#patrick: you didn't see me today? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

punkshort · 3 months

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somewhere to run | 6. the confession

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel finds out the truth and convinces you to press charges.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, PTSD type symptoms, mutual pining, domestic violence and SA (discussed after the fact), mental and physical abuse, detailed conversations about DV and SA (I didn't get too descriptive about the SA but I do use the R word a couple times) please let me know if I missed anything because there is a lot going on here

WC: 9K

A/N: as the title implies, we are going to get more details about what happened to reader in this one so once again, please heed the warnings and don't read if you think it will be triggering for you. I tried not to be too graphic.

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Joel could hardly sleep that night. Instead of going to the station, he headed home so he could be with Sarah. She wondered why he got home so early from his date, but he dodged the question and the two of them worked together in silence - Sarah on her homework, Joel on his incident report. When she asked him why he was working from home, he just shook his head and said something came up. She was a smart girl. She knew something was bothering him, but she didn't push it and he was grateful.

He tossed and turned all night, his mind reeling while he looked at his phone every few minutes. He checked the volume, he made sure do not disturb was off, wondering if you would reach out, but you never did. Maybe it wasn't unusual for Patrick to not come home. Or maybe you heard what happened and you were mad at Joel. That worried him the most. The fear that his actions might have destroyed what fragile relationship he had left with you ate him up as he stared blankly at his ceiling.

Morning came too quickly and too slowly all at once. He rubbed his tired eyes as he dragged himself into the bathroom. When he leaned forward to turn the water on, he was met with a sharp pain in his chest. He glanced down, rubbing the area tenderly and realized a large bruise was forming from his fight the night before. He winced when he pressed on a particularly sensitive spot and tried his best to avoid the area during his shower.

After he dropped Sarah off at school, he headed into work, his heart beginning to beat faster the closer he got to the station. He had no doubt in his mind the whole town knew what happened last night, but he was too tired and too overwhelmed to care about their curious questions and senseless gossip.

When he walked in, he breezed right past Helen's desk with a curt nod, doing his best to avoid all eye contact until he was within the safety of his office. He booted up his ancient computer and waited, his thumb rubbing mindlessly against his lower lip as he stared out his window.

He would go to the diner today. He already decided he had to see you. The radio silence was killing him and he needed to make sure you were okay. He was embarrassed about the Facebook messages, even more so that you weren't the one to read them, but Patrick was right. They were not innocent. The words held more weight than they appeared, but he had to come to terms with the fact that you were not his, and then maybe with some closure, he would be able to move on.

The morning dragged on slowly. Bobby caught him at the coffee maker, already working on his third cup, depending solely on the caffeine to help keep him going.

"Hey, boss. You look like shit, but not as bad as him," Bobby said, pouring himself more coffee and jutting his chin to the back of the building where the holding cells were located.

"Feel like shit," Joel mumbled, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from his mug.

"Think you broke his nose," Bobby added, finally looking up at him. "Called the doc but turns out he's real busy this mornin', won't be able to come by til after hours. Such a damn shame," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Joel understood what he was saying without him having to say it. The people in this town looked out for one another and didn't take kindly to a stranger hurting one of their own. They were leaving Patrick to deal with his injuries longer than necessary.

"I don't think I broke anythin', he did that all on his own chargin' into that table," Joel said, but Bobby shook his head.

"Not the way he tells it," he replied with a chuckle. "You'd think you nearly killed him, the way he's been whinin' back there."

"No doubt lookin' for a lawsuit," Joel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, boss. You got a bar full'a witnesses. Hank already offered to give a statement and he was probably the only sober one there."

"Yeah, good. Thanks," Joel replied, pushing off the counter to head back to his office, trying to ignore the sideways glances of the men watching him from the bullpen. He shook his mouse and grimaced when he saw an email from the mayor looking to set up a meeting with him that week to discuss the incident. He knew he did nothing wrong, but the more attention this brought him, the worse he felt. Eventually, all of that talk would make its way back to you and Sarah, the truth most likely getting distorted along the way. He made a mental note to have a talk with his daughter that night as he slowly typed out a response to the mayor.

