to be helping me out. No need to brush them off like they are nothing."

You could see as the feathers on the neck of the Harpy ruffled an extreme amount, huffing and crossing his arms in frustration. Begrudgingly, he moved his multi-colored wing so the final student, Erikír, could walk up to you. The man had a smooth jawline and his green scales complimented his dark red hair, only seeming to add to his purple clam-shell decorations. He was quick to drop to one knee, kissing the back of your hand and almost seemed to relish the feel of your skin against his scales.

"A pleasure to meet you, beautiful (Y/n), truly a pleasure. You are even more breathtaking in person than Che'nya could possibly describe. Prince Erikír Helmsman of the Coral Sea, at your esteemed service."

"The pleasure's all mine, Prince Erikír."

"Please, just Erikír will do. Or Erik, if you would like."

Grim growled softly at the Merman who seemed to heed the warning of the little Hellcat, backing off to give you both space. As you tried to familiarize yourself with the group standing before you, Rook was the next to interject.

"We are all here now, allons-nous?"

"What?"

"Right, I assumed our esteemed Headmage didn't tell you. We're going to be starting those social media pages today, so we need to get outfits and pictures properly taken. With such a popular and famed cast, we can surely get several photos taken that will shed a favorable light on you, my lovely Mademoiselle Trickster."

Vil then spoke again, picking you up far too easily and setting you on the large Drider's back despite your surprise. It seemed like even Cater was displeased with the RSA students even though Rook spoke highly of those present. You got the strong sense that there was going to be friction between the students of the two schools, but hoped they would be able to keep it mostly to a minimum.

"Now, let us away to somewhere with better lighting and start this photoshoot!"

You nodded, allowing Rook to carry you. Behind you, Leona and Vil locked eyes, nodding in silent agreement. Those RSA students would not get the chance to get their filthy overly kind hands on you if the two Housewardens had anything to say about it. A loose alliance forming between the now irritated Dormleaders against these insufferable Royal Sword Academy students.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #humans are extinct twst au

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ddodol · 2 days ago

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rush — o.sr

series ⭑.ᐟ [ kinktober masterlist ] content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, bf's friend!taro, fem!reader, pet names, cheating as plot device oops, overstimulation, creampie, edging, oral (f.), cum eating?, unprotected sex. word count⭑.ᐟ 1.4k+

a/n; christmas is in a day or whatever and i need shotaro so bad

✩🎧⭑.ᐟ [ acquainted — the weeknd ]

shotaro was always the one guy your boyfriend trusted the most, mainly because shotaro is his best friend.

even when you and your boyfriend fought, he knows he'll find you at shotaro's place, seeking comfort, and he never once suspected anything.

the first few times were pretty innocent, with shotaro giving you advice or just offering you sympathy like a good friend would. shotaro slipping up and accidentally hinting that he might have feelings for you was surprising to say the least, but that didn't mean you hated it. in fact, you found comfort in shotaro's affection, making your relationship more complicated than you would've expected.

his embraces turned into kisses, something you initiated. it didn't take too long until shotaro began to pull you in even more, leaving you gasping and wanting for more. you were greedy; you needed to keep shotaro in your grasp, someone to fall back on when your boyfriend disregards you.

luckily, shotaro didn't mind being used— he loved it, a lot. as long as it meant that he gets to have you for himself.

lately, you always wondered what your boyfriend's face would look like once he picks you up at shotaro's place only to catch you on top of him, riding shotaro like your life depended on it and looking like a hot mess— watching the best friend he trusted his girlfriend with pleasure you like he never could.

"stay with me, baby." shotaro's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, hands gripping tightly on your hips. he leaned in, pressing kisses on your flushed chest as his eyes stared up at you. "i'm right here, remember? don't let your mind wander," he whispered, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

you wanted to laugh, rolling your hips against his. "my bad, i was just thinking," you mumbled.

you stilled your hips, cupping his face in your hand. you wiped off the beads of sweat on the side of his face, smiling fondly when he took your hand in his, kissing the palm of your hand.

"taro," he hums in response, "i want to lie down now." shotaro grins knowingly, lifting you up in a second before laying you down gently on his bed. the sheet felt cold against your flushed skin, chest heaving in anticipation as you watched shotaro strip down any remaining clothing he had left.

you've seen his body before, but today felt different. as he leaned in to position himself in between your legs, you ran your hands up and down his chest, in awe at how sturdy he was. it was baffling to think that these were the same shoulders you used to cry on all the time.

shotaro smiles at you, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "try not to let your mind wander again this time, okay? need you to focus on me and how i make you feel." you nod obediently, sighing softly as he slipped inside your slick walls so easily, picking up where you left off.

you felt the familiar heat pooling in your lower stomach, face contorting in pleasure as shotaro continued to thrust deep inside. "taro," you whine, gently clawing on his chest. your walls clamped down on him, eliciting low groans from shotaro. he began to increase his pace even more, mumbling curses from how tight you felt around his throbbing length.

"that's it, baby. fuck, i don't think i can hold back," shotaro mumbles against your neck, letting out ragged breaths as he pounded into you. his bed creaked underneath, shaking wildly in tune with shotaro's deep and quick thrusts— he was close, real close.

"it's okay. please, give it to me."

his hands dug into your waist, leaving a print from how hard he was gripping on you. he let out a soft groan, hips stuttering against yours as he shot his cum deep inside you. shotaro rolled his hips, resting his cheek in the crook of your neck before stilling.

you closed your eyes, holding him against you as your body shuddered from the warmth that coated your slick walls. shotaro pressed kisses on your shoulder before pulling away, a small whine escaping your glossy lips.

you could faintly hear knocks at the front door, tensing up at the thought that it was your boyfriend. shotaro bit his lip, too intoxicated with the sight of you to just stop.

you've already gone this far after all, why stop now?

when the knocks subsided, shotaro slipped his hand in between your thigh, caressing it softly. you whimpered, brows furrowing from how badly you needed a release, to the point where it was all you could think about.

your phone started ringing but you ignored it, spreading your thighs apart to welcome shotaro's hand. he smiled at your desperation, leaning in to kiss your lips as he pushed two fingers inside you.

"fuck!" you cried out, lifting your hips up. you rolled your hips against his fingers, throwing your head back as you chased after your own pleasure. your ringtone echoed in shotaro's room, accompanied by the wet sounds you were making.

you felt a sudden rush, desperate to cum before your boyfriend barges in and ruins all the tension you and shotaro built. you moaned shotaro's name softly, face contorting when you felt your orgasm starting to bubble over.

the ringing stopped, prompting shotaro to pull out. you let out an unsatisfied whine, hips falling back down onto the bed. he chuckled, knowing that you were far from satisfied. "i got you, princess," he whispered, a wide grin on his adorable face. shotaro went down, positioning himself in between your trembling thighs.

shotaro left a trail of kisses on your inner thigh, thumbs teasing your wet folds. he let out a soft sigh, hot breath hitting your sensitive core as he watched a mix of his cum and your slick spill out of you.

"painted my baby so good," he mumbled, lips dangerously getting closer. he darted his tongue out, licking up the cum that pooled out of you and pushing it back inside. you moaned softly, reaching down to grip on his hair, tugging at it as he curled his tongue up against your sensitive spots.

he eagerly swallowed a mix of your slick and his cum, satisfied moans escaping his mouth as he continued to eat you out. shotaro nuzzled his nose against your clit, making you cry out sensitively.

"taro! fuck, taro!" you whimpered, throwing your arms up and gripping tightly on the sheets. you felt dizzy, body heating up as your orgasm began to build up quickly.

shotaro pulled his tongue out of your walls, quickly replacing it with his fingers. you cried out at how well his fingers filled you up, curling up perfectly against your sweet spot, as his tongue swirled around your swollen clit.

he glanced up at you, nibbling gently on your slick folds, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a deep but steady rhythm. your body began to flush up, thighs tensing up, and your voice getting higher and higher as your orgasm approached. shotaro wanted nothing more than to have you make a mess on his mouth, for you to claim him as yours.

"cum for me, princess," he whispered sweetly. his words were enough for you to reach your high, hips jerking sensitively as you made a huge mess on his fingers and tongue.

you cried sensitively, covering your face with your arms as you trembled from your orgasm. shotaro gently moved his fingers inside you, drawing out your orgasm even more. your walls kept fluttering around his fingers, pulling him back in every time he pulled out. he smiled in satisfaction, cooing at you as he pressed kisses on your inner thigh.

his fingers slipped out of your slick walls once the spasms subsided, massaging your thighs before getting up on his knees. shotaro trailed kisses up your stomach to your chest, mumbling praises at you.

"all good, princess?" he asked sweetly, smiling when you met his eyes.

you chuckled weakly, rolling your eyes at him. your chest heaved, still reeling from the intense pleasure you felt minutes earlier. you couldn't help but think how shotaro was so different from him— a sigh escaping your lips when you thought about your boyfriend again.

shotaro seems to have caught onto your train of thought, finding your indifference towards him a bit odd. "want me to drive you back?" you glanced at him, seeing the same sweet smile on his face.

you nodded, a small smile on your lips, "yeah, please do."

#૮ > ⤙ < ྀིა #riize imagines #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize smut #shotaro imagines #shotaro scenarios #shotaro x reader #shotaro smut #ddollemons #ddlz: osr #✧₊⁺ kinktober24

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j-sunct · 2 days ago

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skz "roles" as boyfriends

𓂃 stray kids "roles" if they were your boyfriend(s). like, "the kind one", "the caring one".

❀ skzㅤㅤㅤ ' ㅤㅤㅤneutral!readerㅤ

fluffㅤ  ㅤ╱ㅤ    👤ㅤ   minors can interact

⋆ war'ningsㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤ

"the protector one"⠀▹⠀bangchan

i think of chan a lot as a protective boyfriend, the one who is afraid of losing you. it's not something that borders on possessive, he just loves you too much. chris would be that boyfriend that you have a deal with, always talking about where you go, when you'll be back, and things like that. just to avoid unnecessary worries. i also imagine him as someone who, if he saw someone hurting you, or even on the internet through hate, he would definitely start a fight.

"the quiet one"⠀▹⠀lee know

most people think of minho as a quiet and cold person, but i don't think he's cold. he just has trouble showing it, words of affection aren't his thing. he would probably find comfort in cuddling on the couch, or watching you play with his cats. it's very comforting to see that the things you love work in harmony, everything with him is very calm, really. lee know could try to learn hobbies from you too, he would do anything to support you.

"the friendly one"⠀▹⠀changbin

BINNIE!!!! well, i have MANY thoughts about him, but i'll try to summarize. for me, he is the friendly boyfriend, who would always be willing to do anything for you. he would want to meet family, friends, everything that makes you happy. at work, bin would spend a lot of time thinking about you... i guarantee it. it's almost like a distraction. he may be big, go to the gym and everything, but with you he is so small. the type who will obey you and would like a lot of affection in the relationship. he could share his workouts with you too, but it would just be another excuse to be together.

"the artist one"⠀▹⠀hyunjin

bruh. that's SO obvious. hyunjin would be that boyfriend who would want to paint you. not just on the screen, but actually putting the paint on your body can be a really fun experience. i imagine him as something similar to lee know: a calmer, softer relationship. hyun would definitely love to share headphones with you, or listen to the music on the speaker, dance around the house, like a newlywed couple in the prime of love. he also really likes going out, his main outings would be parks, beaches, things connected with nature. i think hyunjin would be that son-in-law that your mother is proud of.

"the bipolar one"⠀▹⠀han jisung

jisung would be the one you NEVER know what to expect from. one day he may be completely affectionate, but the next day he may be stressed or not want contact. this is largely due to his work as an idol as well, but i feel like it's part of his personality as we see it on stage. despite that, i believe that han would be a good boyfriend, the one you can always count on, he would do anything for you (jisung-pre debut makes me think he would get into fights over you. A LOT).

"the provocateur one"⠀▹⠀felix

people tend to see felix as mostly a cute guy, but i imagine that in a relationship he would actually be quite provocative. like, he has that whole deep voice, he might try to whisper some words in your ear, or a pet name that he knows you love. all my hcs for felix are like this, he is really a first class provocateur. i also think he could be a guy who has calmer relationships, who follows the "step by step" process of dating, and then gets married in a ceremony after a few years. It would be a quiet relationship, but with good reasons, you know? It would never be something boring or too monotonous.

"the cold one"⠀▹⠀seungmin

this is common actually. to think of seungmin as cold. but i don't think he is THAT COLD. he may just have difficulty showing affection, whether through touch or words. but of course, at certain moments in your relationship, he will be a loving and vulnerable boyfriend. it's like lee know, actually, but a little more complicated, more difficult. for you two to date, he would need to trust you A LOT, like A LOT. i believe seung would also like to go on outdoor trips and spoil you a little, buying you all kinds of gifts.

"the hot one"⠀▹⠀jeongin

i think the stays were so busy labeling i.n as the "cute, adorable" member, precisely because he is the maknae, that they didn't notice how HOT this man is. so in a relationship, i think he would prioritize this naughty, almost provocative pose like felix, but jeongin would have a little more attitude. LOTS of touching, he likes to show affection like this: hands on your thigh (maybe innocently), hugs on your waist, longer kisses and things like that, he's almost a "needy one".

#stray kids #skz #skz imagines #skz drabbles #skz fluff #skz headcanons #kpop headcanons #kpop fluff #neutral reader #skz fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines

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makeyoumine69 · 2 days ago

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Farewell Serenade (Memory Reboot Epilogue)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Patrick are finally reunited, but there are still so many secrets the two of you have to unravel, and some of them could be dangerous, especially when the echoes of the past are still haunting you like ghosts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Tainted love vibes, blood kink, oral sex, penetrative sex, body worship, hand jobs, anal fingering, cum shot, spanking, marking, teasing and humiliating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, praise kink, dark themes, angst, hurt/comfort, obsession, self harm, mental issues, Patrick and reader are switches. I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 14k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Asketa — Farewell Serenade; Vowl.,Sace — 2000; FM-84,Ollie Wride — Running in the Night.

𝐀/𝐍: Hello everyone! I don't even know what to say except that I will miss this story so much, but it will always be in my heart. I want to thank everyone who supported me on this journey, I love you all!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST], [CHAPTER 5].

When was the last time you traveled outside of America? You didn't really remember because you never really felt the need to, but after all the stressful things that had happened in your life lately, your subconscious told you that you definitely needed a break—a reboot that would give your life a fresh start. So after the drug case was over, with the help of Vincent and your lawyer, who came to New York almost immediately when you needed them, you and Patrick didn't think much about going abroad—somewhere far away where no one could find you. And so it was that Vincent's random story about his last vacation in Germany, to Stuttgart to be exact, became the deciding factor in your choice of where to go.

The flight to Stuttgart went as smoothly as possible, since Bateman couldn't stand anything but a private jet or the most expensive seats in first class, and although it wasn't your first time flying first class, this time it felt so different, so special and memorable. The thing that surprised you the most was that you didn't really talk much about all the shit that happened between you two. Although Patrick tried to bring it up several times, but after you asked him not to dwell on it and just enjoy the fact that the two of you were finally... Finally what? Together?

At first this new reality was very strange and confusing.

All the negativity, anger, and despair began to disappear as you realized that happiness and the freedom to follow your own desires was the memory reboot machine you both were looking for. That only by accepting your true selves could you finally break the chains of depression that had been biting at your skin for so long.

