#Patrick Bateman smut

[makeyoumine69]

Hi Lexiii and hear me out! You always cook with Patrick's pov, so listen: imagine having rough sex in his office? We're so down for him, we're so needy and soaking for him! I'mma scream if you do something with such plot and daddy kink and maybe make Patty show some love to our tits? Anyway, I'm sure you'll deliver! I love ya sm!🩷💖🤭🤭🤭

NSFW PROSE 1 (Patrick's POV)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: PWP, unprotected rough vaginal sex, nipple play, body worship, hair pulling, creampie, Daddy kink, minor degradation kink, dirty talk, pet names, dom!Patrick.

ᴀ/ɴ: Hello, thank you for your kind words and for sending me this request! I'm slowly working my way through all my WIPs, I hope to finish them all whenever I have the time!

Being stuck in the office late at night was the worst thing that could happen to me, but being stuck in there with you was a whole other story. 

When I pressed you against the door of my fancy office with your back to me, hiked up the hem of your dress and pushed my fingers into your mouth, you took them eagerly, almost hungrily. My lips then covered yours, craving your taste more than anything else in the world, and I heard you whimper into the kiss as I pressed you harder against the solid door.

"Daddy..." you begged as you heard me unzip my pants. "You're so hard...is it because of me?"

God, you wanted me so badly, even though you probably didn't know what you were asking for. Smirking, I just chuckled at first, but a little later I slipped the straps of your dress to reveal your full breasts and squeezed them with both of my hands—your tits fitting so perfectly into my large palms.

"A-ahhhh..." a muffled whimper escaped your swollen lips as you covered my hands on your breasts. "Are you gonna...f-fuck me?"

Your little nasty sounds drove me fucking crazy. So goddamn desperate—like you were begging with every breath. I grinned against you, I could feel your heart racing—your body pressed so tightly between me and the door... it's like I could feel every inch of you shivering. 

Shaking. Needing. Melting.

My hands tighten on your soft mounds, thumbs grazing over those perfectly hard nipples, eliciting another sweet moan from you. By this time you were practically pleading under your breath and I was loving it. Slowly, almost torturously, I pressed my hips against your ass, grinding just enough for you to feel how hard I was and fuck...you were so wet...I could sense the dampness even through the fabric of your panties.

"You want me to fuck you right here..." I growled, my hands slipping lower down your sides, gripping your hips with enough force to leave marks; your body arched instinctively. "You want me to fuck you until you can't even stand, sweetheart?"

Your breath hitched, then another muffled moan caressed my ears. I let my hand slide over the curve of your ass—leisurely pulling your dress up until it was bunched around your waist. You gasped as I moved your panties aside to feel all of you—directly, without barriers.

"So fucking soaked..." I grunted against your neck, my fingers trailing down your slippery slit—slowly at first—just to make you squirm even more. Damn, I could feel every reaction. Every trembling sigh. You were literally writhing now—pressing your ass back into me like you were starving for it. And I couldn't help the smug grin that spread across my face. The way you reacted to my every touch. "I'm gonna ruin you."

The second those filthy little sobbed whispers left your lips—"Please...Daddy...my pussy...hurts without you...inside..."—I lost control.

Aroused as hell, I didn't even bother to pull your panties down completely, I couldn't wait. Not with you like this, not with you moaning my fucking title like you forgot how to breathe without it. A little aggressively, I grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking your back just enough so that your body arched perfectly against me, my free hand reaching for my zipper—the rasp of it loud, intimate, just like every fucking gasp you made.

"P-Patrick..." Your breathless stutter barely escaped your lips before I aligned myself with your tight little hole. You were dripping, shaking, and I hadn't even pushed all the way in yet. And I didn't even ask you how you felt, nor did I care to give you time to adjust.

I thrust into you—mercilessly and harshly.

Your cry was muffled by the door, your hand slipping up to brace itself as your entire body jerked forward from the impact. My grip on your hair tightened as I slammed into you again as hard as I could, owning every inch of you. You were almost screaming now—loud enough that I was sure the echoes would fill every corner of this business center, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered when your body responded to everything I did—every thrust, every inch of my fat cock brushing against your warm, tight walls. Without a second thought, I pressed my hips harder against your backside and buried myself deeper inside you. Fuck... you felt so good, so fucking good. And the way your cunt clung to me with every movement? 

Jesus.

I pulled back just enough to thrust into you again, deeper this time. Your cries were uncontrollable now—pure fucking pleasure spilling out of your throat like you couldn't even stop it. Each thrust sent your body forward—your breasts pressing against the cold door of my office. My hands gripped your hips harder, digging into your soft flesh, and I could feel you tightening around me with each passing second.

You were so fucking close.

"You like that, huh?" I growled into your ear before my teeth grazed the back of your neck as I rammed into you again—faster now. "You love being fucked like this... don't you?"

Your answer was almost a scream—desperate, high-pitched. "Yes! Oh God... please... don't stop... Daddy... please."

I lost it completely.

My rhythm faltered for a second as I buckled deeper, hammering into you until each thrust sent you over the edge. Teetering on the brink, you were trembling all over, your legs barely holding you up as I ravaged you from the inside out. Meanwhile, I could feel it building inside of me, too—the way your hot cunt cramped around my throbbing dick, the way you moaned my fucking title over and over...

I was right there, right fucking there.

My hands moved from your hips to your breasts again, squeezing them roughly as I pounded into you one last time, causing your entire body to tense, to fucking shatter into pieces—you let out a sharp yelp—your hands gripping the door like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

And then everything fell apart.

You came hard—your legs quivering, your pussy convulsing around my cock like it was trying to pull me deeper inside. And your gasps, damn, they were erratic and so fucking desperate. At that moment I could barely hold on, knowing that your body was a fucking mess beneath me, shaking violently as your orgasm tore through you, every nerve ending firing. And I... I couldn't take it anymore.

With my eyes closed, I thrust into you one last time, sinking deep into that perfect cunt before everything fucking crashed through me, my grip on your breasts tightening and my whole body tensing as I finally released inside you.

The whole world collapsed upon us.

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!💞

[hanasnx]

hip to be square.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: themes similar to the movie | allusions to violence and murder | sexual content | sexism | fiancée!reader | dumbification | degradation | rough sex | anal play references | anal fisting reference | drug references | allusions to asphyxiation.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.

Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.

You're engaged to him.

In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.

Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."

Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.

[billsvip]

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN FIND A SOUNDGASM THAT SOUNDS LIKE CHRISTIAN BALE/PATRICK BATEMAN. I'm desperate.

[fear-is-truth]

𝐇𝐈𝐌 & 𝐈 𝜗ϱ . . . 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons﹒drug use﹒kinda toxic relationship﹒ p in v﹒handjobs﹒choking﹒use of the word “daddy”

SFW

has a habit of disappearing without explanation, sometimes for days at a time. when he returns, he acts as though nothing happened, brushing off your concerns with dismissive and cryptic responses.

extremely critical of appearances as he doesn’t handle flaws well—patrick fully expects you to mirror his aesthetic standards. even the slightest imperfection, such as chipped nail polish or an out-of-place hair, will piss him off. you’re basically his personal doll at this point—he buys you designer clothes, ensuring you wear the “right” brands to fit his ideal of a partner. he notices everything, from your choice of perfume down to the shade of lipstick you wear. if you switch brands, he’ll immediately make a comment on it.

prefers to keep conversations shallow and detached, as deep emotional topics make him uncomfortable. he constantly rambles about his niche obsessions—pop culture, business cards, and the “superiority” of certain types of suits. that being said, patrick talks at you rather than with you. he can yap on for an entire dinner about the fabric quality of valentino suits or the importance of a tie that “truly complements the suit’s structure.”

a walking encyclopedia on serial killers. in the middle of any conversation, he’ll start spouting facts about ted bundy or ed gein. he expects you to be thoroughly impressed by his knowledge and gets viscerally disappointed if you don’t show interest.

genuinely believes his opinions on music are groundbreaking. he’ll pull out albums and spend a good thirty minutes explaining why genesis or huey lewis and the news are masterpieces, analysing lyrics and production with the passion of a critic.

talks about dorsia as if it’s the holy grail of fine dining. if he’s lucky enough to get a reservation, he’ll spend days before and after the meal casually hyping it up to everyone, making sure they know he managed to get a table. however, if he fails to secure a reservation, it completely ruins his week. you sometimes wonder if he’d cry over it. (as a matter of fact, he does)

frequently asks if you think his business card is better than “so-and-so’s,” as if it’s a critical matter. if he gets even a whiff of another guy’s success, patrick becomes obsessed with one-upping them. you’ve had to sit through countless complaints about paul allen, his dorsia reservations, the fisher account. he can’t handle criticism, especially if it challenges his idea of “perfection.” if you casually mention you’re not a fan of his music taste or his suit choice, he’ll literally sulk about it for days.

when patrick gets jealous, you’ll catch him clenching his jaw, his hand gripping your waist a bit too tightly. sometimes he’ll try to act indifferent, but the slight sweat on his forehead or the vein throbbing in his temple gives him away.

lives by his routines and gets annoyed if anything disrupts them. you’re expected to adhere to his exact schedule when you’re with him, from gym time to dinner to his beloved skincare regimen. if something goes off-plan, he becomes irritable, even if it’s just because you suggested a new restaurant.

although he appears to be emotionally distant, he’s highly hypersensitive to how he’s perceived by you. an offhand comment or anything less than admiration from you makes him noticeably on edge.

obsessed with acquiring materialistic items that showcase his success. he’ll bring up these possessions repeatedly, and when he buys something new, for instance a painting or a stereo, he’ll practically drag you to admire it with him, giving an extensive monologue on its artistic value or technical specs.

constantly trying to impress you with his wealth or his “connections.” he’ll drop the names of people he “knows” (sometimes with questionable authenticity) or go out of his way to show you his credit card just to emphasise how wealthy he is. patrick assumes his looks and material success is inherently attractive to you, and if you ever show interest in something less superficial, he’s truly baffled.

always subtly fishing for compliments, but he wants them to sound like they’re coming from you, not just because he’s prompting you. if you mention anything flattering about another human, you can see his jaw clench as he makes a mental note to find something he’s “better” at. if you don’t give him the attention he craves, he becomes passive-aggressive until you finally give in and tell him how handsome he is.

if you so much as hesitate before complimenting patrick, it eats at him. he starts nitpicking his own looks, spending even more time obsessing over his skincare routine, gym sessions, and hair products.

to patrick, relationships are transactional. he’s constantly buying you lavish gifts, partially to impress you, but mostly to keep you “tied” to him. he would be genuinely insulted if you didn’t wear or display his gifts, taking it as a personal rejection, even though he never explicitly says this. instead, he’d pout or go into a passive-aggressive silence until you “make it up” to him (usually with sex)

loves the fact that you’re both attracted to and a little intimidated of him. what he doesn’t know is that you also think he’s a pathetic loser.

insecure about whether you actually love him or are just with him for his wealth and status. he craves reassurance but would never directly ask for it, so instead, he does things to elicit compliments from you or waits for you to say something affirming.

secretly torn between wanting to keep you as a sort of trophy and feeling an actual attachment he doesn’t understand. on more than one occasion, he’s imagined what it might be like to marry you—he’s even purchased a 7ct diamond ring on impulse. the thought terrifies him, though. he’s afraid of real intimacy, of anyone truly knowing who he is. still, he sometimes drops hints about “the future,” gauging your reaction to see if you might even consider it.

likes it when you adjust his tie or fix his collar. there’s something about your delicate hands on him, perfecting his appearance, that makes the blood rush to his groin as he reminisces the same pair of hands wrapped around his cock. he’ll even purposely wear his tie a little off or leave his collar slightly askew, just so you’ll step in to fix it.

whenever you say goodbye before he leaves, patrick insists on making eye contact, as if daring you to look away first. it’s his way of ensuring that he’s the last thing on your mind as he walks out the door. expects you to fix his lapel, straighten his tie, or give him a quick peck on the cheek. if you forget or rush the routine, there’s disappointment on his side.

patrick insists on every detail being pristine and coordinated, and he takes pride in the aesthetic of matching “his & hers” items. towels, robes, toothbrushes etc. he doesn’t necessarily see this as sentimental but as a way to project his status to anyone who might see it—like a small, smug reminder that you belong to him. he’ll also make a point to keep these items perfectly aligned on the bathroom sink or kitchen counter, internally congratulating himself when he sees them.

adores watching you in the kitchen, especially if you’re wearing something skimpy or nothing but one of his button-ups left undone just enough. he’ll lean in the doorway, watching as you busy yourself slicing fruit or preparing his bran muffins for breakfast. he often finds himself admiring the delicate curve of your neck, the swell of your ass as you move, though he’d never voice anything genuine about it.

his nicknames for you : “kitten”, “bunny”, “sweetheart”, “doll”, “hun” or “honey” in public, “fuckdoll” in private.

your nicknames for him : “daddy”, “sir”, “pat”

super meticulous when it comes to your wardrobe, especially lingerie. he’s obsessed with victoria’s secret and demands that you wear sets he’s chosen—lace and silk, only in shades he deems “fashionable.” as a way to elevate his experience. he’ll sit back with a drink in hand, watching you with an air of smug satisfaction as you parade around the bedroom like it’s a runway.

has certain… kinks that he knows you wouldn’t approve of. this is when sex workers come in handy. sometimes, he wonders if he could somehow desensitise you or change your mind about these things. he drops hints, gauges your reaction to certain acts, and tests boundaries. if you outright refuse to engage in his fantasies, he holds it against you, making passive-aggressive comments about your “prudish” nature or implying that he “puts up with it” because he “cares about you.”

