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doormatty3 · 6 months

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Dirty Little Nun (Patrick Wilson x Reader)

Masterlist AO3

Summary:

[Patrick Wilson x Female Reader] [Patrick Wilson x You] Interviewing people is your job, you’ve done it for years now - and successfully so, if you may add. What’s not part of your job description, however, is dressing up to conduct said interviews. So when you find yourself wearing a nun costume and enough makeup on your face that no one will recognize you, you are beyond pissed. But the demonic facade may have been a blessing in disguise when you meet Patrick Wilson who keeps flirting shamelessly with you when you are supposed to be asking him questions. All your professionalism is cast aside as soon as he calls you a “dirty little nun” and when he’s leaning against the doorframe of your dressing room after you’ve wrapped up the interview you know that you'll not be leaving the studio anytime soon. OR: Patrick gets on his knees and makes you worship a different type of god.

Wordcount: 11,068

Warnings: 18+, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, masturbation, semi-public sex, breeding, desk sex, blasphemy, improper use of religious symbols, dirty thoughts

A/N: This is based on that Valak interview.

You know that this is probably a stupid idea, dressing up in a The Nun costume for the Conjuring 2 interview you were hosting.

When you said it jokingly in a meeting the production team was all for it, praising you for the good idea that would surely increase the views of the video when it was uploaded on YouTube and entertain your guests. Their support of your stupid idea had caught you completely off guard but you were stuck with it now. At least, they had the decency to buy you a proper costume and facepaint. You would have put up a fight if they had forced you to spend your own hard-earned money on that.

So now you are stuck in your dressing room, painting your face with the makeup you were given. You had put on the costume beforehand, to avoid any smudging of the makeup that would have happened when you would have eventually pulled it over your head.

Fuck , you actually wanted to conduct these interviews when you first heard of it. The guests, James Wan and Patrick Wilson are people you find interesting workwise. It would have been fun to chat with them and get some insights on the movie. Maybe secure a photo.

Guess that’s not happening now.

You sigh, blowing the air out of your lungs as you paint the depth of your eyesockets black.

“10 minutes!” The loud voice of your production manager outside of your dressing room and his knocking on the door pulls you out of your thoughts.

10 minutes until you had to be outside.

10 minutes until you had to face your coworkers and your interview guests.

10 minutes until you were going to make a fool of yourself.

You look into the mirror and staring back at you is the nun: The white face paint with the black accents around your eyes and mouth is spot on, while the yellow contact lenses make your eyes look demonic. You had actually done a good job.

I still look ridiculous… but at least they will not be able to recognize me outside, you think to yourself.

With a groan, you grab the upside-down cross necklace and the headpiece and put both on, making sure that it covers your up-done hair.

A last look in the mirror confirms that you are good to go and you make your way to the door, ready to face your first guest of today - James Wan, the movie’s director.

—---------------------------

“You’re terrifying! Dear lord”, James screams out upon first seeing you step into view in the interview booth.

The small man shies away from your hand that is stretched out in an attempt to greet him. You would be lying if you claimed that you weren't pleased with that reaction - you are absolutely delighted. He didn't laugh at you as you had feared at first but is rather genuinely caught off guard and finds it scary.

You smooth out your costume before taking a seat opposite of him. He is still eyeing you warily, taking in your form - you have made a lasting impression so far.

Well, that is a surprise. Let’s see how far we can take this.

You feel rather proud and decide then that you would definitely continue playing that role and try to scare him.

“Hello, nice to meet you”, you officially greet him while speaking with a lower voice than you normally would, the grin permanently etched on your face. You are trying to make it sound a bit demonic to play into the role you are currently portraying.

“Nice to meet you as well”, James sits back again looking skeptically at you, “I think…”

You nod, you are still making him uncomfortable and you like it. Against what you had originally believed this is fun.

“How are you doing?”

“I am okay… Madam, mister…mister madam”, he is flustered and shy, unsure of what to call you. You haven't given him a name and seeing his reaction you decide that this will stay this way. So you just laugh, making him gulp.

“I am having a hard time looking at you and giving a straight answer”, he confesses.

Well, the interview will certainly be fun if you are able to throw him off that badly. It is ironic, you think, that the guy who directs spine-chilling horror movies is such a scaredy cat.

You vow to use that to your advantage and prepare yourself to really kick off the interview now and ask proper questions. While further leaning into your role.

Your conversation is over in what feels like minutes, you are becoming more comfortable with your role as the nun and are enjoying it immensely. You were able to fluster him throughout the interview, utilizing his fear against him.

But apart from that he was a pleasant interview guest, happy to answer questions if you didn't throw him off his game while having genuine fun talking about his work. He made talking to him easy.

“Thank you very much, it was awesome”, you say to him beaming in your normal voice again as you get up. Your work here is done.

“No thank you! And take care”, James replies, more at ease now that the interview is over and you don't try to intimidate him anymore.

With a wave you leave the room, making your way down the corridor towards the bathroom.

That went unexpectedly well.

Against your initial fear and hesitation, this whole nun costume thing seems to pay off. At least it is different from what people normally encounter in interviews.

You have a good few minutes between talks and you want to check on your costume to see if everything is still in place. After stepping into the small room you go straight to the toilet and after finishing up you look yourself over in the mirror - yellow eyes and white face with black details.

Everything is still fine and nun-like looking. So you just wash your hands and leave the bathroom again in a hurry to return to the interview booth.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hear laughter when you enter the room.

Patrick Wilson is already sitting in the chair with his back towards you, talking adamantly with the crew in the room.

That gives you the chance to look him over quickly: He has short, thick brown hair with the sides shorter than the top of his head. An olive green bomber jacket accentuates his broad physique with strong shoulders and big arms. He is nice to look at from behind you are sure that he looks even better from the front.

You nod at your coworker. It is the signal that you want to start the interview and get the camera officially rolling and the sound captured. After your talk with James, you want to have the first interaction filmed.

The change in atmosphere and sudden movement in the room sets off Patrick, who seems to not have noticed anyone entering. He leans forward a bit, in an attempt to get a better angle to look behind him to see who had just entered the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the room…”, he starts speaking with a teasing, announcer-like tone of voice. The only thing missing to complete the picture is a drumroll.

