#patrick's ghost haunts them

[tarotofbadkitties]

The reason the hotel scene is so weird is Patrick. Fresh off starting a fight with him for no reason, Art's coming in hot. He's both guilty because he was such a dick, and also pumped with adrenaline cause being mean is a rush for people who are never mean. When he tells Tashi he has something to say to her that's going to make her mad, his body is tense and his hands are twitching. Art's ready to have that fight about his retirement.

What Art doesn't know, is that she and Patrick already had the fight they should be having in this moment. She should be pissed because they've been doing this together and now he wants to quit on her, but her affects all wrong; she's as placid as a lake. Her energy is making him anxious, suspicious, and you can see his brain going a mile a minute. Just like a partner having a sexual affair isn't horny when you expect them to be because they gave their lust to someone else, a partner having an emotional one can be too calm when you expect them to be fired up. Patrick gave him some pushback, but he had the big fight about being abandoned in favor of the saddest marriage in the world with Tashi and was ready to reconcile. Unlike Tashi, who liked to meditate and be chill before a match, Art's looking for a fight ahead of his match in the morning.

The problem is, neither of his people are down for that, and he can't put his finger on why. With that plan foiled, he switches gears to sexy mode. While he's working his way into the zone, slowly kissing his way around Tashi's body, she's damn near ready to combust. At this point, he can try to catch up and satisfy her OR he can leave her sexually unsatisfied the same way she left him emotionally unsatisfied. What wins this battle is passively giving her permission to sneak out while he pretends to be asleep. If she wants to fight with Patrick then she can go fuck him too.

[cumironi]

ABRACADABRA, POOF! THE ‘D’ IS GONE

TOJI FUSHIGURO . . . you and your friends decided it is a good time to go on the haunted house your campus held, and . . . boo! that ’s the patrick bateman comes to life, waiting to suck your soul behind the fake tree. . . from between your legs.

warning. college! au, ex-boyfriend! toji, public place, choking, manhandling, slight cōckwarming, slight sqūirting.

wc. | kinktober masterlist.

screams echo from inside the haunted house your campus set up for the halloween event. you stand at the entrance, arms crossed, already feeling annoyed. haunted houses have never been your thing. the loud, sudden noises, the darkness that presses in from all sides, making you feel trapped—it’s all just too much. claustrophobia kicks in just thinking about it, and you can feel your skin crawl with the idea of being stuck inside.

you grumble under your breath, but your friends are relentless. they’re tugging at your arms, practically dragging you toward the entrance despite your protests. “come on, it’ll be fun!” one of them chirps, way too excited for what you know is going to be a nightmare.

“fun for who?” you mutter, rolling your eyes as they laugh, completely ignoring your reluctance. their hands tighten around yours as they pull you inside, and the moment you step through the doors, you regret every decision that led to this point.

you find yourself walking through the maze of darkness, surrounded by fake ghosts and eerie sounds, your nerves on edge. it’s not just the haunted house that’s making you anxious, but the thought of possibly running into your ex-boyfriend, toji fushiguro. you know he’s one of the actors here tonight, dressed up as one of the ghosts, but you have no idea which one. just the thought of facing him again, in the middle of all this chaos, has your heart racing for more reasons than just fear.

as you're lost in thought, suddenly, your friends let out a chorus of terrified screams. one of the ghosts has jumped out at them, and in their panic, they bolt, leaving you standing there all alone. you stand still for a second, completely dumbfounded. “what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath, staring after them in disbelief. they left you. alone. in the dark.

feeling a rising sense of fear at being abandoned, you quickly scramble to catch up with them. but the darkness is so thick, it’s hard to see anything. your breath quickens as you fumble your way forward, the shadows closing in around you. suddenly, your foot catches on something, and you collide with a fake tree, sending you crashing down onto the cold ground.

a low, mocking chuckle echoes through the dark, sending a shiver down your spine. you freeze for a moment, recognizing that sound all too well. it's the kind of laugh that always made your blood boil, the one that told you he was enjoying your discomfort just a little too much. you could practically hear the smirk in it, and you already knew who it belonged to.

slowly, you lift your head, your heart sinking when your eyes meet his. toji fushiguro, standing over you with that same smug, infuriating smirk plastered across his face. his dark eyes gleam in the dim light, taking in your situation—sprawled on the ground at his feet.

“well, well,” he drawls, leaning down just slightly, “look who’s all alone now.” his voice is teasing, but there’s that familiar edge to it, the one that always made it impossible for you to figure out if he was being serious or just messing with you.

the sight of him looming over you, that damn smirk on his lips, is like a punch to the gut. you can feel your temper rising, the anger mixing with the fear you were already feeling, making your face flush red. you push yourself up from the ground, swiping away the dirt from your clothes.

“you,” you growl through clenched teeth, looking up at him with eyes full of frustration and something else, something you couldn't quite define. “of course, you’re one of the actors in this hellhole.”

his grin only widens at your reaction, and he takes a step closer, towering over you like he's trying to intimidate you. “what, not happy to see me, your lovely ex-boyfriend?” he teases, his voice dripping with fake innocence.

you can feel the tension crackling between you, electric and dangerous. it's like you're back to your old routine, the one where every interaction is a battle for dominance, a contest to see who can rile each other up more. “happy? why would i be?” you snap, trying to hold your ground.

toji seems to relish in your anger; his smirk grows even more irritatingly smug. he takes another step closer to you, his body almost brushing against yours. the smell of his cologne fills your senses—it’s familiar and infuriating at the same time.

he is invading your personal space, like he always used to. you can practically feel the heat radiating from him, and despite yourself, your heart begins to race. you try to hide it, to keep your face neutral, but you can tell toji is enjoying the effect he has on you.

“aww, come on,” he drawls, leaning even closer so that his face is just inches from yours, “you don’t need to pretend anymore, sweetheart. i know you’ve missed me.”

the nickname—”sweetheart”—sends a shiver down your spine. you can feel your cheeks growing warm despite yourself, your body involuntarily responding to him even as you scowl.

“don’t call me that,” you bite out, trying to put some distance between you two. but he follows you, matching your retreated step with an encroaching one. he’s pushing your limits, playing the same game he always did.

toji just chuckles, seemingly amused by your reaction. he doesn’t back off; instead, he places a large hand on your hip, drawing you closer. his touch sends a jolt through your body, a mixture of anger and unwanted desire. “touchy. you’ve always preferred to act all tough, huh?” he whispers.

toji’s hand on your hip feels like a brand, searing hot against your skin. you can feel the heat spreading through you, the unwanted reaction to his touch making you even more frustrated. his voice is low and smooth, that damn smirk never leaving his face. he’s relishing every moment of this, getting off on your anger and obvious response to him.

you try to pull away, your pride demanding you not give in to him. but his grip on you tightens, keeping you close. he knows exactly how much you used to love when he touched you—you still do— and he’s using it against you now.

with the feeling of his hand on your hip only adds to the maelstrom of emotions warring inside you. anger, desire, confusion—all of it mixing into a chaotic storm. you try to push him away, to resist the magnetic pull he seems to have over you. but when his tall body presses against yours, pinning you against the wall, you find yourself trapped between him and the cold, hard surface.

“get your hand off me,” you hiss through clenched teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but his touch only seems to fuel the heat building up inside you.

toji ignores your protest, leaning even more into you, his broad chest pressing against your heaving one. he's got you cornered, trapped between the wall and his body, and he knows it. that damn smirk just grows wider, his eyes glimmering with a mixture of arrogance and lust.

he leans closer still, his face hovering just above yours. you can feel his breath on your skin, hot and heavy, sending another wave of unwanted heat through your body. your heart is hammering in your chest, the feeling of his body against yours makes it hard to think straight.

“make me,” he whispers, his voice is a challenge, a dare. he knows exactly how much he’s getting to you, and he’s enjoying every moment of it. his hand on your hip starts to move lower, fingers toying with the edge of your dress, almost as if he’s contemplating pulling it up, exposing more of your skin to his touch.

the thought of that—of him touching you, of being so vulnerable under his control yet again—sends a rush of heat through you, making you feel weak. you can’t let him do this, can’t let him win this game. his stupid, aroused little game.

your breath catches in your throat as you meet his piercing green eyes. all that lust, the longing, and every other feeling you’ve tried so hard to bury are clawing their way back to the surface, raw and intense. you hate that he still has this effect on you, that even after everything, one look from him can set your whole body on fire.

your eyes trail down to his costume, taking in the way his tall, muscular frame is wrapped in a sleek black suit with a white raincoat layered on top. fake blood splattered across his face only adds to the dark, dangerous vibe he's exuding, like some twisted version of patrick bateman come to life. his grin widens when he notices you looking him over, the arrogance in his gaze making your skin prickle.

then, his other hand tightens its grip on your nape, pulling you even closer, if that’s possible. you tilt your head up slightly, feeling his breath fan over your lips. his hold is firm, possessive, as if he’s reminding you who’s in control. the way his fingers dig into your skin sends a rush of heat through you, but the feeling of being trapped under him again—under his control—makes your stomach turn.

“you’re such an asshole,” you mutter, eyes narrowing at him as your heart races. your words come out more breathless than you’d like, but you refuse to let him see how much he's affecting you. you try to shift under his weight, but his hold only tightens, that cocky smirk still plastered on his face.

toji chuckles, obviously loving the effect he's having on you. he’s always gotten off on your stubbornness, on how hard you try to fight him. he leans even closer, his face just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

“aww, i missed that dirty mouth of yours,” he grins, clearly enjoying himself. his hand is still on your hip, fingers digging into your skin, as if he’s branding you with his touch. he leans in to nuzzle your neck, taking a moment to inhale your scent, his nose brushing against your sensitive skin.

his voice is a haunted music in your ear, the one that always lured people into madness, “you can try to pretend you don’t want me, but i know you too well,” he whispers, his breath sending another jolt of heat through you. his hand on your hip starts to move, slowly sliding up your side, caressing your skin through the thin material of your dress.

he’s so close to you now, and despite your best efforts, you can feel yourself starting to give in. you hate yourself for it, but you can't deny the pull he has over you. it’s wrong, it’s toxic, but god, it feels good, soooo good.

toji’s hand continues to wander over your body, his touch both gentle and possessive. he knows every sensitive spot, every place that makes you shiver. you can feel your resolve weakening, your anger and frustration giving way to the raw desire his touch is igniting.

he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes locking with yours. he can see the struggle playing out on your face, the mix of anger and need. he loves it, loves knowing that he still has this effect on you.

his eyes are dark and stormy with desire, blending like stupid potion with blue and red light. he knows he's winning, he can tell by the way your body betrays you, how your breath is coming in shallow gasps.

“you want me, just like you always did,” he says, his voice low and rough. he leans in again, his lips brushing against your jaw, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

his words sink in, and as much as you want to deny them, you know deep down they're true. you've always wanted him. even through all the fights, all the heartache, a part of you has always craved his touch, his presence— him.

and now, with him so close, his body pressed against yours, his hand on your hip, it’s impossible to deny it. you’re caught in his web again, powerless to resist him. your breathing hitches as he continues to nuzzle your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, igniting a fire within you.

his lips on your skin are like fire, lighting your nerves on fire. you can feel yourself start to cave under his touch, your body responding to him despite your mind screaming otherwise.

you can’t let him win, again, you shouldn’t want this so badly, but his touch is awakening every primitive instinct in you. you bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that’s threatening to escape your throat. toji lets out another deep chuckle against your skin, his hand on your hip tightening possessively. he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, and he is going to make sure this place you called hellhole is fill with your moan and whimper.

your attempts to hold back the growing desire inside you are futile. his touch is igniting a fire within you that you can't resist. your body betrays your efforts to remain unaffected, responding to his touch like a moth to a flame.

his lips, oh, his lips. they’re leaving a trail of fire wherever they go, every touch sending another wave of heat through you. you bite your lip to stifle the moan that’s building up in your throat, but it's no use. he can feel it building. he laughs against your skin, the sound deep and mocking, full of arrogance and knowing he’s winning, he leans in closer, his voice a low rumble in your ear, “i know you're trying to hold back, but i know you too well… i know exactly what you need.”

he’s not even trying to hide the superiority in his tone, knowing damn well he’s got you trapped, like a little mouse. his hand slides down to your thigh, fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin, and a gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

he’s so damn cocky, hot, handsome, cocky bastard, so sure of himself, and it’s both infuriating and thrilling. you can’t believe you’re letting him affect you like this once more, but you’re trapped in his web, unable to break free.

“but we don’t want to let the others hear us, do we?” he whispers, his words dripping with suggestiveness. his hand slides up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair and giving it a light, dominant tug to arch your neck, exposing your throat to his lips. you let out a gasp, unable to suppress the sharp inhale as he exposes your flushed throat to his lips. “toji...” you whisper, your voice a mix of protest and plea.

his lips brush against your skin, moving down your throat in a trail of fire. he’s kissing, biting, his tongue tracing your pulse point, knowing damn well he’s driving you crazy. there’s a possessive edge to his touch, as if he’s marking you, claiming you as his own. his other hand is still on your hip, fingers digging into your flesh, holding you tightly against him.

