#vaccines are incredible but boy i will cry and scream if someone tries to give me one

[binch-i-might-be]

me? I'm nauseous

[multific]

Mistake

Patrick Bateman x Reader

Summary: After finding out that you were pregnant, you only saw one option and that is to run away from your husband.

As soon as the doctor said ‘pregnant’ you knew you needed to do something. You knew how possessive Patrick can be.

You feared he might hurt the baby.

And so, you decided to leave him.

One day, when he went to work, you got back to your shared apartment and packed your things. You left a note behind, letting him know you needed to get away and that he shouldn’t look for you. And you left.

Although it broke your heart, you knew you needed to do this, for your child.

‘For the baby.’ you often said this in your head as you left. As you packed your things and as you got into the taxi.

You loved Patrick, so so much it hurt. But you also knew that if he was to flip, he might hurt the baby, and you couldn’t let that happen.

Patrick was an incredibly jealous person. If someone was to even look at you the wrong way, he would kill them.

If you imagine that possessiveness with a baby, who would take up most of your time, your mind always went to dark places.

You tried to convince yourself that he is better than that, that he would be happy with a baby.

But the dark thoughts didn’t leave you alone. 

Not even when you left.

If anything it got worse.

You were now all alone, with a baby under your heart and a husband you left behind. You couldn’t look into the mirror.

There wasn’t a moment when you didn’t think about Patrick. The amazing moments you had together and how genuinely happy you were. You were the only person besides himself whom he cared about. But then why did you leave? Why did your instinct tell you to get as far away from him as you can when you learned about your baby?

Was it fear? 

More than just fear. 

But deep down you were ashamed. Not because of your pregnancy or because of Patrick. You were ashamed that you felt the need to run away from your husband in a moment like this, you felt like something was wrong with you for feeling this way.

Moving into a new city had its advantages and disadvantages. 

You started using your maiden name again, but the gorgeous engagement and wedding ring you received from Patrick was always on your finger.

After all, you still loved him.

***

Eight months later, you were living in a nice apartment, with a healthy baby under your heart growing every day, bigger and bigger.

The doctor told you that you are having a boy. You were thrilled.

You got everything for him already and his room was ready as well. Although you didn’t have much money, you managed to buy everything he will ever need.

And soon, your son was born.

Beautiful, healthy baby boy.

Nicholas Y/L/N was born during the summer, July 5th.

The most beautiful baby you have ever seen. He was just the cutest.

Of course, you had been holding him for barely a minute but you already noticed features he got from his father, at least he had your nose.

***

Having a baby was harder than it seems.

Nick constantly woke up in the middle of the night, seemingly for no reason. He wanted to be held at all times, nurtured, and craved attention. And it was normal.

You barely got any sleep, but every single time he smiled, giggled, or laughed, you forgot everything else. All that mattered was his toothless little smile.

You stayed mostly at home, only leaving the apartment to the store once a week. Then you had to bring him back to the doctor so she could check on him. The doctor was wonderful. She explained everything and even talked to you about vaccinations and when you will have to bring Nick in for those. 

You started to forget Patrick, only your son’s eyes reminded you from time to time, but you started to be happy again

Happy with your little man.

But then things changed.

One day, while Nick was in the bedroom and you were making lunch, the doorbell rang.

If you knew who it was, you probably didn’t open the door.

But you didn’t check through the peephole, so, you came face to face with him.

He looked the same as you left him.

Handsome, hair done to perfection, his Armani suit didn’t have one crease in it and his Dior perfume caught your nose.

“Patrick...” suddenly all the fear you had during the nine months, came back at the same time. 

“Found you.” he simply said.

You noticed something in his hand. A piece of paper.

“Are you going to let me in?” he asked and you didn’t know what to do, you were frozen in one place, heart hammering so hard you feared a heart attack.

“W-What do you want?” you tried to look strong at you clanged onto the door.

You honestly don’t remember letting him in, and yet here he was sitting in front of you at your table.

He placed the paper in his hand in front of you

The paper was scrunched, torn a little at some places and the ink on it was certainly old.

“I read the letter you wrote,” he said pointing at the paper. “I read it over and over. ‘I can’t go on like this.’ ‘I love you, but...’ and it doesn’t make any sense. You were happy. You were mine. I bought you everything you wanted. Why did you leave?”

His voice was very collected. It was alarming, but you soon realized he is not there to hurt you.

“How did you find me?”

“Tim was on a business trip here and he said he saw you. Why did you leave Y/N?”

You took a deep breath, tears threatening to fall.

“I-” you were immediately interrupted by a loud cry. Your eyes widened as you looked from the door back to Patrick.

“A baby?” you heard him ask as you rushed out of the kitchen into your son’s room.

You got him into your arms and started bouncing him. Nick slowly quieted down as you turned and found Patrick watching you from the doorway. You heard the cogs in his head turn as he looked at the baby.

“How old is he?” was the question he asked but he didn’t move.

You were afraid to answer.

“Two months.” you ended up saying after a long pause.

“So, he’s mine.” you watched Patrick closely, but he didn’t move, didn’t show emotion on his face, but his eyes, his eyes said it all.

He was angry and concerned. You could tell suddenly the letter you left behind made sense to him.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen,” you said as you placed the now sleeping Nick into his crib.

Patrick moved back as you closed the door behind yourself.

With a shaky breath, you walked back into the kitchen and plopped down on the chair.

You know there was no point in hiding it now.

All you could hope for is that Patrick wouldn’t hurt you.

“I want my baby to have a fair chance in life, and I couldn’t give it to them if I stayed with you,” you said as he sat down on his chair.

“Why are you saying that?” his voice was dangerously calm and collected.