NSFW

his dry cleaning bill has spiked noticeably ever since you started dating. nearly every other day, a new suit or bedsheet stained with cum is dropped off, patrick never looks the dry cleaner in the eye.

patrick’s version of aftercare is incredibly minimal. he’ll be content to simply roll over or give you a lazy kiss on the shoulder but that’s about as soft as it gets—he’ll immediately head off to the en suite to freshen up. if he’s feeling particularly generous, he’ll hand you a bottled water and that’s that. if you need anything more, he’ll listen, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests he’s already moved on mentally.

very fond of kissing your neck or collarbone, especially before you attend social settings—leaving hickeys and bruises. kisses from patrick can be surprisingly sweet and sensual when he’s in a rare moment of vulnerability, but it’s always short-lived.

he’s become addicted to the sound of your voice, so much so that he has tapes of you—masturbating while saying filthy things. when he’s stressed at the office, he’ll slip on his walkman, listening to your sweet whimpers and moans echo in his ears.

gets a thrill every time you say his name—whether it’s a soft “good morning, patrick” or a “mghm-ahh patrick!” when he’s jackhammering his cock into your cunt. he’s especially weak to hearing you coo or whimper his name, and he’ll go out of his way to make you say (scream) it repeatedly.

has a ritualistic routine for doing coke—spreading a neat line along your stomach and the valley between your breasts, admiring how good you look beneath him. when he leans down to snort the line, he often allows his lips to ghost over your hard nipples.

has no problem dropping obscene amounts of money on you—high-end jewelry, designer clothes, perfumes, he loves the way you look in everything he picks out. “only the best,” he’ll mumble as he fastens a diamond necklace on your neck. but his favourite part is admiring the pieces when he has both hands wrapped around your throat while fucking you.

he’s particular about which rings he picks out, envisioning how they’ll look on your fingers while you jerk him off. there’s something erotic about the way they catch light and glitter against your skin.

you’re kneeling in front of him, the hardwood floor cool against your knees as you stroke his thick, angry cock. patrick reaches down, thumb brushing over the 18k rose gold ring he’d recently bought for you. “looks nice on you,” he mumbles, almost distracted. you watch him for a moment, noticing the way he’s staring at your hand, like the ring is something precious he’s put a part of himself into. “you think so?” you ask, trying to read his expression as you continue to jerk him off. patrick clears his throat, dropping his hand a little too quickly. “of course. wouldn’t have bought it otherwise,”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[sl4sh3rsub]

patrick bateman hcs (nsfw: mdni)

patrick bateman x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warnings: overall pretty toxic, homophobic and misogynistic, there's a lot of infidelity/cheating and drug usage/alcohol too. there is also shaming of sex work - this is purely fictional and i do not condone this behavior in real life. i wrote in these elements because they appear in the original source material, not because i hold these opinions/views. mentions of extreme kink/fetish (knife play, blood play), p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), oral sex (giving + receiving), handjobs, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamics (patrick is a top + sugar daddy/dom/slight sadist + is entitled, reader is more submissive + sweet), lots of cum + precum/arousal, reader sometimes treated as sex object, marking (bruises, bite marks, hickeys etc.), dubious consent? (overstimulation, he can be manipulative, reader flashes someone in afab section), reference to past rough sexual encounters, lots of sexual tension, patrick is sociopathic(?) + gets hard a lot + is possessive/slightly domestic but still rough, canon colleagues (schrödinger's judgement + they're horny), nipple play, voice kink/voicemail sex, threats/mentions of canon (?) violence (not towards reader), exhibitionism + public settings, consensual filming of sexual acts, gun play/fear play, cigar gets extinguished on reader (research risks properly before trying irl, please stay safe), hired sex worker, mentions of surgery in ftm + mtf sections, rip jean + evelyn's emotions

a/n: i'm a massive fan of the broadway musical (bootleg available on youtube) and i've seen the film twice, but i still need to read the book!! i've listened to this youtube audiobook (ai voice patrick reading it - part one) and it kinda goes hard. anyway, peeb ateman is soft with reader in this one, so it could potentially be a little ooc.

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

_ _ _ _ _

general hcs

patrick is already engaged to evelyn when he meets you. he's very well aware that she's seeing timothy price, so he might as well have his own fun - divorce isn't in fashion this year, so being prepared for that potential outcome might turn some heads and patrick hates judgmental attention

if you're already in a relationship with someone, he'll whisk you away immediately. you deserve so much better than some chump who can't afford to spoil you, he'll prove his superiority with his shiny silver card

show him genuine affection and take interest in his music taste!! if you listen to him and take time out of your day to participate in conversation, he'll abruptly stop mid-sentence to process that you're invested in his recap of his day :( you'll have no issues with him from then out - you respect him and he'll respect you. he's quietly thankful for how kind you are to him

if patrick has a yearning to dabble in a certain kink or fetish - such as knife play or extreme blood play - that you're not willing to participate in, he'll just find someone who can satiate his needs temporarily. no harm done, patrick just wants to make sure he's not taking complete advantage of you - he'll pay for you to have a delicious dinner and fancy hotel for the night, don't worry. he still wants to take care of you and reassure you that no one is taking your place, and that you'll still have him in the morning... he just needs to let out his extreme urges throughout the night

his way of showing affection is brushing his nose against you, whether it be your temple, ear or cheek as he whispers sweet nothings to you. he longs for subtle contact and the gentle warmth of your skin. he's also addicted to burying his face in your neck or pressing his lips against your crown when he fucks you from behind or squirming in his lap, the small puffs of hot air tickling your flushed skin and his lidded eyes rolling at your scent

he digs his fingers into your lower tummy while he fucks you, feeling his cock ram deep inside you - he's shamelessly using you as his own fucktoy, massaging his length to get himself off. the extra pressure against his tip has him shuddering at the delicious sensation

yeah sure, patrick might be a weirdo and a loser but he can fuck you like he loves you (maybe he does) and spare cash to dry-clean your cum off his expensive suits... fair trade, no?

he practically becomes your sugar daddy - you're his personal doll to dress, provide for and parade around proudly. he wouldn't trade the satisfied glint in your eyes, or the rhythm of your glistening arousal dripping on his wood paneled floors for anything. after a long day of spoiling you, he becomes a little selfish in the bedroom and chases his high with no regard for how overstimulated you might get :(

he is obsessed with dressing you to match his personal perception of you - that is to say, have you dressed in a manner that would make atheists reconsider and have the faithful herald you as their new deity. he wants to ensure that everyone know why he worships you the way he does. even if you don't feel confident in your skin, he quietly reassures you that your bashfulness only adds to your charm

you're his personal model and his precious doll - plaything, if you will. after you return to his place from perusing the designer shops, he lounges back with a whiskey in hand and patiently watches you show off your latest purchases on his card. he'll ask you to spin or swap shoes to match the outfit every so often, even asking you to bend down towards him just so he can adjust your collar or hairstyle. if he gets taken aback by how stunning you look in a certain outfit, expect him to get carried away and start panic rambling - he'll explain the specifics of the material, cut or brand as his fingers roam your body with devotion and his eyes greedily drink you in. his voice gets progressively huskier throughout the show until he gets to the expensive undergarments hidden in matte bags and tissue paper - he fucks you in front of the mirror, reveling in the way the material hugs your skin and how your skin shifts as your muscles clench with every thrust

after he warmed up to you, patrick slowly realized how emotionally taxing your early encounters were on you and that you were left feeling used and roughed up afterwards. if he still makes you feel that way after he first admits his affection, definitely let him know - he might want to leave physical marks on you that linger for a week or so after, but emotional damage is the last thing he wants marring your relationship

something that resembles quiet devotion lingers in his gaze, the glint of chandeliers flashing as he quickly shakes his head and denies he was ever staring :( sure, you might not be the stereotypical 'hardbody', but you're more worth his time than all of the other whores that his cock stirs for - you're leagues better than the sluts turning tricks and actually deserve a place in his home, his bed, unlike the simple chicks he picks up from clubs. he actually respects you (though, not enough to acknowledge your independence away from him) and his silent approval - pride, even - of your actions sometimes slips through his mask

whenever you're in the room with him, there is an invisible yet tangible tension that tugs you together. the warm, compressing feeling always hones your vision onto patrick - it drowns out all of the noises and movement around you, grounding you in the all-consuming gaze of your lover. his eyes snap to yours whenever you enter the room and he instinctively feels a bulge growing in his slacks, his pupils dilating as his tongue darts out to dampen his lips. no polite conversation or mundane styling drivel is worth his time when you are in his field of view

patrick genuinely feels his blood thunder in his ears whenever the men at the table make snide remarks about your appearance or belittle you. he is absolutely disgusted at their attitudes and lack of understanding - you are his darling and you deserve to be treated as his equal, at a minimum. however, if the table murmurs about how sexy you look, he's more than willing to show you off a bit - he's proud of what's his, obviously! just don't let the boys get too bold with their 'polite' touches or they won't have fingers in the morning :<

he'll buy you a ring. not to propose, oh god no - he doesn't want to do the whole evelyn debacle again. patrick wants to simply state his territory and claim so that others would be less inclined to approach you (plus, it helps that he doesn't have to vividly daydream about it anymore - it saves brain power)

if he rushes home with dirty, damp gloves and a missing button on his overcoat, he'll forever be indebted to you if you pour him a stiff drink and prepare to call jean to postpone all events the next day

your head gets all fuzzy when his tongue drags along the line of your collarbone and his soft lips ghost down your chest - circling your nipple and threatening you with the edge of his teeth makes the edge of his mouth twist into a smirk. if you meet his gaze, his lidded eyes give away how content he is in this position, with you on top of his lap. his lips sheened with spit and your buttoned shirt yanked open make for an arousing sight

patrick is a big fan of smoking his cigars while you sloppily take his cock down your throat - he gets some sadistic pleasure from putting them out on your spit-soaked thighs, the drool hissing under the scorching heat. it's coincidentally also one of his favourite things to reminisce, running his fingers over your thighs while replaying those memories during boring social events. the scent of his expensive smoke, wafting around him in a saloon, has him drifting back to the sight of his hefty cock resting on your face - the length throbbing with every heartbeat, pearls of salty precum seeping into your soft skin and trailing in thin rivulets down the contours of cheekbone

he is a fan of sneaking a dab of his yves saint lauren perfume onto all of your formal wear, a little mark of him and something to keep you company whenever you're out at functions he's not attending

he drags you out to clubs just to dress you up and show you off under the bright, colourful flashing lights. you have his eye the entire time you're feeling yourself on the dance floor, tempting him your sensual movements from across the room - don't expect him to act on it immediately though, he's more than content to hold your gaze and sip his glass from the bar. if some sleaze dares to get handsy with you, he'll step in and guide you towards the bathroom as his fingers glide down to your lower back - he needs a bump to loosen up and not hurt every single chump eyeing you up. you're his plaything, after all.

if you spend a night at patrick's place, he'll secretly love taking showers with you - only because you help him rub in his cleansers and soaps into his skin, no other reason. certainly not that your devoted, admiring gaze make him flush and whisper his timid thanks under the steady stream of water, the noise lost in the pounding around your ears. ignore his building arousal, it'll stay there and grow even harder when he pleasures you with his tongue on the counter of his stainless-steel kitchen. you're the only one he'll kneel for, and you bet that there's a steamed-up outline of your ass on the countertop when he's done :3

despite his incessant need to fit in, he's never going to blend in while you remain by his side. you bring out that rare smile of his and that soft chuckle in public settings. you far outshine all the other, dull plus-ones at the dinner parties

you are patrick's trump card - everyone he knows either wants to be you or fuck you, they'll do anything to impress (especially if there's false hope of ending the night in bed with one or both of you)

if you're confident enough, you could be his personal little pornstar!! it makes you so giddy, the knowledge that he could show the snippets of the videos to his coworkers (who dream about getting you naked) and make them jealous of the fact that you've cum numerous times with patrick's name on your lips. the video is recorded on the best equipment of course - he can't have you on video while looking anything less than godlike on camera

he orders your favourite dishes at every restaurant, combs and brushes out your hair when you arrive at his apartment, then fucks you roughly while whispering how thankful he is for you. his babbling pleas for you to stay and praise of your existence echo in your mind for hours after, especially as he rests next to you with steady breathing

patrick leaves hickeys and bite marks all over you and while he might apologise while handing you anti-bruise supplements, know that his mind's eye is stuck on the sigh of your skin blossoming under his lips - specifically, the feeling of his teething nipping your skin and the small hum of satisfaction as he pulls away to inspect his work. if you've been good lately, he'll let you leave a hickey or mark on his chest - it's only fair after he leaves you bruised and aching in his arms the next morning :( if you've behaved to his liking, he'll share some of his japanese pear and kiwi for breakfast. you need some sugar to recoup anyway

if he's been snappy or pent up all day, he'll guilt you into taking him with minimal prep - he will snap and go feral if he's had to rein it in at work, plus the stretch feels heavenly around his thick cock

patrick had once ordered a prostitute for the two of you to experiment with - making sure they were a fair balance between your ideal types, bodywise. this plan went a little off script after the foreplay when you and patrick ended up exploring your exhibitionist sides, passionately kissing and languidly exploring each other's bodies while the hire slowly touched themselves at the sight. that precious hour or so was the easiest pay that person had ever made (you and patrick were far from unattractive), plus that champagne that you poured out was heavenly

patrick has you suck him off during skincare routines in the morning and evening, making sure to cum all down your throat. he insists it's good protein for you!! kneeling in front of the bathroom countertop has become second nature to you, the divine sight of your rugged lover above you routinely making you feel at ease