“that’s right,” he mutters against your skin, his words a command. “say my name like that, doll.”

his voice is a low gro against your throat, the command in his tone making you shiver. you can feel his lips, soft yet demanding, as they trail down the sensitive skin of your neck. his teeth glaze your pulse point, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

each kiss, each biting and touch igniting more flames beneath your skins. his lips and tongue are eager on setting your skin on fire, their touch leaving a trail of heat in their wake— worshipping your body, marking you as his own once again.

the dominant edge to his touch leaves no doubt that he’s in control, and despite your efforts to resist, you find yourself giving in to him once again.

your head spins with the onslaught of sensations, the mix of pain and pleasure he's igniting in you making it hard to think straight. you try to find your voice, to resist his command, but his demand pierces through your haze.

“toji...” you gasp, his name a breathless whisper on your lips, “please...” your voice a mix of a gasp and a moan, filled with the mixture of frustration and need he’s stirring within you.

toji chuckles against your skin after a low hum of satisfaction tears first from his throat, his lips curled in a satisfied smirk. he loves the sound of his name on your lips, the way you gasp and moan for him. he knows he’s winning, tearing down your defenses one kiss at a time— he always does.

his tongue still tracing patterns across your skin, mapping each pulse like he’s making sure you are still his little doll face— his sweet, sweet, girl.

“that’s it, doll,” he breathes, his voice a low rumble. “say my name again. let me hear you say it like you mean it.” he gives your hair another sharp tug, forcing your head back even further, his lips returning to your exposed neck. he bites down hard, marking your skin with his teeth, a possessive gesture.

“toji...” you gasp out once more, the word catching in your throat. the way he’s owning you, taking control with each bite, each mark he leaves behind, it’s both infuriating and thrilling, and yet you find yourself unable to resist him, unable to fight the desire that’s growing stronger with each moment.

you arch your back, pressing yourself against him, feeling his muscular form against you. he’s as solid as a wall, and the knowledge that he could overpower you in a heartbeat only adds to your need. his lips are on your neck, marking you with his teeth, claiming you as his own, and you know that when all of this is said and done, you’ll be covered in a beautiful, livid map of love bites—a reminder of his ownership.

you can feel his grip on your hip tightens as he presses you against the wall. his kisses are rough and possessive, each one marking you as his while his tongue explores your mouth. your world is spinning, and the only thing grounding you is the feel of his body against yours.

he pulls back, his lips shiny and wet from your kiss. his eyes are filled with a hunger that makes your stomach flutter, and the smirk on his face is both infuriating and attractive. he looks you up and down, taking in the way your body responds to him, the way you shiver under his touch. “you’re so damn eager for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “you crave my touch, don’t you, doll?”

“yes...” you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. the truth of his words hits you like a punch to the gut— you do crave him, you do need him. every fiber of your being yearns for his touch, for the way he claims you, marks you, owns you.

your hips buck against him instinctively, seeking friction, seeking relief from the ache between your thighs. “please,” you breathe, not even realizing you’re begging until the word leaves your lips. “i need...”

but you can’t finish the sentence, can’t articulate the desperation clawing at your insides. all you can do is look up at him with pleading eyes, silently imploring him to give you what you crave, to fill the void only he can satisfy. the air around you is thick with tension, heavy with unspoken promises and dark desires.

and maybe that’s the reason why he drags you into one of the corners, away from everyone’s eyes and ears, behind all the fake trees and other properties while he makes you bent down in front of him. your arms make a pressure on the fake tree trunk while toji behind you. a sound of zipper being pulled down filling the loud room before he flipping your dress up, showing him your ass shadow by the dim light of blue and red.

he groans lowly as he takes in the sight of your bare ass, the pale skin glowing in the dim light. without hesitation, he grips your hips, pulling you harder against the tree trunk. his free hand reaches around to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“fuckkk, you have no idea how good you look right now,” he growls, his hot breath fanning over your ear. his fingers tighten around your throat slightly, just enough to send a thrill of fear and excitement through you. he leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “’m going to fuck you so hard, doll.”

toji’s hands roam over your curves after he stands tall, gripping your hips tightly as he positions himself behind you. his fingers dig into your flesh, leaving bruises that will serve as a reminder of who owns you.

he leans in close, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he growls, “look at this pretty ass, all bent over and waiting for me. you’re such a filthy little ex of mine, aren’t you, baby doll?”

his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack. the pain mixes deliciously with pleasure, and you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth wood. toji grunt each time your ass jiggles from the slap. “i’m gonna cockwarming you, remind your pussy with how i feel deep inside you.”

“ahh!” you yelp as his hand comes crashing down on your ass, the sting of the impact sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. your legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath you, but toji’s grip on your hips keeps you steady.

the mix of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, and you can't help but push your ass back against him, craving more of that delicious friction. “yes,” you moan, your voice breathy and wanton. “miss you, toji. miss you inside me.”

as if spurred on by your words, toji freeing his cock from his tight pants— slapping your pussy the moment it’s free for the world to see. toji stroke his cock for a second before his thick cock sliding along your crack, teasing your entrance. you can feel the heat radiating off him, the promise of what’s to come making your head spin.

“oh, doll,” he purrs, his voice dripping with lust as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this tight little cunt.” he pushes forward, breaching your entrance with just the head of his dick. he pauses there, savoring the sensation of your walls clenching around him, before slowly sinking deeper into your heat.

“oh, my— fucking god!” you cry out, your voice echoing in the cavernous space as he fills you inch by delicious inch. the stretch is intense, your walls clinging to him like a vice, but the pleasure is overwhelming. it’s been far too long since you've felt him inside you, and your body remembers every contour, every texture.

“fuck, you still fit me like a glove,” he groans, his hips rolling gently as he works himself deeper inside you. his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he starts to push harder, getting harder and suffocating each inch. you suck him too eagerly and toji almost losing his dignity if he couldn’t hold himself not to cum that second.

so he keeps to his promises, cockwarming you, stay in the moment. not just for you, but for him, to let him— more likely is his cock to get used to your tight little cunt once more. also for him to regain his composure to not to cum just by the feeling of your velvet gummy walls suffocating his aching cock.

as he bottoms out, you can feel every throbbing vein, every ridge of his thick cock buried deep within your quivering sheath. a soft moan escapes your lips at the sensation, and you push back against him, desperate for more.

“toji...” you pant, your nails digging into the bark of the tree as you try to anchor yourself against the onslaught of sensations. “god, it’s too big, too fucking big.”

“shhh, doll, just take it,” he coos, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “my cock was made for this tight little cunt.”

he pulls back, the head of his cock catches your sensitive clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. when he sinks back in, it's like being split open, his thick shaft grinding against your innermost depths, yet he still refuse to move.

“feels so good wrapped around me again,” he groans, while his hands slide up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress.

“toji..” you gasp as he rubs your sensitive nipples, the stimulation sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to your core. your back arches, pressing your chest further into his palms as you grind back against him, desperate for more contact, more friction.

“please...” you whimper, your voice trembling with need, “move, toji. fuck me, imma need you to move.” the words spill from your lips before you can stop them, a plea born of desperation and hunger. no longer care of the nagging feelings screaming inside your head for being so shameless for begging your ex-boyfriend to fuck you. you’ve craved this man’s touch for so long, and now that you have him, you can’t bear the thought of him holding back.

your hands reach back to grasp his thighs, urging him to pick up the pace, to claim you fully. “please move, need you,” you moan, your hips undulating in a shameless display of desire, “make me yours again.”

“you don’t know how many times i imagined having you like this,” he growls, one hand moving to fist in your hair, tugging your head back as he finally begins to thrust. each snap of his hips is punctuated by a lewd squelch, your juices coating his length, easing the way for him to plunge even deeper.

he sets a harsh pace, pounding into you with abandon, grunting with the effort. “mine, all fucking mine,” he snarls, punctuating his claim with a particularly harsh thrust. one hand snakes around to rub at your clit, the rough pads of his fingers circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. “come on, doll,” he urges, his voice a dark purr in your ear.

“‘m yours, fucking yours!” you babble incoherently, lost in the haze of pleasure, your mind consumed by nothing but the feel of him filling you, claiming you.

when his fingers find your clit, you nearly sob with relief, the added stimulation pushing you into heaven of pleasure. your inner muscles flutter and clench around him, trying to draw him in deeper, to keep him inside you forever.

whimpering and moaning as he pounds into you, the obscene sounds of the coupling filling the air. your mind goes blank, consumed by the relentless pleasure coursing through your veins. a high-pitched keen tears from your throat as he pounds into you, each brutal thrust driving the air from your lungs and stoking the fire in your veins.

“miss you, toji— mhmm..” you gasp, your words cutting off into a wordless cry. his fingers on your clit are electric, sending shocks of ecstasy straight to your core. each thrust, each circle of his fingers, it's overwhelming, the intensity of it all, and you can barely catch you breath between cries of rapture.

“sooo big,” a breathless chuckle leaving your lips as he hits a particularly deep spot, the pleasure bordering on pain. your legs shake violently, threatening to give out entirely as your nails holding to the tree trunk like it’s your life line.

in a second, flipped you over and leg held high, brushing your back against the tree trunk. he leans down to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he continues to pound into you. his tongue invades your mouth, tangling with yours in a fierce duel of passion.

unable to respond verbally, your screams of pleasure muffled by toji’s insistent kisses and the crushing pressure of his hand around your throat. the combination of sensations is overwhelming, your senses heightened to the point where every nerve ending feels electrified.

breaking the kiss, he growls against your skin, “look at me, doll.” his eyes bore into yours, dark with lust, as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “see how deep i am in you? how your greedy little cunt sucks me in?” he punctuates his words with sharp, deep thrusts that make your vision blur.

his words send shivers down your spine, the dark promise in his tone making your core clench around him. the knowledge that he’s taking you here, in this secluded spot, with no witnesses to your depravity, only adds to the forbidden thrill.

one hand leaves your hip to wrap around your throat once again, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race, to heighten the sensations.

his grip on your thigh is bruisingly tight as he lifts your leg higher, opening you up even further for his merciless assault. the new angle allows him to hit that sweet spot inside you with devastating precision, and you can only cling to his shoulder and whimpering and moaning while he fucks you senseless.

as he lifts your leg higher, spreading you wider, you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging along your inner walls, stroking that perfect spot over and over until you're teetering on the edge of madness.

“fuck, look at you, spread wide open for me,” he growls, his eyes blazing with possessive hunger as they rake over your debauched form. one hand slides up your stomach to palm your breast, pinching and twisting your nipple roughly.

he leans in close, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he snarls, “keep quiet, don’t want anyone to hear that pretty moan of yours.” he grins wickedly before with renewed ferocity, he pistons into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the clearing.

the pinch of pain from his rough handling of your nipple only serves to heighten the pleasure, your body responding eagerly to his dominance. you are biting your lips, doing with all of your will power to keep your moan and whimper and gasp stay between you two. people screaming around the haunted house but all you could ever hear is the sound of your beating hear and toji’s sweet nothing.

his grip on your throat eases slightly, allowing you to breathe, but not enough for you to speak. he wants to hear those muffled whimpers, to feel you tremble under his touch. the hand on your breast squeezes harder, rolling the pebbled nipple between his fingers.

he leans in closer, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he whispers, “so responsive, always were. love watching you lose control.” his hand moves from your breast lower, fingers teasing your slick folds, circling your clit with deliberate slowness.

withdrawing almost completely, he teases the tip of his cock against your entrance, then plunges back into the hilt in one swift motion. a guttural groan escapes him at the sensation of your tight heat enveloping him once more.

your entire body quakes with anticipation as toji's fingers dance across your sensitive flesh, the light touch sending jolts of electricity through your nerves. when he withdraws, leaving you empty and aching, you let out a soft, needy whimper that's swallowed by his hand.

but the moment he pushes back in, filling you to the brim, your cry is cut off by a strangled moan. his thick length stretches you deliciously, hitting all the right spots, and you can’t help but buck my hips back to meet his thrusts.

“ahh, y-yes...” you manage to gasp out, your voice ragged with pleasure. the hand on your throat applies gentle pressure again, and you melt into it, surrendering yourself to the dominant rhythm of his body. “toji, please.. gonna— wanna cum,” you whining breathlessly while your trembling fingers wrap around his wrist, desperate for a support.

hearing your desperate plea, toji’s movements become more erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more forceful. he can tell you’re close, can feel your pussy fluttering around his cock in response to his strokes.

“that’s it, doll, come for me,” he growls, his voice low and gravelly with lust, “show me what a good girl you are,” his fingers leave your clit to grasp your tight tightly, using the leverage to piston into you with wild abandon.

the hand still wrapped around your throat squeezes just a bit harder, a silent command for you to submit fully to the pleasure he’s giving you. “give it to me, baby doll, give it to me,” he demands, his eyes burning into yours with an intense, almost predatory gaze.