A soft, barely perceptible breeze fanned your face and the sun shone brightly over Stuttgart, the scenery unfolding before your eyes more like a picturesque frame from a romance movie than reality. Even after spending several days in Germany, you couldn't believe that all these things around you were not a dream, but your new life. The villa you stayed in was absolutely amazing, as it had two floors and a huge outdoor terrace with a large pool—Patrick enjoyed swimming in it so much that one day he told you he was going to buy this villa. At first, you didn't believe him until he took you to the bank to close the deal. Was that necessary? Was it an act to show off his wealth? You never really asked, because you were taught that sometimes asking too many questions could only complicate your life, and you didn't want to spiral and start the cycle that you managed to break.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you splashed the water with your legs. The sun reflected off the water, making it shimmer as if someone had poured a bucket of little diamonds into it, and little ripples appeared here and there as Bateman swam around, ass naked, and you couldn't really remember how you'd imagined seeing something like that, nor did you imagine that one day things that happened in real life would outshine your fantasies.

"What are you thinking about?" Patrick's velvety voice stopped your train of thoughts, and before you could even react you felt him grab your ankle—he was half in the water, hot and pumped up after his heavy workout. "You seem...worried?"

You frowned, but then chuckled as he tickled your inner thigh. "Nothing special," you replied, looking at him and leaning down to stroke his wet hair. "It's just... don't you think it was a bit imprudent to buy this house?"

The man chuckled. "Why not?"

"Patrick," you cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to concentrate on what you were about to say. "You don't have to pretend...you don't have to throw your money around like you're trying to buy everything and everyone...you don't have to do any of that...not with me."

Bateman didn't say anything, his prominent eyebrows knitted together, and you already knew what that meant—he was already overthinking, overreacting, overstepping his own emotional boundaries.

"Hey," you tried to pull him out of his stupor. "I didn't mean..."

"It's my money," Patrick suddenly blurted out, still frowning. "And I can do whatever I want with it."

God, this man always made trouble out of nothing.

But he was right. After all, his money was his to spend, and you could only give him advice or opinions he would never really care about—such an attitude only irritated him—having the last word was something he couldn't live without. He was addicted to being in control of the situation, of the person he was interacting with. It felt as if he had the chance to control the whole world, he would, but who were you to judge him when you had already promised yourself never to try to change or fix him. Just because Bateman never really needed someone to fix him, he needed someone to accept him for who he was while he tried to fix himself.

"You're not listening? Again?"

Patrick let go of your leg and swam away from where you were sitting. Sometimes his childish behavior really got on your nerves, although you imagined you were in his place, acting like a fucking teacher trying to explain such basic things as being more human to a bratty kid who never really wanted to know—what it was like? Being more in touch with humanity.

"Oh, God," you almost cussed, splashing water with your foot. "Don't be like that! I didn't say anything..." a palpable irritation erupted from your chest. "Well, maybe I did, but you know I didn't mean to insult you."

Watching him swim as smoothly as a fish in water, you gasped without even realizing it, your eyes catching every glimpse of his toned muscles, his firm ass sinking under the water, but you could still see the outline of it—you wanted to fucking get a bite of it—but the moment was probably ruined by your rather offensive remarks.

"We're not in a school," Patrick answered suddenly from a distance. "And I'm not a schoolboy to be offended," his grumbling caused a soft, barely audible chuckle to fall from your parted lips, and at some point you caught yourself thinking that you were ready to admit that you were wrong, just to end this caricature conflict. "Will you swim for once? Since the first day, you just sit on the lounge chair or something, but you never go in the water," he added, and you crossed your arms in defense. "Are you afraid of water or what?"

Don’t even start it.

"I... I don't really want to talk about it," you stammered nervously, brushing your hair, hoping he would catch your eloquent gesture and change the subject. "The scars are still fresh..."

"Scars?" He repeated your words and swam closer to you, placing himself between your open legs. "This is getting interesting."

"No-"

"Oh, yes," the man snickered amusedly, stroking the inner side of your legs with his wet hands, causing you to shiver. "You can tell me...I promise not to...uh...I promise to take it seriously."

This liar.

With a heavy sigh, you took a moment to think about whether you should have opened up to him completely or if it was not the right time. Were you really ready for this?

"When I was a kid, I almost drowned," you confessed openly, but curtly. "And, you won't believe it, but I can't even remember the last time I talked about it with anyone...because...it's not the kind of thing you want to talk about."

Patrick didn't interrupt you. He listened carefully and rested his chin on your knee. You didn't even notice how you cradled his face and stroked his cheek, then the top of his head, how his brown soft hair was soaked in water, making it look even longer than it usually did.

"Was it..." he began to speak, cautiously, as if afraid to say the wrong thing—it amazed you. "Someone's fault or..."

You shook your head. "No! It was nobody's fault... I was just a reckless kid, but after that I have a terrible phobia of anything that has to do with water."

"You don't take baths?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to push him under, but his cocky, boyish smile made you stop, and instead of doing what you thought would teach him a lesson, you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, pulling his closer, the man purring in return, nuzzling against your skin.

"Of course I meant open water," you almost whispered, your voice getting deeper, softer, laced with not just arousal but pure affection. "That unfortunate day I was in LA with my family and there was a storm or something...but it didn't stop me from wanting to find some starfish...I literally ran away from my parents and got into the water...before I was washed away by a huge wave."

"I never thought you were such a bratty child," Bateman murmured, grazing the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his lips sucking the little marks his teeth left. "But now I'd remember that you can be even more foolhardy than you already are."

Bastard...my bastard.

Still amazed at his unnatural concern, you bent down to peck him on the forehead, but the moment you did, you almost slipped into the water, and Patrick, instead of preventing it, only helped you to literally fall into his arms, and once you were in the water, you squealed.

"Oh, GOD!" You panicked and began to wriggle nervously in the water. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

To your irritation, Bateman just laughed and held you closer. "Shh, I've got you," he grinned and wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you up a bit. "You don't have to worry when I'm around, you know?"

Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around his strong neck and let him press you against his chest. "Really?"

"Any doubts?"

The water was so warm, but his body was much warmer, you could practically feel the tightness of his muscles as he swam to the side, still holding you close; his question was hanging heavy in the air as you didn't know what to say. Did you really feel safe in his arms?

"Do you really care what I think?" You asked him back, your eyes wandering down to his parted lips.

"Answering a question with another question..." he whispered above your ear, his nose brushing gently, almost sensually, along your cheek. "...is a thing I hate so fucking much..." With that, Patrick grabbed your ass, his mouth so close to yours. "Have the guts to tell me you don't trust me..."

"That's not....what I wanted to say," you gasped into his lips as the two of you became more and more aroused, twirling in the water like a couple of swans. "I trust you, I really do!"

"'But something's wrong anyway?"

"No..."

"Do you think I'll hurt you again?" Bateman asked, looking intently into your eyes, his arms wrapped around your shaking body, although you were no longer panicking. "Leave you? Fool you?"

With a loud exhale, you tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let you. "Stop it," you replied curtly. "Stop putting words in my mouth, okay?"

For a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other, at your intertwined limbs, your naked flesh, the way your breath mingled in a rapid flow—you were more connected than either of you could truly imagine. But if you were about to admit it, you couldn't be so sure that Bateman felt the same way about you.

"Look, we never really talked about it," you continued after a pause. "We never talked about us."

Now it was his turn to turn away and distance himself from you, but as soon as he let you go, an icy fear paralyzed you and made you cling to his shoulders, no matter how pathetic you looked.

"For God's sake...you're not going to drown...it's a fucking pool!" Patrick's words hit you like a high-speed train, but you didn't let him go.

After a short sigh the man leaned his broad back against the wall of the pool, your hands were still on his shoulders and he didn't take them off—a good sign, you thought as you slowly and carefully squeezed his muscles. Patrick let out a shaky gasp, you smiled at his reaction, but you were still not ready to let go of the current conversation.

"Patrick," you began in the sweetest voice you could muster before gently kissing his temple. "I just want to know-"

"Know what? Do you really want me to... confess or something?" His face broke into a wry, nervous grin. "In that case, I've got some bad news for you."

Why can't he shut up for a few seconds?

Annoyed, you suddenly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up completely, causing his eyebrows to arch in shock at your audacity. "I don't need any confessions, believe me," you muttered, pushing him harder against the marble wall behind him, completely forgetting that you were both still in the water. "I just want you to stop talking for me... and giving my words the wrong meaning. Is that too much to ask?"

When you removed your hand, you didn't really expect him to say no; you just crushed your lips against his, not even giving him a chance to react and take control back into his hands. But to be honest, Bateman didn't really struggle, on the contrary, he made a muffled sound as you sucked on his tongue, your mouth so eagerly dominating his hot one.

"Fuck," he cursed between kisses. "You're driving me crazy."

"I know," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist under the water, his strong hands resting on the edge of the pool, watching you tilt your head back and almost immediately taking it as a call to action, leaning forward to kiss your neck. "Mhmm-we're not going to count that as a confession, are we?"

You could hear him moan softly in response, his soft lips pecking at your skin, sending tingles up your nerve endings, setting them on fire, but you did your best to keep yourself together, not wanting to give up first—not when you had another fight... or maybe this wasn't a fight at all?

Patrick didn't leave you much time to think, to breathe, to resist when his hands found their way to your body again, but this time he acted much more possessive, groping your curves with such a strong excitement as if he was doing it for the first time. Panting softly, you hugged him and pulled him closer to you so that you were literally hanging on to him with your hands and legs. The water supported both of you from underneath, giving you a strange feeling of weightlessness. It felt surreal and incredible. For a second, you stopped doing everything to just look at him, to make sure he was real.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked as soon as he noticed your confusion.

Damn all the nicknames he used, as well as his ability to use them. "Nothing...just making sure everything is real," you chuckled a bit shyly. "That I'm not sleeping."

"You're not," Bateman sneered, pushing his hips against yours to grind along your pubic bone - you almost lost it. "Because I'm going to make you feel much better than you can imagine in your dreams."

"That's very arrogant of you," you teased him back, but in the next second you moaned as the man subtly slid his hand between your bodies to rub your most sensitive spot between your legs. "But I... I like it..."

A low, soft chuckle escaped his chest. He was playing with you again, but only because you let him. At least you wanted to think so—it made you less embarrassed, but after all, there was nothing wrong with being obedient to a man you thought you were in love with. Especially if he didn't mind being a little submissive for you as well.

A bit later, when your lips were puffy from the kisses and you were both so drenched in water that you were starting to cool down even though your bodies were radiating an immense amount of heat, Bateman lifted you out of the water without saying anything and placed you on the edge of the pool while he still remained in the water.

"Huh?" You huffed and looked down at him, confused.

"Relax," he winked and spread your legs, stroking them as if preparing you for something bigger. "Told you, I got you. Always."

Always.

That one word stuck in your mind like an engraving you never asked for, but now you couldn't even imagine your life without him: his walnut eyes, his deep baritone and all those little moles that covered his perfect body... Everything about him was too much, it was overwhelming. If you could fucking drink him up like some kind of medicine that would flow through your system, if you could become one with him in the most direct sense of the word, to know his thoughts, to understand his mind...

It was never enough—you always wanted more, but now, when he was right between your spread thighs, his mouth exploring your tender flesh, inch by inch, his lips sucking and kissing you here and there, forcing you to shiver and grab his hair to bring him closer, and he didn't protest or scold you for pulling his hair—maybe you had a mental connection, an invisible thread connecting your brains, because Patrick could literally know exactly what you wanted. He knew where to pull and where to push, everything he did felt amazing, like he was inside your head.

"Patrick...fuck...it f-feels so fucking right," you whimpered before bringing a finger to your mouth and then having to bite down on it to stifle the moans as Bateman increased the pace of his caresses, his mouth relentless and his hands holding you in place—spread out and open for him. "Oh shit, keep going...please..."

Smirking, the man let out a wet pop as he pulled away from your core to look at you. "You don't have to ask," he licked his glistening lips, savoring the taste of you on them. "Though I do like it when you beg for me."

Of course you do, slut.

You didn't say it out loud, your finger was still in your mouth as you balanced on the edge of falling apart as Patrick went down on you again, helping himself with his hands as you trembled more and more—he wanted to see you unravel under his touch, collapse right into his mouth and you were more than happy to give it to him.

"A-ahhh...Pat-Patrick...mmm-yes...keep using your mouth like that," you encouraged him, quivering and barely breathing, your teeth almost sinking into your skin from how hard you were biting your finger. "Fuck...I'm so fucking close..." you pinched your hard nipple, your legs shaking in his grip. "Mmm...I love it...a-arhhh-fucking love it so much..."

An overwhelming pulse coursed through your veins, you thought you were going to faint, but Patrick's raspy voice became your anchor to reality amidst this madness, your heartbeat pounding against your eardrums like a hammer. One second—his mouth so hot against your flesh; two seconds—you couldn't control yourself anymore as his growl sent little vibrations that pushed you over the edge and then you finally imploded, letting a shock wave crush you. Bateman didn't stop even when you grabbed his hands from being too overstimulated, as he literally drank you dry.

"Damn it, Bateman!" You yelled, staring down at him. "Slow down... do you want to kill me or what?"

Just as you said it, the man stopped and blinked several times—there was something off about his reaction, but when you tried to pull away, he shook his head as if trying to fight the sudden delusion.

"Are you okay?" Your voice was so shaky when you asked him that, but you were really worried.

Panting, Patrick wiped his lips with the back of his hand and finally got out of the pool to hover over you, lifting your legs with a practiced motion and bending them to press against your chest. "If I wanted to kill you," he said suddenly, aligning himself with your tight opening. "I'd kill you already...I've had so many chances."

"What? W-what are you talking about..." You wanted to ask him what the hell it was, but he never let you; the man was as selfish as ever when it came to fucking you.

Bateman pressed you harder to the floor, leaning on his hands, his biceps flexing as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, but with each passing second his thrusting became harder and faster, as if he was trying to lose himself in you. There was nothing gentle about it—you were facing the whole other side of him—you could tell by the way he was grinding his hips against yours. The level of penetration was so deep that you could feel the curve of his dick brushing mercilessly against the walls of your inner channel, causing you to literally writhe under him, not really knowing if you wanted to push him back or pull him closer.

At one point, his thrusts were so painful that you had to claw at his skin, but that didn't stop him, it just made him go faster. You could hear his balls slapping against your ass with such a loud noise that it made you close your eyes in embarrassment, and you weren't usually a shy person, but... dear God, this man was like a barrel of power and you never knew when it would explode and if you would survive.

"Patrick...mhmm...so deep...fuck!" You couldn't help but moan, your legs lifted so high that they almost floated over your shoulders. "Wait..."

You tried to call out to him, but he seemed not to be listening, his brain clouded with a crimson fog of rage, violence, brutality, and God only knew what else. But here, with you, he didn't dare to hurt you the way he always loved to hurt people and it made him sick that you became his personal kryptonite and if someone dared to touch you even with a finger—he would fucking destroy that person.

"FUCK," the man cursed loudly, as if he had finally come back to reality. "Why are you like this?" Patrick snuggled against you even tighter, pinning your wrists above your head and jackhammering into you with reckless abandon. "Why do you let me... do this to you... fuck... you're so fucking... mine... that it hurts..."

"Pat!" You squealed as you felt him push too deep into you, his dick definitely hitting your belly. "I want you to... listen to me," you blurted out in a breathless voice, the words coming out like a broken record. "...and calm down. Please!"

Bateman let out a guttural growl and wrapped his hands around your neck, not squeezing it, at least not yet. Whimpering, you wanted to claw at his flesh, even though you knew he hated any marks on his perfect skin, but now, when he was about to lose his mind for sure, you thought it was the right choice. Without hesitation, you grabbed his hands that were still around your neck, almost scratching him, and he hissed, but never really stopped pounding into you.

