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melis-writes · 1 year ago

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Ok hear me out and I know im insane for this.. we need Victoria x Patrick Bateman smut ASAP

Shipping Victoria x Patrick; did you know I’m utterly insane? 🤭 The wildest prompt pairing I’ve ever received in my life is this by far, and I thought Victonny was wild in the beginning. 😅😅 WELL. 💀 I know Miss Victoria was subjected to a Patrick Bateman era a little while ago and a lot of questions about him and her were asked/submitted sjsjsjsjs. 😵‍💫 You requested and I’m here to deliver!! This is my very first time writing for Patrick Bateman…😅 I am considering writing more for him alone but here goes Victoria x Patrick starting off towards smutty themes…🥵

’55 West 81st Street, Upper West Side. American Gardens...’ Repeating the address in your mind as you enter the luxurious, high security apartment building; the exact one specified to you numerous times by your direct supervisor and one of the vice presidents at Pierce & Pierce; Patrick Bateman.

Having only worked in the same building let alone firm with Mr. Bateman for only a week, you can’t help but find it slightly unnerving and odd, yet also courteous to be invited to Mr. Bateman’s private residence so soon.

Still, you’re not one to give up opportunity of any kind, especially ones you can take advantage of.

How many can say they’ve had the same privilege of being able to meet with and discuss their work and performance with someone as influential as Patrick Bateman and so soon?

‘11th floor.’ Stepping into the elevator, you smoothen out your blazer and patiently wait to be taken up to the eleventh floor; your heart already beginning to race from a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You have to take this meeting with Mr. Bateman as you would competition at work; you’re not the only one in line applying to become Patrick’s personal assistant and secretary after all.

You remember briefly seeing another young woman in her mid twenties named Lily during your interview who was also accepted on a preliminary basis as you.

Pierce & Pierce wanted to see which candidate was more qualified since you and the other candidate, Lily, brought similar skillsets and experience to the role promising an excellent benefit’s package and excellent pay.

You were not trained at the same time with Lily nor did you ever see her around Patrick since employment courses and training were provided on a one-on-one basis with Mr. Bateman and away from prying eyes.

This leaves you to now guess that Mr. Bateman must be personally picking between you and Lily as to who he wants to hire permanently as his personal assistant and secretary; a formality and nothing more.

For dinner tonight, you can assume Patrick will either let you know he’s chosen you as a permanent hire, or that he’s chosen Lily over you; whatever answer, you’re completely prepared. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks now, after all.

Just as you reach the door to Patrick’s suite, you’ve barely reached your hand out to ring his doorbell when you find the front door already opening for you.

Blinking in surprise, you watch as the front door opens to reveal half of Patrick’s suite and his back turned to you, walking away already.

“You’re late,” Patrick states, paying no attention to you as he begins to make his way back towards the living room.

“You wanted to see me at 7:00 PM sharp, sir,” stunned, you take a step inside Patrick’s grandiose, modern suite; unsure whether to focus on him or the striking features and décor of his beautiful home standing out to you.

Hearing your voice instead of Lily’s, Patrick stops in his tracks.

He turns around, facing you with an amused, beaming smile over his face; a completely different tune than how disappointed he sounded just seconds ago.

“So I did. Hello, Miss Ferrari,” Patrick greets you in his cool, soothing tone. “I was expecting a mutual coworker of ours, if you could guess.”

“Lily, was it?” Blushing a little, you begin to slip off your heels and notice Patrick watching your every move with complete interest. “Were you supposed to see her earlier this evening?”

“Actually, that’s none of your business, Miss Ferrari,” Patrick answers, completely nonchalant and still smiling. “But it means well for you.”

“Right,” you murmur, still finding yourself growing adjusted to Patrick’s somewhat erratic behaviour, let alone his distractingly sexy looks every single time your eyes land on him. “Sorry, um,” you clear your throat, clasping your hands in front of you, “there’s no reason now for me to hide how I feel about that.”

“I figured,” Patrick chuckles, gesturing towards his kitchen. “Would you like a drink? I have a number of fine Italian wines that I believe you would enjoy.”

Before you can even answer, Patrick heads into the kitchen with enthusiasm in every step as you politely move into the living room and take a seat upon one of his loveseats.

“Sangiovese wine in specific,” Patrick continues speaking, grabbing out a bottle and admiring the front label. “It’s a fine red wine popular in Italy. One can always find Sangiovese grapes growing in Tuscany, it’s native region, not to mention other various southern and central parts of Italy.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you,” you’re practically mesmerized by Patrick’s tone and how he can make what would be the most mundane, unnecessary explanation by anyone else sound like a fairy tale to you.

“From the moment we met, I came to the observation you enjoy red wine and red wine alone. White wine is not to your liking, is it?” Patrick takes out two wine glasses from his cupboard, setting them down on his kitchen counter in front of your line of vision.

“You’ve observed well,” you nod, smiling back. “I suppose I could have white wine every now and again but I’ve always preferred red.”

“You have excellent taste in wine,” Patrick compliments, pouring a quarter serving of wine in both glasses. “Sangiovese wines such as this one—” Patrick taps the bottle of wine with the back of his fingernails, “are rich in flavor. Even the color derives meaning from it’s name; the blood of Jupiter.” He picks up both glasses of wine, moving towards you. “You may enjoy the prominent cherry flavor upon first taste, but the dried herbs will add to a delectable aftertaste with a hint of plum.” Patrick hands you your glass of wine, pausing for a moment to smile at you again and give a small nod. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Nodding, you take your glass of wine and blush. “I almost always drink a Sangiovese wine. You read me like a book, Mr. Bateman—”

“Patrick,” he corrects sharply while maintaining an overly friendly attitude. “You’re in my home now, Miss Ferrari. You don’t have to be formal with me.” Patrick raises his glass of wine to his lips. “I however, will call you whatever I wish.”

Taking a sip of your wine, you maintain eye contact with Patrick and find yourself clenching your legs while being unaware of it, but everything from how your expression changes, your body language and reaction times are noted by Patrick immediately and well.

“Patrick,” you repeat back, feeling your face grow hot with blush. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

“It presented itself,” Patrick swallows his wine, setting the glass down on the coffee table in front of him without taking his eyes off of you. “I saw what a patient yet confident and demanding woman you were throughout this week. I couldn’t take this position right from your hands now, could I?”

“I didn’t see it that way,” you reply back, “I always pictured you putting it in my hands.”

Patrick chuckles, shaking his head. “You more than have it now. I’m glad we made such an impression on you at Pierce & Pierce. That other woman, Lily, didn’t seem to think so.”

Your eyes widen a little but you hold your tongue, remembering Patrick practically scolding you a few moments ago for asking about Lily.

Patrick grins devilishly at you, noticing how you grow quiet. “I appreciate the gesture, Victoria,” he says your name for the first time, rising from his seat to sit directly next to you. “You won’t ask further questions.”

“You told me it was none of my business,” your heart begins to pound in your chest as you pick up the scent of Patrick’s heavenly cologne surrounding you. “And so it isn’t.”