“cumming, ’m cumming,” and your world narrows down to the feeling of toji moving within you, the exquisite friction of his cock rubbing against your most sensitive spots. his commanding words and the pressure around your throat push you over the precipice, and your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave and your head thrown back as you let out a muffled moan.

a choked cry escapes your lips as your body convulses, waves of ecstasy radiating from your core and consuming you wholly. your nails dig into his shoulder and wrist as you ride out the intense pleasure, your pussy clamping and squirting down around toji’s cock in rhythmic pulses.

through the haze of your climax, you hear him groan deeply, feel the wetness of your fluid dripping down to his pants. that’s what he loves the most about you, always squirting.

toji’s grip on your throat tightens briefly as he feels your pussy spasm and gush around his cock, the sensation pushing him closer to his own release. he buries himself to the hilt inside you, grinding against your cervix as he chases his climax.

“fuckkkk, yes, take it all, good girl, squirting on me,” he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. he leans in, capturing your mouth in another bruising kiss as he begins to move again, fucking you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

the hand on your thigh slides around to cup your ass, squeezing the supple flesh as he picks up speed, driving into you with powerful, relentless strokes. he can feel his balls drawing up tight, signaling his impending eruption.

breaking the kiss, he growls against your neck, “gotta fill you up, doll.” you are shaking, trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, but toji doesn’t give you time to recover. he keeps going, fucking you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until it borders on too much.

his hands roam your body greedily, groping and kneading your curves as if he can’t get enough of you. you can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent.

“please, do toji, fill me up,” you beg, your voice hoarse from the strain. you want to feel him coming undone inside you, want to milk him for every last drop. your legs tremble with the effort of keeping you upright, but you refuse to let go of him, determined to take everything he has to give.

with a loud groan, toji finally succumbs to the inevitable, his cock pulsing as he shoots stream after stream of hot cum deep into your spasming cunt along with a guttural moan tears from his throat, painting your insides white with his essence. he continues to pump his hips, grinding against you as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

he rocks into you with shallow thrusts, riding out the waves of his climax, ensuring that every last drop of his cum is pumped directly into your waiting womb. his hands grip your ass and throat hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he empties himself inside you before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

finally, with a shuddering sigh, he stills, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. he stays buried inside you, savoring the warmth and closeness for a long moment before slowly pulling out. a trickle of his cum follows, dripping down your thigh, and he smirks at the sight.

“take it all, fuck yeah,” he grunts before his face buried in the crook of your neck. he can feel your pussy milking him, greedy for every drop, and it sends shivers down his spine.

finally spent, he stills, letting you both catch their breaths. after a long moment, he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness. “always so good for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “my perfect baby doll.”

your body is limp, utterly spent from the intense coupling, and you lean heavily against the tree trunk, barely able to keep yourself upright. toji’s warm seed trickles out of you, marking your thighs with its presence, and you can’t help but shiver at the intimate display.

as he pulls out and presses his forehead against yours, you feel a strange sense of contentment washing over you. this is where you belong— in his arms, filled with his cum, cherished and owned.

when he looks at you with that tender expression, calling you his ‘perfect baby doll’, something in your chest swells..

he runs his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the dominant possessiveness of earlier. his eyes are studying you, no doubt taking pride in the sight of his claim upon you.

he stays close to you, letting you lean against him for support. his hands are now soothing, roaming over your body as he checks for any signs of distress. he can be tender when he wants to be, and right now, he's taking care of you— in his own way.

“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “you took me so well, doll face.” he wraps his arm around your waist tighten, keeping you close to his side. he's not done with you yet, but he’ll give you a moment to recover. he knows you can be stubborn and independent, but right now, he wants to savor the power he has over you.

he looks around the small clearing, making sure nobody has stumbled upon their intimate moment. he won’t share this with anyone— you’re all his.

“come here,” he coaxes, tugging you gently towards a small changing room inside the haunted house. “let me clean you up.” his words are a gentle command, and you find yourself following his lead towards the small changing room. he guides you inside, shutting the door behind you.

the room is small, but clean, and there’s a small sink and a few towels laid out neatly. toji leads you over to a bench, sitting down and guiding you to stand between his legs.

he grabs a towel and wets it, the water cold against the warmth of your skin. he begins to wipe you down, his movements slow and deliberate. “such a mess i made of you,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of satisfaction and pride. he takes his time, cleaning up his mess of you, his touch more gentle and methodical than earlier.

your heart pounds in your chest as you feel his hands move with deliberate care, wiping away the sweat and mess he caused, his touch both calming and unnerving. the cold towel against your skin contrasts with the warmth radiating off him, making you shiver, but it’s not just the cold that sends a tremor through your body—it’s him. the way he speaks, the way he holds you as if you’re something fragile, a possession.

once he's satisfied with his work, he pulls you down onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. his arms wrap around you, locking you in place, and for a moment, the steady thump of his heartbeat against your back almost lulls you into a false sense of security. but then, his words hit, soft and mocking against your ear.

“always so damn obedient,” he muses, his breath hot against your ear. “my good little doll.”

those words send a jolt of irritation through you, snapping you out of the daze his presence always seems to trap you in. your hands instinctively rise to his broad shoulders, fingers digging in slightly as you lean your head back, just enough to glare up at him. your voice comes out in a quiet mutter, but there's defiance in your tone.

“i’m not your little doll,” you whisper, tightening your grip on his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin just enough to make your point. you want him to know you’re not his to control, not his to manipulate, no matter how much he tries to wrap you around his finger.

he lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest, clearly amused by your resistance. his muscles tensing slightly as your nails dig into his skin. he's not bothered by your show of defiance— in fact, he seems to find it amusing.

he turns you slightly in his lap, his hand cradling your chin as he forces you to look at him. “oh really?” he asks, his voice a taunting purr. “then why are you here, doll face? why are you letting me hold you, touch you, claim you like you’re mine? deny it all you want, but we both know the truth.”

he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his hand still holding your chin tightly. “you can try to fight it all you want, but we both know you belong to me. your body, your mind, your soul... all mine. and deep down, you like it, don't you? being my doll, being controlled and cared for by me.”

he runs his tongue over your skin lazily, tasting you. “don't deny it, doll. we both know you're just playing a game, trying to act tough.”

you grit your teeth as his lips graze your jawline, his hold on your chin firm, keeping you in place. the way he talks, the smugness in his voice, it makes your blood boil. “all mine,” he says, and the worst part is the part of you that aches at his words, that dangerous pull you’ve always felt toward him. you hate that he knows it. hates that he’s always had this twisted power over you.

as he runs his tongue over your skin, you feel a surge of anger rise in your chest. “don’t deny it, doll,” his voice snakes into your mind, coaxing out that doubt, that part of you that still wants to give in. but you're not going to let him win this time, not like this.

you glare at him, grumbling under your breath, “i’m not your fucking doll,” before pushing off his lap, or at least trying to. his hands tighten around your hips, keeping you firmly in place as he looks at you with that same cocky smirk, daring you to keep fighting. his fingers dig into your skin, his grip possessive, as if he's reminding you just how easily he can keep you here, keep you wrapped in his control.

your mind swirls with frustration, battling between the anger at him and the anger at yourself for falling back into this. how did you end up here again? you swore you’d never let him get to you like this, swore you wouldn’t be sucked back into the same toxic cycle. yet here you are, stuck in the same shit hole of a situation with your ex, the very man you thought you’d left behind.

you glare up at him, your chest heaving with a mix of emotions—anger, frustration, longing—and you hate that your body still reacts to him, even now.

he watches you struggle against him, his smirk growing wider as he sees the mixture of frustration and anger in your eyes. he knows you're a fighter, stubborn till the end, but he also knows how to push your buttons, how to break through that strong exterior and get to the parts of you that are still soft and fragile.

as he holds you in place, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness that's both infuriating and arousing, he leans in close— he always did like to invade your personal space. “you're just making it harder on yourself, doll face,” he says, his voice a low taunt. “why fight it, huh? why resist what we both know you want?” he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“be a good girl and stop resisting,” he coos, one hand slipping under your shirt, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your hip. “you know you can’t resist me, doll. you never could.”

toji’s teeth graze over your pulse point, his soft nibbles making it harder to focus on your anger. every flick of his tongue, every gentle bite, is breaking down your defenses piece by piece, and he knows it. you can feel him smirk against your skin, sensing the shift in your resolve as your body responds despite your best efforts.

suddenly, he pulls back, his fingers still holding your hips as he tilts your chin up to look into your eyes. his gaze is intense, a mix of desire and something more—something that makes your breath catch in your throat. “how about we get out of this hellhole?” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, the arrogance replaced with something a little more serious. “you and me, we can talk. figure out this thing between us.”

his eyes flicker with intent, and for a moment, you wonder if he really wants to talk or if he’s just using this as another way to pull you back into his orbit. “no bullshit, no games,” he adds, his voice softer now, though the grip on your hips remains firm, like he’s making sure you won’t slip away before he can get you to agree.

the idea of leaving this place, of escaping the haunted house and confronting whatever this is between you two, makes your heart pound for a different reason. there’s something in his eyes that says he’s serious, but you can’t help but wonder if this is just another one of his games, another way for him to keep you tangled up in his web.

he can see the conflict in your eyes, the way your mind is whirling with doubt and hesitation. he knows you're torn, caught between the anger and the attraction that still pulls you towards him. he also knows that if he doesn’t push now, you'll likely slip through his fingers again, and he's not keen on giving you that chance.

he leans in a little closer, his body pressed against yours as he continues to hold your hips in a firm grip. “we can go to my place. have a private conversation. we both know we need to talk.” his voice is softer now, less arrogant and more serious. he’s pushing the right buttons, he knows it. the thought of having you in his territory, in his space, is too tempting for him to resist. he wants you, he wants to keep you close, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

“no bullshit, no games,” he repeats, his eyes never leaving yours. “just an honest conversation, doll face.“

you let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of your conflicting emotions settle over you. the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but so is the pull he has over you—the way his words, his touch, his presence always seem to get to you, no matter how hard you try to fight it. you hate that part of yourself, the part that still craves his attention, his closeness.

as his body presses against yours, his grip firm but not painful, you can feel the sincerity in his tone. for once, the arrogance is stripped away, and he’s giving you something real—at least, it seems like it. you look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign that this is just another one of his manipulations, but you find nothing but intent in his gaze.

“alright,” you mutter, the word slipping out before you can stop yourself. you’re still torn, still unsure, but part of you wants to see where this will lead. maybe he’s right. maybe you both need to talk, to figure out what this messed-up relationship is, if it even exists anymore.

but before he can get too comfortable, you glare back at him, your voice sharp as you narrow your eyes. “but if you’re playing me, toji, i swear i’ll hunt you down,” you warn, your tone deadly serious despite the tension still buzzing between you.

his lips twitch into a dangerous smirk as you utter the word 'alright', and the grip on your hips tightens ever so slightly. he knows he's got you now, that he's pulled you back in with just a few words and a hint of sincerity.

but he’s not foolish enough to ignore your warning. he knows you well enough to know the threat is real, and the thought of being hunted by you both excites and terrifies him.

“play you?” he repeats, the smirk on his face never wavering. “what happened to ‘no bullshit, no games’?“

you roll your eyes at his cocky response, muttering under your breath, “i don’t know, you’re an asshole most of the time.” with a small huff, you push yourself up from his lap, feeling the tension in the air shift slightly as you create some distance between you. it feels good to stand your ground again, even if you just agreed to leave with him.

his grip loosens but doesn’t fully let go, his fingers grazing your skin as you move. he lets out a low chuckle, clearly amused by your comment, but there’s a glint of something more in his eyes—like he enjoys watching you push back. toji’s always been like this, enjoying the push and pull between the two of you.

he lets you create some distance, but his fingers still linger on your skin, still claiming a piece of you even as you move away. he chuckles at your muttered insult, the smirk on his face never wavering.

“you should know by now that being an ass is what i do best, doll face,” he mocks, his tone dripping with arrogance. his eyes rake over your frame, appreciating the sight of you standing up to him, even if it's a futile attempt (at least, that's what he thinks).

you huff at his remark, your frustration bubbling up as you reply, “yeah, sadly.” a frown settles on your face, and you can feel your resolve wavering slightly in the face of his arrogance. crossing your arms, you try to maintain your tough exterior, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to keep that up.

with a sigh, you extend your hand toward him, the gesture feeling surprisingly intimate given the situation. “let’s just get out of here,” you say, your voice firm. “i don’t want to spend another minute in this hellhole.”

toji’s smirk widens as he takes your hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. he can sense the mix of emotions swirling in you—frustration, desire, and a hint of resignation. “your wish is my command, doll face,” he replies, his tone teasing yet sincere. he leads you toward the exit, fingers intertwined, the connection between you both lingering as you step into the darkness outside, leaving the haunted house behind.

