pat fanfic part 2 ig
hey!!!! I'm back, and I hope you're excited for the second and final part!!1
for the first part, click here
this part is more realistic towards the book, as I find the book version of Bateman much more 3d and more fun to write (not to sound like a psychopath)
CONTENT WARNING (there's more than before):
sex, drug use, MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE SUCH AS: BITING, BEING KILLED WITH AN ICE PICK N SHIT
----------------------------
A NEED
"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?"
Fuck. Now what do I say?
I swallowed thickly, trying to quickly think of something, my eyes darting from my legs and back to the handsome man in front of me.
I shouldn't be thinking these things. I only know him from work. Barely.
--
PATRICK'S POV:
She stared at me, her eyes moving from her thighs and back to me, she looked concerned, as if she was going insane and wanted me to, what, verify it? I sat there, tapping my foot quietly, waiting for a response. Finally, a meek voice spoke and I assumed it to be her. I wasn't too focused on her or her voice, since I was a bit worried about my hair. I'd used a new mousse, and although it did smell nice, it had a different feel to it, and I was worried my hair looked off.
"uhm.. I was just zoning out, and thinking of something-"
What the hell kind of excuse is that? She seemed desperate. But, all in all, I was used to it. She was cute enough to want to bang her, so I'd stick around for a bit.
I nodded and adjusted the napkin on my lap, though it barely did anything to prevent spills on my 995 dollar Ralph Lauren polo wool twill suit. I pulled out a cigar and a lighter so I could smoke away the stress over my hair.
"Are we allowed to smoke in here, sir?"
Christ. Could she lay off the fucking formalities? We're at Dorsia. A place that hung up on me multiple times beforehand. Who fucking cares?
I sigh and take the cigar between my sharpened teeth, as I'd been doing a significant amount of biting to Tori and a little bit of Tiffany. I clear my throat and, with the cigar still in my mouth, speak to her unwillingly.
"Did you know that I'm wearing 60 dollar boxer shorts?"
Silence. Arctic, frigid silence. For once, I can't bear it.
--
We were at Paul Allen's apartment, since I wasn't finished with it. There weren't any cameras in his place, which I found boring, so in order to understand Y/N, I set my Nikon 28Ti up on a stand to record her death. She was tipsy, drunk, but not enough to have slurred speech. I was sober as hell. I think. I went to the restroom and scored a gram (cocaine) and had a few J&B On the Rocks. Otherwise, I was fine.
These next few moments were quick, since I was too focused on blood. Not just your measly amount coming from a cut, but rather gallons of blood. Like geysers of the stuff. Gushing out.
I find myself stumbling over words, pouring out my mouth before I can even think.
"Listen, I don't care if you've led a.. Good life, or not-"
Then, sex happens. An awesome and enraging montage at that.
I found out that she was on birth control, so that made me even more aroused, since I didn't need to use a condom and I wouldn't have to deal with someone like Courtney for the time being.
As she removed her clothes, I did too. She really just did whatever I told her. This position, that pose, et cetera.
As I fucked her raw and rough, she moaned, at a nice volume too. Though when she reached her orgasm, she screamed out, clawed, and scratched at my trapezius and latissimus dorsi (not literally under my skin, but you get the gist); as I'd ordered her to be very vocal when cumming.
I pulled out, hearing her weak whine following along. I spread her legs, gripping her thighs tightly, enough to leave a bruise and such. I leaned down until I was sure she could feel the warm sensation coming from my breath. I then, quite roughly, though not too roughly, bit on her inner thigh. She squealed and squirmed, though I looked up to her, some blood on my teeth from the bite.
Soothingly, I whisper in her ear after moving to her head for a moment:
"It's alright, relax. Shhh."
She relaxed a little. I then began to delve into her wet cunt, lapping at it as if I hadn't eaten for days on end and gripping her thighs still. I felt her squirm under my grasp and she began squealing again. By accident, I was confused, forgetting that she could cum. I thought for a moment that I was biting her, which I wasn't.
Then, without thinking, I moved her so her thighs would be on either side of my head, and still gripping them, I pulled her down and continued lapping at her clitoris and vagina until she came.
Then, after letting her pant for a bit, I moved her so she was on her knees on the bed and I was almost standing, my dick in my hand. I opened her mouth with my index and middle finger and spat in her mouth. Then, I slipped my dick in between her lips and began to move my hips back and forth, my hand in her hair and holding her head in place.
I let out a small groan and continued to do the same until I came, panting quietly.
--
Y/N'S POV:
As he pulled his dick out of my mouth, a tear was rolling down my cheek, as I had a bit of a gag reflex. He stood up and got off of the bed, confusing me. He came back with an ice pick in his hands.
What the hell?
--gruesome part, reader discretion is adviced--
PATRICK'S POV (it's easier in this case)
I gripped the ice pick in my hands, and walking towards her, thinking of what words to carve. I didn't feel like torturing her, not today.
She seemed confused and nervous, so I got on the bed again and cupped her face with my free hand, shushing her and whispering in her ear the words: "it's okay, I'll let you go."
I cringed as she looked up to me hopefully. I got up off of the bed and turned off the light.
--
Y/N'S POV:
He turned off the lights. Was he going to fuck me with the ice pick?
I sat there, my body rigid with fear.
Then, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach.
Then my chest,
Then my forehead.
And although the lights were turned off, I could see his smile, tight and almost fake. As if he was trying to smile.
And everything went black. I could no longer see his wicked smile.
BONUS:
--
PATRICK'S POV:
As I turned the lights back on, I tried to pick up her body, though it was a bit difficult, owing to the body going into early rigor mortise. I slid her into a Polo Ralph Lauren Travel Duffel Bag, zipping the top and heading out the door to go to Hell's Kitchen to dissolve the body.
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