#haunted by the time someone tried to break up with me and i told them they could cheat on me with other people so long as they didn't leave

[basicallyjaywalker]

Wanna ramble about a moment/character in ninjago you think people need to talk about more?

I don't know who you are anon, but I'm glad you asked!

I am desperate for people to character-analyze Wu. I'm desperate for a lot of character analysis including Nya but since I got a lot of my Nya feelings out with some lovely folks the other night (edit: the other night was a month ago dw about it. this took a minute) I'm going with Wu this time

Master Wu to me is such an interesting case of a character who it is so easy to ignore the bits of the show that hint at his wider issues and traumas. He is a man defined heavily by his family and by his past. A lot of criticism he gets, I think, is due in part to that.

I've mentioned before that I've been rewatching S1 with a friend of mine and intermittently pausing to infodump on them about interesting character things I notice from that season. A lot of that has been Wu-focused because despite having seen RotS dozens of times throughout my life (watching it on CN, watching it on Netflix when only it and Legacy were around, rewatching it with friends) I have only just started noticing the seeds of character written in.

I might also just be reading too much into things, but hear me out

In S1 (and by extension, the pilots), Wu is characterized as your typical old wise teacher. In the first few minutes of EP1: Rise of the Snakes, he is chewing out the Ninja for playing video games instead of training. The line he uses? "Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today."

It's a line that gets repeated throughout the series. In fact, it gets repeated that very episode when the ninja go (pun not intended) to fight the Hypnobrai and a literal pre-teen. At first, it seems to just be a piece of wisdom. Some old proverb Wu's picked up over the years, possibly one he even coined himself. However, in EP7: Tick Tock, Wu tells the story of who, possibly, first told him this.

(Source: Tick Tock/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added.)

It was Garmadon. Now, I'm not gonna dwell too long on Garmadon, if you spend five minutes talking to me you'll learn he was the first character whose story I obsessed over and I want this essay to be about Wu, but I think he plays a role in Wu's overall story, as does Wu's family as a whole.

Prior to this, Wu and Garmadon's relationship has been more of a sibling rivalry taken to a good vs. evil extreme. We didn't know why Garmadon was evil and we didn't know about Wu and his relationship as kids. However, this scene establishes the backstory. They were, as Wu puts it, "the best of friends." That is, until Garmadon gets bit by the Devourer going to get the katana Wu lost.

Now, I know the Devourer bite was destined to happen because of the Overlord or some shit, but Wu doesn't. As far as he's concerned, Garmadon getting bit was a direct consequence of both his mistake and his cowardice. He lost the katana. He was too scared to get it. Garmadon went over instead. Garmadon got bit.

The scene goes on to show the FSM tending to Garmadon in the aftermath. Wu is watching from behind the door, likely told to stay back, but concerned. And in his POV, we get this intense moment, where Garmadon turns, looks directly at him (his eyes turning bright red for the first time), and says "It's all Wu's fault!"

(This clip should begin at the start of Wu eavesdropping. If it doesn't, skip to 0:58. I highly recommend also paying attention to Wu's body language during this scene.)

The camerawork does a great job of showing how this probably felt for Wu. It zooms in, Garmadon's voice echoes, and the background blurs. We see in the flashback that this is a moment Wu has etched into his memory. Not to mention, he was likely a very young child when this happened. LEGO characters' ages are weird, but Wu in this scene has the Big Eyes, which always seem to be used for characters under 12. We don't know exactly how much older Garmadon is to my knowledge, but he doesn't have the Big Eyes, so he's probably closer to 12 and a few years older than Wu for sure.

Imagine that. Being in elementary school and your older siblings gets hurt. They're acting strange. They're lashing out at your father. Then, they blame it all on you. They're hurt because of you. Wouldn't you internalize that?

I could go on about Wu's relationship with Garmadon, but again, I think I've spent enough time on it and I don't want to only focus on that. It's an important part, but there are others.

Let's talk about Wu's relationship with his dad.

Now, I have not yet read the Spinjitzu Brothers series. I cannot speak to any development of Wu and the FSM's relationship in there. I have, however, read The Book of Spinjitzu and blogged some of my thoughts on it here, including some of what it says about Wu.

For those who haven't read it, first, there is a Google Drive folder floating around with all of the canon spinoff books/graphic novels in it. Here's the link if you wanna read them!

The FSM is an... intriguing figure. I mean, in the series he's basically god? He made the entire world. That's already a very high bar to live up to. Then, in Book of Spinjitzu, there's a few specific parts that, when I read them, signaled that Wu internalized a specific message when he was young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 3).

Wu does not want to disappoint his father. It is up to him (and Garmadon until he turns evil) to "uphold the legacy of Spinjitzu" and, by extension, his family. He says he was "very young" when this was explained to him. Considering he seems to already be training at an elementary age, "very young" means VERY young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 16).

Here, we again see Wu being very aware that he has some large burden to carry. Something else interesting here is that the thought of the Green Ninja Prophecy is already weighing on him too. His considering if he might be the Green Ninja is of extra interest because of how the Green Ninja Prophecy and the--I wouldn't call it obsession, possibly fixation?--with who it is factors into his later actions, but we'll get to that later.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 19).

This one in particular gets me because it comes after Wu mentions Garmadon becoming more evil. It is a statement of power. Wu knows that the legacy of Spinjitzu now rests in his hands alone. He cannot let himself fall the way Garmadon did. He cannot disappoint his father. Whether or not the FSM intended it, Wu always knew the fate of the world rested, at least in part, upon his shoulder. He knew this from the time he was a young boy and it remains in his mind to this day.

Now, these quotes are indirect, but they all point to one clear idea: As a child, Wu internalized the idea that he alone is responsible for keeping Ninjago safe. He will play a pivotal role in its history.

There's not evidence in this book that the FSM's was a bad father, per se. However, just because one doesn't set out to harm their children, doesn't mean they won't. I often say Wu has an "Atlas complex," which I have no idea if it is an actual concept but use it to refer to this idea. Wu feels as though he is responsible for holding up the world, much like Atlas. He must keep the balance, he must solve the Green Ninja prophecy, he must make his father proud.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 61).

I'm going to get further into what this means for Wu as a teacher to the current Ninja Team, but for now let's look at Wu's first foray into teaching.

Morro. Wu's Biggest Mistake.

That might seem like an overstatement, but it's not.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

Okay he says regret, not mistake, but I was paraphrasing.

Let's turn back to his quote about his destiny. Wu writes, "Is my life's mission to be the Green Ninja? Or maybe it will be to find the Green Ninja and protect him (or her)??"

From a very young age, Wu was not only aware of the Green Ninja but prophecy but also thinking about his place in it. We see this again when he takes Morro in and trains him.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added)

A big thing Wu is criticized for here is making Morro believe he is meant to be more. That he is the Chosen One. And Morro, being a young homeless orphan just now given some semblance of power and protection, latches onto that. And I can see it, but when you take into account the above that he was trained from (likely) a younger age than Morro and given a similar level of responsibility, it becomes more understandable. Wu is just doing what he was taught. He doesn't believe that he is harming Morro until it is too late.

This is the entire story, but I'm specifically going to be discussing 1:36 onwards here. I also wanted to add that rewatching this scene made me lay down on the floor! What the fuck! But I digress.

There's a lot going on in this scene. For one, Wu washing his hands of Morro in some ways, but not others. He turns his back on Morro when he tells him that destiny has decided, but looks at him again when Morro storms out. He goes to save Morro from the Grundal, but decides that he cannot "teach those who would not listen." Most importantly, when Morro leaves to go find the Tomb of the FSM, Wu leaves the door open. He waits for Morro to return, but never goes after him. And Morro never comes back.

Wu gives Morro's fate a dismissive response at the end of his ghost story ("I am saddened he was banished to the Cursed Realm") but it's clear he still cares deeply about him in the finale of the season.

Wu's VA in this is phenomenal btw. That "Please Morro!" and "MORRO!" make my heart ache.

Morro believed Wu stopped caring, but he didn't. Even after all he's done, even after trying to destroy all of Ninjago--destroying what Wu had spent his life trying to protect--Wu tries to save him. He begs for Morro to come with him. Morro refuses, Wu watches him perish.

Someone else Wu is close to is gone. Wu again considers himself responsible. Everything is his fault.

And finally, we reach Wu today. A cautious, secretive man. He loves his students, this much is clear. Even as early as the pilots, he drops his wise teacher persona to joke around with them.

As with Morro, he trains them like his father did him. He even uses the same methods his father used when he trains them.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 32)

While he is hard on the Ninja, wanting them to succeed and training them to help defend the Realm, he lets his guard down more than it seems he did with Morro. He also learned a valuable message from his experience with Morro when he hides the Green Ninja Prophecy from the Ninja, getting angry when they start to push themselves in the same way Morro did upon learning about it. It's clear he doesn't want a repeat.

Now, I can't speak for later seasons (I will eventually) but this fear of repeats, his students going down a dark path because they're tempted by power or greatness, losing someone else, likely drives Wu not telling them other important information. That is just a passing thought though.

Final notes:

I'm currently in the process of rewatching S7: Hands of Time. I actually got this ask right after finishing EP68: Scavengers, which opens with Wu having a nightmare. In it, he and Misako are walking outside of Yang's temple. While walking, Misako delivers this line in response to Wu reminiscing about the time they've spent together:

(Source: Scavengers/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

This line, to me, is Wu's subconscious trying to tell him something he needs to hear. It's hinting at what might be his greatest flaw. Wu is haunted by his past, by his mistakes. He finds it difficult to tell others because of both his guilt and his desire to not put that worry upon them. In this very season, he makes the mistake of trying to face his past on his own, and he nearly dies for it.

In the same episode, you see Wu trying to make sure Lloyd doesn't make the same mistakes.

(Source: Prev)

Wu stresses the important of the team. It's as if he sees Lloyd blaming himself for what happened to Wu, sees him doing the same thing Wu has, and is trying to prevent him from doing the same thing. This is further emphasized when, after Wu falls asleep (well, fakes falling asleep), Lloyd says "Wu's mistake was going in alone. So was mine."

Master Wu is, like many characters in this show, someone who is more complex than meets the eye. He is not just a wise, old teacher. He is a man who, throughout his life, has made mistakes and carries the weight of each of them on his shoulders. He is a man who tasks himself with making up for those every day. He is a man who wants better for his students, his family.

Until the day he dies, he will guide and protect his students. And possibly? Even after death too.

[elytrafemme]

my best friend (no. 4, i'll start assigning emojis soon for lore followers) asked me about BPD and i told them i'd talk more about it in person because BPD is the exact overlap of my own lived experience (note: i am not diagnosed but have extensive history with BPD in a secret more confusing way) and my psychological interest. but like now i'm thinking about it and generally speaking i think anything that was a symptom towards BPD i experienced has either grown more mild now that i'm out of an active trauma situation, OR has just become part of what i consider my amorphous CPTSD thing,

but i do like. think about the efforts to avoid perceived/real abandonment. and maybe i've not gone to the lengths some folks might with this but to be honest the more i think back to my own personal history the more i realize that i do in fact repeatedly do insane shit to avoid abandonment 😭

[ponderingmoonlight]

You're in ur Sanemi/Kny brainrot era n I'm loving it. But may I entice you with JJK?? Gojo getting unsealed just to find out his wife was blinded by the higher ups who held a grudge against him

The world has been dark for a while now, a never-ending night with no dawn. You lost track of time a long time ago, of days blending into weeks, maybe even months. Ever since the love of your life was taken away from you, nothing was the same as before.

Chaos broke out, a wave of sadness, devastation but also anger crushing down on you. As his beloved wife, many cherished you. But people like the elders…

It was a well-found opportunity for them. Now that Satoru was gone without return, they were free to let their anger out on someone.

And that someone was you.

Since they took your sight in exchange for ‘the horrible things your husband has done to humanity’, the world has been a blur of sounds, scents, and the haunting memories of the last time you saw him.

Satoru.

You sit in silence, your fingers tracing the familiar patterns of the fabric draped over your lap. It's one of his, Gojo's favorite haoris he only wore to special occasions or when he tried to seduce you into bed. You hold onto it like a lifeline, the last tangible piece of him you have left. You don’t know what’s worse: the darkness that swallowed your sight or the hollow emptiness that came with his absence. The higher-ups... they told you he was gone for good, that he was never coming back.

But you never believed them. You couldn't.

The door creaks open, and you stiffen. You've grown accustomed to the way people move around you, the way they think you won’t notice their presence. But this... this is different. You feel it - a surge of cursed energy, powerful and unmistakable. It’s overwhelming, drowning out everything else in its presence. Who is this? A sorcerer you didn’t meet before?

“(y/n).”