He swore he would try to get some actual work done, but he ended up spending more time staring out the window or at his phone, watching the minutes tick by til it was lunchtime and he could see you. Maybe he could pull you aside and talk to you in private. Maybe he could fix this.

The moment the clock read a reasonable hour, he jumped up from his seat and snatched his blazer from the coat hook, rolling his shoulders as he walked and put it on, then stifling a grunt when he felt a muscle in his chest pull from the effort.

He kept his head down as he walked down the street towards the diner, only glancing up once when he passed the pizza place. Your curtains were still drawn, no lights on that he could see, no sign of life.

A few people called out to him as he passed, but all he could muster was a tight smile and quick wave, not in the mood to get wrapped up into any conversations.

When he swung the door open, his eyes immediately went to the counter, searching you out but only finding Betty. Before he had a chance to look around the dining room, he heard María greet him.

"Where the hell were you last week?"

"I was here Friday," he muttered, looking around and avoiding her eyes.

"Yeah, with Nikki. Heard some stuff about that-"

"Is she here?" Joel asked, finally dragging his gaze to meet Maria's. She frowned and shook her head.

"No, she called in sick," Maria said, watching him carefully. "Joel, what's going on with you two? People are saying stuff about you and her husband, and-"

"She's sick?" Joel repeated, panic beginning to bubble to the surface. Maria nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah, people get sick, Joel. Hey! Where are you going?"

Joel didn't reply, he just hurried out the doors, nearly knocking down a middle aged couple as they were about to walk inside. He mumbled an apology as he jogged down the street towards your place.

Something was wrong.

Your eye cracked open when you heard the doorbell, the heavy thudding in your head making you immediately nauseous. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, rolling back under the covers. Maybe if you were quiet, Patrick would think you were at work and he would leave. But the bell kept ringing, the sound pinging around in your brain making the headache you already had so much worse.

When he began pounding on the door and shouting from the street, you dragged yourself out of bed and wrapped yourself in a thin robe. You knew your body couldn't take much more, but letting him in would be better than allowing him to make a scene in front of the whole town, so you forced your feet forward, still limping from the day before.

You had to pause in the doorway to catch your breath as you clutched your side, wincing in pain as you tried to gingerly walk down the steps, but you were taking too long and he just kept pounding and shouting and the all noise was making you sick.

"Stop," you called out weakly, not convinced he would even hear you, but miraculously he did because the noise finally ceased, and you sighed a small breath of relief.

Shakily, you reached out to grip the doorknob, your fingers fumbling with the locks until you finally managed to twist the brass handle, opening the door just a sliver, worried people walking by would see your face. Then, unexpectedly, you heard Joel's voice instead of Patrick's say your name softly and before you could peer around the door, you went to quickly shut it with no success. His hand gripped the door tightly, but you held firm, hiding behind the wood.

"You shouldn't be here," you told him, your voice weak and broken.

"I know you're mad at me but I gotta talk to you 'bout what happened," he said from the other side. "Please let me in."

Unbeknownst to you both, you were talking about two different things.

"If he finds you here... no, you have to leave," you said, pushing the door again, but he didn't budge.

"Patrick?" he questioned, sounding confused.

"Yes, Patrick," you rasped, getting dizzy from exerting so much energy in your weakened state. "Please just go."

"He's in jail, did - no one told you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice down.

"Jail?" you repeated, and your grip on the door loosened in surprise. Joel felt it and took the opportunity to open it further. You stepped back quickly, wrapping the robe around you tighter and trying to fidget with your hair to hide the marks, but you knew it was pointless the moment you saw his face after closing the door behind him.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his jaw dropping as his eyes slowly raked over your face, neck and arms. Your lip was swollen and cut, the scab breaking open and beginning to weep the more you spoke. Your cheekbone had a light purple bruise blooming under your skin, as did your jaw. There was a small gash near your hairline and what looked like scratch marks down your neck, leading past your collar bone and below your robe. When you shakily brought your hands up to cover your face in shame, he saw the dark bruises on your wrists.