“I was afraid okay? I couldn’t stop thinking about you hurting the baby.” tears were running down your face, you felt a pain in your chest. 

Patrick sat down on the couch, letting out a long sigh. He was angry, but he was good at hiding it.

“I wouldn’t have.” he finally said.

And it shocked you.

He sounded so sincere, even hurt by the accusation. 

“I told you, many times, I could never hurt you.”

“I know. But a baby is...different. Nick takes up all of my time. I know how possessive you can be. I know how jealous you can be and what you can do. I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair.

“His name is Nick?”

You nodded once. “Nicholas Y/L/N.” 

“We are changing that to Bateman. He’s my son, he should have my name,” he said as a matter of fact. “I thought when you left that you found someone or you had enough of my... habits.”

“No, that wasn't why, and I’m sorry. I should have told you. But the scenarios kept on coming out of nowhere and I couldn’t...”

“Apology accepted. Now pack your things and the baby stuff. My wife and son deserve more than this...place.” he said looking around with a disgusted expression. You watched him leave the kitchen but you didn’t move. Everything was so fast.

After a long minute, you stood up and headed to your room, as you passed Nick’s room, you noticed the door was open.

As you looked inside you saw Patrick standing by the crib with one hand stocking Nick’s chubby cheeks. 

As you looked at your husband you soon realized what a mistake you made when you left him.

You were so scared before but as you watched the man who you married to be so gentle with your son, you knew, you can do this.

And so, you moved along to your bedroom to pack your things so the three of you can be a family.

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[neocity-sarai]

Fight for You

❂ concept: cyberpunk/futuristic au!

❂ pairing: mark lee x reader

❂ alerts: angst, fluff, mentions of blood, violence, death

3 years and 2 months that you’ve lived alone. 3 years and 2 months that you’ve survived without the help of your parents or any friends. Sometime ago, the world felt like it was truly ending. Disease and famine plagued the earth, it seemed as all hope was lost. Megacities were ruined from an onslaught of tsunamis, wildfires, and hurricanes. Your parents shielded you with the comfort of your small apartment, the warmth of their embraces to ease the anxiety. Yet, it wasn’t enough. You remember how your 15 year-old-self watched your mother slowly wither away, the disease could have infected her from anywhere: the grocery store, work, or from your own family. It felt unfair, the way people had to die when they had no choice to make money for the roof over their heads or to put food on the table. Your father held you close, his sobs shaking his entire body at the sight of your mother’s dying heart. Your whole world fell as silent as your mother’s heartline when your father whispered in your ear. He told you he was sorry, how he wished that he could tell you everything was going to be alright. He told you, “I don’t have much time left either.”

You could barely blink. You froze in place, your hands shaking at an uncontrollable rate. You eyed him incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

That night, you came home alone. You knew that the disease made adults more vulnerable yet you couldn’t believe that you had lost both of your parents in one day. All you could do was sit in your living room and cry until you couldn’t breathe. You screamed until your lungs heart, the weight of grief crushing your chest- it suffocated you. All that swirled in your head was memories of your mother cooking dinner while your father chased you around the dining table or the way you’d go to the city to explore, laughing in your family’s van as you drove. It was all too much. What were you going to do? Who would you call for help? Your family didn’t have many relatives in the area after your father decided to take a PR job in New York City. You felt all alone, the gloomy, steely skies looked especially lonely outside of your window. You couldn’t even see the sun. 

You fell asleep on your living room couch, your muscles sore from the unmoving position of your legs and arms. Deciding to switch on the TV, you were sure that the government would send a social worker to come fetch you- that’s what they always said on the news. Surprisingly, headlines read, “New vaccine formulated by pharmaceutical team at New York Institute of Medicine.” Despite the fact being good news, you felt numb. It didn’t matter because you had lost your family. It was too late. Over the next two years, the government issued a world-wide administration of the vaccine, the diseases had almost disappeared entirely. People were able to go back to work, walk their dogs, and dine out with their friends. The UN had stated each nation would work together to rebuild the damage of what was lost, whole cities were torn down to restart again. Technology advanced just as quickly: the old, ruined world becoming a man-made virtual paradise. Engineers and infrastructure developers reached new heights by building jets that flew at 1,840 miles per hour to skyscrapers that seemed to pierce through heaven. Somehow, by mercy, you managed to see the world change. You survived.

Current time

Of course, there wasn’t a real opportunity to go back to school after the plague, it led you to look for other ways to contribute to the work force instead. In the old world, work consisted of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, even a neighborhood bee-keeper ; as a young kid, you never had a clear idea of who or what you wanted to be. When you started to stabilize yourself by taking small part-time jobs that didn’t require a degree or some form of formal education, you slowly started to accumulate savings. After a while, you had been eyeing a virtual game constructed by the Kynigos company that swept the world by storm. It was everywhere on social media, all of the sign boards that lined 2nd avenue to 7th. Almost every family on your block purchased these visionary headsets that allowed you to see life in a kaleidoscopic lense. When you tried yours on for the first time, it was utterly breathtaking. New York city mimicked that of rainbow road in your old mario kart game, the streets glowed hues of bubblegum pinks and electric blues. The skyscrapers were dripping with panels of evergreens and xanthous yellows as the sky sparkled as a net covered it, the tiny strands glittering with violet crystals. You continued to walk down the block, circles glowing over your eyes and floating signboards that advertised expensive desserts bobbed up and down. As you scanned your surroundings, every person on the street or drivers cruising down the road had their headset on. Cars projected virtual screens that were lined with data codes and numbers. Even the foliage on the trees changed a new color every morning and night, the clouds moved by glitching slightly. It was like you could sweep your fingertips across every color you could think of, the streetlamps dripping gold above your head. 