You are walking over to your chair to sit down but you stop in the middle room as he looks at you.

“Oh wow. This is an entrance. You stole my outfit.” He is joking and kidding in a light-hearted tone, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

You are full of confidence after your successful interview with James and you will not let him take that from you. Even if he had already caught you off guard and seized control of the interview and you weren't even talking 5 minutes. You know that you need to do something, this is your interview after all.

You are determined to scare him too, make him lose his composure. Set on your mission, you finally take the last few steps toward your chair that’s opposite him.

When you move past him, you catch a whiff of his scent. Crisp, invigorating notes of something fresh and woody surround you. It was fucking intoxicating.

As you sit down you see him clearly from the front for the first time.

His blue eyes, pierce into yours, holding eye contact as you take him in. You notice that he has a fairly straight nose, nice lips, and a subtle beard. He has sideburns which is something that you don’t like under normal circumstances. But dear god, even those are hot on him. Under his bomber jacket, he is wearing a white t-shirt that is just the right amount of tight on his broad frame.

He is the complete opposite of James, who is small, scrawny, and more scared than confident.

You swallow and clear your throat subtly, keen on regaining your confidence.

“Mister Warren. Edward Warren...”, you start, trying to somehow get your interview back under control. And as you set to continue speaking he interrupts you.

“Yes, lovely to see you. You've got a little something right there..”

Patrick touches his face, and brings his hand to his upper cheek, to show you where you have something in your face. Your eyes follow the movement of his long fingers and you notice the way his arms flex whenever he is moving.

You had checked your makeup in the bathroom not even 10 minutes prior, you know that you are fine yet you still instinctively touch your cheek where he motioned. It is like he knows that he makes you nervous. That he knows that he can throw you off your game. And so far, you are powerless to do anything against it, completely caught off guard.

As he sees that you are doing what he told you, he smiles cheekily, baring his teeth: “I'm kidding…”

He leans back in his chair. His eyes are still focused on yours as if nothing else in the room was of importance.

Is he.. Flirting with me?

His demeanor is still completely overwhelming you and you feel like a little schoolgirl talking to her crush unable to form any coherent sentence. So you clear your throat again before making another attempt to speak and steer the conversion to a different topic.

“You are a funny man, Edward… ”

You touch your headwear and tuck on it just like you would with your hair - a nervous tick you never could quite get rid of, “Or should I just call you Ed?”

You lean a bit forward and try to distance yourself from the feeling that you have when you look at the ridiculously attractive man sitting opposite you. Your form is tense as you are watching him, while Patrick is the equivalent of calm and composed.

“You can call me whatever you like”, he smiles at you and looks down at your feet, “in your pointy shoes. You’re like an elf…”,

That… is not an answer you were expecting and once again you just stare at him for a few seconds, unable to form any sentence on the fly. You are thinking of an answer but any funny retort that you may have thought of just vanishes from your mind when he lifts his head again and his eyes zero in on yours.

“Like a very beautiful elf”.

You can feel yourself blushing underneath your makeup and never had you been so grateful for the thick layer of face paint that you applied.

All the control that you may have thought you had is gone. He plays you like a piano and he is fucking Mozard. You cannot do anything against the magnetic pull you feel towards him. Goddammit you are a professional journalist, you should be able to just get a grip.

You wet your lips nervously, you know that you just have to follow whatever game he is playing even if you don’t like it. Something just tells you that he won't stop teasing and probing you.

When you open your mouth to ask the next question he leans forward a bit, tilts his head to the side, raising his eyebrow. A subtle way of telling you to speak up and letting you know that he is impressed that you are trying so hard to regain control you obviously don’t have.

“I”, your voice breaks in the middle of the sentence, so you start again: “I’ve heard that you were a spirit hunter?”

“I'm not really a hunter more often an aficionado of spirits”, he looks directly into your eyes again “I welcome them…”.

Patrick pauses before you can ask any follow-up question but rather continues speaking: “I'm glad you're here”.

Oh God, he IS flirting with me.

A strangled “Thank you” falls from your lips. You aren’t able to say anything more articulate or smarter when the realization hits you. You know that your behavior, well more your reaction to him is unprofessional at best but he is definitely enabling it.

He doesn’t let you off the hook and goes even a tad further: “Yes, you look beautiful.”

That is a lie - you look strange at most in your costume, maybe scary if you count James’ reaction to you. But it still catches you off guard, your face is still hot, and feel your palms get sweaty.

He is the one who looks beautiful, not you.

Only when Patrick thanks you with a pleased smile and you realize that you said that out loud and not thought of it in your head, silently. It isn’t even a lie, he does look insanely good but you did definitely not want to let him know that way.

The next few questions go over smoothly. You are flustered to no end, you don’t know what to make of the man in front of you. Is he like that all the time? Or does he just enjoy flustering you?

Every interaction is pushing you towards your limit, like a drop of water that is continuously filling up a glass. But there is nothing you can do against that. You could call him out of course but… that would create a weird situation.

You hate yourself a bit for the strong reaction you are having to him. Even though you interviewed many good-looking guys a situation like that never occurred. And you never reacted so strongly to someone you were interviewing.

“Do you believe in spirits?”, you ask, “I am a woman from God after all.”

Just a normal interview question for a horror movie about demons and such.

Patrick looks at you smirking, the left corner of his lip curling into a smile: “That you are… and a very beautiful one at that.”

That has been the second time that he called you beautiful in the short span of your talk. You are flattered but you also wonder, why he cannot answer your question normally with a yes or a no.

“Thank you I only accept it professionally though… ”

He laughs at your response and you feel your stomach flip at the sound. It is not your best comeback but it may be enough to give him the hint that it was too much for you. That you would like to keep it professional. You are pretty sure that you feel the eyes of your coworkers on you, judging you. But you don’t know if you're only imagining that.

“Yeah no we're not crossing that…” he pauses for a short moment as if he is contemplating what to say next. And as his blue eyes meet yours again, he has a mischievous look about him.

That is not a good sign, you think to yourself.

“Could you imagine what our kids would look like though?”

