#patrick bateman imagines

[makeyoumine69]

Farewell Serenade (Memory Reboot Epilogue)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Patrick are finally reunited, but there are still so many secrets the two of you have to unravel, and some of them could be dangerous, especially when the echoes of the past are still haunting you like ghosts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Tainted love vibes, blood kink, oral sex, penetrative sex, body worship, hand jobs, anal fingering, cum shot, spanking, marking, teasing and humiliating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, praise kink, dark themes, angst, hurt/comfort, obsession, self harm, mental issues, Patrick and reader are switches. I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 14k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Asketa — Farewell Serenade; Vowl.,Sace — 2000; FM-84,Ollie Wride — Running in the Night.

𝐀/𝐍: Hello everyone! I don't even know what to say except that I will miss this story so much, but it will always be in my heart. I want to thank everyone who supported me on this journey, I love you all!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST], [CHAPTER 5].

When was the last time you traveled outside of America? You didn't really remember because you never really felt the need to, but after all the stressful things that had happened in your life lately, your subconscious told you that you definitely needed a break—a reboot that would give your life a fresh start. So after the drug case was over, with the help of Vincent and your lawyer, who came to New York almost immediately when you needed them, you and Patrick didn't think much about going abroad—somewhere far away where no one could find you. And so it was that Vincent's random story about his last vacation in Germany, to Stuttgart to be exact, became the deciding factor in your choice of where to go. 

The flight to Stuttgart went as smoothly as possible, since Bateman couldn't stand anything but a private jet or the most expensive seats in first class, and although it wasn't your first time flying first class, this time it felt so different, so special and memorable. The thing that surprised you the most was that you didn't really talk much about all the shit that happened between you two. Although Patrick tried to bring it up several times, but after you asked him not to dwell on it and just enjoy the fact that the two of you were finally... Finally what? Together? 

At first this new reality was very strange and confusing.

All the negativity, anger, and despair began to disappear as you realized that happiness and the freedom to follow your own desires was the memory reboot machine you both were looking for. That only by accepting your true selves could you finally break the chains of depression that had been biting at your skin for so long.

A soft, barely perceptible breeze fanned your face and the sun shone brightly over Stuttgart, the scenery unfolding before your eyes more like a picturesque frame from a romance movie than reality. Even after spending several days in Germany, you couldn't believe that all these things around you were not a dream, but your new life. The villa you stayed in was absolutely amazing, as it had two floors and a huge outdoor terrace with a large pool—Patrick enjoyed swimming in it so much that one day he told you he was going to buy this villa. At first, you didn't believe him until he took you to the bank to close the deal. Was that necessary? Was it an act to show off his wealth? You never really asked, because you were taught that sometimes asking too many questions could only complicate your life, and you didn't want to spiral and start the cycle that you managed to break.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you splashed the water with your legs. The sun reflected off the water, making it shimmer as if someone had poured a bucket of little diamonds into it, and little ripples appeared here and there as Bateman swam around, ass naked, and you couldn't really remember how you'd imagined seeing something like that, nor did you imagine that one day things that happened in real life would outshine your fantasies.

"What are you thinking about?" Patrick's velvety voice stopped your train of thoughts, and before you could even react you felt him grab your ankle—he was half in the water, hot and pumped up after his heavy workout. "You seem...worried?"

You frowned, but then chuckled as he tickled your inner thigh. "Nothing special," you replied, looking at him and leaning down to stroke his wet hair. "It's just... don't you think it was a bit imprudent to buy this house?"

The man chuckled. "Why not?"

"Patrick," you cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to concentrate on what you were about to say. "You don't have to pretend...you don't have to throw your money around like you're trying to buy everything and everyone...you don't have to do any of that...not with me."

Bateman didn't say anything, his prominent eyebrows knitted together, and you already knew what that meant—he was already overthinking, overreacting, overstepping his own emotional boundaries.

"Hey," you tried to pull him out of his stupor. "I didn't mean..."

"It's my money," Patrick suddenly blurted out, still frowning. "And I can do whatever I want with it."

God, this man always made trouble out of nothing.

But he was right. After all, his money was his to spend, and you could only give him advice or opinions he would never really care about—such an attitude only irritated him—having the last word was something he couldn't live without. He was addicted to being in control of the situation, of the person he was interacting with. It felt as if he had the chance to control the whole world, he would, but who were you to judge him when you had already promised yourself never to try to change or fix him. Just because Bateman never really needed someone to fix him, he needed someone to accept him for who he was while he tried to fix himself.

"You're not listening? Again?"

Patrick let go of your leg and swam away from where you were sitting. Sometimes his childish behavior really got on your nerves, although you imagined you were in his place, acting like a fucking teacher trying to explain such basic things as being more human to a bratty kid who never really wanted to know—what it was like? Being more in touch with humanity.

"Oh, God," you almost cussed, splashing water with your foot. "Don't be like that! I didn't say anything..." a palpable irritation erupted from your chest. "Well, maybe I did, but you know I didn't mean to insult you."

Watching him swim as smoothly as a fish in water, you gasped without even realizing it, your eyes catching every glimpse of his toned muscles, his firm ass sinking under the water, but you could still see the outline of it—you wanted to fucking get a bite of it—but the moment was probably ruined by your rather offensive remarks.

"We're not in a school," Patrick answered suddenly from a distance. "And I'm not a schoolboy to be offended," his grumbling caused a soft, barely audible chuckle to fall from your parted lips, and at some point you caught yourself thinking that you were ready to admit that you were wrong, just to end this caricature conflict. "Will you swim for once? Since the first day, you just sit on the lounge chair or something, but you never go in the water," he added, and you crossed your arms in defense. "Are you afraid of water or what?"

Don’t even start it.

"I... I don't really want to talk about it," you stammered nervously, brushing your hair, hoping he would catch your eloquent gesture and change the subject. "The scars are still fresh..."

"Scars?" He repeated your words and swam closer to you, placing himself between your open legs. "This is getting interesting."

"No-"

"Oh, yes," the man snickered amusedly, stroking the inner side of your legs with his wet hands, causing you to shiver. "You can tell me...I promise not to...uh...I promise to take it seriously."

This liar.

With a heavy sigh, you took a moment to think about whether you should have opened up to him completely or if it was not the right time. Were you really ready for this?

"When I was a kid, I almost drowned," you confessed openly, but curtly. "And, you won't believe it, but I can't even remember the last time I talked about it with anyone...because...it's not the kind of thing you want to talk about."

Patrick didn't interrupt you. He listened carefully and rested his chin on your knee. You didn't even notice how you cradled his face and stroked his cheek, then the top of his head, how his brown soft hair was soaked in water, making it look even longer than it usually did.

"Was it..." he began to speak, cautiously, as if afraid to say the wrong thing—it amazed you. "Someone's fault or..."

You shook your head. "No! It was nobody's fault... I was just a reckless kid, but after that I have a terrible phobia of anything that has to do with water."

"You don't take baths?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to push him under, but his cocky, boyish smile made you stop, and instead of doing what you thought would teach him a lesson, you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, pulling his closer, the man purring in return, nuzzling against your skin.

"Of course I meant open water," you almost whispered, your voice getting deeper, softer, laced with not just arousal but pure affection. "That unfortunate day I was in LA with my family and there was a storm or something...but it didn't stop me from wanting to find some starfish...I literally ran away from my parents and got into the water...before I was washed away by a huge wave."

"I never thought you were such a bratty child," Bateman murmured, grazing the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his lips sucking the little marks his teeth left. "But now I'd remember that you can be even more foolhardy than you already are."

Bastard...my bastard.

Still amazed at his unnatural concern, you bent down to peck him on the forehead, but the moment you did, you almost slipped into the water, and Patrick, instead of preventing it, only helped you to literally fall into his arms, and once you were in the water, you squealed.

"Oh, GOD!" You panicked and began to wriggle nervously in the water. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

To your irritation, Bateman just laughed and held you closer. "Shh, I've got you," he grinned and wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you up a bit. "You don't have to worry when I'm around, you know?"

Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around his strong neck and let him press you against his chest. "Really?"

"Any doubts?"

The water was so warm, but his body was much warmer, you could practically feel the tightness of his muscles as he swam to the side, still holding you close; his question was hanging heavy in the air as you didn't know what to say. Did you really feel safe in his arms? 

"Do you really care what I think?" You asked him back, your eyes wandering down to his parted lips.

"Answering a question with another question..." he whispered above your ear, his nose brushing gently, almost sensually, along your cheek. "...is a thing I hate so fucking much..." With that, Patrick grabbed your ass, his mouth so close to yours. "Have the guts to tell me you don't trust me..."

"That's not....what I wanted to say," you gasped into his lips as the two of you became more and more aroused, twirling in the water like a couple of swans. "I trust you, I really do!" 

"'But something's wrong anyway?"

"No..."

"Do you think I'll hurt you again?" Bateman asked, looking intently into your eyes, his arms wrapped around your shaking body, although you were no longer panicking. "Leave you? Fool you?"

With a loud exhale, you tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let you.  "Stop it," you replied curtly. "Stop putting words in my mouth, okay?" 

For a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other, at your intertwined limbs, your naked flesh, the way your breath mingled in a rapid flow—you were more connected than either of you could truly imagine. But if you were about to admit it, you couldn't be so sure that Bateman felt the same way about you.

"Look, we never really talked about it," you continued after a pause. "We never talked about us."

Now it was his turn to turn away and distance himself from you, but as soon as he let you go, an icy fear paralyzed you and made you cling to his shoulders, no matter how pathetic you looked.

"For God's sake...you're not going to drown...it's a fucking pool!" Patrick's words hit you like a high-speed train, but you didn't let him go.

After a short sigh the man leaned his broad back against the wall of the pool, your hands were still on his shoulders and he didn't take them off—a good sign, you thought as you slowly and carefully squeezed his muscles. Patrick let out a shaky gasp, you smiled at his reaction, but you were still not ready to let go of the current conversation.

"Patrick," you began in the sweetest voice you could muster before gently kissing his temple. "I just want to know-"

"Know what? Do you really want me to... confess or something?" His face broke into a wry, nervous grin. "In that case, I've got some bad news for you."

Why can't he shut up for a few seconds?

Annoyed, you suddenly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up completely, causing his eyebrows to arch in shock at your audacity. "I don't need any confessions, believe me," you muttered, pushing him harder against the marble wall behind him, completely forgetting that you were both still in the water. "I just want you to stop talking for me... and giving my words the wrong meaning. Is that too much to ask?"

When you removed your hand, you didn't really expect him to say no; you just crushed your lips against his, not even giving him a chance to react and take control back into his hands. But to be honest, Bateman didn't really struggle, on the contrary, he made a muffled sound as you sucked on his tongue, your mouth so eagerly dominating his hot one.

"Fuck," he cursed between kisses. "You're driving me crazy."

"I know," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist under the water, his strong hands resting on the edge of the pool, watching you tilt your head back and almost immediately taking it as a call to action, leaning forward to kiss your neck. "Mhmm-we're not going to count that as a confession, are we?"

You could hear him moan softly in response, his soft lips pecking at your skin, sending tingles up your nerve endings, setting them on fire, but you did your best to keep yourself together, not wanting to give up first—not when you had another fight... or maybe this wasn't a fight at all?

Patrick didn't leave you much time to think, to breathe, to resist when his hands found their way to your body again, but this time he acted much more possessive, groping your curves with such a strong excitement as if he was doing it for the first time. Panting softly, you hugged him and pulled him closer to you so that you were literally hanging on to him with your hands and legs. The water supported both of you from underneath, giving you a strange feeling of weightlessness. It felt surreal and incredible. For a second, you stopped doing everything to just look at him, to make sure he was real. 

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked as soon as he noticed your confusion. 

Damn all the nicknames he used, as well as his ability to use them. "Nothing...just making sure everything is real," you chuckled a bit shyly. "That I'm not sleeping."

"You're not," Bateman sneered, pushing his hips against yours to grind along your pubic bone - you almost lost it. "Because I'm going to make you feel much better than you can imagine in your dreams."

"That's very arrogant of you," you teased him back, but in the next second you moaned as the man subtly slid his hand between your bodies to rub your most sensitive spot between your legs. "But I... I like it..."

A low, soft chuckle escaped his chest. He was playing with you again, but only because you let him. At least you wanted to think so—it made you less embarrassed, but after all, there was nothing wrong with being obedient to a man you thought you were in love with. Especially if he didn't mind being a little submissive for you as well. 

A bit later, when your lips were puffy from the kisses and you were both so drenched in water that you were starting to cool down even though your bodies were radiating an immense amount of heat, Bateman lifted you out of the water without saying anything and placed you on the edge of the pool while he still remained in the water.

"Huh?" You huffed and looked down at him, confused. 

"Relax," he winked and spread your legs, stroking them as if preparing you for something bigger. "Told you, I got you. Always."

Always.

That one word stuck in your mind like an engraving you never asked for, but now you couldn't even imagine your life without him: his walnut eyes, his deep baritone and all those little moles that covered his perfect body... Everything about him was too much, it was overwhelming. If you could fucking drink him up like some kind of medicine that would flow through your system, if you could become one with him in the most direct sense of the word, to know his thoughts, to understand his mind...

