MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
WARNINGS: themes similar to the movie | allusions to violence and murder | sexual content | sexism | fiancée!reader | dumbification | degradation | rough sex | anal play references | anal fisting reference | drug references | allusions to asphyxiation.
“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.
Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.
You're engaged to him.
In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.
Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."
Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.
Concept: Patrick Bateman with a lover that’s debatable worse than he is depending how you look at it,,, #needthat
Warnings: Murder, drug usage (mentioned), dehumanization of prostitutes, intentionally vague series of events, mutual toxicity, manipulation.
Author’s Note: didn’t proofread this,, sorry,, also alot of this is up to interpretation, especially deciding that actually happened that night.
!! Person in the border isn’t the reader!! Just the vibe the reader has.
“Pat, baby,” someone had repeated— maybe for the fifth time. He wasn’t listening. Because just now, blood splashed onto his expensive Rolex watch. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t much, nor did it matter that he could—hypothetically— wipe it away with even the cheapest napkin.
It was about the control. This worn-out whore, from what he could recall, had not only kicked and squealed like a farm pig; but had the gall to die in such a filthy way that he had to go out of his way to undo her mistakes. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake, really. He didn’t need another woman tonight. He really, really didn’t. But God, was he bored. He was bored, the cocaine was fresh, and every women looked like Marilyn Monroe if he squinted hard enough. It wasn’t worth it. Now he’s dirty, he’s dirty and his Rolex is worthless and nothing is going how it should tonight.
“Patrick.” The voice repeated, quietly stern.
His eyes flick upwards, now processing both your eyes stabbing into his and your hand caressing his left cheek. You’re both on the ground— when did you move the body?— and you’re both soaked in crimson. When did you get here? He never told you he was here, did he? Swallowing, he shakily nodded his head to show you, show himself, that he was here. Something as meaningless as some prostitute wasn’t going to throw him off.
Words escaped him before he could explain himself. He could try, but he’d sound like some blubbering idiot infront of you. This day— one of the worst days of his life— didn’t need that. Not from you. So, to make up for his silence, he nodded his head again.
“Feel better baby?” You cooed, your touch as you wipe evidence off of him so warm it’s almost scorching. “Oh, you don’t even remember, do you?”
Squinting his eyes, he almost scoffs in amusement. Don’t remember? What do you take him for? Some senile loser ridden with Dementia, pumped full of meds to keep his head on straight?
“Of course I remember,” he spat, trying to ignore how shaky his voice sounded. He needed to get. it. together. “I didn’t invite you here— why are you here?”
Where was he? Looking around, he’s met with unfamiliar colored walls— nothing like the prestige he’s used to. The wallpaper was a mahogany brown, rather than his crisp white. Furniture was a completely different brand— nothing to mention the lights above were utterly asymmetrical. This couldn’t be home. Why would he invite a whore to a house that isn’t even his?
“We’re in my apartment, Pat.” You finished for him, slowly standing and leaving him on his knees. Your hands, having been clothed in gloves— why didn’t he think of that— flex before going still as you headed toward the kitchen. Your kitchen. “She spiked your drink. Drugged you. You showed up here with her corpse.”
..What?
“Honestly I was shocked that no one had seen you on your way. You’re incredible, baby.”
Ignoring the rising heat in his cheeks, he shot up— knocking that lackluster glass of water you thought to bring him onto the ground. He didn’t tense as it shattered, and neither did you. The confrontation morphed into a silent war. Both of you kept your eyes on one another, his a glare— yours a reflection. You break it first, holding back an eyeroll as you crossed your arms.
Patrick took that as a sign to begin. “You have no idea what you’re talking about! You think you can sit there and pamper me like some child? I—I can kill you!”
His words were broken by a laugh, hands making a vague choking gesture as he paced. For someone who had just come back to reality, his eccentric behavior knew no bounds.
“I’ve thought about it.” The man cut in, even in his own rant, his pointer finger glaring at you. “Everytime you’d open that damn mouth of yours, I’d scope out the closest pencil and hold back on dragging your tongue out with its led. But I haven’t.”
A smile cracks onto his lips, lopsided and— from anyone else’s perspective but his own— utterly pathetic. But even the most pathetic of predators still hunt, and he slowly inched toward you; only stopping when both of you were pressed back against your mahogany brown wall.
“But just because I haven’t yet,” he began, voice lowering enough octaves to lure you into some false sense of security, “doesn’t mean I won’t cut my losses if you open that mouth up again to anyone else.”