That question hits you like a lightning strike, rendering you motionless for a second. You swallow dryly suddenly your mouth inhabits the bare lands of the Sahara - void of every bit of moisture.

Once again he manages to catch you off guard and in a moment of every logical or coherent thought being gone from your brain you mumble: “Well, maybe I can”.

As soon as those words leave your mouth you know that you made a mistake.

First of all, you did not mean to blurt that out, it was a sudden thought that crossed your mind when he asked you the question.

Secondly, you are fighting your obvious attraction, and up until now, you thought you made a good effort to not give in and not to show him what he is doing to you.

You freeze as the weight of the words really hits you and you cannot do anything else than stare at Patrick.

He is looking at you smiling, the crowfeet around his eyes are prominent from how big he is grinning as he subtly crosses his legs.

“You dirty little nun”, he speaks deeper than he did before, with a raspy tone of voice while he emphasizes every word, his tongue caressing every syllable as his eyes hold yours.

An almost inaudible whimper escapes your lips upon his words before you are able to compose yourself.

By the way, he is still looking at you he definitely heard it.

You feel wetness pooling between your legs as warmth spreads over you. One part of you wishes that he would say that in a more intimate setting, something that involves much less clothing. You want him, desperately.

But the other part wishes that the interview and teasing would just stop.

You clear your throat and from your lips spill an incoherent stream of words, you are not able to form one proper sentence again.

You eventually regain your composure at least a little bit and you ask your next question: “Do you believe in spirits?“

It is a harmless one and you can cool down since he can just answer with a longer sentence without flirting with you.

“No“, Patrick pauses and looks at you. He seems more content after that previous question and your slip-up.

“But if they are mean I’m gonna fight them and I will be victorious”.

He looks at you challengingly, an eyebrow arched. After all, you are a spirit fighting him you guess? Not him directly but rather the attraction and the pull that you feel. And you are dressed as the spirit that haunts him in the movie.

“But you don’t believe in them? So they are not there?” You want a more shaped answer because it just got interesting.

“Well…sometimes they are there, sometimes they are not.” His eyes drill into yours again, as he speaks his next words.

“If something is in front of me that is challenging me - mocking me - then you may see a different side of me”.

By the way, he is looking at you, completely focused and somewhat stern it doesn’t feel like a conversation about his belief in spirits anymore - not that it ever was. To you, it sounds like he will do something if you don’t stop challenging him. You would like to see that different side that he is talking about nonetheless and you cannot help but wonder how he’d react if you were bratty while fucking. If he’d be gentle in correcting you or harsh and dominant.

Reaching for the notepad under your chair you try to ground yourself and get rid of the inappropriate thoughts you have about Patrick. You’re here to interview him, not to fantasize about ripping his clothes off.

For the next few questions you take down notes to keep yourself centered and your thoughts from running havoc - and it actually does work. Even if you are writing down nonsense and sometimes just scribbling something down.

But at least you can physically hold onto the pen and break the intense eye contact with Patrick from time to time.

“Can I see your notes?”, Patrick asks as he becomes aware of the distraction.

Your eyes snap up from your notepad and you notice that he sits very straight, looking at you down his nose. His stance reminds you of a teacher, stalking through a classroom, looking over students’ shoulders to see what they are writing.

You feel hot and flushed - embarrassed that he caught you.

Instead of answering him you just keep quiet, thinking of a way to steer the conversation away from that.

When he notices that you have no intentions of answering him he wets his lips: “What language do you write in?”

“In…”, you start but the way his arms flex when he runs a hand over his leg distracts you momentarily, causing you to lose focus. Only when he raises a damn eyebrow again, you continue speaking: “...old Latin.”

You just panic blurted out something that seemed fitting to the situation - you don’t write or speak Latin. Judging from the sceptical but amused look on his face he knows that too.

How is he able to throw you off so badly? It is like your mouth is quicker than your brain today, letting every stupid thought slip.

“Really?”, he sounds condescending with his head tilted a bit to the side, eyebrow arched, “Show me, I don’t believe you”.

He pauses, before looking at you intensely and leans back against the chair, crossing his arms and legs: “I think you’re a liar.”

You feel your nipples harden under his judging and waiting glance of his sparkling blue eyes and you squirm on your chair when you finally press out a whiny: “Why?”

Patrick tries to coax you into giving in, with his voice soft and gentle: “Just let me see… Speak some Latin to me.”

God, the way he pronounces every word and syllable makes you think that he wants you to speak something else apart from Latin, that he wants to know the filthy thoughts in your brain. Because by now you are sure that he knows what you are thinking about and he enjoys it.

Briefly, you wonder, if he would demand you to cum so softly too while he is buried inside you.

“Vade retro satana…”, he starts citing Latin exorcism literature and looks down at you, breaking you out of your thoughts, “How does that do you?”

“What?” You swallow dryly, this is turning you on a lot more than it should, like some really weird foreplay.

Patrick’s eyes sparkle mischievously, as he tilts his head again and his lips slowly curve into a smirk and he lifts his eyebrows. Only a low hm? leaves his lips.

The situation overwhelms you and you begin to stutter a stream of what? and erm leaving your mouth as he leans forward and nods every time you try to speak something.

If you were doubting that he knows what he is doing to you, you don’t doubt anymore. He knows and he likes it. The grin is full on his face, his teeth exposed as he watches you squirm on the chair under his scrutinizing gaze, struggling to form words and sentences that make sense.

You notice him readjust subtly. It’s only a quick movement over the top of his pants with his hand and as soon as the moment is over you’re not sure, if you imagined the fleeting gesture. By now you contemplate just slipping him your number, to give you an opportunity to properly flirt back without the looming threat of your coworkers and workplace.

“Do you…”, you start clearing your throat softly, before starting again, “Do you believe spirits and humans can be friends ?”

You underline your question with a clumsy hand movement, intertwining your fingers to show the connection while looking at him. You hope that he gets the hint with what exactly you mean.

Patrick’s mood changes without warning when he hears your question, the air in the room shifting, as he sits up straighter and breaks eye contact. He takes in a deep breath, the flirtiness that persisted the whole time you were talking is suddenly gone, replaced by annoyance.

“This is the third time you are coming onto me. And it scares me.”