His voice is the first thing that breaks through the fog and pondering, that familiar lilt that used to make your heart race. You don’t dare to breathe, afraid that this is just another cruel trick your mind is playing on you. But then you hear it again, closer this time, filled with a mix of relief and something darker, something simmering just beneath the surface.

“(y/n).”

Your name. Unmistakably out of his mouth.

“Satoru?”

Your voice trembles, barely a whisper. The air feels heavier, charged with his cursed energy as it presses against your skin.

You feel his hand before anything else, warm and solid as it cups your cheek. He’s here. He’s real. But the second your fingers touch his, you notice the way they twitch, the subtle tremor running through them.

“What did they do to you?”

His voice cracks, and it shatters something inside you. Of course, Satoru doesn’t know what the elders did to you. He didn’t learn about the fact that they blinded you on his behalf.

You try to smile, but it falters.

“They... they wanted to punish you, Satoru. They knew taking you from me wasn't enough. Just in chase you decide to come back…”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you can feel his hesitation, the way his breath hitches as if he’s trying to hold back the storm raging inside him.

“They took my sight,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“They wanted me to suffer in the dark... to make sure I never see the light again, that I will never be able to see you again, even if you manage to return.”

A sharp intake of breath is his only response at first. Then, he pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly you can feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own. The world outside is chaos, but here in his embrace, it’s just the two of you. And for a moment, you let yourself believe that everything will be okay, that his return will make everything right.

But the darkness is still there, an endless void behind your eyes, a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. And you know, deep down, you'll never be the same again. Your whole marriage will never be the same again.

What if something like this happens again? What if your husband eventually doesn’t manage to escape? Those past months, you never lost hope, always waited right here on the couch for his return. But those cruel moments of waiting, of losing that spark of hope in your heart taught you more than urgently that even Satoru Gojo can’t escape everything.

“I’ll make them pay for this,” Satoru murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, promising retribution.

“I swear on everything, (y/n). I’ll make them regret the day they ever thought they could hurt you.”

You nod, pressing your face into his chest, breathing in his scent as if trying to commit it to your memory.

“I know you will. But, Satoru... I’m just glad you’re back.”

He pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling your face as if you’re something fragile, something precious.

“I’m never leaving you again. Not now, not ever.”

You want to believe him, want to trust that things will somehow return to the way they were. But even as he holds you close, you can’t help but feel the weight of everything you’ve lost.

And as you lean into his arms, the darkness remains, an inescapable part of you now. But with Satoru here, maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to live in it. Together.

[wannabanauthor]

What if Tommy and Eddie discussed the breakup, and it goes from serious to funny?

So Eddie goes to Tommy's house and is like "I'm here to check on you, let's get a beer."

Tommy tries to refuse, but Eddie says, "You broke my best friend's heart, so the least you could do is explain your reasoning to me."

Tommy reluctantly goes. After a few beers, he starts rambling.

"I fucked up, and I don't know how to fix it or even if I should fix it. I was falling in love with him, and it snuck up on me. I didn't expect for it to get more serious," Tommy says. "I thought it was just going to be fun for awhile, and we'd go our separate ways."

"Your second date with him was to his sister's wedding," Eddie points out.

"Oh so sue me! It's not my fault I caved. He gave me these pleading puppy eyes, and I found myself agreeing."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Well, if you never expected it to get serious and didn't want it to get serious, then why haven't you found your rebound yet? It's been weeks. Even Chimney and Maddie are telling Buck to start dating again."

Tommy groans into his hands and then rubs his temples. "Fucking traitors."

"Well, I know this hot priest-"

"Been there, done that," Tommy says and takes a swig of his beer.

Eddie looks at him with a bewildered look on his face. "What?"

"What?" Tommy responds with a shrug. "I was raised Catholic. Guilt about sexuality is easy to spot, but he made the first move."

"Do I even want to know how?"

"Ever had sex in a confession booth?"

Eddie's eyes are wide and horrified. "Please don't tell me-"

"It was an old booth in storage, but it was still pretty hot. Once I admitted to myself that I was gay, I had a lot of catching up to do."

Then Tommy goes quiet and gets sad again. "I'll never meet another Evan in my life. I think he's ruined me for other men."

"Don't say that. While, I prefer you two together, you can always find someone else."

Tommy snorts in disbelief. "Yeah, not gonna happen. At least when it comes to sex. His adorable face and cheery smile haunt my dreams, and his proficiency with dick makes it impossible for me to get it up even when watching porn."

"Oh no, I need more alcohol for this," Eddie says and orders some shots.

He and Tommy go through a couple of them.

Tommy's tongue gets looser. "His dick is fantastic. Perfect length, thickness, and stamina. I know my body pretty well, and let me tell you, the prostate orgasms from him were out of this world. I barely lasted five minutes before coming just from him fucking me."

Eddie is drunk enough that he's not even fazed.

"Not to mention he has this slight curve that makes him hit the spot every time, and goddamn, I miss that dick and the dork attached to it," Tommy continues. "He made me feel comfortable and safe and cherished. Being around him was effortless, mostly, and I miss him so much."

Tommy starts sniffling, and then tears roll down his cheeks. "Fuck, I don't want to cry."

Eddie puts a comforting hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Call him. He's a mess and miserable without you. He's been baking so much that the entire station's hemoglobin A1C levels are pre-diabetic. We had to force him to focus on savory cooking."

Tommy shakes his head. "He doesn't want to hear from me. I broke his heart. I'm the last person that should be contacting him."

"He does want to hear from you. He's only been baking and cooking so much to stop himself from contacting you because he wants to give you space and respect your boundaries post-breakup."

"What would I even say? That I panicked and ran? I told him he would break my heart if we moved in together. There's no coming back from that."

Eddie sighs and sets his drink down. "Listen, the first time you ended things with Buck, I told him he was an idiot but to call you anyway. Now it's your turn to be the idiot. Go get your man back. Call him. Talk to him. He'd settle for a text. Just do something! You both are suffering without each other. You don't have to move in with him. He just wants you back in his life."

More tears run down Tommy's face and it turns into full sobs. Eddie scoots closer to him and gives him a hug. Tommy clings to him, sobbing even harder.

After drinks, they stop by a taco place and sober up while eating delicious birria tacos. They go back to Tommy's place, and Eddie sleeps on the couch just to make sure Tommy is alright. Before he falls asleep, he texts Buck.

"If Tommy contacts you, go easy on him. He's an idiot too."

When Tommy wakes up the next morning, he nearly stops breathing when he sees that Evan texted him.

"I miss you." was all it said.

Tommy cradles his phone in his hands for several minutes before pressing the call button. He holds his breath until Evan answers.

"I miss you too," Tommy says.

[makeyoumine69]

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!💞

[milfsloverblog]

Hello author ! I have a request for Larrisa. Reader is a prostitute and Larissa goes to her to forget Morticia. May I ask for shifted cock ? Thank you keep up the good work 🥳

Unraveled Illusions (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x prostitute!reader

A/N: Slowly going through my request list. I loved this idea, wrote this tonight instead of preparing my lessons for next week (work can wait). I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request!!

tw: shapeshifted cock

You thought when your latest client picked you, it was for your body. After all, that's what most people are paying for. They weren’t looking for conversation or connection—just the fantasy of intimacy.

Over the years, you’d learned to read them: the ones who worshipped breasts, ass, legs, as well as many other common—and uncommon—things. Larissa seemed like a hair woman, judging by the way her fingers twisted through your locks, keeping you bent over the bed.

She hadn’t touched you beyond that, though. One hand was locked around your hair, the other... Well, she was stroking herself, seemingly content to maintain the distance between your bodies. It was unusual. Clients usually tried to consume you, to use you until there was nothing left. But Larissa, this woman with her piercing gaze and sharp cheekbones, seemed more like a collector.

You could hear her laboured breathing behind you. But it wasn’t pleasure—at least not entirely. There was something raw in it. Frustration, maybe. Longing.

You turned your head, curious to catch her expression, but her grip tightened, and she guided your face back toward the headboard.

"Stay."

Her voice was low, almost commanding, but there was something fragile underneath it. Something you’d seen before in others: a woman who wasn’t really here with you.

It always came down to projection, didn’t it? You weren’t yourself in these moments—you were the canvas they painted on. Larissa, too, was searching for someone else.

"What's her name?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Larissa's movements faltered.

“Don’t talk.”

You didn’t listen.

“Her name,” you repeated, turning your face enough to glimpse her. "The one you’re thinking of."

She scoffed, shaking her head, but didn’t deny it.

“Not everything has to be spelt out,” she muttered, but the way her shoulders stiffened told you everything you needed to know.

This woman—this ghost—haunted her.

“You know you’ll feel better if you say it,” you pushed gently, straightening enough to sit back on your knees. Larissa stilled, her hand falling away.

She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose. For a long moment, she didn’t speak, and you weren’t sure if she was trying to gather herself or find an escape. Finally, she muttered one word.

“Morticia.”

Her lips barely moved when she said it, like she was afraid of summoning something painful.

"Good." You let the name sit between you, an offering of sorts. “Now, was that so hard?”

Her icy blue eyes snapped to yours, narrowing.

“Do you always try to psychoanalyze your clients?”

“Only when they make it this easy.” You smiled, softening the edges of the dig.

For the first time since she’d walked into the room, Larissa smiled back. It wasn’t warm—not yet—but there was something wry in it, something almost playful.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“A little.”

She exhaled a short laugh, running a hand through her hair. The updo she’d tried to keep intact earlier was half undone now, strands curling rebelliously around her face. You thought she looked beautiful like this—dishevelled and human.

You didn’t often allow yourself to feel for clients. It was dangerous, after all. But something about Larissa's loneliness, the way it clung to her like a second skin, called to you.

“You miss her,” you said softly, not a question.

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t deny it.

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

“No.” The word was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. But the way her fingers trembled slightly as she worked to rebutton her blouse betrayed her.

She stood abruptly, reaching down for her pants that she quickly put back on.

“I should go,” she muttered.

“Larissa,” you said, her name falling from your lips without thought.

She froze, her hand on the door handle. Slowly, she turned, her eyes searching yours.

"Say that again," she murmured.

“Larissa.”

There was a flicker of something in her gaze, something raw and unguarded.

“You almost sound like her,” she said softly. Her voice wavered, but her expression was steel.

You crossed the room, closing the space between you, emboldened by her hesitation. When you reached her, you lifted a hand, letting your fingers hover near her temple. “Do you want me to be her?”

She swallowed hard. “You can’t.”

“No,” you agreed. “I can’t. Because in what world would she ever want to be with someone like you?”

The words were cruel, but you’d seen what women like her responded to. Pain. It was familiar to them. Comforting, even. You held your breath, waiting for her reaction.

Her eyes flared, something igniting in their depths.

She stepped forward, her presence filling the air between you, heavy and electric. It took everything you had not to retreat—not to give her the satisfaction of seeing you falter. She was close now, too close, her icy blue eyes locking onto yours, turbulent and searching. They flickered like a storm barely held in check, and you wondered if she was about to lash out or leave altogether.

Your heart raced, an unpredictable rhythm, and you weren’t sure if it was fear or desire that caused it. Maybe both. Then, before you could steel yourself, she closed the distance.

Her lips crashed against yours, a punishing press of mouth on mouth. It was rough and demanding, all sharp edges and no finesse, but you met her fervour head-on, refusing to let her dominate entirely. You pushed back, kissing her with just as much bite as she gave.

It was the right move. A low growl escaped her throat as her hands found your hips, gripping tightly. She pulled you against her, guiding you down onto the bed without breaking the kiss. The mattress dipped beneath your combined weight as she covered you, her lips relentless.

The kiss was messy, a heady mix of clashing teeth and lingering wine. Her perfume lingered faintly on her skin, a floral note beneath the heat of the moment. It was intoxicating, but not enough to distract you.

Your hands worked quickly, curling around the collar of her blouse and tugging her closer. The buttons she had so meticulously fastened earlier came undone with ease under your fingers, and when you finally managed to peel the fabric off her shoulders, she hovered above you, breathless and dishevelled.

“You’re an idiot,” she growled, and you knew she wasn’t talking to you but rather herself.

“You’re a cunt,” you shot back, breathless but smiling.

She pulled back just far enough to smirk, the expression sharp and self-assured. “You are what you eat,” she quipped before diving back in.

A laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected but genuine. The sound didn’t seem to bother her; if anything, it spurred her on. She buried her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to anchor herself.

Her weight pressed down on you, solid and comforting in its intensity. Your hands roamed to her biceps, gripping them, feeling the tension in her muscles as they shifted and flexed beneath your touch. She moved with purpose, her hands sliding over your body, down to your hips, then lower still.

Your legs moved instinctively, wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. The fabric of her pants rubbed against your skin, and when her hardened length brushed against your core through the layers, you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you.

She hummed softly, rolling her hips against yours.