In response, he feels your eyes trail up his body. From his blood-soaked hands to the anxious bobbing of his Adams Apple, all the way to the shake in his pupils. You weren’t scared, but you weren’t too pleased, either. You hated it when he got like this. All loud and desperate for someone, anyone, to tell him that it made him strong. Amusing, for awhile. Annoying, after a couple of weeks.
You could fix that, though.
“And do what?” You whispered in return, following his gaze with your head as he backed away step-by-step. “Go back to that job of yours like normal? Have your good friends pick and prod at you every step of the way? When’s the last time any of them have given you a sparing glance, huh?”
He tenses. “How could you know about my relationships? I’ve never told you about them.”
Just as quick, almost rehearsed, you counter. “I didn’t need you to. They treat you like a mutt, they parade you around laugh when you do those stupid tricks of yours.”
Hand met hair as he brushed back the hair that sweat seemed to have glued to his skin. Something built in his throat. Shame? All to familiar, that agonizing sensation as he realized that you might be right. His mind was splitting in two, especially since now he couldn’t even confidently say he could recall what happened tonight. As you kept talking, his mind went over it. Again and again.
“They’ll tell you that you’re hilarious, and mock your attempts at humor,”
He went out with some friends. A party.
“They’ll tell you that your fashion sense is to die for, then they’d turn and ridicule the brand,”
Paul Allen brought cocaine. He snorted the cocaine. Everything felt wrong.
“They’ll tell you, over and over again, that you’re the best. That you deserve that promotion, that you’ve earned it,”
Paul Allen laced the cocaine, didn’t he? Or— or maybe he got a botched supply. But he remembers the world spinning. Not quite an overdose. Paul Allen was gone. The party blazed. Loud, overwhelming— he was alone. His friends.. Atleast that’s what he thought, had left him.
Where did the prostitute come from?
“And they’ll mock you Patrick. Like they always do. Right at Dorsia. You know that’s where they went, right? After the party?”
His head is pounding now, nothing was adding up.
“I didn’t see a prostitute tonight.” Patrick affirmed, as if trying to convince himself. “Why—why did you say that— what is happening to me?”
This wasn’t normal. He didn’t just forget things. That’s not the kind of man Patrick was. If he was one to forget, what separated him from those schizophrenic nutjobs who filled up the asylums? The rancid bums on the streets? Working the streets? Some fancy tuxedo and unappreciated business card? This couldn’t be happening.
Coming off the way, you softened. Gently, you pressed his head to your chest. “Shh, shh. It’s alright. I’m sorry, baby. You’ve been through a lot tonight.”
Despite himself, he relaxed. The racing in his mind paused as he allowed himself to let it go. Slower, and slower, until everything felt like it wasn’t going to break and shatter.
“She must’ve gotten you with something strong.. you did the right thing in killing her.”
If you were right about anything, it was that. Today has been nothing more than a catastrophe every step of the way. He needed this.
“Mm.” Patrick hummed, squeezing his eyes shut.
And as you stroked his hair, your eyes floated to the mess around you. Broken glass, blood, that thing dead on the floor, not even taking into account the surprise you have in the bathroom. It was a headache to even think about.
But he was asleep. Gentle, benevolent, and as adorable as ever. Your baby hadn’t suspected a thing. You weren’t proud of what you needed to do, but you were proud of the results. He was safe and yours— you’ve got the feeling he won’t be looking at those kinds of women for a long time because of tonight. That’s okay, though. You fixed it. Just like you knew you could.
Now all you had to do was get him to quit that job of his.
Requested by anon: Hngggg I LOVE YOUR PATRICK BATEMAN FIC. And i was wondering if I could request another one, where the reader murders the hookers Patrick had sex with out of jealously. And he finds out and finds it kinda hot and confesses to the reader that he likes them too.
Pairing: Patrick Bateman x fem!reader
Warnings: Swearing, murder, sexual references and mentions
Note: Thank you @darling-i-read-it for helping me with proof-reading and seeing if the fic was accurate! I was kinda worried, stressing over whether or not it would be good, but Maya really helped calm my nerves! Big thank you! (I really recommend her Patrick fics by the way!)
Taglist: @matth1w @redspaceace
Masterlist
Careful eyes watched, trained specifically on the woman leaving the apartment. Y/n never thought she’d find herself stalking Patrick’s home, gaze following each hooker after the other, yet here she was. A couple times, she could’ve sworn she saw a girl or two get gifted a violent and bloody end to her stay, but that seemed to be slowing to a halt now.