you had better be friends with his secretary jean because you'll see her a lot. if she gets jealous and her failed attempts at sleeping with him affect her capabilities, patrick will simply hire a different secretary. sure, he'll love to flaunt you and taunt them about how they aren't fucking either of you, but that's just part of his fun. he might use the empty threat of fucking you in front of the secretary as a way to keep you from acting out, but he's too possessive to have someone in a different tax bracket see you laid bare

get him spa day gift cards!! you can both spend time in private saunas or pools simply enjoying each other's presence and use the time to caress each other's bodies. use the opportunity to get a full body massage - when patrick has had a rough week, you're more than likely going to end up with a couple bruises and a few sore muscles

while he's never been the most domestic man, the image of you flitting back and forth in his pristine kitchen flicks a switch in patrick's brain. your earnest efforts of making him his breakfast bran muffins and churning his apple butter has him daydreaming of keeping you in his apartment like a pet - at his beck and call constantly, dusting his expensive furniture and preparing his meals whenever he comes home... not to mention how you'd willingly bend over or drop to your knees in a heartbeat if he so desired

if patrick is riding an adrenaline (or cocaine) high when he returns to you, be very careful and tread lightly. he may have an itch to clean his axe or handguns, polishing them until the late hours of the night. when he's in a jittery and frantic state, he isn't above having you spread out on his polished floor as something nice to look at while assembling the firearms, and he's certainly not against fucking you roughly while holding the gun to your head or body. he's even aroused by the though of you sucking off his uzi, spit-slicked metal knocking your teeth as your glistening eyes widen in fear

when you sleep next to him, he might jolt awake at night before realizing your shifting movements pose no threat to him, especially when you're locked into his arms with your soft breath brushing against his skin. when he gazes at you in these dimly lit moments, his mask slips until he feels a semblance of happiness - there's no discomfort, jealousy or boredom, he's content with you against him like this. after a long while of his breathing filling the dark room, his mind forces his walls back up and reverts him back to his usual self just as he drifts to sleep. no one can ever see him like that, see what your presence does to him... not even you

he has a penchant for fucking you infront of his toshiba 30-inch television, a porno tape or horror movie often playing. he loves the way screams - either of ecstasy or pain - fill his ears as you moan beneath him, the colours of the screen dancing on your skin. his cock always pulses just that little bit more whenever you bite his thumb and take his dick deep inside you as the film plays in the background. red is suck a sexual and raw colour after all, why not have the bright screen fill your vision as you cum on his cock? the vibrance drowns out all other stimuli, forcing you to focus on his presence in and around you

imagine the shock on evelyn's face when she shows up unannounced at patrick's place one late afternoon- he's swaying to heuy louis and the news, hands on your hips as you giggle and pour him a glass. his silk shirt loosely buttoned just covers your modesty as he soothingly rubs circles on your thigh, soft grin fading as his gaze frosts over at the sight of his betrothed. she sniffs, scandalized at the sight infront of her, and tells patrick to not bother contacting her - tim price's phone will be unplugged the moment she arrives at his place. to be honest, patrick could not care less. you're in his arms and he knows for a fact that evelyn will be over it soon - if not, there's a more suitable marriage candidate right in front of him. if you feel bad or guilty after evelyn leaves, patrick will do his best with his hands, thick cock, tongue and credit card to soothe your worries

expect patrick to leave desperate and vaguely threatening voice mail messages - his heavy, stuttered breaths echoing in your ears as the slick sounds in the background get you more and more worked up. the depraved ramblings deepen and get hoarser with each passing minute, so you'd better pray jean doesn't walk in - she isn't worthy of seeing him in such a disheveled and flushed state

_ _ _ _ _

amab hcs

luis is the most understanding of patrick's work bunch - he isn't shy to defend you and be seen in public as your friend, once you are comfortable telling him your secret of course. just make sure everyone knows you're not a part of that yale thing and you'll be fine

although he isn't keen on being open about his relationship with you - for fear of his colleagues and fellow acquaintances of wall street making derogatory comments towards him, or worse, you - majority of the men already have some closeted urge to spend the night with you, yearning to take bateman's place in your bed. let's face it, the cocaine, competition and firm handshakes can only do so much to hide the growing homoerotic tensions between the coworkers. your appeal is wider than you realise, as the compliments and lingering gazes at events would have most outsiders questioning if carruthers was the only gay man present in the social circle

in large social gatherings - such as big dinner parties or company events - patrick is able to hide his hand under the table and keep a poker face while unbuttoning your fly, untucking your shirt and slowly palming you for his own amusement. his bragging of designer clothing, company roles and mentions of a nice house he procured - for you to move into, of course - easily distract the other people on the table from what's happening in their vicinity

if his j&b on the rocks isn't hitting the spot or the cigars his colleagues are smoking feel heavy in his lungs, he'll drag you into the men's room - assuming there's no one in the other stalls, of course. his fly is halfway undone by the time your knees and expensive slacks hit the tiles, his hands mussing your slicked back hair. you'd better take his cock down your throat to the best of your abilities - you don't want an audience to witness you choking and spluttering on bateman's length, do you? of course not, they'll ostracize you in a heartbeat (or so patrick says), so you had better not complain or splutter when he pinches your nose shut and shoots hot ropes down your throat

whenever patrick fucks your ass, he ensures that his mark is left on your supple skin for days later - whether it be a handprint-shaped bruise, crescent nail marks or scratches along your thighs, he needs to have you remembering how well he fucks you. as you sit down, adjust your pants or even just accidentally back into something, patrick is suddenly at the forefront of your mind

_ _ _ _ _

afab hcs

patrick buys you the finest jewelry and nicest accessories that money can buy - the deal is that you give him handjobs with the sparkling rings on and kisses with the expensive lipstick, luxurious material framing your figure like a dream. he is especially a fan of you wearing jewels that match your eye colour or makeup - when he lifts your hand to press a polite kiss on your fingers, the glittering in your eyes matching his gifts makes his heart skip a beat

when you cockwarm him, his length is so hefty and makes you feel so stretched - the weight grounds you as you struggle to gain friction against your poor neglected clit. you always feel so full when you're perched on his lap, the girth enough to turn off your brain and make you drool. sometimes when patrick is feeling bold, he prepares your outfit for the day and ensures that you're wearing a cute little skirt for easy access :( he can be selfish sometimes, on the occasion that he solely thinks with his dick

patrick loves pushing your knees up to your chest as he fucks you deeply in missionary - the feeling of your swollen pussy lips brushing against his veiny base and your clit grinding against his pubic bone gets him more worked up than he'll ever admit

it's fairly normal to have patrick's hand drift towards your chest in the back of a taxi, his face buried in the crook of your neck. keep your noises quiet or the driver might be curious about what's happening in the backseat. his cold fingers harshly pinching and tugging at your nipples make you abruptly moan into the brisk air in the back of the car, patrick subtly palming himself to the tortured whines leaving your lips. if you make eye contact with the driver, mouth that you're sorry for patrick's behaviour and try to save your dignity by biting your lip to avoid any loud noises. if they make direct eye contact with patrick first, however, expect him to pull a smug grin and flash your breasts to the angled rear-view mirror. he might even hike up your skirts to show off your soaked, borderline see-through panties. sneak the poor driver a tip on your way out because he nearly caused an accident, losing all brain function as his blood immediately drained from his head and rushed to his cock :<

patrick buys you two little platinum charms with a necklace chain, his initials engraved on the back of the heart shaped pendant. the other little shape is an axe, the edge of the blade set with tiny red garnets!! he is main motivation for having you wear it constantly is the fact that it makes a small clinking noise as you bounce on his cock, breasts swaying and your glimmering skin making the necklace a truly beautiful sight to patrick

_ _ _ _ _

ftm hcs

patrick will pay for any surgery you could every want - with the small caveat that he must be the first person to see and touch you once you're all healed. his lightly concealed wonder at your altered appearance and his admiring hums as he carefully traces the remaining swelling definitely help with your mood, breathlessly marveling at the miracle of modern medicine. he's praying you're happy with the outcome, it really was the best money could buy :(

if you're only just getting into wearing masculine clothing, you bet your ass that patrick is guiding you through the more expensive stores. no awkward phase, just the nicest clothing and most put together outfits to go out on the town!! as much as he understands how tough your body image issues can be, he's not having you look sloppy out in public - you're his man and you'll always be looking like you belong by his side

you're lucky his designer boxers are easy to clean! every time he catches sight of your muscles tensing, he's undoubtedly leaking into the material. when you're stretching and your shirt rides up, when you grab something from the top shelf or even when you crouch to tie your shoelace - his cock doesn't discriminate so you'd better expect a small, darkening patch. the musk at the end of the day has such a heady rush when you kneel in front of him, his sweaty underwear mere inches from your lips. patrick swears you give his dick a heartbeat whenever you make out with his bulge and especially when you sloppily give him head :3

bateman is a huge fan of quickies with you before meetings with your mutual colleagues - he's booked for lunch after, there's no other time in his schedule to empty his heavy, full balls into you :( his favourite way to spend those precious moments is with you bent over his polished desk, expensive pants crumpled at your ankles and your precum dripping onto the carpet. he is a massive fan of teasing you by pushing his cockhead into your slick boycunt and stroking his cock, edging his length until you're whimpering from the need to be filled. he mocks you for being needy and massages his balls when he finally fills your warm hole with thick, potent ropes of cum. he leaves you unsatisfied and leaking his load for the whole meeting :( splash your face with water and try not to squirm too much in your seat - patrick's classic shit-eating grin might give away the events that transpire mere moments before you both walked into the boardroom

mtf hcs

patrick will pay for any surgery you could every want - with the small caveat that he must be the first person to see and touch you once you're all healed. his lightly concealed wonder at your altered appearance and his hums as he carefully traces the remaining swelling definitely help with your mood, breathlessly marveling at the miracle of modern medicine. he's praying you're happy with the outcome, it really was the best money could buy :(

patrick keeps himself well put together and likes to treat you to manicures on shared days out. he'll ask his friend's girls for the best nail salon in the area and insists taking you. after he comes along to pick you up and pay after the set is finished, sometimes he'll immediately take your hands and hum his approval at the colour or design. other times, he'll give you his overcoat and hide your nails until you get in a private area, bathroom or the back of a car - the reveal of your new nails when you slowly stroke his cock, spit slicked hand glistening, makes his eyes roll back in pleasure. your heated gaze and slightly flushed face makes him grin, happy that you're willing to drool on his cock and flaunt his money proudly. the perfect girl, in his opinion :>

if you're only just getting into wearing feminine clothing, you bet your ass that patrick is guiding you through the more expensive stores. no awkward phase, just the nicest clothing and most put together outfits to go out on the town!! as much as he understands how tough your body image issues can be, he's not having you look sloppy out in public - you're his girl and you'll always be looking like you belong by his side

patrick's favourite evening activity is fucking you in a mating press - his cock filling you and hitting that deep spot inside you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. he loves the sight of your girldick bouncing on your tummy and the shine of your dribbling arousal smearing on your skin. nothing beats a relaxed evening with your tight hole warming his throbbing length

_ _ _ _ _

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

[marishoodie7]

How slashers would react to you getting on top

Includes: Billy Loomis, Charlie Walker, Patrick Bateman

Content Warning: 18+! P in v, overstimulation, riding

(No pronouns mentioned, but reader has female anatomy!)

***

: ̗̀➛ Billy

Your head was hitting the headboard with every thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. You forced your eyes open, “Fuck Billy,” you managed.

He grunted in response. You braced your hands on his shoulder and wrapped your legs around his hips. You rocked to the side and flipped him over. His dick slammed into you, even deeper and you moaned as you made yourself comfortable on him.

The strands of hair that had been flopping around had flattened on his forehead. His demeanor changed and he gave you a sly smile, his eyes darkened and his moved his hands to your hips. You rocked back and forth, slowly bouncing on him before finding a steady pace. You bit your lip as you neared your release, a tight knot that had formed in your stomach was unraveling slowly as you neared release.

Your legs shook and your walls clenched tightly around his dick. Billy bucked his hips up sloppily to meet you halfway before going limp. He let out a deep moan and came. You slowed your movements and gave one last bounce before coming onto him. You laid down on his chest and drifted off to sleep as he praised your performance that night.

:➛ Charlie Walker

“Let me take care of you this time.” You urged.

“Fuck, okay,” Charlie gasped as you stroked his cock, “Jesus.” You smiled at his reaction and gently pushed him onto the bed.

“Lie down.” You commanded. You lowered yourself onto him, his dick stretched out your walls. You didn’t know Charlie was so big. You put your hands on his chest and started to roll your hips. He felt so good inside you. You sped up and Charlie’s eyes rolled up into his head, he whimpered as you clenched around his hardened cock.

He bucked upward and desperately grasped at your hips. Hot tears were streaming down his face, and you could feel his dick twitch inside you. He was close, but you had no plans to stop or slow down.

“Fuck, y/n.” He whimpered as he came. You fucked him right through his orgasm, his face was reddening with overstimulation, his eyes were clenched. His hips stop bucking and he let you do all the work, guiding him towards his next orgasm.

Charlie moaned as he nearing his next release, you were getting closer too, but you didn’t stop, you couldn’t. A hot feeling filled you as you came on him. You rolled your hips a few more times before pulling off before Charlie could come. He lay on the bed, whimpering.

“Poor Charlie,” you tutted, without sympathy, “you were such a good boy but I couldn’t let you come this time.” You tan your fingers through his hair as his breath slowed and lost its raggedness. He turned to you and smiled.

“we’re gonna need to do that again sometime.”

: ➛ Patrick Bateman

Patrick drilled into your ass. He loved to hear the pretty screams of pleasure you let out as he fucked you. You were on all fours on the bed and Patrick was grunting above you. He pulled out suddenly and lay down on the bed, his dick rock solid and standing up, and his arms around his head.