“That’s right,” Patrick smirks. “You’ll find we do things differently at Pierce & Pierce; our rules do not shift but they are enforced strict. I have my own set of rules, and I have them for you now too.”

“Such as?” You can hardly focus on drinking your wine this close to Patrick.

“Your work attire,” Patrick places his hand over your thigh, sending a wave of excitement and pleasure rushing through you. “This skirt, for example…” He knits his brows, looking displeased.

“Oh,” you blink, unable to find anything wrong with the black, knee-length pencil skirt you’re wearing and had been wearing to work earlier today. “I’m sorry, what exactly don’t you like about it?”

“It’s not short enough,” Patrick’s eyes meet yours once again. “I want you to wear something shorter next time. Flatter your figure. You’d look good in something tighter and shorter.”

Your eyes don’t leave Patrick’s, but you can feel his hand taking your wine glass away gently and placing it down to reduce risk of you dropping it in surprise from how focused you are on Patrick’s words now.

“I’ve made my observations about you all week, Victoria,” Patrick continues, lowering his tone of voice as his hand begins to slowly glide up your skirt. “Your performance at Pierce & Pierce was more than satisfactory. Your attention to detail…” His hand moves up further to your upper thigh as you find yourself relaxing and spreading your legs further, but at a complete loss of words from throbbing, surprising arousal racking over your body. “Immaculate.”

You’ve no idea when Patrick’s face got so close to yours to breathe his words upon your neck, but you can’t get enough of feeling his firm, large hand caressing your skin.

“How you act around me is not workplace appropriate, so,” Patrick gives your thigh a squeeze, trailing his finger to trace your jawline. “I took the liberty to invite you somewhere private. My home—where you could indulge on all the dirty thoughts you have in my office about me. Isn’t that right?”

“Patrick…” Your eyes widen as you let out a soft whimper, watching his hands move underneath your skirt.

“And where I don’t have to sit and imagine what it’s like to feel your soft, supple skin; to touch and caress your thighs while adoring your body as one would do to a piece of art.” Patrick nuzzles your neck—his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the scent of your perfume.

With that, you feel Patrick's hand harshly smack your thigh, causing a quiet yet surprised moan to fly out of your mouth as you clutch onto his shoulder and feel his hand tenderly rubbing over the reddening skin where he hit you.

“Where I can have you all to myself.”

#prompts #not canon #vatrick #victoria ferrari #moth to flame x american psycho #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x victoria ferrari #crossover prompts #patrick bateman smut

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dogshit-gambler · 1 year ago

Text

verge of frenzy—; Patrick Bateman x f!OC

Commissioned by my lovely friend @myst3r10 🖤 thank you so very much for allowing me to write this! Liz is a true girlboss 🖤

Very dark content. CNC. Drug use. Violence/Graphic Depictions of Murder. Gore.

Hot water ran over the blonde’s body, her hair sticking to the back of her neck. Elizabeth ran her fingers through her hair, her hair mask sliding over her delicate fingers. The sun shimmered against her bedroom floor, clothes basking in the warmth of the sun. A formal, business look was her poison today. A long pencil skirt to hug a perfect figure was nearing her future. Sheer stockings and a white button-up to pair with her eccentric jewelry. As she squeezed her hair, her second alarm started to blare. “Fuck,” she spat. “I’m awake. Unfortunately.” It’d be one hell of a day interviewing stuck-up rich guys with egos the size of Texas. She needed a fix now. Drugs or alcohol either would do. She applied a glycolic acid cleanser to her face, dragging it down to her throat. A tingle shot through her skin as it gently exfoliated. She paired it with an almond oil scrub used primarily on her neck and chest. She needed to be perfect to combat the toxic yuppie culture - even if she took part in it too. Her skin was smooth and shaven, with tight legs and a perfectly round rump. Looks were everything.

Rinsing out her hair, she stepped from the shower, water running down her spine. Upon drying her face, she moisturized with SPF and added a sweet Gucci perfume. One sprit on her neck, the others behind her ears and wrists. She reached over to her bathroom drawer, just under the mirror to reveal a small baggie of white powder. Wasting no time, she took a sharp snort directly off the plastic. Much like people needed coffee to start the day, she needed her own special stimulant. Hers just happened to be much more expensive and illegal. All crime came with a price, yuppies knew this better than anyone. She wrapped a towel over her hair, flipping it up as she finished her routine. The rush was amazing, a quick heartbeat, the room looking so much more alive and colorful. It was awfully boring living the best life at all times, she needed this one thing to keep her intact.

Her outfit was designer, shoes worth a man’s life, lipstick as red as blood, and skin as clear as the summer sky. Elizabeth admired her reflection much like Narcissus, she could drown much like him too. Pools of beauty rippled before her, a beautiful nymph looking back at her. You’d wonder if you were even worthy enough to be looked at by her, for her eyes struck like bullets and sliced like a butterfly knife. Another hit, she thought. Fuck. She finished the baggie and chucked it into the trash. A small droplet of blood ran from her nose and a familiar soreness hit her. She took a washcloth to her nose and gently stopped the bleeding. Her damned dealer didn’t grind the shit fine enough, she’d have his head for that. Sharp, jagged crystals ripped into her nose, filling her lungs with acute amounts of blood. It was more of a nuisance than anything. Maybe one day it would catch up to her, but surviving brain-rotting conversations with millionaires hadn’t killed her yet - so nothing will at this rate.

On the contrary, Patrick Bateman never had this problem. They’d meet soon enough, even if that meant discomfort for the both of them. They were close enough to have done drugs together, but distant enough to not give a shit about each other’s problems. Bateman’s morning routine was all the same like it always was.

Jean’s ringtone began to go off.

“Helloooo?” Elizabeth spoke into the phone as she placed it on speaker.

“Hey! How are you, Jean?” She smiled through the phone, looking at herself in the mirror. She twirled the edge of the towel around her finger.

“I’m great! I was just wondering… Will I see you today? You’re so busy and I miss you. I’d like to see you even if you’re working.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat, holding the washcloth on her nose.

“Yeah, I’ll be in today for a while. I have some interviews to finish. There’s been a lot of shady bullshit going on at P&P and I plan to figure it out.” Murder scandals, how fun.”I know you’ll do great, Liz. I can’t wait to see you today.” Jean said her goodbyes before going back to work. Being an office princess had its perks, even if you were treated like meat. Having rich men fawn and bend before you - exhilarating. But Jean was far too sweet to notice the gawking expressions and predatory scrutiny. How their eyes stripped her naked and disrespected her grave before she was even dead. It was sickening. Elizabeth had seen it and stuffed it out like a candle. But Jean? She was too innocent, too kind to work in this cutthroat world. She too had climbed the corporate ladder but at what cost?

Bateman made his presence known at P&P. He looked down at his fellow yuppies, feeling their judgment, he only wished it was jealousy. Since Paul Allen’s death, more followed close behind. Bateman could only clean so much blood, oh god, how he hated cleaning the blood. He’d rather bathe in the crimson fluid, drink it, and add it to a wine sauce. Dining on the meat of mankind, drinking their blood like a sacrilegious puppet. Bateman, the man, the myth, the fucking maniac. He spent his morning jerking off the slasher movies, rewinding the death scenes until his climax. His moans mixed with the sounds of female screams, his cock rock hard as if they were real sounds of agony. His morning was ripe with violence, and porn to start the day off right.