"Oh my god," he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder. When he reached out, you flinched away and he felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

"You should go," you said quietly, your eyes pinned to the ground.

"I can't," he said in utter disbelief. "I can't... why didn't you call me?"

You looked like you were about to reply but decided against it and instead still kept your gaze averted.

"C'mon, lemme take you upstairs and get a look at you," he said, reaching out again, but you stumbled backwards, nearly falling onto the steps.

"Please don't touch me," you told him, holding up a hand, and he nodded.

"Okay, I won't touch you," he said, trying to remain calm while his heart was breaking. "Let's just go upstairs, alright?"

Reluctantly, you agreed and slowly ascended the steps, Joel following dutifully behind. He ushered you over to the couch, making sure you were seated before he went to your bathroom, rummaging around in your medicine cabinet while you sat there, your face buried in your palms and trying not to cry.

He came back into the living room, trying not to make you feel worse by hiding his reaction, but it was hard. He swallowed and dropped his eyes to the assortment of first aid items in his hands.

"Did you take anything for the pain?" he asked, his voice thick, his throat tight.

"Not today, no," you admitted softly. He nodded and shook out two white pills from a bottle and handed them to you before getting you some water. While safely in the kitchen where you couldn't see him, he let out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. How could this happen? How didn't he see it? He should have checked on you earlier. He never should have fucking let you leave with Patrick yesterday. Guilt racked his brain as he exhaled slowly and went back to you in the living room.

"Here," he said, handing you the bottle of water. You took it and popped the pills in your mouth, wincing as you swallowed them down.

He sat down on the couch next to you but was sure to give you your space as he picked up the antiseptic and some gauze.

"Will you let me?" he asked, holding up the items in his hand. You paused and looked at them, then him. His eyes were wide and soft and shiny with unshed tears. Slowly, you nodded and watched as he twisted off the cap and put some of the antiseptic on the gauze, first pressing it gently against the gash on your forehead, then making a fresh one for your lip.

At first, he dabbed at the cut gently, ghosting over your skin as if he were afraid. But then he brought his other hand up to caress your chin, his fingers feather-like and so careful that it made your eyes flutter shut, his touch unlike anything you were used to. When you finally opened your eyes again, his hands were gone and he was staring at you, the look in his eyes morphing from sadness to one you were much more familiar with.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," he said menacingly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't," you said, shaking your head, but his eyes darkened and his jaw was set.

"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart? I could've done somethin'. I could've-"

"What? What could you have done, Joel? I've heard it all before," you told him, your lip trembling. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. And it never works. Nothing ever changes and it just gets worse."

Joel shook his head, still not understanding.

"I'm a cop, I coulda protected you. There's laws in place for this kinda thing."

"I've gone to the cops, Joel! More than once! And they all told me the same shit!" you exclaimed, getting worked up now. "Then I go home, and magically my statement goes missing, or my medical exam report, and I'm in worse shape than before because guess what? It makes him really fucking mad when his buddies on the force find out what he does to his wife at home."

Joel's lips parted as he watched your chest heave for breath, the energy quickly draining from your frail body.

"I... I'm so sorry," was all he could say. He couldn't blame you for not trusting anyone, especially him, now that he finally knew the truth. Everything was starting to make sense. His guilt was pulling him down and he felt like he was drowning in it. So many things he should have done. Should have seen. He should have helped you but instead he trotted Nikki in front of you to make you feel even worse.

"I can really help you, though. I ain't like that," he said, scooting a little closer to you.

"I've heard that before, too," you said sadly, dropping your gaze to the ground. "There's no getting out of this. I thought by running I could try to start over, but it's clear now he will never let me go." You closed your eyes as two tears fell down your cheeks. You wiped them away angrily, hating yourself for being so weak all the time.

Joel felt his chest squeeze, his heart breaking as he watched you fall apart. He needed to do something. He couldn't let you down. You needed to get out of this, or else it could cost you your life.