Was Patrick giving up his killing ways? Was the pleasure overcoming his blood-lust? Or did he have someone specific in mind for his subtle killing spree?
Each time a girl walked out, unharmed, completely casual, Y/n cursed to herself. She thought of ways she could solve the problem, rid herself of the jealousy, but also confess to Patrick before anyone else could.
There was a rather large chance he’d kill her if she did, but she didn’t care. She’d rather die by his hands than any other way, at least she’d be able to tell him the truth.
Feelings aside, she set out to do the bidding of her jealous haze. A knife positioned in her sleeve so perfectly it didn’t touch her skin but still remained invisible to the eye. “Excuse me?”
The blonde turned around, less than modestly dressed, and smirked at Y/n. “Oh hey there! Is there something wrong?” Y/n opened her mouth to speak, but the woman fueled her anger with an interruption, “Could you make it quick, by the way? I’ve got an appointment with a friend of mine, if you know what I mean.”
Y/n raised an eyebrow, confused by the girl’s words.
“Nevermind. Just- get to your point?” Her friendly exterior seemed to vanish at the greeting of Y/n’s obliviousness to her inappropriate reference. Another thing that bothered Y/n. Why couldn’t Patrick pick nicer chicks?
“You and Bateman?”
“Who?” She paused, thinking, before the realization visibly hit her like a dead weight. “Ooooh, Patrick Bateman. Yeah, he’s got a nice bod. Better dick too.”
“How do you know him?”
“I’m a hooker, sweetie. My reference should’ve given it away, if not a tiny bit. I went to Patrick’s place, we hooked up, I left. That’s how it goes... Ya know, maybe he’d let me stay though. I would die for a dick as magical as his.”
“Is that so? Tsk tsk, be careful what you wish for, sweetie.” Venom dripped from the word as she whispered it, mocking the nickname the blonde had dubbed her.
“What?”
Y/n pulled the woman closer to her by her hair, she turned her around and swung her arm around her neck, nudging her arm just enough to get to the knife to slip out. “Enjoy your wish, sweetie.” Blood gushed from the woman’s neck as Y/n’s knife moved in one quick motion across it.
A soft grunt escaped Y/n’s mouth as she felt the warm blood spray on her arm, some of it getting on her face as the body slipped from her grasp. She felt nothing. No regret, no guilt, no sadness. She just murdered someone, and she enjoyed it.
. . .
“Good morning Y/n. How was your night?” One of the employees greeted her, however she was too distracted to notice. Patrick turned his head, confused by the new quietness of his coworker. Normally, he could care less, but, believe it or not, her greetings made his mornings. Most of the time. He elbowed her lightly.
“Oh! It was alright I suppose. Thank you for asking.” She hummed. A sick grin was resting on her face, hidden as she leaned her head down.
Patrick slowly noticed her off behavior throughout the day, but, like mentioned, he didn’t really care. So he brushed it off and packed up. He grabbed his brief case and went home.
There was a girl supposed to arrive in a couple hours, one he’d seen before, this time he was going to give her the ending everyone who slept with Patrick Bateman got.
However.
She didn’t show up.
It was happening often. Or rather, it happened whenever he let a girl go with all her limbs and her heart still beating. They stopped returning.
Bateman walked out of his apartment, looking around for the missing girl. He was just about to head back inside before he heard a muffled scream. Patrick followed the noise, which lead him to quite a sight.
Y/n held her hand over a girl’s mouth, the same girl that was supposed to “visit” Patrick tonight. She was whispering into her ear, holding a knife to her neck with a twisted smile. He waited patiently, watching with amusement and deep curiosity. The same girl he worked with, kind caring and smart, was now preparing to drag a knife across another woman’s throat.
To be honest he didn’t have any hatred towards her or any reasoning to kill her, she was the one person in the office that he could stand. It was entertaining, seeing the most innocent person he knew commit such a violent crime.
“You see, I’m doing a good deed. For you, and me, hun.” She slid the knife against the flesh of the other woman’s throat, watching the blood leave her body, her grin growing wider.
The body dropped to the ground and Y/n shrugged. She picked up the woman, dragging her to the staircase and letting the lifeless body tumble down the stairs, then following after and most likely finding a place to dispose of said body.
Patrick found himself smirking with the side of his mouth, shocked and slightly satisfied. He caught himself, though, and regained his composure, walking back to his apartment and planning what he could do to confront Y/n.
He needed to have a perfect plan. No scaring her off and no accidentally triggering her into killing him.
He laughed at himself.