“Hello, Jean.” He spoke. “I see you took my suggestion, you stopped wearing that ugly blouse. I like the yellow on you much better. The pink made your skin look dull. I like this so much better.”

“Morning, Pat. You look nice today.”

“Thanks! You too, Jean.”

Seemingly, all Jean heard was hello.

Patrick Bateman, you’re out of your fucking mind.

Chapter 2

Light rain, slight chance of thunderstorms.

“Good morning Liz!” Jean spoke as she made eye contact. Elizabeth made herself known, her presence requiring basic respect and intelligence. “How’d your date go last night?” Jean inquired, not knowing the cloud of disappointment that was about to glide over her head. “Horrible. A no-show. Bastard really thought I’d let that slide and tried to call me at 5 in the fucking morning to apologize.”

Jean frowned, resting her chin in her hand. “Well, I’m sorry. I hate to hear it didn’t work out. But why do you think he called you?”

Liz chuckled, at how innocent Jean was. Elizabeth looked around, making sure no one was listening. Apart from Bateman, not a soul knew she existed. “To… Just to enjoy himself.” Jean blushed a rosy red. “Oh.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yeah. Not a good look. So now I’m just… making reservations for myself.” She was used to doing things on her own, being independent had its perks but always keeping your guard up is exhausting; and by god, she was. Jean shrugged, returning to her army of papers to fill out, leaving her cousin alone to interview. She knocked on Bateman’s door. “Come in.”

“Patrick Bat-”

He cut himself off. “Elizabeth.” “Patrick.”

A rush of memories began to flood them both.

She was in Bateman’s apartment, bent over the dresser with a line of cocaine sitting on her left asscheek. Bateman snorted the powder through a bill, his muscular body covered in delicious sweat. He slapped her ass, leaving a red print on her fine skin. Bateman was rough, the kind of guy you’d regret staying the night with. Liz enjoyed it, using it as a chance to feel alive. They coexisted in misery and loneliness, using each other to cope with the pain of the world. “Fuck me,” she demanded. Patrick laughed, slapping the tip of his cock against her. The drugs ran through his bloodstream, invigorating him like a racehorse. “Be a good girl,” he began, slamming his cock into her eager hole. “And take,” he bit his lip, her walls fluttering around him, “My big fucking cock. Take it, ohhh take it, just like that. Tell me you love my cock, tell me you love getting fucked like a slut. Fucking bitch.” Bateman pounded into her, his heavy balls slapping against her. “I love your cock,” she whined, gripping the wood frame of the table. “Fuck, fuck me harder! Please, fucking use me and all my holes.” Her body was tight, lean with muscle, and perfect hips. Her legs spread for Patrick, his skin hot against hers. His body flushed and hot, sweat running down his back.

“Fucking tell me, Liz. Tell me you feel my cock buried inside you like fucking corpse. I wish you were fucking dead so I could keep you here forever, even in death you’d be slobbering on me.” Liz felt herself close to climax as Patrick’s hand crept up to her throat. His grip was deadly, the air trapped in her throat. Her brain felt heavy, her rabid heartbeat told her she very well may have died at that moment. Her orgasm was godly, the rush of crashing worlds, on the brink of death, and the drugs mixing together created an intoxicating cocktail. Patrick screamed out profanities as he overstimulated himself inside her, his aching soul clawing at his neck for release.

“Clean yourself up in the bath. Wash my cum out of you.” Elizabeth fell on the floor, weak and tired. She attempted to pull herself up off the floor and at least onto the bed. Patrick almost took pity on the damage he caused. “Come,” he said, leaning down to pick her up. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re covered in sweat, you know I can’t have that.”

He scooped her up with ease, his muscles flexing as he stood up. He was still high on the conglomeration of drugs, but still sober enough to know he didn’t really want her to rot on the floor. He felt confused with himself at times; his utter lack of empathy seemed to begin and end with her. He could abuse her and kiss the same wounds he caused. He took no pleasure in truly hurting her outside the bedroom. He wanted to spoil her with every dollar in the bank. Millions wouldn’t be enough, he’d buy her the fucking world if he could. He placed her in the bathtub, his slender hands blasting the warm water over her feet. Painted toenails shimmered under the soft lights of his bathroom. “Let me clean you up, you’re filthy.” He was gentle for the first time in his life. His hands spread almond body scrub over her back and chest, the sugar gliding over her skin like silk. Her head was still spinning, the warmth only making it worse. Patrick ran a washcloth over her skin, his soft hands tickling the gentle hairs on her arms. Her heartbeat slowed down, the dizziness now turning into an intense exhaustion; the kind worse than a long day. The coming down process was cocaine was a strong one, it felt more like dying than anything. Extreme fatigue plagued her entire body, it felt a chore to even take slow, easy inhales and exhales.

Patrick took care of her like a delicate flower, the only thing that mattered to him was Liz. His sweet, precious Liz.

---

“Patrick! Long time no see, how are you?” Liz inquired, placing her purse on his desk. The simple act of dominance annoyed Bateman. “I’ve been well, Liz. I’ve missed your company. I’m sure you’ve just been suffering without me too.” She chuckled, taking a seat. His office was dead, just like every broker in the building. “I’m not here for games, Bateman. It’s business. Take a seat.” Oh? No games? No joy. “What’s troubling you?” Bateman inquired, both his hands clasped together. His eyes cut into her like razors; blood dripping from her doll-like skin. “Well,” she began. “How’s it feel being one of the last standing? This isn’t looking good. Tell me what you know.”

Patrick scoffed. “Tell you what? That I killed everyone in the building and burned their putrid corpses?”

“There’s a start.” “Oh, don’t be silly, Liz.”

She leaned in close, the air thick with tension. “Patrick.”

She stared into his eyes, counting every lash, every pore, and soon to be every fucking zero after his bail. “I need you to be honest here. Where were you on the night of Paul Allen’s death? And the rest? John Minton? Samantha Higgins? Gustavo King? Come the fuck on, Pat. Tell me.” She stood strong in the face of evil, knowing damned well she could look back without a stitch of doubt, let alone fear. Patrick’s eyes danced around her neck, imagining his hands wrapped around it. His mind raced with the memories.

“It turned you on when I told you how I butchered them all.” Patrick began, a sinister smirk plastered on his face. “Christ, don’t you remember? Soaking your panties when I told you how I bled a man in the tub like a pig?” Fuck. “I know it did. You’re a glutton for punishment - only if you get to watch like a fucking voyeur.