It was never enough—you always wanted more, but now, when he was right between your spread thighs, his mouth exploring your tender flesh, inch by inch, his lips sucking and kissing you here and there, forcing you to shiver and grab his hair to bring him closer, and he didn't protest or scold you for pulling his hair—maybe you had a mental connection, an invisible thread connecting your brains, because Patrick could literally know exactly what you wanted. He knew where to pull and where to push, everything he did felt amazing, like he was inside your head.

"Patrick...fuck...it f-feels so fucking right," you whimpered before bringing a finger to your mouth and then having to bite down on it to stifle the moans as Bateman increased the pace of his caresses, his mouth relentless and his hands holding you in place—spread out and open for him. "Oh shit, keep going...please..."

Smirking, the man let out a wet pop as he pulled away from your core to look at you. "You don't have to ask," he licked his glistening lips, savoring the taste of you on them. "Though I do like it when you beg for me."

Of course you do, slut.

You didn't say it out loud, your finger was still in your mouth as you balanced on the edge of falling apart as Patrick went down on you again, helping himself with his hands as you trembled more and more—he wanted to see you unravel under his touch, collapse right into his mouth and you were more than happy to give it to him.

"A-ahhh...Pat-Patrick...mmm-yes...keep using your mouth like that," you encouraged him, quivering and barely breathing, your teeth almost sinking into your skin from how hard you were biting your finger. "Fuck...I'm so fucking close..." you pinched your hard nipple, your legs shaking in his grip. "Mmm...I love it...a-arhhh-fucking love it so much..."

An overwhelming pulse coursed through your veins, you thought you were going to faint, but Patrick's raspy voice became your anchor to reality amidst this madness, your heartbeat pounding against your eardrums like a hammer. One second—his mouth so hot against your flesh; two seconds—you couldn't control yourself anymore as his growl sent little vibrations that pushed you over the edge and then you finally imploded, letting a shock wave crush you. Bateman didn't stop even when you grabbed his hands from being too overstimulated, as he literally drank you dry. 

"Damn it, Bateman!" You yelled, staring down at him. "Slow down... do you want to kill me or what?"

Just as you said it, the man stopped and blinked several times—there was something off about his reaction, but when you tried to pull away, he shook his head as if trying to fight the sudden delusion.

"Are you okay?" Your voice was so shaky when you asked him that, but you were really worried.

Panting, Patrick wiped his lips with the back of his hand and finally got out of the pool to hover over you, lifting your legs with a practiced motion and bending them to press against your chest. "If I wanted to kill you," he said suddenly, aligning himself with your tight opening. "I'd kill you already...I've had so many chances."

"What? W-what are you talking about..." You wanted to ask him what the hell it was, but he never let you; the man was as selfish as ever when it came to fucking you.

Bateman pressed you harder to the floor, leaning on his hands, his biceps flexing as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, but with each passing second his thrusting became harder and faster, as if he was trying to lose himself in you. There was nothing gentle about it—you were facing the whole other side of him—you could tell by the way he was grinding his hips against yours. The level of penetration was so deep that you could feel the curve of his dick brushing mercilessly against the walls of your inner channel, causing you to literally writhe under him, not really knowing if you wanted to push him back or pull him closer.

At one point, his thrusts were so painful that you had to claw at his skin, but that didn't stop him, it just made him go faster. You could hear his balls slapping against your ass with such a loud noise that it made you close your eyes in embarrassment, and you weren't usually a shy person, but... dear God, this man was like a barrel of power and you never knew when it would explode and if you would survive.

"Patrick...mhmm...so deep...fuck!" You couldn't help but moan, your legs lifted so high that they almost floated over your shoulders. "Wait..."

You tried to call out to him, but he seemed not to be listening, his brain clouded with a crimson fog of rage, violence, brutality, and God only knew what else. But here, with you, he didn't dare to hurt you the way he always loved to hurt people and it made him sick that you became his personal kryptonite and if someone dared to touch you even with a finger—he would fucking destroy that person.

"FUCK," the man cursed loudly, as if he had finally come back to reality. "Why are you like this?" Patrick snuggled against you even tighter, pinning your wrists above your head and jackhammering into you with reckless abandon. "Why do you let me... do this to you... fuck... you're so fucking... mine... that it hurts..."

"Pat!" You squealed as you felt him push too deep into you, his dick definitely hitting your belly. "I want you to... listen to me," you blurted out in a breathless voice, the words coming out like a broken record. "...and calm down. Please!"

Bateman let out a guttural growl and wrapped his hands around your neck, not squeezing it, at least not yet. Whimpering, you wanted to claw at his flesh, even though you knew he hated any marks on his perfect skin, but now, when he was about to lose his mind for sure, you thought it was the right choice. Without hesitation, you grabbed his hands that were still around your neck, almost scratching him, and he hissed, but never really stopped pounding into you.

"I love you," you blurted out abruptly, losing your own breath as you realized what you had just said, but you didn't hesitate to repeat it again, more confidently. "I love you so much that I can't even find the right words to express my feelings!"

And now you finally managed to reach out to him through the red veil of lust that clouded his consciousness—the man stopped, his eyes searching desperately for yours only to look somewhere behind you—he was shocked, frightened and speechless. 

Maybe this was not the right time, but you couldn't rewind time.

After a short pause, Bateman shook his head as if trying to wake up. "These... sentiments..." he murmured barely perceptibly, still deep inside you but not moving. "I never thought you were capable of them."

"Why? Am I inhuman?"

"No-"

"So are you," you cupped his face, his skin literally scorching your hands with its heat - he was burning from the inside out, but you didn't care. "You're more human than you think...believe me."

For a gliding second, the two of you just stared at each other as he suddenly removed your hands and pulled away from you—it all happened so fast you didn't even have time to think. One moment you were one, and the next you were lying alone, naked and soaked with water, watching the love of your life walk into the house without saying a word.

Why does he always have to be like this?

Barely holding back your tears, you slowly stood up and, unlike Patrick, took the towel and wrapped it around your aching body. How could he leave you like that? You decided to open up and he just left? Without saying a word?

Crybaby. 

Your first thought was to follow him and confront him for acting like a fucking schoolboy, but you stopped yourself and decided it wasn't worth it—you would let him have it his way, because you didn't want to stoop to his level, you weren't pathetic. But if he wanted to be pathetic, you wouldn't interfere— being a babysitter wasn't appealing to you.

Later that day, as the sun began to set and it became a little cooler, you were still sitting outside, not really wanting to go inside, even though you were about to freeze to death, you preferred to be alone. Sitting on the soft lounge chair, you wrapped yourself in a white fluffy robe, even though you dried yourself, you still felt uncomfortable, as if Patrick's last words stuck to your skin like something slippery. Something you couldn't scrub off even if you wanted to. 

Trapped in your thoughts, you found yourself thinking about just going back to America. Yes, you could just leave this place without even talking to him and pay him back with his methods. The question was, would that make you feel better? You doubted it.

A short, refreshing breeze blew around you, making you curl up on the chair like a cat. Too overwhelmed with various ideas, thoughts, excuses you could find to somehow escape this whole situation, you didn't notice an approaching figure. Gracefully as ever, Bateman appeared right next to where you were resting. He was wearing nothing but white sweatpants, his hair still wet and slicked back. When you spotted him, you were not surprised—on the contrary, you expected him to come back, because this man was impatient and always craving attention, but this time there was something strange about him—you examined his posture only to see two glasses in his hands.

"Here," the man offered you a glass with a golden liquid in it—probably whiskey. "This will help you warm up."

Devoid of any emotion, you turned away from him, demonstrating that you didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to see him, and didn't feel like having a drink.

"Listen, I want to tell you something," Bateman continued his attempts, even though his agenda was still unknown to you. "You're going to need this." With that, the man placed a glass on the lounge chair next to your feet, before nestling into the chair on the other side of you. "One day I decided to go to the Tunnel, where I met a girl," he paused and took a sip of his drink, not really looking your way, as if afraid to meet your gaze. "She was pretty... not really beautiful, but pretty. And she was young, I could say she was very young...but already so wrecked."

The way he chuckled—the dark edge in his voice—made something heavy fall into your stomach and you took the glass of whiskey, your hands suddenly shaking, cold shivers running down your spine. The pause was getting too long, but you had no intention of rushing him. 

"So I took her back to my place, and she was drunk as hell by then," you could see his fingers tighten around the glass until his knuckles turned white. "The bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut for a second. And then we fucked, but I didn't feel anything until I finally got my hands around her neck."

Eventually, you were glad that he had given you a moment to digest everything he had said. A sudden numbness washed over you, making it difficult to bring the glass to your lips, but when you managed to take a sip, the sharp alcohol burned your throat. But it didn't help. Not even a little.

With a shaky gasp, Bateman dared to look at you. "The thrill of the kill... was the only thing that could make me feel anything, but when I thought I was going to end her here and now... I realized she wasn't fighting," he paused again to finish his glass in one quick gulp. "She was fucking begging me to kill her... can you imagine that?"

You didn't know what to say, you were literally at a loss for words as itching tears began to well up in your eyes, and it had nothing to do with fear, it was all about the pain—you could feel it in every word he had just said. The unbridled, raw pain of a desperate man you happened to fall in love with.

"Why... why did you tell me all this?" You asked in a raspy voice.

"Because," he turned suddenly in your direction, almost getting up from the lounge chair, his breathing labored and uneasy. "I want you to know who you're dealing with... since you said you loved me..." Every word he said sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the already cold air surrounding you. "It's not too late to take back your words..."

"No. Not gonna happen," you cut him off, sipping more whiskey. What the hell was he talking about, how could you take back your words when you were absolutely sincere when you said them? "Even if I had the chance to erase your memory or use a time machine and go back in time... I wouldn't do it. Because I meant it when I said it, I really did, and you know it! That's why you're trying to push me away now, right? With all these spooky stories?"

Bateman didn't flinch even when you literally snapped at him, towering over his seated form and nearly splashing the contents of your glass right into his blank face. And now he decided to act as if nothing had happened? Now? After he literally dumped all that emotional mess on you like a bucket of cold water?

"I know it was stupid of me to even mention love... feelings... but instead of all this nonsense, you could just tell me that you despise me," you croaked through the tears that were stuck in your throat like a lump. "Because what you said...it's not funny to speculate about it!"

"It's never supposed to be funny!" Patrick retaliated and stood up as well, now standing very close to you, your lips just inches away. "Nobody takes me seriously! I'm so fucking sick of it!" His furious temper seemed to finally take over, revealing the true side of his personality, and you risked being drawn into its darkness. "Believe it or not... but that day when you called me from Paul Allen's place... I was ready to kill that bastard if I found out he touched you with his finger!"

Bateman's cruel words triggered the memories you never really wanted to remember—that fucking party you went to at Paul's apartment, those fucking hookers or models...or whatever they called themselves. Those fuckers who drugged your drink and tried to get their hands on you. That one moment when you rushed into the dimly lit living room to pick up the phone and dial the only number you could think of to hear the voice of a person who hated you the most, but at that moment felt like the only lifeline you could dream of. And when Patrick didn't pick up, each beep was agonizing and heavy—you thought you would die without hearing his voice.

Astonished, you nervously fixed your hair and let out a heavy breath. "You would...you would do what?" Your question wasn't supposed to sound like mockery, but it probably did, because the next thing you heard was a muffled crunch. "What..."

You didn't finish your sentence because you simply couldn't comprehend what had just happened—that crunching sound was the glass that Patrick simply crushed in his hand while you tried to call out to him through the depraved prism of his twisted mind—crimson drops of blood painted the floor in intricate ornaments, forcing your stomach to churn.

Why... Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt yourself so badly?

"Holy Christ!" You finally managed to blurt out, taking his injured hand in yours to open it and see the wound. "Why did you do that?!"

"And why do you care?" Was all he replied, staring at you through his half-lidded eyes. "You think everything I say is bullshit. Maybe this is not real either?"

And then, all of a sudden, he grabbed your hand with his bloody one, you could feel the shards of glass almost sink into your flesh, and even though they never did, you could feel the pain—his pain.

Pain. Everything is about pain.

"Please, Patrick," you almost begged, but didn't take your hand away as you watched the scarlet liquid cover more of your own skin. "Let me help you."

Bateman's cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covered his beautiful face, but he didn't even hiss, as if he didn't really feel any physical pain—that was terrifying, but you didn't falter. Carefully, without any hasty movements, you forced him to follow you into the house, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. 

The man didn't say a word, he was in some kind of trance, you couldn't even remember seeing something like this before, but now was not the time to ponder about it, not when he was bleeding like this. You had to use the sleeve of your robe to keep him from gushing out and staining the house.

As you dragged him into the bathroom, you opened the mirror cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit and found some bandages, antiseptic and tweezers. Humming something to yourself in desperation, you glanced into the mirror to see him suddenly slide to the floor with his eyes closed.

"Patrick!" You yelled and ran to him. What if he had damaged the veins? What if you could not stop the bleeding? "Look at me, don't close your eyes!"

As soon as you touched his face, the man brushed your hand away as if swatting an annoying fly. "I'm fine," he said, gritting his teeth, but no matter how hard he tried to hide the tremor in his voice, you could hear that nerve—he was crying. "Just... give me the damn bandages. I'll take care of myself."