There was no way she’d be able to kill him. He was bigger than her, faster than her, stronger than her, and obviously had more practice than her.
The blood was still on the carpet, so there was definitely going to be someone getting questioned in the morning. He thought for a moment. Mayhaps, he’d clean up for her this one time, can’t have anyone getting suspicious, could he?
. . .
"Good morning, Y/n.” It wasn’t the first time he’d greeted her, but it was the first that he used her first name. She mumbled a greeting back, but her head shot up when she processed his sentence fully.
“Did I hear you correctly?”
This was a first for him too, the first time he was annoyed by Y/n. Just a bit though. “That question can have many answers, Y/n. It would depend on what you believe I said.”
“I- you did it again!”
“Did what?”
“Used my first name!” she jumped up from her chair.
“Well it is your name, is it not?”
Y/n paused in front of him, “And yours is Patrick. What’re you getting at, Mr. Bateman?” She raised a curious eyebrow.
“I don’t know, Miss L/n, why don’t you tell me? I’m sure the blood near my apartment is a great conversation topic.” He quipped in a whisper. Patrick’s eyes watched Y/n’s face with hidden delight. Her eyes were the size of saucers, but only for a quick second.
“You should go to the authorities, Bateman, would hate to find out some weird murderer is out and about.”
“Yeah, would be a shame if some beautiful murderess caught up to me and put me six feet under, don’t you agree?”
They held eye contact, strong tension filling the air. Finally, they snapped. “Alright Bateman, what did you see?”
“Everything. Poor girl didn’t even get the chance to run before you watched the life drain from her eyes. You made quite a mess,” He walked around her, “luckily, I was there to pick it up for you. Don’t let it happen again.”
“Wait- what? You aren’t gonna kill me, make sure I can’t interfere with your work?”
“No, actually. It’s the opposite, in fact. I’m gonna give you a chance. I already admire you, you’re attractive, you’re not annoying, and now I know you have the killing touch to your life. You’re welcome to join in, as long as you don’t get in the way. Got it?”
She laughed, mostly convinced it was a joke. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Oh dear god, you’re serious.”
“That I am. Now, I hope you’ll take me up on my offer, Y/n.” He walked to the door, stopping before he opened it, “Ah, one last thing.”
“And that is?”
“I’m aware that it’s none of my business, and I wouldn’t like it if you asked such a question of me, but... May I ask what drove you to kill the girls?”
Y/n let the mischievous smirk return to her lips. At work, it was a dangerous thing to show, but this was for Patrick’s eyes and Patrick’s eyes only. “Jealousy, baby.”
Note: This is not really a song fic, but there are lyrics sooo. As always, lyrics are bold + italic. Crossed out ones mean that they aren’t supposed to be there but they are a lyric. Some lyrics are changed, so they aren’t included.
Taglist:
Masterlist | Slasher Masterlist
Patrick already planned on killing the innocent looking female he was currently seeing. When was he not planning on killing any girls he hooked up with? She wasn’t getting on his nerves, it was just a thing he did! She managed to survive a bit longer than the rest. Not really hooking up at the beginning, but asking to go on dates.
Now it was around the eighth date. Patrick cut it off here. He let the girl wander around his house before, he let her do whatever she wanted, but now it was finally time. He didn’t want it to go farther than eight dates. No. That would just be too much. So tonight he was going to do whatever he wanted to do with her and then kill her.
He unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and walking straight to his room. The date would be at Y/n’s place, so he needed to bring his stuff with him. After a few minutes or so, his bag was filled with his supplies and it was set on his couch. Then, he walked back into his room and changed his clothes into a more date appropriate suit. Some idiot spilled coffee on him today, so he made note to wash the other suit as soon as possible and kill the person that wronged him.
Before anything could happen, Y/n’s best friend busted into the apartment. Y/n already introduced the two. It was safe to say that they both equally hated each other. Hate aside, she was gasping for air and sweating. It both disgusted and confused Patrick.
“What are you doing in my apartment?”
“S-she c-called me today... I- I don’t know what happened but she seemed pretty shaken up, I need your help.” She rummaged around her bag and pulled out her phone.
“You really unplugged your phone and brought it all the way here?” The she nodded and plugged her phone in as fast as she could, pressing the button for her voice mail.
“You need to hear this.”
Both adults sat on the couch, listening to the eerie message from Y/n. She didn’t sound very scared or worried, it mainly felt like she was confused. “I'm sorry that I did this, The blood is on my hands. I stare at my reflection and I don't know who I am. I’m gonna Practice my confession, In case I take the stand. I'll say I learned my lesson, I'll be a better woman.”