"Look at me," he said, waiting until your tears slowed and you forced your eyes open. "I promise I'll help you. I fuckin' promise you, alright? You ain't in Pennsylvania, I ain't his buddy, and I will do whatever I gotta do to keep you safe."

You searched his face, eyes all wide and your heart sliced open, lying on the table between you. You've been let down so many times, it was so hard to tell when anyone was being truthful anymore, but you couldn't deny what you felt for him. And what he felt for you. You knew something was there, something real and honest and pure. He wouldn't have any reason to lie to you at this point, so after a moment, you nodded.

"Okay," you whispered, and you could see the relief flood his face.

He sat back on the couch and rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the TV screen across from him that wasn't even on while the gears in his tired head worked overtime.

"Alright," he finally said, slapping his knees and standing up from the couch. "First things first: you gotta get to a doctor."

You immediately recoiled and shook your head.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, but you have to. I gotta..." he trailed off and chewed the inside of his cheek before pushing onward. "I gotta have a doctor take pictures."

Your face instantly crumpled and you buried your face in your hands once again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, getting down on one knee to be eye level with you. "But in order for this to work, they gotta record evidence, okay?"

"Joel, I can't," you whimpered, your face still covered, but he nodded and caressed the side of your head with his palm.

"Yes, you can. I'll be right there, okay? Unless you don't want me there, but I'll go with you if you want. Or I'll wait outside the door. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I'm gonna get you outta this."

You sniffled and finally dropped your hands to your lap, your gaze finding his.

"This is the last time, I promise you," he said, staring deep into your eyes. "I'll never let him near you again."

You thought his words over for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence, looking at the other. One trying to earn trust, the other trying to give it. Finally, you closed your eyes and nodded, giving your consent for what was to come.

"Okay," Joel said softly, dropping his hand from your face and standing up to pull out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm lookin' up the number of a doctor I trust. She's a woman, too. She's real nice and sensitive. I've used her for a couple cases in the past," he said, finding the number and dialing it, bringing the phone up to his ear. Cases. You couldn't help but feel like just another victim the way he said it, even though he didn't mean it that way. You listened as he spoke to her over the phone in a hushed tone, not giving too much of your information away but insisting it was an urgent matter. When he hung up, he turned to you with a weak smile.

"She can see you this afternoon."

"Oh," you said, glancing down at your appearance. You weren't expecting to leave the house that day and you weren't sure what to do.

"It's okay," he said, sitting down next to you again and resting his hand on your knee. "I'll take you through the backdoor of her office, no one'll see you. She'll be fast."

You nodded and looked up at him.

"Maybe I should shower," you said. He paused and shifted his gaze away.

"You, uh," he cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He knew this would come up, one way or another. "I don't mean to get into too much detail, but if he..." Joel trailed off, finding it difficult to finish his sentence. "If he did more than hit you, you shouldn't shower," he finally choked out, unable to look you in the eye.

You froze, finally understanding what he meant. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, his neck tensing, his nostrils flaring, as he waited for your response.

"I won't shower, then," you finally said, your voice strained.

His eyes slid shut and he dropped his chin to his chest. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to steady his breathing.

"I'll just go change," you mumbled, standing up while he nodded, still trying to breathe.

He did his best to collect himself while you were out of the room, but he could feel himself spiraling. What was he doing when it happened? Was he watching a movie with Sarah? Was he eating dinner? Was he getting ready for his fucking date with Nikki?

He could feel the tears welling up but he quickly wiped them away. You needed him to be strong. You needed someone to help you, to take care of you. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. He would let himself feel it later, when he was all alone at home and Sarah was asleep. When nobody needed him and he could just let the guilt and shame and sorrow wash over him.

"Jesus, Joel," Carol muttered as she left the exam room. Joel jumped up from his seat, anxiously waiting for it to be over. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to wipe the sweat away. She sighed and looked up at him, taking off her glasses.

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, shaking her head. "So, I have your evidence."

Joel nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"She's been through a lot," Carol said softly, walking him down to her office for privacy. She closed the door but he didn't sit down.