"Are you...crying?"

Gently, as if he were made of porcelain, you tilted his chin up and brushed his wet strands away, his usually sparkling eyes so dull and empty it made your heart shrink in pain, but you didn't give up. Ignoring the overwhelming fear, you unpacked the bandages and soaked one of them in the antiseptic before pressing it against the wound, but then you just poured the liquid all over his bleeding hand when you realized there were too many small shards embedded in his flesh.

Embarrassed, Bateman could only sob softly, and he didn't even try to pretend that his defenses weren't down with the first tear that slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured abruptly, sniffling and shaking his head from side to side. "I didn't want it to end like this."

"Shh," you stroked his hair with your free hand. "Let's talk about this later." As you blew on his wound to soothe the itchiness of the antiseptic, you didn't even notice the way Patrick was looking at you under his messy bangs—he was looking at you like you were some kind of miracle—if only he could go back in time and not say all those things about him being a fucking psycho. But then again, would it be fair to keep that from you, knowing how dangerous it could be for you? "Uh, I'm not sure I can pull out all the pieces...maybe it's better to go to the hospital?

"Fuck that," Bateman snapped, swallowing his salty tears. "Not an option."

With a weary sigh, you took the tweezers and began to pick the pieces of broken glass out of his hand—if someone told you one day that you'd be sitting on the cold bathroom floor covered in Patrick's blood because that idiot forgot how to use the glasses, you wouldn't believe it. 

"You're the most stubborn man I've ever met," you said with a wry smile. "The most arrogant and self-centered and selfish..."

"Okay, okay!" Bateman held up his hand as a white flag. "I get it. No need to keep repeating it-uh!"

As soon as you heard him squeal in pain after pulling out the large shard of glass, you stopped in your tracks, barely holding the tweezers in your hand. "Oh, sorry!" You quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll be more careful!"

As you leaned down to better concentrate on your task, the man suddenly pulled you closer with his uninjured arm to press his heated mouth against yours. The kiss was nothing like the ones you had shared before—you could taste his tears, the saltiness of them, the agony and despair. At first you wanted to break away and scold him for being reckless and foolish, but he was the first to break the kiss, only to bring his bloody finger to your parted lips. On the verge of losing your grip on reality, you closed your eyes and allowed him to push his finger inside.

What is this madness with a copper-like taste?

Maybe this man was really a demon sent straight from hell to torment people and find out their most depraved desires, their true nature, which turned out to be something sinful and deranged?  Who else could he be if he could make you do such twisted things? If he could make you lose control and forget what the word "normalcy" even meant?

While you were busy processing the questions that would never be answered, the two of you were still pressed tightly together, the bloody kisses on your lips and then your neck only increasing the risk of losing your sanity here and now. However, the tweezers you held in your hand became your anchor to reality as the cold metal almost bit into your skin with its sharpness. 

"Patrick," you purred against his red lips, catching your breath. "Are we crazy? I know it's a stupid question, considering everything that's happened between us..."

"I guess you could say I've plagued you with my craziness...but I'm not sorry for it," he crooned in a mischievous voice, his lips curled into a slight smirk. "And I don't want you to take it as a joke or romanticize it."

How could he say that after he literally made you suck his bloody fingers? But wasn't it you who allowed him to do it? Who craved that in the first place? That thrilling aura of danger, mystery and darkness that always surrounded Bateman like a second skin. 

"I'm not gonna leave you," you said briefly, continuing to clean his hand of the shards. "I've lost too many people I care about."

Patrick listened intently without arguing, ignoring the urge to hug you again, to comfort you, to reassure you that you would never lose him, because this was not about him, this was about your safety. Your words about him being selfish stuck in his head like an obsessive melody. 

Selfish, egocentric, unsympathetic—a perfect bundle of traits for a psychopath like him.

The day you were about to leave and go back to New York, you couldn't sleep. When you woke up early in the morning, you rolled onto your back. The birds were chirping peacefully in the distance, and you were somehow jealous that you couldn't be as serene as those cute little creatures. Unlike you, Bateman slept like a baby on his side, holding a pillow and sometimes jerking slightly—probably having a vivid dream or something—his right hand was still healing, but thankfully the wound wasn't bleeding anymore. Although you were not well rested, you thought it would be more productive to get up and finish packing your things since you had a flight in the afternoon. Quietly, you pulled down the blanket and sat down on the side of the bed, but then you heard Patrick's muffled whimper, which startled you a bit.

Oh, no, not him having another nightmare.

Concerned, you crawled back onto the bed and hugged the shivering man from behind. "Shh, it's okay," you whispered into his ear, pecking the back of his head before nuzzling his neck—the mixture of his cologne and aftershave hitting your nostrils like an intoxicating haze. "This is just a bad dream."

Noticing that he was relaxing a bit, you slowly began to roll back onto your side of the bed, but suddenly his strong hands cupped yours, causing you to hug him tighter in a silent plea. This was not something he usually did—it stirred a deep feeling of affection in you—even in his sleep, Patrick seemed to have control over everything, including you, but now it was different.

For a moment you weren't sure if it was right to wake him up like that, but then you thought it was better than just shaking him and telling him he was having a nightmare. Also, how many times did Bateman not care if you were sleeping or not when he just got on top of you and started fucking you mercilessly? Well, you never protested or complained about it, but after all, you were not him.

When the man made the same sound again, you had to push all thoughts away—you would have plenty of time to think about things—now all you could think about was the softness of his skin, the shallowness of his breathing, the strong grip of his hands on yours. Patrick needed you, and that was the most tempting thing of all.

With a quick movement, you slid your hand under the blanket to caress his perfect tiddies one by one, the tip of your finger teasing his nipple with feathery touches. God, the things you wanted to do to this man frightened you in ways you never thought you could even imagine. 

Now was the time when you could finally agree with his statement about plaguing you with his insanity, for how else could you describe it? 

"Mmm," Bateman's low gasp that fell from his parted lips echoed through the bedroom as you lowered your hand and stroked his hard bulge in his Calvin Klein briefs. "I didn't kill her...I didn't," his mumbling was growing more and more erratic. "I just...wanted that bitch to shut her mouth..."

You couldn't hear it anymore. "Patrick, Patrick!" You called his name and shook him slightly. "It's just a nightmare! Please come back to me!"

Just as you said these words, his body went limp in your embrace, some cold buds of sweat sliding down his forehead as he opened his startled eyes and looked up at you. Bateman remained silent, his hands unclasping yours only to grasp the sheets in a violent grip. 

"What time is it now?" He asked as if nothing had happened.

"'Too early for you to worry about that," you tried to hug him again, but he pulled away. "You had a bad dream. Maybe it was not the best idea to watch horror movies before bed last night?"

Patrick sneered into the pillow, and although you couldn't see his face, you knew he was smiling. "I... I didn't mean to wake you."

"But you didn't-"

"I hate it, I fucking hate seeing any dreams," the man suddenly replied through clenched teeth, then Patrick looked at his bandaged hand—he was trembling. "Do you... do you see them too?"

"Most people do," you replied, planting a light kiss on his temple, his soft hair tickling your nose. "I think you just miss New York and your familiar surroundings. When we get back, you'll feel better, I'm sure. But for now, is there anything I can do to help you relax?"

Damn, that probably sounds so cheesy.

Finally, Bateman turned to look at you. "You can finish what you started," he replied with that classic boy-next-door smile that was his favorite and most useful weapon in seducing people, and you were no exception. Sometimes you hated being so weak to it, though. "I think I missed the moment when you became so bold, darling."

The air in the room was thick with tension, the little electric impulses cursed through your system by his raspy voice, which was nothing but a testament to his arousal and it only fueled your desire to make him moan, writhe like a caged bird, to make him cum on the sheets and still ask for more.

"Oh, I forgot the last time you called me like that," you droned, wrapping your hands around his waist and pressing against his tight ass. "Was it when I fucked you with that dildo I found in your little secret box?"

Meanwhile, you used the moment of his confusion to dip your palm into his underwear—his tender flesh was burning like fire—you had to use all your willpower to stop yourself from biting his neck. Patrick's panting became more uneven with each passing moment, but when you began to rub his swollen tip, smearing his thick pre-cum around it, he literally arched his back like a bowstring.

"You like it when I take care of you?" You licked his earlobe, then grazed it a bit, causing a low moan to erupt from his chest, but you needed more—you craved it like oxygen—the power he allowed you to bear was too addictive. "Talk to me... I want to hear my sweet boy."

Patrick groaned louder as you gave his dick a long, hard pump. "Damn," he closed his eyes and blushed uncontrollably. "Feels good... so f-fucking good."

Impulsively, you drowned out his moans with a lingering kiss, your tongue slipping along his in a relentless battle for dominance until he let you have your way and you sucked on his tongue with all your might, your hand massaging his tight sack, then switching back to rubbing his shaft and then his red-hot tip again. Eventually Bateman began to thrash around on the bed, thrusting into your hand, and you picked up the pace, jerking him off more vigorously, the wet, sloppy sound driving you both crazy. Each time the two of you had sex, the outside world ceased to exist; there was just the two of you, your inflamed bodies, your most sinful desires...

"Fuck," Patrick cursed, gripping the edge of the bed with one hand and pulling you closer with the other as you kissed again and again until your lips began to hurt. "How did you get inside my head... so fucking easy?"

It was not easy at all.

If only he could understand that.

With a mischievous grin, you nipped at his Adam's apple, then moved lower to his chest, flicking your tongue around his taut nipple and sucking on it with undisguised greed, but then you had to shush him with your mouth when he became too noisy.

"You've got a lot of secrets to unravel about me, baby," you sneered condescendingly and pinched his engorged peak, making him whimper so pathetically that you began to regret not taking that dildo with you. "Uh, you're shaking so bad already. Do you want to stain these expensive sheets again?" You teased him, your grip like a tight ring around his balls, squeezing them so perfectly that you could feel his dick pulsing in desperation for release. "Not that I care, but... I remember you telling me that you love to keep every drop of your cum inside me..."

With that, you gave his thick cock several quick strokes before letting go and moving your hand from his groin to his toned butt for a squeeze and then, before you knew it, you were outlining the rim of his puckered hole.

"Oh shit," Bateman bit his wet lower lip, his face flushed like fucking tomato juice. "You're not going to get away with this...you know that?"

You just giggled in reply. "Don't you think that's kinda irrelevant to say when you're lying here all splayed out for me like a bitch in heat?” You slapped his ass without a second thought. "I know what you're made of..." Another slap that made him moan. "I know what you want..."

"Oh yeah? And what is that... what do I want?"

By this time you were almost on top of him, grinding against his muscular body, but not afraid of him snapping at you, it took you several seconds to lubricate your fingers with your saliva before you plunged them into his tight inner channel, sending shivers right through his core, and it was fucking delirious to see him trembling like that and to know that you were the reason for it.

"This... this is what you want," you explained, pushing your fingers deeper before pulling them out and repeating the motion, stimulating his prostate with precise accuracy. "You're tired of being in charge all the time...and you wanted someone to take care of you without finding it your weakness."

And you were not even going to ask him to accept it—you just knew it was true—it was written in his every moan, every jerk of his hips as you were fingerfucking his ass. Everything was perfect the way it was—you were perfect for each other, no matter what flaws you both had, because ultimately these flaws were what made you you.

When there were no more words to be said and the sun began to rise, the two of you were still following the electrifying momentum of raw, unbridled lust. Moaning into each other's mouths, you continued to thrust your fingers as deep as you could, finding the best rhythm, while Bateman couldn't hold back any longer as he desperately jerked off in sync with your fingers until his whole body was strained to the point of exploding like a bomb. A loud moan of pure satisfaction pierced the room as he finally erupted in thick ropes that covered his flat stomach, but he never stopped pumping himself, not even when he began to suffocate.

"Good boy," you watched him convulse like a leaf shaking in the wind. "You're such a good boy to me. I love you."

For a brief moment, your heavy breathing was the only sound in the bedroom, as if everything outside it was nonexistent. There were no barriers, just you and him—his hand in your hand—his soul intertwined with yours.

Huffing, Patrick gasped greedily for air, but then, when your eyes met, he seemed to stop breathing again—the inner conflict could be seen behind those two dark pools that were his eyes. "I love y-you too...but if you ever dare to leave me again...I promise I will find you...and kill you."

Later that day, you took a cab to the airport. And even though you personally didn't care which class, business or first, you flew, Bateman grumbled the whole way, arguing that he hated being crowded.

"Next time we'll take a private jet," he grumbled, his hands crossed over his chest, the Rolex shimmering in the sunlight. "Why did I ever follow your advice?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to reply with something cocky, but then you noticed the way he fiddled with his fingers, nervously trying to hide his wounded hand. "Just because you have a lot of money doesn't mean you have to spend it like crazy," you explained, gently taking his injured hand in yours. "But next time, I won't give you any advice. Deal?"

From the confusion you could read in his face, it seemed to you that Bateman hadn't expected anything like that from you, and you were so damned pleased with yourself, because you were finally on the right track to understanding how to treat him properly, so that he would reciprocate with the same attitude. But even the most perfect mechanisms could break down sometimes.