Shit, did you misread the situation? Did you just make the whole flirting up, had your mind been playing tricks on you?

If you weren’t wearing white face paint already you are sure that your face would have been white. All the color had drained upon his reaction, almost immediately. You feel your heart beating fast and all-consuming anxiety building up in your stomach from the whiplash that you just experienced.

Heartbeat is loud in your ears and your voice is shaky and unsteady as you ask: “So, that’s a no?”

“No, that’s a yes”, that mischievous look is back in his eyes and his lips are curved into a smile as he watches you.

It takes a few seconds before your anxiety disappears into thin air upon his response and is replaced by that warm, fluttering in your stomach as well as the blush creeping back on your face.

Patrick loves flustering you, you are sure of that as he chuckles and smirks at your feeble attempt to form a coherent sentence. At least, you know that you have definitely not misread the situation you think, as you look at him.

You watch him as he reaches for his glass of coffee that’s standing under his chair. His large hand closes around it delicately and you wish that it was you that he was softly encircling with his fingers.

“I don’t usually take a sip of coffee during an interview”, he bows his head down a bit to reach for the straw with his lips, “But this is a different interview.”

And then he sucks. You watch mesmerized as he slurps the coffee from the glass and stare at his lips that are pursed around the straw. His eyes are trailed on yours as he drinks.

Would he keep his eyes locked on yours while he ate you out or fucked you just as he does now? Or would he whisper sweet nothings in your ear? Both are plausible you think as you unconsciously, wet your lips, while you watch him drink.

Patrick swallows loudly, making you watch his Adam’s apple as it bobs. Oh god how you wanted to sink your teeth there, how you wanted to taste his skin until you had memorized what he tasted like.

“Well, now I have a little gift for you”, you tell him after he puts the glass away.

You pull out a cross from a pocket in your robe, holding it upside down and extending your hand toward him. The cross is as big as your hand and made from metal, with rounded edges and a chain eyelet so it could be worn on a necklace without irritating the skin. It is still rather pretentious and you couldn’t imagine someone wearing that around their neck. But it is still a funny present - or so the production team thought.

The hand in which you hold the cross is shaking slightly and you try to will your arm into being still and suppress the tremor.

“Turn it upside down”, he says and motions his hand in the according fashion to underline how you should be turning it.

You just shake your head as a no, and he repeats his plea. At this point you just want him to say okay and take the stupid thing off you, so you further extend your arm.

“Your hands are shaking”

Of course, he notices your trembling hand, shit. You had hoped that he would not observe it or at least not call you out in front of the whole crew and on camera for that matter.

You look pleadingly at him, nodding at the trinket.

Finally, he takes pity on you and takes the cross out of your shaking hand. You let out a relieved breath as you pull back your hand and nervously laugh: “Thank you very much”.

That concludes your interview with Patrick and you are so glad to leave this room. You stand up and he copies your motion. For a short second, you both stand there before you extend your hand, as a handshake.

Patrick just chuckles, as he takes your hand: “No, thank you ”.

A chill races down your spine as you feel his bare skin on yours.

The contact feels like electricity is passing through you. You hold your breath as you lock eyes again. His hand is big and warm, dwarfing yours.

The handshake is borderline long now, lingering on the edge of unprofessional. As he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand softly, your breath hitches. His eyes are trailed on yours as he takes in your reaction.

You wish that he would keep touching you, but you have to break the contact - and so you do. You pull back your hand, missing the warmth of his.

With a final smile, you say goodbye and make your way out of the room without looking back.

You can sense his eyes following you and burning into you. It almost feels like they are lingering on your ass a little bit too long as you leave.

—----------------------

The way back to your dressing room is blurry and happens in a trance. If anyone asked you, you would neither be able to recall it properly nor in detail. The current goal is just to get home and blow off some steam. The whole ordeal was a lot and your thoughts are racing.

As you remove the heavy facepaint and take off the costume you wonder what Patrick’s game was. Because as much as you enjoyed his attention and the flirting, it feels like humiliation. You take a deep breath to calm your overactive thoughts.

Grabbing a bag, you stuff the costume inside and place it in a corner. Someone will take care of it, you think. It will probably be you on your next workday but at least by then you will have processed the day and be calmer again.

Tears well in your eyes and you run a hand over your face. You are not sad just overwhelmed and confused. Blinking the wetness in your eyes away you look at the ceiling and wonder how you will be able to face your colleagues again. Maybe you can just convince them that you played along with Patrick’s thing and embraced the whole costume matter, just as you were told.

In your head that does sound like a good plan - a believable plan. But future-you will tackle that, you decide, There is no use in panicking now, the crew will already have packed up their things and left. You look around the dressing room, wondering where the hell you put your sweater when you arrived earlier that day. Your whole mind is just too scrambled to remember right now.

A gentle knock on the door derails your train of thought.

Who can that be?You furrow your brow. Normally everyone is too busy with finishing up their work and getting out of here to check on you.

You open the door and blink in surprise, rendered speechless.

Patrick Wilson is standing outside your dressing room. He is leaning against the doorframe with a gentle smile on his face, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans and his long legs crossed.

As your eyes rake over his form, you notice that he shed the jacket he had been wearing for the interview.

You take a breath: “What are you doing here -”

“You’re even more beautiful than before”, you don’t even get to finish your sentence before he interrupts you.

For a moment you feel like a deer in headlights, standing wide-eyed and unable to answer straight away. You don’t know what you - or who - you expected but it wasn’t this. In your mind, you had made peace with the thought that you’d never see him again - as sad as that was.

Unexpectedly, he gives to time to recover and doesn’t say anything else to throw you off. He only watches you with soft eyes.

“Oh stop”, you say, suddenly the whole situation annoys you. You like whatever this is but you’d much rather like getting home and calling it a day. “The cameras are off, Patrick. You can turn it down”.

You fancy his charm, he makes you feel good and pretty.

You enjoy his attention, the tingling of your skin whenever he lays his blue eyes on you a clear giveaway.

But you are weary of his intention.

Maybe he is like that in every interview. Actually, you’d bet on it - he’s a good-looking, nice guy. It’s probably just fun for him.