"I love you," you blurted out abruptly, losing your own breath as you realized what you had just said, but you didn't hesitate to repeat it again, more confidently. "I love you so much that I can't even find the right words to express my feelings!"

And now you finally managed to reach out to him through the red veil of lust that clouded his consciousness—the man stopped, his eyes searching desperately for yours only to look somewhere behind you—he was shocked, frightened and speechless.

Maybe this was not the right time, but you couldn't rewind time.

After a short pause, Bateman shook his head as if trying to wake up. "These... sentiments..." he murmured barely perceptibly, still deep inside you but not moving. "I never thought you were capable of them."

"Why? Am I inhuman?"

"No-"

"So are you," you cupped his face, his skin literally scorching your hands with its heat - he was burning from the inside out, but you didn't care. "You're more human than you think...believe me."

For a gliding second, the two of you just stared at each other as he suddenly removed your hands and pulled away from you—it all happened so fast you didn't even have time to think. One moment you were one, and the next you were lying alone, naked and soaked with water, watching the love of your life walk into the house without saying a word.

Why does he always have to be like this?

Barely holding back your tears, you slowly stood up and, unlike Patrick, took the towel and wrapped it around your aching body. How could he leave you like that? You decided to open up and he just left? Without saying a word?

Crybaby.

Your first thought was to follow him and confront him for acting like a fucking schoolboy, but you stopped yourself and decided it wasn't worth it—you would let him have it his way, because you didn't want to stoop to his level, you weren't pathetic. But if he wanted to be pathetic, you wouldn't interfere— being a babysitter wasn't appealing to you.

Later that day, as the sun began to set and it became a little cooler, you were still sitting outside, not really wanting to go inside, even though you were about to freeze to death, you preferred to be alone. Sitting on the soft lounge chair, you wrapped yourself in a white fluffy robe, even though you dried yourself, you still felt uncomfortable, as if Patrick's last words stuck to your skin like something slippery. Something you couldn't scrub off even if you wanted to.

Trapped in your thoughts, you found yourself thinking about just going back to America. Yes, you could just leave this place without even talking to him and pay him back with his methods. The question was, would that make you feel better? You doubted it.

A short, refreshing breeze blew around you, making you curl up on the chair like a cat. Too overwhelmed with various ideas, thoughts, excuses you could find to somehow escape this whole situation, you didn't notice an approaching figure. Gracefully as ever, Bateman appeared right next to where you were resting. He was wearing nothing but white sweatpants, his hair still wet and slicked back. When you spotted him, you were not surprised—on the contrary, you expected him to come back, because this man was impatient and always craving attention, but this time there was something strange about him—you examined his posture only to see two glasses in his hands.

"Here," the man offered you a glass with a golden liquid in it—probably whiskey. "This will help you warm up."

Devoid of any emotion, you turned away from him, demonstrating that you didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to see him, and didn't feel like having a drink.

"Listen, I want to tell you something," Bateman continued his attempts, even though his agenda was still unknown to you. "You're going to need this." With that, the man placed a glass on the lounge chair next to your feet, before nestling into the chair on the other side of you. "One day I decided to go to the Tunnel, where I met a girl," he paused and took a sip of his drink, not really looking your way, as if afraid to meet your gaze. "She was pretty... not really beautiful, but pretty. And she was young, I could say she was very young...but already so wrecked."

The way he chuckled—the dark edge in his voice—made something heavy fall into your stomach and you took the glass of whiskey, your hands suddenly shaking, cold shivers running down your spine. The pause was getting too long, but you had no intention of rushing him.

"So I took her back to my place, and she was drunk as hell by then," you could see his fingers tighten around the glass until his knuckles turned white. "The bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut for a second. And then we fucked, but I didn't feel anything until I finally got my hands around her neck."

Eventually, you were glad that he had given you a moment to digest everything he had said. A sudden numbness washed over you, making it difficult to bring the glass to your lips, but when you managed to take a sip, the sharp alcohol burned your throat. But it didn't help. Not even a little.

With a shaky gasp, Bateman dared to look at you. "The thrill of the kill... was the only thing that could make me feel anything, but when I thought I was going to end her here and now... I realized she wasn't fighting," he paused again to finish his glass in one quick gulp. "She was fucking begging me to kill her... can you imagine that?"

You didn't know what to say, you were literally at a loss for words as itching tears began to well up in your eyes, and it had nothing to do with fear, it was all about the pain—you could feel it in every word he had just said. The unbridled, raw pain of a desperate man you happened to fall in love with.

"Why... why did you tell me all this?" You asked in a raspy voice.

"Because," he turned suddenly in your direction, almost getting up from the lounge chair, his breathing labored and uneasy. "I want you to know who you're dealing with... since you said you loved me..." Every word he said sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the already cold air surrounding you. "It's not too late to take back your words..."

"No. Not gonna happen," you cut him off, sipping more whiskey. What the hell was he talking about, how could you take back your words when you were absolutely sincere when you said them? "Even if I had the chance to erase your memory or use a time machine and go back in time... I wouldn't do it. Because I meant it when I said it, I really did, and you know it! That's why you're trying to push me away now, right? With all these spooky stories?"

Bateman didn't flinch even when you literally snapped at him, towering over his seated form and nearly splashing the contents of your glass right into his blank face. And now he decided to act as if nothing had happened? Now? After he literally dumped all that emotional mess on you like a bucket of cold water?

"I know it was stupid of me to even mention love... feelings... but instead of all this nonsense, you could just tell me that you despise me," you croaked through the tears that were stuck in your throat like a lump. "Because what you said...it's not funny to speculate about it!"

"It's never supposed to be funny!" Patrick retaliated and stood up as well, now standing very close to you, your lips just inches away. "Nobody takes me seriously! I'm so fucking sick of it!" His furious temper seemed to finally take over, revealing the true side of his personality, and you risked being drawn into its darkness. "Believe it or not... but that day when you called me from Paul Allen's place... I was ready to kill that bastard if I found out he touched you with his finger!"

Bateman's cruel words triggered the memories you never really wanted to remember—that fucking party you went to at Paul's apartment, those fucking hookers or models...or whatever they called themselves. Those fuckers who drugged your drink and tried to get their hands on you. That one moment when you rushed into the dimly lit living room to pick up the phone and dial the only number you could think of to hear the voice of a person who hated you the most, but at that moment felt like the only lifeline you could dream of. And when Patrick didn't pick up, each beep was agonizing and heavy—you thought you would die without hearing his voice.

Astonished, you nervously fixed your hair and let out a heavy breath. "You would...you would do what?" Your question wasn't supposed to sound like mockery, but it probably did, because the next thing you heard was a muffled crunch. "What..."

You didn't finish your sentence because you simply couldn't comprehend what had just happened—that crunching sound was the glass that Patrick simply crushed in his hand while you tried to call out to him through the depraved prism of his twisted mind—crimson drops of blood painted the floor in intricate ornaments, forcing your stomach to churn.

Why... Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt yourself so badly?

"Holy Christ!" You finally managed to blurt out, taking his injured hand in yours to open it and see the wound. "Why did you do that?!"

"And why do you care?" Was all he replied, staring at you through his half-lidded eyes. "You think everything I say is bullshit. Maybe this is not real either?"

And then, all of a sudden, he grabbed your hand with his bloody one, you could feel the shards of glass almost sink into your flesh, and even though they never did, you could feel the pain—his pain.

Pain. Everything is about pain.

"Please, Patrick," you almost begged, but didn't take your hand away as you watched the scarlet liquid cover more of your own skin. "Let me help you."

Bateman's cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covered his beautiful face, but he didn't even hiss, as if he didn't really feel any physical pain—that was terrifying, but you didn't falter. Carefully, without any hasty movements, you forced him to follow you into the house, avoiding the broken glass on the floor.

The man didn't say a word, he was in some kind of trance, you couldn't even remember seeing something like this before, but now was not the time to ponder about it, not when he was bleeding like this. You had to use the sleeve of your robe to keep him from gushing out and staining the house.

As you dragged him into the bathroom, you opened the mirror cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit and found some bandages, antiseptic and tweezers. Humming something to yourself in desperation, you glanced into the mirror to see him suddenly slide to the floor with his eyes closed.

"Patrick!" You yelled and ran to him. What if he had damaged the veins? What if you could not stop the bleeding? "Look at me, don't close your eyes!"

As soon as you touched his face, the man brushed your hand away as if swatting an annoying fly. "I'm fine," he said, gritting his teeth, but no matter how hard he tried to hide the tremor in his voice, you could hear that nerve—he was crying. "Just... give me the damn bandages. I'll take care of myself."

"Are you...crying?"

Gently, as if he were made of porcelain, you tilted his chin up and brushed his wet strands away, his usually sparkling eyes so dull and empty it made your heart shrink in pain, but you didn't give up. Ignoring the overwhelming fear, you unpacked the bandages and soaked one of them in the antiseptic before pressing it against the wound, but then you just poured the liquid all over his bleeding hand when you realized there were too many small shards embedded in his flesh.

Embarrassed, Bateman could only sob softly, and he didn't even try to pretend that his defenses weren't down with the first tear that slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured abruptly, sniffling and shaking his head from side to side. "I didn't want it to end like this."

"Shh," you stroked his hair with your free hand. "Let's talk about this later." As you blew on his wound to soothe the itchiness of the antiseptic, you didn't even notice the way Patrick was looking at you under his messy bangs—he was looking at you like you were some kind of miracle—if only he could go back in time and not say all those things about him being a fucking psycho. But then again, would it be fair to keep that from you, knowing how dangerous it could be for you? "Uh, I'm not sure I can pull out all the pieces...maybe it's better to go to the hospital?

"Fuck that," Bateman snapped, swallowing his salty tears. "Not an option."

With a weary sigh, you took the tweezers and began to pick the pieces of broken glass out of his hand—if someone told you one day that you'd be sitting on the cold bathroom floor covered in Patrick's blood because that idiot forgot how to use the glasses, you wouldn't believe it.

"You're the most stubborn man I've ever met," you said with a wry smile. "The most arrogant and self-centered and selfish..."

"Okay, okay!" Bateman held up his hand as a white flag. "I get it. No need to keep repeating it-uh!"

As soon as you heard him squeal in pain after pulling out the large shard of glass, you stopped in your tracks, barely holding the tweezers in your hand. "Oh, sorry!" You quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll be more careful!"

As you leaned down to better concentrate on your task, the man suddenly pulled you closer with his uninjured arm to press his heated mouth against yours. The kiss was nothing like the ones you had shared before—you could taste his tears, the saltiness of them, the agony and despair. At first you wanted to break away and scold him for being reckless and foolish, but he was the first to break the kiss, only to bring his bloody finger to your parted lips. On the verge of losing your grip on reality, you closed your eyes and allowed him to push his finger inside.

What is this madness with a copper-like taste?

Maybe this man was really a demon sent straight from hell to torment people and find out their most depraved desires, their true nature, which turned out to be something sinful and deranged? Who else could he be if he could make you do such twisted things? If he could make you lose control and forget what the word "normalcy" even meant?

While you were busy processing the questions that would never be answered, the two of you were still pressed tightly together, the bloody kisses on your lips and then your neck only increasing the risk of losing your sanity here and now. However, the tweezers you held in your hand became your anchor to reality as the cold metal almost bit into your skin with its sharpness.

"Patrick," you purred against his red lips, catching your breath. "Are we crazy? I know it's a stupid question, considering everything that's happened between us..."

"I guess you could say I've plagued you with my craziness...but I'm not sorry for it," he crooned in a mischievous voice, his lips curled into a slight smirk. "And I don't want you to take it as a joke or romanticize it."

How could he say that after he literally made you suck his bloody fingers? But wasn't it you who allowed him to do it? Who craved that in the first place? That thrilling aura of danger, mystery and darkness that always surrounded Bateman like a second skin.

"I'm not gonna leave you," you said briefly, continuing to clean his hand of the shards. "I've lost too many people I care about."

Patrick listened intently without arguing, ignoring the urge to hug you again, to comfort you, to reassure you that you would never lose him, because this was not about him, this was about your safety. Your words about him being selfish stuck in his head like an obsessive melody.

Selfish, egocentric, unsympathetic—a perfect bundle of traits for a psychopath like him.

The day you were about to leave and go back to New York, you couldn't sleep. When you woke up early in the morning, you rolled onto your back. The birds were chirping peacefully in the distance, and you were somehow jealous that you couldn't be as serene as those cute little creatures. Unlike you, Bateman slept like a baby on his side, holding a pillow and sometimes jerking slightly—probably having a vivid dream or something—his right hand was still healing, but thankfully the wound wasn't bleeding anymore. Although you were not well rested, you thought it would be more productive to get up and finish packing your things since you had a flight in the afternoon. Quietly, you pulled down the blanket and sat down on the side of the bed, but then you heard Patrick's muffled whimper, which startled you a bit.

Oh, no, not him having another nightmare.

Concerned, you crawled back onto the bed and hugged the shivering man from behind. "Shh, it's okay," you whispered into his ear, pecking the back of his head before nuzzling his neck—the mixture of his cologne and aftershave hitting your nostrils like an intoxicating haze. "This is just a bad dream."

Noticing that he was relaxing a bit, you slowly began to roll back onto your side of the bed, but suddenly his strong hands cupped yours, causing you to hug him tighter in a silent plea. This was not something he usually did—it stirred a deep feeling of affection in you—even in his sleep, Patrick seemed to have control over everything, including you, but now it was different.

For a moment you weren't sure if it was right to wake him up like that, but then you thought it was better than just shaking him and telling him he was having a nightmare. Also, how many times did Bateman not care if you were sleeping or not when he just got on top of you and started fucking you mercilessly? Well, you never protested or complained about it, but after all, you were not him.

When the man made the same sound again, you had to push all thoughts away—you would have plenty of time to think about things—now all you could think about was the softness of his skin, the shallowness of his breathing, the strong grip of his hands on yours. Patrick needed you, and that was the most tempting thing of all.

With a quick movement, you slid your hand under the blanket to caress his perfect tiddies one by one, the tip of your finger teasing his nipple with feathery touches. God, the things you wanted to do to this man frightened you in ways you never thought you could even imagine.

Now was the time when you could finally agree with his statement about plaguing you with his insanity, for how else could you describe it?

"Mmm," Bateman's low gasp that fell from his parted lips echoed through the bedroom as you lowered your hand and stroked his hard bulge in his Calvin Klein briefs. "I didn't kill her...I didn't," his mumbling was growing more and more erratic. "I just...wanted that bitch to shut her mouth..."

You couldn't hear it anymore. "Patrick, Patrick!" You called his name and shook him slightly. "It's just a nightmare! Please come back to me!"

Just as you said these words, his body went limp in your embrace, some cold buds of sweat sliding down his forehead as he opened his startled eyes and looked up at you. Bateman remained silent, his hands unclasping yours only to grasp the sheets in a violent grip.

"What time is it now?" He asked as if nothing had happened.

"'Too early for you to worry about that," you tried to hug him again, but he pulled away. "You had a bad dream. Maybe it was not the best idea to watch horror movies before bed last night?"

Patrick sneered into the pillow, and although you couldn't see his face, you knew he was smiling. "I... I didn't mean to wake you."

"But you didn't-"

"I hate it, I fucking hate seeing any dreams," the man suddenly replied through clenched teeth, then Patrick looked at his bandaged hand—he was trembling. "Do you... do you see them too?"