"Oh, well," he sighed, looking down at your clasped hands, but not removing his own. "I didn't mean that I don't like your advice..."

"Forget it," you cut him off, smiling as you frowned at your words. "Really, it's nothing. I'm not your Mommy or Daddy to lecture you about your money.” 

"I think I've heard that before."

"Maybe."

"Mommy and Daddy," Patrick suddenly laughed like a maniac. "You know... I can be your Daddy if you want..."

"Jesus Christ, Bateman! Don't even start!" You nudged his shoulder slightly, but it only emboldened him to scoop you into his arms and seal your lips with his soft, loving ones. "How do you manage to say the cringiest things at the most inappropriate times?"

"Cringiest things?"

Dear Lord, have mercy.

Just as you were about to answer, the taxi driver suddenly turned around and gave you both a cheerful, genuine smile. "Wir sind fast da." (We're almost there)

Confused, Bateman narrowed his eyes before averting them from the cabbie, pretending to look in the window. As much as you wanted to laugh and tease him for his childish behavior, you returned a friendly smile to the driver and murmured: "Vielen Dank! Was kostet die Reise?" (Thank you! How much for the ride?)

The driver pointed to the meter, you nodded, and pulled out your wallet. "Bitte sehr. Behalten Sie den Rest." (Here you go. Keep the rest)

The longer Patrick remained silent, the more he looked like a small child who was offended that no one was paying attention to him. When the car pulled up at Stuttgart Airport, you thanked the driver and got out of the car before Bateman could say anything.

After taking your luggage, the two of you entered the busy area of the airport, people were rushing here and there, which of course made Patrick even more annoyed.

"I didn't know you could speak German," he managed to get the words out, but he still looked insulted. "Was it necessary to act like that?"

Hello, my name is Patrick Bateman and I'm a 27-year-old kid who can't stand being ignored for five fucking minutes.

Irritated, you stopped abruptly and he almost bumped into you. "First of all, I studied German in college, and since the company I worked for in Chicago did business with a lot of German partners, I needed to revive my knowledge," you blurted out, extending a finger in a stay-the-fuck-up gesture. "Second, I've been speaking German a lot since we got here, and you never bothered to notice! Really, Patrick? And what do you mean, was that necessary? Paying the taxi driver and thanking him for the ride? Are you serious?"

"I was talking to Bryce." Bateman's sudden words hit you like an avalanche of rocks.

For a fleeting second, you didn't even know what to say. What were they talking about? Had Bryce told him about the night you had spent together? Or rather, the nights. Shit, oh shit. That was bad. You knew it was going to be so bad for you because you kept it a secret and hid it from Patrick, but on the other hand, it wasn't cheating because, fuck it, Bateman married Evelyn just to make you what? Jealous?

"When did you ever find the time to do that?" You asked, trying to shake the anxiety off your shoulders.

"When you were in the shower before we left," Patrick's eyes scanned your face with a mysterious interest that made you swallow hard. "He invited us to Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, the one on the eastern tip of Long Island. A fucking golf club, can you imagine? That blonde bitch has already changed him so much."

"Blonde bitch?"

"Evelyn Williams."

"Uh, oh, yeah, Evelyn," you made a thoughtful face as if you could hardly remember who it was, when in fact you knew everything all too well, starting with the fact that Tim and Evelyn had been fucking behind Bateman's back before they got divorced, since Bryce had told you about it when you met several times after Patrick and Evelyn's wedding. You and Timothy used to fuck until you witnessed Bryce's meltdown over his fucked up relationship with Evelyn Williams. "It's just... you talk about it as casually as if you weren't married to her once."

"Was I?" Bateman arched his eyebrows theatrically and rubbed his chin. "I don't remember."

"We're going to miss our flight if we keep rumbling like this," you complained, pointing to the large information board. "And...I didn't know you guys loved golf?"

The two of you exchanged a few sly glances before heading for the gate where your plane was waiting for you. A plane that would take you back to the crazy city life of New York, the city you swore you would never visit again, but as the saying goes—never say never. 

My life was like a comedy that turned out to be a drama and I was the director who screwed up the script.

Imagine yourself praying that today would be bad weather, rain, thunderstorm or fucking snow (even though it made absolutely no sense) and you wouldn't have to go to the golf club to see Tim and Evelyn and pretend that nothing happened. If Patrick could pretend that nothing happened between the four of you, why was it so hard for you, almost impossible? You also had to take into account the fact that Patrick still didn't know about you and Bryce, and you had serious doubts that he would be as indifferent about it as he was about Timothy and Evelyn's affair behind his back, or maybe it wasn't even behind his back and he knew everything from the beginning? This did not make it easy for you to understand how you all got into this situation. Why did he marry Evelyn in the first place? 

"Hey, are you okay?" a familiar female voice pulled you out of the swamp of thoughts and when you raised your eyes you saw her—Evelyn Williams in the flesh. Even though the last time you had seen her was at her wedding with Patrick, which seemed to be so long ago (but wasn't), the woman didn't seem to have changed at all. "The boys asked me to bring them some drinks... Do you know how to call the staff here?"

Stunned, you looked around—the two of you were standing under the big tent that was located not far from the big golf course where Patrick and Timothy were practicing their shots, because there was a rumor that Paul Allen was about to join your little 'golf party', and of course nobody was really happy about it—especially you, but not because you didn't like Paul, you just didn't want to dig into the dirt, preferring to keep it all in the past.

"Uh, I think Patrick has a phone," you replied a little awkwardly. "I can go ask him."

As soon as you started to move, the woman stopped you with a polite hand on your shoulder. "Actually, they asked us not to bother them for a while."

"Oh," you stammered, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. "'Something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Evelyn grinned brightly and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the large decanter that stood on the narrow table. "Want some juice? Patrick told me about your little trip to Germany! I tried to convince him to travel when we were... well... never mind, he always refused!"

The blonde let out a nervous chuckle and took a sip of juice, your eyes never leaving her slightly embarrassed face. There was something wrong with this whole situation, but you couldn't reveal your fear. 

"I wonder what exactly he told you, but... I don't mind talking about it," you crossed your arms and leaned against the table with the non-alcoholic drinks. "Ask away."

Meanwhile, two rich men, dressed in the most expensive polo shirts and shorts of some famous brand from the latest fashion week, were discussing the latest news of the financial world.

"Those bastards we had a meeting with last week are a fucking bunch of freaks and believe me when I say they're so deep in the shit they're going to fucking drown in it one day. Now watch and learn," Bryce finished his expressive monologue with a practice swing of his club. As the ball fell into the hole, the man lifted his sunglasses to wink at his friend. "See that, Bateman?"

"Nice shot," Patrick mimicked Tim's actions, adjusting his sunglasses as well. "Although I still don't understand why you chose a fucking golf club out of all the places we have?"

Leaning on his club, Bryce turned to look at the tent, and the moment he did, Evelyn began waving at him as if she were the most ardent fan and Tim the worldwide golf star.

"It was her idea," the man replied, stepping back to place the next ball for Bateman. "She was bored with regular dinners and going to some nightclub was out of the question after that... story that happened at Le Bain."

Patrick frowned and quickly picked up his club. "Le Bain? Really? What were you doing there anyway?"

Bryce didn't answer directly, instead he rubbed his head, marking time, and that didn't really look like the Timothy Bryce Patrick had gotten used to knowing. "What kind of shitty story did you get into this time, Bryce?"

"Nothing serious," Tim replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You got a lighter?" With a soft click, Bateman opened a white-gold Zippo lighter, and after Bryce took several drags, he looked back in Evelyn's direction before finally starting to talk. "Almost crushed some asshole's skull," he said so casually that Patrick could only smile like an idiot for a moment. "The guy asked for it, I swear."

"You did what?" Bateman questioned after a boyish giggle that escaped his throat faster than he could even suppress it. "And I thought after rehab people should be calmer and more stable."

"Oh, fuck you! That scumbag tried to rent Evelyn out like one of those hookers, well, you know, hookers, whores, you know better than me-"

"I KNOW!"

Bateman's reaction really amused Bryce, who couldn't help but grin as he watched Patrick get more and more flustered by the second. "So after this incident, Evelyn doesn't want to go to clubs...unless it's a fucking golf club!"

Now it was Patrick's time to sneer. "I didn't expect you to become a henpecked husband so quickly," Patrick joked, finally hitting a shot—two men watched as the ball flew until it landed next to the hole, but never fell in. "Golf sucks. I fucking hate it!"

"Don't cry, Bateman, shit happens," Timothy tapped Patrick's shoulder in a mockingly comforting way, but then the man suddenly became very serious. " So, have you had any success with your love adventures?"

"More than you can imagine," Bateman took off his sunglasses and fastened them to his polo shirt. "Why?"

"Sometimes I want to fucking sink into the ground when Evelyn starts whining that we're sitting in one place...that New York has become too stuffy and all that shit."

"Sounds like a casual day from my family life with Evelyn," Patrick started to say something else, but then he looked at his Rolex to check the time. "Is Allen really coming?"

"Oh shit, I forgot!" Tim cursed and quickly began to remove his leather gloves. "Honestly, I don't even know why he decided to come."

"I have an idea why," Bateman frowned as he heard approaching footsteps and as soon as the man turned to the side, you and Evelyn appeared on the horizon—your face was grim and tense, which spoke volumes about the complexity of the current situation and Patrick's need to solve it somehow. "And where are our drinks?"

"Sorry guys, we only have non-alcoholic drinks here," Evelyn blushed a little as the two men looked at her. "Patrick, can I use your phone? I am going to call the staff since Tim left his phone in the limo!"

Bryce finished his cigarette but didn't throw it away because he knew that Evelyn would bitch about him making a mess, blah blah blah, end of story. "'Screw this," Tim exclaimed spontaneously. "We can take a golf cart and get our drinks in the main building...and meet Allen there."

At the mention of Paul, you literally trembled, but Patrick almost immediately placed his hand on the small of your back. Slightly surprised by his affection, you didn't even say a word as Timothy and Evelyn exchanged goodbyes and walked toward the golf cart.

"Did you get sunstroke?" Bateman crooned as he stroked your cheek to get you to look up at him. "I told you to stay under the tent, not with us."

"I'm fine," you tried to reassure him. "It's just that I don't really want to see Paul right now," your voice trembled treacherously. "Not in the best mood for... social activities."

Without saying anything, Patrick grabbed your hand and led you back to the tent, where the two of you had some healthy smoothies that you never really liked, but since Bateman told you that they were pretty good for your health, you pretended to enjoy them. Afterwards, the two of you sat on the small but comfortable couch with the amazing view. The man rested his hand on your shoulders and occasionally massaged the back of your neck, causing you to close your eyes in pleasure.

"You and Allen," Patrick muttered abruptly. "What kind of relationship do you have?"

This is it—no way to run.

"Just business," you explained without a hint of doubt. "Listen...I don't want to see him, not because we had some drama...it wasn't Allen's fault that the party was messed up. Someone brought up the prostitutes...or maybe they were models. I don't know!" You paused to catch your breath. "All the memories are so cloudy...but the one thing I remember clearly is that I started to feel weird after I drank some wine...then everything came in torn frames. Some guy tried to get his hands on me and I didn't know where Allen was and some other guys from P&P but not Tim or Craig or David...I'm sorry I called you...my poisoned mind decided it was the best idea to call you."

The whole time you were talking, Bateman was stroking your back, but when you mentioned the call, he froze in place, and it looked so creepy. "You mean...you called me...that night?"

Tensing up, you gave Patrick a confused look, but instead of saying anything, you just nodded. The lingering silence between the two of you felt so heavy and suffocating that at one point you thought it was a bad idea to tell him what had happened that night at Paul Allen's apartment, but now it was too late.

"What happened next? Do you remember the person who tried to touch you?"

"Not really," you replied in a dull voice. "I think after I called you... Paul told me we had to leave and we left and... fuck!" You cursed and grabbed your head as if it could help you remember more details. "It all happened so fast...I'm sorry I bothered you with that call, that was really stupid of me."

"You really did call me," he repeated over and over, repeating the phrase like a broken record. "You really..."

Confused, you turned to face him, only to see his pupils dilated and his face covered in a thin layer of sweat. "I did," you said curtly. "But...what's so special about that?"

But your question seemed to fall on deaf ears, Bateman blinked several times, his hands trembling a bit as he removed them from your back, and then you finally realized why he was asking you these particular questions, but the way he smiled in relief, delusionally thinking he had found all the answers he was looking for, who knew for how long, it hurt so much.  But what could you do now? You both had already come to the conclusion that Patrick needed help, that he would soon start seeing a psychiatrist recommended by Timothy, and that he would also resume taking pills to help control his impulsive temper. So the choice was yours.

After taking a deep breath, you glanced at him again—the man was looking back so expectantly, there was a spark of happiness in his eyes—a long forgotten spark, but there it was, and you didn't want to ruin it, even though you knew that the bitter truth was always better than the sweetest lie.

I hope one day you will forgive me for this, my love.

"Everything will be fine," your reassuring words were not for him, but for you. "You will be fine," you took his large palm in yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But... there is one more thing I have to tell you."

"What is it?" Patrick asked almost immediately.

"I..." you stammered as his grin widened, making him look so boyish and... cute? Fucking hell, why do you always choose the worst timing? "I fucked Bryce...several times...after you married Evelyn...but that was just sex...I mean..."