TAGLIST:

@fairiesthrum @22marie16 @pe4rl-diver @meowingtatum @prettymoonlightsworld @sonotpattismith @leidypop @anthastudios @komicutz @blueemochii @rumi-rants @wakashudou @ameeeeeliie @reverrieee @iheartsuya @starlightglimmersworld @m00nyt0astforever @sugusmonkeyy @aerareads @r0ckst4rjk @osakis-gf @xoxo1mira

[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!💞

[bloodmoonmuses]

stereo 127 | johnny suh

(for @lovesuhng !!! I hope you like it!!!)

genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers

warnings: none!

summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.

You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him. 

Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester. 

When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back. 

Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant. 

This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.

The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner. 

You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre. 

Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.

The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.

—

You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment? 

While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:

Professor: Dr. Moon

TA: Johnny Suh 

You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”

Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.

Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact. 

Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”

“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?” 

Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.

“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”

Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”

“Pop punk,” you say.

“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”

You shrug. “Grew up on it.”

“Have you been to the record store near campus?”  

You shake your head.

“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”

“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”

“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.

“Sounds good!”

—

Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.

“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.  

“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.

“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies. 

So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.

“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out. 

“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.

“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.

He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”

—

You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.

After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.

The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection. 

“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.

Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”

“Favorite camera brand?”

“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”

“How pretentious,” you say.

“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it. 

Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”

“Yeah, just text me whenever.”

—

You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining. 

The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.

“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.

“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.

Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.

“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”

“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”

You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.

“I haven't been this scared in a long time

And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody

This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”

—

You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind. 

All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle. 

Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.

Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.

“What the hell, Johnny?”

He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly.  “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.

“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.” 

“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”

Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.

“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.

“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.

“Only a healthy amount though.”

When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem.”

You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“It sorta had… a theme to it.”

Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.

“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”

With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips. 

He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.

“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile. 

Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.

a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 4: Haunted house - Multi!Muse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multi!muse x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some mentions of gore, possession, all kinds of spooky stuff.

Type: Blurbs

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: How it’d be like to go to the haunted house with the reader

Notes: Really late upload, but oh well. I may remove some characters if I have no inspiration for them but if you don't see your favorite send me an ask!

Jason Voorhees: Kind of loves it. He loves the thrill of it, even though he screams every time there’s a jump scare. He always grabs you by your shoulders and holds you tight while closing his eyes when something gets in both of your faces. At first you think you should stop but after a few seconds, you see Jason’s laugh. “Again.” Would be all he would tell you when you meet him outside the haunted house, hand in hand. This would quickly become one of Jason’s favorite traditions come Halloween time.

Michael Myers: Not phased by anything at all. If anything jumps at him he just stands right in front of it, punches or shoves it when it gets in his face or yours. Honestly he kind of just wants to get this over-with. The more you two go to haunted house, the more people know Michael’s notorious reactions, the more they seem to dread scaring you both. He kind of ruins the experience, but what did you expect. Michael doesn’t make half of the choices anyway, just kind of follows you around.

Tiffany Valentine: Actually would really enjoy it. She’d dress up with as well with you, doing your make up and hair beforehand. It’s the most fun part to her. She’d love to go to every part in the haunted house, the clown exhibit, the ghost exhibit, all of it. She loves the scares and the thrills of the screams both coming from you both. Sometimes Tiffany would scream at the screamer back then laugh about it with you. So yes, haunted houses with Tiffany is the best.

Billy Loomis: Not too interested, but would go to some kind of horror fair or festival with you, mostly wanting to go to the horror/gore part of it. Anything having to do with a slaughterhouse theme or something violent would get Billy into it. He also laughs when a jumpscare comes up, squeezing your hand and looking to you with a twisted smile. The more you both have fun at haunted houses, the more he’s encouraged to go. Kind of thinks it’s cute that you get scared and is more than willing to go first and have you hide behind him.

Stu Macher: THE best most excited baby. He’s so thrilled, haunted houses are his favorite parts of Halloween. Stu would hands down have a collection of flyers to show you different places you two just HAVE to visit. Super impatient with the line though, he’s such a baby. If the line won’t move, he sits down on the sidewalk looking up to you as he complains about the line. Also laughs when you or him scream, he even grabs some of the scarers, which of course is forbidden but Stu does it anyway. You’d have to run out sometimes because of it.

Patrick Bateman: Not very fond of haunted houses, he doesn’t see the point in them at all. You’d have to beg and beg and beg for Patrick to take you. Of course he probably wouldn’t change his mind until the night of. Finally though, after many tantrums and tears, he decides to take you, not really knowing what to expect. Of course it’s the slaughterhouse that catches his attention, so much so that he even wants to go to it a second time. Before you know it, you’re the one following him around to the exhibits.

Leatherface: This is so funny to me. Bubba is one of the biggest, strongest on this list, but he can also be the biggest scardy-cat of it too. He doesn’t really understand what’s going on or what the actual concept of the haunted houses are. You’d have to explain to him that they’re not real ghosts and there’s nothing really to be afraid of. He’s confident at first, but after the second scare, he’s a little bit more on edge. You’d have to lead, he’d cling onto you for dear life, screaming when something would grab him from behind. It’s kind of cute though.

Harley Quinn: ALSO the best at the haunted house game. She’s is all into it. Instead of bar hopping, you’d go haunted house hopping. Harley loves everything, from the mad science exhibit to the zombie exhibit, she would give every single one of them a try. Of course nothing scares Harley, she’d laugh at the screams and run towards the scarers. She’d have you accompany her all night until you’re no longer able to stand up. This would quickly become one of her favorite parts of Halloween and would perk up at any sign of a haunted house, whether it’s a little tacky one or something a little bit more realistic.

Poison Ivy: Not too interested in the concept of haunted houses, but if it’s date night and there’s nothing else to do, she’d consider it. You’d have to choose wisely though, you knew if Ivy didn’t like something within the first twenty minutes, she wouldn’t waste her time on it again. You knew she was more into psychological torture, so perhaps something to do with possession or a little bit less gruesome and more mind melting. If she’d really like it, she would tell you haunted houses would now be added to your list of activities to do on date night in the future, if not, she’d take control of the planning and make the decisions again.

Bruce Wayne: Honestly would love to take you to a haunted house. Never had been in one personally or really cared to, usually he’d go to Halloween parties if he was in the mood but he wants to see you enjoying the holidays. Of course nothing would really phase him, but his heart would skip a beat feeling you clutch onto him. Whether it’s criminals or scare actors, you still hide behind him for safety. Seeing you have fun is the most important thing to him, so when he's not home by the time he promises, he ends up making it up to you by taking you to a haunted house tour, renting it off for just you two.

Jason Todd: He doesn’t like to see you scared, even if it’s for Halloween. Of course he loves the thrill or used to, but not where you have to pay the price. Seeing you in distressed or frightened in any way would tug at his heart strings. However, if you insist on going, Jason would be more than happy to take you. You’d plan out a whole day to visit haunted houses, then go out to eat and rank the places over burgers and iced drinks.

Billy Hargrove: All up for it. This was one of his favorite things to do as a child, one of the more wholesome memories. Being scared with tacky haunted houses was a constant memory that came up when Halloween would come around so of course he was up for it when you mentioned it. Billy would go to any you wanted to, but the one that would freak him out the most would be an alien one. It’d stay engrained in his brain for the rest of the night. He’d hold your hand and take the lead every time, making sure you were close to him at all times, laughing it off when he himself would get scared with a jumpscare.

Steve Harrington: Would LOVE it. This is also one of his favorite Halloween traditions, but when you brought up haunted houses, he had in mind something a little bit less scary and perhaps a little more cheesy. Still, he’d go with you and his overprotective boyfriend instincts would kick in. Holding you close and tightly, scoping out the place as he would take his next step. Kind of the best at keeping you safe no matter how much he’s screaming. After the exhibit there would be a lot of talk about what you saw and tons of laughter at how silly you both probably looked.

Steve Rogers: Never really gave it a thought, but he knows Halloween is one of your favorite holidays, so if taking you to a haunted house to scare you shitless is what’s going to make you happy then so be it. Kind of uneasy though, of course, also has overprotective boyfriend instincts. Steve has to fight the urge to not react every time someone jumps out in front of you. Even if you’re not scared, he’s still holding you a little too tight and close to him, not that you mind it though. “Man, that was creepy, let’s go again.” He’d complain after leaving the clown exhibit.

Bucky Barnes: Kind of dreads it at first, he doesn’t really like to participate in haunted houses. Usually not a fan of the wait, the people and it’s just overall not a great situation to put yourself in, but if you really wanted to then going once wasn’t going to kill him. He’d hold your hand throughout the whole time, unsure if it was for your comfort or his own. Bucky would flinch only at a couple of scares, taking a step back, but still taking to lead with you, trying just to find the end to this place. Overall, not the most enthusiastic on this list, but still fun to go with if you’re a big baby.

Wanda Maximoff: Very fun to go with. She’s excited for haunted houses when you explain to her the concept of them. Wanda admits she’s never been to one, so you’d have to take the lead and explain to her the processes. You’d choose the creepy doll exhibit, the clown one and the vampire exhibit to start, all exhibits she would enjoy and she does! Wanda would definitely become an adrenaline junkie when it comes to haunted houses, loving the scares and screams and aesthetics of it all. Overall, super fun to go with!

Loki Laufeyson: Doesn’t understand them one bit, but it makes little y/n excited so he guesses it wouldn’t be too horrible to go to. He doesn’t mind the wait, listening to you talk endlessly about what you wanted to see and what exhibits you were excited for as well as what you think he’d like and what you think he wouldn’t like. Either way, he just wants to spend time with you and this would be a perfect date for a little excitement in the night. Takes on the overprotective boyfriend roll as well, holding you tightly beside him, making sure you don’t stay too far behind and aren’t in the frontline of the scarer. “Why do you like to do this to yourself? Don’t the avengers provide you with enough fear?” He’d tease you while he wipes your harmless tears after the visit.

Cloud Strife: Also doesn’t understand them, but still willing to with you. Kind of takes it too seriously when you get scared or when something is trying to attack you, but not really when it stops right in front of your nose. Either way doesn’t really like the fear it puts on your face. You assure him it’s only for show and you were actually really having fun, but either way, the whole thing just isn’t super fun for Cloud seeing you worked up like this, after the second exhibit you would agree to just go see the costumes and floats, anything that wasn’t involving someone else in a costume trying to strike fear into your heart.

Aerith Gainsborough: Kind of excited for it, likes the concept and wants to see it before her. Does little dances and hand gestures while waiting in line as you get closer to entrance. Wants to see the ghost exhibit first then the vampire one. Would even wear her fake fangs to the exhibit. Overall the only character to turn this date into a wholesome one despite what you were doing. Gasps and laughs would be her reaction to the sudden jumpscares and it’s actually very cute.

Sebastian Michaelis: Wouldn’t be an idea for him to go, but if you insisted this would be a fun date, then he would have no other choice than to comply. Sebastian follows after you, keeping his usual unimpressed face as different scarers would jump before you two. The only time he would step forwards is if the person was getting too close to you, he’d look at them with a smile and have you continue your path. Overall the experience would be mostly for your fun rather than his. Sebastian is only there to keep you safe.

Spencer Reid: All for it! Loves haunted houses, it’s one of his favorite traditions. Compiles a list of haunted house events coming up and has you help him choose where to go. You both would wear cute little costumes or pumpkin themed clothing on the way there. Lots of singing and laughing on the drive, it’d be a pretty fun experience. Spencer would lead to you to different exhibits, laughing and screaming along with you at the sudden appearances of those in terrifying costumes. You’d end the night talking about your favorite exhibits and costumes, what you wanted to do next time and what you planned for your next visit.