What you don’t understand is why he is on your doorstep right now.

“Stop what?”

Patrick chuckles as he straightens up from the doorframe. The situation feels strangely personal and different than before. His eyes are locked on yours as he reaches out slowly to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, before resting his hand on the side of your face. The intimate gesture causes you to flush, red creeping onto your cheeks as your breath hitches,

He wets his lips, the tip of his tongue darting out and you cannot help but let your gaze flicker down and follow the movement. He takes a step forward into the room, his eyes on yours, looking for any signs that you object. When you take a few steps back, wordlessly inviting him in, he complies immediately.

With a chuckle, he closes the door behind him. This gives you a moment to consider your current situation: you are alone in a room with the man you have been eyefucking since you first saw him. And while you know, that you want him to have his way with you, you still don’t know what his plan is.

He closes the distance between you and looks down at you, a serious look on his face. Up close you notice the different shades of blue in his eyes. Bright, unwavering and so deep, like the sea. Fucking beautiful.

You feel the heat his body is emanating surrounding you.

“‘m going to kiss you now…”, Patrick’s voice is soft and quiet, he waits for you to object, his eyes looking at you searching. He closes the distance when you don’t say anything and guides his lips to yours.

He kisses you. It is a soft and light one, barely brushing his mouth to yours. You feel the stubble that dusts his face on yours. The scratching sensation is most welcome.

When you part he looks at you, smiling: “I wanted to do that since you stepped into that room”.

You blush and he grins at it, stroking your cheek. Your cheek feels incredibly hot under his soft touch. You reach out, and touch him, giving in to the sensation. Your left hand warps around the curve of his right bicep, feeling his hard muscular arms.

Your right hand comes up to his face, mimicking his motion on your cheek on his. You feel his soft skin and rough stubble on the pad of your thumb as you drink him in. His smile is impossibly wide and you cannot help but return the smile. Your thumb follows the curve of his lips and comes to rest in the dip of his cheek.

He tilts your head upwards again with the hand on your cheek, kissing you again, deeper this time, his lips parting yours.

Patrick tastes off the coffee he had been drinking and something sweet that he had been eating. His lips are incredibly soft and yet firm under yours as you return the kiss. His other hand roams your body, coming to rest at your back to pull you flush against his thick frame. You moan into the kiss and move closer to him.

You feel his open hand on your back, applying soft pressure to keep you close. The sprawled-out fingers lay still and only his thumb softly stroking you. You can feel the warmth of his hand even through the fabric.

You are desperate for more contact and let your hand wander through his hair that feels soft beneath your fingers and your fingers coming to rest on the nape of his neck. Your other hand moves from his arm to his shoulder, keeping him firmly against you.

As you break away, breathless you look up towards him. His eyes are significantly darker, the soft blue hue shifted into a darker one, his pupils blown wide. He looks into your eyes from beneath his eyelashes. Patrick dips his head down to kiss the soft spot beneath your ear. You feel his breath fanning over your ear shell as he nibs that spot again you hiss at the sensation.

Encouraged by your reaction he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses down to your neck causing you to shiver at the feeling. A tingling starts at the base of your spine and runs up.

When he bites down slightly on the soft skin of your throat you cannot help but let a strangled, quiet moan escape your lips as you arch into him. You feel his dick against your belly, hard and thick.

“You taste as sweet as you look, darling”, he murmurs. His voice is still soft but deeper, lined by lust. “I cannot wait to savor all of you”.

You tighten your hold on his shoulder upon his words, your fingers digging into the hard muscle. Fuck you remember the way he sucked on his straw and your thoughts of how he would look buried between your thighs and now you may get that.

“Fuck, Patrick ”, was all that you managed to say.

He lowers the hand on your back, brushing it at the hem of your shirt, tracing across the strip of bare skin before letting his hand slide under it and properly feeling the skin of your back. With his open palm, he pulls you closer to him and grinds his erection into you. You tug his head back to yours, kissing him again as his hands travel to your hips.

Patrick lifts you like you weigh nothing and you instinctively wrap your hand around his waist. You moan at the sensation of his fingers digging into your skin and the stretch of his broad abdomen against your open legs.

He takes a few steps back, sitting you down on the dresser when he kisses you again, cradling your face between his hands.

You break the kiss and tug on his shirt, a signal for him to take it off. You want to feel his skin on yours and you want to see him. Patrick obliges your wish and pulls it over his head before letting it fall to the floor.

Patrick is solid in front of you as you take him in.

Broad, wide shoulders with a light dusting of hair on his chest that leads into a trail originating just under his belly button, leading further down into the waistband of his jeans. On his defined arms, which you spend a good deal of the interview staring at, you notice a vein leading up his bicep and your fingers itch to trace it and then follow it with your tongue. You want to see and hear his reaction to that.

His hands come to rest on your thighs again, drawing lazy symbols on them making you throb with need. He braces his weight on his arms as he leans in again, locking eyes with you.

With a wink, he kisses the sensitive spot under your ear again. When he nibbles, sinking his teeth in, you feel a sting of pain turning into electricity, racing up your spine, making you mewl and grab his arms. His skin is hot and smooth under your fingers. Your legs close around his waist again, as he peppers your neck with open-mouthed kisses, pulling him closer. You buck your hips and grind against his hard cock, making him groan softly.

“You wear too much, sweetheart”

He retreats a bit to stand up again much to your dismay and just as you want to start objecting, he slips his hands under your top, making you shudder. His hands roam the skin softly before he pulls it over your head and lets it fall to the floor, joining his discarded shirt.

With a strangled fuck he is back on you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly close as he kisses you. Your hands move to grab his arms, to hold onto something as he parts your lips and slips his tongue into your mouth. As you kiss, you feel his fast heartbeat against your chest which is flush with his.

When parts from your mouth he loosens his hold on you and licks, kisses and nibs his way down to your chest. As soon as he reaches your bare tits, he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and index, making you moan and your head fall back. He repeats the motion and flicks it for good measure, before doing the same thing to your other breast. Patrick then kisses your nipple, giving it a tap with his tongue before blowing onto it. The sudden contrast of cold air on your overheated skin makes you shiver.

