warnings: gore (mentioned), violent tendencies, smut, et cetera.
pairings: Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) x Reader (female genitalia)
I want to go to a bar, possibly even get a reservation at Dorsia, meet a well dressed man by the name of Patrick Bateman. He goes to sit with me, finding interest in my outfit. We eventually start a conversation, mainly about musicians like Huey Lewis & the News. He grows fond of me and takes me to his house to stay for the night. I then sit on his beautiful sofa, getting a bit more relaxed and comfortable. He pulls out a hammer, tempted to bash my skull in, but decides to spare me. Soon after, he hands me a glass of wine and himself a cup of whiskey. After a bit of getting to know each other, and hearing him talk about how aroused he gets by blood, guts, and other gore-y things and me accepting that, he soon finds that he's more than interested in me. I'm on my way to the door, but before I can manage to grip onto the door-handle, he grabs me by the hips and turns me around to face him, my back against the door.
Bateman kisses me, not passionately, but hungrily, like a starved man seeing food for the first time in who knows how long. His hands roam around my body, mainly around my sides and thighs, but nonetheless, my body. Patrick soon moves his lips to my neck, leaving intricate and precise kisses and hickey all along the column of my neck, as if he had practiced this his whole life. Every move is well performed. Every. Move.
I groan softly as I see him remove his jacket, tie, suspenders, and shirt. He looks at me expectantly. I need to remove clothing before he does something murderous, if he plans on it at least. I remove every article of clothing from above the waist. I watch as he removes his pants, leaving him in his iconic white briefs. He watches me, almost as if he's waiting. I sigh mentally and remove my trousers. He loosens up a little.
"I'm still waiting, Y/N." He says, with his blatant and monotone voice. I look him in his eyes, only to see *nothing* staring back. He looks so dead inside. I digress. I remove my undergarment and watch as he does as well. Picking me up, he drops me onto his lush and (obviously) expensive bed, towering over me. Patrick's large hands soon find my vagina, his fingers slipping in precisely. Like I've said thereof, it's almost like he's practiced this forever. After teasing me, he decides that he'll spare me the tension and slips his c0ck in quickly. Already at a fast and merciless pace, I hear his soft and barely audible grunts and groans as I groan and make lewd noises as well. The apartment room is filled with nothing but lewd noises to be frank. Not too soon after this fiasco, my body feels like a rope on its very last thread. With a shrill moan, I cum. Patrick doesn't stop. He continues for what seems like decades, it seems to be that the robotic-like man won't stop until he's reached his own orgasm. Soon, I reach my second orgasm, starting to shake gently. Finally, after what felt like a millennia, he cums, pulling out of me and laying next to me. His face completely blank.
He looks to me not too long after and utters quietly:
"Who are you?"
I look confused for a moment, but realize the weight of this quarry.
"I'm someone that'll stay with you forever. If need be."
He swallows thickly, turning his head to the ceiling. "I.. I thought I was truly going insane, but I think I figured out what was happening mentally."
"what was it?"
"I think I love you, Y/N."
A long silence fills his expensive room with a great view.
"L/N? Hello?" you snapped back to reality, only to see Patrick Bateman himself sitting in front of you at the table. We were at Dorsia. He had taken me out.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bateman- I was zoning out" you muttered, embarrassed.
"I see, is that why you were staring at me very.." he paused to think of a word to describe it. "..longingly?"