[claryshifts]

Making American Horror Story DRs "Safe"

I'll update this with each season I watch! Most of this will focus on one of the "Evans" bc I know a lot of yall horny bastards wanna hop on him (real) Each section will have an "ultra safe" paragraph and a "safe as possible?" paragraph. idk -Murder House: Option One: The house isn't possessed or whatever you want to call it. Hell, you don't even have to live in it. Though Tate has problems with his mom (that adds a lot to his character, so I'd still 'keep that'), he's never had terrible thoughts of doing what he did at that school or any other gross things. I personally would still 'script out' the self-harm. Wouldn't want my partner to suffer that Option Two: If you still want that ghostly experience, then sure, by all means, live in the haunted house. but maybe cut out the satan part... Also script the ghosts don't have shitty timing (they don't bother you in the bathroom or when you're sleeping, for ex). If you want Tate as a ghost and not alive, still, don't date a ghost mass yknow what  😭  😭  BONUS: instead of tate, date violet 🥰🥰 -Asylum: Option One: You can live a nice quiet life with Kit. it's the 60s though, so if you're fem/poc/lgbt/etc, keep that in mind. whenever I go to a reality in the past I script I don't get bored without technology lol Option Two: have fun at the asylum, ig, boo. If you want some edgy lore, pls don't script you're a psycho killer or something omg 😭. Script none of the people in charge inflect punishments on you. If you really wanna get freaky in that musty place, script you don't get caught... and that its not all musty... -Coven: I got a lot to say bc I think Imma make a script for this too haha Option One: no scary demon devils or whatever. Uh, Kyle isn't treated like a sex object???? Nothing bad happens to Nan (she deserves better). If Kyle has to die (that sounds so weird to say) for your lore or whatever, don't purposely give him a traumatizing experience. this isn't a fan fic,, that's your REALITY. Honestly you could just script you're a silly little witch hanging out in New Orleans and call it a day. Madison isn't annoying af. No Axe Man. LaLaurie being Queenie's "slave" was deserved but maybe just script her 'out' altogether... Option Two: Okay, so you want the drama. Have the drama! Still no demon devils though cuz that does NOT sound fun. Script you and the people you care about are all safe from harm. If Kyle HAS to go through that terrible experience (I'm his biggest defender as you can tell), at least keep Madison and Zoe away or at bay bc seeing them fight over a guy who can't even say "food" and OBVIOUSLY can't verbally consent was so uncomfy, for me at least. -Freak Show: Option One: no scary clowns. The "freaks" aren't treated like shit. Neal Patrick Harris doesn't show up with his puppet??? No one is trying to make money off of the freaks. None of them are murdered or harmed. Option Two: Ig if you still want the plot they still have to be treated pretty shitty. Still would apply everything else though, as well as the fact nothing happens to you.

-Hotel: Option One: Ok look James March. Wonderful man. Make him NOT a serial killer omg. If you get with him I'm convinced a relationship with him would be straight up Morticia and Gomez uishfuihfjsf I want him so bad. Anyway, if he's your man keep the countess off your back, if you keep her there at all. I wouldn't recommend making yourself a ghost bc idk WTFFF that would mean for you spiritually. You could be sexy March's sexy human partner. Or the countess' partner. Anyone's partner. but alive. Um no 10 commandment killings of any sort, and no vampire children???

Option Two: ngl idk how else to put this?? idk if there should be an option 2 ;-;

Currently on Roanoke! this season is so boring I might not write anything for it

[andoutofharm]

there are two types of gay people on halloween that are perfectly captured by the dichotomy between boygenius’s halloween show:

(perfectly on theme as the father, the son, and the holy spirit with their band as angels; elegant and haunting and beautiful)

and fall out boy’s halloween show:

(their openers dressed as Them and old people, their crew dressed as ghosts with hats, there was no coherent theme whatsoever besides HALLOWEEN!!!!, andy stripped off his costume almost immediately, patrick sweated off his makeup then took off his wig and spent the rest of the show in his stripy pants, pete first came out with nn dressed as a pumpkin, didnt even make it through a full song with his wolf mask before he was just wearing a nightgown, then changed into a skeleton onesie for a bit only to strip it down to his waist to wear with the mesh and roses. also he threw candy into the crowd)

in conclusion i love them both 10/10 on all counts

[akascow]

HELLO i make dolls sometimes

heres all my horror/thriller ooak dolls made this year >:)

plus a lil retrospective for each under the cut :)

Peter Graham (Hereditary)- my fave of all of them :3 hes so cutie patootie i love him the hair and the faceup just came toegther so well eugh

Freddy Kreuger (Nightmare on Elm Street)- LOVE HER i was kinda iffy on the dress when making it BUT I LOVE HOW IT TURNED OUT, and not to toot my own horn BUT the skin !! fucking so good

Adam Stanheight (Saw)- first one i actually tried at HAHA i love the mullet (it used to look better idk what happened to it lmfao) and the pants and the shirt and the accessories, theyre my wet lil cat

Grace Le Domas (Ready or Not)- my most recent one :) the dress is just a clusterfuck of materials but it keeps the vibe. u cant tell from the pic but the hair actually looks rlly close to her hair in the movie if i do say so myself, also i literally color stained her dress with dirty paint water HAHA

Amanda Young (Saw)- kinda skimpy on details but i think it looks like her pretty well idk. if i was good at crafting i would actually make a rbt but alas

Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)- kinda hate her i think its the hair but u can only make so many mullets before losing ur mind so its wtvr

Red (Us)- first doll outfit i tried to make from scratch and u can tell HAHA i think i redid the face like 3 times HAHA also i colored the hair with copious amounts of eyeshadow and hairspray lmfaooo. the coolest part imo are the scissors im actually surprised i found that online

Bent Neck Lady (Haunting of Hill House)- u cant tell but the body details are so cool to me it kinda follows the molded and torn pattern of all the hill house ghosts, not a fan of the face but it was when i was still doing more stylized faceups as opposed to trying to stick to more realistic lol

Stu Macher (Scream)- redid their face like 3 times and it still doesnt look like matthew lillard so it makes me angry to look at HAHA id probably like it better if i did better on the robe but oh well lmao

add-on edits before 2025:

- wendy torrance (the shining) :3

[veespee]

MLandersen0 Community Posts

okay, here’s a sort of analysis (?) for the recent Mlandersen0 YouTube community posts, because people should talk more about them AND i need to overanalyze everything; so here ya go.

(this is part 1. there are 6 posts up rn, and this post would be WAY too long if i do all 6. so i’ve divided them to 2 parts, will post the other in a few days probably :) 

first post: Antigonish?

Antigonish is a poem written by William Hughes Mearns, which you can read here. 

I'll just write my interpretation, and how I think it relates to mla0: the poem revolves around a man, who is portrayed as a ghost. The speaker/narrator of the poem is clearly scared of this mysterious ghost man, telling him to “go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!” and “go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door…”. Now, as for the connection to mla0, i have two theories: 1. the ‘ghost’ is Slenderman, and it’s from Michael’s point of view. Which i think makes some sense, as the ghost and Slender also appear and disappear mysteriously, and of course, Michael wants him to go away, and 2. it could be about Michael’s guilt and past getting to him. All the people that are dead because of him and his want to protect himself, are haunting him, and the ghost is metaphorical. These are just theories though, so the meaning could be anything really. 

second post: So it goes?

This one is a song by band ‘Matthew and The Atlas’, you can listen to it here. According to an analysis from this website, the song talks about an entity of sorts, lingering around the speaker’s life since he was young. There’s a theme suggesting that the speaker fears the entity, and has never been able to confront it or get some closure on what it wants (as suggested in the chorus: “Deep below the earth I might have found you, High above the tower I could not see”). Also, according to a comment on the Genius page for this song, the song writer Matt Hegardy, explained that when he was young, he was attacked by a man with a knife, later resulting in bad dreams consisting of a figure standing over him. In my opinion, that’s exactly Michael’s relationship with Slenderman. Slender is an entity, plaguing Michael’s mind with nightmares, and basically ruining Michael’s life completely, but he never gets the chance to confront Slenderman, and get the closure he needs. So he’s stuck, being miserable and feeding people to Slenderman, without even knowing why. (also, now that i think about it, this could also be about Patrick. but i’m leaning towards Slenderman)

third post: And they call me a throwback when I cry, “Remember?”

The title is a lyric from the song below, Old Tyme Mem’ry by Erik Petersen. Now, the song’s overall meaning is nostalgia on vintage ways of living, as the song tells the story of a family who had to sell their farm after the death of the father, and how the new owners of the land have no connection to the land, instead opting for luxury and modernity. (thanks to this site i understood that lol, go check it out for a more in-depth analysis of the song) But in general, the atmosphere of the song is one of nostalgia and reminiscing (which is honestly the theme of all of these posts), and that’s why i’m assuming it’s Michael posting these. He’s reminiscing on the past, where everyone was ‘okay’ (as okay as they can be, at least) and alive, but know he’s alone. All he can really do is reminisce, as he has nothing now, no family, no friends. Really, I think he only has Patrick, who probably isn’t very stable, and Slenderman. 

okay that’s all i could find :) thank you for reading, and for anyone who is too bored to read all that, TL;DR: most of the themes of the songs/poems Dylan/Michael have posted have a theme of haunting/nostalgia. So my theory so far is, Michael is alive and living his life in guilt, reminiscing on the past about all of his wrong doings, and all the people who are dead because of him. He’s lonely, guilt-filled and grieving the life he could’ve had, if only everything was okay.

also!! credits to all the websites i linked, the helped me undestand the meanings of all the songs in depth, so of course, lot's of credits to them.

[burningthrucelluloid]

Christmas Carol-cember, Day 14

From muppets to ponies to lost television media, it seems A Christmas Carol fits very well into the musical genre. But obviously, a great musical is only as good as the songwriters providing the songs.

So when the writing/directing duo behind “Daddy’s Home 1 & 2,” “Hot Tub Time Machine,” and “We’re The Millers” signed a deal with Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds and got Apple to pony up $75 million in the bidding war, they needed songwriters who could make some bangers for their holiday musical comedy.

Enter the hottest songwriting darlings of musical theatre: Benj Patel and Justin Paul. Two guys who met at the University of Michigan with a love of musicals so strong, they wrote their own called “Edges" while completing their Bachelor of Fine Arts degrees in musical theatre. But their true accomplishment was the 2015 musical “Dear Evan Hansen” that shot them into the stratosphere of success after they won the Tony for Best Musical and Best Original Score and later won a Grammy just as Hollywood came a-knocking. They made a splash with writing the songs to 2016’s “La La Land” that earned them an Oscar win for Best Original Song before they truly became Hollywood darlings with 2017’s super hit “The Greatest Showman.” They also won a Emmy for writing songs for the Hulu show “Only Murders in the Building,” making them the newest editions to the EGOT crowd.

Naturally, when you can get these guys to write your musical, you’ve got a guaranteed success.

Right?

In the modern day, the Ghosts of Christmas Past (Sunita Mani), Present (Will Ferrell) and Yet To Come (voiced by Tracy Morgan but played by NBA star Loren G Woods) still perform the annual duty of picking out a miserly human every Christmas Eve and force them to change their ways for the betterment of mankind.

They celebrate every converted human with an elaborate music number.

And before you ask, yes, they openly acknowledge it’s weird but never explain why they do it other than “just cause."

Although the Ghost of the Present is eligible for retirement, he refuses to step down until he finds that one human he can change who will have a meaningful impact on the world. Enter Clint Briggs (Ryan Reynolds), a selfish media consultant who will do and say anything to stir the pot as well as get ahead in his career, even going so far as to tell his niece to post an unflattering video of her opponent to win class president, much to the displeasure of his Executive Vice President Kimberly (Octavia Spencer).

Realizing this guy is just what he’s looking for, he makes the pitch to his boss, Jacob Marley (Patrick Page), but is warned that Briggs is “Unredeemable.” Unwavering, the ghosts prepare to haunt Briggs, only to learn that Briggs is not too hip to just follow the traditional story beats and finds that it might not be just him that needs to make a change, forcing the Ghost of the Present to reflect on what he really wants...

All done with music numbers that the characters keep recognizing is weird that they do them.

Hope you liked that joke cause they will beat it into your head that it’s weird for there to be music numbers in a musical.

But only for the sequences with the ghosts as they establish the songs are happening within the world of the movie, whereas the music numbers amongst the living are happening inside their minds or as a metaphorical speech given at a convention.

At least I thought that was the idea until Octavia Spencer attempts a reprise of her own song near the film’s end until Ryan Reynolds cuts her off.

Taking a moment to step back let’s drop some film theory to give you an understand why this running joke bothers me so.

In the medium of film or television, there are two modes of sound that connect to the implementation of music or sound effects.

Diagetic Sound is sound that occurs within the world of the story and we can see its source. Whether it’s a baby crying, a car driving past, a conversation between two people or a vinyl record set on a record player, the sound we hear is the same sound the characters in the narrative hear.

Non-Diagetic Sound is sound that is not happening inside the world of the story. This is usually narration but it's most commonly film scores as not everyone can hear the swelling of music happening around them unless directly shown to be, such as the Walkman music from “Guardians of the Galaxy."

Musicals are a tricky act because it’s not so simple to explain whether they are one or the other. For the most part, it’s widely accepted that songs in musicals are non-diagetic. An inner monologue given out in song that represents what the characters are feeling or meant to serve a symbolic gesture behind their actions or words.

Take “Popular” from Wicked. While Galinda is having this conversation with Elphaba about giving her a makeover, we the audience can see her singing, the musical imparts the suggestion that the singing is an internal gesture that is made manifest in song for the audience to hear. The lyrics are a metaphor for the situation and the song is Galindo's internal thoughts.

Of course that’s not to say songs can’t be diagetic in a musical.

“Million Dollar Quartet” specifically makes it clear the songs performed do come from the cast as they are performing their songs within a recording studio. The songs serve both a symbolic gesture while clearly being connected to the world within the musical.

“Spirited” is trying to have it’s cake and eat it too by employing both modes to suggest the music numbers are diagetic and non-diagetic, but it seems to be at odds with itself.