His words made her cringe but she detected no lies. “Patrick. You are far too comfortable.” Bateman laughed. Oh god, how he laughed. “Don’t be silly. Let alone coy, you think I’d forget about you covered in blood while I fucked you next to a corpse?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, she wasn’t so innocent either. “Correct. Which is evidence enough to throw your ass in jail.” “Pftt… You’d be convicted too! You fucking watched!” Yes, she did. And she enjoyed it. It was sick, it was perverted, but nothing in their lives came normally; god forbid peacefully. Patrick wasn’t wrong, but that was the goddamn problem. “You have no evidence,” Liz replied quickly, a hint of amusement in her voice. “No?”

“No.”

“Pumpkin… I was filming us. You looked so beautiful all splayed out, blood and every other liquid dripping off you. You wouldn’t want that plastered everywhere, would you?” Patrick leaned back in his chair, the black material of his button-up stretching over his powerful biceps. “But you and I both know you can’t live without me and seeing me locked up would crush your precious little heart; even if it is black with rot.” Patrick’s lips curled into a soft smile as Liz looked him up and down. Dare say, he considered it ogling. “I heard you got stood up, by the way. So we will go out tonight. It Looks nice. Wear that tight red dress I got. It makes your ass look like a heart.” Patrick handed her his credit card, the letters P.B engraved on the backside in titanium shimmered under his lights. “Get your hair and nails done too… My treat. Simply because your act was hilarious.”

She snatched his card like a viper. “As if I wouldn’t have blown your money regardless…”

In truth, she’d never throw Patrick under the bus. She was too emotionally involved, invested in his life. Patrick was a constant, one thing she could always rely on. Apart from the never-ending drugs, Patrick was her system, her habit, her vice. Needless to say, his grip on her was monstrous. But she wasn’t the only one wrapped around a finger. Patrick was a slave to her whims, her wishes, her desires. Everything she could want, from the world to a blood diamond, she could have it all.

She gathered her things and just before leaving, she stood still in her tracks. “Don’t get too comfortable, Bateman. I have my ass on the line for you.” That… was an understatement. She was in deep, but Patrick was even deeper.

There was nothing like having a fresh set of gel nails and a new hairstyle. While she was perfectly within her ability to do these things herself, it was nice to use Patrick’s money for a change. It made him feel needed, something he’d never admit. All he wanted was to feel desired like he was a capable man. God knew he was, but Patrick still felt plagued with doubt.

The infamous red dress made an appearance. Strapless and covered in sequence, the red gown draped over her body like a sea of blood. Wrapping, enveloping her skin like a hungry beast. Patrick picked it for her, imagining himself ripping it off like a demon in the night. She stood in the mirror, black stiletto high heels shaping her lean calves. Tight fishnet stretched over her skin, each mole and birthmark adorning her skin visible. Luscious blonde curls draped over her shoulders, body glitter donning her skin like a rare gem. Men would carve her out of the most dangerous and feared mine in the world - just to get a taste of the sweet magnolia perfume she wore like her own skin. Patrick would peel it off like the tender skin of ripe fruit, stripping her down to the bone marrow just to get a small taste.

Her mirror image looked back at her, admiring the life she built for herself. A queen, a she-caligula looked back and laughed at all the times she showed pity on those smaller than her. Patrick was a horrible influence, enhancing the dark heart that slept beneath. Vermilion adorned her lips like blood, with earthy tones on her eyes. Patrick would drop fucking dead when she walked out the door. She was certain Patrick would look just as ravishing.

Chapter 3

Patrick pulled up to her luxury apartment, his driver mentally preparing for the horrors that would be the ride to Dorsia. It was never about the restaurant or the money it took to get in. It was yuppie bragging rights. Even for Liz, it was the ability to brag. She looked down at him from her window, a distance seeming infinite. Never close enough, just on the edge. The space felt liminal, empty, and cold. Her eyes shot down like bullets but the air was bulletproof. She’d kill him by now if the consequence wouldn't be everlasting loneliness that felt more like a punch to the gut. Patrick was the only person on earth who she could tolerate. People were meaningless or a nuisance. Bateman wasn’t a person - rather an entity to walk through life as a shadow. Casting darkness like a stormcloud, he walked.

Liz trekked down the steps, her dress held tightly in her hand. Her heels, a war drum, a tune imitated by many, but mastered by none. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery. Many aspired to be like the woman, her energy wicked, yet influenced by Patrick. He was even more sick than she could hope to be.

The door was already open for her, the only thing missing was a red carpet. Rolled out before her was only Patrick, her feet could crush him like a bug if given the chance. She smiled, her red lips curling. “You look gorgeous, Pumpkin.”

“Thank you, Patrick. Not so shabby yourself, hm?”

“Of course.”

---

“I’ll have your lobster bisque and a side salad. The lady will have the salmon mousse and NY Strip. Oh, add dessert while you’re at it. Whatever the chef’s special is.”

The waiter took their order, moving quickly to the kitchen. Patrick was a regular and was painfully critical. If the food wasn’t perfect he’d throw a fit - much like a child. Elizabeth leaned her cheek on her palm, the supple skin pushing up gently. “So,” she began. “What trouble are you in now, Pat?” She shifted hands, using her free one to gently grasp him across the table. “The only trouble that I’m in is the trouble you caused for me, Liz. My dear. My ever-so-sweet darling. You’ve put me in a world of hurt.” He replied, leaning in. His eyes were deep - soft even. He was gentle if only for a moment. “And what do you want me to do about that?” Liz pulled back, looking at the table sitting just behind them. They’d ordered the menu special - funny. The woman sitting behind Patrick looked eerily concerned. “All those men… dead? Gone? I can’t… I hope they catch who is behind these horrific killings.”

Liz smiled. “Horrific?” She repeated quietly, biting her bottom lip. Bateman smiled. “Seemingly so.” That urge came back, fuck. The urge to hurt, the urge to BE hurt. Patrick’s hands began to sweat, and his brow furrowed. Liz knew that look anywhere. She knew that woman’s fate had been sealed the moment she thought of Patrick. Sick, perverted, he was - but god, Liz was just as sick. If she’d sat with Patrick knowing he was this way, there would be two murderers sitting together. She gave him a nod, sealing this stranger’s fate.

Their food arrived and Liz began to dig in. It was perfect, the steak bloody and juicy. The salmon mousse was salty and creamy. Sharp cheese was served on the side with crackers, handmade by the chef’s loving hands. Patrick’s soup was warm, bursting with flavor. They exchanged bites, almost as if sharing a kiss. The act of sharing food was pure, even if it was rotten all the same. A bottle of wine was brought to their table, the waiter pouring glass after glass. The warm fuzzy feeling began to overtake them, the food richer, the air warmer. Everything was bright. Patrick turned to look at the table behind them, spotting another woman gossiping about him. Well - so he thought. He was guilty as charged, blood on his hands could only drip so much until they stained.

“Excuse me, but I’d love to pay for your meal,” Patrick spoke to them. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems like your conversation had brought you ladies down. It would make my day to treat you.” Liz smiled, that was her Patrick. “Oh!” They exclaimed. “You are so kind, sir.” If God only knew…

Upon checking out, Patrick added the other table’s meal to his bill. “Thank you so much, sir. It appears angels do exist.” Liz remained quiet and listened intently. The two women were middle-aged, appearing naive but adventurous enough to come home with them. “Perhaps, I could be one, you never know.” Patrick chuckled. “Are you two ladies up for some fun, perhaps? My girlfriend and I…”

The air became thick with suspicion. He was too bold. “I... I’m not sure, sir.”