Even though he was still smiling, something changed in the way he looked at you now. The man took a moment to process the information you had just given him.

"That didn't mean anything! I swear," you were the first to speak again. "We... we both just found ourselves in one of the most fucked up moments of our lives..."

"Listen-"

"Wait! Let me finish!"

With one smooth move, Patrick brought you closer, so that you were sitting on his lap, and the suddenness of it left you speechless, which Bateman used to his advantage.

"See," he began, hugging you tightly. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know."

What? WHAT?

He was bluffing, no way Bryce told him everything, he would never do that to you, but on the other hand—why were you so confident that Bryce wouldn't tell his best friend to save their friendship? Even though you and Tim were close, Patrick and Timothy had a much closer bond.

"Tim told you everything?" You asked, feeling defeated and devastated.

"Not directly, but enough for me to understand the hidden meaning of the references he used whenever we talked about you."

You talked about me?

"I'm sorry," you laid your head on his shoulder before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and wrapping both of your hands around it. "I should have told you sooner."

"You told me when you were ready," he murmured softly, rubbing invisible circles on your back to soothe you. "I suppose you and I are finally even now."

"I guess you're right."

You cupped his face, pecking his temple, then the bridge of his perfectly framed nose, bathing his jawline with small kisses until you reached his lips to kiss him as lovingly as you could, wanting to convey all the emotions you felt for him through that kiss. 

This moment seemed too perfect, so when you heard a loud laugh that belonged to someone you knew quite well, you weren't surprised at all, because things couldn't be that good—not in real life.

"Oh, there they are, look at these lovebirds," Craig chuckled and then added. "Long time no see."

And of course McDermott was not alone, soon you noticed Van Patten and Bryce. "Where's Evelyn?" You asked, dismounting from Patrick and taking the seat next to him instead. "And Paul?"

Bryce smiled mischievously and pulled two bottles of alcohol out from behind his back. "I told Allen there was no alcohol in here, so he changed his mind," Tim said, placing the bottles on the small table next to the couch. "And Evelyn...she told me that she actually hates golf and that she'd rather go to the spa with Courtney—I didn't interfere. So are you just going to sit here or will you give me glasses?"

"You know, I was starting to like this new version of Bryce," David joked, rolling a cigar between his fingers. "Still a bitchy asshole, but with new functionality in his arsenal."

Everyone except Timothy began to laugh, Patrick being the volunteer who had decided to bring the glasses from the table on the other side of the tent terrace. 

"Have you lost the last of your brains or something?" Tim growled, smoothing back his hair, which was blacker than charcoal. "That chick you're with now will be the death of you, remember my words."

Bateman returned with glasses in the middle of the most intense part of the conversation about David's new girlfriend, who turned out to be the daughter of a very influential politician, and who had just returned from Cuba with a limited collection of cigars that Van Patten was so arrogantly bragging about. And somehow, you could finally admit to yourself that you missed the old days when you were a part of Wall Street life, even though sometimes you really hated it. But now, sitting among your ex-colleagues and your lover, you felt like you were in the right place, and that feeling was the most tranquilizing thing you had ever experienced.

Almost six months later, you and Patrick went back to Germany to attend Vincent and Andrea's wedding. This time, you didn't stop Bateman from taking a private jet for the trip, and it was your first flight on such a luxury aircraft—its interior looked even more lavish than in glamour magazines about the rich and famous. 

Sitting in the comfortable beige leather seat, you looked out the porthole where the clouds looked like a creamy dessert—the sight was mesmerizing and breathtaking, even though you weren't a fan of flying, but at the same time you couldn't say that you were aerophobic—you were definitely somewhere in between. While Patrick was away talking to the crew about something you didn't know, you had already finished counting the number of diamonds or other jewels that were used like a fancy decoration—there were about a hundred small gems all over the interior and it was insane because why would you need all of them in a damn plane? It wouldn't get off the ground without them, or what?

"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Bateman's soft baritone echoed off the walls of the plane's interior. "You sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Yes," you replied and quickly adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. "I'm just wondering if Vincent and Andrea will like our gift."

"Who wouldn't? Everybody loves money," the man chuckled and sat down across from you. "I still don't understand how they decided to get married so quickly after dating for a few months?"

Frowning, you grunted. "They've been dating for more than six months now and they knew each other since childhood....Did you forget?"

The man just rolled his eyes and yawned tiredly. "Honey, I don't even remember Sean's birthday and he's my brother. What did you expect?"

Yeah, right, what did I expect?

"Uh, just don't say anything that will embarrass me at the wedding, okay?"

"I can keep quiet the whole wedding, it's no problem for me," Bateman winked at you and swirled his glass of scotch. " As long as someone decides to ask me some stupid questions."

"Like what?"

"Mmm...something Wall Street related," he purred in a sweet tone that was such a stark contrast to what he was actually saying. "’Oh, sir, are you really from New York City? I've heard a lot of stories about the bankers from Wall Street.’"

The way he tried to imitate a German accent made you slap his hand and shake your head in disapproval. "All the guests are educated people, stop acting like Europeans are less educated than Americans."

"I'm not gonna start this polemic," he chirped, suddenly standing up. "Sit here, I'll be right back."

And then he disappeared behind the elegant door, made of red wood, its surface shimmering from how polished it was, you could even see your own reflection, but you didn't see any reasons why Bateman was leaving somewhere again. Was there something wrong with the plane? Were we going to crash? A cold shiver ran down your spine at the mere thought of it.

Shake it off…just shake it off.

While you desperately tried to calm down, the door opened again, but you couldn't see anyone behind it. "Close your eyes."

Patrick's sudden order made you blink nervously in shock.

"Why?"

You heard him sigh in irritation. "Just do what I say. Is it so difficult?"

"Fine, fine! Just don't do anything crazy!"

"You'll like it, trust me," the man replied, closing the door behind him before coming closer. "Put your hands out in front of you."

Shit, shit, shit, why am I so nervous? What else can he do? He could just kick me off the plane... Jesus, what am I thinking?

Closing your eyes tightly, you obeyed and reached out to feel something soft, fluffy and warm. "Oh my God...WHAT IS THAT?" And then you heard a distinctive sound that you would never mistake for anything else—a meow. "Can I open my eyes? PLEASE?"

"Now you can."

As soon as you opened your eyes, you saw a little fluffy pile of black fur looking back at you with a pair of tiny blue eyes—you could barely keep yourself from bursting into tears. The black kitten meows louder as you bring it closer to peck its head and hold it gently.

"Patrick, I..." you could barely speak. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything—your reaction is enough," the man commented, sitting back in his seat. "I know we talked about you wanting a kitten...about you wanting to adopt a child," he paused, taking a moment to just admire your happiness at having one of your dreams come true. "I thought we should start with something."

This kitten was the most adorable creature you'd ever seen, so small, so vulnerable, that you would do anything to protect and care for it. "That's...you can't even imagine how much it means to me," you pecked the kitten again when you noticed something on its collar—something round and shiny—a ring...with a large diamond. "What an interesting collar decoration."

"Told you you'd like it."

"Wait," you stopped him. "Wait...is this...for me?"

"What exactly?" Patrick sneered teasingly and opened his arms. "This jet is for you...everything around you...is for you," he slowly got up and walked to your seat. "Including the ring. Will you marry me?"

Another meow pierced the room around you, and while you were still in a state of shock, Bateman didn't miss the chance to pet the kitten, whose little paws curled up to catch his finger.

Will you marry me?

This question suddenly reminded you of the countless times you had imagined him asking you this, and even though in your dreams you knew exactly how to act to make everything look perfect, when it finally happened in real life you were caught off guard, shocked, paralyzed.  With every second of your hesitation, Bateman grew more and more nervous. 

"Honey?" He called to you, tilting your head with his gentle touch to make you look at him. "Is something wrong? Don't you like the ring?"

"No..." you nuzzled against his palm, holding the kitten carefully in your hands. "It's perfect...everything is so perfect," and then you collapsed, letting the sparkling tears run down your cheeks. "Are you...really...sure you want this?"

To be fair, he was ready for anything, even rejection, but this—such a reaction was something beyond his understanding of human emotion—scared him to the point where he thought he might be doing something bad, something that would turn you away from him.

Still holding your chin, the man knelt down beside your seat. "How can you question my decisions after everything we've been through?"

"Patrick," you ran your hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "I just want to know that you're not doing this for me, but because you really want to."

The man paused and sighed. "Of all the decisions I have made, this is the most conscious," he murmured in a raspy voice. "Allow me to prove it."

Speechless, you could barely breathe, and when you nodded, Patrick carefully removed the ring from the kitten's collar and gently took your hand in his to place a ring on your index finger, then the man pressed a soft kiss on the top of your palm as if to seal the vow. 

"I love you, Patrick Bateman," you said as he stood and towered over you to press his forehead against yours, your noses rubbing against each other. "You are my greatest tragedy and blessing." 

With a soft chuckle, Patrick pressed you against his chest, hugging your shoulders with one hand and stroking the kitten with the other. "I'll take that as a compliment," he smiled, burying his nose in your carefully combed hair. "What are you going to name your new little friend?"

You hummed and looked down. "It's a boy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Mhmm...what if we name him Memento?" You asked, looking up at your fiancé. "Memento means memory-"

"Memento mori—remember you must die, I've heard it many times."

"Uh, yes, that remark about the inevitability of death. But before we die, we will make a lot of different memories...memories you will never want to forget....memories you and I will remember when we grow old."

You sobbed at your own words and Patrick had to shush you, pulling you closer into his warm embrace. "Shhh," he kissed the top of your head. "You're so full of sentiment, darling. That would be enough for both of us."

"We're going to live together for a long time, aren't we?"

"Of course," Bateman reassured you, stroking your hair. "And we will die on the same day. But before that, as you said, we would have a life to remember."

"And... if there is an afterlife?"

"Then I'll find you there," Patrick's voice was as calming as a mantra, enveloping you like a soothing mist. "But you don't have to think about it today. Or tomorrow, or fifty years from now. Right now, you better think about our speech at the wedding, because I hate the very idea of it."

Human memory is a very complicated thing—sometimes you want nothing more than to reboot your memory and erase all the bad memories from your head, but then you have amnesia, and people who suffer from it will do anything to get their memories back. Because memory is what makes us who we are, every little thing that happened to you in your life forms your personality, and sometimes a missing memory can feel like a black void inside your soul when you have a feeling that you forgot something, but you couldn't remember what exactly. After all, life is a kaleidoscope of ups and downs, a complex mixture of dark and bright colors, where every little detail matters. When you feel depressed, when you think there's nothing left for you to keep going—never give up fighting for your love and following your dreams, because we have only one life, and death is inevitable, but while you're alive, you're capable of doing anything. 

Memento mori, but never stop believing and living your best life.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[patrickbatemanwife]

After spending all my money on amazon.

[cherubfae]

𝔧𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶, 𝔧𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 || {𝔳𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰}

With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman

tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included

Michael

Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.

Brahms

Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.

"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.

Jason

As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.

Billy & Stu

Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.

"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.

Vincent

There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.

But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.

"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"

Bo

Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.

"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.

Lester

Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.

A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."

Thomas

Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.

Sal Fisher

Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.

"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.

Patrick

A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.

"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[humans-are-tasty]

[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.

[fear-is-truth]

patrick bateman x fiancée!reader | nsfw. mdni

you’re kneeling on the polished oak floor, jerking off your fiancé as he studies your hand, captivated by the engagement ring he’d bought for you. his thumb slides over the warm, polished 18k rose gold of the cartier panthère ring, and you can see patrick’s face contort slightly when you swiped your thumb over the bulbous tip, admiring the rosy shade of pink. you make a mental note of the colour, perhaps you can buy some nail polish of the exact shade.

“this isn’t just any ring,” patrick mumbles suddenly, as if justifying his choice to himself. “it’s designed by aldo cipullo—the same guy who created the love bracelet. only the best, obviously.” his voice trails off, noting the way the delicate pavé diamonds sparkle against your skin, then looks back up at you, cheeks flushed.

“two carats of vvs clarity diamonds, high colour… princess cut. they don’t make them like this anymore,” he rambles on, tongue poking out between parted lips. “each one’s hand-finished in their paris atelier. it cost… twenty-five grand. minimum,”

“thank you, patrick. they’re beautiful, i love them,” you say as you gently squeezed the head, a droplet of clear liquid oozed from the slit — glistening like the diamonds you’re wearing. his cock twitches in your hand and patrick frowns. “these trousers are ermenegildo zegna and they cost nine hundred and fifty dollars. don’t get them dirty.”

“… of course, patrick.”

[billsvip]

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

[dominantslasherking]

Patrick Bateman with Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

Backstory: Patrick had always mistaken his jealousy for you to be out of wanting what you want, to be like you, when it was in fact that Patrick was jealous because he couldn't be with you. Patrick wants to show you how much he wants you, by getting on his knees like a good boy. (BTW you're his boss) Warnings: Needy Patrick Bateman. Bratty Patrick Bateman. Submissive Patrick bateman

"Mr. Bateman?"