"Larissa, please," you begged, the words tumbling out more earnestly than you'd intended.

Her movement stilled. Rising to her feet, she left you sprawled on the bed as you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as she reached for the zipper of her pants. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she slid them and her panties down in one fluid motion. Your eyes stayed locked on her face, unblinking, even as she stepped out of the fabric and crawled back toward you, her movements deliberate.

Your arms stretched toward her as she closed the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, you reached into your discarded purse beside you, your fingers quickly finding a condom and tearing it open with practised ease.

The other hand drifted down her body, brushing over the curve of her breasts, the smooth line of her navel, and lower. When you felt the soft hair below her belly button, your fingers ventured further, wrapping around her cock, heavy and hot in your palm.

The first experimental tug earned you a soft groan. The second, a deeper growl. By the third, her forehead came to rest against yours, her breathing laboured as you carefully rolled the condom over her length. Satisfied, you lifted your eyes to hers, offering a small nod of readiness.

She crushed her lips to yours in a fierce kiss, pushing you back onto the bed. The kiss was rough, more teeth than softness, and you moaned against her mouth, your breath hitching when her fingers finally found you. They slipped through your folds with practised precision, circling your clit with just the right pressure to make you gasp. Her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, her control maddeningly exact.

Sweat slicked your skin as your breaths mingled, and more than once, she brought you right to the edge of release only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink. By the third time, you shot her an exasperated glare.

“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry in the slightest,” she said, her grin equal parts smug and infuriating.

Your response caught in your throat when she finally positioned herself at your entrance. With a deliberate push of her hips, she filled you, the stretch overwhelming in the best way. You whimpered, unable—or unwilling—to hold back the sound.

"Larissa," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

She buried her face against your neck, her breath hot against your skin as she groaned. It almost sounded like a name—Morticia, perhaps—but before you could linger on the thought, she thrust again, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you cry out.

Your arms wrapped around her shoulders as her pace quickened, each movement precise and powerful. Her hands roamed your body, squeezing, gripping, and claiming. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe she wanted you—not whoever haunted her mind. But you quickly dismissed the thought. This was just a transaction, nothing more.

Her pace grew erratic, her body trembling as she neared her climax. To your surprise, you felt your own release building, an unfamiliar sensation creeping over you. You rarely let yourself enjoy these moments with clients, but something about Larissa’s focus, the weight of her presence, unravelled you.

The wave of pleasure hit suddenly, your cry sharp and unrestrained. At almost the same moment, Larissa thrust deep one final time, her body going taut as she groaned through her release. The condom dulled the sensation, but you swore you could still feel the faint pulse of her inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths. Then, with a grunt, she pulled away, disposing of the condom in the bin before beginning to redress in silence.

“Dinner?” she asked casually, buttoning her blouse without looking at you.

You laughed, reaching back to zip up your dress. “I don’t have dinner with clients.”

Sliding onto a nearby stool, you bent down to clasp your heels.

“Even if they pay you?” she asked from the doorway, her tone light but curious.

Looking up, you caught her gaze, noticing the brief flick of her eyes to your cleavage before they returned to your face. A smirk tugged at your lips, mirrored instantly by hers.

“Good night, Larissa,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

She chuckled, a low sound that lingered even as she turned to leave.

“Good night.”

————————————————————————

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[marksbear2]

AARON HOTCHNER X VICTIM MALE READER

My man, and I’m redoing and re posting some of my old fics since I don’t like how I wrote them.

⚠️THE UNSUB IS THE READERS EX.⚠️

He didn’t want to believe it was you. His world had came to a stop once he saw you were all bloody and injured on the floor inside the unsubs basement. His heart ached with anger and sorrow even guilt filled his heart.

His stomach felt sick and low as he stared at your ex then you. You were on the floor in your old blood. Aaron felt paralyzed like he couldn’t even breathe.

He felt like he should have known the unsub was targeting you. The unsub was your ex. 

They were targeting people who looked something like you. He knew how possessive and desperate he was for you. You told him and showed him pictures of them. One of the pictures you showed him was your ex’s body and face all tattooed everywhere and the tattoos were “Y/n L/n” all over his body. 

He watch paramedics pick up your limp body taking it into the ambulance. Hotch didn’t know whether to scream and shout or beat himself up for your kidnapping. Aaron stares at the unsub who’s on the floor handcuffed staring up at Aaron with hatred in his eyes. 

“So…You're my replacement. Y/n could have gotten someone better like me…” the unsub breathes out with a chuckle. 

Aaron balled his hands into fist with his knuckles turning white. Aaron stares down at the man feeling the rest of the team's eyes burning into his back. 

Aaron's jaw was clenched as the rest of his body felt like he was about to go animalistic on the guy. He didn't care if he lost his job or something he couldn't think about anything other than fighting him. 

"Agent Hotchner, we have to go. Cmon boys get em up." An agent finally says breaking the silence. Quickly the team begins to comfort the boss with all sorts of words.  

HEADCANONS!

— After that incident Hotch never left you out of his sight for a LONG time. He’d be at your sides at all times never leaving you alone for the smallest thing.

— He began to call sick for work and go on break to spend time with you and just overall wanting to make sure you're safe.

— Begins to carry you everywhere. He doesn’t want your wounds and injuries to hurt or re-open. He tries not to make it obvious that he’s treating you like glass.

— He knows you can take care of yourself, but he couldn’t shake the thought of him having to protect you. 

— Once he gets to see you in the hospital he begins to apologize profusely. He was on his knees by your hospital bed holding your hands tightly as he cried out a series of “I’m sorry.”

— He’ll cradle you in his arms if you have a nightmare since the incident letting you cry softly into his chest as he whispers against your head. “You're safe, I'm here.” 

— Jack will asks about your scars and if you’d let him he’ll trance your scars with his tiny little hands.

— He'll wait weeks, months, years even for you to be comfortable with him touching you in some places.

—The memory of you lying limp on your own blood haunts him every night. It will make him bolt up awake mumbling your name under his breath making sure you're still with him. 

—He probably pushes away the team and keeps to himself as he tries to cope until he can't hold it inside no more.

—Hugs are even tighter and longer between you two. 

-Lasting long kisses assuring the other that they're safe. 

—Aaron and you are trying to build back the foundation of being a happy family for both of you and especially for Jack.

—Aaron tries his damn hardest not to just shoot the unsub dead on the spot as soon as he sees the unsub hurting you.

— The team setting up you, Aaron and Jack to a secret vacation so y'all can finally feel at peace. 

— Aaron becomes more secretive of you and Jack, only speaking up about the two of you unless it's the team or absolutely necessary. He wants to keep you both safe.

—He becomes such a protective husband. Like he couldn't stop himself.

[yuukiiqwq]

An Eternity Without You: Gojo Satoru x Reader

What are the words you would use to describe a God? Beautiful, powerful, strong? The answer is lonely. To be burdened with everyone's dreams and wishes. To be the strongest without anyone to lean on.

Tags/Warnings: God!Gojo, Human!Reader, Angst, Hurt/little comfort, Death (non-detailed), Short One-Shot ˚✧˚. 1.2k words˚✧˚.

Author's note: This is my first time ever writing a fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it! The idea was there, but my execution could have been so much better– I'll do my best to get better at writing! 🩵 (≧ヘ≦　)

Never make promises you can't keep. Especially with a God because if you break it....

"Aren't you lonely?" Was the first thing you ever said to him.

He remembers it like it was yesterday. You, a human, worried about a God? Who did you think you were to worried about a God? He should have cut you down where you stood but instead he decided to indulge you.

"Lonely?" He tilts his head slightly to the side. "What makes you think I'm lonely?"

You look him straight in the eye and answered, "Because you are a God."

He stares at you in silence, confused on what you meant.

"Because you are the strongest," you continued. "You are the strongest...so everyone burdens you with their hopes and dream. You have no one to turn to because you are the strongest. You're always alone with no one by your side, so aren't you lonely?"

He shut down your response by saying– "I am the strongest so it's my duty. I think this conversation is done. Now tell me your wish."

You replied with only a smile on your face.

He didn't deny what you said.

"You know, I've never seen you smile before Satoru. I want to see you smile."

You and him are sitting next to each other, laying against a tree in a flower field. He stares at you like you said something crazy.

"Is that your wish?"

"I told you I'm not going to wish for anything." You reach your hand up to his fluffy white hair and played with it. "I just want to spend time with you and see you happy. I did promise to make you happy didn't I?"

"Ridiculous," he scoffed but didn't stop you from playing with his hair. Instead, he leans into your touch. "You are the strangest human I've ever met."

You only laughed at his comment.

"I promise to stay with you and make you happy," was your promise to him. So why did you break it?

You in his arms, your life slowly fading away. Too soon. Way too soon. Why? Accused of a crime you've never committed. Cursed out by your own kind. Blinded by greed and envy.

"They're always with the God! They're trying to keep all the benefits!"

"They're hogging the God's favor all to themselves!"

"They're trying to seduce the God! They're the devil!"

"We need to get rid of them!"

"Kill them! The God will favor us if they're gone!"

"I will kill them all. Every last one of them."

"Satoru... please don't hurt them," you say as your bring your bloody hand to caress his cheek.

"Why?" He looks at you with a pained expression. "They've hurt you. You're dying. If that's your wish, I refuse. I refuse to grant it."

You tried to laugh but only ended up coughing out blood.

"I don't want you to be cursed out. I don't want you to spend eternity being cursed because of someone like me."

"I don't care. I don't care about them."

"Satoru," You smiled at him. "Do it for me? Promise you won't hurt them please?"

The last smile he will ever see from you. Something that will haunt him for all of eternity.

He stares at you because even at your dying breath, you were selfish. He could just ignore you. Pretend you didn't ask him to leave those humans alone. But he couldn’t because it was you. So he promised. He promised not to hurt them.

"It seems like I will be burdening you with a wish even after saying I won't make a wish. Grant me this wish Satoru. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to find happiness. Be happy."

You started to feel tired. Really tired. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep.

"I'm sorry," you said before your eyes closed. Your hand falls down onto the floor and he is left there with you in his arms.

"Selfish until the very end," he brings your cold body into his embrace. "Didn't you promise me to stay by my side?"

Even a God like him, the strongest, was unable to bring you back to life.

"We wish for peace."

"Please bless us with a healthy child."

"I hope he can be cured."

"I hope to be loved."

"Bless my family with prosperity."

"I wish she becomes mine."

"I hope that place burns down in flames."

"I wish she dies."

"I hope they suffer in agony."

"I want him to need me."

"I wish to be rich."

"I want to be happy."

Eons have passed since then. All he does now is listen to the wishes made from humans. Hidden away from their view. He doesn't curse them, after all, he made a promise. However, he doesn't bless them either. After all, how can he grant their wishes when yours was still on the table unfulfilled?

"Grant me this wish Satoru. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to find happiness. Be happy."

What exactly is happiness? He's back to being alone. But why does it feel so different now? It's dark. It's cold. It's....lonely? Oh. Lonely. He finally acknowledged it. He's lonely.

So... lonely.

"What have you done to me?"

"Please God. Please give him back to me!! I can't continue life without him. Bring him back!"

Can't live without him? What does she mean? Humans can live on their own.

"I wished we could have been together. But we are too different. I don't want to give up on her.. but we are not in the same position."

Same position? Do humans have to be the same to be together?

"I wish someone could love me so I can be happy."

What is love? Why do you need love to be happy?

"I got great misfortune! I might die tomorrow or something!!"

"Don't say that love. Saying that is a bad omen. If anything happens, I will stay by your side. After all, I can't imagine my life without you anymore. I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy as long as you're here with me dummy!"

It's as he came to a sudden realization of what happiness meant. After eons, he finally came to understand what happiness meant for him.

"...oh. I get it now. Happiness..." A single tear dropped down his face. "Happiness...there is simply no such thing as happiness in a world without you."

"Please return to my side."

He waited more eons without you by his side. He waited for your soul. For the chance that you may get reincarnated and return to him once again. Was it a foolish thing to do? Yes. Because there was a chance you may never reincarnate but he held onto that hope. The hope that you'll return and keep your promise so he can fulfill your wish.

Despite being the strongest, neither God nor Humans could live by themselves.

"So hurry up and return to me."

And you did. Here you are, standing in front of him. The same as ever. As if eons have never passed. You remained the same.

"Why are you crying?"

"I finally found you."

Because if you break it, the God will be sad too.

[soldearestsoulmate]

⚠️ Spoilers for the bad end. ⚠️

A little thing, inspired by the bad end of the game.

This is just one idea of a few of what could of happened after that event.

How much time has passed since that dreadful day?

Sol lost count as he felt himself rot in the room he was locked in, courtesy of his friend...and protector...Hyugo.

Too many times Hyugo came over to check on Sol, but every time it was the same.