"Most people do," you replied, planting a light kiss on his temple, his soft hair tickling your nose. "I think you just miss New York and your familiar surroundings. When we get back, you'll feel better, I'm sure. But for now, is there anything I can do to help you relax?"

Damn, that probably sounds so cheesy.

Finally, Bateman turned to look at you. "You can finish what you started," he replied with that classic boy-next-door smile that was his favorite and most useful weapon in seducing people, and you were no exception. Sometimes you hated being so weak to it, though. "I think I missed the moment when you became so bold, darling."

The air in the room was thick with tension, the little electric impulses cursed through your system by his raspy voice, which was nothing but a testament to his arousal and it only fueled your desire to make him moan, writhe like a caged bird, to make him cum on the sheets and still ask for more.

"Oh, I forgot the last time you called me like that," you droned, wrapping your hands around his waist and pressing against his tight ass. "Was it when I fucked you with that dildo I found in your little secret box?"

Meanwhile, you used the moment of his confusion to dip your palm into his underwear—his tender flesh was burning like fire—you had to use all your willpower to stop yourself from biting his neck. Patrick's panting became more uneven with each passing moment, but when you began to rub his swollen tip, smearing his thick pre-cum around it, he literally arched his back like a bowstring.

"You like it when I take care of you?" You licked his earlobe, then grazed it a bit, causing a low moan to erupt from his chest, but you needed more—you craved it like oxygen—the power he allowed you to bear was too addictive. "Talk to me... I want to hear my sweet boy."

Patrick groaned louder as you gave his dick a long, hard pump. "Damn," he closed his eyes and blushed uncontrollably. "Feels good... so f-fucking good."

Impulsively, you drowned out his moans with a lingering kiss, your tongue slipping along his in a relentless battle for dominance until he let you have your way and you sucked on his tongue with all your might, your hand massaging his tight sack, then switching back to rubbing his shaft and then his red-hot tip again. Eventually Bateman began to thrash around on the bed, thrusting into your hand, and you picked up the pace, jerking him off more vigorously, the wet, sloppy sound driving you both crazy. Each time the two of you had sex, the outside world ceased to exist; there was just the two of you, your inflamed bodies, your most sinful desires...

"Fuck," Patrick cursed, gripping the edge of the bed with one hand and pulling you closer with the other as you kissed again and again until your lips began to hurt. "How did you get inside my head... so fucking easy?"

It was not easy at all.

If only he could understand that.

With a mischievous grin, you nipped at his Adam's apple, then moved lower to his chest, flicking your tongue around his taut nipple and sucking on it with undisguised greed, but then you had to shush him with your mouth when he became too noisy.

"You've got a lot of secrets to unravel about me, baby," you sneered condescendingly and pinched his engorged peak, making him whimper so pathetically that you began to regret not taking that dildo with you. "Uh, you're shaking so bad already. Do you want to stain these expensive sheets again?" You teased him, your grip like a tight ring around his balls, squeezing them so perfectly that you could feel his dick pulsing in desperation for release. "Not that I care, but... I remember you telling me that you love to keep every drop of your cum inside me..."

With that, you gave his thick cock several quick strokes before letting go and moving your hand from his groin to his toned butt for a squeeze and then, before you knew it, you were outlining the rim of his puckered hole.

"Oh shit," Bateman bit his wet lower lip, his face flushed like fucking tomato juice. "You're not going to get away with this...you know that?"

You just giggled in reply. "Don't you think that's kinda irrelevant to say when you're lying here all splayed out for me like a bitch in heat?” You slapped his ass without a second thought. "I know what you're made of..." Another slap that made him moan. "I know what you want..."

"Oh yeah? And what is that... what do I want?"

By this time you were almost on top of him, grinding against his muscular body, but not afraid of him snapping at you, it took you several seconds to lubricate your fingers with your saliva before you plunged them into his tight inner channel, sending shivers right through his core, and it was fucking delirious to see him trembling like that and to know that you were the reason for it.

"This... this is what you want," you explained, pushing your fingers deeper before pulling them out and repeating the motion, stimulating his prostate with precise accuracy. "You're tired of being in charge all the time...and you wanted someone to take care of you without finding it your weakness."

And you were not even going to ask him to accept it—you just knew it was true—it was written in his every moan, every jerk of his hips as you were fingerfucking his ass. Everything was perfect the way it was—you were perfect for each other, no matter what flaws you both had, because ultimately these flaws were what made you you.

When there were no more words to be said and the sun began to rise, the two of you were still following the electrifying momentum of raw, unbridled lust. Moaning into each other's mouths, you continued to thrust your fingers as deep as you could, finding the best rhythm, while Bateman couldn't hold back any longer as he desperately jerked off in sync with your fingers until his whole body was strained to the point of exploding like a bomb. A loud moan of pure satisfaction pierced the room as he finally erupted in thick ropes that covered his flat stomach, but he never stopped pumping himself, not even when he began to suffocate.

"Good boy," you watched him convulse like a leaf shaking in the wind. "You're such a good boy to me. I love you."

For a brief moment, your heavy breathing was the only sound in the bedroom, as if everything outside it was nonexistent. There were no barriers, just you and him—his hand in your hand—his soul intertwined with yours.

Huffing, Patrick gasped greedily for air, but then, when your eyes met, he seemed to stop breathing again—the inner conflict could be seen behind those two dark pools that were his eyes. "I love y-you too...but if you ever dare to leave me again...I promise I will find you...and kill you."

Later that day, you took a cab to the airport. And even though you personally didn't care which class, business or first, you flew, Bateman grumbled the whole way, arguing that he hated being crowded.

"Next time we'll take a private jet," he grumbled, his hands crossed over his chest, the Rolex shimmering in the sunlight. "Why did I ever follow your advice?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to reply with something cocky, but then you noticed the way he fiddled with his fingers, nervously trying to hide his wounded hand. "Just because you have a lot of money doesn't mean you have to spend it like crazy," you explained, gently taking his injured hand in yours. "But next time, I won't give you any advice. Deal?"

From the confusion you could read in his face, it seemed to you that Bateman hadn't expected anything like that from you, and you were so damned pleased with yourself, because you were finally on the right track to understanding how to treat him properly, so that he would reciprocate with the same attitude. But even the most perfect mechanisms could break down sometimes.

"Oh, well," he sighed, looking down at your clasped hands, but not removing his own. "I didn't mean that I don't like your advice..."

"Forget it," you cut him off, smiling as you frowned at your words. "Really, it's nothing. I'm not your Mommy or Daddy to lecture you about your money.”

"I think I've heard that before."

"Maybe."

"Mommy and Daddy," Patrick suddenly laughed like a maniac. "You know... I can be your Daddy if you want..."

"Jesus Christ, Bateman! Don't even start!" You nudged his shoulder slightly, but it only emboldened him to scoop you into his arms and seal your lips with his soft, loving ones. "How do you manage to say the cringiest things at the most inappropriate times?"

"Cringiest things?"

Dear Lord, have mercy.

Just as you were about to answer, the taxi driver suddenly turned around and gave you both a cheerful, genuine smile. "Wir sind fast da." (We're almost there)

Confused, Bateman narrowed his eyes before averting them from the cabbie, pretending to look in the window. As much as you wanted to laugh and tease him for his childish behavior, you returned a friendly smile to the driver and murmured: "Vielen Dank! Was kostet die Reise?" (Thank you! How much for the ride?)

The driver pointed to the meter, you nodded, and pulled out your wallet. "Bitte sehr. Behalten Sie den Rest." (Here you go. Keep the rest)

The longer Patrick remained silent, the more he looked like a small child who was offended that no one was paying attention to him. When the car pulled up at Stuttgart Airport, you thanked the driver and got out of the car before Bateman could say anything.

After taking your luggage, the two of you entered the busy area of the airport, people were rushing here and there, which of course made Patrick even more annoyed.

"I didn't know you could speak German," he managed to get the words out, but he still looked insulted. "Was it necessary to act like that?"

Hello, my name is Patrick Bateman and I'm a 27-year-old kid who can't stand being ignored for five fucking minutes.

Irritated, you stopped abruptly and he almost bumped into you. "First of all, I studied German in college, and since the company I worked for in Chicago did business with a lot of German partners, I needed to revive my knowledge," you blurted out, extending a finger in a stay-the-fuck-up gesture. "Second, I've been speaking German a lot since we got here, and you never bothered to notice! Really, Patrick? And what do you mean, was that necessary? Paying the taxi driver and thanking him for the ride? Are you serious?"

"I was talking to Bryce." Bateman's sudden words hit you like an avalanche of rocks.

For a fleeting second, you didn't even know what to say. What were they talking about? Had Bryce told him about the night you had spent together? Or rather, the nights. Shit, oh shit. That was bad. You knew it was going to be so bad for you because you kept it a secret and hid it from Patrick, but on the other hand, it wasn't cheating because, fuck it, Bateman married Evelyn just to make you what? Jealous?

"When did you ever find the time to do that?" You asked, trying to shake the anxiety off your shoulders.

"When you were in the shower before we left," Patrick's eyes scanned your face with a mysterious interest that made you swallow hard. "He invited us to Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, the one on the eastern tip of Long Island. A fucking golf club, can you imagine? That blonde bitch has already changed him so much."

"Blonde bitch?"

"Evelyn Williams."

"Uh, oh, yeah, Evelyn," you made a thoughtful face as if you could hardly remember who it was, when in fact you knew everything all too well, starting with the fact that Tim and Evelyn had been fucking behind Bateman's back before they got divorced, since Bryce had told you about it when you met several times after Patrick and Evelyn's wedding. You and Timothy used to fuck until you witnessed Bryce's meltdown over his fucked up relationship with Evelyn Williams. "It's just... you talk about it as casually as if you weren't married to her once."

"Was I?" Bateman arched his eyebrows theatrically and rubbed his chin. "I don't remember."

"We're going to miss our flight if we keep rumbling like this," you complained, pointing to the large information board. "And...I didn't know you guys loved golf?"

The two of you exchanged a few sly glances before heading for the gate where your plane was waiting for you. A plane that would take you back to the crazy city life of New York, the city you swore you would never visit again, but as the saying goes—never say never.

My life was like a comedy that turned out to be a drama and I was the director who screwed up the script.

Imagine yourself praying that today would be bad weather, rain, thunderstorm or fucking snow (even though it made absolutely no sense) and you wouldn't have to go to the golf club to see Tim and Evelyn and pretend that nothing happened. If Patrick could pretend that nothing happened between the four of you, why was it so hard for you, almost impossible? You also had to take into account the fact that Patrick still didn't know about you and Bryce, and you had serious doubts that he would be as indifferent about it as he was about Timothy and Evelyn's affair behind his back, or maybe it wasn't even behind his back and he knew everything from the beginning? This did not make it easy for you to understand how you all got into this situation. Why did he marry Evelyn in the first place?

"Hey, are you okay?" a familiar female voice pulled you out of the swamp of thoughts and when you raised your eyes you saw her—Evelyn Williams in the flesh. Even though the last time you had seen her was at her wedding with Patrick, which seemed to be so long ago (but wasn't), the woman didn't seem to have changed at all. "The boys asked me to bring them some drinks... Do you know how to call the staff here?"

Stunned, you looked around—the two of you were standing under the big tent that was located not far from the big golf course where Patrick and Timothy were practicing their shots, because there was a rumor that Paul Allen was about to join your little 'golf party', and of course nobody was really happy about it—especially you, but not because you didn't like Paul, you just didn't want to dig into the dirt, preferring to keep it all in the past.

"Uh, I think Patrick has a phone," you replied a little awkwardly. "I can go ask him."

As soon as you started to move, the woman stopped you with a polite hand on your shoulder. "Actually, they asked us not to bother them for a while."

"Oh," you stammered, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. "'Something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Evelyn grinned brightly and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the large decanter that stood on the narrow table. "Want some juice? Patrick told me about your little trip to Germany! I tried to convince him to travel when we were... well... never mind, he always refused!"

The blonde let out a nervous chuckle and took a sip of juice, your eyes never leaving her slightly embarrassed face. There was something wrong with this whole situation, but you couldn't reveal your fear.

"I wonder what exactly he told you, but... I don't mind talking about it," you crossed your arms and leaned against the table with the non-alcoholic drinks. "Ask away."

Meanwhile, two rich men, dressed in the most expensive polo shirts and shorts of some famous brand from the latest fashion week, were discussing the latest news of the financial world.

"Those bastards we had a meeting with last week are a fucking bunch of freaks and believe me when I say they're so deep in the shit they're going to fucking drown in it one day. Now watch and learn," Bryce finished his expressive monologue with a practice swing of his club. As the ball fell into the hole, the man lifted his sunglasses to wink at his friend. "See that, Bateman?"

"Nice shot," Patrick mimicked Tim's actions, adjusting his sunglasses as well. "Although I still don't understand why you chose a fucking golf club out of all the places we have?"

Leaning on his club, Bryce turned to look at the tent, and the moment he did, Evelyn began waving at him as if she were the most ardent fan and Tim the worldwide golf star.

"It was her idea," the man replied, stepping back to place the next ball for Bateman. "She was bored with regular dinners and going to some nightclub was out of the question after that... story that happened at Le Bain."

Patrick frowned and quickly picked up his club. "Le Bain? Really? What were you doing there anyway?"

Bryce didn't answer directly, instead he rubbed his head, marking time, and that didn't really look like the Timothy Bryce Patrick had gotten used to knowing. "What kind of shitty story did you get into this time, Bryce?"

"Nothing serious," Tim replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You got a lighter?" With a soft click, Bateman opened a white-gold Zippo lighter, and after Bryce took several drags, he looked back in Evelyn's direction before finally starting to talk. "Almost crushed some asshole's skull," he said so casually that Patrick could only smile like an idiot for a moment. "The guy asked for it, I swear."

"You did what?" Bateman questioned after a boyish giggle that escaped his throat faster than he could even suppress it. "And I thought after rehab people should be calmer and more stable."

"Oh, fuck you! That scumbag tried to rent Evelyn out like one of those hookers, well, you know, hookers, whores, you know better than me-"

"I KNOW!"

Bateman's reaction really amused Bryce, who couldn't help but grin as he watched Patrick get more and more flustered by the second. "So after this incident, Evelyn doesn't want to go to clubs...unless it's a fucking golf club!"

Now it was Patrick's time to sneer. "I didn't expect you to become a henpecked husband so quickly," Patrick joked, finally hitting a shot—two men watched as the ball flew until it landed next to the hole, but never fell in. "Golf sucks. I fucking hate it!"

"Don't cry, Bateman, shit happens," Timothy tapped Patrick's shoulder in a mockingly comforting way, but then the man suddenly became very serious. " So, have you had any success with your love adventures?"

"More than you can imagine," Bateman took off his sunglasses and fastened them to his polo shirt. "Why?"

"Sometimes I want to fucking sink into the ground when Evelyn starts whining that we're sitting in one place...that New York has become too stuffy and all that shit."

"Sounds like a casual day from my family life with Evelyn," Patrick started to say something else, but then he looked at his Rolex to check the time. "Is Allen really coming?"

"Oh shit, I forgot!" Tim cursed and quickly began to remove his leather gloves. "Honestly, I don't even know why he decided to come."

"I have an idea why," Bateman frowned as he heard approaching footsteps and as soon as the man turned to the side, you and Evelyn appeared on the horizon—your face was grim and tense, which spoke volumes about the complexity of the current situation and Patrick's need to solve it somehow. "And where are our drinks?"

"Sorry guys, we only have non-alcoholic drinks here," Evelyn blushed a little as the two men looked at her. "Patrick, can I use your phone? I am going to call the staff since Tim left his phone in the limo!"