Each time Kynigos uploaded a new software update, people would go ballistic over the installation of game mode. In place of a regular day job, you’d be able to make money by taking investors’ requests and errands. It ran on in-game currency that could be exchanged for real money in which you desperately needed to eat, to live. That’s where you were: you took requests for the smaller investors like fetching their meals or buying their groceries. Moving up, you honed your skills on clearing the game levels, earning access to a database of more promising, richer moguls. They were getting hungry, some of them crossing the law to conduct illegal activities in-game: Kynigos never really enforced the restrictions. No matter how much the government tried to take over the game, it would only gain more and more powerful. They always found their way around it. You had just cleared level 50, your reward was to establish a link with an anonymous client who offered 5 grand in exchange for a person’s identity. Not that you knew who the client or request was, you had become a bounty-hunter chasing for your next bankroll. You didn’t have time to pick and choose. At the corner of your headset screen, a pop-chat window appeared: “Hello. Please refer to me as Mr. C.”

You replied, “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone who can track down a person that I’ve been trying to find. The request is to confirm their identity and bring them to me. I will raise the reward if need be.”

You continue, “I need that in writing. May I have this person’s file?”

“I will send it over shortly.”

The chat window expands into a link, a typed document of the request along with a signature. You had been cheated out once, you were sure to not let it happen again. When you enlarge the file, it’s a picture of a boy who was much younger than you. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt, his black hair curled on one side of his forehead. His eyes seemed incredibly innocent, his doe irises complimenting the smile that graced his lips ; the sharpness of his cheekbones accentuating his prepubescent face. His name read, “Mark/ Minhyung Lee.” and was last spotted not far from where you lived. You asked, “Mr. C, why are you looking for a kid?”

“I have no obligation to answer that question. Regardless, are you able to do it? If you can’t succeed, I will have to take measures into my own hands.”

With the amount of money that was being offered, you would be set for a while. Taking the request seemed extremely worth it. 

“It’s a deal, Mr. C.”

You pulled up your virtual map with a click of a button, the map expanding into the space of your living room. It showed every alleyway, every nook and cranny in the city. You enlarged the floating map with your fingers, zooming in on a couple blocks away from your apartment. From your room, you grabbed your back-pack and changed into a black body-tight outfit (a skin you won as a reward on level 15), and your hair tied in a loose knot. Dashing out the door, you headed for where this Mark was last seen. You walked around the city, scanning the crowds of people as you walked. The street lamps illuminated the moving sidewalk as people talked into their headset by the cafe windows. Colorful lights blossomed on the tiny windows of the tall buildings. How were you supposed to find such a young kid wandering around by himself? Was Mr. C. his father? Maybe a disgruntled relative? You were unsure. You stopped inside a convenience store, the view of a black-haired boy turned around in one of the aisles. You couldn’t see his face, could that be Mark? The cashier sleepily greeted you, his headset sat crookedly on the rim of his forehead. Making your way to the small boy, you walked in front of him to get a better look- it was not him. He looked up at you confusedly, “hey lady, should I get a chocolate bar or a lollipop?”

Pointing at the chocolate bar you winked, “Chocolate for sure.”

The child walked away from you as he perused through the candy aisle more. You felt a hand grab your wrist from behind to be met with a scruffy man who wore tattered clothes and scratched at his dirtied beard. His eyes bulged with hysteria, “Pretty girl, give me that!”

He pointed at your polished headset, his grimy fingers reaching for it. You stumbled back as your heart beat furiously in your chest, “Sir, I don’t want trouble. Please step back from me.”

The man takes another step towards you instead, his rough hands flying to grip your waist, “Say, what’s your name? Want to come with me?”

You try wrenching out of his grip, you shouted for the cashier’s attention- he’s too busy paying attention to the game to even hear you. The man’s fingers make contact with the skin on your hip which causes you to jolt, you struggle to reach for the knife at the bottom of your backpack.

“Sir, kindly back off!”

The homeless man swivels around, facing a boy about the same age as you. Looking at him, you had not ever witnessed a more attractive boy in a while. His hair was a chestnut color, the crest of it gelled over, his face was slim and defined. Even his lips were the prettiest shade of sakura blossoms, his obsidian eyes stern with fury. He pushed up a pair of version 3 cyber-glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Sir, I said to back off!”

Just like that, the homeless man raised his hands in mock surrender as he scampered out of the convenience store- leaving you staring at the handsome boy in front of you.

You nervously adjust yourself, “Um-I- thank you for that.”

The boy gives you a warm smile, one of his hairs falling onto his forehead, “No need to thank me. That guy was being a total creep. Plus, that cashier should be fired for being distracted.”

You laugh, you catch yourself staring at the abundance of watermelon pops in the boy’s hands. He eyes you and then back to his pops, “Oh, would you like one?”

Stammering over your words you shake your head a bit too wildly, “N-no t-thanks! I-I prefer mango?”

Why did you say mango? You hate mango-flavored things. He gives you a hearty chuckle, “Fair enough, mango’s good too.”

It goes without saying anything, you both pay for the treats as you walk on to the sidewalk, a cold breeze making you shiver. The boy cards his fingers through his hair, the streetlamps casting a golden flow on his highlights, “I guess this is where we part. I hope you don’t run into any more creeps.”

You nod at him, “I sure hope not. By the way, what’s your name?”

There, you feel like you’ve messed up. This stranger saves you from some homeless guy and you ask him for his name, his eyes are widened with surprise. You silently sigh in relief when he breaks into a toothy smile, “Yeah, um, My name’s Jonathan.”

His voice comes out a little hesitant, as if he’s not sure. You eye him, “You sure about that, bud?”

“Of course. I was just deciding whether or not to tell you Jon or Jonathan is all.”

You say, “Well, goodbye Jonathan. Thank you for helping me out today.”