Cursing.

Yelling.

Attempts to lunge at him and attack...kill...him.

But that last one was always pointless, since Sol was chained up. They say for Hyugo's and others protection, but more for himself.

"Let me go, Hyugo. I promise I won't do or say anything." Sol muttered out, as he sat on the ground, than rather sit on the bed he was given to sleep and rest on.

"...I wish I could believe that, Sunny...I do. But I know after what happened. How you reacted...It's too risky to let you go now...for now. But we'll let you go, after enough treatment." Hyugo forced a smile, but it never reached his eyes. Which Sol didn't have to even look up to see...Just hearing him was enough.

"I'll never take your damn pills." Sol clenched his fist. The idea of being drugged, kept in control for their benefit, it pissed him off. "You'd have to force me to take them if you really want me to now."

"...Really? Like how you would of forced Y/n to love you?" Sol's eyes widened at the sound of their name from them.

All reminder he was chained up was gone as he once again tried to go after Hyugo like some beast. Though like the many times before, his attempts to break free and finally get his hands on him, failed. "NEVER SAY THEIR NAME AGAIN! YOU LOST ALL RIGHTS TO DO THAT!"

"And you think you have all rights to say their name instead? Sunny...You lost it. Killed someone over them, because you were too delusional over the idea they were yours and were getting taken away from you. When in reality you just--"

"SHUT UP! FUCKING SHUT UP AND GO DIE! God...It should of been you...IT SHOULD OF BEEN YOU WHO WAS KILLED IN THAT SHED WITH THAT PEST! NOT THEM!"

Hyugo would be lying if he said those words didn't hurt a bit to hear, but he tried to keep his expression emotionless. Though couldn't keep it up anymore as he finally turned away to leave the room.

"Not them...It shouldn't have been them..." Sol kept speaking as he felt his body grow weak over the memory of losing his soulmate, his pumpkin, his one true love...The sight of their face as they were stabbed, the sight of them bleeding out, slowly suffering and dying within his arms...The way the warmth of their skin, their body, was quickly fading from him. Until finally...They were gone...It haunted him, and played often on repeated in his head like some fucked up movie you couldn't shut off. "Y/n..."

Sol couldn't take it anymore as he let his tears fall, he lost count of how many times he cried over them. Begged to wake up from this nightmare to see them alive and well again. To be able to hold them in his arms again and be told it's all alright now, that it's all over now.

But this will be a nightmare he'll never wake up from now...

Before Hyugo reached over to open the door, to leave his friend alone once again. He paused, but didn't have the strength to turn his head around to look at Sol. "...I don't know how many times I have to say this until you believe it, Sunny...And you know I did it for you...for us...But..." He paused, taking a small breath, as he tried to keep himself strong. "I am truly sorry for what I done...even though...it was the right thing to do..."

"Go to hell, Hyugo." Sol's words game out like venom, as he glared at him one last time for today.

Hyugo couldn't help but weakly laugh a little at that. "...Already am there, Sunny...You know that...We both know that..."

[thisismeracing]

Haunted | LH44

― Pairing: Ghost!Lewis x fem!reader ― Word count: 3.8k ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and graphic description of sex (fingering and dirty talk); mentions of cheating; description of horror situations and stabbing (but not too graphic). ― Summary: Lost in the years, lost in the days, Lewis Hamilton haunts the house that once was his. The house where he was killed. And the house that now has new inhabitants. He was used to blowing candles, breaking chinas, and it being enough for the curious newbies to leave. However, it was the first time he met someone who wouldn’t act terrified by his presence. Yn was curious, and that curiosity had a price. Lewis was the one who would collect the debt.

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It was a cursed house.

The tale was that a rich man used to live there. He was beautiful. So beautiful the whole town knew who he was. He was also warm and compassionate, he would help old ladies with bags, walk the neighbor’s dog, share his famous coffee whenever he had the time, and help the young boys with driving classes. But his beauty was also his curse because someone’s wife fell in love with him, and as the saying goes, there are two things you cannot hide properly: a cough and a burning love. It wasn’t even a week after the man noticed how his lady would eye the town’s treasure. It was possible the young gentleman didn’t know about this infatuation, but the woman’s husband knew and it was enough for him to stab the man to death in the most brutal way. Rumor had it he tried to get up and walk, but he could only make it to the door of his room, his body collapsing and succumbing to death minutes after agonizing with his own blood. The houses were far one from the other, but his screams were so loud some of the neighbors heard them even after he passed away, haunted by his pleas they moved.

The house went for sale, and someone even bought it a year after the crime, but they did not last for a week, the ghost of the dead man haunted the place day and night moving things, opening and closing doors, as if inviting whoever was there to leave, and when his requests were not obeyed, he would riot. In the night, his screams would get louder, he would grab their feet, play with the TV’s remote, boil water, and let the windows open.

They say he’s an angry ghost, a miserable one because he never got to experience true love. He was killed before he could, and so he closed himself on the house he took so much care while in life. His garden was the most beautiful one. Full of dark roses, and big trees, but once he died so did the flowers. It was like everything rotted.

Yn sighed thinking about the story an old lady told her when she went to get groceries. The woman went as far as advising her to leave the house, the money be damned. But of course, Yn wouldn’t do it. The house cost money for her and her husband, Eric. And besides, she had always been curious about ghost stories. Never truly believed how dangerous it could get.

“And she told me some people still hear his screams when passing by the house,” Yn repeated the tale to Eric while they shared take-out on the living room floor. The fire was lit casting a warm glow around then, but she felt a brief shiver pass through her body as soon as she finished speaking.

The ginger laughed, “Did she tell you when it happened?”

“A long time ago, she didn’t- she didn’t mention the year,” Yn explained. “Why? Don’t you believe it?”

He shook his head, “Nah, you know I’m extremely skeptical about those fairy things.”

“Not fairies, Eric, but ghosts,” she tried.

He shrugged, “I think when we die, we die, period. There’s no second or third dimension, much less one in between to get stuck on.”

Yn nodded, knowing it wouldn’t be a productive conversation. Her husband was usually set on his beliefs, never straying away from them, and sometimes this would cost a peaceful night whenever they couldn’t agree on something. He would have a hard time comprehending her point of view.

“So what, you wanna move now? You’re afraid a bloody man is gonna show up and imprison you here?” Eric joshed.

Yn rolled her eyes tired of how pushy he could get. She loved him, but sometimes it was hell to deal with his mannerisms. When they were younger she thought it would change with time. Turns out it didn’t.

“It’s your turn to clean up, I’m heading to bed,” and pecking his lips she climbed the stairs leading to the long and dark corridor of the rooms. Yn stopped right at the door, watching the threshold and imagining how, even if years ago, someone died there. Right in between. Reaching for the outside. Screaming for help.

She sighed, starting her night routine. It was only their second week at the house, and she was used to how the bathroom lights would flash, or the water would lessen. Except, now she knew about the guy that died there, and everything that happened reminded her of him.

It’s curious how your mindset changes once you’re presented with a different explanation. Once you believe it to be true. And she believed so much to the point of googling it while lying in bed. Eric hadn’t been back just yet, and Yn was scrolling through the results which weren’t that many. It was a small town. Apparently a simple crime. It was probably life-altering and shocking for those who lived there at the time and knew both parties, but if she were a journalist that wouldn’t be the most exciting case to cover.

Yn heard the footsteps on the corridor, but she was so engrossed in the page that she finally found out about the murder of a young man, and just when she was about to reach his name the door opened. She bit her lips, trying to find which line she was reading, “Eric?” Yn asked, and the same door that opened all the way seconds ago closed abruptly making her jump.

The light on the nightstand flashed, and Yn tried to be rational. She told herself it was probably Eric trying to prank her. Or the wind, even though the windows were closed. Who knew? The house had a good ventilating system.

She called for her husband again, and she heard more footsteps, but he didn’t answer back. She huffed stressed, blocking her phone and turning on the bed to try and get some sleep. She had tons of cleaning to do the next day, the house was huge and some of her things were still packed in cardboxes.

Later, when Eric finally got to the bedroom, he walked by the bed squeezing her foot, a habit he had whenever he passed close enough to touch, and seconds before, when he crawled into bed Yn was too drowsy to complain about his stupid pranks. She just curled her body on his and dozed off.

She was humming to a tune she couldn’t quite grasp yet while folding her clothes on her bed when she heard the steps. She tried turning to look, but it all happened too fast. In the blink of an eye, she felt the sting on her back, so close to her neck it felt almost like when sunlight hit that particular spot. She held back a groan but screamed the second that same sting hit full force, this time on the left side of her shoulders. When Yn turned, feeling the tickles of hot blood run down her back, she saw a man with so much rage in his eyes that it was like he was hitting her over and over again on the same spot. But in reality, his hands went up holding a bloody knife, and he stabbed her in a series of different places. She screamed, cried, and asked between coughs why her, why he was doing it, why a knife, why so many hits, why why why? And when no answer came from his mouth except grunts she knew there was nothing to do but to run for her life. She stumbled in the direction of the bedroom door, feeling yet another series of stings on her back. She tried to run, but her own blood betrayed her and she slipped on it. The feeling of the hot liquid against her hands and cheeks made her scream harder for help. But no one came, and the stab continued. She tried crawling. Tried praying. Tried begging for her life or at least to stop and let her die in pieces, but it went on until darkness surrounded her. She weakly turned her arm in the direction of her killer, digging her nails into the skin of his forearm and dragging as if telling him something. And when darkness surrounded her she kept screaming and twisting her body.

“Yn, wake up! It’s me! Wake up, dammit!” Erik tried while Yn relentlessly twisted on the bed. “Wake up, Yn,” he tried louder and she jumped out of bed taking part of the covers with her and almost falling to the ground.

“Omg, omg,” she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, looking around her room and noticing there were no clothes to be folded or blood spots on the ground. Only her scared husband staring at her from his spot on the bed.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know,” she holds the covers closer to her body, trying to make herself smaller. “I had a nightmare, but it was so real, so real I-”

Erik sighed, “You shouldn’t have entertained that crazy lady at the supermarket, now you’re convinced and thinking there’s a ghost in the house, as if there are ghosts at all!”

Yn shook her head, but kept her mouth shut, standing glued on her spot and assessing the whole room all over again. It was this room. This exact same room was the one she was standing in in her nightmare, and possibly the room where the guy was killed. Her phone lit up on the nightstand, there were no new notifications, and when she unlocked it her browser was still open on the article about the case. She locked it again and took a step back.

“What was it now, babe?” Erik was clearly frustrated, he hated being woken up especially in the middle of the night, and especially in a scary situation like the one he just watched happen.

“Nothing, I- uhm- I should try sleeping again,” she stated, getting under the covers and lying beside him, when her back hit the mattress she swore she felt a small sting, but she kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes, trying to sleep it off.

When the morning came and the sun peeked through the blinds, Yn descended the stairs to the kitchen, stopping at the door and staring at the mess her husband, who was supposed to clean the dishes and discard the takeout containers, left.

Sighing, started the coffee machine, and a few minutes later Eric showed up in the kitchen, rubbing the sleep of his eyes.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, good morning, you probably had a blast last night watching TV instead of cleaning the kitchen,” she spat, and he arched his brows.

“I did clean the kitchen!”

“Then who messed it up? A ghost?!” she bit back, pointing to the takeout containers on the counter and the dirty dishes pilling on the sink.

Eric rubbed his temple, before walking to the coffee machine. He hated coffee, and the second he poured a cup Yn knew he was stressed, “I cleaned everything, I remember doing it before also cleaning the living room, that’s why I got to the bedroom so long after you.”

Yn saw a hint of truth behind his statement, but shook her head, starting to discard the cans and plastic wrappers in the trash. She watched from her peripheral vision her husband grab an apple and drown his coffee in one go before leaving the room.

Protected from the cold air by a thin robe, Yn ate breakfast peacefully watching the destroyed backyard of her new house. She could see the spots where plants once were, now involved by tall weeds and dark unkept grass. A three with a swing attached to it was hanging on by a thread.

She took notes of things she wanted to renovate and what she wanted to plant where, before getting inside to a virtual work meeting.

The day went on without events. At night she shared dinner with Eric again, and it was her turn to clean the kitchen. She did it alone on the ground floor, Eric in their room doing some readings or whatever. She finished in less than an hour and then went to bed. Her mind and body were tired after not sleeping properly the other night, so when Yn hit the mattress she was out cold faster than you could say “good night”.

His eyes were covered by the shadows, but she could tell he had a thoughtful expression by looking at his eyebrows. He was taller than her, she could tell, and he was broad. Lean and strong arms, chiseled jaw, and pretty dark skin.

Yn tried opening her mouth to ask who he was. What he was doing standing at her bedroom door, but his stare was so intense she couldn’t do anything but look back at him, and as the saying goes once you look something in the face, once you stare too long into the abyss, it looks back. It starts to truly exist.