Bryce finished his cigarette but didn't throw it away because he knew that Evelyn would bitch about him making a mess, blah blah blah, end of story. "'Screw this," Tim exclaimed spontaneously. "We can take a golf cart and get our drinks in the main building...and meet Allen there."

At the mention of Paul, you literally trembled, but Patrick almost immediately placed his hand on the small of your back. Slightly surprised by his affection, you didn't even say a word as Timothy and Evelyn exchanged goodbyes and walked toward the golf cart.

"Did you get sunstroke?" Bateman crooned as he stroked your cheek to get you to look up at him. "I told you to stay under the tent, not with us."

"I'm fine," you tried to reassure him. "It's just that I don't really want to see Paul right now," your voice trembled treacherously. "Not in the best mood for... social activities."

Without saying anything, Patrick grabbed your hand and led you back to the tent, where the two of you had some healthy smoothies that you never really liked, but since Bateman told you that they were pretty good for your health, you pretended to enjoy them. Afterwards, the two of you sat on the small but comfortable couch with the amazing view. The man rested his hand on your shoulders and occasionally massaged the back of your neck, causing you to close your eyes in pleasure.

"You and Allen," Patrick muttered abruptly. "What kind of relationship do you have?"

This is it—no way to run.

"Just business," you explained without a hint of doubt. "Listen...I don't want to see him, not because we had some drama...it wasn't Allen's fault that the party was messed up. Someone brought up the prostitutes...or maybe they were models. I don't know!" You paused to catch your breath. "All the memories are so cloudy...but the one thing I remember clearly is that I started to feel weird after I drank some wine...then everything came in torn frames. Some guy tried to get his hands on me and I didn't know where Allen was and some other guys from P&P but not Tim or Craig or David...I'm sorry I called you...my poisoned mind decided it was the best idea to call you."

The whole time you were talking, Bateman was stroking your back, but when you mentioned the call, he froze in place, and it looked so creepy. "You mean...you called me...that night?"

Tensing up, you gave Patrick a confused look, but instead of saying anything, you just nodded. The lingering silence between the two of you felt so heavy and suffocating that at one point you thought it was a bad idea to tell him what had happened that night at Paul Allen's apartment, but now it was too late.

"What happened next? Do you remember the person who tried to touch you?"

"Not really," you replied in a dull voice. "I think after I called you... Paul told me we had to leave and we left and... fuck!" You cursed and grabbed your head as if it could help you remember more details. "It all happened so fast...I'm sorry I bothered you with that call, that was really stupid of me."

"You really did call me," he repeated over and over, repeating the phrase like a broken record. "You really..."

Confused, you turned to face him, only to see his pupils dilated and his face covered in a thin layer of sweat. "I did," you said curtly. "But...what's so special about that?"

But your question seemed to fall on deaf ears, Bateman blinked several times, his hands trembling a bit as he removed them from your back, and then you finally realized why he was asking you these particular questions, but the way he smiled in relief, delusionally thinking he had found all the answers he was looking for, who knew for how long, it hurt so much. But what could you do now? You both had already come to the conclusion that Patrick needed help, that he would soon start seeing a psychiatrist recommended by Timothy, and that he would also resume taking pills to help control his impulsive temper. So the choice was yours.

After taking a deep breath, you glanced at him again—the man was looking back so expectantly, there was a spark of happiness in his eyes—a long forgotten spark, but there it was, and you didn't want to ruin it, even though you knew that the bitter truth was always better than the sweetest lie.

I hope one day you will forgive me for this, my love.

"Everything will be fine," your reassuring words were not for him, but for you. "You will be fine," you took his large palm in yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But... there is one more thing I have to tell you."

"What is it?" Patrick asked almost immediately.

"I..." you stammered as his grin widened, making him look so boyish and... cute? Fucking hell, why do you always choose the worst timing? "I fucked Bryce...several times...after you married Evelyn...but that was just sex...I mean..."

Even though he was still smiling, something changed in the way he looked at you now. The man took a moment to process the information you had just given him.

"That didn't mean anything! I swear," you were the first to speak again. "We... we both just found ourselves in one of the most fucked up moments of our lives..."

"Listen-"

"Wait! Let me finish!"

With one smooth move, Patrick brought you closer, so that you were sitting on his lap, and the suddenness of it left you speechless, which Bateman used to his advantage.

"See," he began, hugging you tightly. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know."

What? WHAT?

He was bluffing, no way Bryce told him everything, he would never do that to you, but on the other hand—why were you so confident that Bryce wouldn't tell his best friend to save their friendship? Even though you and Tim were close, Patrick and Timothy had a much closer bond.

"Tim told you everything?" You asked, feeling defeated and devastated.

"Not directly, but enough for me to understand the hidden meaning of the references he used whenever we talked about you."

You talked about me?

"I'm sorry," you laid your head on his shoulder before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and wrapping both of your hands around it. "I should have told you sooner."

"You told me when you were ready," he murmured softly, rubbing invisible circles on your back to soothe you. "I suppose you and I are finally even now."

"I guess you're right."

You cupped his face, pecking his temple, then the bridge of his perfectly framed nose, bathing his jawline with small kisses until you reached his lips to kiss him as lovingly as you could, wanting to convey all the emotions you felt for him through that kiss.

This moment seemed too perfect, so when you heard a loud laugh that belonged to someone you knew quite well, you weren't surprised at all, because things couldn't be that good—not in real life.

"Oh, there they are, look at these lovebirds," Craig chuckled and then added. "Long time no see."

And of course McDermott was not alone, soon you noticed Van Patten and Bryce. "Where's Evelyn?" You asked, dismounting from Patrick and taking the seat next to him instead. "And Paul?"

Bryce smiled mischievously and pulled two bottles of alcohol out from behind his back. "I told Allen there was no alcohol in here, so he changed his mind," Tim said, placing the bottles on the small table next to the couch. "And Evelyn...she told me that she actually hates golf and that she'd rather go to the spa with Courtney—I didn't interfere. So are you just going to sit here or will you give me glasses?"

"You know, I was starting to like this new version of Bryce," David joked, rolling a cigar between his fingers. "Still a bitchy asshole, but with new functionality in his arsenal."

Everyone except Timothy began to laugh, Patrick being the volunteer who had decided to bring the glasses from the table on the other side of the tent terrace.

"Have you lost the last of your brains or something?" Tim growled, smoothing back his hair, which was blacker than charcoal. "That chick you're with now will be the death of you, remember my words."

Bateman returned with glasses in the middle of the most intense part of the conversation about David's new girlfriend, who turned out to be the daughter of a very influential politician, and who had just returned from Cuba with a limited collection of cigars that Van Patten was so arrogantly bragging about. And somehow, you could finally admit to yourself that you missed the old days when you were a part of Wall Street life, even though sometimes you really hated it. But now, sitting among your ex-colleagues and your lover, you felt like you were in the right place, and that feeling was the most tranquilizing thing you had ever experienced.

Almost six months later, you and Patrick went back to Germany to attend Vincent and Andrea's wedding. This time, you didn't stop Bateman from taking a private jet for the trip, and it was your first flight on such a luxury aircraft—its interior looked even more lavish than in glamour magazines about the rich and famous.

Sitting in the comfortable beige leather seat, you looked out the porthole where the clouds looked like a creamy dessert—the sight was mesmerizing and breathtaking, even though you weren't a fan of flying, but at the same time you couldn't say that you were aerophobic—you were definitely somewhere in between. While Patrick was away talking to the crew about something you didn't know, you had already finished counting the number of diamonds or other jewels that were used like a fancy decoration—there were about a hundred small gems all over the interior and it was insane because why would you need all of them in a damn plane? It wouldn't get off the ground without them, or what?

"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Bateman's soft baritone echoed off the walls of the plane's interior. "You sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Yes," you replied and quickly adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. "I'm just wondering if Vincent and Andrea will like our gift."

"Who wouldn't? Everybody loves money," the man chuckled and sat down across from you. "I still don't understand how they decided to get married so quickly after dating for a few months?"

Frowning, you grunted. "They've been dating for more than six months now and they knew each other since childhood....Did you forget?"

The man just rolled his eyes and yawned tiredly. "Honey, I don't even remember Sean's birthday and he's my brother. What did you expect?"

Yeah, right, what did I expect?

"Uh, just don't say anything that will embarrass me at the wedding, okay?"

"I can keep quiet the whole wedding, it's no problem for me," Bateman winked at you and swirled his glass of scotch. " As long as someone decides to ask me some stupid questions."

"Like what?"

"Mmm...something Wall Street related," he purred in a sweet tone that was such a stark contrast to what he was actually saying. "’Oh, sir, are you really from New York City? I've heard a lot of stories about the bankers from Wall Street.’"

The way he tried to imitate a German accent made you slap his hand and shake your head in disapproval. "All the guests are educated people, stop acting like Europeans are less educated than Americans."

"I'm not gonna start this polemic," he chirped, suddenly standing up. "Sit here, I'll be right back."

And then he disappeared behind the elegant door, made of red wood, its surface shimmering from how polished it was, you could even see your own reflection, but you didn't see any reasons why Bateman was leaving somewhere again. Was there something wrong with the plane? Were we going to crash? A cold shiver ran down your spine at the mere thought of it.

Shake it off…just shake it off.

While you desperately tried to calm down, the door opened again, but you couldn't see anyone behind it. "Close your eyes."

Patrick's sudden order made you blink nervously in shock.

"Why?"

You heard him sigh in irritation. "Just do what I say. Is it so difficult?"

"Fine, fine! Just don't do anything crazy!"

"You'll like it, trust me," the man replied, closing the door behind him before coming closer. "Put your hands out in front of you."

Shit, shit, shit, why am I so nervous? What else can he do? He could just kick me off the plane... Jesus, what am I thinking?

Closing your eyes tightly, you obeyed and reached out to feel something soft, fluffy and warm. "Oh my God...WHAT IS THAT?" And then you heard a distinctive sound that you would never mistake for anything else—a meow. "Can I open my eyes? PLEASE?"

"Now you can."

As soon as you opened your eyes, you saw a little fluffy pile of black fur looking back at you with a pair of tiny blue eyes—you could barely keep yourself from bursting into tears. The black kitten meows louder as you bring it closer to peck its head and hold it gently.

"Patrick, I..." you could barely speak. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything—your reaction is enough," the man commented, sitting back in his seat. "I know we talked about you wanting a kitten...about you wanting to adopt a child," he paused, taking a moment to just admire your happiness at having one of your dreams come true. "I thought we should start with something."

This kitten was the most adorable creature you'd ever seen, so small, so vulnerable, that you would do anything to protect and care for it. "That's...you can't even imagine how much it means to me," you pecked the kitten again when you noticed something on its collar—something round and shiny—a ring...with a large diamond. "What an interesting collar decoration."

"Told you you'd like it."

"Wait," you stopped him. "Wait...is this...for me?"

"What exactly?" Patrick sneered teasingly and opened his arms. "This jet is for you...everything around you...is for you," he slowly got up and walked to your seat. "Including the ring. Will you marry me?"

Another meow pierced the room around you, and while you were still in a state of shock, Bateman didn't miss the chance to pet the kitten, whose little paws curled up to catch his finger.

Will you marry me?

This question suddenly reminded you of the countless times you had imagined him asking you this, and even though in your dreams you knew exactly how to act to make everything look perfect, when it finally happened in real life you were caught off guard, shocked, paralyzed. With every second of your hesitation, Bateman grew more and more nervous.

"Honey?" He called to you, tilting your head with his gentle touch to make you look at him. "Is something wrong? Don't you like the ring?"

"No..." you nuzzled against his palm, holding the kitten carefully in your hands. "It's perfect...everything is so perfect," and then you collapsed, letting the sparkling tears run down your cheeks. "Are you...really...sure you want this?"

To be fair, he was ready for anything, even rejection, but this—such a reaction was something beyond his understanding of human emotion—scared him to the point where he thought he might be doing something bad, something that would turn you away from him.

Still holding your chin, the man knelt down beside your seat. "How can you question my decisions after everything we've been through?"

"Patrick," you ran your hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "I just want to know that you're not doing this for me, but because you really want to."

The man paused and sighed. "Of all the decisions I have made, this is the most conscious," he murmured in a raspy voice. "Allow me to prove it."

Speechless, you could barely breathe, and when you nodded, Patrick carefully removed the ring from the kitten's collar and gently took your hand in his to place a ring on your index finger, then the man pressed a soft kiss on the top of your palm as if to seal the vow.

"I love you, Patrick Bateman," you said as he stood and towered over you to press his forehead against yours, your noses rubbing against each other. "You are my greatest tragedy and blessing."

With a soft chuckle, Patrick pressed you against his chest, hugging your shoulders with one hand and stroking the kitten with the other. "I'll take that as a compliment," he smiled, burying his nose in your carefully combed hair. "What are you going to name your new little friend?"

You hummed and looked down. "It's a boy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Mhmm...what if we name him Memento?" You asked, looking up at your fiancé. "Memento means memory-"

"Memento mori—remember you must die, I've heard it many times."

"Uh, yes, that remark about the inevitability of death. But before we die, we will make a lot of different memories...memories you will never want to forget....memories you and I will remember when we grow old."

You sobbed at your own words and Patrick had to shush you, pulling you closer into his warm embrace. "Shhh," he kissed the top of your head. "You're so full of sentiment, darling. That would be enough for both of us."

"We're going to live together for a long time, aren't we?"

"Of course," Bateman reassured you, stroking your hair. "And we will die on the same day. But before that, as you said, we would have a life to remember."

"And... if there is an afterlife?"

"Then I'll find you there," Patrick's voice was as calming as a mantra, enveloping you like a soothing mist. "But you don't have to think about it today. Or tomorrow, or fifty years from now. Right now, you better think about our speech at the wedding, because I hate the very idea of it."

Human memory is a very complicated thing—sometimes you want nothing more than to reboot your memory and erase all the bad memories from your head, but then you have amnesia, and people who suffer from it will do anything to get their memories back. Because memory is what makes us who we are, every little thing that happened to you in your life forms your personality, and sometimes a missing memory can feel like a black void inside your soul when you have a feeling that you forgot something, but you couldn't remember what exactly. After all, life is a kaleidoscope of ups and downs, a complex mixture of dark and bright colors, where every little detail matters. When you feel depressed, when you think there's nothing left for you to keep going—never give up fighting for your love and following your dreams, because we have only one life, and death is inevitable, but while you're alive, you're capable of doing anything.

Memento mori, but never stop believing and living your best life.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader

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cayleeuhithinknott · 2 days ago

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inspired by this !!

CW: SMUT, short, SUPER CRINGY WRITING!!! oral (m recieving), degrading, rough sex, slapping, begging, crying, pet names, and probably more but the biggest concern is the cringy ass writing

"on your knees, baby," chris whispered, his hot breath sending tingles down your neck.

your heart raced as you obeyed, kneeling before him. chris wasted no time, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his thick, erect cock. it was a sight that made your mouth water. you looked up at him with pleading eyes, a silent request for his touch.

“you've been a naughty girl, ignoring me all week," he said, his voice low and menacing. “time to remind you who's in charge, hm?”

before you could respond, he grabbed your hair again, positioning your face right in front of his throbbing member. "c’mon, suck it, baby," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

you parted your lips eagerly, taking him into your warm mouth. his cock filled your mouth, and you moaned around it, the taste and feel of him driving you wild. chris held your head firmly, thrusting his hips forward, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to take him deeper.

he pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping for air—confused. it seemed he’d gotten too impatient. "that's enough of that," he said, smirking down at you. "i wanna really fuck you, baby.”

chris lifted you up, making you stand on shaky legs. he pushed you against the couch, bending you over the armrest, exposing your sensitive pussy to his hungry gaze. you felt his fingers trace your wetness, teasing your clit, making you squirm with anticipation.