You swerve to walk back down the street in which you came, your headset blinking with the weather forecast in the corner of it. You feel a hand catch your shoulder gently, “Wait-t, d-do y-you think we can exchange handles?”

Turning back to the boy, you certainly weren’t expecting him to say that, “Yeah, sure!”

Together, you calibrate your headsets as a glowing icon appears above his head, “Accept Jonathan as a friend?”

You say, “Accept!”

Jonathan’s name adds to your friends list, not that you had any previous names added anyway. He finishes adding to you as well, your name hot on his tongue as he repeats it daintily. Giving you a final wave, you both go your separate ways. You decide to look for Mark in the morning.

Later that night, you find yourself staring at a message notification from Jonathan. Tapping in the air, you press on it- you bite your lip in anticipation. A bubble appears over his message, “You still up?”

You type on your virtual floating keyboard, “I am, wanna chat?”

Another bubble appears: “proceed with projection communication?”

You look yourself up and down, your outfit only consists of a pair of striped pajamas unlike your black suit earlier. You can’t imagine that Jonathan’s dressed up at this hour. Accepting the bubble, a scan of Jonathan’s virtual body appears in front of you as if he’s sitting in your desk chair. He looks different from earlier, he wears a thin t-shirt that reads ‘Vancouver’, his hair glimmers with wet drops from his shower and he holds an acoustic guitar in his hands. At first he doesn’t realize that you’ve accepted the projection call until he drops his guitar to the ground, fumbling in his chair, “Oh! hi-i, I didn’t see you there for a second..”

You laugh at his silliness, “you were the one who initiated the call in the first place!”

“Still! One second, I need to get something.”

When he finally returns, he holds a bowl of cereal in his hands, spooning sugary flakes into his mouth before toasting the bowl, “Cereal baby!”

“Who eats cereal at this hour?”

“Me- I do!”

You smile at him, leaning back into your pillows, it’s almost too surreal that it feels like Jonathan is staring right back at you from your room. It’s like he’s right there with you. 

You continue, “So, what do you like to do in your free-time?”

He looks up from his bowl, “Hm, I uh- I guess I just listen to music or watching Netflix? Something like that?”

“I see you have a guitar by you, do you play well?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I wouldn’t say too good but I do enjoy playing? I write a bit too.”

“Can you play something for me?”

He gives you a playful smirk before breaking into a high-pitched laugh, “Put me on the spot now aren’t we?”

You reply, “You kind of set yourself up by bringing out a guitar. Of course I was going to ask.”

With a heavy sigh, he mumbles, “This is a song that I wrote when I started living on my own.”

You feel your heart swell at the sight of this stranger whispering soft words of song, the strums of his guitar filling the emptiness of your room. When he’s finished, you give him a standing ovation, “What do you mean not too good? You’ve got talent.”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, “Gotta stay humble, you know?”

Your memory plays back to Jonathan’s words: “I started living on my own.”

You tread into unknown waters, “Listen, let me know if this is too personal but when did you start living alone?”

Visibly, his frame becomes stiffened, his lips press into a thin line, “About three years ago? I think?”

He’s the same as you. You continue, “Do you still keep in touch with your parents?”

A flash of pain coats Jonathan’s face, his teeth sink into his lower lip anxiously, “You know-w, I-I think we should call it a night-t?”

You’ve pushed too far. “Oh, yes- sure. Right, good night.”

Like that, Jonathan’s projection disappears from your desk chair, the call ending with a beep. You throw your headset to your nightstand with a clang, throwing your head into your pillow. You doubt that Jonathan wants to talk to you after pressing into his private matters.

When morning comes, your heart jumps at the notification at the top of your messages bar. You click on it, Jonathan’s audio file plays, “Hey-y, I-I’m reallly sorry for uh- I-I kind of left you hanging last night? Can we meet up and talk? Possibly? Let me know when you get this.”

You respond back to him, “Hey, don’t apologize. It was my fault for pushing you where you weren’t comfortable. I’ll forward my address.”

Within the next hour or so, you find Jonathan standing in your doorway as he raises a bag of mango and watermelon pops from the convenience store in his hand. You usher him in, “You got here quite fast..”

He smiles at you, setting the bag on your table, “I’m pretty speedy. Also, you’ve got a nice pad.”

“Oh- yeah, technically it used to be my parents but they well- they passed away.”

His face turns somber, his features darkening with hurt, “I’m sorry for your loss y/n.”

Trying your best, you muster a small smile at him, “It’s okay. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I-uh- no, I’m good.”

With a heavy sigh, Jonathan plops himself on your couch, his eyes shifting to the vibrant city view outside, “Anyway, I-I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night.”

Shaking your head, you answer regretfully, “No, it was completely my fault, I should be sorry.” The features on his face turn sharper. He stiffens again, his fists curl beside him on the couch, “I also haven’t been too honest about myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name isn’t Jonathan. That’s just an alias- my real name is Mark. Mark Lee.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. The boy that your client is after is sitting on your living room couch. How could you not recognize him? Your headset tab has his file bookmarked- he was a child then. Of course, he’s matured. 

“Why would you lie about your name?”

Jonathan- now, Mark sighs, “Because, I have to. You asked me about my parents? They were murdered by some gang leaders because they owed them money so we could survive the plague. They did what they had to so we could live. They’re still after me.”

You hand flies to your mouth in shock, “Mark, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-”

Mark places a warm hand on yours, “It’s okay- don’t be sorry y/n. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a word, I swear on it.”

Mark picks himself up to move closer to you, your knees almost touching, “When did you start living alone?”