Her week goes by with lonely days and strange nights. She keeps dreaming about the guy standing on her bedroom door and keeps hearing steps, and hushed voices. Sometimes she’ll live that stabbing nightmare all over again. Some hours, she’ll work on her computer, and though there’s a sense of loneliness, there’s also a sense of company, as if she was being watched.

It would scare anyone in their right mind, but Yn tried to rationalize things. And the things she couldn’t, she just let them be. Sometimes, you have to accept that you’re not supposed to understand everything. Life has its mysteries, and so did her new house.

Things with Eric were going downhill, and they were spending less and less time together. But it wasn’t anything new, and he was busy with work. They were both busy. Yn tried to tell herself. Feeling lonely would explain how her brain threw her into a heated dream.

It was the first time she was able to produce a sound in her dream. It was a simple “a” that passed between her open lips. And so as it happens, it was also the first time the man by the door moved. His eyes never left hers while he walked to the foot of the bed. He wandered as if he knew the place and setting of everything. Like he lived there for centuries. And when he stopped in front of her, his eyes trailed on the covers, moving them to her feet, without moving his body. Yn grunted, surprised with how easily the covers fell, and how her body was exposed to him. The cold air made her nipples harden against the silk nightgown.

When she looked at him again, she saw his eyes for the first time. A deep honey brown, carrying so much and whispering so much on her mind, she had the urge to touch him. But her body would only do so much. Yn watched, as he studied her contours with something she was not able to pin just yet. She watched as his tongue came out of his plush and pink lips to moisten them. And she moaned, she actually moaned when his fingers touched her leg. His skin was cold, his touch so feathery almost like a ghost. He trailed the tip of his short nails on her thighs and with just one look he spread them.

“Yes,” she was able to whisper when his eyes found hers again.

The man smirked devilishly. One of his fingers trailed the path to her unclothed pussy and Yn whined when he spread her sex and caressed her soaked lips. She couldn’t think about anything but his deep brown eyes. Her husband was long forgotten. The house was long forgotten.

“Yes,” she chanted again. It sounded like a prayer. It made the mysterious man’s grin widen. He inserted one finger inside her and dipped his face to her ear. There wasn’t a sound, but she felt a light gush of air against her skin. And she tried to move her hips in the direction of his fingers.

He played with her already puffy clit, and this time the gush of air she felt against her skin was accompanied by a quiet chuckle sound.

Her hips ground against his big hands, and Yn choked when his long fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. She shuddered and her body went limp when her orgasm hit her like a trainwreck, fogging her mind from any coherent thought.

Yn jolted from the bed feeling sweat slide down her forehead and between her breasts. She took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes trying to adjust them to the darkness of her room, her comforter was lying by her feet and the skirt of her nightgown was hiked up on her hips. She furrowed her brows and tentatively moved her fingers to her core, feeling the dampness of her core.

Cum.

She turned to her husband, but Eric was lying beside her, in a deep slumber.

She turned to the doorway and the once-closed door now rested ajar.

Once again Yn tried to rationalize everything. Was it possible to cheat on someone in your dreams? Was it really a dream?

She tried talking with Eric, but he was in so deep with work he wouldn’t be home until dinner almost every day. And when she tried to tell him about the weird noises and the sensation of being watched, he told her “It just feels weird because it's not decorated with your flowers and things yet, we got it mobiliated, not decorated, so maybe that’s why you’re feeling dislocated or whatever, just relax, will ya?”.

Up until starting to get the house in order, Yn would tell herself that every weird thing happening to her was just a product of her imagination. But while going through things in the living room, she found an album. Inside, a bunch of pictures caught her attention. The first few pages portrayed the house in a much better state. The gardens and a beautiful kitchen. A fireplace lit in the living room, and a corridor full of photos. At some point, she found a picture of a man. A stunning man. He had a big white smile while staring at the camera. His hair was ornated with braids, and two small ones shaped his face to perfection.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She flipped the album frantically being met with pictures of the same man side by side with different people. None of them were familiar to her. He was the only known face. By the foot of one picture, it read “Lewis and friends” signed with a date and a scribbled message she didn’t care to read because that man was Lewis.

That man was the one who would stand by her bedroom door every night.

It was the same man that fingered her until she came.

The same man who haunted her.

And precisely, the same man that haunted the whole house since the day he was killed, she confirmed after tipping on her phone, searching for the news about the case again, and finding his blurry picture there. No mention of his name. But a picture of him. And the mention of the neighborhood.

Her stabbing nightmares were his memories.

He was trying to spook her off the house.

But something changed along the way, Yn thought.

The cup of tea she was sipping tipped on the coffee table. She squeaked in surprise, and she would tell herself it was just her mind again if one of her books weren’t thrown across the living room.

And she swore it happened so fast, she couldn’t really process, couldn’t think of what she was doing when she opened her mouth and questioned, “Lewis?” She gulped. “Is that you?” her last sentence was a breathy whisper. So small only a ghost could hear.

And he did.

In fact, he waited forever to hear someone calling him by the name. He waited for the person who would see him and not run, who would stare, just like she did.

They say that calling someone by their name gives them power and gives them life.

Yn had just given Lewis what he needed.

And without even knowing, she had given herself too.

Lost in the years, lost in the days, he had finally found her.

He smiled, and when Yn turned to the corridor she saw him. She saw him for the first time being awake. Truly saw him. Lewis was handsome. Even more in person. But he was a ghost. He had touched and haunted her.

Yn couldn’t help but scream and try to run, but he was faster, appearing in front of her in the blink of an eye with a smirk on his face.

“Please, don’t kill me,” she whimpered and he chuckled.

“I’m not killing you, sweetheart. Quite the opposite, I’m keeping you here with me,” he states before adding, “Forever”.

Her eyes go round, and she shakes her head scaredly. “I-I have a husband, I’m married, I’m-”

Lewis chuckled, “He doesn’t love you, and neither you love him. Would you let me do this to you if you loved him?” he pins her against the wall and her breath hitches. He found her sweet spot and nipped it while tightening his grip on her waist. “I can practically smell your arousal. You’re such a filthy girl. So bad you get turned on by ghosts,” Lewis mocked.

She purses her lips, darting her eyes to the ground and he dips his head to her lips, tracing her jaw and cheeks.

“You’re cold,” Yn states.

“I’m dead, of course I’m cold, honey.”

“What are you going to do with Eric?” There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Lewis bites his lips and shrugs.

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” he widens her legs and fits his lean waist between them. “Now you should be worried about what I’m gonna do with you, or rather, what we’re gonna do together.”

And despite the fear and surprise mixed with confusion, Yn couldn’t help but shamefully feel aroused when he ground against her pussy, trapping her body between his and the wall.

“We’re gonna spend the eternity together,” he grinned.

Yn arched her brows, “But I won’t live forever, I’m a human, I-,” but the dark look in his eyes shut her mouth, all the answers she needed right there.

She would spend eternity with Lewis.

Maybe not as a human.

But she would, and he would make sure of that.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to Dee (@struggling-with-delia) for beta and proofreading this piece!🤍

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[thatfreshi]

"He Can't Have You" (Astarion x Reader)

Seems as though Auntie Ethel doesn't go down without a fight, and that fight involves bringing out the worst in people's minds. (Also we get to see where the nickname Aster came from)

tw - mentions of abuse, panic attack

The Sunny Wetlands, later revealed to be a putrid swamp, have proven particularly difficult for Astarion. The last thing any of you expected was to find a Gur hunting him, especially this far from the city. It made your heart skip a beat, hearing the monster hunter utter his name, and you could feel the tension in the vampire. Thankfully, you did away with him quickly. By now, he's told you plenty about his past, at least as much as he could bear to tell. That haunting feeling though, knowing that Cazador was hunting him, it was paralyzing. As you searched for Mayrina, you and Astarion fell behind the rest of the group.

"Are you alright my love? I could tell them we should just set up camp for the night, rest up for dealing with the hag."

"Nonsense. What would I look like, asking everyone to stop for me? The Gur has been dealt with, let's just leave it at that darling."

"I cannot imagine dealing with the hag will be easy though."

"I'll simply run my blade through her like I do everything else. I'll be fine."

It hasn't been long enough with him to truly know if he's lying, but you certainly have a hunch. On the way back to the hag's house, Gale casts detect magic.

"She's definitely in here. We should be prepared."

Sure, she looked like a sad old woman, but those adventurers told you the truth, how she took their sister. When Karlach leads the charge, opening the door, she tries to look shocked.

"Oh dear! It's quite rude to storm into someone's house like that. Where are your manners?"

Without responding, Karlach throws her axe into the hag's shoulder, breaking the illusion, showing the monster for who she is. Covered in grime, like a witch born straight from the mud.

"It looks like I'll just have to teach you all how to be polite!"

Karlach tries to go for a second hit, but the hag teleports. Gale soon tracks her down, casting a ray of frost. Astarion follows her up the stairs while she tries to counterspell Gale. You and Lae'zel try to attack from a distance, missing because of just how quick she can move from place to place. Wyll has focused on assisting Gale, and Shadowheart is keeping track of all your party members, making sure to be there as soon as one of you takes a hit. In the meantime, she casts guidance on Astarion, who is fighting much more intensely than usual. Perhaps killing the Gur wasn't enough, and the anger was still boiling inside.

"Alright little mosquito, you want to be a thorn in my side? Poor decision."

The hag disappears from sight, and Astarion stops in his tracks. At first you think nothing of it. It almost looks like he's searching the room for where your enemy landed. For him though, the hag has cast a strong illusion, preying on his worst fear: being back in Cazador's grasp. The teahouse has transformed into the kennels, cold stone on bare feet, blood spattered across the walls.

Well, well, well. Seems as though the boy never learns! Perhaps, this time, will set you straight.

He hears the voice of Godey taunting him, threatening to pull him apart again.

"No! No, I left- I left, I was free!"

It's at this moment you realize he's not here, not in the mental sense.

"Focus on the hag, I'll try to snap him out of it."

You order the rest of the group, and they nod without a word, searching the teahouse for where she's gone now. You run up the stairs, finding a trembling pale man who has dropped his daggers.

Deep down, you like bein' leashed, don't ya?

The words bounce around in his head, a vision of Cazador appearing. You try to shake him, to mentally connect him back to his body, but it only plays into the illusion more, your actions becoming Cazador's.

"Astarion! Astarion it's just a spell, it's not real. It's not real my love, please."

Soon enough, your group finds the hag again, disrupting her concentration, releasing her grip on the elf. His breathing is terrifyingly fast, and he takes a moment to come out of the vision, grabbing a dagger from the floor and very quickly brandishing it towards you.

"DON'T."

You're trying desperately not to cry, because you know he doesn't need your shared sadness right now.

"Hey, it's okay. It's just me, Tav."

You lightly touch the hand holding the dagger, and he loosens his grip. Your hands move to take the blade from his grasp, setting his weapons to the side.

"I... I was there. I was back there."

"I know. Seems as though Ethel knows more than she should."

Astarion is still trying to root himself back in reality, you blood still racing in his dead veins.

"I can't go back Tav. Please, I can't go back."

"I know. I won't let you end up back there, ever."

He's still weary of physical touch, so you simply rub across his knuckles, trying to ground him in the moment. Your deepest urge is to wrap yourself around him and never let go, keep him in a protective case where no one can ever hurt him again, but that's not real. Being entirely safe isn't real. But damn, do you wish it was, for his sake.

As you're sitting there with him, the group makes their way back.

"We lost her. Have a feeling she went deeper into a cave somewhere."

You eye Karlach, and the two of you come to a silent understanding as you hold onto Astarion's shakey hands.

"We'll go set up camp where we entered the swamp. Take your time."

And with that, the tiefling takes the rest of your companions out of the teahouse, leaving the two of you alone.

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, cocking your head slightly.

"Why what?"

"Why would you say you won't let me end up there again? Cazador isn't some being you can simply keep me from, he's... different."

"I don't care."

"What do you mean you don't care?"

"I just, don't care. I don't care how powerful he is or whatever abilities he has, he can't have you. He just can't."

You finally do tear up now, not sure how else to explain it to the vampire.

"He most definitely cou-"

"No."

You try to blink the tears away, feeling the little callouses on his palm from over the decades.

"I want you to know what it's like to belong to someone in a pure way, not for personal gain, but just because they need you. And now that I have you... I just need you. I need you Astarion, so he can't have you. I'd die before he could take you from me."

He's silent for a moment. All forms of ownership he's known have been terrifying. Whatever could you mean by belonging to someone in a pure way? How can you belong to someone innocently? Your tadpole senses his concern, connecting without much effort at all.

"I don't need anything from you. I don't need you to do anything for me, I just need you Aster."