"please, chris," you begged, your voice hoarse from the rough oral session. "i need you inside me." every ounce if dignity you could’ve—and should’ve—had was gone. this always happened. you were too sensitive to his mean demeanor, it left you craving more, no matter how much it made you cry.

he chuckled, the sound sending a shiver through your body. "oh, you'll get what you need, baby, but first, i want to hear you beg some more.”

chris slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and arch your back. “such a pretty pink color," he remarked, admiring the handprint he had left on your soft skin. he delivered another stinging slap, this time on the other cheek, leaving you breathless.

"please, please fuck me, chris," you whimpered, your tears now a mix of pain and desire.

his rough hands abruptly gripped your hips, and you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. with one swift thrust, he impaled you, filling you to the core. you cried out, a mix of pleasure and discomfort, as his size stretched you in inexplicable ways.

chris—expectedly—showed no mercy, pounding into you relentlessly. his balls slapped against you with each powerful stroke, driving you closer to the edge. you felt like you were being torn apart, yet it was the most incredible sensation. your cries filled the room, a combination of pleasure and pain, as he fucked you with abandon. tears dripped down your face and onto the couch, soaking it.

“you like it rough, don't you, slut?" he growled, his voice thick with desire. you just whimpered in response. but then, he plants a firm smack on your ass. “answer me.”

“yes—yes, i love it—“ you sobbed, your body trembling.

chris chuckled darkly, grabbing your hips tighter and slamming into you with increased force. his dominance over your body was exhilarating. you felt his fingers dig into your soft flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment for days to come.

as he pounded into you, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, your orgasm built to an unbearable peak. you screamed as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing around his invading shaft. chris showed no sign of stopping, continuing to fuck you through your climax, his own release building.

“you’re gonna take my cum, c’mon baby," he grunted, his breath hot on your neck.

he pulled out suddenly, his thick cock glistening with your juices. you whimpered, craving his fullness, but he had other plans.

chris turned you around, pushing you to your knees, and then he gripped your hair, guiding his cock to your mouth.

“clean it, baby," he demanded, his eyes blazing with desire.

you obediently took him into your mouth, sucking and licking his length, tasting your own essence on him. chris held your head, thrusting gently at first, then with increasing urgency as his orgasm approached.

“fuck, yeah," he groaned, his hands tightening in your hair. "suck it dry, slut."

his cock twitched, and you felt the hot rush of his cum hitting the back of your throat.

you swallowed eagerly, savoring his taste, as he emptied his load into your mouth. he held you there, his cock softening, as you licked and sucked every drop of his essence.

as he released your hair, you collapsed onto the floor, your body trembling from the intense experience. chris stood over you, his expression softening slightly as he saw the tears streaking down your face.

"you okay, baby?" he asked, his voice almost gentle now. after sex, he was always so sweet—a contrast to his usual mean demeanor.

you nodded, a weak smile forming through the tears. "i love it when you fuck me like that, chris. ‘s just... so intense."

he smirked, his dominant nature returning. "good. because that was just a warm-up. you’re gonna be beggin’ and cryin’ before the night is over."

when chris admired your tear-stricken face, he almost felt bad for making you cry so much.

almost.

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @claireezz10 @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222

#cayleeuhithinknott #sturniolo triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #smut #blurb #𝜗𝜚 cayleeuhithinknott sensitive!brat!reader au #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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5a-alf · 2 days ago

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The more i think about my experiences in military school, the more i realize the ravens were probably run similarly (if with a harder lean on the cult part) so i wanted to make a post explaining how quickly and even just how new ravens fell into group mentality.

[[Disclaimer: i think my experiences are like,, quite similar to some of what happened in the nest to the general raven but for them is like upped to 200%. We can argue the army is type of cult but not one as tightly run as the ravens probably were]]

The answer to the first is: pretty quickly. Let's say, a month is enough. After that first month, if you were to take them out of the environment they'd be quickly fine again, but they'd already be familiar with the mentality and would follow it if left in the nest. Different kinds of people react differently to the same conditions, but i do think Tetsuji choose ravens also based on their personalities/character, because each year only 4/5 people got into his team out of the thousand kids that play exy in high school, so he could choose for talent but also for drive and ability to listen to orders ecc. This eliminates the hardest type to break down, which is people who are naturally oppositional (like,,, any fox for example). He's looking for good soldiers.

Then, you are now allowed in this super niche private luxury club; there's only other 3 new people. One of them is now your partner forever and ever. What happens? You give EVERYTHING you have to be better than the other duo. That's only natural, there's a first place and a last place because only two couples are in this race; you need to win. What do you do to get better? You look for guidance in the older people around you. Some will ignore you, some will engage with you, but always with an air of superiority. You yourself are somewhat struck by their presence, as maybe you saw them play on television before, or speak in interviews.. you know of them, and that already puts you a step under them. That's power that they hold over you.

Now. There's rules in the nest. Do you think they were written? Do you believe for a minute that the new ravens were given a brief the first week, to let them know all about what is and isn't allowed? No. The rules are silent. You notice them because you can't miss the punishment that inevitably happens when you break them.

You sit in the wrong chair - someone screams at you.

You use the wrong tshirt - someone beats you up.

Well, now you won't sit it in the chair anymore, or use that tshirt in that specific instance, but you know what else you won't do? Sit in any chair you haven’t sat in before. Wear a tshirt you haven’t yet worn.

It takes that little.

Then with time comes confort. Months go by and now you now most of the rules, you're fine. Then you reach your second year, and there's new people... who will teach them the rules? You. Especially if they sit in the chair that is specifically reserved for second years. That's yours. And you feel you've earned it by making it through the year; that's a rule, isn't it? And you have a lot of pent up anger, because you are juggling school and training and you haven't had a pause in more than a year, you haven't seen your family or your pet or your old friends.

You yell. You beat them up.

The funny thing is, even when you just follow the rules to keep the peace, do it "ironically", to avoid having problems, at some point... it comes naturally. You get more and more comfortable with what you once found wrong, or not even wrong, but probably pretty stupid. Because the thing it: it's easier to oppose things that are glaringly wrong. You don't start teaching a new raven how to prey on kids. You start with something that maybe makes no sense, but also has no consequences, especially moral ones.

Why wluld you fight so hard for a chair. You can have another. It's not even that comfortable. It's not worth being yelled at. Just leave the chair.

And then, slowly, it escalates.

And the more time you spend inside, the more you let go on any of the hangups you had outside, because it genuinely starts to feel as a different world, where different societal rules are in place, and when you literally do no engage with the outside world for years... you forget how it used to be. You forget who you used to be.

Being there rewards you.

The more time passes, the more power you acquire. Now you can even invent new rules, as you like. It goes to your head fast.

There's so much more i can expand on, 1) shared pain 2) what happens after you graduate 3) what roles do the adults have in all of this 4) relationships (yes, same as the ravens, we were also not allowed to have romantic relationships; there were consequences ecc) 5) REHEARSALS AND GROUP MOVEMENT 6) public outings and perception.... and i could go on and on.

Let me know if you want me to expand on anything in particular

#aftg #eau ravens #edgar allan university #not named but like..#jean moreau #kevin day #riko moriyama #perfect court!au #edgar allan ravens #cult mentality #ravens lore #i can go into heavy detail #should i?

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xxlady-lunaxx · 2 days ago

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There was something so innocently pure about the way Giyuu’s entire face lit up when he smiled. He had the sort of eyes-closed, sunshine energy when he beamed. The smaller, softer smiles were adorable in their own way, but, personally, Sabito adored the wider grins. The ones that had Giyuu lapsing into giggles, laughing until he forgot what was so funny. The ones like now, which made the birds scatter, knowing they couldn’t compete with the utter and complete wonderfulness of Giyuu.

Not for the first time, Giyuu wondered aloud what he was laughing about, the words lost amidst the high of exhilaration. It was lovely. And terribly hard for Sabito not to succumb to the sweetness of it all, forcing himself to keep walking.

At least the mission was due to be short. It wasn’t the investigation kind, or patrol. Something of helping the lower ranked Slayers, and Giyuu and Sabito had been appointed. They would finish quickly and return to their shared estate, where Sabito didn’t have to hide the overwhelming amount of love he felt for his partner.

As expected, the mission wasn’t a long one. It was difficult for only a moment, mainly because the other Slayers were plentiful and very good at getting in the way. But they got through it quickly, with only a shallow wound on Giyuu’s cheek. After being reassured by the Kakushi that the injured Slayers (no casualties this time) would be taken care of, the Water Hashira both headed home. They went slowly, taking their time because there wasn’t anything to be done. Morning had not yet reached them, but it was approaching as they entered their home.

Clambering in and putting their swords away, they sought the bedroom. Giyuu sat down, cleaning his wound. Sabito knelt before him, a bandage in hand, and helped place it on. He remained there for a moment, cupping Giyuu’s cheek until he cracked a smile from him. Without a word, he pulled him in for a kiss, resisting his own smile at the familiar softness of Giyuu’s lips.

“It’s been two hours,” Giyuu told him when they pulled away. “Don’t you have any patience?”

Sabito hummed, sitting beside him and resting his head on Giyuu’s shoulder. “You say that as if you’re patient. Anyway, who’s to stop me from loving you?”

His response was Giyuu twisting to kiss Sabito again, parting to murmur, “no one is,” before dipping back in, receiving much enthusiasm from the peach-haired man.

Morning came and went, guiding them to the training rooms and then a shop to buy something quick for lunch. Throughout the day, Sabito got several different types of Giyuu-smiles, and he treasured each and every one of them, sorry when they disappeared. In return, he held Giyuu protectively, petting his hair and kissing his forehead. It was hard to believe Giyuu was truly his. Hard to process that this man before him, the sheer embodiment of perfection, loved him. Loved Sabito. Because he had loved Giyuu for so long. And the reality of everything was so surreal, and so beautiful.

He knew it was wrong, for most people. They were both men, they were Hashira, they had no place indulging in romance together. Yet he couldn’t help but ignore all the worries concerning public scorn, he found himself casting the anxiety away, if it meant being with Giyuu. Being allowed show him how much he actually loved him.

There was nothing in the world Sabito could cherish more than Giyuu. Giyuu and his honey-sweet smiles, his sapphire eyes and gentle voice. Giyuu—just Giyuu. Giyuu and the way he loved Sabito back.

xxx

Sabito’s eyes were lavender. Soft and bright, always, always on Giyuu. And maybe it wasn’t necessarily the way they looked, their beautiful dusk-colored shade, but the way Sabito looked at him. With so much emotion that went better unsaid. It was how the complete and wholly loving way Sabito gazed at him, eyebrows dipping in actions of sweetness. It was all of that that made Giyuu melt, his limbs falling slack, heart missing a beat.

Despite the fact that Sabito held so much—his voice, his face, his body, his hair—Giyuu was unable to focus on anything but his eyes. How they closed every time they kissed, and how they fluttered when he was waking. The way they smiled on their own, widening when Giyuu initiated kisses.

Purple, lavender, sunset painted eyes. Full of tender love, holding it all for Giyuu. That fact on its own made Giyuu fall into a well of warmth. It was hard to breathe under Sabito’s stare, and, more often than not, Giyuu had to fight the impulse to draw him close and never let go. There was so much love for him, and he wanted nothing but to reciprocate it. Because he loved Sabito so, so much.

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helluverse-rewrites · 19 hours ago

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kind of random but ! viv desperately needs to try smth other than animal motifs for her symbolism. I know animals are an easy choice for things like that, but her dependence on it is a (small) part of what makes her designs so ass.

It gets to the point to where characters have the same motif and for what? They're not connected. The least she could do is make them connected. (for example in my hazbin hotel redesigns i made all the angels have bird motifs. vaggie is a dove, adam is a rooster, lucifer a duck) I know kemonomimis and furries are fun to draw but sometimes its just plain confusing and overused. Esp when she puts more focus on that than shapes or colors or even personality sometimes! I guess I'd love to see more characters based on objects or even common phrases, fairytales, time periods, abstract concepts. Yk? There are more of these in helluva boss (even though theyre highly LACKING), some background characters are like this in hazbin. I can see the 7 sins are somewhat based on their concept, but again its lacking, because she always goes back to her animal things. And I know this whole helluverse started out with zoophobia or wtv but cmon. Whys valentino a moth? I dont know any symbolism of the moth that ties in with val, or even how he died. He'd generally be better as a shadow or a puppet master, given hes deceptive and manipulative. The animal motifs often feel tacked on, too. Like a last minute thought, or like a design first-story later thing. Which even if they are, it shouldn't feel that way. It's really just a pet peeve of mine I guess because a lot of people including 14 yr old me thought these characters were soooo high concept and unique when really they somehow have worse design principals/patterns than Spongebob (not an insult to my boy spongebob though, theyre all just sea creatures they dont need to be high concept). Animals are literally the most overused, easy way to tell the audience something (or nothing). Like jesus christ its like whatever goal they have for a character they go hmmmmmm this is hard Ill just give them cat ears ^^.

Oh my god you're right

Angel Dust doesn't even look like a spider, and Alastor looks nothing like a deer. Istg the Valentino concept is way more interesting than whatever Viv did

You're telling me that Asmodeus is supposed to be a rooster. Likely story but okay Ig :/

I just think that the shows could've branched out a bit more than just animals

#anti spindlehorse #anti vivziepop #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #spindlehorse criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #spindlehorse critique #helluva asks

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httpscameron · 2 days ago

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dating hotch

hes very protective and even with you working within the bau he sometimes finds it hard to fully separate your work and home life. hes always going to be your boyfriend first over your boss - especially if on a case you take a hard hit hes definitely angry texting you across the jet on the way home. he cares alot what can he say.

hotch has always loved the way youre head strong, youre a passionate person and during cases he loves how you put 110% into everything and when that energy transfers into your relationship he loves it even more.

date nights every single week, in the early stages he wanted to get to know the real you. he likes knowing things he likes knowing that until you were fifteen you curled hair except for your bangs, he likes knowing that your first pet was a fish called alan. he wants to know you!!

hotch has quite an old fashioned taste in music he loves bob dylan, the beatles, billy joel its his favourite, the music his parents always played so when you took intrest in it he was over the moon, it was one of his secret little hobbies. he collected vinyl aswell and one year for christmas you brought him a vintage original and his smile was magical.

hotch has such a dry sense of humour as it is and when you get his small little one liners he mutters just to you its indescribable. he so glad that you understand his humour because most people dont get it.

hotch prefers you without makeup, he believes youre a beautiful person and makeup just hides it but he cant lie he loves when he sees your mascara all smudged by him. it makes him have a small sense of pride that he did it. but point stands all natural is his favourite look on you.

masterlist

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch smut #criminal minds #cms #x reader

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bring-forth-his-sac · 18 hours ago

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The Christmas Party - Finale!

summary: the Christmas Party is finally here! … and you and Negan are not on good terms

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Flirting, Kissing

word count: 7.1k

A/N: this is the final chapter! thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments!! For some reason, I always hesitated doing multi-chapter fics because I didn't think my writing was good enough to keep people captivated for more than one chapter but this has given me a serious confidence boost! and that's thank to all of you!

Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy!!!