The message ended and Y/b/f/n stood up. “There’s more.” She pressed the button again and the next message played.
“I'm packing up my things and, I'm wiping down the walls, I'm rinsing off my clothes and, I'm walking through the halls, I did it all for him, So and I felt nothing at all. I don't know what he'll say, So I'll ask him when he arrives.”
“And that’s it.” She walked back over and put the phone back in her bag. Her eyes glanced over to Patrick with confusion. “I- I don’t know what she meant. I don’t know what she did... do you have any ideas?”
The man inhaled. He thought about it for a minute or two, but nothing came to his mind. “Sadly, no. She did mention doing something for me and how she doesn’t know what I’ll say, so I’ll learn soon enough I suppose. Now if you could please leave my home?”
Y/b/f/n apologized and rushed out of his apartment. He brushed off the strange meeting and continued on his way to Y/n’s apartment. The only things that remained in his mind was 1) how annoying y/b/f/n is, 2) how he still wanted to kill Y/n and thoughts of how he would do so, but also oddly enough, 3) what- just what.did.Y/n.do?
The door swung open and he was greeted with two hands on either side of his face. It was like he didn’t have time to think due to how fast the hands pulled him down. His lips met another pair before he could do anything. Time seemed to catch up to him as he opened his eyes.
“Hi...” A shy voice came from the woman still holding his cheeks. “I’m guessing y/b/f/n showed you my voicemails... I assumed so seeing as it’s something she’d do.”
Patrick nodded and pulled away from Y/n, noticing a wet feeling on his face. “Yes...do you happen to have any towels or washcloths?”
Y/n’s eyes widened. “U-uh- yes, but you have to promise not to look at what comes off of your face until I tell you what I need to tell you. Deal?”
“I guess. Deal.” She handed him a paper towel and sat down. She tucked her hands under her legs, resting them on cloth towel that lied over the section she sat on. After he finished wiping his face, he sat down with her and cleared his throat. “Now what is it that you wish to tell me?”
“I-...” A sigh left her mouth. Y/n inhaled and exhaled, calming herself before she could continue speaking. “Be honest with me, okay?” Patrick gave another nod and waited. “I’ve noticed everything. I’ve seen your drawings. I know you plan on doing all that to me but...what I’m trying to say is that I actually like you... no, love you. And...Would you love me more, If I killed someone for you? Would you hold my hand? They're the same ones that I used, When I killed someone for you. Would you turn me in. When they say I'm on the loose? Would you hide me when, My face is on the news? 'Cause I killed someone for you.”
Patrick, for the first time in a long time, felt...somewhat happy. Why? He didn’t even know the answer to that. How? No answer to that one either. It probably had something to do with Y/n’s confession. It was a lot to take in. The woman he planned on killing already knew everything about him, somehow, and she decided to kill someone if it meant he’d love her back?
“Where’s the body?” He didn’t know why, but that was the first thing he said. No replies having to do with curiosity of how she knew, just asking where the body lied.
“Bodies actually...and in the bathroom... you can look at the towel now.”
Patrick looked down at his crumpled up towel, red stained it and seeped through onto other parts of it. Y/n lifted her hands to show more blood. He walked into the bathroom and spotted two bodies just as she had said. One of them was the person who spilled coffee on him.
“How’d you know about him?”
“Similar to how I did with your other stuff. I observed you and your house, finding bodies and drawings as well as weapons and video tapes. And later today, I accidentally bumped into him and he said it was the second time someone walked into him. I asked him what he meant after muttering that it was he who walked it into me. He said he bumped into his coworker, Patrick Bateman. And I just so happen to be seeing a Patrick Bateman, so I put it all together and figured he’d be the best for a first time...plus I did feel a strong feeling of anger and need for vengeance once he complained about slash mentioned you.”
He felt...flattered? Patrick attempted to brush of the feeling, failing, and asked about the second body. It still nagged at him. Why the female? “What about that second body? I don’t believe I know who she was.”
“Oh her? Some chick I used to be friends with who has- or well had feelings for you. I uh... I heard her talking about how much she admired you and wanted to get into your pants. Wanted to make sure she knew you were taken.”
The words left Patrick brain when he needed them most. Maybe he wouldn’t kill her. She was useful and similar to him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d keep her. Those thoughts formed actions, Patrick grabbing Y/n’s waist and kissing her deeply.
“I killed someone for you.”
“That you did, now, let’s get to your bedroom...unless you want us to stay out here?”
