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