Negan doesn’t know if you can be pussy whipped when you’re not getting any pussy, but damn that’s exactly how he feels with you.

He’s always been a fan of temporary pleasures, quick fixes for the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wasn’t interested in long term or relationship—at least, not in the way most people understood it. Love was something people with hope clung to.

And Negan? He had lost hope a long time ago.

He’s had women, plenty of them, but none of them have ever meant more to him than a night of fleeting connection. Negan never made a fool of himself ice skating for some pussy, nor has he ever wined and dined them.

And he would say he still hasn’t, mainly because that would mean referring to you as just another piece of pussy. And no matter how hypocritical it may be, he doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you can penetrate the walls he’s spent years putting up. You’ve never been impressed by his bravado or his flirting.

No, instead you’re the sweet type. You like the little moments, the playfulness, the cheeky texts neither of you should be sending during work hours.

Negan’s known it for a while now. He doesn’t want you like the others. He doesn’t want a night away or a quick fix. He wants the ice skating, the banter throughout the work day, the hot chocolates and dinner dates.

Fuck, all you’ve given him is a kiss and Negan’s smitten.

Waking up the morning after your sweet kiss, you’re the first thing that pops into Negan’s head. More specifically, it’s you in his truck, his leather jacket over your shoulders and eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh at some dumbass joke he made.

He woke up alone, having gone home the night before and spent an hour on the phone to Mark Smith.

Negan couldn’t believe he actually sat on his couch and willingly listened to his colleague talk about some upcoming market by where he’s staying in Jamaica. Negan even asked Mark how his wife and kids were doing– voluntarily!!

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The pain, while still there, isn’t as strong. Negan can’t find the strength to harness that resentment he had at the world and himself.

Because how could he hate himself when he’s had your sweet lips on his not even 24 hours earlier?

But his Thursday goes downhill from the get go. Negan has a pep in his step as he leaves his house, quickly locking the door behind him before heading for his truck. A part of him hopes the smell of your perfume will still be lingering in there.

Aaaand that’s the start of a very bad day. Negan never gets to his truck, instead stopping a few feet away when he sees someone else parked behind him.

His lips twist downward in a slight sneer. It’s the kind of look that says, “I don’t like you, and I’m not hiding it” without needing to say it aloud.

Sherry has her car parked directly behind Negan, purposefully blocking him in. She stands outside, her arms crossed as she tries to keep warm.

“Hi…” she says plainly, trying to ease into this.

When he speaks, it’s deliberate. His voice is dry, almost bored, but the weight of his words hangs heavy. "This is private property, ya can’t park there" Negan’s tone is laced with the kind of casual authority he’s so used to.

It’s not a request. It’s not even a command. It’s a fact, something he’s not even sure needs to be said, but he does anyway because she’s standing there like this is some kind of game.

Starting for his truck again, he only stops when she says his name.

Sherry huffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he won’t make this easy. “Negan,” her tone is firmer now “I want to cash in that I-owe-you. Now”.

His hand rests on the truck door but he doesn’t make a move to open it yet. Instead, he turns his body slightly, pivoting so he’s facing her fully now. Negan’s posture tightens, shoulders squared.

“And you think that means you show up to my home at…” he makes a point of bringing his wrist up to read his watch “seven forty five in the damn morning?”.

“I said whenever and wherever,” she shrugs “and I remembered where you lived, so…”.

Now it’s Negan who rolls his eyes. Because, yes, out of everything, he needs a reminder that he brought her home once upon a time ago.

Seeing his little cooperation is shrinking, Sherry cuts to the chase “You have a motorbike, right?”.

“Used to” he corrects her vaguely. Medical bills are a hell of a hit to the balls… and bank account.

“Ok, good,” opening the passenger door to her car, Sherry begins to walk back over to the driver's side “well, get in”.

Negan doesn’t move. “This is kidnapping” he states.

Sherry tries not to lose her patience, nibbling on her bottom lip so she doesn’t let out a string of curses. “No, it’s the favor you owe me,” she corrects “and it’s for Christmas, so c’mon”.

Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to, Negan takes a step closer. “Unless you’re gonna drop me off at the school, we’re gonna be late” be points out.

With the wave of her hand, Sherry dismisses him and gets in. “It’ll be fast” is all she says to assure him.

Glancing back to his truck one last time, Negan sighs before reluctantly getting into Sherry’s car.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

By the time Negan gets to work, he’s pissed off, late and hungry. You’d think as the head cook of the cafeteria, Sherry would’ve had some snacks hidden away in her car but nope, Negan had to starve.

Negan tries to stay positive. He reminds himself that once he knocked out a few more classes, he would have time to do something he’d been looking forward to—setting up the Christmas tree with you.

But as the day drags on and the hours tick by, his phone remains suspiciously quiet. He sent you a few texts, nothing crazy, just simple check-ins asking when you’d be free to hang out later.

A casual message, nothing too pushy. But now, after getting through some classes, it has been hours and there still isn’t a reply.

At first, he figures you’d just busy, maybe caught up in teaching or managing your unruly students. He knows you have a lot on your plate and he didn’t want to be that guy who expecta instant responses.

It’s fine. He’s patient. You’d get back to him when you have the chance.

But as lunch rolls around and there’s still nothing, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. It’s subtle at first, just a flicker of unease, but it grows with every passing minute.

He finds himself glancing at his phone more often, tapping his fingers against the desk, trying to focus on his work but getting distracted.

Something is off.

Negan gives the little pumpkin statue on his desk a quick rub, as if the small gesture might bring him some kind of luck.

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like he’s a clingy guy. But the silence between you two today? It’s not like you and it’s starting to eat at him.

First stop is the teacher’s lounge. Empty. He checks your classroom next— locked. No sign of you. Then, he heads to the sports hall, hoping you might be there, finishing something up. No luck.

Hell, he even hangs around the women’s toilets for a minute. It’s stupid, he knows, but he figures if you’re dealing with that time of the month, you might need a minute.

He leans against the wall, trying not to look too out of place, but when Sasha passes by with a raised brow, he realizes how ridiculous he looks.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing away from the wall.

He’s not the clingy type. He knows that. But by the time lunch comes to an end, he’s sent you a decent amount of texts.

Negan: you ready for the tree?

Negan: it’s in the hall

Negan: u ok?

Negan: is this hide and seek? Where are you?

Negan: hellllllllooooooooooo? My messages are going through so I know you don’t have me blocked

More classes pass and Negan’s patience wears thinner with every passing minute. He yells at a group of rowdy students, his voice echoing through the sports hall as he orders them to watch out for the cheerfully decorated tables as they do their jumping jacks.

He checks his watch, the second hand ticking a little too loudly for his liking. It’s almost the end of the school day and Negan can feel the weight of his frustration pressing down on him.

He hasn’t heard a damn thing from you, not a single text, not even a “Hey, I’m busy.” Nothing.

And the silence? It’s driving him nuts.

By the time he’s checking the teacher’s lounge again, he’s about ready to give up… but then it happens. Just as he’s walking by Ms. Peletier’s classroom, the door clicks open.

You step out.

It’s like a moment of clarity hits him and for a second, all his frustration melts away. There you are— looking like you’re trying to escape something.

You’re not your usual self. There’s something different about you today, something… timid. You’re not holding eye contact, your shoulders are a little hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Holy fucking shit,” Negan says, his voice full of relief “I was about to send out a search party, where the fuck have you been, doll?”

He expects a smile, some kind of warmth in your eyes. But instead, you tense. For a heartbeat, your body locks up, like you didn’t expect to see him.

He watches, confused, as you quickly gather yourself. For a second, he thinks you might be walking toward him, like you’re about to talk, to explain yourself.

But then, just before he can take a step forward, you say it.

“Fuck off”.

Negan’s a man that likes to curse. He likes to throw in a few fucks, pricks, shit balls, whatever he feels in the moment.

But this is different.

The curse slices through the air, harsh and bitter. The venom in each syllable sticks in his chest like a jagged piece of glass.

Negan’s stomach drops. He watches you walk past him, not even sparing him a glance and strut down the corridor without breaking stride.

For a moment, he’s frozen. The anger, the confusion— it all hits him at once. He isn’t the kind of man who gets easily thrown off, but right now? Damn right he feels uneasy.

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s that for?” Negan calls after you, confusion and hurt twisting his words.

He takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to follow you but before he can move another inch, a voice calls his name.

“Negan.”

He turns, annoyed, ready to snap at whoever’s interrupting him but when he sees Carol standing in the doorway of her classroom, he stops dead.

“Let her go,” she says, her tone calm, but firm.

His brow furrows. What the hell is this?

“What?” He takes a few strides toward her, his voice rising.

Carol raises a hand, palm out, silencing him before he can continue. “Let her go,” she repeats, her expression unreadable “She’s not interested”.

Negan’s chest tightens. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut but it’s the way she says them so matter-of-fact that makes him freeze in place. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come.

He looks at her, searching her face for some hint, some sign that this is a misunderstanding. But Carol doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just watches him, her eyes steady.

“She’s not interested,” she repeats, softer this time, but still unyielding.

The truth stings. It settles over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating. The realization that everything he thought he knew about what was happening between you two—what he thought was real—might have only been a quick flash in the pan.

Negan stands there for a moment. The hallway around him feels too quiet, too empty. His chest tightens again and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt or pure disbelief.

He looks back down the hall, where you disappeared, then back at Carol. With a sharp exhale, Negan turns away, heading in the opposite direction without saying another word.

What else is there to say?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Friday feels like damnation, and not just because of the party. You purposely come in earlier than usual, not wanting to run into Negan as you set up the last remaining decorations for the gym. Even Joey isn’t in yet.

You can still feel the rush of anger, the way it surged through you when you saw them together, Negan and Sherry. You wouldn’t say you’re a jealous person but to see them arriving together, after everything?!

After Sherry warned you away from him, the dates that weren’t dates you went on with Negan… the kiss. You wonder if you didn’t move fast enough for him and if he went straight to Sherry’s after dropping you home that night.

You’re pissed—so fucking pissed—but more than that, you’re hurt. The way he acted around you was like you were something special. It was as if maybe, there was something more between you two, more than banter and attraction.

But now? Now it feels like a fucking joke. He’s out there, probably flirting with whoever is next on his hit list while you’re here, stewing in your own mess of feelings and sticking wreaths on to tables.

You want to punch something just to feel like you’re doing something to get rid of this ache in your chest.

Your mind races—did they sleep together? Was it just another one-night thing for him? Did it mean nothing?

The thought of it gnaws at you, each question digging deeper. The betrayal, the feeling of being tossed aside, his voice when he called after you yesterday, the knowing look on Carol’s face when you told her what you had seen… It's too much.

You wish you could cry but you’re too damn mad. So you keep working, head down, fighting the sting of tears that are just waiting to break through.

The good news is the sports hall is finally done, besides the Christmas tree that was never put up.

The high, vaulted ceilings are draped with thick strands of sparkling tinsel in gold and silver, catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs and making the whole room shimmer.

Long rows of tables are now covered in bright red and green cloths, each one bordered with tinsel and a wreath hanging off the front. Paper snowflakes some of the students made dangle from the walls, swirling like an indoor blizzard.

Around the room, there are signs that read things like “Merry Christmas!” and “Season’s Greetings!” in big, bold letters and decorated with holly.

Even the basketball hoops are dressed up, with thick, red ribbons tied in bows around the rims, and a few oversized ornaments dangling from the netting.

Everywhere you look, there’s something to bring a smile to your face— and yet that’s the one thing you can’t do.

“Well, hello there,” you don’t tense when you hear the masculine voice.

It doesn’t have that deep drawl Negan’s does. Nor does it make you want to shiver and purr at the same time.

“Hi, Joey” You don’t even glance at him as you say it, your eyes fixed on the twinkling lights that are tangled up in tinsel, casting a soft glow across the sports hall.

“The place looks great!” he says, his voice a little too bright as he walks deeper into the room, clearly trying to make conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, your voice flat and distracted “It’s basically done now. Just have to run home after school to grab the drinks, and it’ll be ready”.

You don’t want to engage much more than that. The last thing you need right now is small talk or having to deal with anyone else.

“And the food?” Joey presses, his tone a little too chipper.

You force a tight-lipped smile, your jaw set as you turn toward him briefly. “Can you let Negan know that’s his shit to sort?” you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral, though it comes out cold.

“Uh—sure! Yeah!” Joey nods quickly, probably sensing the shift in your mood but not wanting to push it.

Without waiting for another word, you head toward the door, not bothering to look back. The last thing you want is to stick around the hall in case Negan shows up unexpectedly.

You can feel the tension already creeping up your spine at the mere thought of seeing him, of dealing with whatever’s going on between you two.

So, you leave, eager to put some distance between yourself and the mess you’re caught up in.

The school day drags, yet somehow, it feels like it’s slipping away too fast. The hours blur together— teaching feels more like a flurry of words and half-attention from your students as they count down the minutes to the end of the day.

You try to keep them engaged but it’s obvious they’re all just as eager for the holidays as you are.

The morning feels slow, like every minute stretches just a little too long. You try to get through your classes but every time the clock ticks, your mind drifts back to the party— back to everything that’s been weighing on you.

By the time you hit the afternoon, you’re caught in this weird mix of excitement and dread. Each class passes, each bell that rings to signal the end of a period feels like a countdown to something you’d rather not face.

The students, for their part, are bouncing off the walls. They’re eager to get out, to be free from school and homework and whatever else hangs over them.

You watch them, their chatter almost deafening and you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency in the air. It’s almost like the whole school is vibrating with the countdown and the seconds feel like they’re slipping through your fingers.

The lessons go by in a haze—you’re teaching, but you’re not fully there. You’re running through the motions, reciting your notes and trying to keep your class on track but you know that the closer you get to the end of the day, the closer you get to the party, to seeing Negan again, to dealing with whatever awkwardness looms between you two.

Finally, the last bell rings, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You breathe out a little too heavily, a mix of relief and frustration swirling inside you.

It’s over.

The school day’s done.

The holiday break is here and the party is just around the corner. You grab your things quickly, eager to get out of the classroom but the thought of facing the party, of facing him, slows your steps.

You want a moment of quiet before everything kicks off but you can only have such a luxury when you get home to quickly dress into something a little nicer and bring all the alcohol back here to the sports hall.

The noise in the hallways is deafening, students filing out, chatting excitedly about the break. Your thoughts, though, are already on the evening ahead.

You rush home, the quiet of your place a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. You head straight to your room, pulling off your teaching clothes and slipping into something nicer for the party—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel put-together.

A soft sweater and dark jeans, something comfortable but still festive. You grab the bottles you’ve set aside for the party, having to make multiple trips to your car before they're all loaded.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you that you’re ready but the knot in your stomach tells you the opposite. You grab your keys and head out the door, locking it behind you before making your way back to the school.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s almost half six when the first few people trickle in and you’re glad to see their faces.

For the past forty minutes, it’s just been you, Joey and Negan in the hall, stealing plates and cups from the home ec room and putting all the drink on display. And in that forty… long… minutes, you and Negan exchanged a total of seven words.

“Where’s the tequila?” he basically huffed at you.

“Still in my car” you retorted, giving him the same energy.

You got a grunt in response and he yelled at Joey to go out and grab it as Negan left to get more plates.

But now the sports hall is buzzing with that awkward in-between energy—everyone’s showing up but the party hasn’t fully kicked off yet. There’s a nice hum of conversation, teachers hesitantly reaching for liquor and some commenting on the decorations.