“Gorgeous”, he mumbles as he moves his hand over your belly and traces the outline of your cunt through your leggings, skipping lightly over your clit. Want pools in your belly, as you feel the warmth of his palm against you.

You are desperate for more and reach out, cupping his hard cock through his jeans. He groans and his bright eyes find yours are he dips his head to kiss you.

Involuntarily you buck your hips as his hand traces over your pussy again and he strokes over your clit. You feel the slip of your underwear on your cunt, as he applies light pressure. You in turn follow the outline of his hard dick again.

With a deep growl-like sound he separates himself from you, lifting his eyebrow: “That’s how you wanna play it? What did I say about mocking ?”

His long fingers tuck at the waistband of your leggings, pulling it down together with your underwear. It falls and joins your clothing on the floor.

“I am gonna make you squirm ”, he says when his eyes trail down your body, and end at your cunt.

Patrick puts his hand on your belly, spreading it and pushing you down to lay back. He drops on his knees, his head on eye level with your pussy. When he puts your legs over his shoulders and settles himself between them he lets his fingers trace a soft pattern on your inner thighs, making you moan softly.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss on the soft flesh of your inner thigh and you revel at the scratch of his stubble, electricity prickling from the spot, before he looks up at you, catching your eyes, and asking: “Are you comfortable?”

Patrick looks like pure sin between your legs as he looks up at you with dark eyes, asking if you’re fine with what he’s doing. You reach out and press your left hand against his cheek, letting it sit there: “Yeah”

He smiles a toothy smile and kisses the inside of your hand before you pull it back. As you feel his hot breath against your cunt, you let your hand come to rest on the crown of his head, combing his hair back a bit.

You jolt, as when presses a kiss against your clit, before pulling back. That was unexpected.

With one hand he ghosts over your clit, before tracing it through your slit. You moan at the feeling of his hot fingers parting your cunt. Patrick wraps an arm around your waist, before drawing slow circles and lazy patterns around your clit. You squirm beneath his touch, fuck, the pressure is too light to bring you closer to an orgasm.

“Patrick, please ”, you whine, desperate for him to give you more as you tuck slightly on his hair.

He lifts his gaze that was focused on your cunt before and meets your eyes, with a slow smile he says: “I like it when you beg, sweetheart”

Patrick guides one long finger into your cunt, keeping his eyes locked on you, to see your reaction. The motion is oh so slow and you feel every ridge of his knuckles as he nudges inside you. You let out another breathy please when he twists it to drag it along the walls of your pussy. You are bucking your hips when he adds a second one, curling and twisting slowly inside you, not bothering to quicken his pace.

He swipes his thumb over your clit with a lazy movement, making you moan and you tighten your grip on his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. You are desperate for him to do something quicker. You feel like you are slowly going insane as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly into your pussy, dragging and turning them, while softly massaging your clit.

You whine when he pulls back and sit up a bit as you hear rustling.

“You remember that?”, his eyes sparkle and his smile is wide as he holds up the cross you had gifted him at the end of the interview.

Your eyes go wide, surely he’d not fuck you with the cheap metal crucifix? But if you're completely honest, you don't particularly care what he does as long as he does something. The thought is lost as quickly as it was there when you feel Patrick drag his cheek over the soft skin of your inner thigh, making you perceive the rough scratch of his beard. You shiver and moan against him as you feel puffs of his hot breath against your cunt, making you forget again.

And then finally his mouth is on you. Thinking in any way becomes impossible, as you fall down flat onto the dresser, unable to keep yourself up in any way.

“Oh god”, you groan as he closes his lips around your clit, suckling lightly and then flicking his tongue over the bud in a single, gentle circle.

His arm around your waist is keeping you steady and in place, as you arch your back and tense your thighs. He lets out a low moan and you feel it vibrate through your body, adding to the sensation. With a slow and dexterous tongue and fingers, he builds you slowly. Gently learning what makes you squirm, buck, arch, and shiver. You hear the wet sounds of his tongue against your cunt as you wither beneath him.

He sinks the thick end of the cross inside you unexpectedly. You curse out a hoarse fuck as you feel the cold metal inside your hot pussy. Upon your reaction, he smirks and likes a broad stripe over your clit, before sucking on it.

The combination of his hot tongue circling the bundle of nerves and the cool, stiff crucifix dragging against your walls makes you buck your hips. He thrusts it inside you a few times, making you hear the squelch sound of your cunt as he fills you up with the religious symbol.

When he pulls it out he lets it fall to the group, where it lands with a clank. You whine again at the loss of contact, you feel empty.

But he shushes you and sinks two of his thick fingers inside you again and puts the flat of his tongue on your clit before twirling it around the nub. You spasm against him as he curls them against your walls, thrusting deliberately.

Patrick alternates between sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it while twisting and turning his fingers inside you.

You frantically bury one of your hands in his hair again, keeping him in place, afraid that he may stop. Your other hand finds his shoulder and grips down hard. You mumble and moan as he brings you to the edge of your climax. He applies more pressure while sucking lightly and with the heavy drag of his fingers you feel the cord inside you snap.

As he makes you cum you clench around his fingers while letting out a stream of words consisting of oh fuck, oh god and oh Patrick, your voice strained and thick with desire.

Patrick doesn't let up but rather keeps you high through it. He still pumps his fingers lazily into your pussy, the wet noise obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room, as he licks and kisses every erogenous zone in his reach. Only when your thighs begin shaking and you let out a whine, he stops and withdraws his fingers, pressing one last kiss on your cunt. You come down from your orgasm, slowly drifting back into reality as you sit up a bit and look at the man who just gave you a mind-shattering orgasm.

Patrick looks filthy. His hair is ruffled and in disarray, strands poking in every direction from you continuously raking your fingers through it. His chin and neck are glistening, drenched in your wetness. His pupils are blown wide with lust and look almost black.

He smiles proudly and wide, as you lie bonelessly before him and pulls you up to kiss you. Patrick wraps his arms around you, embracing you, while he devours you. You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He breaks the kiss, and leans forward so his hot breath fans over your ear as he speaks in a low voice: “I was right, you taste divine ”

As the words register in your brain you whimper against him. You feel the sticky wetness between your thighs and the fatigue that settles in your stomach. And yet, you want more. You want that charming, soft man to dismantle you, so the only coherent thing you remember is his name and, how he feels around you, how he feels inside you.