He smiles a little.

"Aster?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I had just been thinking about it. If you don't like it-"

"No I- I love it. Aster. Like the flower?"

"Yeah."

Somehow, the teahouse is peaceful in this moment. You feel young all over again, like you've never been in love before, like Astarion is the only being you've ever known. He interrupts your thoughts.

"Thank you, for saying all that. Maybe I wouldn't mind belonging to someone without expectations. It sounds, nice."

His voice cracks on the last word.

"Well, Aster, then you can belong to me as long as you'd like."

You swipe a piece of hair behind his ear, looking for a reason to get close to his face. As if the fates knew it to be true, you lock lips, despite the horrific smell outside and the creaking wood of the floorboards, you're somewhere else. Some place where the asters bloom in peace.

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge: Chapter 6

Chapter warnings: Talk of insomnia, torture, not eating, depression, brief hyperseuxual mention, physical and mental scars, nightmares (please let me know if i missed any or if any need to be added!)

“MIA”

The words bore into his mind, tore a hole in his frontal lobe. He felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper into a black pit, the dark whispers of your voice and the blaring words of black text against a white screen. 

“MIA”

They haunted him, day and night, hour after hour. when he blinked the words were there, when he ate the hologram of them passed in his view. 

Never, in his life had he had to suffer with someone being marked as MIA. he had dealt with deaths, he had survived both others trauma along side his own. He had watched teammates get blown up, shot down, stabbed dozens of times. 

They all recovered or died. 

None of them went missing. 

None of them haunted him like you did. 

Sometimes, he would hear your voice calling to him. He could be filing paperwork, sitting in the mess hall, doing fucking anything. 

And you were there. 

Asking him to double check your mission reports, wondering what he was doing, if he was hungry, wanted to get something to eat. Sometimes, he would swear on his boys life that you were behind him, sneaking up to scare him like you always did. and he would wait, see if you realized he had heard you coming from a mile away, heard you whisper “scare cam” into your phone camera. He waited and waited, till your calming presence turned into a threatening one, till you weren’t holding a camera but a knife, a gun to his head. 

Those were the worst. That and the nightmares. 

He had stopped sleeping since you left, to afraid of the version of you he saw in his dreams. You terrified him, and not in the good way you used too. You would kick and scream at him, say it was his fault for allowing the mission, his fault for not watching you closer, his fault you disappeared. You would scream and beg the Russians to leave you alone, sob that you didn’t know anything, you had no clue what was going on, who they were, that you just wanted to go home. 

You wanted your boys.

And you would scream for their help, call each of their names in turn. That’s what always got him, hearing your blood curdling scream as you were cut into again, burned again, slapped again. And every time he screamed back, every time he tried to move, tried to help you, but he was rooted in place, stuck in this hell forever. 

Yeah. Sleep became a foreign concept. 

The others noticed. Of course they noticed. Each of them had their own way of dealing with your disappearance, but it showed. Simon would have to double wrap his hands at the gym, Kyle stopped eating for weeks at a time. Johnny was just quiet. 

It scared him. Your loss scared him. It scared him how loosing one person was able to break apart his team, the men who made it through thick and thin. And he had seen these same men live without each other, on solo ops or when one of them was hurt. They missed each other, sure. And it hurt like fuck to not have the other fourth there, like a piece was missing. 

But not this. Never this. 

This was new. This was raw, this was foreign. 

This was hell. 

And as far as he knew, no one was lucky enough to crawl out of it alive. 

Exhaustion tugged at your body, dragging you down with every step.

sleep was a foreign concept, something you abandoned back at the Russian base. 

You abandoned a lot at that base. 

You abandoned them. 

You told yourself that they didn’t care, they didn’t give a fuck if you left the team. They wouldn’t care if you never came back, if you just disappeared without a trace. Protocol stated that, with the way you went out, you were to be declared as MIA for seven years before you could be presumed to be dead. It wouldn’t take you seven years to get back to base, but it would take you way longer to get over what happened. 

Much. Much longer.

It was an illusion, honestly. Something all basic magicians could perform, but not with a grenade. It was that or be shot down, although you were beginning to think being shot was the better option. It was certainly easier to deal with a bullet wound than second degree burns. 

Maybe. You had never been shot before, who were you to know? 

Anything had to be better than this. The burns scraped against the material of your suit, sending your body into intense amounts of pain with every step. It felt like someone was pulling you through a cheese grater, constantly, until you were nothing but shredded meat and skin. 

The price you have to pay to live. 

In order for the “trick” to work, you had to throw the grenade right at your feet. Which meant that your soles and legs were the most burnt, whereas your torso and upper body only suffered mild burns. Your hands were done for, completely charred to the point you could hardly flex your fingers anymore. 

The reasoning behind that was your escape. Once you had thrown the grenade down, you used the five seconds it bought you to flip over the drain cover you were standing next too, effectively falling into the sewers and out of bullet range. 

The cover, however, was red hot from the impact. 

You would take it over being a goner. 

Everyone else probably thought you were dead, or had died from the resulting explosion. You didn’t know if enough blood was left for it to be believable, you hoped so at least, that bought you some time. Immediately upon hitting the water you went radio silent, cringing at the disgusting slop that came up to your waist. Being in the water helped a bit, allowed the burns to be surrounded by something that was at least cool. 

Open air did the exact opposite. 

You weren’t sure exactly where you were, some rural town in Russia, that’s for sure. The only reason you could tell that was because of the signs that you saw every so often, each one written on in their harsh language. Of all the things you studied, Russian was among your least favorite, and while you were conversational you couldn’t read it to save your life. 

A fucking shame, really. 

Which left you to the next best thing, pray to some god for a way out of this hell. 

There was a list of things Johnny McTavish hated to do. It wasn’t a very long list, but it was there, in some corner of his mind. 

He hated being forced to stay still, he hated being told to be quiet when he was overexcited. He hated confined spaces, and— in the wrong situations— he hated being tied up. 

But the number one thing on that list, the thing he despised the absolute most was disappointing his boys. Tied, of course, with making them worry. Just the thought was enough to make him spiral, a fact that had been proven dozens of times. 

And a fact that was not helping his case right now. 

Truth be told, he didn’t mean to switch up on them. He understood that they were used to Johnny always being loud and obnoxious, that it was something they had come to love about him, how even in their worst moments he was able to at least make them smile. 

Which was the problem. This was a pretty bad moment, and he couldn’t even make himself smile. 

And he had tried, honestly. Not in front of the others— he couldn’t embarrass himself like that— but alone, he tried doing some of the things he would do on a good day. Drawing, dancing, cleaning his rifles. 

But he just… couldn’t. 

Johnny was no stranger to depressive episodes, he experienced them all the time in his youth. Of course, back then he would have a quick fuck and make himself feel better, or maybe a few rounds from a few different people, but now adays that old trick didn’t work anymore. Usually he would just stay with Simon, talk it through with him. 

But that wasn’t really possible. Not with this problem. 

He hadn’t realized just how much the team was dependent on your being there, how different things were without your presence. You balanced things out perfectly, acted as a moderator for the four of them. 

It was no surprise they fell for you. Anyone would have, after all. 

It kind of reminded him of some Shakespeare play, or like a hallmark movie. They found you, fell in love, never said anything, and they lost you. 

In any other situation that thought would have made him chuckle. 

Now it just makes him even sadder. 

He wants to help, he wants to do something. He wishes he could make the nightmares Price has go away, he wishes he could make Simon understand that no amount of training could prepare him for the situation you had found yourself in. He wished he could make Gaz eat something, anything, with the thought that you wouldn’t want him to starve, you wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves in the way the four of them were doing.

That didn’t stop them from doing it, of course, but he still wished.

Salvation came in the form of a video. 

Gaz had called a mandatory meeting, claiming it was something of the utmost importance. They all met in Prices office, cramping into the small space. 

Soap and Ghost took a seat on the couch, leaning into each other slightly. Price stayed at his desk, mounds of paperwork shoved to the side for Gaz to sit, perched as if he would have to make a run for something at any given moment. 

They stayed quiet for a while, all of them just drinking in the atmosphere. 

This wasn’t unusual, being called into the office like this. Usually it was by Price, who wanted to either scold them for their behavior or inform them of a mission. The only difference was your absence, your spot on the doorway glaringly empty. It felt like a black hole, sucking them deeper and deeper into their depression. The tense silence of the room didn’t help at all, and it was making each of them antsy. 

“Right.” Gaz said simply. “Gonna keep this brief, then.”

He removed a computer— which the others hadn’t noticed was there— from his lap and placed it on the desk for everyone to see. A video was pulled up, paused on a black screen. 

“Not before her junior year, but it’s bloody close.” Gaz mumbled, clicking start on the video. 

After a few seconds of silence, your face came up on the screen, sitting next to a girl they don’t recognize. She begins talking first, introducing herself as Amy. Your voice fills the room next, proudly saying your name and grade, the very beginning of your junior year. You opened your mouth to keep going, before Amy turned to you and laughed. 

“Fuck wait I forgot my grade.” You stared at her for a while, and then rolled your eyes, cutting the footage. The video resumed in much of the same fashion, and they realized what this was. 

A blooper reel, for something you had tried auditioning for. 

As the video continued, it slowly became more clear what the audition was— a performance at your school. You and your friend kept goofing off during the recording, resulting in multiple takes of one clip, regardless of how long it was. For some of them, you would press record and step away from the camera, then just start laughing uncontrollably. 

It took a long time to realize that they had forgotten your laugh. Having gone weeks without hearing it was hard, and watching a younger, clearly happier you laugh so freely was odd for them to see. Your face was just about clear, missing some of the scars you now possessed from your years of experience with field work. 

You were right, you did look different. 

“Where did you find this?” Price asked, leaning forward. The glasses he used to read had long ago been thrown on the desk, all his attention on the computer in front of him. 

“Did some digging.” Was all Gaz said. 

It was all the answer they needed. 

They watched the video all the way through the end, and when it finished they watched it again. And again. Till the sound of your laugh was engraved in their minds, till they were able to smile along with your jokes without having to wait for your explanation, till it felt like you were right in the room with them. 

Finally, the video stopped repeating, and the office was quiet again. Simon tugged off the mask and ran a hand over his face, signing loudly. “She’s got seven years before we can jump to conclusions.”

“I think if i tried to jump right now, I’d fall flat on my face.” Price said, leaning back in his chair. The office went silent again, before a quiet chuckle came from Soap. He covered his moth quickly, failing to suppress his giggles at Price's statement. 

If there was one thing the boys loved about Johnny it’s that his laughter was infectious. Once he started laughing, Gaz was smiling at him, and Ghost was smiling at Gaz’s smiling at Soap’s laughter. Eventually they were all giggling, each at each other in turn.  

“Fuck—“ Soap said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Even when she’s not ‘ere she’s makin’ us laugh.” 

“She’ll be back. Seven years couldn’t keep our girl away from us.”

“Our girl, eh?” Simon asked, throwing an arm around Johnny’s shoulders. Soap leaned into Simon’s side, smiling against his chest. 

“Our girl.” Price confirmed, nodding. “No matter what happens, challenge be dammed, she’s our girl. Nothing’s changing it.”

“Excuse me sir? Do you speak english?”

“We no take foreigners-“

“Please—“ You begged, looking at him with your best puppy dog eyes. You watch as his gaze trails up and down your body, stopping at the marks on your hands. "Please I really need your help.”

The man looks around for a moment, double checking that no one is around before he grabs you by your collar and pulls you inside harshly. He closes the door, grumbling for you to sit in the kitchen.

You follow his instruction, taking a seat in the too cramped space. You watch as he moves around the room, throwing things into a pot and getting different medicines from the cabinets, mumbling to himself in Russian all the time.

After a few moments of tense silence, the man places a small container full of white ointment on the table.

"Will help with burns," He says.

As if that explains anything?

You let it go, however and smile at him in thanks. The moment you put the cream on your hands you fight the urge to scream at just how badly it burns, opting instead to bite your tounge till you can taste the blood in your mouth.

The man watches you struggle, and takes a seat across from you.

“You American spy?”

“No, sir, I just work for the army.” 

The man nods, standing up “You will have more burns, I leave you to apply the rest.”

He walks out of the kitchen, and you hear the closing of a door some feet away. For a brief moment, you consider the thought that he might have cameras in the kitchen, that he's watching you on his phone through the system.

Just as quickly, you dismiss the thought. The man is absolutely huge, not Simon level but pretty close. If he wanted to do something to you he would have.

As it did with your hands, the ointment burned on each part of your body. It was like getting blown up all over again, and you kept your teeth grit so as to not scream out. Once you finish, however, you do feel better.

Slightly.

You leave the kitchen, wrapping the tatters of your suit around your body in a makeshift robe. Just outside of the room you see a set of clothes laid out, as well as a pair of gloves that look slightly too large for your hand size.