His assistant's voice was drowned out by his raving thoughts, his still face urked something deeper on the inside. Patrick's breath halted as he watched you enter the meeting room. Patrick''s eyes fixated on you, the object of his all-consuming fixation, You, wearing a designer suit so exquisitely tailored. "The stitching was so fine that it could have been performed by angels, and the black silk tie, perfectly knotted, was a stark contrast to the snowy white dress shirt beneath. His cuffs peeked out just enough, revealing pristine, perfectly aligned links that seemed to shimmer in the ambient light."

Patrick's inner monologue continued to obsess over your suit and how it was tailor-made, and it made Patrick grit his teeth a bit that you one-upped him with your tailor-made, and currently-in-style suit.

Patrick was snapped out of his intense thinking as you greeted him, your large and veiny hand, taking in his own. "Pleasure, once again Mr Bateman." Your humble and husky voice rang. Patrick gave a fake smile. "Of course." You could tell that Patrick held back his greetings of praise was that jealousy written on his face? The business meeting continued on normally, Patrick always sparing you passing glances, a mixture of emotions displayed in his eyes.

<>><<>>><<>>><><><><><<<>> The next scene was at Dorsia, the place Patrick could never get into, but he was oh so shocked to receive an invitation from you of all people.

But Patrick was just happy he could get in, he wore a fake smile, his best suit, and a pretty woman at his side. Patrick's smile instantly fell when he saw you, with a breathtaking woman, more beautiful than the one at his side.

But it wasn't jealousy of the woman you had, it was something more, that Patrick couldn't place just yet.

"Don't worry, the meal is on me." You politely stated, as Patrick's intense gaze lifted up from the menu and onto you for a brief moment, a mutter under his breath, something incoherent, but, you could tell he was mocking you. Slowly you rested your face lightly on your knuckles amused by him, how come you have never noticed such a handsome yet bratty worker? Not only that but when the waiter came over, you saw a sinister grin place itself on Patrick's face as he smiled showing off his pearly teeth. "I think I'll indulge in the 'Golden Elixir of Ostentation,'" Patrick said purposely ordering the most expensive alcoholic beverage on the menu, he was clearly reveling in his choice. It seemed he was expecting you to protest in a sense, but you straightened up your posture a bit and gave a small nod. "Make that two bottles." "The bratty veneer I had carefully cultivated crumbled away. It was a sensation I hadn't felt in a long time - the desire to submit." Patrick had thought. His face fell into one of stillness and unease.

<>><<>>><<>>><><><><><<<>>

Patrick opened his mouth, letting your fingers enter. Patrick's tongue rolled around, licking and slurping on your fingers, as he then began to suck, maintaining eye contact with you. On his knees, in your fancy penthouse is where the current setting was. Patrick was already stripped of most of his suit, his suit's jacket laying somewhere, Tie gone, his white dress shirt unbuttoned nearly fully, his hair a mess. "[Name].." Patrick's voice was muffled and breathless as he tried to speak with your fingers in his mouth, his eyes were a bit droopy with lust.

"In that instant, the power dynamics shifted, and I found myself navigating a treacherous new territory, craving his attention and approval more than ever before." --- Patrick Bateman.

[sp1der-wid0w]

ACHOO! BABY I’M SICK

starring….

jennifer check. miles morales. patrick bateman. maddy perez. miguel o’hara.

𝘑𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬

★ She’s definitely grossed out, and immediately stays away from you for at least a few days.

★ Though she gives in, and finally comes to see you.

★ She acts annoyed, and is nonchalant with all of your sneezing and moans about how terrible you feel. But deep down, she’s so sad to see her precious baby so ill and tortured.

★ The least she’ll do for you, is go to the gas station and get you soup in a can. But first, she’ll have to seduce the cash register to let her get it for free.

★ When you ask her for anything else, she’ll reluctantly do it for you. As you feel sleepy, she’ll give in and give you a kiss goodnight.

𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘻

★ “Aww, poor baby.” She coos, while she rubs your hair.

★Whoever she was planning on hanging out with, like Cassie, Rue, or Feszco, she’s cancelling out on them, just for you.

★She goes into momma bear mode, and buys you some snacks, and make sure to take your temperature. You were so grateful for this, that you got such a beautiful, loyal, devoting girlfriend.

★ “Won’t Cassie be upset that you’re not there with her?” you asked.

★ “Cassie can handle a few minutes without me, tonight, it’s all about you.” She says, smirking her lips.

𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴

★ When you call him to tell him you’re sick, he immediately webslings over to your place, and goes to give you company.

★ He puts his hand above your head, and looks at you with such devotion.

★ “Won’t you get sick too?” You moan.

★ “Nahh, I won’t.” He chuckles.

★ For the whole day, he stays by your place, doing whatever you asked him too, from covering you with extra blankets, putting on your favorite anime, and just telling you the drama at school.

★ When it comes to saving the day, he has to make a choice between taking care of you, or saving Brooklyn.

★ “Miles.” You choke. “I’ll be fine— Go save Brooklyn.”

★ He sighs, before kissing the tip of your forehead and slinging away. “Call me if you need anything.” He calls, on the way out of your window.

𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘉𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯

★ Sends you $500 on cashapp, and texts you don’t talk to him when you feel better.

𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘖’𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢

★ When he hears of your sickness, he brings you to HQ, and carries you to the infirmary.

★ You complain that you want Miguel to be on your side, but he justifies that he has some multiverse work to do.

★ Eventually after many complains from Peter and Jess and you, he goes to visit you in the infirmary, and gives you a box of tissues, as well as some water.

★ He gives you some words of reassurance, trying to make you feel better at least. He makes sure that LYLA stays at your side, and tells him about your temperature.

★ When he takes his time off work, he goes by your side and caresses your face.

“Mig..” You groaned, then sneezed. “I.. I wanna feel better.”

He simply grunts.

“You’ll feel better, mi sol. LYLA and the doctors will take care of you. In the meantime, you need anything?”

You give him a cheeky look, and few minutes later, he comes back to your side with a bunch of teddy bears, soup bars, candy and chocolates, and a reaallll sour expression on his face.

“I wuvvv you, Miggy.”

[makeyoumine69]

Daddy Knows Best (Full version)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

CONTAINS: SMUT, seduction, dry humping, hand jobs, oral sex (both receiving), masturbation, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, loss of innocence, praise kink, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, pet names, dirty talk, hair pulling, spanking, slight choking.

A/N: I'm gradually trying to catch up on finishing my WIPs! I decided to rewrite this one a bit and collect all the drabbles in one piece. I hope you like it!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST] 🪓

God, imagine that one day Patrick would take you to his place, and since you were a virgin, he would seduce you very carefully. Once in his apartment, he would gently take off your coat and lead you into his living room, where he would let you choose the music, and as you flipped through his CD collection, he would admire your beauty, and then he would start stroking your hair and caressing your cheek, before finally crashing his lips against yours in a lustful kiss. You would moan into his mouth, and he would lift you up in his arms and move to the couch, sit on it and make you mount him so he could grab your ass and pull up your skirt. Trembling visibly, you would whimper from the way your soaked pussy rubbed against the big bulge in his pants and your tentative, sexy sounds would only spur Bateman to pull you closer to make the friction even more intense.

"Mhmm...Patrick...you're so…" You would hiccup as he bounced you on his lap. "Is that… is that because of me?"

Your shy question would make him chuckle softly into your ear, tickling the delicate skin around it. "Yes, little one," his raspy voice would make you squirm in his arms, the heat between your legs driving him crazy. "You're making Daddy so hard," he'd gently take your hand and place it right on his aching groin. "Wanna check?"

Speechless, you just nodded, unable to even mumble a sound, and this sight of your numbness only fueled his desire to corrupt you here and now, though he might admit that this time he actually wanted to take it slowly.

"Uh, such a curious kitten," he murmured as he casually unbuckled his belt. "So eager to discover new things Daddy can give you?"

Gasping, you hid your heated face in your hands for a brief moment as the sexual tension between the two of you was too overwhelming—it threatened to wash over you like a tsunami, but you were ready to embrace it.

"Yes," just one word was enough to make him growl in a hoarse voice as he finally released his hard length. "But I've never done anything like this before...I've never..." you literally forgot how to breathe as you looked down between his wide-open legs. "I..."

Damn, he was so big. Just looking at him sent shivers down your spine and caused your inner muscles to clench in phantom pain.

Bateman couldn't help but laughed heartily as he found your shock quite amusing. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked, pulling you closer as he rhythmically pumped his throbbing dick.

"You're so big, Daddy," you admitted nervously, turning away to avoid looking down. "W-why are you so big?"

Grinning arrogantly, Patrick took your chin and forced you to face him. "Well, I guess I won the genetic lottery, honey." With that, he swiftly grabbed your hand to replace his own, sliding it up and down his hot flesh. "Fuck," he moaned softly, tilting his head back. "You have such small but cute hands...mmhhm...they feel so good on my dick. Keep going," he whispered in your ear, squeezing your waist to keep you close. "Yes...just like that... you're doing so good...f-fuck!"

His breath hitched at every amateur stroke you made, and soon you could feel a few drops of his warm pre-cum running down his red, swollen tip—this image made you lick your lips in a rush of hunger you had never experienced before.

"Do you want me to... taste you?" You pureed against his flushed cheek, eliciting an amused chuckle from his solid chest.

"No need to ask, kitten," he gently placed his palm on the back of your neck as a sign of agreement. "But I won't lie... your naivety really turns me on."

With that, Bateman kissed you hard on the lips before leading you down to his throbbing dick, encouraging you to take it into your warm mouth, and as you wrapped your soft lips around his leaking tip, Patrick couldn't help but moan loudly, throwing his head back.

"Fuck," he grabbed a handful of your soft hair and set the pace of your bobbing movements. "Your mouth feels so good, baby."

You just mewled around his hot flesh, trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose so as not to choke on his huge shaft and not to think about how much it would hurt if you decided to go further in this dangerous game of unbridled lust.

"Use your pretty hands too," he commented all of the sudden before sprawling on the couch to give you more room. "It will help."

Embarrassed as hell, you encircled the base of his thick cock with your both hands without ceasing to suck on his drooling tip. Each low growl he made was setting you on fire, making you dripping so badly.

"Mmhm," you whimpered when Bateman pushed you down, thrusting deeper into your mouth, but the next moment he gently pulled on your hair to force you to look at him. "I did something wrong, Daddy?"

Patrick sneered ever so hauntingly, tracing his thumb along your glistening lips to smear his pre-cum along them. "No, little one," he pulled you into a ravenous kiss, your tongues sliding along each other, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. "You did it so fucking well, that’s why I stopped you," Bateman crooned and shifted your position, so now you were beneath him on the couch. "Because I'm not finished with you yet."

Without breaking eye contact, Patrick slowly drew his thin finger along your taut lower lips, coaxing a muffled gasp to break out from your quickly raising chest. Then, he pulled on the lace of your damp panties as he watched your reaction and when you didn’t protest, he tugged them down in one quick motion.

"Such an obedient girl," he hummed to himself, stroking his arching length with his free hand. “Now, listen to me very carefully,” he petted your legs and opened them wider, so he could set himself between them. "I need you to do exactly what I say. Got it?"

Bateman didn't bother to wait for your answer, he easily shifted your position so that your face was now pressed against the armrest of his spacious white couch and your pretty ass was up in the air.

"A-ah!" You whimpered pretty loudly as he glided his long fingers over your oozing folds—the slick sound driving you crazy. "Pat-Patrick-mhmm!" 

Clinging to the edge of the couch, you trembled more intensely with each inch Bateman moved closer to your innocent, tight hole, and when you felt his index finger poking at your wet opening, you had to bite your lower lip from an odd sensation that was both painful and exciting.

With a dark smirk, the man descended to your exposed pussy to give it a few licks before he slid two fingers inside of you at once, eliciting a shaky moan from your bruised throat. "Uh...you have such a little tight pussy," Patrick remarked, paying no attention to the way you were writhing on the couch, quivering and whimpering some unrecognizable nonsense. "Daddy's gonna make you feel so good...mmhm...so fucking good."

Frowning from the tearing sensation in your lower abdomen, you wanted to ask him to stop, but instead you just clutched the soft material beneath you, doing your best not to start crying. "Keep talking to me...please," your voice wavered from your heavy breathing, several drops of sweat running down your temples. "Daddy...a-awww!"

A loud, obscene sound of him slapping your ass bounced off the walls of his apartment, forcing all your nerve endings to ignite from hypersensitivity. 

"You seem to forget who is in charge here," Bateman scolded, pulling at your hair and lifting your head so he could see your frightened, doe eyes. "Your innocent hole can't even imagine how full I'm gonna make it."

All the while, Patrick was pumping his throbbing cock to keep himself hard, only to suddenly thrust into your moist entrance, forcing all your insides to cramp into a knot.

"A-aghhh, Patrick!" You cried out, but then your opened mouth froze in a silent scream as his fat tip pushed through the tight obstacle, causing you so much pain, but Bateman didn't care. "It hurts...ahhh... it hurts so bad...mmm," a hard slap on your hip silenced you for a while, but he didn't stop ramming into you with renewed force. "So big...so b-b-big...I can't...I can't take it!"