It tries to play itself as funny by poking fun of itself for being a musical….while indulging in elaborate music numbers with complex choreography, colorful set pieces and big bombastic songs that feel right at home on a Broadway stage.

It’s funny once when the movie opens with a music number and a random intern openly asks why everyone is singing before he is told it's just what they do. Ryan Reynolds interrupts music numbers or makes snarky comments how he could perform an elaborate dance number, even one music number that was cut for time plays over the end credits when the joke for that scene was Marley giving Present what he wanted to avoid a music number.

Even during an emotional ballad from Will Ferrell where that same intern from the beginning whispers “What the heck is going on?” It just takes me out of the musical and whatever feeling they want out of me as it slams to a halt.

Contrast that with “Spamalot” where the songs remind you that this is a musical, skewering itself relentlessly but never losing its identity. Such as the number “The Song That Goes Like This,” where Lancelot and the Lady of the Lake perform this duet together, all while calling out the cliche of that kind of musical number in the lyrics or pointing out their own shortcomings to hit specific keys.

It’s the anti-musical musical that still has enough respect for its audience even when it’s taking the piss out of them.

The sad thing is, all that was me speaking to what I got the most worked up about this film.

Because it’s not completely bad, there’s plenty here that’s worth giving a glowing recommendation that I was enjoying.

Ryan Reynolds still remains his usual smart-mouth self that has boosted his career since “Deadpool” but he shows impressive range as a singer (even if there were a few moments I could have sworn I heard auto-tune alteration yet on the soundtrack, there is no alteration) as well as his physicality for the complex choreography created by Emmy-nominated Chloé Arnold and her team, Ava Bernstine-Mitchell and Martha Nichols. Coupling that was Will Ferrell, clearly having understood the assignment as he too shows some impressive dance moves and singing that feels like it comes from the heart, even if some of his humor is still screaming loudly. But he balances that screaming at the top of his lungs with pathos and a well timed retort bouncing off of Ryan Reynolds humor.

What’s more, their chemistry actually works. Even when the ghosts are going through the motions of showing Briggs his past, Present sees Briggs is deeply uncomfortable having to face a traumatic moment and supports him while Briggs recognizes Present's desire to experience the world again and helps him to step out of his shell when he recognizes a connection between him and Kimberly.

And they sell it! That bromance feels genuine and if the songs weren’t part of the film, their chemistry would still carry the movie.

As for the songs themselves, they’re really good. So good it’s why I’m annoyed every time the film keeps calling itself out on them.

One main reason why Pasek and Paul are great songwriters is because they know the conventions of musical theatre and are very familiar with what appeals to people. “That Christmas Morning Feeling” is the kind of big flashy modern musical number that gets people to cheer in the cheap seats and usually shows up on Good Morning America. “Bringin’ Back Christmas” is the kind of jazzy dance number that would have been right at home in the big brass and swing musicals like Cole Porter’s “Anything Goes.” “Good Afternoon,” while on the crass side, you get the feeling the two took a lot of inspiration from the playful bounciness of the Sherman Brothers.

The songs are the highlight, even if one or two of them overstay their welcome (“Unredeemable” did that for me, as well as “Do A Little Good” though by then, I just wanted the movie to be over with). But they’re very strong and hold on their own, which is why I find it so frustrating the script has to come off as “witty” to interrupt itself with snide comments about its own songs.

I really dug the overarching modern themes of cancel culture and the online trigger outrage that is rampant and often exploited by companies for profit. Even the whole concept of the Ghosts expecting to scare people into forcing a change is taken into an interesting place as Briggs says that people don’t really change overnight, but it takes real time and effort for people to make that choice to stop being an ass. Heck, it’s not even seeing a vision of his future that really forces a change from him, he outright says that “sure, I’m gonna feel bad for a few days but then I’m gonna get over it. That’s my job.” What forces a change is the bond he builds with the Ghost of Christmas Present and his willingness to be there for him when he recognizes it’s too much.

It’s a genuinely compelling argument without dissing on Charles Dickens but making a modern point in personal growth. Changing yourself takes work, but it helps to have people to support you.

I liked that. It’s not necessarily an open embrace of Dickens nor does it reinvent the wheel, but in this age of post-irony, it clearly has put thought into itself.

Moments like that clearly show there was an effort to insert sincerity into the script. I just keep being pulled out of the narrative every time they do a music number and call attention to how odd the musical cliches are.

As I said above, a musical lives within its own logic. If your narrative is to acknowledge it and move on, fine. "Rocko's Modern World" made that joke and it's funny every time I see that gag.

But this film keeps calling attention to that cliche and it gets tiring, especially when Will Ferrell does this emotional ballad that showcases superb camerawork and choreography with people holding lights and creating patterns with it…only to be offset by some dude watching who interrupts the song with a snide comment.

I didn’t outright loathe “Spirited,” but by the time the movie was over, I was so annoyed with it, I wanted it to be done and over with so I could move on. Which is a shame because there is plenty here that is worth watching. The cast do a fantastic job, especially Ryan Reynolds who clearly knows how to build rapport with his co-stars whether they are Will Ferrell or Hugh Jackman, the songs stand on their own and are infectious ear worms.

But with a sense of self-aware snark that grinds against the sincerity the film is trying to present, it just comes off as irritatingly hollow at the wrong times. Like driving in a fancy car with superb sound quality and smooth driving but every time you hit the brakes, there’s this awful screeching sound coming from the bottom front of the car that you worry might snap the brake lines and send it careening off.

But if you’re not bothered? Hey, I say go for it, just make sure you’re not going over 50 when you do so.

“Spirited” is available for streaming on Apple TV+

Next week, we’re going to focus on a different theme; whether the story still holds weight even when the characters are aware of Charles Dickens and the cliches.

For that? I think I might call a Doctor...

[a-rum-of-ones-own]

Hi!!!

I’m currently reading A Cosmology of Blacks, Malfoys, and Assorted Individuals and just wanted to express how much I love this fic!!! Your writing style is so profoundly passionate and evocative. The way you describe the emotions and inner workings of Draco, his observations and interactions with others, and blend sensory details with atmospheric elements is so poetically done—I seriously can’t deal.

What spurred me to write this was the opening of Chapter 19:

“With their ancient, bony hands, they’d passed her golden bowls filled with brew of black cohosh. Narcissa, panting in the heated darkness of the room she was confined in, had gulped them down, red-dark liquid dripping down her chin and staining the near-translucent smocking of her nightgown.

Winds had battered against the curtained windows. The approach of an early summer storm. The air had been sweltering, hot, over-heavy with lightning that had not yet discharged.”

LIKE UGH…MINDBOGGLINGLY BEAUTIFUL. SERIOUSLY. It’s so viscerally described that I feel like I’m transported right into the room.

I’m trying to consciously pace myself through the remaining chapters because I don’t want to catch up ;( but could you recommend some books that inspired you to write this fic, or even books that influenced your writing? I would be eternally grateful (high-key already am just for the existence of this fic).

I am so thankful to have stumbled upon this gem. You are sosososo talented; I am truly in awe and can’t wait to read more of your work! xxx

Heeey! Thank you so, SO much! I had so much fun writing that scene with the midwives - I cannot resist including scary old ladies and weird little arcane rituals of womanhood in everything I write, lol. I'm a total sucker for it. Give me a scary old woman who may or may not be a morally grey agent of The Dark And Mysterious Powers of the Great Beyond, and I'm sold.

YES, I do have book recs! Fic-writing is, for me, an opportunity for total stylistic self-indulgence, and there are absolutely influences! In general, Cosmology takes a LOT of influence from gothic writing. That entire theme of a house/manor/castle as a pseudo-living thing, the curses of our ancestors coming back to haunt us, ghosts of the past (both in literal and non-literal form), that's all just plain gothic, and I LOVE writing and reading that sort of stuff. Jane Austen's first novel, Northanger Abbey, is a fantastic gothic novel and/or gothic parody, and it's a shame it's not read more widely. It's definitely her first - it's not as absolutely refined as the big names like Pride and Prejudice etc - but it's the one I love the most. There's a proper mystery plot, a cursed house, a romance, a haunting - it's just great.

If you're not a Jane Austen girlie, a HUGE influence for me is Donna Tartt, especially The Secret History and The Goldfinch. If you're into that ornate, atmospheric, scene-setting writing, both will be right up your alley - The Secret History has a bit more of it (and is, imo, the better one to start out with), but they're both just amazing. One day, I want to be able to write like Donna Tartt does. She's the OG, she's the GOAT, she's perfect, she's probably my favourite contemporary author.

Also: Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House. It's one of my absolute favourite books, but (warning!) it's not literary fiction or romance, it's very much the story of a haunting. If you're absolutely not into horror, stay clear. Similarly, The Perfume by Patrick Süßkind is BEAUTIFUL, but absolutely not a romance. I've only read it in the original and can't vouch for any translations into English, but judging by the reviews, the sheer VibesTM seem to come across even in translation. The original is one of the best books I've ever read, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking for something truly unique. I've also recently read V.C. Andrew's Flowers in the Attic for the first time, and found it really good in that gothic sense, but mind ALL the trigger warnings on that one. I don't deal well with graphic depictions of more realistic violence/abuse, especially if it involves kids (stylised/fantastical and implicit violence is fine, but anything that reads too 'real' and 'logically possible irl' doesn't agree with my stomach), and it's got some of that. I skipped a page or two, but still found it a prime example of Southern Gothic.

Thank you so so much again! I hope to get the next chapter of Cosmology out soon!

[my-own-walker]

OMG I love your work so much!!🤩😘

Could u maybe do JPM but where the reader is like stoned as fuck one day and he comes into their room and she's facetiming her cousin and their just laughing so much that they can't breath and just like crying because of it

If you feel comfortable enough to do it🤪😊😊

Oh! Sweet Nothin’

note: oh absolutely fuck yes anon!! thank u. i love this crazy mf. i’m not very good at happy stories but let’s give this a try ...

warnings: drug use, mentions of death and being dead

+++

I wasn't dead. At least not yet.

My stay at the Hotel Cortez had begun a year prior. I took a solo trip to the City of Angels to take some time away from my life in San Fransisco. Dead end job. Hated my family. The usual shit.

I had heard really fucked up things about the hotel so of course I decided to stay there. I had an affinity for all things murder and ghouls. The rumors of the place being haunted drew me there like a cartoon character being drawn to the scent of a pie cooling on a windowsill.

Little did I know how true the rumors would be.

It wasn't long before I was being pestered by every Tom, Dick, and Harry that forever resided in the place. I wasn't scared, though. Not in the slightest.

I pestered them back, making jokes about their eternal damnation and subsequent imprisonment behind the building's four walls. My fucked up sense of humor got me far in the Hotel Cortez.

My gall enticed one very unfriendly spirit. One whose name was only spoken in whispers around the place. James Patrick March. Yes, the guy who built the place.

He and I clicked instantly. I don't know what it was about me that made him choose to spare me. But we were instant lovers. In fact, the night we met he was already saying he loved me. Boy, was he weird in the best way.

The guy had a knack for violence. Well actually, a fetish for murder. But again, he didn't scare me.

Maybe that's why he chose to protect me. He moved me into his suite and everything. I became a permanent fixture in his space. In return, he kept me alive so I could continue to roam the living world.

I loved him. More than anything in the world. He was dark. He was terrifying. But he was mine. And he was so loving back.

He really tried his best to understand me. Being a twenty-something-year-old in the 21st century, I knew much about the world that he didn't. James died in the early 1930s. He retained his old-timey accent and style of dress. He was a true gentleman, well, besides the whole killing thing.

I, on the other hand, was a burnout loser from the Bay Area. I dressed in ripped jeans, flowy skirts, and Doc Martens. I had tattoos and a shag haircut. I smoked a shit ton of weed and was addicted to social media. I was far from a lady, let alone one like James' past lovers.

But maybe that's what made us work. I balanced him out. He taught me about the finer things in life, and I gave him a window to the outside world in return.

Only I would fall in love with a dead 120-year-old.

+

It was a rainy afternoon in LA, so I returned to the Hotel Cortez. I had been out shopping for rolling papers downtown.

Behind its walls was where I felt most comfortable. James was off doing...whatever a 1930s ghost does when I arrived back at the suite. Needless to say, I immediately dug into my new purchase upon my arrival.

James hated the pen I used to get high. He thought it looked silly.

'If you insist upon smoking, dearest, you should do it like a true sportsman,' he would say..whatever the fuck that meant.

I figured it was cleaner, but then he showed me the box with all of his supplies to roll his own cigarettes, so I obliged. He even gifted me with my own mahogany box for my 'smoking materials,' as he called them.

It had been a while since I rolled anything but I managed to get it done, albeit sloppily, and laid on our shared bed, smoking away lazily as I listened to the rain hit the windows.

My phone buzzed next to me on the pillow.

Incoming FaceTime call from Sasha.

Sasha. They were the only family member I kept in contact with. Sasha was my cousin and the only one that knew the truth about my whereabouts. They would call every so often to check in on me.