“Oh, you’ll love it.” Liz chimed in. “We love company.” Patrick had never seen her like this before. “We would love to have you.” Having a woman’s touch never hurts. Liz seemed trusting, and knowing Patrick, this aspect only made his cock throb. Liz could be very convincing when she wanted - and now - she needed this. This release, this ecstasy from the pain and pleasure. She batted her eyelashes across the table and that delicate look seemed to be all it took. “Mhmm… Fine. I like meeting new people anyways. I’m Marion.”

“Marion. This is my boyfriend, Patrick. I’m Elizabeth.”

Chapter 4

Patrick’s apartment is a tomb for many, a chamber of death and destruction for all. “Take a seat,” Liz cooed, slipping off Marion’s jacket. “Wine? Beer? What’s your fancy, sweetheart?” Liz’s fingers trailed over Marion’s shoulder, pushing back her strawberry-red hair. It smelled faintly of a developer and an almond hair mask. Patrick couldn’t contain his excitement. “Would you like something… stronger?” Liz pulled a small baggie of cocaine from her chest, dangling it in front of Marion like a bone to a dog. Marion’s cheeks turned deep pink, her skin hot, the hairs on her neck standing up. “I’ve… never done this.” Liz smiled before laying it out before them. “It’s easy. TOO easy! Just…” She made fine lines on the silver tray in front of them, giving Marion the thinnest line. “Just snort, move along quickly. It’s fucking amazing.” She ran her fingers through Marion’s hair, guiding her head down. She looked behind them, seeing Patrick standing in the hallway, a small hammer in his hands. She gave him a nod, gently scratching Marion’s scalp. She moved her hand to the back of Marion’s neck, leaving space for Patrick to swing.

Crack. Wet matter hit the table, a tooth following after. He hit her again, this time in the side of the cranium. Again. Again. Again. Until blood spattered on Liz, a chunk of brain rolling down her chest. “Finally!” Bateman shouted. “Fucking FINALLY!” He grabbed Marion’s neck, pulling her close to him. He pulled fragments of her skull off, dropping them at his feet. Her heart had long since stopped, the blunt impact deadly enough to end her life on the second swing. Dare - you could say she didn’t know what hit her. His hands were shaking from the thrill. Blood covered his face, his hair stained and now crusty with the fluid. Cold, nothing but cold air filled the room. The brain matter on Liz’s chest was now on the floor, along with an ocean of blood and flesh.

She grabbed her boyfriend’s hand, stopping him for only a moment. She ran his hand down her face, leaving a trail of blood behind. He smelled like crushed bones and cologne. Liz felt the blood dry on her skin. Patrick’s hand ran down to her breast, the blood following. “You’re so damned hot,” he spoke. He pressed his other hand into the pool of blood, gathering a small amount in his hand before smearing it all over Liz’s chest and neck. His handprints tattooed her skin, from her cheeks down to the now exposed flesh on her back. “Take me, Patrick,” She begged, running her sticky fingers in his hair. The blood was horrid, the stickiness, the smell. They didn’t give a shit, all they needed was each other. Patrick peeled off her underwear, his following shortly. He laid her back in the ever-growing pool of blood on the floor. Her heart raced, her body excited with the idea of being fucked next to a corpse. Patrick dove into her pussy, lapping at her like a man starved. He gave her no warmup, the anticipation driving them both insane. He reached up to tease her nipples, her skin aching with the pain of his grip, but his skin was so sweet against her. She planted herself in the pool of blood, wrapping one of her nimble legs around his head as her orgasm approached. He ran his tongue in sharp, rough circles over her clit. Her hands slipped in the blood, her body writhing in the intense pleasure. She sang his name like a symphony, an orchestrated show for the wicked. He brought his bloodied hand to her clit, his mouth leaving her sex for only a moment. His mouth was covered in crimson, a perfect mix of her juice and Marion’s blood. He smacked her clit before rubbing it how she liked it. He knew her body like the back of his hand. Liz writhed like she was being tortured, the pleasure intense it almost hurt. “Fucking cum for me, fucking cum for me. Look at all this blood and cum at the thought of it. That’s my sweet girl. That’s right.”

Liz swatted his hand away, seconds away from her climax. “I want to fucking ride you as we look at the mess you made. My Patrick.” She pushed him onto his back, grabbing his gorgeous cock in her hands. She planted her mouth on him, taking him to the back of her throat, swirling her tongue over his swollen tip. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pushing her head down to his pubic hair. He cursed a thousand curses before pulling her head up. Her face was strung with tears, her lips swollen and her nose bleeding from the cocaine use. She crawled on top of him like a fucking terror from hell. She positioned herself on his perfect cock, leaving a bloody handprint on his chest, right where his beating heart was. She rode his cock, grinding her clit against him in the process. “Fuck, fuck. Yes. Ride my fucking cock, Liz. Fucking ride me, my darling.” She used his chest as support, her nails flicking over his nipples, sending him into a fucking frenzy. “Such a sensitive boy, eh? Like having your nipples played with? Oh, my sweet, sweet Patrick.” Her other hand wrapped around his supple neck, her grip much stronger than he anticipated. He bucked his hips like a madman, his vision slowly blurring. She was drenched in blood but damn - she never looked better.

Patrick whined as he climaxed so hard he thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. “Cum for me, Patrick. Cum for me, please, oh please.” She brought her fingers to her clit, rubbing frantically in an attempt to cum with him. She continued to bounce on his cock, their skin slapping together, much like that hammer smacked into Marion’s head.

They collapsed next to the corpse, its eyes still open and cold. A gray cast overtook the lifeless eyes. Liz swallowed, her naked body on display for the corpse. Patrick caught his breath, pulling Liz next to him. “If you ever tell anyone about this,” he began…

“I’ll kill you myself, but I’ll keep your body to fuck.” He smiled softly, kissing the top of her head. “Likewise, Bateman. Fess up and they’ll never find your body. But like you, I’d ride your corpse into the afterlife. Lots of women used to attend hangings just to see a hard cock.”

Patrick smiled. “Well, you don’t need to hang me to see my dick hard. Trust me.”

Author’s note: HAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! IM INSANE!!!!!! <333

#american psycho #patrick bateman #commisons #patrick bateman x oc

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killingthecoast · 17 hours ago

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I actually love these two I am sick

#onepiece #fanart #patrick bateman #roronoa zoro #zoro #oc #one piece oc #one piece fanart #zoro x oc #oc x canon #im mentally unwell #im just a girl #pls dont flop

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maria-crossover · 8 months ago

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☝️🤓

#my oc #my original character #patrick bateman #oc x canon #american psycho #fan art #aghhh im so fucking boreeeddd

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h3llraz0rr · 3 months ago

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HIHIHI IM STILL ALIVE!! Back at college again so expect some delayed posting butttt i'm currently into American Psycho and ofc y'all know me.. I SAW THIS TEMPLATE AND IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF THEM

CLOSE UPS:

RAMBLE DOWN BELOWWWWW:

OKAY SO..