By the time you finish dressing, the man is back, carrying some vegetables with him.

“Who do you work for?” He asks, grabbing a knife from a drawer. You watch in awe as he makes quick work of the mound of food that was in his hands, throwing it into the pot without a second glance.

“A task force, sir.”

“The one four one?”

The room is dead quiet. For a moment, the only sound that can be heard is the boiling of water, and you take a cautious step back towards the front door. Running isn't something you want to do, and you're pretty sure it's not something you're 100% capable of, but if you had to get out of here you were willing to risk your health further.

Anyways, you still had that ointment. Technically that's all you really needed, and he wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't want you to use it.

“How did you-"

“Nikolai." He interrupts, holding out his hand. "I worked with them a long time ago."

You remember the name, it was heard in dozens of the stories Gaz and Price have told you about their missions before you joined. You take his hand, biting back a wince at the sting of your burns against the gloves.

“Do you think you could help me get back?” 

AN: VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION

Hey guys, so while technically this is late i was hoping we could just ignore that fact for a while. If you couldn't tell by the contents of this chapter, this fic is going to take a darker turn than i even thought (this whole thing is written on impulse, i only have the reader's backstory planned and that's it) Future chapters will feature mental health issues, and some abuse so i just wanted to release an early viewer discretion to warn anyone who wouldn't be comfortable reading that stuff.

I promise i'll give you guys a fluffy BTS to make up for this angst bomb. Hope you enjoyed!

My Masterlist

[nunununuy]

Part 6

Part 5 Part 7

Prince x Fem Reader

Title: "Changing the Fate of the Third Prince"

The Day Before Departure

It was a bright afternoon, but my heart felt heavy. Tomorrow, I would be leaving the capital, leaving him—Prince Rafael. As I packed my belongings, I kept pausing, my mind filled with doubt. Should I really leave? What if, in my absence, Rafael turned into the tyrant he was destined to be in the novel? What if the rebellion still happened, and I wasn't there to stop it?

But deep down, I knew that wasn't the only reason I was hesitating. It wasn’t just the fear of what could happen—it was the fear of leaving him, the man I had grown to care about far more than I ever intended. The thought of being far from him, of never seeing him again, sent a wave of sadness through me.

I glanced out the window, the sun beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city. I had made up my mind to leave, but my heart wasn’t ready.

I needed to see him, just one last time. If only to confirm that my place beside him no longer existed. If I could just speak with him, perhaps he would tell me what I needed to hear—that he still needed me, or that I had done my job, and it was time to move on. A part of me, buried deep, wanted him to stop me. To choose me.

With a heavy heart, I left the house and headed toward the castle. As I walked, the memories of our time together flooded my mind—our quiet moments in the library, the way he would listen to my endless chatter, the small smiles he reserved just for me. Could I really leave all that behind?

When I arrived at the castle, I made my way to the library—the place where we had shared so many moments together. But as I walked through the garden, I caught sight of Rafael in the distance. He was standing near the fountain, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of hope.

This was it, I thought. I would go to him, and maybe... just maybe, he would give me a reason to stay.

But just as I took a step forward, I saw her—Princess Seraphina. She approached Rafael with a soft smile, her long gown sweeping the ground as she walked toward him. My heart clenched painfully.

I watched as she stumbled, her foot catching on the edge of the fountain. Rafael moved swiftly, catching her before she could fall. From where I stood, it looked like they were embracing—no, worse, it looked like they were... kissing.

A sharp pain pierced through my chest, and before I knew it, tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't breathe. The sight of them together felt like a confirmation of my deepest fears—Rafael had never needed me. I was nothing compared to someone like Seraphina, a princess from a neighboring kingdom. What had I been thinking, hoping he would choose me?

With my heart breaking, I turned and ran. The tears streamed down my face as I fled, not wanting to witness any more. Why had I allowed myself to fall for him? What had I expected? That a prince—someone as important as Rafael—would ever look at me, the daughter of a mere marquis, with anything other than casual affection?

When I finally reached my carriage, I collapsed inside, sobbing uncontrollably. The image of him holding her, smiling at her, haunted my thoughts. Why had I ever thought I could be enough for him?

As the carriage took me back to my cousin Selina’s house, I tried to calm myself. This was for the best, I told myself. I couldn’t stay here, not when it hurt so much. It wasn’t right to covet something—someone—who was never mine to begin with.

Tomorrow, I would leave. Far from the capital, far from him. That was the only way I could protect my heart from breaking any further.

---

POV Rafael

The moment I saw Princess Seraphina stumble near the fountain, I instinctively reached out to catch her. She gasped in surprise, but I steadied her before she could fall.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, brushing off her gown. “I should really be more careful.”

I gave her a small smile. “No harm done.”

Seraphina laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I almost fell in front of you. How embarrassing.”

I shrugged. “It happens. Besides, you’ve helped me more than enough these past few days. I owe you.”

And I meant it. Seraphina had been a wonderful friend, helping me plan everything from the final touches of the ball to the gift I was preparing for... her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her—the woman who had become such an important part of my life.

Seraphina smiled warmly. “I’m happy to help. I just want to see you happy, Rafael. And I think you will be—once you give her that gift.”

I chuckled, though my thoughts were already drifting back to her. The necklace I had chosen for her was safely tucked away, and the ball—her birthday—was fast approaching. I could hardly wait to see the look on her face when I finally told her how I felt.

I had been distant lately, but only because I had been preparing something special. I knew she didn’t expect much, but I wanted to give her a moment she would never forget. After all, she had given me more than I could ever repay. Her companionship, her support, her presence in my life—it meant everything to me.

Seraphina glanced at me, a knowing look in her eyes. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer right away, but I knew I didn’t need to. The truth was obvious—I had fallen for her, completely and utterly. She had wormed her way into my heart, and now I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

“I do,” I said finally, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “She’s... everything.”

Seraphina grinned. “Then don’t wait too long to tell her. She deserves to know.”

I nodded, my heart filled with anticipation. I wouldn’t wait much longer. At the ball, I would tell her everything.

The thought of her face lighting up when she saw the necklace filled me with excitement. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t the man the world thought I was—distant, cold, unfeeling. She had seen past all that, and for that, I would forever be grateful.

Now, all I had to do was wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, I would make sure she knew that she had my heart.

___

[aloesarchives]

JJK Drabble #1

Tw/Warnings: Angsts/Bittersweet, mention of one minor death, Fem!Reader & Fem! Pronouns

Pairing: Toji x Fem!Reader

I was way too inspired by @rosipuree(PLEASE FOLLOW THEM OR READ THEIR WORK) "Haunted" that I wrote a quick blurb with my personal Take/Idea based on their work. I'll make a poll if you guys want me to make this a mini series or not.

Y'ALL PART ONE IS OUT RN: HERE

I always wanted to write about Reader being in a relationship with Toji but it becomes unhealthy because Toji hasn't moved on from Megumi's Biological mom and just angst. So here is my take on how I'd imagine this Toji x Fem!Reader angst with Megumi x Fem!Reader(platonic) bittersweet.

So you're seeing Toji but Toji is still obviously mourning Megumi’s mom. 

You are aware Toji really misses her and only truly loves her. His grief turns into rage whenever people mistake you for being Megumi’s real mom, you have a moment with Megumi, or god forbid he finds out Megumi calls you Mama in front of Toji so you correct Megumi every time. Arguments between the two happen because of it, heated ones which leaves you doubtful and alone. You take care of Megumi for the first three-four years of his life but leaves because Toji wasn’t ready to love love you and didn’t want to stay in a one-sided relationship. Megumi was clueless of your permanent absence once you leave but because he thought you would came back. Megumi asks for you continuously, staring at the door every time to see if you would come home. When Toji told Megumi you weren’t coming back at all, Megumi cried so hard that night the only way he got sleep was crying himself to exhaustion. 

 You treated Megumi like he was your own son and cared for him the best you can. You never made it your intention to replace his wife and Megumi’s bio mom. In fact, the thought of your intentions being seen as such made you anxious and nauseous. The efforts and lengths to have Megumi not refer to you as his mother, even though you were the only motherly figure he will ever have in his life, was both admirable and heartbreaking. You were a mother to Megumi, whether he was your blood son or not, but out of respect for his father/the man you were seeing, you kept it to a minimum. Toji knew it was all his doing. Feeling guilty for not treating you better and deservingly at that. What makes it worse was he didn’t try to save your two’s relationship at all and let you go. Breaking your heart even more because him not taking action means he never loved you enough to make you stay. 

Toji still hooks up with Tsumiki’s mom, taking her last name before splitting with her. Tsumiki’s mom was never home so Toji tries to care for Tsumiki on top of Megumi. Megumi never forgot about you and he still misses you dearly. It' to the point he keeps a hidden picture of you and him when you still were around, the only picture he has of you. He hides it from Toji because he knows he’ll take it away from him. Megumi ends up holding such resentment he has a deep grudge against Toji for making you leave and not loving you. It’s pretty bad to the point Tsumiki comforts Megumi at times when he cries about you, wishing you were here to take care of him and Tsumiki. He wishes for you to come back. Tsumiki tries to help Megumi by making him recall his memories of you. To which he speaks so fondly and happily when you take care of him. Megumi is happy that he has Tsumiki as family but his grudge against Toji is so strong that he doesn’t view Toji as his dad, just some guy that’s there with the father title. Becomes estranged to his own father because Toji’s never home often. Even for almost a decade, he never forgot your name or your presence. That’s how much he saw you even if you weren’t there for long and moved on with your life. Highkey Megumi doesn’t blame you for leaving his father. To him, Toji doesn’t have the right to love someone else if he was going to hold onto the memories of his late biological mother for so long that it hurts people in the process. He knew you were unfortunately one of them, one of the good ones that didn’t deserve to be punished for someone else’s lack of emotional maturity and healing.

Megumi and Tsumiki grow up and dorm at their respective schools. Megumi is dorming at Jujutsu High and went on a day trip with his class. As he’s walking through the streets, he spots a familiar figure in the crowd, you. After 10 years, he finally sees you again. He reaches out and sees it’s you. You haven’t aged at all, or at the very least gracefully so. But you were holding your baby daughter in your arms, meaning that you moved on and had another family of your own. You were surprised to see Megumi, telling him how much he’s grown. He wants to hug you, cry into you, call you Mama one more time. But something inside of him tells him not to. Even though he gets the closure he needed from many years of wanting to see you again, he still yearns for you because you’ll always be his mother. The only one he has. Seeing you with your own child makes him happy knowing you are happier with the family you always wanted deserved. And yet he can’t help but imagine it was him you were holding, not your daughter. Holding him in your arms, being his mom, and calling you mama one more time.

[ruggiezz]

— TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] them coping with breaking up with you / angst

[characters] dormleaders (except for vil)

[warnings] mentions of depression symptoms, in basically all of them. wishing to die in a phrase in malleus's part, mentions of food (kalim and idia)

[song] tu falta de querer-mon laferte (i highly recommend listening while reading)

"¿CÓMO FUE, QUE ME DEJASTE DE AMAR?"/"HOW WAS IT, THAT YOU STOPPED LOVING ME?"

Heartslabyul students are worried about RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS now that he broke up with you. You would expect him to be more irritable than usual, taking out his anger in the first years and taking every opportunity he has to collar someone, but he isn't. He looks like an empty shell of who he once was, barely acknowledging other students, only focusing on his schoolwork. He sees how you look at this new guy you surely have something with. Was he better than him? He must make you happier than he ever did, and he wonders what did he do so wrong for you to stop loving him.

He starts overworking himself; it's the only way of coping he knows. He needs to work harder. He can do better. He needs to stop thinking about you and the way you cried after this particular fight you both had before breaking up. But he can't; your choked sobs come back to haunt him every time he's alone, trying to sleep after a hard day of school. Ace and Deuce barely spend time in Heartslabyul now, only going there to sleep and spending all of their time at Ramshackle. Trey is worried about him, seeing his eyebags and the way his eyes no longer sparkle when he eats tarts. Cater tries to make jokes whenever he can to try and earn a laugh from Riddle, but he just walks away, as if no one but him was there. The only thing Riddle can't ignore, no matter how much he works and works, is the way his heart aches.

"díficil olvidarte estando aquí/hard to forget you being here."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR barely goes out of his room anymore, having Ruggie fetch things for him whenever he needs to. His missed assignments were piling up on his desk, the curtains closed, and his phone on silent. He just lays all day and night on his bed, not even bothering to go to class anymore. He becomes snappy at Jack when he tells him that Trein told him he was going to have to repeat another year if he didn't attend classes, and he becomes irritated when Ruggie tells him that Falena called, asking to speak to him. Leona doesn't want to see anyone; he just wants to be wrapped around his covers, where no one can reach him.