Sasha and I were really close as children. So close, in fact, that people would ask me if they were my sibling. They basically were, honestly.

I picked up the phone and hit the answer button.

'Sup bitch,' I answered, blowing smoke out of my nose after I spoke.

'Y/N you are always fucking smoking,' Sasha laughed. 'Do you ever give it a rest?'

'Weed, Sasha, is my best friend,' I replied, taking another drag.

'And not me!?' they scoffed, feigning hurt. "Oh, and we're rolling joints now? I didn't know we were so high class. It must be James' impact.'

'High class? Shut the fuck up,' I chuckled. The lock on the front door to the suite clinked and the door swung open.

'Hello, darling!' James shouted through the space as he closed the door.

'Sasha, he's back. I should go,' I started.

James was very old-fashioned. I tried really hard to not boggle his mind with too many new things at once. He had never met Sasha, let alone seen a FaceTime call. I couldn't imagine turning my phone to him, revealing a person talking in real-time on the screen. Television was trivial enough to him.

'No! It would be so funny. You gotta introduce us,' they pleaded.

'Y/N?' James called, footsteps getting closer to the bedroom.

'Please! Keep me on the phone,' Sasha chuckled. 'I wanna see his brain explode.' I couldn't help but let out a laugh. They were right. James' reaction to new things was always funny.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and James stuck his head in, eyes closed.

'My love, are you decent?' he asked. Sasha let out a giggle on the phone. 'Whatever was that sound?'

'James, it's fine, come in,' I laughed. I stood up and met him by the door, leaving my phone on the bed. He wrapped his arms around my waist, picking me up and spinning me around. He kissed me warmly and set me back down.

'Oh, how I missed you so, dearest,' he sighed.

'I missed you too, James,' I replied, glancing back at my phone.

'And I see you've made use of my gift!' he exclaimed. He inspected my handiwork and tutted his tongue. 'My, we have some work to do. Might I teach you how to roll properly?'

'Of course,' I assured, flopping back onto the bed, picking up my phone, and giving Sasha a look. They covered their mouth with their hand, stifling a laugh. Seconds later I got a text.

Sasha: Bro, he talks so funny I'm crying

I also covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. I was too high for this.

'You and that tiny light box,' James began. 'Whatever can I do to tear your attention away from it?' He removed his suspenders and placed them on the dresser, beginning also to unbutton his shirt.

'Actually, James, I want to show you something,' I giggled.

'It's funny?' he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

'Well, kind of. I want you to meet someone,' I continued. His head whipped around the room, looking for the 'someone' I had just mentioned.

'Where is this person, then?' he asked, panic creeping into his voice. He always got like this. Like I was some sort of magician or something.

'No, no, James, they're on my phone,' I explained. 'Here, I'll just show you.' I turned my screen to face James. Sasha smiled and waved.

'Hi, James!' they called out. He immediately retreated back toward the door like a cornered animal, eyes bewildered.

I couldn’t help but cackle. Sasha let out the laughs they’d been holding in as well.

‘What is this? What is the meaning of this? How are you doing this?’ he asked, rapid-fire. He inched closer to the phone as my cousin and I continued to crack up. In stitches over his cluelessness. He picked up my phone and stared into it. 'Who are you?'

Between laughs Sasha managed to croak out, 'I'm Y/N's cousin. I live in San Fransisco.' James handed the phone back to me and looked at me with confusion on his face.

'James, my cousin Sasha is doing something called FaceTime. It's a new way to call people,' I explained. 'You can talk to people from far away and you can see their faces. Isn't that wonderful?' He nodded, unsure of the whole thing.

'So, that person is actually talking to us right now? From far away?' he asked, trying to clarify things.

'Yeah James, it's just like a phone call!' Sasha continued from the other side of the phone.

I let out a stifled chuckle. He was really trying his best to understand. It was so cool to introduce him to new things, but the way he acted --like the technology was going to hurt him -- was, unfortunately, very humorous to me.

'Oh, James, it's okay, I promise!' I assured him, beckoning him closer with my hand.

He climbed onto the bed and settled in next to me, looking over at the FaceTime call.

'Girl, you are too high for this, I'm sorry,' Sasha cackled.

'No no, it's fine,' I laughed, turning my face to James. 'You gotta learn somehow, right, love?' He nodded.

+

Within minutes James had gotten the hang of talking face-to-face with someone through the 'light box.' So much so, in fact, he began to give a cigarette rolling tutorial, performing as if he were on a stage.

I had the camera turned to him in front of me so Sasha could watch him.

'Then, ladies and gents, we take the paper,' he declared in a sing-songy voice, holding up the rolling paper demonstratively.

Sasha and I continued to laugh uproariously as James taught us how to roll 'the gentleman's way.'

By the end of the lesson, Sasha had to go.

'Goodbye! Goodbye, Sasha! I hope to see you again soon!' James called out as he waved to the camera.

'Bye, bitch,' I added before hanging up.

'Wh-what? Do you not like your cousin?' he scoffed, confused.

'Oh, no no,' I giggled, 'that's just how we say goodbye...from where...I'm from...' A lie, but a necessary one. I didn't feel like explaining how saying 'bitch' can also be good.

'Well, I will be sure to say that next time, then! I wouldn't want to be rude,' James decided.

'Oh, my sweet, sweet love,' I sighed, placing a hand on his cheek. 'You are too good.'

'Now, what do you say we try some of this giggle smoke?' he suggested, handing me the joint he rolled. He produced a lighter from his pants pocket and flicked it, holding it out to me.

+++

Okay, I'm not sure if I love this or if I hate it but I hope I did your request justice! Thank you for sending it in. As always, my inbox is open! Thank you for reading.

[sunskate]

VM show ep 3 Chiddy and Weapo

Patrick had moved to the Detroit Skating Club in the summer of 2013 so was nearby to cameo on the show. one of the few lighter sequences with Scott (this might be the first time he smiles big or laughs for real without any trace of discomfort so far). they go cart race, Patrick says he realized he doesn't have to be absolutely perfect, that eating crap one day instead of eating the perfect meal the perfect way doesn't have to affect his Olympics (in contrast to Tessa wondering whether eating a grape before PYC will affect hers)

Patrick says it's hard to find time to talk to his gf especially at the end of the day when he's tired, and Scott says "they always get the worst of you, right? you gave all your energy to everyone else, i get home, you have nothing left, and that's what they get. god, we should get together and talk more often. making me feel all good. Scott and Patrick" - i know it’s on camera but him making such a heavy statement then being like glad we talked, go us! 😅💀this makes them seem close, but at the same time, he's saying they don't see each other much. maybe when you're an athlete at this level, you have "pick up where you left off" friendships, because you don't have time

the Weapo dinner is at Shiro's restaurant in Novi (which is supposedly haunted by the ghost of the man who built the mansion it's in)

T: (VO) our Canadian teammates, Kaitlyn and Andrew, have invited us to dinner (and VM asked if their camera crew could come? this feels so contrived 😅)

Kaitlyn says: "it feels so cool, i don't know how many other people have this kind of connection we have all together"

but this is cut so that VM look surprised that Weapo make it work being together 24/7 - even though Tessa later says "i often marvel at that fact." Weapo have lived nearby since 2009, so it shouldn't be a revelation 😬 this might be the editors massaging this storyline to say "VM aren't getting along!" and just not doing a great job of it - like the editing here-- the reactions and length of the silences after Kaitlyn asks "how about you?" feel tweaked - the way the background noise drops out for a few beats as soon as Kaitlyn asks the question to make it feel more like crickets and how they add humorous music at the end -

but can you think of another time in their history where either one of them says something like this?

S: we get on each other's nerves until one of us snaps!

T: they literally spend all of their time together, and i often marvel at that fact because i'm not sure Scott and i would survive that sort of setup

how much is Scott joking? are they being more truthful here than other times? what's odd to me is that it's Tessa who's doing the commenting on how they're not getting along, and we're not seeing Scott. just from how uncomfortable he looks throughout this show, i wonder if he was really reticent to talk about Tessa and didn't give them anything they could use. so he gets thrown under the bus by a one sided narrative. we're almost at the end of this storyline, thank goodness

[pixelatedquarter]

Day 44 of Tourdust: I'm sending this from the other side of the apocalypse that just unfolded, trying to get it across while the veil is still thin, but I can't promise it will ever reach.

One thing they don't tell you about the so called Halloween 'veil' is that apparently doesn't only divide the realm of the living and the dead, but also the integrity of the timeline. Somehow, earlier than we expected to have news of our trick or treaters at the scene, we were informed they were witnessing a show from the pre-hiatus, or rather, what would have been the pre-hiatus until The Pumpkin King From The Chicago Hardcore Scene returned, in all his sunglasses-wearing milfy glory, to once again scream lyrics onstage.

Once this event unfolded it didn't take long for ghost sightings to be reported at the Pvris retirement home. At first we thought we knew what awaited, with one of them wearing a baseball cap, the ones of us most versed in tinfoil hatmaking considering perhaps at worst they were covering their costumes with sheets.

But we soon realized he was too tall to be our dear melodramatic femme fatale's dead soulmate (again); and then there were more of them. It was soon clear that ghost tricks had been summoned to obfuscate what the pumpkin king had in store for the trick or treaters, and for all of us, attending from our dear Andy's phone.

On the palm of his hand we were standing when we saw just how high the levels of sillyness were: we were safe from those ghosts for they had been busted by a sexy sexy guitar, a crack of lightning beat in time with the drums, and undoubtedly the big bad grandmilf wolf from shrek had been responsible, in his soulmate exalting poetry, of chanting the name of a star thrice. After all this tour trying to keep a semblance of matching, it's more than earned that tonight of all nights they'd each embody a wildly different member of a wildly different group.

Usually we receive critical hits of damage around the time Patrick gets his little moment to shine. We didn't even make it to the riff this time.

Faster than Beetlejuice became just a regular eyeliner wearing spirit, our werewolf turned into this ethereal human (perhaps evocative of being lost into dreamland in his nightgown, perhaps that's owed to the fantasy land he constructed around them), more an apparition of a lost soul handing out candy to the kids rather than the implied threat of a furry posing as a grandmother trying to trick us. And as the latter started singing the ever haunting tunes of Heaven, Iowa, cameras soon panned to the spot where Pete usually sits alone, as the now wigless, armourless, but just as toned god of thunder enveloped him in a hug, capturing both of them laughing, perhaps comforting each other, certainly having fun, before Thor bolted just in time to avoid missing his cue.

We know better than to make deals with devils, i promise, we do. No matter how good they look in eye makeup. But, sometimes it IS worth making a deal with Beetlejuice to get him to play I'm Like A Lawyer for our streamer. Besides, it's not like the pumpkin king, who would use the distraction of the new and devastating "when i woke up next to you" to turn into his skeletal form, would let any marriages come of it. Well, unless it's for the bit, or you mishear him state his intentions to be engaged himself to this devil. Wouldn't be the wildest thing he's said on riff. Truly, a second riff with Patrick was the greatest treat of the night and he damn well knows it, he's always been good at knowing his subjects.

And The Magic 8 Ball has always been good at knowing when to throw us for a loop. We thought 'surely. if it's reset, that means new rules will not keep showing up.' and oh how wrong we were. 'You will cover Halloween for Halloween' it told them, not giving them more than a day to practice a song that wasn't even theirs. 'And by the way, fuck the legal system' it added, for good measure, despite the lights not being as sexy as they were last time.

By the non-encore encore the only sensible member of this ragtag group, who managed to keep his full attire was the ghostbuster, the sounds from his guitar as effective as any proton pack, as powerful as the thunderous beat Thor kept on the drums.

And so it was time to end the night of trick or treating. The skeleton's bones rattled as his hips swayed, roses clung like vines intertwined with his rib cage, and a bony elbow pressed against this demon who could have been the devil himself 12 years ago, but certainly looked happier now. In spite of it all, it was Saturday again.

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 1: Ghost hunting - Multi!Muse x Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Well, ghosts, death, the afterlife, anxiety, PTSD

Type: Blerps

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: How they would react to going/how they’d feel/what it would be like to ghost hunting with the reader

Notes: Happy first day of Halloween! I wrote this as a blurb, following how they would react/be like to ghost hunting with the reader.

Jason Voorhees: Honestly, doesn’t see the point in it. He’s super lost and doesn’t really know what to do or what he’s looking at. Not to mention he absolutely DESPISES the white box. Flinches anytime it turns on. Kind of just dives in head first to everything, quite literally. Jason would eventually get frustrated with you, at some point, mainly when you would keep hearing things, or seeing things. You thought you would’ve caught them on camera by now, but it’s actually the complete opposite. Overall, could be a very stressful situation for both of you.

Michael Myers: Could not care less. Still follows you though. Kind of just sides eye you as you cling onto his sleeve. Walks in first to any room, as usual. Not a fan of the spider webs, it’s probably the only time you’ve seem him visibly annoyed. Another first in seeing his shoulders sort of slouch over. You swear you could even hear an audible sigh coming from underneath his mask, there’s no one to follow, only shadows. Thinks your rituals of white noise and outrageous flashlights is pointless but on the plus side, he kind of just “walks” through the spiderwebs for you.