I like to think that Patrick met Angela at P & P (she was hired as a graphic designer,, HAHA NOTICE THE PATTERN HERE) and was planning on ☠️ her but he actually ends up enjoying her company and how down to earth she is. She isn't another 'bimbo' like he thought she'd be nor someone superficial, which is refreshing to him. They share certain things in common and he enjoys her similar sense of humor, but unfortunately when she finds out for herself his dark secret and the lives he took for his own sick pleasure, she plans on distancing herself far from him. He doesn't want to lose her to this, for he's never been able to actually connect with someone genuinely before, but he won't let her sabotage his reputation... He also gets rather paranoid about her snitching to the authorities, driving him to hunt her down.

I like to think that he also didn't expect to be attracted to her because of how important looks are to him (with her being a plus-sized girl). We all know how him and his posse feel about women in general, but we can tell Patrick has a type (skinny woman, blonde hair, all that jazz). So this would have definitely blown him out the water. He definitely keeps their relationship a secret too, afraid of what his colleagues might say.

He likes her art skills and he definitely goes to her for assistance on improving his business card to be better than everyone else's. They both share an appreciation for artistic/musical forms. Patrick likes how she listens to him ramble on music and even engages, proving to be an active listener.

Angela's also besties with Jean (cause I said so) and I feel like she'd run to her first to warn her about Patrick when his secret is unveiled.

(This is them LMFAOOOO)

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l0kis-mvse · 11 months ago

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Just a few drawings of mine lol

My OC (Fēn Luxor) for Baldur’s Gate three, inspired by my actual Tav. Except my OC is like half moth, so obviously way cooler 😎

(I couldn’t remember Wyll’s hair off by heart 😭)

And also some art of Patrick Bateman and my OC Jun (totally not ship art)

#drawing #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur’s gate astarion #oc art #oc x character #american psycho #patrick bateman #fanart?

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makeyoumine69 · 3 months ago

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My Lovely Detective VII

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC

CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss

CONTAINS: NSFW, master/pet dynamics, dirty talk, implied BDSM, pet names, brat taming, humiliation and maybe something else :D

WORDS: 2.2k

A/N: Hello everyone! Please forgive us for the long wait, we have been quite busy lately. Enjoy the new chapter!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

In My Twisted Era

Buying clothes for Andrea had become one of the few and all the more unexpected pleasures in Patrick Bateman's life. With Evelyn it had been absolutely horrible (she had her very own taste), and not even Courtney would have agreed to wear such skimpy, if not downright whorish clothes. But Andrea couldn't really refuse, she just had to show whatever sexy little excuse of an outfit Patrick was currently in love with. And for tonight's special occasion, there was no other woman he would rather have on a leash.

"I told you, this is no ordinary party. This is the dress code, and you will not bring your prudish sense of style into it."

The woman was wearing a very expensive set of lingerie, which he had deliberately made a little too tight to make her tits look even fuller, showing off every curve in a way that would surely make any other man jealous. The heels were also painfully impractical, probably the highest shoes Andrea had ever owned, and against her will it made her cling even tighter to Patrick's arm, needing stability.

All he had to do was tug on the sturdy little leash attached to her choker and Andrea would stumble right into his arms or fall to her knees—another idea that drove Bateman a little crazy, so he tried not to think about it right now. Patrick himself, of course, was dressed very differently, showing off his finest tuxedo, but pretending that there was nothing humiliating about Andrea being almost naked under her new big fur coat—that coat she was now forced to take off in the checkroom.

"It's very warm inside. Real candlelight," one of the ladies in charge explained emphatically to Andrea and then winked playfully at Patrick. Andrea, who in her blushing anger only looked delightfully innocent to these professionals, who had never experienced the perversions of an elite motto party like this. "One more thing—we have to check for any weapons."

That was ridiculous, of course—where would Andrea hide a weapon? Under her elegant Colombina mask? No, this was one of the few rules tonight to ensure everyone's privacy. But everything else was a part of the game, like the female cloakroom attendant groping Andrea. She squeezed her tits a little and pulled her lace thong down, as if to check if she had a gun shoved up her pussy.

"Hush darling, let it happen," Bateman whispered in her ear, just loud enough for the other woman to buy their supposed relationship and notice the shiver running through Andrea's body as a pleasant side effect.

Annoyed, Andrea tried not to scoff and spat in the attendant's face as her hands resumed their shameless exploration of her body. "One more move and I'll break your fucking fingers," she hissed as the woman bent down to her neck, her lips almost touching the detective's throat. "Understand?"

Unaware of Andrea's words, Patrick leered as he enjoyed the scene unfolding before him. Oh, how often had he imagined himself having fun with Andrea and another woman. Tonight all his fantasies could come true, he would do anything for it.

The attendant suddenly backed away, almost bumping into Bateman, but he managed to step away at the last moment. Scowling, Andrea adjusted her lingerie, looking aggressive and very angry. 'If only I could rip these clothes off,' the woman thought, looking around to assess the situation. There were a lot of people, a lot of rich, depraved people who were definitely sick and immoral. Patrick's cheeky chuckle caught Andrea's attention again—the woman who had shamelessly groped her a moment ago was now busy inspecting Bateman, and judging by his reaction, the man was enjoying the process.

"Have a nice evening, Mister." The woman murmured before pecking Patrick's cheek and slipping something into his jacket pocket.

Frowning in disgust, Andrea wanted to use this as a chance to escape, but as she turned to see the exit, another couple walked in. A black haired man was holding a blonde girl on a leash who was crawling on all fours like a dog. This was already too much for Detective Moore, more than too much.

When Patrick had finished with the bitchy cloakroom lady, he grabbed Andrea's wrist and forced her to follow him further into the house. "I... I don't feel well," the brown-haired woman said as they moved through the noisy crowd of people, most of them already naked but still wearing their masks. "Can... Can I use the bathroom?"

'This party is the chance I've been waiting for,' the idea came to her faster than she could move, as she slipped through the groups of rich yuppies and their pocket whores. 'I should escape. Otherwise I won't make it tomorrow.'

"We've barely arrived," Patrick muttered, slightly annoyed, before he seemed to think of something—his mood changed again. "But I guess my poor girl was so nervous, she couldn't help it." He was playing that role again, the caring and generous lover—only the arrogance of his smile betrayed his true nature. "We'll look for a bathroom on the way."

One hand firmly on the leash, the other boldly wrapped around her waist, Andrea couldn't help but follow him deeper into what seemed to be a temple of hedonistic desire. The high, dark walls and even the ceiling were adorned with various framed nude paintings that would have been tasteful under any other circumstances, but here, in this place, they only added to the sinister atmosphere—along with those suspicious noises of unknown origin echoing through the hallways, a seemingly endless number of them branching off to the left and right of the main corridor.