“Why don’t we try something different?” He suggested casually as if he hadn’t been pounding into you a moment earlier.

“So you want me to ride you?” You deadpanned. You wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. You had been dreaming of the day where you would get to take charge.

“Yes.” He grinned. You couldn’t help but smile back as you pushed yourself onto him. He tangled his hand into your hair and braced himself for you to quicken the pace. You dig your fingers into his shoulders and sped up, rocking your hips back and forth. His length was stretching out your walls and you could feel his tip hit your g-spot.

You tried to throw your head back but he pulled your hair and forced your face closer to his.

“There you go, slut, ride me like the whore you are. I know how eager you were to wrap my dick around your pussy.” He growled in your ear. Your legs shook and you felt warmth spread through your body. You came on him, and tried to slow down your pace. He only tugged harder and encouraged you to keep going, no matter how sloppy you got.

“Come baby, just ride me a little longer, you got it.” He praised. His dick twitched and he finally released. Your core warmed when it was met with his thick, hot ropes. You unmounted him and slid next to him in the bed. He wrapped his arms around you.

“I should really let you take control more, huh?” He laughed.

“Yeah,” you smiled, “that wasn’t half bad.”

A/N: this is my first time doing head cannons like this! There may be more in the future who know? I hope you enjoyed!

[whereireid]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐘 — masterlist

pairing: patrick bateman x fem!reader

Summary: Patrick gives up control for one night. It doesn’t exactly go the way that you want it to.

— warnings: nsfw content, sub!patrick but he still has psychological control ofc, blowjobs, teasing, restraints, choking

"Are you trying to get me to beg?" Patrick asks, his brows knitting together as he watches your naked frame kneel before him, an uncomfortable throb shooting to the tent in his briefs as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. "Because if that's what you're doing, then I can assure you that I'm not going to plead to get you to touch me."

A soft coo slips past your lips as you stroke your fingers up Patrick's thigh, the muscle tensing involuntarily as your digits teasingly edge closer to the place where he wants you to touch him the most. You can tell that he's frustrated by the ticking of his jaw and the flaring of his nostrils, and you shoot him a loving smile as he glares down at you.

"You know how much I want you to beg," you murmur, your eyes glinting with mischief as you cup Patrick's hard cock through his briefs, a low groan drawing from the depth of his throat as you do so. "Please, Patrick? I want to hear how badly you want me."

"I'm not going to beg you to touch me.” His voice is emotionless, yet his throat grows dry when he watches your tongue comes out again, this time not to wet your lips but to lick at the outline of his cock through his briefs. "I'll get what I want eventually.” He tenses as you leave a wet stripe up his briefs, before he mockingly adds, “honey.”

You pout, your fingers careful as they slip under the band of his briefs, tugging at the Italian-made cotton softly. "At least pretend like I'm the one in control here," you huff, your hand curling around his cock, your lips quirking upwards as his pink tip leaks with precum. "Humour me a little, Patrick. Beg. Please?”

Patrick tries to ignore how comedic this situation actually is. He's the one tied up right now — his wrists are bound together with rope and he's tethered to the headboard, but somehow, he has all of the control. You're literally begging him to plead with you. If he was in your position and you were denying him of such sweetness, he'd bring out one of his knives and then you'd start blubbering and pleading like it's nobody's business.

He decides to humour you.

"Please suck my cock, honey. I need it so bad. I need it more than anything," he says flatly, the tip of his cock twitching against your cupid's bow as you beam up at him, "you have no idea what you do to me."

Surprisingly, it doesn't work.

"Don't mock me, Patrick. You're a little bit frustrated. I can see how tense you are." A low groan draws from his throat as you lick a delicate stripe up his length, careful to trace along his veins, your tongue sweetly swirling around his swollen head when you reach his tip. "If you don't comply with my orders, you're not getting what you want."

"Just put it in your mouth."

"I'll put it in my mouth when you ask me properly."

There it is — the tick in his jaw, the flaring of his nostrils, the intense, downcast gaze. You're pushing his boundaries, and you grin as he huffs, your lips carefully pressing gentle kisses against his length.

Your movements are incredibly gentle as you cup his balls in the palm of your hand, your tongue flicking out to toy with the needy head of his cock. His eyes crinkle shut and his nose scrunches as you lick a slow, deliberate stripe from the head of his cock down to his balls, your tongue flattening against his length as you bring your skilful muscle back up to his tip.

It's torture. Delicious torture. His nostrils flare when you pull away, a lewd string of spit trailing from his cock to your lips. You look up at him through lidded eyes, and your heart races in your chest as you see how black and blown his pupils are, his hazel irises sheathed from the dilation of his lust.

Pride resides in the depth of Patrick's chest. He didn't think you actual had it in you to tease him, but as you pepper sultry kisses to his cock, he realises that he's actually beginning to lose patience. His hips thrust against your face involuntarily, and an embarrassing whine catches in his throat as you tease him.

"I won't ask again," he says, and there's an edge to his tone that has your heart wrenching and fear prickling at your skin, "put it in your mouth. Please."

You smile.

It's the closest you're ever going to get to Patrick pleading with you. This small act of submission is enough — his bound wrists were his idea, not yours, meaning he was still in control even when he was complying with your demands to be domineering for once.

"Only because you asked so nicely," you tease, flinching under his warning gaze, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock carefully.

Your mouth is so warm and so wet, and Patrick's jaw clenches so hard that he wonders how he hasn't broken a tooth in the process. You feel so good as you roll your head up and down his cock lazily, your tongue trailing around his length as you force your head down, your nose pressing against his crotch as you take every inch of his cock inside of your mouth.

You gag. It's like heaven — the constriction of your throat tightens the grip your mouth has on his cock, and the warm, familiar feeling of arousal pools in your belly as Patrick hisses from above you, the muscles of his thighs flexing underneath your touch. There's something so intimate about how he's giving himself to you, how he's allowing you to have control, and you flush under his heavy gaze as you choke around his length, still not quite used to the uncomfortable girth of his cock.

"I'm glad that I made you bind me to the bed with these ropes," Patrick breathes from above you, his eyes starry as your tongue flicks over his tip, rolling over his slit carefully. "I want to hurt you so badly. If I wasn't restrained I think I'd ruin you completely."

The twitching head of his cock is a good enough signal that he's close. He grunts from above you, and it feels like he's been punched as his eyes lock onto yours, your mouth set upwards into a smile, your mouth glistening with salvia and precum.

Patrick's eyelids flutter shut, and you giggle as he groans again — usually he's not so vocal — using his moans as means of encouragement, forcing your head down, taking in all of his length, until you can no longer breathe breathe.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and your lungs are burning by the time that he cums. You struggle against him, squeezing your eyes shut, taking in every inch of him, your tongue lewdly lapping at his balls in an attempt to shock him through his orgasm.

And it works. Patrick is so tense that you can feel every single indentation of muscle, and your fingers dart over his chiselled abs, your cunt pulsing with need as he spews incoherent insults from above you.

By the time your breathing has steadied and you've finished swallowing, Patrick is no longer tense. He's no longer twitching, but his cock is still hard and heavy, a small bead of cum dribbling down his length as he gazes at you such fire you feel like you're being set alight.

"Untie me," he says, his voice dripping with authority and warning, “now."

"Yes, Patrick." You scramble towards him, quick to loosen the knots in the rope, your heart thrashing wildly in your chest.

You realise that the only reason you were in control then is because Patrick let you be. Once the knots are untied, his hands scatter towards your throat, and your eyes are wide and frantic as he presses down on your trachea, cutting off your air supply, making you feel dumb and incredibly horny.

His eyes blaze wildly as he gazes down at you, and he smirks, his pearly white teeth glistening in the florescent lights of his bedrooms as he promises, "you're in for a long night, honey."

[hneedlz]

THE WAY PATRICK BATEMAN WOULD...

A Patrick bateman smutty headcannon list

Warnings; American psycho but he's rlly hot. Dub con. He's mean.

Enjoy!

Patrick bateman would be the kind to force you to video tape yourself masturbating with one of the toys he gifted you, he makes a tape of it just so he could watch it for later.

He's the kind to hate fuck you after you both get into a argument.

Loves to pull hair, bite, smack, and spit. He doesn't care for aftercare. He makes you clean yourself up while he looks at himself on the mirror

Patrick likes to take advantage of you everywhere and anywhere.

He loves to degrade you and humiliate you in bed.

Patrick buys you expensive lingerie just for him to cut it up and make u feel bad!

He likes to guilt trip and manipulate you into having sex with him. He proudly talks about how you are in bed with his co workers

He tries his best to make you cry everytime

Loves to bring a weapon with him to a hook up.

Patrick likes whenever you scream and moan out his name whenever he's fucking into you.

[balesfx]

they're permanent and i'm not

patrick batman x fem!reader

smut ! , power exchange, degradation, knife play, cutting, some blood play, sadist!patrick (when is he not), dub-con

a/n : yay first fic here umm.. i haven't written in a while…cut me some slack

♫ : under your spell — snow strippers

"Be quiet."

Patrick's hand encased your mouth, pinching the skin of your lips up into your teeth as you strained a whine. Your jaw ached with surpressed retaliation and still his palm pressed tighter. The cool touch of the bedsheets beneath you kept you from overheating under Patrick's large frame, skin against skin causing a fire like presence between the friction of your bodies.

Your hands tugged at the fabric, a pathetic attempt at dragging away from him. Of course, the feeble action only made him tougher. Patrick's free hand grappled to your shoulder and yanked you back, ripping a muffled yelp from your throat.

"No, no…you can't leave. No, not yet…" His lips dipped down into the curve of your neck, his breath a tingling humid. The gentle kiss he pressed to your skin caused the nerves in your body to jump in unwarranted confusion. The tender gesture was a heavy contrast to the rest of his aggressive ministrations and your eyebrows furrowed.

The more you squirmed, the more evident the weight of his cock felt on your lower back. The erect member sent shocks down your spine everytime it brushed along your skin, your stomach fluttering each time Patrick released a hesitant and vunerable noise at the sensation. Miniature foreshadowings of your flesh wrapped around his dick caused it to twitch, flicking up against his abdomen and making him tense.

"Fuck—Fuck, stop moving." He heaved. And for some strange reason, you obliged, your body completely freezing. You swallowed dryly as you listened to him catch his breath, adjusting himself.

His hand finally relieved itself of it's grip on your mouth and you let out a choked breath, your head snapping back with a heavy breath.

"You really know how to treat a woman, don't you?" Your voice held a risky sarcasm, your head craning over your naked shoulder to see him crouched over the edge of his bed. Despite his…more than frustrating personality, you could never genuinely hate him. And when your gaze darted down between his muscular thighs, you certainly couldn't abandon that.

When he didn't respond to your quip, a quiet concern lingered in your chest. By now, he would've said several spat sentences, all of which incoherent and nearly inaudible but stabbing nonetheless. Your neck strained further as you propped yourself up on your elbows, seeing him finally lean back up.

"Patrick? What's taking—"

The impatient look from your face completely dispersed into a bewildered expression, the flush in your cheeks paling with caution. Patrick stared down at you, his eyelids heavy and irises dark as he crawled back up your legs. One hand slid up the back of your thigh and cupped your ass cheek, the other occupied with something far less softer.

His fingers tightened around the handle of a delicate knife, the blade reflected almost beautifully. Nothing too large, not a butcher knife, though obviously not a butter knife. You blinked back the blur in your sights to look back up at his face, speaking his name once more.

"Patrick?"

"Yes, dear."

Your heart skipped involuntarily once again. Your fingers fidgeted with the sheets in your now sweating palms, trying to decide whether or not to pull away again.

"…Why do you have that?" You asked carefully. He took a breath and leaned down, kissing along the back of your neck. Your head turned back over to hang off your tensed shoulders, your breath shuddering.

Patrick's teeth grazed down your spine, nipping vaguely at your skin with thin bites each chance he could get. With a quiet groan he swayed back up, his lip on your ear.

"Why not."

The cold and startling feeling of the knife's flat surface sliding across your back made you yip, your head shooting up. Patrick's free hand grabbed you by the hair and shoved your face into the mattress. He tipped the knife forward as to drag it's pointed end along your skin, poking downward into it though refraining from breaking through your epidermis.

As much as you wanted to throw him off and call him insane, playing with danger like this made you much wetter than you would have liked. Each time his knife would slide along you tail bone or spine, your cunt fluttered with a new found sense of want. Not to mention his bobbing cock lying dense between your legs. Christ, this was crazy.

"Your perfect…" Patrick sighed out, "Like a blank canvas."

You were about to respond with some plead or praise or whatever it may be before you were cut off by the sudden motion of the knife. It stood up from it's flattened position and you could now feel the narrow edge pressed down against your skin. The sudden switch sent a panicked jolt down your body, the excitement budding in your already flushed pussy.

"Patrick—" You hitched into the mattress, "Shit—Patrick, careful with that."

You could nearly hear him grin, a chuckle marinating in his chest.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing." He said.

His words alleviated very little of your worry, but you nodded anyway. The shift in vibe when his free hand traveled down between your thighs distracted you enough.

Patrick's thick fingers slid politely through your slick folds, rubbing up and around your entrance to tear a few whimpers from your throat. He dipped further and lapped his touch along your clit, agonizingly slow up and down movements causing you to tense.

"A-Ah, shit…" Your face buried into a nearby pillow.

Patrick's eyes shifted ever quickly up to your back again, lifting his wrist just a bit so the knife now hovered a hair above your back. Sunlight streaming through the slit of his curtains bounced off the blade and stung his eyes, the pure presence of the weapon enough to present even the slightest resemblance of vulnerability in his form. His hand twitched.