Tiffany Valentine: Super excited to go ghost hunting with you. It’s about time to take some kind of adrenaline rush! She LOVES contacting the other side, good or evil. She would absolutely take the lead and pull up all the stops of the most haunted places in the area. Tiffany may even go as far as booking tickets to infamous haunted mansions and abandoned buildings. She looks into different manuals, both old and new, she’d buy and steal all sorts of gadgets and anything that could be used for any rituals for you both to catch a ghost. She laughs when the lights go out or things start flying and hitting the walls, disregarding your fear, if you have any.

Billy Loomis: Kind of thinks the idea is lame at first, but after you seem to be very intrigued, at some point Billy wants to get involved. He’s kind of quiet about it at first with a very much “sure thing kitten, whatever you want” attitude. Billy takes the liberty of just watching you as you set everything up, make notes and doodle on all kinds of maps. At first you think Billy isn’t really paying attention, but when he follows you, you couldn’t help but notice he actually knows how to turn on the white noise box. It’s kind of cute, and not to mention, you are more than welcome to hide behind him if anything gets too scary for you.

Stu Macher: LOVES the idea of ghost hunting, will look into the scariest of places in the area. Asylums, jails, schools are his specialty. You’re kind of taken by surprise with how much he becomes hands on with these adventures. Before you’d know it, Stu would take the lead, flashing the light as you follow him through the grim halls of the abandoned buildings. Of course, he’d act like the light went out, losing you in the process, only to flash the light to your face making you scream, frightening almost any remaining living creature in that place, followed by Stu’s belly laughter. Almost no “real” ghost hunting would get done with this guy, you’d probably be chased out by a curtesy officer before you could sit in a room to make any contact with the other side.

Patrick Bateman: Doesn’t entertain the idea for long, he kind of just stares at you when you go on about the adventures you want to take during this season. He understands it to an extent, but it seems meaningless. Not to mention, he’s possibly more athiest than anything, never with the hope of an afterlife. Patrick would rather go where there were violent deaths, places of execution and torture he’d try to convince you “you’ll find whatever you’re looking for, there.” If you could settle then great, if not, then tough luck. There’s a fifty fifty chance you’d be able to drag him with you if you wanted, but that would depend on his relationship with you. Still thinks the ritual of Halloween is silly and meaningless and yes that includes ghost hunting.

Leatherface: Likes the idea of ghost hunting. he doesn’t really understand it at first. Bubba has an innocent way of looking at ghosts, thinking they’re silly and just the kind extension of another human. Once you tell him about the anger and the sadness some of the ghosts carry at times, you can tell he’s a little bit spooked. He’d ask you questions of the afterlife and everything you’d know about ghosts. Maybe start him off small, little haunted cafes, he’d catch on very quickly and learn how to defend himself and you, he’d become a great ghost hunter with the proper guidance.

Harley Quinn: THE BEST GHOST HUNTER. Harley’s so into it! I bet you she has the equipment already. Super enthusiastic and entirely fearless, Harley will not hesitate to protect you whether you need it or not. She’d take the initiative to look into haunted places for you, persistent until you guys find something. Harley’s so goofy, wearing night vision goggles, carrying around a backpack with all kinds of equipment, flashlights, batteries. She’d be messing with whatever you find at the room and ends up making a mess or scaring you half to death, followed by her wide smile and mouthing a non-apologetic “sorry”

Poison Ivy: Not too big on the idea of ghost hunting, but will entertain the idea. You’d have to bribe her into taking you ghost hunting. She mostly wants to make sure you were okay and what better way to make sure you’re okay than to take you herself. Pamela isn’t scared too easily, she certainly hates walking into spiderwebs though. If you’re afraid of everything, she’d scold you just a tiny bit, laughing it off after seeing your terrified expression. You’d forget batteries or chargers or certain little essential things, but your beloved Ivy would have it in her hand, looking to you with a sly smile. Even ghost hunting she seemed to be the one who knew the most.

Bruce Wayne: His first reaction would be “absolutely not” he’s not doing that, why would he? Of course he’s seen many things but ghosts? It just seems like a dull pastime, but when he sees your discouragement, it definitely tugs at his heart strings. Before you know it he’s waking you up at 1 am, packing your bag because you’re going to go investigate an abandoned jail notorious for ghostly activities. He has all the gadgets, why shouldn’t he take you? Also, if there’s nothing you find after hours and hours of looking, I wouldn’t put it past Bruce to move some stuff around or work his bat magic to get you excited about your adventure with him.

Jason Todd: Absolutely down for anything. “Woah, are you sure about that? You’re not going to hide behind me the whole time?” Jason would absolutely tease you nonstop about being scared of ghosts. “I’m not scared, I respect them” “sure whatever you say doll.” He’d let you believe you’re leading them both, following your advice as to what to take, where to go, what to do. Of course his main job is to take care of the spooky spiderwebs for you. Once you get to your destination, it’s nothing like you imagined. Tucking yourself into Jason’s jacket, it kind of makes his heart flutter, after all this time, whether it’s goons or creeps or ghosts, you constantly feel safest tucking yourself into him.

Billy Hargrove: He’s kind of a little unsure at first, not knowing exactly what you wanted to do or why. Billy likes Halloween, but his idea of a Halloween date considers a movie night, going to house parties. but not spending it alone and in an abandoned hospital or building trying to connect with the other world. He’s intrigued to say the least. If Billy learned anything throughout his years is that if a woman has made a decision of a date, it’s better to go with it. Billy is a little bit more scared than he would like to admit, he’s more on edge than you, but that doesn’t mean he’d only fend for himself. If you both get scared at a noise together, or get out of the way of a ceiling tile falling through, he’d instinctively pull you towards him, covering you with his body where he could. Sooner or later, this would become a thrill for him, wanting to go to more places with you even further out of the town of Hawkins.

Steve Harrington: He’d be hesitant, put up a little bit more of a fight than most characters. Suggesting to go to the movies, or go trick or treating, to a carnival, anything else. You’d make a deal with him, you could go to the carnival, or a house party or trick or treating, whatever he’d like as long as he went with you to cross through that abandoned slaughter house. Steve wouldn’t hesitate to tell you maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, but if you’d insist, he’d take you. He’d rather it’d be him that would go with you than anyone else. Like Billy, he’d be protective of you, but unlike Billy, his priority would be to make sure you were okay, not finding ghosts.

Steve Rogers: He’d be up for it, to your surprise, as long as you weren’t going to bother the ghosts, Steve wouldn’t mind taking a walk around said haunted area in hopes of finding proof of an actual after-life. Of course, he’d be your big body guard, ready and apt to be hidden behind. Steve wouldn’t fall victim easily to the jump scares, not as much as you would at least. There’d be times where Steve would try to hold in his laugh at how cute you look clinging onto his sleeve when you thought you’d heard a noise. Of course he wouldn’t hesitate to remind you that this was your idea after all. 

Bucky Barnes: Kind of isn’t down for it. I feel like this would be crossing a line for him of some sort. He’d beg you not to do it, trying to compromise by doing other activities he’s not so fond of, like baking or going to a Halloween party. Bucky would for sure try to sweet talk you out of it if your heart is set on it, explaining to you that maybe it’d be better to let the souls rest. If you’d sneak out then Bucky of course would track you down, finding you easily and of course it’d be at a time where you were stuck somewhere or lost. Here comes Bucky, not even having to tell you “I told you so” or anything but still, you can tell yourself that he told you so.

Wanda Maximoff: Kind of like Steve, she’d be up for it. Wanda would be curious about the after life at times, what harm would it be if you guys were just looking? There was an adrenaline rush in this hobby of yours and Wanda knew it. It’d become a great feeling for her. She’d look for places on her own time, suggesting new methods and ideas of where to go next. You’d be able to even start your own scrapbook of ghost hunting adventures together. Wanda made you promise each other not to go without each other, both for your safety and also because she liked it just as much as you do.

Loki Laufeyson: Kind of laughs about it, but then sees that you’re serious. He actually has quite a bit of knowledge on spirits and those who live in the other world. Loki would be delighted to enlighten you on said topics. He’d advise you not to go disturb them though. If you absolutely insist, or go without telling him, he’d find you just in time before you’d fall down the second floor or down the stairs into a pretty serious accident. There would be a silent “I told you so” moment, but he’d still smother you and comfort you endlessly. So, preferably an at home Halloween date would be more ideal with him.

Cloud Strife: Doesn’t understand why you’d want to do anything like that at all. He just overall doesn’t understand it and honestly he doesn’t really want to. That doesn’t mean he won’t go with you though, he will. Cloud isn’t the best at jump scares, constantly ready to fight whatever surprises you both on the way. This wouldn’t really help his PTSD or anxiety, so maybe it’s best to forget the ghost hunting and maybe read about it instead. 

Aerith Gainsborough: Kind of scared of ghosts? But also so excited about them as well. She loves anything that looks remotely creepy or enchanting, telling you constantly “You should give them a chance” Aerith truly knows how to find the beauty in everything and if it’s anyone that could convince you to find the beauty in a beaten up spiderweb infested home, it’s Aerith. She’s terribly empathetic towards the lives who have ascended your reality, often wanting to get to the bottom of their story and could sit there with you for hours trying to figure out what they’re trying to tell you two.

Sebastian Michaelis: Won’t entertain it. Sebastian is not a fan, if it’s not an actual threat to you or himself, he finds it to “just be another creature” It’s amusing how nonchalant Sebastian is in the presence of a ghost, not caring for their story or their past. If you wanted to know, he would tell you still. Sebastian wouldn’t mind explaining to you the history of souls and where they wander, how they came to be and the whole ordeal. Hopefully it would suit your curiosity enough to keep you from trying to hunt them down. 

Spencer Reid: Soooo down. He’s probably the one that suggested it in the first place. Spencer already has a map of all the said haunted locations in town, he’d even color code them to coordinate where you’d go to first. Spencer would love to keep a scrapbook of different notes, pictures and whatever “evidence” you both find regarding the souls you’ve encountered. There would be times too where Spencer could be out of town on a case, he’d promise you to go to the nearest creepiest or most haunted house in town and take pictures to add to your scrapbook. Nevertheless, the most immersive s/o on this list to go ghost hunting with!

[harrywavycurly]

Hi Sarah!! I just am here to request some random conversations with Eddie🥰

Hiii babes!!! I hope you enjoy these, they are truly random😂💖

*Eddie doesn’t have Facebook but you keep him updated on the daily drama*

“Oh my goodness Eddie did you hear about Tyler and his girlfriend Amy?” “Uh..who are Tyler and Amy?…do we know them?” “We went to high school with them…but that’s not important…they broke up again.” “Again?” “Yes and Amy put all their issues on Facebook! Like apparently he cheated on her twice while she was at work.” “He sounds like an asshole.” “But then he went on her post and commented all the wild shit she’s done like she lit his clothes on fire the last time the got into a fight….Eddie are you listening?” “Huh? Yeah yeah…got his stuff lit on fire…keep going baby I’m listening…I’m just gonna start making dinner.” “Apparently she’s also cheated on him with his brother!” “That’s fucking gross.” “Right? I am shocked but also not…they are both toxic.” “I totally agree…”

“Uh baby…what’s all this?” “It’s about to be March…we have to decorate for St. Patrick’s Day.” “This is a lot…of green…” “well duh…oh can you help me get the rest of the bags out of the trunk?” “Bags? As in more than one? As in you have more shit…to add to this giant pile of green stuff on the counter right now?” “Just two more bags…will you please grab them for me so I can start decorating the kitchen.” “Why does the kitchen need to be decorated?” “Edward…” “fine fine I’ll go get the bags…but no decorations in the bedroom that’s where I draw the line.” “I know I learned my lesson at Halloween.” “That fucking ghost still haunts me…” “i mean…that’s kinda his job…” “you’re so annoying.”

“Hey baby how was your-” “thank god you’re home!” “What’s wrong?…where are we going?” “There’s a bug the size of fucking Texas in our bedroom.” “Oh so I’m getting dragged to the bedroom to kill a bug not for like…sexy time?” “We’ve talked about this…don’t call it sexy time.” “Sorry…where’s the bug?” “It was over there…by your nightstand….oh my god it’s gone…where did it go?…Eddie you have to find it and kill it.” “Baby how do you want me to find it?” “I don’t know…ah holy shit it’s on the bed! Eddie!” “Relax baby I see it…I’ve got it…okay it’s gone.” “Thank god…what? Why are you looking at me like that?” “You’re cute when you’re flustered…” “thanks honey…you’re cute when you’re killing bugs for me.” “Cute enough for a kiss…or two?” “I think so…but I’m not kissing you on this bed you just killed a bug on it…” “you’re gonna make me wash the bedding aren’t you?” “Yes…but I’ll give you a few kisses first.”