Bizarre shadows dancing on the walls and the beguiling scent of musk and sandalwood followed Patrick and Andrea, as well as dozens of other couples. Some women balanced on their stilettos like Andrea, others crawled on the floor, it was hard not to step on their fingers.

And finally, a glamorous ballroom awaited them, with chandeliers hanging down, the lights dimmed naturally, and sensual jazz sounds played by a live band. There were several champagne towers and a buffet table so large it could have fed the entire homeless population of New York, yet girls in short maid dresses carried trays of drinks and snacks through the flow of muted conversation.

There seemed to be too much of everything, but "it's just the entrance hall," Patrick assured Andrea, smiling at the couple next to him, exchanging brief nods with the other man and thus showing respect for each other.

"First time here?"

"It is, for her."

Patrick squeezed Andrea's shoulder, but his gaze remained on the young woman lounging on the floor, caressing her male companion's leg and looking up at him with large, dilated pupils.

"You like her?" The broad grin that appeared beneath the stranger's mask suggested that he was not annoyed by the attention his girl was receiving—quite the opposite.

"Well, I can't lie ... she seems very well-behaved."

'And she's very blonde and busty, too. Although Andrea's tits look even better.'

"Yeah, you're a good little kitty, aren't you, Jessica?"

Patrick watched the woman, apparently Jessica, in utter fascination as she rubbed her cheek on this guy's shoes and told him, "Yes, Master."

It was a very strange mixture of affection and obedience—basically the opposite of Andrea.

"I assume you didn't come for the food. Although..." They cast an odd glance at another group of men lined up around a girl smeared with cream.

"Not exactly. Andrea's not quite there yet."

As they left this hall of the gluttonous, Jessica simply followed, but when it came to Andrea, Patrick had to pull hard on her leash first. Any protest died in her throat as Andrea had to gasp for air instead.

"A brat, huh? Charming little hot blood..."

"I don't share her with men." Patrick wasn't even sure how those words had come out so quickly and clearly - Evelyn having an affair had never bothered him.

'And it's not like I care about Andrea ethier!'

But the thought of this stranger (who was about as tall as he was and looked very fit to boot) fucking Andrea made him feel sick.

"Oh, not me. But my little Jessica likes to play with girls. So maybe..."

And of course that sounded much more appealing to Patrick.

Andrea swallowed hard, a shiver running down her spine at the thought of being involved with another woman. There was no way Bateman was considering it, but when he approached the bitch named Jessica and leaned down to stroke her cheek, something inside the detective tightened like a spring.

"Now, now," Patrick crooned as Jessica tried to kiss his hand. "You're a playful one, aren't you?"

The owner just chuckled, completely unbothered by the fact that another man was touching his girl, and it made Andrea almost vomit, but instead of making a scene, she decided to play along and get Bateman's attention back.

Quickly, the brunette stepped back so that the leash in Patrick's hand tightened, forcing him to look back at his pet. "Hey," Bateman barked in a threatening tone, pulling on the leash to bring Andrea closer until she was level with him. "Behave yourself," he pointed an index finger at her, knitting his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "Otherwise you'll..."

Patrick froze, the words stuck in his throat like a lump as Andrea wrapped her plump lips around his finger and sucked on it with pure devotion. Another couple seemed hypnotized by the scene as the lewd aura of Bateman and his lovely detective consumed them like a fog.

"And I thought you wanted to play with me first," Andrea purred after releasing Patrick's finger. "We don't need anyone else."

"Is that so?" Bateman murmured back, his pupils dilating by the second as he watched Andrea nestle against his large palm. "Or are you just jealous?"

Patrick nuzzled the detective's neck and cupped her ass possessively, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. Andrea even forgot the couple next to them, the place they were now, she forgot everything. Just one bite was enough to bring down her defenses. That man, dear God, that man was a devil in the flesh. Disappointed and absolutely jealous, Jessica reached out to touch Bateman again, but her master wouldn't let her, tugging at the leash and forcing her to stay still. Andrea couldn't hide her pleasure at seeing this poor little bitch suffer, even though she felt terrible about having to act so damn lewd. 'I must have completely lost my mind.'

Satisfied and sated, Patrick pulled away from Andrea to turn and wink at Jessica, making sure the detective didn't see it. "It was a pleasure to meet you," Bateman nodded to the stranger and his submissive. "Have a good evening."

With that, Bateman tightened his grip on the leash and made Andrea follow him. It felt like the party was getting even more crowded, female moans, male groans and seductive giggles blending into a wicked cacophony of sounds; Andrea's head was spinning from the strong scent of the aroma candles.

"Where are we going?" Andrea asked suddenly as they turned another corner and walked down the dimly lit hallway. "Patrick?"

The man didn't answer, speeding up as if they were being chased. But by whom?

The woman could feel her heart pounding so painfully against her chest that it was hard to breathe, but when they reached their destination, Andrea felt weak in her knees. With a smug grin on his handsome face, Bateman opened the door, and the first thing Andrea saw were several large chains attached to the ceiling, holding what looked like a leather seat. Speechless, the woman took an uncertain step before Patrick placed his hand on the small of her back, urging her to get in. Once inside, a soft click of the door echoed through the small room with dark walls and intimate lighting.

God, what was this place?

"Is it... some kind of torture chamber?" Andrea asked, looking around in complete shock. "Why... Why are we here?"

It took Patrick only a little effort to push Andrea's body into the leather seat, the woman still too stunned by her new surroundings and his quick movements.

"You know, you could have told me earlier. That you want me all alone..." He leaned down, his left and right hands grasping at the attached chains, trapping Andrea close to him.

There seemed to be no escape from those eyes—hypnotic and so hungry, a dangerous desire radiating from each of his smooth movements. If just the look could kill. If eyes could devour...

Andrea couldn't help but shiver.

"You're sweating, dear." His thumb began to stroke her forehead, caressing her cheek in a light gesture that would seem so uncharacteristically tender if she didn't know him better. Beneath the surface of this controlled seduction, he is the same beast as always. "That feeling... you know the one. The one that makes your heart race and your fingers tremble, just like this." His hand now ran down her naked arm, rubbing circles of false comfort over her goosebumps.

Down to Andrea's wrist, that vulnerable spot where the veins shimmered purple through her skin and her artery pulsed rapidly under the dull pressure of his thumb. She was alive, and that made him feel alive in a way that no words could express.

"Is it fear or...? Are you so excited for me?"

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and my amazing co-writer @iron-flavored-lipgloss and turn on notifications to know when we update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #oc x canon #patrick bateman x oc

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somnolenthour · 6 months ago

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ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕪𝕤𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕤 ℕ𝕊𝔽𝕎

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x Oc (Belladonna Lewa)

Part 2 to [Unlikely Encounter]

Contains: Bloodplay, choking, biting, implied animal death, religious language, virginity loss, roughplay, obsession.