The memories of you watching the doctors send your parents’ bodies to the morgue surface in your mind. You can’t stop the flood that breaks the dam. Digging your nails into your palm, you sniffle, “My parents passed away from the plague on the same day. Like yours, they had to work and go outside for us to survive. I was on the streets a bit before I could make money myself.”

It’s impossible. You can’t stop the tears that stream on your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I miss them so much.”You feel a thumb swipe your tears away. You open your eyes to see a blurry vision of Mark’s concerned face, his fringe swept on one side of his forehead, “I’m here, it’s okay. I miss mine too.”

In a split second, you fall into the crook of Mark’s chest, snuggling into his arms. You hear the slow thrum of his heartbeat, the music that beats with his soul. It’s beautiful, the way his doe eyes gaze down at you and the way it feels when you reach up to sweep the hair out of his eyes, “Thank you, Mark.”

He doesn’t say anything, he continues to rub circles on your back comfortingly as he thumbs your hand in his lap. Afterwards, you and Mark decide to eat dinner with Mark in the city. With Mark beside you, everything seems ten times more vibrant. Musicians play on the streets, their instruments laced with colorful threads (bonus items that tune your instrument automatically). Robotic helpers roll around in the restaurants as they pick up tabs, refill waters, and do little things that could be cumbersome for humans. You and Mark sit on the second floor of your favorite ramen restaurant, one that your parents frequented often. Laughing at the way Mark slurped his noodles made you happier. For some odd reason, Mark reminded you of the comfort that your parents had- a warm glow that always brightened the room. He placed his chicken into your bowl, forcing you to eat his no matter how much you protested. When you were done, Mark led you to the third story of the restaurant, a rooftop garden that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking: the skyline reflected an ocean of colors onto the water as the Brooklyn bridge allowed flying vehicles to soar across the sky. You both sat on the edge of the building, Mark pulling your body closer to his. He rested his head on your shoulder as he hummed some unrecognizable song, the honking of cars is the only thing that disrupts him. Steadily, you brought a hand to the scar on his cheekbone- causing him to raise his head at you. Mark leaned further into your touch, his hair fluttering in the wind slightly, “Can I um, kiss you?”

Smiling, you crash your lips onto yours, his lips feeling plush and soft at first. You move one hand to entwine Mark’s hairs in between your fingers, causing him to let out a moan. Your kiss grows more passionate as you part your mouth for him to move his tongue, your body temperatures rise- an alert pops on to your headsets. Ignoring it, Mark leans further into your lips while you arch your back on the roof. He pushes you flat against the concrete, his lips detach from yours with a sound. When you look at him, Mark’s half lidded eyes and swollen lips pop from the colorful netted sky that hangs above him, you say, “Wow, you’re good Mark Lee.”

He laughs into your shoulder, his giggle full of mirth. You don’t resist when he presses a kiss to your lips for the second time, you take harder control than he does. You roll onto your side so you can climb on top of him instead. Mark reaches up to place a hair behind your ear before you lean in to press a kiss to his nose. His eyes glimmer with adoration, “y/n, the things you’re doing to me right now-”

Mark starts to press a burning kiss to the hollow of your neck, you pause when a notification flashes on your messages bar. You open it, it’s from Mr. C. It reads, “Y/n. I’m afraid you’re out of time.” You scramble off of Mark, causing him to yelp, “Oh god, y/n, I-I’m so sorry, I- did- I go too far? I shouldn’t have done that- oh my-”

You press your hand to Mark’s lips, “It’s not you. I have to tell you something, it’s-”

“What? What’s wrong?”

You both sit up, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier I just forgot about it because we were talking and I-I just don’t-”

Mark’s expression turns firm, “What is it?”

“I just passed level 50 in-game. I got a request from a client and he told me he was after you and I took it because I thought I needed the money and now that I know you’re the person he wants, I don’t know what to do-he says we’re out of time!”

Mark looks down, his face morphing into slow pain, “Did you have that request since we met?”

You shout at him, “Yes! But, I was never going to sell you out, I swear! I started to like you and I wouldn’t have done that!”

Marks still casts his eyes down, “Y/n, I have to go right now- I can’t be outside-”

“You’re too late!”

You and Mark swivel your heads to see a skinny man dressed in a plaid suit hop off his emerald hoverboard, a pistol sits in the grip of his hand, “I’ve got you now Mark Lee! And y/n has led me straight to you!”

Mark practically leaps across you, forcing you to move behind him, “Just stay behind me.”

You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, gripping him tightly. The man- Mr. C. looks hysterical when he flashes Mark a sinister grin, “Your parents still haven’t paid their debt. You’ll serve as compensation.” 

He aims his gold-lined pistol at Mark, cackling before he sends a smoking bullet flying to Mark’s chest without a warning. You scream, Mark falling on his side as he clutches his wound. Mr. C. spits in your direction before zipping off on his hoverboard, leaving you to press your hands to Mark’s body. Already, your hands are covered in crimson blood, you smell the iron scent of it and it makes you sick. You don’t even realize that you’re screaming now, “Hold on! I’m going to get you to a hospital okay? Hold on!”

Mark lets out a weak cough, his eyes failing to stay open. You cradle his head, “Mark? Mark, stay awake! Stay with me, please!”

Once more, he reaches up a bloodied palm to your cheek, your tears falling onto his shirt, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

You whimper, “It’s not okay! Don’t leave me! I’ll be alone again!”

The hot tears blur your vision, it’s getting harder to not collapse. You see Mark smile at you, “you know, you’re the only person that’s made me feel less lonely since my parents died.”

Clutching his hand, you feel the calloused skin along his palm, wanting to savor every bit of him, “Mark, I’ve fallen for you.”

Nodding, “And I, you.”