Every time you cross paths with Negan, you veer the other way. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you two, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

You’re doing your best to keep yourself busy— lining up glasses, making sure the food table’s stocked thanks to the newest light in Negan’s life, Sherry (you swear you’re not jealous)—but it’s hard to ignore the tension, the way Negan moves around you, not quite looking at you but not completely avoiding you either.

In one corner of the hall, you see Aaron head towards the large speaker that sits silently waiting.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the speaker, the opening chords of ‘Last Christmas’ filled the room, too loud at first, making everyone glance at each other nervously, unsure if they were meant to sing along, dance, or just pretend it wasn’t happening.

Some teachers head over to the food. Thankfully, you haven’t run into Sherry yet, nor is that something you wish to do. But to give credit where credit is due, the food smells delicious and it’s not as plain as the food usually served at the cafeteria.

Fingers quickly grab skewers of chicken satay or tiny puff pastries as the music loops on, providing a kind of strange comfort.

"I swear," Morgan says as he fills his plate, laughing awkwardly as he nudges a colleague "I only came for the pigs in blankets".

Everyone chuckles the first real laugh of the evening and suddenly the awkwardness seems to melt away, if only a little. Yet it’s enough to kick off the night.

As the evening stretches on, the awkwardness begins to fade into something more familiar, a sort of communal ease that only happens when you’ve spent enough time around people you mostly like, but don’t quite know how to relax with.

You stand back and watch, nursing your drink.

A few teachers have found their rhythm, wandering between the buffet table and the cozy clusters of conversation, laughing a little too loudly and talking shop just enough to remind themselves they’re not too far from the classroom.

Jesus walks up to you and a few others, gesturing towards one of the empty corners. “Where’s the tree I gave you guys?” he asks curiously, no annoyance in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you struggle for an answer “We uh, ran out of time to put it up”.

Jesus gives a quick laugh and a nod, taking your answer for what it is. “And you still have the extra baubles I donated too?” he clarifies, taking a sip of his drink.

You nod and hesitantly explain “Yeah, the tree and baubles are uh… they’re under the bleachers. We didn’t have the space in the storage room”.

Looking around at the other teachers listening, Jesus smiles “Well then, who’s game for putting up a tree?”.

Before you have time to process that, there’s a burst of energy.

Jesus and Morgan help bring out the tree. Tara takes the box of baubles, standing with her hands on her hips as she looks down at the box.

Aaron, ever the optimist, picked up a string of lights and began untangling them with the patience of a saint.

You stand there with a surprised look plastered on your face. Even the people who aren’t helping, stand by and watch. Michonne snaps a few pictures before typing on her phone, no doubt sending it to her husband or Carl.

Jesus, who has already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, grabs the tree stand.

“The tree’s the easy part,” he tells the crowd “the real challenge is making it look intentional when you know it’s probably just going to be… well, a mess”.

Eugene, who has been quietly inspecting the box of ornaments with Tara, looks up at the group.

“I must admit, I find the idea of a decorated tree somewhat... quaint. But I’ll go along with the sentiment if it makes the rest of you happy,” Eugene says, picking up a candy cane ornament “Plus, I believe we can all agree—Christmas lights are critical”.

Aaron chuckles “Of course you’d have a whole theory about the importance of lights”.

With Eugene’s help, the tree is quickly set up and anchored in its stand, though it wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its purpose.

“No, no, no, it’s leaning to the left!” Gregory tries to direct them. As you all listen to Gregory and Sasha bicker whether the tilt gives the tree character, you notice a figure lurk closer to you.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Negan. His every movement seems charged, as if he’s on the edge of saying something but never does. And you? You’re not sure what to say either.

So instead, you both continue this dance, each of you pretending that the other isn’t right there, just a few feet away, caught in the kind of silence that screams everything without a single word being spoken.

“And where’s the tinsel?” Rosita rummages through the box of ornaments.

“I think there’s some old tinsel in the storage room,” you call out, wanting an excuse to get away from him “I’ll go get it!”.

Negan lowers his head, watching through his lashes as you hurry off to the storage room. He suppresses a sigh, wondering if it’s really that hard for you to be around him.

Do you seriously prefer the cramped, shitty old storage room compared to him?

This should have been fun. You two should be celebrating! Fuckin’ finally! You’ve made it and now the others are having the time of their life by willingly doing a team building exercise!

Right now, you should both be teaming up to haggle Michonne for a raise, not barely looking at one another.

And yet Negan can’t do it. He can’t find the words to say this to you. And so he stays in his spot and listens to the others make the task of decorating a Christmas tree seem impossible.

Ten minutes pass.

Still nothing. No you. No shitty tinsel. Just a whole lot of avoiding.

Negan can’t believe this. You’d rather hang out in the storage room? Or quietly slip out early? All that hurt and tip toeing around each other starts to bubble in Negan, slowly reaching it’s boiling point.

With a sharp turn, he makes his way through the crowd and towards the storage room. He figures he’ll check in there first and then check the parking lot to see if your car is still here.

His hand comes straight out as he opens the door with enough vigor to make it fly open. Not that he’s thinking about the door when he sees you, just standing there.

“Are you really gonna hide on me?” He starts, boots slamming against the messy floor as he leaves the doorway and walks deeper into the room, closer to you.

For a split second, you freeze. But as you see your opportunity for escape closing, you rush forward.

You don’t pay any attention to his question, trying to get past him as you blurt “Wait! Stop! Don’t let the door—”.

But before either of you can reach it, the door slams shut with a resounding thud, cementing back into its frame. Negan’s anger falters when he realizes what just happened.

He doesn’t know how many times he warned you about the old storage room door being hard to open from the inside, yet here you are— and now him, victim to the heavy door.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” His voice drops to a low, venomous growl as he steps back to the door. He tries to yank it open once, twice, thrice! And yet it stays in place.

With the click of his tongue, Negan looks to you “You seriously got yourself locked in here?”.

You don’t appreciate the mocking tone and so you bite back “Yeah and now you have too!”.

With a sigh, Negan leans up against some of the boxes. His anger is gone and now he’s just unsure what to say to you

You step up and try the door again. You yank the handle again, twisting it violently but the door stays still.

“Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, before you get a new idea and begin banging on the door.

“Hey! Hello? We’re in here! Help!” you shout, your voice rising with each strike.

Unfortunately it’s still not enough compared to the loud thumping of bass and jingle bells from the Christmas music blaring in the adjoining room.

Negan watches you with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. He chuckles lowly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, that’s one hell of a performance,” he comments with a grin, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Stopping for a moment, you throw him a glare before continuing again.

“You’re bangin’ on beat with that Christmas nonsense. Hell, they won’t hear you over the jingle bells and whatever crap is playing” he points out, taking no notice of your glare.

You stop, staring at him with an annoyed look “I don’t need your commentary right now, Negan”.

He shrugs, uncaring “Just callin’ it like I see it. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Again”.

Ignoring his comments, you listen to the party outside. Laughter. Chatter too loud that it drowns out your shouts for help. The occasional cheering as they continue to decorate the tree.

“Sounds like they’re having fun” you grumble.

Negan waits a moment before replying, his tone losing his sarcasm “So should we”.

There’s a tightness when he says that— but not the good kind. You’ve always been one to blurt things out, Negan should know that better than anyone.

Although hearing you quietly mutter “Yeah, I’m sure you and Sherry should be having the time of your lives”, throws Negan’s head in a tailspin.

“What? Sherry?” The edge is back in his voice as he asks, making you go quiet again.

You shrug in response.

He narrows his eyes as you stay silent. When you don’t say a word, Negan shakes his head “Fuck, I thought we were gettin’ somewhere, and now? Now this shit?”.

Negan takes a breath before deciding to start small. “Why’re you bringing up Sherry?” he lets the question hang in the air.

Eyes flickering to the ground, your voice feels tight as you reply “I… I saw you with Sherry, arriving to work with her, and—”. You stop yourself, biting back the words.

It doesn’t matter that you stopped anyways as Negan interjects with a slightly sarcastic laugh “You thought I’d what? Sleep with her?”.

He steps closer, trying to get you to look at him.

“Doll, she just wanted to cash in that I-owe-you,” he says before deciding you’ll need more of an explanation “she wanted to buy her boyfriend a motorbike for Christmas but she knows fuck all about bikes… I, however, have had my fair share so I went with her to get give her my expert opinion. Nothing more. I just spent the morning looking at shitty second hand bikes”.

You nod, eyes still down as you process his answer. But now it’s Negan’s turn to get some answers.

“You really think I’d kiss you, then go and sleep with someone else right after?” his voice is firm but tinged with hurt “Is that how little you think of me?”.

That makes you look up, eyes wide before they soften with regret “No! I don’t— It’s just, you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t tell me anything about her or what you were doing”.

You hesitate, realizing how much you’ve misinterpreted “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself”.

A few hollers can be heard in the sports hall as Negan pauses, letting out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to apologize for giving a damn. I get it, though, how that would’ve looked,” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself “I mean, Sherry and I, that was a one time thing that neither of us want a round two of”.

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure whether you’ll like the answer to your next question but needing to ask nonetheless. “So… what did happen? Back then, between you and Sherry?”.

His posture shifts slight as if he’s physically as well as mentally letting down his guard.

“Sherry and her man were on a break, she wanted a distraction…” he trails off, letting you fill in the details “and then when they got back together, she had to really prove to the guy that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so she went from thinking I was good enough to fuck, to straight out hating me”.

“Huh… I kinda presumed you just cut contact with a lot of them after the deed is done” you reply, not expecting to hear that Sherry hated Negan anyways, whether or not he ghosted her.

“Oh I do sometimes, other times it just fizzles or it’s decided beforehand that it’s just a one night kinda thing” he explains “We both get something out of it”.

“A two way system” You call it.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks, “‘I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s just… mutual benefits.

A faint smirk ghosts his face “A two way system is you arguing with me, me arguing with you, you taking me on a date, me taking you on a date, me flirting with you, you flirting with me”.

You can’t help the smile at that, rolling your eyes teasingly, any annoyance you had for Negan melting away.

He continues, poking his tongue out of his mouth “Me kissing you.. you shoving your tongue down my throat”.

“I did not do it like that!!” You exclaim with a laugh.

He chuckles, his own annoyance gone now too. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes before thinking up a better way of saying it “you… oh so subtly slipping that dainty tongue of yours into my mouth all sexy like”.

“I didn’t use tongue!” You declare, throwing your hands up before the playfulness fades into a somber silence.

“I am sorry,” you reiterate ”I guess I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve asked, instead of assuming.”

He gives you a look you can only describe as tender.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the talking-about-feelings kinda guy and I kinda thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he tells you, his voice a gentle hum “But if you’re asking— I want this. I want you. No more games, no more misunderstandings. Just… us. Alright?”.

A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of your lips, tension easing. “I think that would be nice” you agree, trying to drown out the loud Christmas music during your intimate moment.

There’s a quiet between you both, no more words needing to be exchanged. Negan begins to move again but instead of heading towards the door, he briefly disappears to the back of the storage room.

“Negan?” You call out.

He strolls over to one of the old boxes and starts to look through it. The musty smell of forgotten storage fills the air as he pulls out a dusty, crinkled piece of tinsel, its once-silver strands now dulled and faded with time.

“If we’re all good now…” he says as he stops and reaches down into the box “y’know what we gotta seal it with, right?”.

His mouth twitches with a hint of amusement and as he steps back toward you, dangling that goddamn piece of old mistletoe in front of you.

His expression is half-mocking, half-playful, as if he’s trying to make light of getting stuck in here.

You look at the mistletoe and then back up at him. “Well, it is tradition…” you tilt your head up, expecting to see that cocky expression of his but instead it gives way to something more sincere.

Before you can say anything, he’s lifting the mistletoe above your heads, positioning it just right.

Not being one to waste time, Negan presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft at first, just a light brush but as if giving into the moment, you deepen it.

His lips are warm and steady against yours. The taste of him lingers as it becomes more heated. Negan drops the mistletoe, both of you each other instinctively pulling closer.

His lips press more urgently against yours, like he's unable to hold back anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you into him with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

That gasp seems to push him further, the heat between you intensifying. His tongue sweeps against yours in a coaxing manner. Backing away, you pull him with you until your back is flush against another stack of boxes.

There's nothing tentative about this anymore; it's a powerful, consuming kiss, raw with hunger and desire.

Negan’s hands slide under your festive sweater, skin on skin. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, heightening every sensation. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more of him, more of this.

His body presses against you, hips aligning with yours, and the pressure builds as you feel the weight of him against you. His breathing becomes heavier, his chest rising and falling in sync with the erratic make out session.

The words around you fall on deaf ears, neither you or Negan paying attention to the Christmas music or the mumbling of Gregory outside saying “It’s in here, you say? Oh Christ!”.

Suddenly the music is clearer and another light source shines across your face. “Mm?” You question, although it’s hard to get the words out with Negan’s lips still on yours.

Pulling away, you see a look of shock and disgust on Gregory’s face.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to regain some semblance of control. “This… this is—uh—what is happening here?” his words came out in a disjointed jumble, bringing the other’s attention to the storage room.

“They’re together?!” you hear Rosita’s voice.

“You didn’t know about them?” the voice of Michonne reaches your ears “Carl told me they were a couple ages ago!”.

Suddenly you realize you’re like a deer in headlights, just frozen and watching. That is until Negan takes you hand in his and yanks you out of the storage room while the door is still open.

You follow his lead, letting him bring you out to the middle of the sports hall until he turns to face you again. His hands find their home on your back and he begins to sway to the slow Christmas song.

“Are we… dancing right now?” You question, clasping your hands around the back of his neck.

The others stare for a few moments before carrying on with whatever it is they were doing beforehand. Some drink, some stuff their faces and chat, while others grab a partner and dance too.

Negan doesn’t answer with words, instead giving you a little spin before finding you back in his arms.

“So… you still spending Christmas alone?” Negan says it casually, though there’s a subtle trace of concern in his tone.

You inhale before replying, shifting slightly in his arms “Yeah”.

“You sure about that?” He leans in a little closer, his face now just inches from yours, as though trying to read between the lines.

There’s a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, showing you’ve already made peace with the decision as you sigh “I think it’s for the best I don’t change plans now and go spend it with my family”.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was kinda trying to crash your plans, not suggest you skedaddle out of town” Negan’s grin widens, and he gives you a playful nudge

“What?”.

His smile deepens as he watches your reaction, fully aware of how bold he’s being. “Well, you’re spending Christmas alone, I’m spending Christmas alone,” he explains “we get on like a house on fire, you’re hot, I’m hot”.

“Negan!” you exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement flooding your chest.

“I’ll bring the mistletoe” the offer hangs in the air, and you can feel the moment shifting, building toward something neither of you is fully ready to name, but both are undeniably feeling.

“… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there too” you slowly admit “but you have to bring me a present!”.

Negan chuckles, keeping his hands on the small of your back as he looks up and pretends to think. “Hm… I might be able to do that” he says.

He tries to act as though he’s debating the condition, as if he hasn’t already bought you things.

A cinnamon candle.

A pumpkin statue to match his own.

A winter coat that will actually keep you warm (that may have some leather accents so you’ll match his own jacket).

Some snacks he’s been picking up whenever he’s out.

And a list he’s made himself of the corniness Christmas movies he could find on the many streaming services that are around.

“Maybe I could do with that mistletoe now,” you tease, showing off your actual flirting skills.

Negan smirks down at you, one of his hands trailing up your back as you both sway to the music.

“Darlin’ I think we are way past mistletoe now,” he quips back before he leans down.

Despite being in the sports hall that made you and Negan go at each other’s throats. Despite being surrounded by your colleagues …

You kiss him.

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