Growing up with a silver spoon had many privileges, several in fact, but one thing that was more difficult to obtain with wealth was privacy. Patrick realized that rather quickly between hasty kisses and touches throughout the halls of the Lewa estate. Every shadow had eyes, bathrooms weren’t completely safe, and then with the heir to it all whispering for him to follow her.. He had to admit that the excitement of it all was almost disorienting and the walls that were adorned with fine art and even more of Bella’s trophies made them all stretch on higher like he was in an endless forest with her as a guide. A nymph pulled him into the unknown, but he willingly let her guide him, letting her voice echo through the darkness in hopes that he’d be spirited away. But that was just an elaborate way of saying he was going to fuck her.

She closed and locked a door behind him, a triumphant smile spreading across her lips. The warm lighting of the room was almost comforting had it not been for the obvious fact that this was a study. “His office?” He questioned softly, not sure if they were exactly in the clear. Belladonna didn’t exactly care by the look in her eyes, pulling him further into the office with a few kisses and a hand through his hair.

“Nobody goes here.” She hopped on the empty desk with a matter of fact tone that made him look at her, regardless he boxed her in with his arms. He wanted to see how afraid he could make her. A satisfied expression was nice, but he wanted to see how she’d look in tears and begging him for mercy, whether it be from pleasure or pain. He had the option to give either, but if he wanted to keep her, study her like the interesting specimen that she was. He’d have to keep the bruising light.

“Nobody?” He scoffed dryly, finding her lips again to fill the gaps in their broken conversation. It felt as though while they spoke, their bodies had a different conversation parallel to their own. Her body slotted to his perfectly as her legs wrapped around his waist, both pulled to the hardwood desk that offered them support. Her legs were like a vice, her hips finding his own as she grinded herself against his hardening cock. A breath caught in his throat for a moment, pleased by the sensation. He sunk his teeth into her lip, needing to draw blood. Just something, anything to tell him that this was all real and that the heart hammering against his own was existent.

The commotion of the party seemed so distant as seconds seemed to feel like hours between them, and pieces of clothing were discarded, but they knew better not to completely strip. In their own garden of eden, but the possibility of a pair of watchful eyes loomed over the two. A haunting feeling that he elected to ignore. When he pulled away to admire his work, Belladonna smiled up at him with a bloodied lip and hazy eyes that focused only on him. He’d seen that crazed expression when she looked at her “art”, she saw him the same way he saw her. A small chuckle rumbled in his chest, kneeling before her, the soft light seeming to give her a dreamlike glow as he kissed her thigh. The softness of her skin was so tempting. But he could wait, just a bit longer. He hummed in delight when he finally tasted her, burying his nails in her exposed skin so he could devour her.

Her moans like music, he couldn’t help but lift her up just a bit so he could get a better view of her contorted in pleasure, her hair framed her face. Her lips swollen and shiny with blood fell open as his name fell from her lips “Patrick! Oh my god…” It felt like a prayer, and he yearned for her to worship him as if he were a god. She’d be his disciple.. He moaned against her clit, savoring the taste of her juices like the forbidden fruit that she was. Patrick unzipped his pants, freeing himself from his constraints as he started to jerk himself off for relief. Soft moans and hushed pants echoed around the room, her thighs squeezing his head, her fingers tangled in his hair. He could stay in this moment forever.

“Pat just fuck me already…” She spoke through gritted teeth and he bit into the tender flesh of her thigh to punish her, a whimper of pain made his cock even harder.

“So impatient.” He chuckled, standing so he could tower over her again. Again, all she saw was him. Draped eyes, uneven breaths that came out in small puffs, her hair in a state of disarray. The urge to steal her away was an ever-present feeling every time he saw her eyes, heard her voice, and felt her hands that have taken life like he so wishes to do. It was all-encompassing and natural, their movements like a dance. He kissed her again, wanting to memorize the taste of her lips and find words to describe them in the poetry he wished to write for her, how he wished she was in her purest form; Bare and bloodied, a shewolf ready to pounce at him, unaware that they were so alike. He wanted her sweaty and contorted, frozen in time like a piece of art.

He lined up between her folds and sank inside of her.

Finally…

They were one.

Belladonna’s eyes prickled with tears as pain painted her expression and wondering what he had done to cause such agony (not that he cared), he looked down between them as crimson mixed with her juices in a tye-dye fashion, a sadistic grin spread across his lips as the realization dawned on him. Belladonna bit her lip to prevent another pained cry as he slammed into her again. The stretch to accommodate him made the bravery drain from her face. It was everything he could’ve wanted. He was Belladonna Lewa’s first and one day, he promised himself that she would be her very last. He wrapped his fingers around her throat as he started to form a pace without her, leading the dance as he took her breath away. “You should’ve told me you were a virgin,” He teased, groaning under his breath. Her pussy seemed to suck him in. “Fuck.. Bella…”

“Why…Why should I have?” She spoke breathlessly, her nails digging into the skin of his back, clawing down to inflict pain and equal the playing field. Patrick hissed, grinding his hips into her.

Frankly, he couldn’t think of a coherent answer. The act of claiming her? No.. Maybe… He tightened his grip on her throat, fucking her harder and drinking in her cries and moans. He pressed his forehead to hers and tried to level himself until he felt something cold against his hot skin, a prickling sensation that made him pause and sit up a bit to feel the area.

His own blood coated his fingers, gaze falling down to earth when he noticed the silver letter opener in Bella’s hands, her smile returning as she pulled him back down. Her tongue against his wounded skin made a shudder rack up his body. “There’s other ways to take someone’s breath away.” She purred in his ear, her own hips still moving.

His only reply was to grab her hips and fuck her harder, faster, deeper… Pulled hair and bit lips met in a kiss, they were mixing, a single organism in that moment. It wasn’t love but a word too intimate for either to place. The letter opener and a few pens fell off the desk as they made love to each other.

A mewl of ecstasy in his ear made his core twist, “I’m gonna-” Her shrill breathing melted into desperate keening, and Patrick followed her with a moan. They were so close, he’d fill her and care about the consequences later. But he needed to breed her, make her his. Claim in the best way that he could.

He swore, the welts on his skin throbbing with the beat of his heart. Bella’s legs locked him into place, her brows furrowing to endure the sensations that crashed into her in waves.

Patrick came with a moan, the copper taste in his mouth helping his high as he crashed with her. His climax dripped down her thigh and onto the table in a mixture of red and white. They melted into each other, tied together by their arms. In silence, they listened to each other breathe.

He wished he was more lucid when Belladonna pulled him into her father’s bathroom, wanting moments to memorize everything the man used on a daily basis but he instead only saw the unlabeled sapphire blue soap dispenser and a first aid kit as the two tidied back up. Belladonna covered her bloodied lip with lipstick before putting a bandaid on the cut on his neck. “You’ll find your way back to the party first.” She spoke softly, fixing his tie. Patrick hummed, watching her fingers.

“Not the other way around?” He looked at her with a tired expression. She scoffed and shook her head at the idea.

“Too suspicious, my parents know I hate crowds.”

“That explains a few things.”

“You were in my hiding spot.” She gave him a small peck on the lips and patted his chest. “Now go.”

Patrick just nodded and left her side.

#american psycho #patrick bateman #belladonna lewa #oc x canon #american psycho oc #as patrick bateman #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x reader #slashers x reader #slashers x oc #nsft #smut

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