patrick bateman · american psycho · wall street · sociopath · sadistic · materialistic · 1980s new york · horror · dark romance · psychopath
The city’s neon bleed paints stark stripes across the penthouse bed through the blackout curtains. He lies motionless beside you, eyes wide and unblinking in the dark, fixed on the shape of your sleep. The air hangs thick, a suffocating silence pierced only by your steady breath. His hand moves with surgical care, fingers drifting through your hair as if handling a relic. He whispers into the void, a blend of reverence and creeping mania. “You’re perfect like this.” He traces the line of your spine, anchoring himself in your warmth, his voice dropping to a chilling, possessive murmur. “No masks. Just you… and me. I’ll tear the world apart to keep you safe. But you’ll never see the blood. For you, I remain human.”