"Shhh," his harsh shushing only made you more anxious than relaxed as the man's grip on your hair tightened until they were almost wrapped around his big fist. "You can take it…your needy cunt clinging so hard to my dick," as soon as he uttered that, Patrick put his one leg on the couch and grabbed your shoulder for leverage to finally bottom you out competently, even though his dick was still not fully inside you. "Yeah...just like that...uh-fuck..."

Throwing his head back, Bateman slammed his firm hips into yours, the curve of his dick stretching your virgin inner channel in a sickening way, making you see stars and literally bite the armrest of that fucking white couch.

"O-ohhh, my goodness," you stuttered as the man changed your position again, forcing you to get on your knees and bend over the back of the couch, his veiny cock popping out of your sore slit, giving you a short break before Patrick filled you again, this time holding you tightly and not allowing you to stray. "Slow down! Please...mhmm-slow down-"

But Bateman was relentless and ferocious when he finally had you in his hands, and he was not going to let you go, not when your inner, velvety walls were so perfectly encasing his dick. Besides, the very idea of breeding you, claiming you in such a primal way, made him throb inside you, his fingers digging into your skin where bruisers would surely bloom after he would be done with you.

"You know," Patrick stopped abruptly, pulling out only to slap your glistening pussy. "I remember...you said you wanted to belong to one man...forever and ever...didn't you?"

Breathing heavily, you closed your eyes for a second, trying to pull yourself together as the mixture of different, foreign sensations was tearing you apart as much as Patrick's girth.

"Yes..." you replied curtly, propping yourself up on your elbows. "I did."

With a mischievous grin, the man gave himself a few quick strokes before leaning down again and lapping at your dripping slit, savoring your taste like his favorite meal. Your shaky breathing and constant trembling was what he craved most from this encounter; he knew you were already his, but he wanted to push your limits even further.

"You said that just for fun or..." he murmured between licking and sucking your swollen folds. "Did you really mean it?"

The man emphasized his question with a feverish flicker around your clit, but then he plunged his wet tongue into you, holding your hips so firmly that you couldn't move away even an inch. All of this was already too much for you, but his question was the last drop for you to fall apart and lose your mind.

"I meant t-that," you blurted out almost breathlessly, not really realizing what you were saying. "I...really did!

"Very well then," Bateman growled, stepping back to lift you off the couch. "Because this...is what I'm about to do," he held you tightly in his arms as he walked to his bedroom and when you reached the door Patrick stopped and set you down. "I'm gonna make you mine...like you always wanted in your pink dreams."

In one deft motion, the man turned you around and pressed your face against the doorjamb, not really showing affection, but not being too rough either. Struck by a strange fatigue, you grabbed the wooden doorjamb with your weak hands and sensed his warm body pressing against you from behind again, covering you like a blanket. You were completely bewildered, lost in the whirlpool of emotions mixed with shameful depravity, and that's why you probably didn't really understand the gravity of the situation and what was about to happen and what was hidden behind Bateman's words.

This time Patrick slipped into you like clockwork, feeling no resistance at all, and that induced him to sink even deeper until you squirmed in his arms, trying to find something to hold on to, but your hands were unable to grasp the doorjamb because its material was too smooth. Growling thickly, the man slammed into you with ferocious hunger, admiring the arch of your back, how your ass cheeks jiggled with each thrust. 

"I wish you could see what I see," Bateman grunted through his clenched teeth, sweat buds running down his tense forehead, his eyebrows knitted together as he concentrated on penetrating you in steady but wickedly deep strokes. "You look so fucking hot like that...one day I'm going to film us having sex...I swear."

You moaned in response as he forced you to bend over even more so he could look down at your face as he fucked you silly. "Daddy...I'm burning...f-from the inside...it's so deep..."

Patrick chuckled at your miserable attempts to claw at his hands as he suddenly planted an almost affectionate kiss on the top of your head—this little gesture made you stall and open your eyes wide—and pressed you even closer, wrapping both his hands around your throat and squeezing it a bit.

"You belong to me now," he whispered in your ear, desperately snuggling into your small form, making your hard peaks rub against the wooden doorjamb. "...and I will pump you with my seed...until you get pregnant," the man nibbled on your earlobe and tugged at your messy hair. "I'll do it again and again..."

Your face inflamed from the inside, you thought your skin would burn from the heat your bodies radiated, and as soon as you felt his pounding become more erratic and ragged, you knew he was close. With one hand still on your throat, Bateman used his free hand to cup and squeeze your full breast as he chased his release, feeling the tingling that formed at the base of his dick and spread throughout his muscular body. Yet, in the back of his mind, he wished he could last longer to make you fucking faint, but even for a man like him with such a crazy sex drive, that was too much. Closing his eyes, Patrick drove his hips forward against yours for the last time, rolling them slightly to bury himself as deep as he could, painting your inner walls white and he couldn't help but moan when he was finally spent, filling you to the brim just as he had promised.

"Good girl," he huffed, nuzzling against your craned neck. "You've got a lot to learn... but I'll make sure you do your best to please me."

With that, the man cradled you in his strong arms, and for the first time in his life, he felt complete, having finally found a woman he wanted to claim as his own. And damn those who would dare to argue with it.

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!

[patrickbatemanwife]

Little meow meow🥃

[xoista]

𓂃 to fit in ˖ ݁ patrick bateman ⊹ dark, sfw content.

you were better than jean. your skirt fit perfectly, well organized, always on time, never spoken unless spoken to, but you were paul allen’s assistant.

c. readers skin is described as smooth n is called pumpkin twice. jean slander but i still love her.

patrick was disgusted by most things: people who felt they were better than him, women who weren’t slutty and didn’t know how to shut their mouths, anyone below him… the list could go on. but, you weren’t one of them. when he looked at you his sanity always began to slip. especially when you were speaking with your boss, paul allen. paul had a lot of things patrick wanted, and you were the number one thing.

your skirt always an appropriate length, heels arching your feet, pen and paper in hand readying for whatever paul needed, your shirts dipping just enough to see the swell of your breast, skin smooth, hair styled and you never spoke much unless you were spoken to.

you would look perfect on his arm- you would make him fit in perfectly. besides, replacing jean wouldn’t mean anything to him, she was a mess; her outfit never being what patrick wanted, her scheduling process always a slow, she never caught on to his jokes, and she was always questioning him. he was simply never satisfied with her. he wanted to be satisfied.

unlike what he was feeling now, as he sat mindlessly at the conference room table. it was full with business men unlike any other day but that was because of paul’s presence. conversation had been going around for a while, none of their conversations ever peaking his interest. “so how’s the fisher account?” bryce questions, fixing his suit against his body as he sits upright, in front of bateman. “fantastic as always,” his smile small as he speaks, “i’d tell you how i got it but i’d have to kill you.” everyone listening laughs, it annoys patrick, so he simply lets out a stiff chuckle, smiles and nods profusely. he even goes as far to comment quietly, “hilarious.”

as the laughing quiets down, the light sound of heels hitting the carpet floor gains patrick’s attention and some others. you’d already made it halfway across the room before any of them noticed. once you’d made it to the end of the table on patrick’s side where paul sat, you give the table a small smile. “sorry for interrupting,” you fix your eyes onto paul, “your reminder for your meeting at 1.”

paul glances at his watch, before looking up at you, pointing a finger at you in recognition, with a small smile and nod, “thank you.” patrick face is stern, eyes giving away the greed he feels when looking at you. they’re almost low as if he’s on cannabis, lips slightly parted at the looks of your wet ones. not noticing his gaze, you don’t hesitate to nod back to paul, and make your way towards the door, eyes of all colors following you until you can’t be seen. a light whistle sound comes from a couple men around the table, one of them being van patten. “mother of god, how’d you get her?” he speaks, leaning back in his chair a bit.

“who?” paul almost looks clueless for a minute, but the smile that cracks on his face gives him away. his coworkers still push the question. “seriously,” bryce insists, eager for the answer. “i’d definitely bang that,” mcdermott comments with a nod, and everyone follows shortly behind in agreement. “she’s marvelous,” luis comments, to the left side of patrick— while he sits annoyed for the second time since sitting down at the table.

after the conference “meeting” everyone went about their day of work, patrick’s being not very pleasant because of the lingering anger he felt about you not sharing him a glance in the conference room. so angry that he found himself hating the show he watching and began to be heavy annoyed by jean’s presence. the greed, lead him to your small office outside of paul allen’s office.

“do you need something, mr. bateman?” you call, from your desk, eyes watching him closely as he stands in your doorway. “call me patrick,” he says, giving a smile as he walks further in. “patrick…” you let the room run quiet for a second to looking down at paul’s schedule on your desk, “do you need to schedule something with-” he’s quick to interrupt. “no.” his tone is stern and irritated, but he lets out breath to calm himself. “dinner. the two of us,” he tells plainly.

you’re taken back by the sudden offer, and you almost let out a chuckle but you don’t. only cracking a small apologetic smile, “can’t. i have a boyfriend.” it was a lie, of course. you had to admit you found patrick quite attractive despite his indifference to the rest of the men in the office who have tried to either get your number or take you home. you could never really put your finger on why though.

“come on, pumpkin. you can do better than that,” he says, not being deceived by the known lie. you don’t comment on him catching you. “pumpkin? never thought i’d have a nickname like that.” you smile enduringly at the name he’d given you in this short time. ignoring your comment, he asks, “how about dorsia?”

you search his face to see if he’s joking, but he stands, waiting for your answer. “sure,” you smile giving him what he’s been waiting on. “paul saying their sea urchin ceviche is great. i’m excited to try it,” you comment, playfully, and patrick gives you a light chuckle. the mention of his name slight irritates him but shakes it off. “right. friday, i’ll pick you up.” he doesn’t care for a reply and turns to leave. his mind too busy worry about how he was going to get the reservation, but he’d kill for it, if he had to, just to have you.

[cherubfae]

𝔠𝔲𝔡𝔡𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰 || {𝔳𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰}

With Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Billy and Stu, Art the Clown, Vincent, Bo, Lester, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman, Thomas Sawyer

tags: AFAB reader (not specified), cuddling, affection, rz!Mikey, art is his own warning lmao, terrifier 2 spoilers, little spoon!slashers, nightmares (Sal), comfort, poly!Ghostface, I low-key rant about art in Vin's lmao

Michael

Exhaustion isn't something he's used to feeling so heavily in his bones. He feels the heavy weight rippling across his broad shoulders and spiraling down his spine in white hot pain. He's not a tame being, but he is a bit more docile in the months before and after Halloween. His knife doesn't thirst for blood quite as much as on the 31st.

Seeing you in your bed is a welcomed sight. Michael doesn't say much more than the soft grunt of acknowledgement as he sheds his coveralls from his dirt-caked skin. He has a lovely warm bath that loosens all the tight muscles of his lower back. You'll have his head later for leaving a ring of grime in the tub; Mikey doesn't care about that right now.

The fresh sheets are so comfortable, accepting them fully as Michael tucks his face into your side. His recently cut hair is still long enough to form a fringe curtain over his grey eyes.

Jason

Softly leans his chin to your shoulder. Depending on how far along you two are into your relationship, Jason might feel comfortable enough to have his mask removed. He's aware the material probably doesn't feel too pleasant being pressed to the side of your face or lightly digging into your skin.

His arms wind around your waist, happily sighing as he leans himself against you. Jason also doesn't mind if you switch things up and hold him in return, stroking the top of his head softly.

Brahms

If there's a way where he can wind his body around yours, Brahms will find it. He definitely likes keeping you away from all of the noise of the world, and while he's not mega happy about it, he knows you need trips into town sometimes. He likes seeing what kind of food items you bring back because the meals you make are simply delicious!

After dinner and bathing, Brahms snuggles beside you, clinging to you like you've been gone for ages. The chill of his porcelain biting into your skin as he happily huffs behind it. He's so glad to have you. <3

Billy and Stu

The pair are constantly together, if not with you, then they're almost always flanking each other's sides. The other is often not far from the first. Adding you into their duo to form a trio didn't change much of their dynamic. Instead of the two boys slinking around, they've got you as their third and final confidant.

Billy isn't the most touchy-feely person-- that's what he likes to claim. He doesn't really know how to ask for the things that he wants. He's different to Stu in the way that he's silent when you press your hand to the brunette's cheek, smiling as his eyelids flutter closed. Subconsciously leaning into your touch, chasing the feeling when you pull away.

Stu likes to be what he calls the mega spoon. It's him behind you, snuggled at your back, and with Billy pressed close to your chest still too proud to say that he enjoys being taken care of as the little spoon. You three make a nice, lovely three-person sandwich. Even when lying down, you're in the center with the boys wrapped around you like snakes. There is no them without you; you are their missing piece.

Art

This man is mostly, if not always, within your personal space. 'It's not yours, it's ours'. Art is rarely a being ever to break character or change out of his damned costume, and his hygiene is quite questionable sometimes; though he does in fact bathe and wash his suit. Just not often.

He's a man of very few words, especially when he's deep into his clown character and doing what he does best. Being immortal has its advantages, but his fight with Sienna really put him through the ringer. Art was decapitated! What a riot.

With his strength slowly returning to him, Art is always almost underfoot. In your bubble, seeing what you're doing. Snuggling up to you in a rare moment where his costume is off, leaning his head into your chest with an exhausted expression. It seemed that Pale Girl was allowing him some respite with you for a bit.