Patrick looked back down, his fingers curling up to rub his knuckle up through your folds, bumping up almost painfully over your clit with each motion. A weighing heat pooled down below your stomach and you moaned again, lifting your head to catch your breath.

"Stay down." Patrick demanded. Your head dropped again. He smiled at your obedience, his voice sultry. "Good girl."

Gingerly, he pressed one finger up into your hole, sliding it through the slickened tunnel and enjoying the way you tightened around him. "Easy."

His finger worked thoroughly along your walls, his knuckle once again pressing forward as his unoccupied digits circled your clit. You could feel yourself basically spilling around his touch, choking when he added a second finger. The two danced and scissored inside you and your heart fell like it was about to jump out your throat.

Patrick's cock was already leaking pre at this point, slickening the patch of your skin it lied on. The knife continuously twirled around in the air, his eyes locked down onto your smooth body. Such an untouched and delicate thing, he was like a moth to a flame. His drive for corruption spun like a storm in his mind, his weak restraint being the only consultant he had to keep him from driving the knife down into your back and out your chest.

Then again, the presence of restraint did not mean the promise. When his fingers twisted a secondary time and you let out yet another yelp, his head shot up almost bird-like and his hand jerked down instinctively. The blade dragged deliciously across your flesh, leaving an invisible trail behind it that only began to fill with blood once he lifted the weapon away.

"Patrick!" Your head immediately flipped over your shoulder to look down, your eyes wide and jaw fallen in disbelief. "What the fuck! Jesus christ, why would—"

"Fuck, don't talk." He groaned, staring down at the dribbles of blood that now rained down your side. They inked the bedsheets, seeping into it like paint and the thought of this fabric being stained in your blood made his dick pulse, his arms trembling. He pulled his fingers out your cunt without warning and you whimpered out a discomforted noise.

"I told you to be careful, I can't…"

"Don't. Talk."

Your lips shut tight. Patrick crawled downward, setting the knife next to your thigh so he could grip your skin with both hands. He leaned down and exhaled a trembling breath into your new wound. You winced, ogling downward.

His eyelids fluttered in doubt before his head crouched and he licked a long stripe up from one edge to the other, collecting the crimson liquid on his tongue. He savored the iron taste and shuddering as he swallowed.

You couldn't even say anything. What were you supposed to say? 'Hey, thanks, but I think they make wipes for that!'

Your lips parted to speak but all you could do was whimper. Patrick blinked back up, his eyes foggy and dazed in this strange bloodlust.

"Head down." He growled. Your ear pressed back into the pillow, your entire body on edge.

Patrick grabbed the knife again and crawled back up, this time positioning himself between your legs and bending them up aside his hips uncomfortably. The stretch of your cut made your eyes water and you sniffled against the fabric that muffled your mouth.

"I like you better like this. When you're not rambling my ear off." Patrick noted, his free hand moving down to give his cock a few languid strokes, his head tipping back with a low groan before he scooted up. "Makes my life much more efficient."

Your stomach sank in a slight shame. Though the emotion didn't last long when you finally felt the gentle resistance of his tip aligning at your entrance. He bit his tongue, his hips softly pushing forward.

"Yeah…mm, you're so good for me." Patrick moaned under his breath, slowly thrusting forward. His indolent fingering was certainly not enough prep, but trying to convince him otherwise would be more of an inconvenience than everything was right now. So you stayed silent.

He sucked an inhale through his teeth, his fist setting the knife back down onto your back, "So tight…"

You were convinced your nails would tear the sheets at how tightly you were gripping them, the moan suppressed in your throat making you all the more stiff.

Patrick thrust again, this time sliding the knife in rhythm with his movements, cutting you once again. You mewled into your pillow, that stinging sensation rippling through your skin as you felt that blood dripping just as before. Patrick slid his fingers through the puddle, catching as much as he could on the digits before pulling them up to his mouth and sucking on them, drinking down your taste with a hunger like none other.

Each roll of his hips that went by, a new cut was slashed into your back, some horizontal, some verticle, all bled the same. You could feel yourself growing lightheaded the quicker he pounded into your pussy, his free hand gripping and slapping your ass any chance he got.

"F-Fuck, look at you…" He grunted, "Goddamn corpse."

The way he seemed to get harder at that statement made a freezing emotion spill down your spine, unsure of how to take it. He slammed forward again, his tip nudging at your womb and making you cry out.

"Ah—Patrick, please…!"

You didn't know what you were pleading for. For him to stop cutting you or for him to fuck you softer, neither of you could tell. Either way, he wouldn't have listened.

He released a crippling moan, his waist snapping down repeatedly as his attacks grew less coordinated and all he could do was leave little, prickling snips along your flesh, his pleasure getting the best of him and soon he dropped the knife completely. Patrick grabbed your hips near bruisingly and shoved you closer, trying to pound as deep as he could into your cunt just to hear you scream.

"You're fucking pathetic. Letting me cut you up like that." He panted. Your voice wobbled as you spoke, your pussy clenching as a creamy ring formed around his shaft.

"I-It's what you wanted…" You answered weakly.

Patrick hummed, his palm rubbing along your back again to listen to you cringe at the pain. His thrusts became erratic and those heaving breaths struggled back out his lips. The few tight whines that escaped him was what made any night with him worth it. Your clit twitched as the noise replayed over in your head like a skipping record.

"Hah—G-God, I'm gonna cum…" He trembled, his forehead dropping down against your neck. Your eyes rolled back into your head when your own orgasm hit you like a freight train, one hand reaching aimlessly for him and the other tugging at the pillow. Your walls clenched around him and Patrick almost yelled, his nails digging into your skin.

"Yeah–Yeah, fuck…!" Patrick's eyes squeezed shut and he gave a final thrust of the hips, pinning you completely down as he shot heavy ropes of cum deep inside you, completely painting your innards.

The both of you collapsed in exhausted heaps. Tears still built up in your eyes as he deliberately lay on your wounds, enjoying the way you squirmed in pain.

After a few short moments, he finally lifted up, pulling out of you with a sharp noise. His thumb stretched up your cunt to watch his seed laggardly drip out onto the bed, your hole contracting as everything tried to cool down.

"Incredible." He whispered.

ext : it's 2:30am as of finishing this, this hasn't been proof read and i am half asleep so good night love you

[gabgabwrites]

GREEN EYED PSYCHO | Patrick Bateman

summary ��� Patrick wasn’t fond when he found out you were going to Dorsia with Paul, one of his least favourite people ever, so he decided he’d take things into his own hands to scratch that insatiable itch.

warnings ⇝ starts out with Paul like a lot of Paul, language, jealousy drinking, death, murder, gore, blood, literal psychos… reader is kinda ditzy, mdni

based off this ask

dead dove do not eat <- just in case.

please note this fic is triggering, if you cannot handle reading about literal murder happening before your very eyes, then this one isn’t for you! You have been warned.

Paul Allen had invited you to Dorsia, fucking Dorsia for dinner, and Patrick was livid. You and Patrick had a complicated relationship to say the least. You didn't have a label, yet. He was so drawn by your beauty then trapped by your insanity.

Patrick bit down on his bottom lip once you had left to go for this dinner, violent and gruesome thoughts flooded his mind. Yet here you sat, under the twinkling lights of Dorsia, its expensiveness you could barely touch.

Paul sat across from you, a charming smile on his pale, sharp face. He was gorgeous, yes, and he had on a well-tailored and no doubt expensive suit that accentuated his features. It was a dark black with blue undertones, double-breasted as well. His dark brown hair was smoothed back, like a wave of auburn.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, raising his champagne glass and offering a suave smile.

"Thank you, Paul," you replied, raising your glass before taking a sip. The rich flavors, sweet yet bitter, swirled on your tongue before dipping into your throat.

"You're welcome," he responded smoothly, setting his glass down after drinking. His grey eyes scanned your figure, studying every detail about you. "That dress looks wonderful on you," he complimented. "Who's the designer?"

You batted your eyelashes, a giggle pouring from your lips. "McQueen," you said, your fingers flicking at the lush, pastel blue fabric.

Paul raised his brows slowly, his grey eyes lighting up. "Alexander McQueen?" He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "That's a fantastic designer. Very expensive as well."

"The one and only," you nodded. "It was a gift."

"From a past boyfriend?" Paul guessed, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as he glanced down at the table to adjust his suit sleeve.

You shook your head. "Step-mother."

"Oh?" The smirk on Paul's face didn't disappear. In fact, it only grew as he propped his chin up on a fist. "Your step-mother?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone as he raised a brow.

"Yes, Paul, you know. The woman who married my father?"

"Yes, I'm aware of what a stepmother is," he responded with a chuckle. "But it's not very often that you hear of a stepmother buying her stepdaughter pricey gifts like McQueen."

"What can I say? We just have a great bond," you shrugged.

"That's wonderful to hear," he replied, taking another sip of his wine. Paul seemed to be enjoying himself tonight, eyeing you from across the table like a puma ready to pounce on its prey. "Any other designer pieces in your wardrobe?"

"Just a Hermes bag, but that's all for big brand names."

"Ah, Hermes," he leaned back in his booth, crossing his arms as the smirk on his face widened. "Another expensive brand. It seems your wardrobe is worth more than most people's annual salaries."

You snickered at his words. "Paul, may I ask why you invited me out to dinner?"

The smirk disappeared from Paul's face at your question, his face morphing into a look of nonchalance. He took a sip of his wine, setting the empty glass on the table. "I wanted to treat a pretty woman to an expensive dinner," he responded smoothly. "Is that wrong?"

"No, Paul. Not at all," you smiled, just as the waiter came to take your first order.

"Let's see," Paul grabbed the menu. It was made of brown leather and had golden letters etched into it, like an iron-branded pig, just luxurious. "I'll have your finest steak, and seasonal vegetables, and how about a side of the carbs too, and the lady will have the lobster with the hand-cut potato wedges, and a side of greens."

You didn't mind that Paul ordered for you. You just laced your fingers together and rested your chin on them, watching the waiter walk off with the menus.

"So, Paul," you began, trying to pierce through the polished veneer he always presented. "What have you been up to lately?"

He smiled, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Oh, the usual. Business meetings, networking events, a bit of travel here and there. How about you?"

"Not much. Just trying to keep up with life. It's been hectic," you replied.

Paul reached across the table and took your hand, his touch cool and firm. "You deserve a break. Maybe we could take a trip together sometime," he suggested, his voice low and intimate.

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, though you couldn't help but wonder about his true intentions. "That sounds lovely," you said, trying to keep your tone light.

The conversation continued, flowing easily despite the undercurrent of tension. Paul was a master of charm, effortlessly keeping you engaged with stories of his travels and business ventures. Yet, every so often, his eyes would darken, and you could sense something deeper lurking beneath the surface.

The waiter returned with your meals, placing the beautifully plated dishes in front of you. The lobster looked succulent, and the aroma of the steak made your mouth water.

"Bon appétit," Paul said, raising his glass once more.

"To a wonderful evening," you replied, clinking your glass against his.

As you ate, you couldn't shake the feeling that Paul was studying you, assessing your every move. It was both flattering and unnerving. You tried to focus on the delicious food, but your mind kept drifting back to Paul's enigmatic smile and piercing gaze.

Paul watched as you let your head roll back once you took a bite, a small moan left your lips, the lobster was buttery and fell apart in your mouth, it was silky and one of, if not, the best thing you've ever tasted. Your tongue darted out to lick the corner of your mouth, retrieving a small droplet of butter. "This is so..."

"Insufferable," Patrick grumbled, his fingers digging into the couch to fuck the white fabric in. A strand of his hair dangled over his forehead, out of place, imperfect, uncontrolled. That's how Patrick felt, he didn't feel in a lot of control.

He stood up to admire his handiwork, all couches and the floor were covered in white tarp. He fixed his red tie, straightening it, before walking to his kitchen. At the back, he had a display of artillery, each one shiny metal, and silky black.

The potatoes were just as good, crunchy golden and cooked to perfection on the outside, and soft and pillowy on the inside, tasting like garlic and thyme. "Mmm, why hadn't I come here sooner? Pat would love this place," you hummed.

"Pat?"

You blinked your eyes open and stared at Paul. "Yes, as in Patrick."

"Who's Patrick, and Patrick who?"

"Patrick. Patrick Bateman, we're sorta seeing each other," you dabbed the serviette on your bottom lip.

You watched as Paul's bottom teeth scraped the inside of his bottom lip in slight distaste. "And you didn't tell me? You're dating that asshole in my department?" His fingers curled around the polished silver wear.

"I didn't think it would matter, and Patrick's sweet, deep down. Plus, we're not even official."

Paul sighed. Paul's charming smile returned, though it was now tinged with something darker, a subtle edge that hadn't been there before. "I see. Well, I suppose everyone has their secrets," he said, his voice smooth but carrying an undertone of something you couldn’t quite place.

Back in his apartment, Patrick's mood was anything but relaxed. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the sleek, black countertop as he sipped a glass of scotch. The pristine apartment, with its minimalist design and high-end furnishings, felt like a cage tonight. He couldn't shake the image of you at dinner with Paul from his mind.

"Paul Allen," he muttered to himself, his voice low and dangerous. The name tasted bitter on his tongue. Paul was a rival, not just in business, but now in his personal life as well. The thought of you with Paul made his blood boil.

Patrick picked up a sleek, black knife, feeling the weight of it in his hand. The cold metal was comforting, a reminder of his power and control. He envisioned a hundred different ways to make Paul pay for his insolence, each scenario more violent than the last. But he knew he had to be careful, calculated. Paul was well-connected, and any rash actions could bring unwanted attention.