With the last bit of strength he has, Mark kisses you with scarlet fire before letting out a bone-chilling groan. His lips fall away from yours, his body landing on the roof with a thump. You hold your breath, your head pounds with harsh pain. You can’t believe the sight of Mark’s once musical spirit so bereft of life. Finally, your breath hitches at a notification that appears in your message inbox at the top of your virtual screen, “hello, y/n.”

[redditnosleep]

The Cat Lady

by theoddcatlady

I used to have three beautiful cats. Chloe, Jewel, and Mercy. My sweet girls. I had the perfect family. A husband Greg, my son Dylan, and of course the cats. Jewel was the snitch. Always pacing around the table, warbling for whatever we had. She had developed a taste for green beans. Mercy was the prim lady. Always cleaning herself. Always sitting on the bookshelves. And always found where I hid the cat treats.

Chloe was my favorite though. Whenever my lap was available, she was sitting there. At night she’d sleep at the foot of the bed. In the morning, she’d wake me by kneading my chest. Greg would laugh and say she was just making sure my heart hadn’t stopped. Her version of kitty CPR.

Greg and I were considering getting just one more when the accident happened. Greg was on the way to the clinic with the cats to update their vaccinations, and… well, I’m almost thankful that my babies didn’t suffer.

I lost my cats and my husband all at once. Dylan was already a grown man, and after barely four months after the loss he took off for college. I was all alone in my house, and my broken heart showed no sign of mending. Dylan barely came to visit, and after the first five years I was lucky to get a card for Christmas.

I became the ‘old crazy witch’ on the block with a dead husband. The kids made up their stories, I mostly just sat on my front porch and enjoyed the sun when it came out- the heat made my sore joints feel better.

Then I met Goliath.

My neighborhood is very close to a wooded park. On my days off from work at the grocery store Greg and I used to walk down those quiet paths. But there was also a feral cat problem there. I’d catch only glimpses of their skinny bodies and wild eyes.

But while I knitted on the front porch one morning, a streak of fur caught my attention, and I saw him. Immediately I dubbed him Goliath.

He was enormous. A tomcat that was bigger than some dogs, he had a mean face, matted long fur, and torn up ears. But he had the same coloring as Chloe, black with mottled orange and brown.

He came to a stop in front of the porch and froze, staring at me. I stared back. His tail twitched. His amber eyes bore right into mine.

“… Here, kitty kitty.”

Goliath slowly stepped closer to the porch, stopping at the steps. When I got up and tried to get closer, Goliath darted away and ran into the bushes. He didn’t trust me.

But I was so lonely. Even big old mean cat like that could give me some sort of companionship.

I went inside and got some canned tuna, opening it up and setting it at the steps. After I retreated to my chair, Goliath returned. He smelled the tuna. He licked his chops and stared at the can, but he was nervous around me. So I went inside. When I came back a few minutes later, Goliath was focused on licking out the can.

I made a friend that day.

Goliath took forever to get used to me, the mistrusting kitty who had never felt a human’s touch. But he didn’t leave, he took to sleeping in the tire swing in the front yard. Greg never got around to taking the damn thing down when Dylan grew too old for it. Goliath showed up for lunch every day, I’d feed him tuna and chatter to him. He’d purr like a semi truck.

Then one day he brought a date- a gray tabby with a short tail and a missing eye.

I went to the store that night and invested in bulk bags of dry food and the canned stuff.

Duchess, the gray tabby, didn’t hesitate to make herself at home in the tree outside. Neither did the others. It was a trickle, and never consistent. One day I’d just have Goliath and Duchess, the next there would be six or seven meowing babies ready for lunch.

For the first time in years, I felt whole. Like I had a purpose again, to take care of these innocent creatures. Most wouldn’t come close, but Goliath had become my friend. While I watched the sun set, Goliath would sprawl across my lap and would purr when I scratched his ears.

But of course, the new neighbors didn’t take so kindly to my new friends.

It was one family in particular, the Hubbards. The Hubbards had five boys between seven and fourteen. All of them were incredibly ill behaved. This was the same family that tried to claim that the lovely Hakim family was building bombs in their garage (their eldest daughter was actually building an automatic feeder for their dog) and that the reason that one house down the street wasn’t selling was because we had Alec and Derek living together ‘in sin’. The poor couple actually moved away from how awful the harassment got.

So when the wife Carla saw me with my cats, she threw a fit. She slammed her trash bin shut and marched over to my yard. The shyer cats ran off to the backyard, while Goliath sat content on my lap, unamused by this intruder.

“What is with all these cats?” She snapped.

Goliath just yawned and licked his paw.

I nervously smiled. “Good afternoon, Carla. These are just some strays I like to take care of. They’re harmless, maybe a bit fleabitten but they do no harm.”

Carla huffed and glared at Goliath. “That one looks like a wildcat, he could hurt my boys! And why are you wasting money feeding these… these strays, when you could have been donating to the church food drive?!”

To calm my nerves, I stroked Goliath’s ears. “Goliath won’t hurt a soul that won’t hurt him. And I did donate.”

“Well clearly you had some to spare.” Carla flipped her hair over her shoulder, looking down her nose at me. “My son already says the neighborhood calls you a witch. Stop attracting these diseased animals or I’ll be forced to call the police!”

Goliath tilted his ears back and hissed. Almost instantaneously, all the other cats turned and started to circle Carla, lurking, hair standing up their backs and growling. The scene was unnerving, to say the least. Carla backed away, growing pale, before she screamed, “Get away from me!” She kicked Kirk across the lawn before she dashed off.

The cats immediately gathered around Kirk, licking his face and purring to soothe him. I got up to check on him, nothing was hurt except for the neutered tom’s pride. I reassured them, the police wouldn’t do a thing about my babies, they weren’t destroying property or using the other yards as their toilet. They didn’t even meow loudly at night.