Vincent

He is a busy man, constantly sculpting and creating. His sketchbooks are filled to the absolute brim of beautiful works of art in all sorts of mediums: charcoal, graphite, watercolor, and ink. You're his muse, his favorite subject of which his art circulates. There's something so breathtaking about you, minute details that only an artist can see within people. An eternal, everlasting beauty.

Vincent is quick to jot down the rough outline of your sleeping form resting against Jonesy. He's smiling behind the wax mask, skilled fingers shading the crease of your eyelids then moving to sketch the curve of your Cupid's bow. When he felt it was finished enough for now, Vincent sets his book aside in favor of crawling into bed beside you.

His broad frame dwarfs yours as he curls his body around yours, his large hands slide beneath your sweater pressing across your tummy. Vincent really adores you, you know?

Bo

Not much of a cuddler, but if you get especially pouty about it Bo will roll his eyes and tug you to him. He can be a major asshole but he doesn't like seeing his baby upset.

He tucks you beneath his strong arm, his mechanic's hat resting on top of the back of the sofa. Waiting for you to settle down doesn't take long as you're soon drifting off with your head on his chest, focusing on his hand placed on your knee; gently stroking the skin there. His eyes begin to droop, feeling heavy. Cradling the back of your neck, Bo allows himself to drift off, too.

Lester

Long days certainly do get to him sometimes. Tiring him out something awful. He's prepared enough roadkill and deer for his brothers and you, enough to satiate any hunger for the time being until he finds time to run into the nearby town again.

Lester finds you lounging in his bed with Jonesy, Vincent must be working hard and the pup sought out attention where she could. He had no idea where Bo was or whatever the hell he was up to.

Collapsing onto the bed, Lester sighs deeply when you immediately comb your fingers through his messy short hair. He's out like a light soon after.

Sal Fisher

Poor guy has so much going on that sometimes he just wants to crash and sleep for one-thousand years. He doesn't sleep well on the best of days, plagued by frequent nightmares that not even the warmth and comfort of your sleeping form beside him can quell.

Another nightmare yanks Sal out of a fitful sleep. One that has him patting the sheets, searching for you. The heat of your skin against his hands sends a calming peace over him. He's scooping your sleeping form in his arms, his face hidden in your neck. Sal gives a weak smile as you snuggle into him. He focuses on your even breathing, allowing himself to fall asleep soon after.

Thomas

It's incredibly hot on the best of days in Duller County, the Sawyer family set up several oscillating fans that constantly work overtime without a proper functioning air conditioning unit.

Even the lackluster cool breeze and the sweltering Texan heat aren't enough to have Tommy pulling you into his lap and nuzzling his masked face into your hair.

You're much smaller than him. It gives Tommy a sense of pride knowing that he's your big, strong protector. :)

Patrick

He is such an enigma, a contradiction. Patrick isn't much of a cuddler or snuggler but he wants to play the role of being a dutiful partner. He is quick to become a jealous lover if you were to find someone else to give you attention while he's fretting over what sort of shade of cream or white Paul Allen's next business card will have.

A prideful, vain being such as himself would never admit how much he truly does enjoy having your curl up next to him. The warmth your body exudes is a comfort, one he finds him seeking out more and more even though your relationship is still within its earlier stages. Patrick hates that he finds himself being so undone by you, but he can't find it within himself to stop either. There's something inside of you that his fervent bloodlust can't be satisfied by.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[charliedawn]

Can you write about the slashers finding out the nurse has a stalker? (That isn't them lol)

(Hi ! Sorry for the absence everyone. It has been a really busy year for me. But here you go ! Thank you for the request !)

Jack is usually pretty chill. He wouldn’t do anything at first if he saw the stalker didn’t bother anyone. But, if he saw that the stalker was starting to get a little too annoying ? He would make him get the message.

Jack would drape an arm over your shoulders and give the stalker the ‘Get out of my face’ look.

And if he still didn’t get the message ?

Then the stalker would unfortunately find his way down a flight of stairs—the express way.

You were sleeping when you heard someone open your window. You immediately turned on your lamp, but was surprised to find Patrick Bateman standing in the middle of your room.

He was covered in blood and lit up a cigar.

He took a deep puff and exhaled loudly.

You waited a few minutes before asking what he was doing here and why he was covered in blood. To which, he took his time to answer.

Patrick: "I apologise. I found a cockroach at your window."

You *look him up and down suspiciously*: "…Must have been one hell of a cockroach, huh ?"

Him *smirks* : "One BIG cockroach."

Bo: "Ssh…You the one who likes followin’ Nurse Y/N around, huh ? Ssh…Come on. We wouldn’t want to wake them up with your pussy screams, right ?" *proceeds to bust the stalker’s kneecaps*

Bo is the type of man to take action. He wouldn’t wait or warn you about the problem—but he would take care of it. Because he likes to be the man of the situation, the one who takes care of business and makes sure no one would be stupid enough to bother you.

So, let us just say that the stalker unfortunately didn’t make it.

"Oh oh oh. Naughty naughty stalker. You are one fffffunny human, ain’t ya ?!"

You woke up the next day with a pool of blood next to your bed. When you asked Penny about it, he replied with a large smile that he had a midnight snack.

You told Norman and asked for his opinion on what to do. He asked you to explain exactly what was happening and remained with a polite smile on his face as you proceeded to explain everything.

Once you were done, he still had a smile on his face. He wordlessly stood up, rolled up his sleeves and left for a couple of minutes before returning with an axe.

Your eyes widened and you tried to stop him, but too late. He stepped outside, knowing your stalker was probably waiting for you to get out of the house. The stranger was surprised when he saw Norman leave. It didn’t take Norman long to spot the stalker and without his smile leaving his face, he walked towards the stalker and swung his axe—barely missing the top of the stalker’s head.

"…If my baby girl/boy ever tells me you have been following her/him again…I won’t miss."

And with that, Norman went back into the house—humming a happy tune…while the stalker was left on the ground with his pants soiled upon having the scare of his life.

Pennywise was being his usual annoying and sarcastic self when he noticed someone following you from a distance. He didn’t care at first…not until he read the guy’s thoughts. And what he found in there ? It was enough to make his usual smile falter.

After that day, he decided to teach the guy a lesson. He hence took your appearance for a day and lured your stalker away from anywhere where they could be seen. And when he was sure there was no one around ? He took back his appearance and in one second, gulped down the stalker.

Literally.

No more stalker. Pennywise didn’t even leave the bones behind.

Brahms noticed from the start. Of course he did. Brahms used to be a stalker himself. But, your stalker was not a professional stalker and Brahms didn’t take him all that seriously at first. Besides, who was he to judge ?

But then…He hurt you. He took pictures of you. He kept them to himself, and Brahms felt as if it was getting exhausting for you.

And Brahms could not take it anymore.

One night as you were sleeping, the stalker crept into your room as per usual, but Brahms was waiting for him this time. And before he could approach your bed, Brahms took the stranger by the neck and held him above the ground. The stranger’s feet kicked the air…until they didn’t move at all.

Brahms let his body fall to the floor. He then proceeded to drag him out of your room—unaware that you had been awake the whole time. You closed your eyes and let go of the knife you had been clenching in your hand.

…

Jason noticed that one of the nurses was following you around. At first, he didn’t do anything as it seemed that you weren’t all that bothered by it. But then, he realised that you weren’t smiling as often anymore and that you would occasionally take pills to help with the tiredness (having a stalker meant really little sleep since you knew they were watching you.)

And finally, the stalker hurt you. He saw a bruise around your wrist and that…That he couldn’t handle.

At his arrival in St Louis, his machete was confiscated, but he was hired by a domestic furniture company to do mandatory work. And guess what is in high supply in his place of work ? That’s right. Wood and nails. Jason built himself a wooden mace with nails. Poor stalker ended up in a ditch around the hospital…his whole body smashed and mushed.

The moment Michael Myers would get a whiff of that stalker near you, he would become a permanent wall between you and the stalker. Your own watcher and bodyguard. The stalker would become the observed. Michael wouldn’t sleep or eat while the stalker is still there. And the moment they would meet ? Myers would make him regret ever being birthed into the same world as him…

[austinbutlerslovers]

Current fixation:

Austin Butler as Patrick Bateman

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can you please do Slashers (Norman Bates, Patrick Bateman, Micheal, Jason, Brahms, Billy and Stu. You get the idea) with a, hear me out, a s/o who is just as if more out of pocket and crazy as they are, but here’s the catch their s/o aka you 🫵, don’t even realize how they are acting. (This was a 3 am woke up in the middle of the night with sweats kind of concept) But, do with that what you will.

💙💜🩵

Slashers x male reader

Headcanons

I don’t really know Norman, since I’ve never watched Psycho, and Patrick. I know Patrick somewhat at least a little cuz I’ve seen clips, so this is all based off wikis, so I hope it’s still good.

Norman Bates

Norman typically seems to have a more subdued and submissive personality, so for you two to be dating, his mom has to be out of the picture somehow. Maybe you guys still run the motel though.

Norman is possessive of you, not wanting to lose you. So you being just as possessive, if not more, in return, would probably tickle him pink even if he doesn’t want to express it. his second personality would enjoy it if you were just as violent too.

It doesn’t seem like Norman registers that hes got some issues himself, so he probably wouldn’t even notice that you had them too, or that you didn’t realize it either. You two are just two guys who are less than stable, but boy are you happy together in your little murder motel.

Patrick Bateman

You two would be like a house on fire, I think. Having someone just like himself if not worse, would only make Patrick more set in stone about his life and decisions. You two would end up clashing heads pretty regularly, since you both have such eccentric personalities, but then it goes back to being a loving relationship again.

You two are unhealthily co-dependent, and you just push each other to be your worst selves. Your worst, well dressed, manicured and intelligent selves. You guys are probably seen as kinda snobby or full of yourselves to everyone else, but you and Patrick have a great time.

You not realizing that you act this way would excite Patrick I think, since that’s the one up he has on you where you are more than him in every other way. It also excites him in other ways, since you are just like this, and this is who you are without all the debating on if this is right or not.

Michael Myers

You guys met at the asylum, that’s the only place I could imagine you two met. How you two got together I’m not sure, but it wouldn’t take long. You are both quiet and terrifying to be around, but it draws you together.

Neither of you talk much, which just results in you guys being able to communicate in silence. When you guys get out, it’s like a date for you two, going on another Halloween killing spree. If walking slowly around, knives in one hand, and holding the others hand in the other, counts as a date. Its romantic to you two, that’s all that matters.

I don’t think Michael himself really thinks about the way hes acting, so he wouldn’t think about it with you either. That’s just how he is, and how you are, and you go together like two misshapen bloody puzzle pieces.

Jason Voorhees

Jason is a serial killer, yes, but he’s also a nice guy if you look past all of that. So, if you are just chill like him most of the time, and partner up with him to get rid of the people who go where they shouldn’t go, then it would be a pretty nice relationship.

If you were even worse than him, then I could see him silently admiring you as you put together traps even, he didn’t think about. You not looking like Jason also means you can leave the forest to go into town and get different equipment, which just ups your game.

Jason doesn’t have much of an opinion on the fact that you don’t realize that you are worse than him, since this is also just the way he is and has been for who knows how many years. He likes that you are like him and that you aren’t scared of him.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is a huge fan that you are as bad as him or worse. Hes a little creep, so he would start salivating knowing you are watching him back, or seeing how you get rid of your ex on your own when they show up at the mansion.

You two are like gasoline on a fire for the other, since you just fuel the worst parts of each other in the best way, in your shared opinion. This means there’s no reason for Brahms to hide in the walls. He still likes doing it though, just so he can watch you, or you can come after him.

Like a good chunk of the others, Brahms doesn’t really register that he’s pretty messed up himself. Living in isolation for so long will do that to ya. So, it doesn’t really mean anything to him that you don’t realize how you’re acting. He just likes that you watch each other’s freak.

Billy Loomis

It excites Billy in multiple ways that you match his crazy. And by multiple ways, I mean it. It gets his blood pumping and gets him flustered to see you match his plans, or even push them further than he could have ever thought of.

You two are both horror movie obsessed bloodthirsty idiots, who both get way too excited about planning and committing the slashing. You just push each other to be worse, and to push the limits more and more. It makes you more likely to be caught, since you guys fuel each other.

To Billy its so hot that this is just how you are and that you don’t even really realize how you are acting, it’s like you are something walking right out of his deepest fantasies. But he’s has to be the voice of reason, and has to make sure you don’t let anything slip in public, just in case.

Stu Macher

Stu doesn’t seem to be the brightest guy out of the ghostface duo, so he’s probably just hyped that you match him, or go even further than him. If you go further than him, then I can imagine Stu also doing even more. Its kind of a cycle, you do something, and he follows.

It’s also what almost gets you guys caught multiple times, since you don’t really think your plans all the way through, since you both are just too excited and into what’s happening. Stu really likes the thrill of it all though, which leads to a lot of make out sessions.

Stu doesn’t really think about it much himself, that what he does is messed up and wrong, so I can’t imagine him thinking about how you act either. You two are kind of two halves of a whole idiot, and if Billy is around that he has to keep you guys on the right track so you don’t out yourselves or do something dumb.