Setting the knife back down, Patrick took a deep breath, trying to calm the raging storm inside him. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the better of him. Not now. He needed a plan, something that would not only remove Paul from the picture but also solidify his own position.

As he pondered his next move, Patrick's thoughts turned back to you. You were the one bright spot in his otherwise bleak existence, the one person who made him feel something other than anger and emptiness. He couldn't let Paul take you away. He wouldn't.

You felt a flicker of discomfort. Paul's reaction seemed a bit too intense for something as simple as your dating life. Trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, you asked, "So, tell me more about your recent travels. Anywhere exciting?"

He leaned back, his expression softening slightly. "Actually, I just got back from a business trip in Tokyo. The city is incredible—so vibrant and full of life. I had meetings during the day, but the nights were my own to explore. The food, the culture, the energy—it's all so different from here."

"That sounds amazing. I've always wanted to visit Japan," you said, genuinely interested, hoping to keep the conversation light.

"You should. It's a place like no other," Paul said, his gaze softening as he recounted his experiences. "One night, I found this tiny sushi place off the beaten path. It was the best meal I've ever had. The chef was a master, each piece of sushi a work of art."

"Wow, that sounds incredible," you replied, imagining the scene. "I'd love to experience that."

"Maybe we can go together someday," Paul suggested, his eyes locking onto yours. There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard.

"Maybe," you said, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. Despite his occasional intensity, there was something undeniably magnetic about Paul.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you found yourself relaxing once more. The food, the ambiance, and Paul's charm all worked together to create an unforgettable evening. As you finished your meal, Paul signaled for the waiter and ordered a bottle of their finest dessert wine.

"You've really outdone yourself tonight, Paul," you said, raising your glass in a toast.

"To memorable nights," Paul replied, clinking his glass against yours. "And to more of them in the future."

You smiled, feeling a genuine connection with him despite the undercurrent of mystery that seemed to surround him. As the evening drew to a close, you both stepped out into the cool night air, the bustling sounds of the city wrapping around you.

"Let me walk you to your car," Paul offered, his hand lightly touching the small of your back.

"That would be nice," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch. You walked side by side, the conversation continuing effortlessly. As you reached your car, Paul turned to face you, his eyes intense.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," he said softly, his hand still resting on your back.

"Me too," you replied, your heart racing a little. "Thank you for dinner. It was amazing."

"Let's do this again soon," Paul suggested, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I'd like that," you said, smiling up at him. In the cool night, a vibrant sound cut the silence. Your phone buzzed away in your purse. You fished it out and pressed answer. "Hello?"

"Come to my apartment, now," Patrick demanded, his words were angry and a definite command, but his tone was steady. "Bring Paul."

"May I ask why?"

"You have ten minutes," Patrick hung up on you, leaving you to pout before turning back to Paul.

"Actually, would you mind coming with me?" you asked, gesturing towards your car with a sly smile. Paul, intrigued and slightly aroused by the sudden shift in the evening's tone, smirked back, his eyes glinting with curiosity and something else.

"Oh? Can't get enough of me? Sure, sweet thing, I'll go with you," you gave him a big smile as you unlocked the vehicle. Paul climbed into the passengers side.

It was a seven minute drive, before you pulled up to the fancy apartments. Paul practically cornered you in the elevator, eyes hungry as he stared at you, like a starved lion staring and a lonesome gazelle.

Patrick was no where to be found, the apartment was silent. "How about we sit? Hm?" You asked Paul as you walked over to the couch, throwing your purse on the armrest before sinking into the couch, growing at the slightly scratchy tarp, the floor was also covered, except with old newspapers and magazines.

"What's with the couches? Why are they covered?" Paul asked? Walking over as he took his blazer off, folding it over the couch before sitting down, knees knocking into yours.

"It's a fashion statement, I guess. Whiskey?" You asked, plucking a crystal glass off silver tray that Patrick had on the coffee table. "It's bourbon."

"I prefer Scotch, but yes," you poured him a glass, he took it before taking a sip, rich flavours dancing on his tongue. "It tastes cheap."

"Oh no, no. If there's one thing Patty doesn't like, is cheap alcohol," and suddenly, the drink tasted bitter on Paul's tongue, but he swallowed it down. You lay your head on your hands, your arm resting on the couch as you stared at Paul with a smile.

Paul shook his head, before placing the glass down. He looked at you, blue eyes sweltering, until his breath fanned your face. "You do look beautiful tonight, absolutely breathtaking."

His fingers brushed along the expanse of your thigh. His lips drawing nearer and nearer. Until footsteps were heard from around the house, nearing the two of you. Your lips pulled down in a small frown.

"What is Marcus Halberstram doing here?" Paul asked.

You frowned in confusion before turning to see. However, standing there was Patrick.

Paul had always thought Patrick was Marcus and Marcus was Patrick since they had the same job, dressed the same and went to the same barber.

Patrick was wearing a double breasted black suit, with a red tie neatly tucked into it, a white, mesh rain coat buttoned around his chest. Your eyebrows sunk in confusion as to why the unusual attire and was about to ask, when Patrick started to speak, taking swift strides as he walked over to the wall unit where he had a decent size collection of CDs. "You like Huey Lewis and the News?"

"They're okay," Paul spoke, before downing the rest of his drink and pouring another.

"Their early work was a little too New Wave for my taste. But then Sports came out in 1983, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically."

You watched Patrick ramble, pulling out a disc from a Huey Lewis and the News album and place it delicately in the CD player, 'Hip to be Square' started playing just as Patrick exited.

You turned to Paul, the newspapers under your feet crinkled at your actions. "Why is he here? I thought it was just you and I tonight?" Paul asked.

"I...it's his apartment. I'm sorry, I do hope you'd forgive me," with platonic motives, you placed a hand sweetly on his knee.

Paul chose not to ask why Marcus was in your house when you'd spoken of Patrick, instead he lifted a hand and cradled the smooth skin of your jaw, falling victim to your alluring gaze. "It's alright," his state darkened. "I can think of a few ways to forgive you."

"And how's that?" Your voice was soft and saccharine.

Patrick went to his bathroom and scooped up an axe in his grip. When his eyes settled onto you and Paul, so close together, in what looked like intimate moment, he was furious, anger bubbler under his skin but he plastered on a smile on his tanned skin, his loafers strode against the tiled floor as he swung the axe over his shoulder to rest on the bone.

“Hey, Paul?” Patrick’s voice broke the moment, Paul’s warmth shifted away from yours as he turned to Patrick, sheer horror burst on his features before blood, blood sprayed everywhere as Patrick let out a manic scream.

You shrieked, twisting yourself to get up from the couch. “Patrick! My dress! You’ve ruined my dress!” You gasped, the once pretty, soft blue was stained red, so was your check and a portion of your arm. “You know how hard it is to get blood out?”

Patrick grunted as he let his arms swing the axe into Paul’s limp body once more before chucking it to the side, chest thumping as he let out deep breaths like a savage beast, dressed in a tux. “We’ll get a new one.”

“But Patty, this was a gift from Anne, my step-mother,” you pouted, still frowning at the dirty fabric.

A vice grip found way on your chin, Patrick gripping the bone, forcing you to look at him. An angry storm swirled beneath his brown eyes. “I said we’ll get a fucking new one,” he spat before turning you around to face the very much dead Paul. “Look at him.”

You winced under his hold, staring at the body that still twitched from muscle memory.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Patrick, I didn’t mean—,” you rambled.

“I know,” Patrick sighed before his grip loosened and his arms were around you, your body pressing against his chest as he enveloped you in a hug from behind.

You spun around, no longer caring about the expensive dress and threw your arms around Patrick, a cheery smile spread across your blood coated face. “That was incredibly sexy.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, lifting a hand to your face where his thumb grazed your bottom lip, gathering both the red, slightly purple lipstick from your lips and the bright red blood. “I thought someone with a sick and twisted mind like you would this so.”

You just giggled before planting your lips firm on his, allowing yourself to taste his lips that were always minty, always fresh. You found yourself getting lost in the kiss, both easily forgetting the dead human on the living room floor.

“Mm, I love you, Patty,” you said in the kiss.

“And I love you more, princess,” the kissing slowly died down before you had to help Patrick squeeze Paul into a dustbin bag, holding his hand the whole time he chucked the bag into a dumpster.

“We should do this again!” You squealed.

Patrick let out a breath before looking at you, under the night sky illuminated by a distant street lamp, in the alley. His fingers brushed away some hair on your cheek that clung to the drying blood. “Anything for you.”

[xstarrgirllx]

patrick bateman™

- stuck in an elevator by @makeyoumine69

- don’t be shy now by @makeyoumine69

- obsession by @makeyoumine69

- dad’s best friend by @makeyoumine69

- i wanna feel you in my bones by @makeyoumine69

[makeyoumine69]

Memory Reboot

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: You work at P&P, and one day you come into Bateman's office and witness his breakdown. Your attempts to comfort him only increase his obsession with you, and without realizing it, you push this man to his limits. The outburst that finds you both in a club called the Tunnel will change your lives forever and irrevocably.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, obsessive behavior, desperate-touch-starved Patrick, masturbating, oral sex (reader receiving), aggressive foreplay, dirty talk, body worship, teasing, biting, drug usage, pet names.

WORDS: 3k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent - Memory Reboot

A/N: This is for my dear @iron-flavored-lipgloss! It was such a pleasure for me to write this for you! Enjoy!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [EDIT]

Patrick Bateman. What kind of a mess was this man? Chaotic, impulsive, pathetic? Or all of the above?

Smirking, you went to his office to deliver some documents you needed him to sign, but when you got there, you noticed that Jean — his lovely blonde assistant — was absent and the door to his office was suspiciously half open. It was strange, to say the least, but you just shrugged your shoulders and stood there for a while when you heard a loud thud coming through the door — the sound almost made you jump in surprise. 'What the hell?' You wondered as you approached the door, turning around to see if Jean was coming, but there was no sign of her. With measured steps you got closer to the hole in the open door and just peeked in out of curiosity, but the scene you saw was not what you expected — Bateman, all flushed and covered in sweat, was storming around his office, his hands desperately fumbling with his tie as if it was choking him.

Your reaction was quick, and you didn't even notice as you opened the door and stepped inside. "Bateman? Are you okay?"

The man stopped shaking the moment he heard your voice and leaned down on his desk. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get your signature on some of my docs when I heard you crying,” you grinned, watching his face go pale. "What's wrong, Bateman? Did you miss your facial?" The way he balled his hands made you laugh. "But really, did something happen?"

"Yes," Patrick replied, looking at you and running his hand through his disheveled hair. "I mean...no...nothing happened…" You saw his lips tremble a little each time he spoke. "Gimme the docs."

Frowning in confusion, you pulled out a napkin and handed it to him instead, meeting his scornful gaze. "You're sweating…” You placed the white piece of cloth on his desk, only now noticing a small jar that you were sure was full of pills. "Maybe I should ask Jean to bring you some coffee? You look really sick..."

"No!" Bateman suddenly blurted out, pointing his finger at you. "I asked Jean to take the day off..."

"Hey, hey, relax," you raised your hands defensively. "Relax, I was just trying to help."

Slowly, you placed the folder of documents on his wooden desk, which he grabbed almost immediately, and your hands touched for a brief moment, and Bateman didn't flinch, and neither did you. 

"Take a seat." Patrick muttered incoherently.

"What?"

"Sit," he repeated irritably. "And wait."

His tumultuous behavior actually frightened you, but you did as he said and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘My God, he really is mental, Tim was right.’

"What are these pills? Some vitamins?" You tried to keep the conversation alive, not even knowing why, as you watched his long, thin fingers floating across the pages.

Your question made him stop and look up at you. "That's none of your business, (y/n). I asked you to sit and wait, not ask me stupid questions."

‘Why does he look so cute when he's so angry?’ The thought brought a smile to your face, but then you zipped up your mouth theatrically and Bateman's office went silent for a while. And you used it to admire his perfect jawline, even though his brown hair was messy now, it looked so inviting to touch anyway.

"Is that all?" Bateman asked suddenly, arching his eyebrows and interrupting your train of thought.

"Uh, what?"

A prominent line appeared on Patrick's forehead — a testament to his annoyance. "Are you deaf or something?"

"Lemme see them," you pointed at the documents. "I want to make sure you put your cute sign on every page." Your playful tone made the line between Patrick's eyebrows even more noticeable. "I don't want to come back here."

Bateman didn't even try to jab back, his face still pale and sweaty, his eyes nothing but dark voids — oh, how fucking empty they were. Sighing heavily, Patrick raised his gaze when he heard the chair creak as you got up and walked around his desk. The sudden cut in the distance between the two of you was something Patrick didn't seem to be ready for, as his hands nervously gripped the armrests, but you pretended not to notice.

"We all feel down sometimes," you murmured over his ear, literally sensing the tension radiating from his body. "And that's okay." Placing your hand on his broad shoulder, you leaned down to look at the documents, surreptitiously inhaling the scent of his perfume mixed with his sweat. ‘Fuck, what am I doing?’

"I didn't know you had a part-time job as a therapist," he grumbled, examining your palm, wondering if he was going to kill you here and now, or keep you in here forever. "Listen, I have a reservation at Barcadia..."

"Mmm, Barcadia? Really?"

Bateman nodded and finally removed your hand. "Yes, I'm having lunch with Coutrney." 

"I wonder what Luis thinks of these lunches with his fiancé." You picked up the folder and stepped back from his armchair. "You don't feel guilty about sleeping with Coutrney behind his back, do you?"

Gritting his perfectly white teeth, the brown-haired man abruptly got up from his desk and stormed toward you, surely intending to yell at you or say something rude, but the moment he stopped directly across from you and your eyes met, Bateman's expression suddenly became lost and confused. "Just stop," he finally managed to mutter. "Stop poking around in my fucking head…" As you noticed his pupils widening, things were no longer funny to you. "Understand?"