So as his breath tickles over your ear, you lick a broad stripe over his thick neck up to his jawline. He groans into your ear, a deep guttural sound that has a surprised undertone. Patrick kisses your earlobe as you pepper hot kisses on his jaw, feeling the brush of his stubble against your lips.

He turns his head, rubbing his nose against your cheek before pulling back. His breath comes on heavy puffs, making his broad chest rise and fall rhythmically. The veins on his muscular arms are even more defined now. You notice the obvious bulge he is sporting, his hard cock straining against his jeans.

Patrick meets your eyes, a cheeky smile on his lips as he looks at you. His hand comes up to scratch the back of his head and your eyes follow the movement of his arm, marveling at the way his bicep flexes.

"I'd love to take this further, but I don't have a condom…" He trails off, apologetically.

You feel a pang of disappointment upon his statement - you want him to fuck you, everything else be damned. You don’t typically have sex with people you just met - especially not without proper protection. But fuck you don’t care right now.

“I don’t either…”, you pause and you notice the shine of disappointment in his eyes that mirrors your feelings, “But I’m clean and on the pill”.

His blue eyes snap to yours, dark and full of lust.

“You sure?”, he asks you sincerely, with a rough voice. He's hesitant, not sure if he should give in. You can see the battle behind his eyes, barely restrained desire shining bright in them.

“Yes, I’m sure. Fuck me, Patrick, please ”

Of course, you’re sure, there is nothing you want more than him at this moment. To underline your words you let your hand brush over the bulge in his jeans, feeling his hard dick twitch.

The last piece of his resolve crumbles as he lunges forward, connecting your lips in a crushing kiss, ravaging you. You cannot help but moan into the kiss as you return it with the same fervor, the fire within you sparked by his reaction.

His strong hands fly over your back, touching as much skin as he can with his fingers spread out. In turn, you bury your hands in the flesh of his upper arms while you continue making out. He grinds his clothed cock into your bare cunt. You moan when you feel the scrape of his jeans, the sound is swallowed by your kiss.

Patrick’s lips curve into a smirk as he repeats the motion, with more force this time. The burn against your pussy feels delicious and you tighten your hold on his arms, knuckles turning white.

“Are you going to soak my pants?”, he rasps against your lips. His words are accompanied by a particularly strong and rough push of his bulge against your cunt.

You clench down on nothing, and as you feel the fabric against your clit you grow more and more desperate and tired of the teasing. As much as you like that he takes his time figuring out what you like and how to push your buttons - you want more and you want it now.

When you separate, you are both breathing heavily. Patrick turns his head to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and throat before nipping slightly at the soft skin there. By now you are sure that he marked your skin good and well.

While he continues you loosen the grip of your right hand on his arm. With slight pressure, you use your nails to slightly graze over his chest and abdominal muscles on your way to the waistband of his jeans making Patrick groan.

You tug at the leather belt, trying to manipulate the prongs of the buckle in hopes of releasing the tension that holds it in place. He watches you intently, eyes fixed on your shaking hand as you finally manage to pull the strap through the frame.

Before you can reach for the button of his jeans he beats you to it, undoing it swiftly with a motion of his hand, clearly also desperate to get it off now. Patrick shoves his pants and underwear over his hips. They pool at his feet and he steps out of them before kicking them off to join your other discarded clothes.

You watch as his cock springs free, and hits his stomach, hard and leaking precum. He wraps a hand around the base, giving himself one pump.

He is absolutely gorgeous as he stands before you with a hand on his dick, his skin shining and dewy with sweat, chest heaving, and a look of fierce determination on his face.

You dip your head towards his upper arm.

Finally, you indulge in the mindless impulse to run your tongue over the prominent, protruding vein on his bicep. Tasting salt and sweat as you leave a wet trail before you pull back.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you took off your jacket”

A rumbling, deep groan leaves Patrick’s mouth before he rushes forward, cradling your face between his hands and bringing his mouth to yours. He kisses you hungrily, pressing his hot body against yours. Instinctively your hands snake around his back, holding him in place as you return the kiss. You feel his hard, hot cock twitch against your pussy and you mewl into his mouth, fuck you want him.

He untangles himself from you with one last soft peck against your lips and lets his eyes wander towards your cunt. With his dick in one hand, he goes on to trace the outline of your pussy with the blunt head of his dick, just barely nudging the entrance as you whimper beneath him. He uses his other hand on your hips to keep you steady.

Patrick presses your swollen, aroused labia against his cock, as if trying to create another slit to fuck, as he bucks against your wriggling form, coating his dick in your juices.

When he finally pushes his dick into you, you moan loudly at the stretch against your swollen cunt. Patrick’s head falls against your shoulder, groaning as he gives you a moment to adjust to him, his fingers tracing your hipbones. Your pussy throbs around him.

He pulls back just as slowly, leaving only the tip in. Before pushing back in, grinding against your clit when he’s buried deep enough, making you feel every inch of him. Each and every one of his deep but slow thrusts is agony.

You arch your back and close your legs around him in an attempt to get him to move.

When a weak pleasure falls from your lips, he retaliates and finally starts thrusting inside you hard. You moan when you feel the drag of his dick inside you, filling your cunt. His right hand pulls you up into a kiss, while the other one is still gripping your hip. Patrick breaks the kiss and looks down at your pussy to watch his cock disappear inside you.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart”, he grinds out while his eyes are trailed on your cunt as he trusts, a raw and primal look in them.

You follow his gaze to watch his cock disappearing inside of your cunt over and over, slick with your fluids.

The grip on your hips tightens when he looks up again, giving you a wink before he starts fucking you in earnest, ramming into you and you’re sure that you are ruined. Your hands dig into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he continues to drive into you, the sharp slap of his hips echoes in the room. Your mouth parts and moans spill from your lips.

“Will you soak me, like you’ve soaked my fingers, darling? Like you’ve soaked the cross?”, he mutters lowly as he pounds into you in sharp thrusts, his blue eyes burning into yours. You hear the wet noises of his cock every time he bottoms out inside your cunt and you don’t doubt that it drips down his balls, staining the desk he’s fucking you on.