The bed no longer smells of you; it feels empty and wrong to lay there without you, but he continues to do it. He overheard a second year talking about you dating someone new, and if looks could kill, that student would be dead. It's now an unwritten rule not to mention you in the dorm.

Whenever Leona's not sleeping, he's alone with his thoughts. His mind replays your last words to him, telling him it was for the best for both of you, and he asks himself again and again,How did you stop loving him? He can come up with a lot of answers that make his head hurt and his eyes watery, but he decides to sleep, so he can no longer feel.

"ahora dormiré my profundamente para olvidar/now i will sleep very profoundly to forget."

Everybody in Diasomnia notices how MALLEUS DRACONIA is in a worse mood every day that passes. There are storms almost every day, with thunder striking aggressively at everything it can manage to touch. If nobody dared to approach him before, they certainly don't dare even more now, making him even more lonely. He can't stop thinking about you; he misses you so much it hurts. Malleus finds himself out of Ramshackle dorm, staring at your room's window, hoping to catch a glance of you, but he never does. He can only hear your laughter and other guy laughing with you, which sours his mood even more. That night, nobody could sleep because of how strong the thunder was.

Lilia tries to assure the others that Malleus will be alright if they just give him time. Silver doesn't dare enter his room when he hears Malleus breaking things after he comes back from Ramshackle, knowing he is probably going to make him feel worse. And Sebek is distraught, even resenting you for making his young master feel so miserable, cursing your name under his breath, something that was immediately stopped by Lilia because Malleus could hear him.

Malleus wonders if you have cried as much as he has and if you feel this unbearable pain in your chest too. He longs for you, for your presence to soothe him and tell him you never stopped loving him and that it was all a very cruel joke humans made. But that never comes.

"quisiera hasta la muerte para no pensar/i would even like to die to not think."

"YO AÚN PODÍA SOPORTAR, TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER"/"I COULD STILL ENDURE IT, YOUR SO MUCH LACK OF LOVE"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO hasn't changed on the surface. He keeps his suave, businessman persona with clients, but he's noticeably quieter when alone with the twins. He works even more than before, staying until late at night in his office filling paperwork. Jade occasionally brings him tea, telling him not to stay up late. Floyd is in a sour mood now that Azul doesn't react how he would like to his antics, even missing work doesn't bother him as much as it used to.

No matter how much chaos or disaster the twins cause, Azul just looks the other way. Eventually, they just stop and continue helping him with his next business scheme, even if he doesn't seem as excited as he should be.

When alone in his room, Azul sits on his bed with his face hidden in his hands so that no one can hear his sobs. He feels so small and useless, wanting you to hold him and calm him down. But you aren't there. He is alone. He misses the way you would tell him words so sweet they were dripping with honey. He wonders if they were empty words you just told him to make him feel better. Please come back; he could endure knowing you didn't love him on the condition you wouldn't leave him.

"me siento mutilada y tan pequeña/i feel mutilated and so small."

No one notices any change in KALIM AL-ASIM, except Jamil, who hears him crying in his room at night while everyone is asleep. His smile is still bright as he greets the Scarabia students after a long day, but it no longer feels genuine. The parties in the dorm happen less and less, until they no longer happen.

Kalim feels as if he has withered inside, his heart broken in a thousand pieces. He misses you so badly, he just wants to hug you and tell you how sorry he is for not being enough. Please come back; he could even beg on his knees for you to be with him, even if you lacked the love you once felt for him.

Jamil brings him his breakfast, silently noticing the eyebags on Kalim's face. 'He must not have slept again' he thinks to himself. Kalim notices Jamil staring at him, and he wipes his face with his pajama sleeve. Neither of them say anything, and Jamil leaves him alone with his emotions and his food. He takes a bite out of it, ignoring how tired he feels after staring all night at the last text message you sent him. He wishes to write back and ask you for a second chance, saying he will do anything for you to come back, but he can't bring himself to do it.

"aún te amo y, creo, que hasta más que ayer/i still love you, and i think, even more than yesterday."

IDIA SHROUD isolates himself even more than before, hiding in his room and Ortho has to bring him food so he doesn't starve. Food no longer tastes good; it feels bland, videogames don't feel enjoyable; and no matter how many mangas and animes he watches, the feeling of wanting to cry that's stuck in his throat doesn't go away.

He barely speaks, answering Ortho with monosyllables when asked how he feels today, what he did all day, and where you were. Eventually, Ortho catches up to what happened and tries speaking with you, but Idia stops him. Even if he wants you to tell him why did you left, to yell at him what's wrong with him, to tell him that he was unloveable, to tell him something, something that explained why you didn't love him anymore, he doesn't want to see you. You left him with no explanation of why, only saying it was for the best, and that infuriated him but depressed him at the same time.

Idia wanted you to come back, to sit on his lap while he played a new game that dropped, but you aren't here with him anymore. His room feels colder than usual, with only the light from the screen accompanying him. He cries and cries, begging you in silence to come back, saying that he would cherish you and would be a better boyfriend now. But you won't come back and neither would your love for him, and he finds himself hoping you would stay here with him even if you didn't love him anymore.

"ven y cuéntame la verdad, ten piedad/come and tell me the truth, have mercy."

[missmarveledsblog]

Not just a flower child huh? ( logan howlett x reader ) part 4

summary : jean get the result of the test she ran on y/n only to find something that well didn't make sense but did all in the one go . The findings , well they needed to know more about the lab and logan of all people not expecting the answer to their questions.

warning : angst af , past childhood trauma , child abuse ( what happen to our girl when she was in the lab) second hand guilt

(previous part)

It couldn’t be right ? but yet she checked it over and over compare the two and yet one  their it was as clears day on the screen .  it made no sense  , maybe the machine was on the brink but the others ones too was impossible.  Yet in the absurdity of it all it weirdly made sense  when jean pieced it all together maybe the professor would know the right way to go about it all and maybe it was time to see if y/n could tell them more of the lab she was kept in and who kept her there.  She was so worried sharing the result maybe this was a bad idea , maybe it would make  it all come back and stunt the little progress y/n had made.  What if she lied and told her everything else and left it out  then again she didn’t want to lie at all . it was hard she become fond of y/n in the short time the woman was with them she admired and could call her a friend . the strength and courage, the selfless courage to protect those before herself no matter how much it would hurt .   she didn’t want to be the one to hurt her or bring back something painful . that day she seen what y/n showed the professor something like that would haunt the hardest of hearts and it killed jean for y/n to think it was her fault .  she cried that night scott had to hold her while she sobbed for the pain and heartache her new friend carried and let haunt her every night . another think she notice  first time she was able to see into the womans mind it was like she was shielding them of the horrors she witnessed another selfless act. 

“ call the team including y/n i can be the one to break it but we can not keep this from her break the trust we made” the professors voice rang in her head.

A deep sigh jean grey agreed rounding up the team and y/n as they sat in the  professor office. She wondered why she was gathered in with them all did she do something wrong , the concerned look on jeans face didn’t help when the woman notice she was looking she tried smiling but it  wasn’t real  it was forced . 

“ you’re not in trouble dear girl” the professor chuckled making his way to the desk the copy of jeans findings in his lap .  “ we have the result of your test something well  it came to our attention you share the same mutation as someone in the room “ he said softly. 

“ you and jean we already know she does those mind tricks “ logan teased hoping it would ease her tension. 

“ actually she shares you mutation logan a form of it almost identical” charles explained . 

“ but that can’t be possible you’re not saying she my kid right” he asked feeling sick to his stomach . 

“Not possible i was there at her birth and you are not our mothers type” piotr countered. 

“ no she doesn’t share his actual  dna , it more you mutation , the enhance sense like smell , the hearing , his healing factor ” jean asked. 

“ how you able to tell who’s coming so quickly” scott pieced it together. 

“ i thought that was cause i’m traumatized” she mumbled trying to make sense of it all .

“ the people your parents sold you too , they keep you this whole time , do you know anything of them?” storm asked . 

“ they were american or well i think they were they spoke english  , the man they called him colonel he took me to the lab , he said he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again ” she said his face flooding her mind. 

“ is this the man “ charles asked her showing the picture of her tormentor , the one who stole her innocence and childhood . 

“That’s him , stryker “  those word hit him like a ton of bricks  like she knocked the air out of logans lungs , her earlier words “ he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again”  she was taken because logan got away.  

“ he must of had a vile of your dna or something and gave it to her” scott spoke . 

“ yes i think we know that part genius” logan rolled his eyes and yet internally he felt like he was going to throw up if only his memory wasn’t lost he would of been able to stop stryker , he would been able to stop the pain she endure. 

 “ i don’t have claws or anything” she asked suddenly looking at her hands . 

“ no  only the elemental power , telekinesis   , mind control , and ability to read minds  and well his senses and healing factor like regeneration  , the elemental are the one of your own mutation as well as the telekinesis but the rest well was whatever they gave you “ charles explained. 

“ making you most powerful mutant here” scott blurted out. 

“  well least i didn’t go through it all for nothing “ she mused dryly.  

“ i’m guessing they force the mutation to come out?” . 

“ it makes sense why i don’t have scars i always wondered why the scars went” she said more to herself not noticing the sad looks on the others faces or how her brother fist clenched or how tense logan was.  “ at first they tried a non physical approach scar me i would cry and scream for them to stop but they never would some would even laugh and taunt me , then when that didn’t work they  used their imaginations sometimes i would pass out it was too much “. 

“ no one will ever hurt you again” piotr pulled her to his side only for her to flinch at the rudeness before relaxing . 

“ could i be excused please” she asked softly . 

“ of course if you need to talk we are all here if you need us” storm spoke up . 

They all sat silent even after she was gone , they knew the world was cruel but they just fathom how depraved it truly could be even to something so sweet and innocent like a child.  She really did have their respect more and more each day . 

This time he really couldn’t sleep some how he felt some sort of responsibility and other part of him was glad  she did have his mutation , the fact she was always going to have the mental scares of what she went through she didn’t need the physical one to remind her even more . he could imagine the sick ways they did it , he knew stryker , how cold and void of humanity in that mans ways he’d seen it first hand and now to know .. could he class her as his friend . to know someone as amazing and special as y/n .  walking down the silent halls he could see the kitchen light already on meaning she once again couldn’t sleep . he couldn’t help chuckle to see the beer awaiting him , the light cast of ice around the glass and the back door open . walking out to see her standing at a fire pit  he knew wasn’t always there but nothing got past that charles . he watched as she clicked her fingers and the flame that appeared  lowering it in to the pit  . 

“ you should start sleeping aren’t you like old as this place” she asked pulling the chairs over to the pit and taking a seat. 

“Actually probably am” he chuckled taking a seat pulling out the cigar only for her to click her fingers and hold her hand out in his direction. 

“ bag of tricks” she smirked making him laugh. 

“ your something” he smiled . 

“ that could go either way that comment” she arched her brow. 

“ you have every reason to hate the world , to be angry at it and yet your not” he said truthfully . 

“ the world didn’t hurt me people did , well it seems the same person who hurt you hurt me” she sighed. 

“ and i was an unbearable prick because of it “ he smiled when he heard her laugh  it was one of his favorite sounds.

“ it sucks i don’t have the kitty claws , they look so useful for the cooking i’ve been doing lately” .

“ not kitty claws sweetheart but if you need help in kitchen call me  i can show you” he winked.  

“ your hair is like the ears too” she snorted. 

“ ok i prefer you calling me doberman now” he rolled his eyes.

 “ your not such an unbearable prick” she smiled. 

“ and you're not a monster” he said. 

“ if you saw you would think differently  i kill many men” she admitted. 

“ and i bet it was to protect someone”. 

“ it was  and part of me wanted to  as revenge but i don’t want to talk about it not tonight it’s a nice night to feel normal  or pretend to “ she sighed watching the sky above her. 

He was still pissed off , knowing another asset was gone but he knew he would get her back , he just needed to  do it carefully ,   he need to make sure whatever they planned was perfectly executed or it would get harder and harder. William stryker knew the damage she could do and how she could rid the world of the thing he despised most . he’d spent too long to give up now and he wasn’t letting history repeat never again would he face the humiliation he did before  , his reputation was nearly non existent and this was his last shot to get some of his dignity back . the first target would be the school that held them there , burning that to the ground would be a great start to the reckoning . he wondered if he got her to comply would the same trick work on logan maybe the two together oh the  destruction in their path would be catastrophic  but for now he would settle on her even get more serums to work make her completely indestructible.  Now it was getting her back  , back to the cage he wouldn’t mix her with anyone that was a mistake but the tape he held of her after how she pulled them a part like they were made of paper , how she made them suffer it was a piece of art and he was the artist .  this time he was going to be the one on top and god help any mutant that got in his way when he was .

Part five

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