‘Well, maybe turning it into a joke is not a bad plan,’ you hummed and nodded. "Sure, Bateman," you sneered a little nervously. "I'm just reading this book Timothy gave me," you slowly turned and walked to the door. "The book about Human Psychology." That was surely a joke, but judging by the serious look Patrick gave you, he didn't seem to get it.

"Tim gave you... a book?" He repeated, frowning in confusion and disbelief.

When you opened the door, you paused for a second, wanting to say something smart at the end. "Oh yeah. Why don't you ask him about it? Maybe he can recommend some books about... human relationships or something." And with that, you smiled in satisfaction at seeing Bateman's face quiver with anger before you left his office, leaving him with a raging tempest in his chest.

Later that day, Patrick couldn't sleep because his mind was so full of different thoughts, but the only thing they had in common was that they were all connected to you. You, you, you. The sound of running water echoed off the marble walls of his lavish bathroom as Bateman stood in the shower, enjoying the way the strong streams of cold water hit his back. Huffing, Patrick desperately scrubbed his skin as if it would help him get rid of the thoughts of you that haunted him the day he first met you — you were so cheeky, so sweet, everyone loved you and wanted to hang out with you. How fucking cute. Patrick groaned as he felt a throb at the base of his hard cock, God, he felt like it was hard all the time and no sex could help him with that because all those people, they weren't you. 

"Argh, fuck," he groaned as he finally allowed himself to touch his twitching dick and give it a few strokes. 

"F-fuck..." Bateman pumped his length rhythmically, recoiling at the memories of today, the way you put your hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your breath on the back of his neck. And what would it feel like if you had placed your hand on his chest, or run it over his abdomen and then down? 

"Uh, a-ahhh," the man moaned louder, shaking uncontrollably from the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "(Y/n), your hands feel so good on me, oh-shit…" Patrick had to lean against the shower wall as his legs buckled from the intense waves of ecstasy as he cummed with your name on his trembling lips, the water still running down his sculpted body, washing his cum off, but he was still so hard. 

"Reading books on psychology," Bateman chuckled, tilting his head. "What an idiot." His nervous giggle bounced across the shower, but soon the laughter turned to a low wail. "Pathetic…” 

Time flowed like sand through your fingers, and you couldn't even remember how many days had passed since your visit to Bateman's office, but since then something had changed between the two of you, but you both couldn't understand what exactly had changed, or maybe you didn't want to try to understand. To be fair, it was so fucking annoying that when you found out that Tim, David, Craig and Patrick were going to the Tunnel, you saw it as your chance to dot the T's, no matter how the evening would end.

When you arrived at the club, it was so crowded that it took you a while to find the group of yuppies sitting on the plush couches next to the dance floor, jamming to the music and drinking their cocktails. 

As you approached, Craig was the first to spot you. "Woah, woah, look who it is!" His cheeky remark caused everyone to look at you, including Bateman, whose teeth were visibly clenched around his cigar at that moment. 

"Hey, guys! Enjoying the music I see?" You smiled, fixing your hair briefly from the sudden rush of panic.  ‘Damn it, stay calm! Why am I so nervous?’

Timothy winked at you and raised his glass. "Did you come alone or..." he stopped abruptly when he noticed someone behind your back. "Hey, is that Paul Allen?"

‘Shit, shit, shit. That was so much easier in my head than it is in reality.’ You chewed on your cheek, and while the men were guessing whether they really saw Paul Allen or not, a sudden idea came to your mind, but you hated it before you even started to bring it to life. "Do you have a gram?" You asked without thinking, hoping they would say no.

"I do," Bateman's voice came out of nowhere and you almost screamed in your head, but you had to keep your composure. "But you will owe me." As he said this, you came closer to where he was sitting with a playful smile on your face and took a seat next to him. "Wait, we are not going to do coke here."

"Hey, why not?" David chuckled and took out his business card holder. "What's wrong with it?

"Oh God, look at that cheeky bastard," Craig pressed a palm to his face. "Van Patten decided to be a bad boy today."

The men laughed and high-fived each other before Bateman whispered in your ear, making you almost jump. "Follow me." Those two simple words made you obey like you were under a spell. 

As the two of you made your way to the bathroom where people in the Tunnel usually did coke, your heart pounded to the heavy beat of the music, or even faster. Patrick went first, his elegant silhouette like a shining star in the midnight sky — so eye-catching and mesmerizing that it wasn't surprising that a lot of people turned around to look at him, but you didn't care as soon you would be alone with him. ‘Just you and me, Bateman.’

The bathroom was surprisingly empty today. The last time you were there, you had to wait almost half an hour to get into the free stall, but now luck seemed to be on your side. As you stepped into one, Patrick pulled out his business card holder and rolled the $100 bill; you did the same, watching as Bateman made lines of coke with his platinum AmEx card.

"I have to say, you look much better." You commented briefly.

The man was about to lean over to snort the white powder, but your words made him freeze. "Huh," he chuckled abruptly and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "I was just reading some books about... relationships," Patrick grimaced, drawing out the last word with a cocky grin. "It changed my mind." Before you could say anything, Patrick was snorting the coke, holding the rolled-up bill to his nostril while holding another down with his thumb.

"Very funny," you mumbled, tapping the rolled note against the inside of your palm. "Where was your wit when I walked into your office a week ago?"

Bateman coughed quietly and threw his head back for a moment to clean his nose. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to his business card holder to inhale the white line of powder that had been left there, your mood was already off, and at some point you even began to regret coming to Tunnel tonight. Though it wasn't your first time doing coke, you felt so dizzy as the drug began to intoxicate your system that you almost fell to the floor if you hadn't bumped into Bateman's chest, leaving a white stain on the lapel of his Valentino suit.

"Hey! What the fuck!" Patrick blurted out, ready to push you off, but the way you grabbed his shoulders stirred something strange inside him, something he was fighting all the time. "Have you ever done coke?"

You coughed several times, blinked nervously, and only then did you let him go. "Sorry..." you gasped and leaned against the wall of the stall behind your back. "It's been a while."

"You stained my jacket."

"God! I'm sorry, okay?"

"No," Bateman replied, brushing off. "Not okay."

"What do you mean?" You asked confusedly, batting your eyelashes and breathing heavily.

Patrick dropped his head for a second before looking at you again, your faces dangerously close. "I'm not okay."

You licked your lips nervously. "Why?"

Instead of saying anything, the man pulled you against his massive frame, giving you no time to react as his hot mouth covered yours; it was difficult to call it a kiss, it was more like the act of claiming — his strong arms trapping you between the wall and his muscular body while yours hovered motionlessly like whips. When Bateman released you, he tugged at your lower lip and licked it with a wet, obscene sound. "Because...because of this."

Panting, you stood in shock for a moment before nodding and touching your wet lips. "Yes," you put both hands on his chest, exploring it slowly but boldly, causing him to close his eyes for a second. "I don't think I'm okay either." After whispering it in his ear, you slid your tongue down his bare neck, right over the mole, and when you heard him grunting, you lowered your hand to his belt, playing teasingly with the buckle.

"Lower," Bateman husked, and when you didn't listen, he grabbed your hand and lowered it himself — the outline of his fully erected cock eliciting a muffled moan to break out of your cramped throat. "Ahhh-fuck."

"God, you're so needy," you murmured against his neck, busy undoing his belt. "So touchy."

It only took a few seconds for you to undo his pants and let his taut dick pop out of his underwear. ‘Mmhhm, his cock is so perfect, just as I expected,’ you smiled to yourself, and in the next moment you were stroking his throbbing length, smearing his slick pre-cum around his swollen tip without any shame or fear of getting caught.

"(Y/n)," Patrick hissed as he pressed you against the wall with his weight, his hands sneaking down your back to grope your ass. "Be quiet," the man ordered when he heard your soft moans. "Keep quiet and undo this." Bateman pointed to your bottom and just the thought of what he was about to do to you almost made you cum.

"Why?" You gave him a foxy grin and tightened your grip on his dick, forcing Patrick to hold his breath.

"Just...just do what I say..."

"Okay, honey."

"Don't call me that!" He uttered and squeezed your ass painfully, your bodies grinding against each other, making you hot and sweaty.

"Patrick..." You attempted to kiss him, but he turned away.

In one swift motion, the man reached your neck and aggressively nipped at the throbbing artery. "Shut up! Just shut up and undo this fucking..."

You didn't let him finish his tantrum as you caught his lips with yours, increasing the tempo of the jacking, and you could feel he was so damn close. But since he was so insistent, you undid the lower part of your garment, and everything that happened next was like one of your recent dreams. Bateman, flushed and panting, crouched down, his cock slipping out of your grasp, but the next second his fierce mouth found its way between your legs as he began to suck on your sensitive flesh with sheer greed and passion, not forgetting to pump his dick and growl softly against your skin.

"Ohh, Pat-Patrick," you gasped, tugging at his brown hair, dishevelling it, but neither of you cared. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop..."

"Mmm-fuck, you taste so sweet," Patrick pressed his face closer to your core, his free hand nailing you to the wall to hold you in place. "You're shaking like a fucking whore."

Chucking, you yanked at his hair a little harder. "And you're devouring me like a starved man, are you starved, Bateman? How long have you been... so fucking s-starved?" You hiccupped as he redoubled his efforts, lapping at your crotch and jerking himself off. "F-fuck, I'm... I'm gonna..."

The loud footsteps made you both stop in your tracks, and when you heard people coming into the bathroom, you stalled completely, only to quickly fix your clothes and then pretend nothing had happened as you left the stall. Later, as you were washing your hands, Patrick stood behind you and you met his eyes in the mirror. "Are you leaving or..." You asked briefly as he handed you your twisted bill.

"Yeah," Bateman straightened his jacket and wiped his mouth with a paper towel before opening the door. "You better forget about it. Believe me."

‘And now I feel like I need a memory reboot.’

Chapter 2 is here! 💗✌

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[ghostfacesvalentine]

First time - Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nsfw, dom/sub dynamic, sort of ddlg? No non con, but reader begging to slow down bc overstim, mmm i dunno.

Type: blurp

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: No prompt, just smut abt when or how reader came to call the muse “Daddy” for the first time.

Notes: I mainly just kind of included muses I would think to be the more dominant ones, at least ones that I could write easily for. Maybe I’ll make another one, idk. So sorry if your fav didn’t make the cut ily.

Michael Myers: Honestly what else was there to call him. As soon as you saw him, the way he towered over you as you looked up to him helplessly. It was no different from when he was tangling his mangled fingers into your scalp, gripping whatever amount of hair he could. Looking down to you through the holes of his mask as you felt him deeper you could almost swear you were going to split. “Daddy.” You repeated like a prayer as he’d hit the right spot, feeling your legs flinch deliciously as your folds clenched around him. Even after creaming all over him, you repeating his new nickname would only cause him to pin you down to the floorboards even if you’re screaming and begging him to slow down because you were overstimulated. Michael would be absolutely feral.

Billy Loomis: Kind of has a softer approach, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be any less torturous. It’s almost like he’s trying to get it out of you. Billy knew when he lusted for you across the classroom that he’d have you in a puddle of your own arousal in no time. Bonus points if you’re shy. He’d be gentle at first, running his finger tips all across your tender spots, watching you intensely, so much so it makes you kind of uneasy at first. Still, to be sitting on a picnic table, exposed to him as you were, there was something so hot about it. When his fingertips plunge into you after almost a half hour of sloppy wet kisses, you were stunned at the self control he managed to have. After a few pumps he traces your arousal around the outer parts of your folds, with a devilish smile when he notices your pout. “Daddy please” You beg, your hand gripping onto his wrist. Something in him flicks, he has you exactly where he wants you. “Please what kitten?”

Patrick Bateman: He’s used to making all the calls, you always trusted that he knew best. Sometimes it felt like Patrick liked to make all the shots more than he lead on, but that didn’t mean he didn’t annoy you at times. “Don’t forget we have that dinner reservation at 7. I don’t like to eat much later than that, it messes with my schedule.” He’d call out from across the room as he worked on his button up. Rolling your eyes as you were trying to make your makeup work. “Yes daddy.” It takes him a second to register before you feel him behind you, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat. He didn’t understand what came over him, but all he knew was that if he wanted to see you pout, he wanted it to be because he was making you hold back your orgasm. Grabbing you by your throat and pulling you back against his chest, his free hand would make of your panties. “What a fucking brat.” He’d mumble into the side of your head as he’d expose you in front of the mirror you were getting ready before.

Poison Ivy: Calling her daddy probably wouldn’t be the best idea, but she would know what you meant. Sometimes it would just slip out and she understood. Ivy would even use it as an excuse to prolong your orgasm. “Daddy, please, I can’t” You’d cry out as you clenched for the fourth time in a row, afraid you had nothing left in you. Lifting your head to see Ivy’s lustful smile as you came undone so pretty, you knew she wasn’t stopping any time soon. “Oh baby, when will you learn that’s not my name.” She’d hush into your neck as her tongue would make work of your sensitive spots. Her free hand would plunge into your open cry-filled mouth to muffle your moans of the nickname. That’s the only time she didn’t want to hear it, but she can’t help but keep you riding your waves of pleasure.

Steve Rogers: He’s already kind of a kinky boy, as soon as he saw you, he was fantasying of you in a short skirt and over the knee socks, picking you up and pounding mercilessly into you as you screamed for him that it was too much, but you both knew it felt too good to stop. It wouldn’t be long for you to find yourself in that position. Steve’s super serum made it all the easier to pick you up effortlessly to keep you from squirming away as you felt his dick plunge deeper into you causing your eyes to roll back into your head. “Daddy, okay- Please-” You’d cry out, not knowing what you wanted, just knowing all you knew was Steve. With every thrust, he just became more unhinged, then when he felt your folds clench around him as you squirted all over him, seeing your eyes fumble out tears, you both knew “Steve” was no longer his name to you.