Well, they didn’t.

That night became an entire chorus of yowls. I looked out of my bedroom window to see a whole clutter of cats gathered in the Hubbard’s front yard. There had to be at least twenty five to thirty. In front was Goliath, I could make out his quivering hollers out of the rest.

The minute a light would go on inside the house, the cats would scatter, leaving none in sight. I think a few times I saw Carla’s husband John pitch something out of the window, probably a bottle considering the crash of glass, but as far as I could tell none made it close to a feline target.

Even though it was wrong, I giggled like a schoolgirl before shutting off the light and going to bed. I’d had cats in the past. I could sleep through it.

The next morning Carla was banging on my door, clearly exhausted after a night with no sleep. A paper was shoved in my face, I almost got bopped across the nose.

“Your neighbors aren’t happy with you, Doris.” Carla had the nerve to look smug. “We petition that you take care of your cat problem, stop feeding them, hire an animal control service, just do it!”

I took the petition and read down the list of names. There wasn’t as many as Carla would make me think- and the families that did sign up were her lackeys, the ones who kept their negativity to themselves until someone spoke up about it.

I sighed and lowered the petition. “Carla, it wasn’t anything I did that made the cats loud last night. They were in your yard, weren’t they?” My turn to look smug.

That knocked the wind out of Carla’s sails. She stammered for a second before snatching the petition out of my hands. “This is your last warning. If you don’t do something about these cats, I will!” With that, she stormed off, and would’ve looked awfully haughty… had not Goliath darted from the bushes and tripped her. Carla fell flat on her nose and Goliath ran up to me, rubbing himself against my ankles and purring before entering my house.

That was the first time Goliath entered my house, I’d never tried to take him in. But I was determined to keep him. A trim of his fur to get out the worst of the mats, a bath, and a collar later, Goliath looked like a real prince. A champion of his breed.

He seemed to have a goal in mind though. That goal was to drive the Hubbards insane. It was war and Goliath was the general.

The nightly choruses were lessened, just enough so that the neighbors couldn’t hear so well but completely obnoxious to the Hubbard household. The grass was going dead from cats pissing in the yard, along with piles of dirt from where they handled their business. Dead birds were strewn across their yard, and I heard Carla screaming about the fact a cat had taken an enormous poop right outside her door, ruining her heels.

Goliath got an extra pat on the back for that.

But the Hubbards weren’t going to play nice. Every day their boys would ride past my yard, yelling obscenities and chucking rocks at the cats. The slower ones would get struck and they would mew and cry out in pain. When blood was drawn Goliath would usher them inside and I’d care for them for the night.

It was a step too far when John put rat poison in his yard.

Duchess, poor Duchess. She’d mistakenly eaten half of the tuna can left in his yard, laced with the deadly ground up pellets. I found her barely alive on my porch.

All I could do was take her inside and make her comfortable.

All the cats came in, through the windows, through the cracked door, I think even some made it up from the basement. There was probably fifty cats, all sitting around me and Duchess as she was curled up on my lap, each breath growing lighter and lighter.

Goliath was the most distressed, pacing around, mewing, licking Duchess’ head every few seconds. I never knew a cat could love so much. When Duchess went lax and her breath came no more, he yowled so loudly I’m sure the whole town could hear it. A grieving cat, who lost his friend and love.

It was exhausting to dig the grave, but I had to do it for her. Duchess was nothing but sweet once I’d gotten her to come around. The cats stayed with me, mewing in distress and nudging at the small coffin I’d crafted for Duchess out of a box and some paints. She was a lady and she was going out in style.

Her body was lowered, the dirt covering the box, and I went to bed. Goliath slept with me that night, and I swore I would occasionally awake to hear him cry.

The next day I could barely get out of bed, but Goliath nudged me awake.

I had to take care of the others still, after all.

Carla was swearing and screaming at her car when I exited the house, and I could barely believe it. A single cat didn’t have much strength, but an army? Oh boy. The car was covered in cat pee and feces, the antenna chewed off, one of the windows was somehow broken and the seats were torn to hell.

She turned and saw me, foaming at the mouth in anger. “You!” She stormed over, her fists clenched. Goliath nudged me back and I hid behind the door, my throat dry.

“Y… yes?”

I’m sure the woman would have punched me if I hadn’t had the door between us. Instead, Carla started screaming. “That was my birthday present! I don’t know how you’re doing this, but this ends. Now!”

I took a deep breath and stood as tall and brave as a sixty eight year old woman can. “You killed one of them. Rat poison. You asked for it.”

“Like you’re going to miss that one! What is the matter with you?!”

I heard the chorus of hisses and growls from under my porch, Carla jumped out of her skin and shivered. She took a deep breath and glared.

“I swear, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make sure each and every one of these cats ends up in the pound or as roadkill. And I mean it!”

With that awful, awful threat, she stormed off. I stumbled onto the porch and sat on my chair, too nervous to stand. “Oh, Goliath, what am I going to do?” I whispered.

Goliath licked my hand. His way of telling me it would be okay.

That evening I decided to stay out late. Watch the moon and the stars. The cats stayed with me rather than attack the Hubbards’ yard. The sun had just gone down when I heard the sound of children’s bikes.

It was the Hubbard boys, and they were armed with rocks again, the three youngest aiming at the cats who darted and dodged under the porch or into my backyard. I’m not sure if the oldest two were aiming for me or it was just an accident, but one rock smacked right next to my head… and the other cut open my forehead.

I cried out as pain exploded across my face and blood started to drip down my face.

Every cat stopped.

Goliath mewed and licked my face before he turned.

The growl he made wasn’t a typical cat’s sound.

It was like a demon from hell.