You meet him thrust for thrust, pushing your hips back into him and trying to match his rhythm. He twists his hips, changing the angle at which his cock drags against the walls of your cunt, making you yelp as he hits the spot that makes your back arch against him.

You know that he’s observing your reaction since he does it again, and again. Digging deep into your pussy, as you moan and whimper. It feels like he is sparking a flint inside you. Every drag, every pull, every thrust sparks the fire inside you, bringing you closer to actually explode or go up in flames.

His breath is hot against your ear, voice low and rough, underlining how much of an effect you’re having on him: “You’re gonna cum for me?”

A drop of sweat travels down his broad chest until it is caught by the sparse hair on his abs, you see the shake in his muscles as he drags his hips against you, keeping up his fast pace.

“If you make me”, a slow smile crosses your face as you watch Patrick’s eyebrows draw together in determination. Apparently, that had been the correct thing to say.

He lets his hand fall to your clit, rubbing it with his palm. You buck and grind against him, please falling from your lips, as he continues to thrust into you while matching the rhythm with his hand, rubbing circles. You moan into his mouth again, caught in a heated kiss when he softly bites down on your bottom lip.

He pounds into you in deep and long strokes, the rattle of the desk a clear giveaway to anyone who might be walking by the room.

You bury your head against his shoulder. As you bite into it, he hisses. A deep sound that makes you clench around him, pressure growing in your stomach.

Your brain feels blissfully empty, only the sensation of being filled by his dick again and again at the forefront of your mind as he bottoms out inside you with every thrust, grazing that sweet spot in your cunt that makes you see stars when he hits it. You watch the way his knuckles turn white from the strain and the edge in his bicep when he slams into you hardly, fingers still toying with your clit.

Suddenly, everything is too much, and you feel your muscles tighten up inside you, internal pressure growing and spreading. For a moment you feel suspended in pure ecstatic pleasure, burning with fire when your walls tighten around him and you cum in a spine-curling orgasm, calling out his name.

You feel his hips stutter, a brief break in his unrelenting rhythm that he continues to hold to fuck you through your high.

“Where?”, he asks you, half groaning as he slams inside you, still hitting that spot and still rubbing circles around your clit.

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend his words and understand their meaning but through shaking breaths, you manage to grind out “Inside me”

His cock twitches inside you as he increases his pace again, not letting up. You know that he’s close, chasing his orgasm and slamming balls deep into you, brow furrowed and breathing heavy.

“Fill me up”, your hushed words are almost inaudible against the rattling of the desk and the wet slap of his skin against yours. But by the way, his eyes darken again and his mouth goes slack he heard you.

You smile and reach out to cup his cheek to pull him closer and kiss him hungrily.

His fingers tighten against your hip in a way that you’re sure that you will have bruises from that, visible only the next day, a reminder of what he did to you.

When he cumes, he kisses you deeply, groaning into your mouth, a mixture of your name and a curse. He pulls you even closer, as he fucks through his own orgasm, getting slower and slower in pace. He stills when he comes down, keeping his hips flush with yours.

You take the solemn moments to watch him come down from his high, eyes closed and utterly at peace as he takes deep breaths.

Patrick’s cock softens slowly. And when it eventually slips out, you feel his cum dropping from your cunt.

“Fuck”, he says breathlessly, opening his eyes and smiling a wide, toothy smile. His broad frame glistens with a layer of sweat in the light of your room and sweat beads on his forehead, a sign of the exertion, “I knew you were a dirty girl”

You snort, and a laugh escapes your mouth as you look into his blue eyes, which sparkle with humor. You reach out, to lay your hand against his cheek, feeling the stubble and the dip of his smile.

He covers your hand on his face with his large one, keeping it in place as he turns his head and places a kiss on your palm. Patrick’s lips linger for a few moments before he pulls his hand back and leans his forehead against yours. Your breath mingles as you stay like that, just looking at each other and breathing deeply.

Patrick untangles himself from you after a few minutes and leaves a soft kiss on your head.

A deep ache and tiredness settles in your limbs as you watch him bow down and reach for his clothing. You cannot help but marvel at his nice ass and strong tights as you sit on the desk. You don’t trust your legs to work right now. When he stands up again, catching you staring and he just raises an eyebrow as he pulls up his boxer shorts and tucks his now soft cock away.

“In my defense, you’re very nice to look at”, you smile and hold up your hands in mock surrender.

He scoffs and shakes his head, softly laughing as he balls his shirt in his hands. You watch him come over to you, using it to clean you wordlessly. You hiss when he scrapes your clit and he mumbles a quiet sorry as he shoots you a sweet smile.

Your heart swells at the gesture, you like that he continues to take care of you and that he thought of that. Of course, he was nothing but respectful during everything but still, you did not expect that level of care.

“Done”, Patrick smiles at you and shoots you a wink as he holds out his hand to help you down from the desk. Gladly, you take it, still not trusting your shaky legs,

He engulfs you in a hug when you stand, his broad arms holding you close as you return the gesture, leaning your cheek against his chest. With serious eyes, he looks down at you: “I’d like to take you out to dinner or coffee sometime if you’re up for it”.

A smile spreads over your face upon his question and you answer with a soft yes, kissing him. He gladly returns it, before letting you go to get dressed.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as he puts on his pants with a quick jump while you slip into your leggings and top. You don’t bother looking into the mirror, you know that you definitely look thoroughly fucked and so does he. If anyone were to see you two they’d know what happened. So your goal is to just get to your car and drive home.

When your eyes meet again, you nod your head to the door: “Let’s go”

You notice a wet spot on his shirt from when he cleaned you up and cannot help blushing. He arches an eyebrow at you and smirks: “I don’t mind, I’d do it again”. Laughing you shake your head, he really does drive you crazy.

You walk out of the room together and through the studio that is mercifully deserted with your hands intertwined.

#patrick wilson #patrick wilson smut #patrick wilson x reader #fanfiction #the conjuring #The Conjuring #ed warren #insidious #i am feral for that man #aquaman #orm marius

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