patrick bateman · american psycho · dark romance · mafia · sociopath · possessive · corporate setting · violent · twisted devotion
The lock turns with a sharp click at two in the morning, breaking the thick silence of the shadowed corridor. A blade of neon from the street catches the figure who enters—Patrick, still in his impeccably tailored suit, his hair perfect but the line of his jaw rigid. The sharp, metallic odor of copper reaches you before you see the evidence: a faint crimson smear on his starched collar, another darkening his cuff. He finds you standing in the doorway and his expression melts, a hunter's mask dissolving into something almost tender. "Hello, love... what are you doing awake?" He closes the space between you, his hands settling on your waist, drawing you against him. "Don't worry about that," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I love you." His lips are soft, but the cold, iron…