Goliath leaped from my lap and trotted closer to the boys, fur puffing out and continuing to growl. The rest of the cats ceased running and grouped up. Some of them I didn’t even see leaped down from the tree. I had to have over seventy cats in my yard. I didn’t even know so many had ever come to see me.

The eldest boy stopped his bike, the others falling in behind him. He pulled another rock from his bag. “Stupid cat!” He pitched his arm back…

And Goliath went for his throat.

I don’t really remember what happened. I think I blacked out. What I can remember is that Goliath grew… big. Even bigger than he already was. Even bigger than a lion. And the rest of the cats swarmed behind him, a hive mind of violence and with only one goal- kill.

When I woke up, it was past midnight.

There was no sign of the bikes. No boys. No army of cats, either. Just a few left, licking at a puddle in the street where the bikes had been abandoned.. It was a dry summer. There hadn’t been a puddle there earlier.

I stumbled back to my room, the bed cold and empty of my cat. I fell asleep in bed and dreamed of the ripping of wet flesh and the crunching of bones.

The next morning I woke up and there was Goliath, sleeping across the other pillow. He was fine, he wasn’t hurt. I tried to ignore the smell of blood in his breath as he nudged my face to get me up.

There was no sign of any bikes, or puddles. Just a normal plain street like the one I’d gotten used to living on.

There wasn’t many of the cats today, only four plus Goliath. These ones that weren’t present last night, either- Chip, Dill, Biscuit, and Bambi. Bambi had sprawled across my lap and was purring when the police cruiser pulled into my driveway.

Dill hid under the porch while Biscuit and Chip ran up to say hello.

Officer Holly Silva stepped out, with Carla in tow. Carla looked like she’d been crying, but when she saw me she smirked. I sighed and looked for Goliath but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Ma’am?” Holly held up her badge, even though she knew I recognized her. “I need to speak with you, please.”

Carla’s grin grew darker.

I invited Holly inside and we sat at the table together. Carla invited herself in and was standing in the corner, looking around my pristine house. “Thought it’d be more of a mess than this, given the animals you have,” She grumbled.

Holly ignored Carla before clearing her throat and looking at me. “Listen, Doris. Last night two of Carla’s sons came home shredded up and claiming you sicced your cats on them.” Holly took this moment to conspicuously look at Biscuit and Chip played with a ball of yarn, still quite kitten-y. “Her older three never returned home. Have you seen them?”

I reached up and touched my forehead. “I can’t really remember, last night I got my head bumped something awful.” I looked meaningfully at Carla, who sneered back. “It’s not anything serious, but no, I don’t remember where the boys went. I think they just rode past the house on their bikes, they were saying some quite nasty things, but that’s all I remember.”

Holly nodded and wrote that down. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s all I needed to know.”

“What?!” Carla looked ready to blow her top. “This isn’t close to all of the cats she had! My sweet Alexander said there had to be a hundred! Over a hundred!”

Holly snorted and her lips twitched. She somehow managed to remain professional. “Mrs. Hubbard, if Doris really owned over a hundred cats, I don’t think she’d be able to hide them this well in this two bedroom house.”

“Well… well…” Carla stammered before she looked around. “Where’s that big one? The awful one, the one that attacked my sweet son!”

Goliath. Oh no. Holly looked at me. “Is this all of them? I’m sorry, I have to ask.”

I looked around. “Well… Goliath should be here. Goliath? Come here, boy, no one’s gonna hurt you.”

“The officer is going to put him down the moment she sees that monster, don’t you try to pretend otherwise!” Carla’s eyes were full of murder, I was nearly about to start crying.

“Mew?”

I looked down.

There was a fluffy kitten, with black and orange fur and bright amber eyes. He jumped into my lap before hopping onto the table and sniffing Holly.

Holly examined his collar. “So, this is Goliath?” She couldn’t help it, she immediately started giggling. “The ironic naming style, I dig it. Hey, buddy, do you smell David? He’s my German Shepherd, he’d love to take care of a sweet lil thing like you…”

Carla was completely flabbergasted. She opened her mouth and shut it a few times before saying, “No, that… that’s not Goliath! Goliath is huge! He’s practically a mountain lion!”

“All right, Mrs. Hubbard.” Holly stood up and scratched Goliath behind the ears, who purred and teasingly batted at her hand. “That’s quite enough, I think your boys probably just are out playing somewhere. Let’s go now, you can help coordinate the search.”

I saw them out, Carla was fuming and now I was the one grinning. Carla turned to me and hissed, “This isn’t over. I will get the gun myself, and when the real Goliath shows up, I’m putting a bullet in his head.” With that nasty threat, she stormed back to her house.

I closed the door and turned around.

There was Goliath, sitting so proud, his normal self.

Nervous, I went to my knees. “G… Goliath? How… how did you do that?”

Goliath stepped forward and just batted at my hair. But I swear he smirked.

A few days ago the bones of a few adolescent boys were found. Picked clean. Carla didn’t even try to come over, the marks on the bones were larger than anything a cat could make. The word through the grapevine is that it’s probably someone’s escape pet lion. Adopted it as a baby and let it go when it was no longer cute.

But tonight, I’m holding a party. I invited most of my neighbors, I did my hair up all pretty like. I’m no longer going to estrange myself from my neighbors. Holly will be there, with her dog David. So will the Hakim family, the eldest girl is going to bring her boyfriend and his band. I’ll have to clear out the dining room to give them enough space but they’re fond of classic rock. Everyone’s responded enthusiastically.

Even my son Dylan’s going to come home, and bring his wife and twin children.

That should be enough noise to cover up Goliath and his army handling the Hubbards and their goons. In in the morning it’ll be either be interpreted as a mysterious vanishing or written off as another animal attack.

After all… how could a single cat maul a human being?