Bucky Barnes: Kind of similar to Steve, but not so much. He’s a tiny bit more gentle. Bucky would rather have you coming undone onto him, watching your eyes beg for him to keep going, hitting that spot his fingers graze when they curl a certain way. Seeing you clench your nails into his arm as you cream for the third time and whimper out “Daddy” with swollen lips and tear-filled eyes, not looking away from him. “Come on baby, another one for daddy, you know I love your pretty pies” Dirty words would flow effortlessly from his lips, he’d leave so many pretty marks on your neck as you whined out his new nickname.

Loki Laufeyson: He’d catch you in a vulnerable position, mainly focused on making you orgasm. “What is it sweetheart? Like that?” He’d almost mock as you nod, indicating his fingers were helping you. “Sorry what was that?” He’d ask, frowning as he’d look to meet your eyes, when you wouldn’t, he’d take his hands from your core, causing you to whine. “No, daddy, please I need it.” You’d beg, grabbing onto his wrists and pulling him back to where he was. Any other time this would be unacceptable, but he wanted to see you undone so bad. More than that, he wanted to hear you again, so he’d work with his fingers, then remove them, or slow down only to hear you whimper out “Daddy-” Your frustration causing you to meet his eyes, almost angry “I wanna cum on your hands.”

Cloud Strife: By no means would it be intentional, but when he’s pounding into you, your face digging into the mattress as his head is hitting your g spot, you couldn’t help but whine out “Daddy, like- like that” Which only makes him grab your hips and bring them closer to his, digging his dick further into you. He must be doing something right if you’re breathlessly crying out. Not to mention, he’d take it as praise and I would infer that he has a praise kink. When you wouldn’t moan any more, he’d grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back up to him “Do I stop?” He’d tease as his face met your damp cheek.

Bruce Wayne: You’d be begging to get his attention, crawling onto his lap, usually you weren’t this demanding, but you yearned to feel his warm hands on your body, it didn’t matter where. He put up less of a fight, you both knew climbing onto his lap or trying to get his attention while he was investigating was a big no no. Somehow you felt like maybe he wanted you to keep going too. You felt your sensitive spot graze onto his lap as you pulled yourself closer to him. “Daddy, please I wanna play.” You mumbled out, not knowing what his reaction would be, then feeling an abrupt shift, his hands landing onto your hips, planting you onto his bulge. You saw the twinkle in his eye, not knowing where it really came from until he’s pushing his dick as far as your fold would let him, bent over his desk in the bat cave “thought baby wanted to play?” He’d mumble to you as he’d pull your hair all together in a fist to pull you back by.

Jason Todd: Honestly, just meeting him and you kind of knew that was him. It was when you were giving him the silent treatment that he pulled you onto his lap, holding you still against his growing bulge “What’s wrong bunny?” He’d mumble as he would try to find your eyes. This being your first time being handled by him, you felt your center puddle, then throb when you felt your sensitive parts grind so gently against his bulge. Pursing your bottom lip, you found the courage to look him in the eyes only to see his lips curl into a smile. Jason would nonchalantly rock your hips back and forth on his lap, acting as if he was still trying to get an answer out of you. “Did I do something?” He’d ask as if he didn’t know what he was doing. “Daddy please-” You’d surrender, pleading to feel anything else but your arousal stain your clothes.

[fear-is-truth]

℘ 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 — patrick bateman

kinktober day two : mirror sex tags ; mature content﹒mdni﹒fem!reader﹒rough sex﹒mirror sex﹒full nelson﹒p in v

PATRICK BATEMAN worked out. every morning, without fail, he followed a precise routine. no equipment, just his own body and the vast, empty oak wood floor of his apartment loft. he moved with mechanical grace—push-ups, crunches, stretches—all meticulously timed down to the second, designed to maintain his flawless physique.

you’d watched him sometimes, the way his muscles flexed under his tan skin as he worked in silence, dressed only in a pair of pristine white calvin klein underwear. you’d seen him step out of the shower afterward, droplets of water catching the early sunlight filtering through the windows, muscles taut, skin flushed from the heat and exertion. he was the human embodiment of control.

now, that control extended to you.

legs pulled taut, you were trembling as his forearms braced the backs of your knees, forcing you into a full nelson over him. His back pressed into the mattress, his body pinned under yours as he held you tight, manipulating your every movement. your breath came in shallow, shaky gasps as you stared into the full-length mirror propped up against the wall across from the futon. the reflection was all you could see—your flushed face, breasts bouncing, the curve of your body caught in an unnatural, obscene arch while patrick’s face remained hidden behind you, out of sight.

he couldn’t see your expression. not that he needed to.

back arching further, muscles straining. “patrick…” you pleaded, but there you were met by no mercy. he only gripped you tighter. your body moved with his, but you could feel the strain in his muscles, the way he was holding back from letting go entirely. you were bent over him, chin digging into your collarbone as his hands held your neck and legs in place, forcing you to stay in this position.

“shut the fuck up, will you,” his jaw was clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the grind of his teeth as he continued to piston his hips into you. he was lying reclined beneath you, and the sight in the mirror was beyond lewd—how his cock disappeared and reappeared from your cunt with every upwards thrust. you could feel every ridge and vein dragging against your walls, slick dribbled down to your asshole as he brushed against the spot that made your stomach twist and your toes curl.

“do you have any idea…” his voice was low, trembling with barely suppressed rage. “…do you know what i want to do to you right now?” patrick’s hips stilled for a moment, his body rigid beneath yours as his hands gripped your waist hard enough to leave faint impressions on your skin. a dangerous tremor ran through him, and you knew—this wasn’t your fiancé being rough. this was him holding back.

“i could destroy you so easily,” he continued, hips surged up again, the force of his cock bullying against your g-spot making you bite down on your lip to stifle a cry.

“but i won’t. because i—” the words sounded more like a slur than a confession, his tone rough and edged with frustration. he hated how much control he was giving up for you, how much glorious violence he was holding back. but he did it anyway, his body shaking with effort. his body tensed beneath you again, hips jerking up into yours with more force than before, but it was still restrained.

“because i love you.”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

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[ransprang]

Christian Bale (OOC) x Fem!Reader

Y/N and Christian Bale had recently gotten married, and her parents hated that. Christian and Y/N had been super clingy, and, to be honest, they felt he was a bit controlling. He would often ask her to do something, and Y/N would simply comply. Christian and she slept while hugging each other with their noses touching, and it turned out she couldn't sleep without him at all. To the extent that Y/N's parents noticed, the two would get upset even when leaving each other alone for a few hours. Her parents weren't sure, but maybe the main problem was that they were scared he would hurt her.

Recently they all had been invited to a party and y/n was super excited to go. Christian went out to buy her a sexy yet elegant dress of his choice that would make his beautiful wife glow. He gifted her the dress and y/n's eyes sparkled. She tipped toed up to kiss him and Christian wrapped his arms around her, as she melted into them. He deepened the kiss and groaned into her mouth as y/n pushed her chest against him. Christian looked at the clock and decided they both could be late...by alot. He pushed her onto the bed and got on top, he always loved being on top and restraining his little girl. Y/n moaned and tried to push against him but his sheer power turned her on. Y/n wrapped her legs around Christian's waist as he unzipped his pants and letting his thick pink cock free. He rubbed the tip before he slid it into y/n entrance. He began thrusting and as he caught speed he put his veiny hand over y/n neck and said "Say my name", but y/n moaned. He tightened his grip at her defiance, gritted his teeth as he pounded harder "say my name.", y/n looked at him "Christ...Christian". He loosened his grip and caressed her hair as he softened his thrusts "good girl, I like it when you listen to me". Y/n smiles back at him and closes her eyes in pleasure as she could feel his dick inside her as her husbands big arms held her down into place. As Christian neared climax he grunted and laid on top of y/n softly sliding in and out as they both laid chest to chest while he kissed his wife while releasing his warm cum inside of her. Y/n's parents happened to be invited too, as they waited out in the hall for their son in law and daughter to come with them they grew more and more agitated. They were already 30 minutes late, how could Christian be this irresponsible. Suddenly the room's door opened and both of them walked out, y/n was a bit nervous. Christian looks at her and said "head up high for me.." as y/n nodded and walked towards the front gate with pride. The drive was long and quiet as Christian sat with her in the back seat and caressed her hair, she was prettier to him than the view. She was his everything.

The party was lavish with many people, y/n separated from her husband to speak to other people. A while later a smaller group of people formed and a beautiful blonde woman with blue eyes, with the body of Pamela Anderson stood across and remarked "Chris, wanna have sex?", Christian looked visibly confused as y/n ears perked up. "I mean come on you're hot I am hot, lets do it. No one here will tell your silly little wife, I bet she's ugly". Everyone quickly realized that she did not know y/n was his wife and standing right next to her. Y/n's eyes were welling up but she held it together, Christian was visibly enraged with his hands in a fist. "Keep your filthy mouth shut." He said through his teeth, she looked a bit scared but nonchalant "oh please don't get worked up about this you know if you were unmarried you would've done me in seconds". When it came to y/n Christian knew no ethics he lunged forward to hit that woman, as a few of their mutual friends held him back in urgency. Y/n sprinted towards him and held his face "Christian look at me, you're not like this. you're better than this. Lets go". he calmed down at the sight of y/n and let it go instantly.

Christian held her hand tightly and stormed off towards the car holding onto the keys y/n's parents had passed to him. As they walked towards the door, her parents gave him a nasty look which said 'I knew you'd hurt our daughter one way or the other'. Christian disregarded it and as they reached the car opened the door to the back seat and rather aggressively pushed y/n in. He sat next to her and closed the door as he held her by the back of her head and kissed her passionately. He deepened it while pulling her closer and getting on top of her. "y/n let me make love to you", y/n hugged him tightly digging her nails into his back. "I love you Christian" as he made love to her and then calmly waited for her parents to say their goodbyes and drive them back home. She was his and he was hers and no one was to come in between them. Your Batman,

Admin Sav

[cliffbar-booth]

FANTASIES PT.2 (rewritten!!!!11!)

ermm i reread the og second part and eugh i forgot how shit i was

warnings: daddy kink, risk of being seen, oral (male receiving), choking, sex overall, cockwarming, uhh that's about it? word count: 692

summary: patrick realizes what you were thinking about earlier and decides to act upon it with a "fuck it i'd bang her" mindset.

"..you were even biting your lip and everything."

I was so fucked.

"i'm.. i'm sorry?"

"just.. i dunno. c'mere." he made a gesture for me to come to his desk with two slender fingers.

i sat on the sofa, still, my eyebrows arched a little from confusion.

"i said, get the fuck over here cupcake. i don't have all day in this place." he snarled, leaning back in his seat, man-spreading. i got up, walking to his desk, standing in front of him.

"now, daddy's gonna need you to sit on his lap, can you do that, hun?"

my eyes widened, were we able to do this in the office?

"i-"

"shut the fuck up and sit on my damn lap. i know what you were thinking about, and you're hot enough to fuck, so just do as i say or i won't gouge your eyes out... okay princess?" he was a horny fuck, and i was a cute girl, there was bound to be some form of sex i guess, sooner or later.

from fear, i sat on his lap, hesitant. his hands roamed up my thighs, one hand slipping under my skirt and panties, rubbing against my folds. i'm a little ashamed to say that i was turned on, but he could already tell.

"mr bateman, i can er, explain-"

his free hand went around my throat, gripping it.

"not another word out of that pretty little mouth. i don't care, pumpkin."

i let out a somewhat breathy moan as his index finger went up my pussy, curling immediately. his grip grew tighter as he did so though.

"don't want Price (aka Bryce), McDermott, Van Patten, or even Luis to hear, do you?"

I shook my head.

"so keep quiet, pretty please.."

after he played with my pussy and having denied my orgasms for a while, he decided that it was enough torture for now. he moved me so i now faced him, unzipping his fly and adjusting his belt so he could free his dick. it was pretty fucking big, scary to imagine having that in me. it was angry red, already leaking with some precum. i swallowed thickly. he moved me a little so his hand was in my hair as he guided me down to his cock. i already knew what i would have to do, so i stuck my tongue out as he guided my head, licking up and down his shaft. i then put my tongue back into my mouth as he moved my head right above his cock, guiding it down as my lips wrapped around it. i reached around 1/2 to 3/4 of the way down his dick before gagging. it was huge. my head bobbed up and down, my hands touching, massaging, and stroking whatever my mouth couldn't reach.

as his seed spilled down my throat, i pulled away, gasping. he then picked me up with ease, lined me up with his now soaking cock, and lowered me on it rather quickly, causing me to yelp. his hand wrapped back around my throat, his grip as tight as my pussy. it was easy to fuck me now, since his dick was wet from a mixture of cum and saliva.

he began to pound into me, his dick going in and out, just like i imagined. i let out soft whimpers through his grasp, my eyes watering and my orgasm slowly building.

then, finally, the rope snapped just as his did and i trembled on his lap, seeing white. it was so relieving and amazing, even tearjerking, to know how much i needed that orgasm, and that i'd finally gotten it. just when i thought it was over, and that i'd go back to work, he turned me (after pulling out), so i sat facing away from him. he spun his chair a little so we faced his desk, and he began to work while still inside me. i squirmed, but he slapped the side of my ass.

"don't move."

we sat like this until it was time to head home, where we went our separate ways until the next day of work.