"She's gonna be lookin' for me," he explained, jutting his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'll be quick," she said, sitting down at her desk with a sigh. "There was significant scarring and healed bones, detailing years of abuse, and definitely evidence of some most recently."

"Yeah, I imagine anyone can see that by just lookin' at her face," he replied, but she shook her head.

"I didn't mean her face."

Joel felt his breath get caught in his throat.

"Right," he finally said, his voice cracking.

"She said her husband is a cop?" Carol asked, flipping open a yellow file on her desk. Joel nodded.

"Got him in lockup right now for swingin' on me at Hank's," he explained.

Carol's eyes glanced up at his and she quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I heard something about that," she said, lacing her fingers together and looking at him closely. "Can I give you some advice, Joel?"

He shifted his weight, not sure where she was going with it, but nodded anyway.

"Don't take her statement yourself. Have someone else do it, alright?"

"Why?" he asked quickly, and she gave him a knowing look.

"Because it'll be gruesome, and you're too involved."

Joel frowned.

"Too-"

"Don't care what you've got going on with her, I'm just giving you some friendly advice. Let someone else do it," she said, her eyes softening. "Besides, you got into it with her husband last night. You don't want some hot shot lawyer tossing out her testimony in court because he can link together some personal relationship between you two."

Joel considered her words for a moment and reluctantly nodded. She was right. He was having a hard time keeping things separate, and he appreciated the clarity. He couldn't fuck this up for you. Not now.

"Anythin' else?"

She leaned back in her chair and shook her head.

"You'll have my report in the morning," she said. He nodded, thanking her again for seeing you on such short notice before exiting the room. He turned the corner just as you were opening the exam room door clutching a worn hoodie around yourself and looking around frantically before your eyes fell on him and you visibly relaxed.

"Hey, sorry. You alright?" he asked, his hands gently coming up to your shoulders to guide you towards the back exit. You gulped and nodded.

"Wasn't so bad," you said.

"Good. You did the right thing," he said as he held open the door for you and led you back to his truck.

Once you were comfortably seated and Joel merged back into traffic, you shot him a sideways glance and asked him the question that had been weighing on your mind since he came over that morning.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he said, twisting his head to the side to change lanes.

"Why is Patrick in jail?"

Joel's grip on the steering wheel tightened and there was an uncomfortable pause before he sighed.

"He came at me last night. We happened to both be at a bar at the same time, he was drunk and swung on me."

"What?!" you exclaimed, twisting around in your seat to look at him.

"I thought you knew since he didn't come home last night. Thought you were avoidin' me by callin' off work," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"No, I had no idea. He hasn't been staying at my apartment, he has a motel room somewhere," you said, peering at his face, then dropping your gaze to his hands where you could see now his knuckles were a little red.

"Are you okay?" you asked after a beat, and he scoffed.

"Am I okay?" he repeated with a shake of his head. He looked at you in shock, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smirk. "I'm fine. Can't believe you'd be worried 'bout me after what you went through."

"Of course I worry about you," you said softly, and he felt his heart melt. Why did you have to be so sweet? After everything you've been through, after everyone in your life has let you down, you were still so fucking sweet.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't. He couldn't put that kind of stress on you. It would be selfish to tell you how much he thinks about you, how much he wished you were his, how he hasn't been able to get you out of his head since the moment he laid eyes on you. No, that would be wrong. It wasn't the right time, so he swallowed the words back from the tip of his tongue and focused on the road.

"What's next?" you asked him as he walked you up to your front door. Mercifully, the weather was threatening to downpour so the streets were quiet.

"Well, next you'll have to come down to the station and give your statement so we can formally press additional charges," he said, knowing you wouldn't want to hear it but he was surprised when you simply nodded your head.

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow?" he offered, and you nodded again as you unlocked your door.

"I'll have to call off work or come by after," you told him, stepping inside and turning to look at him.

"Listen, 'bout that," Joel began, and you frowned. "I gotta tell Tommy."

"No!" you cried, your eyes going wide with worry, but he shushed you and shook his head.

"I gotta tell him so he can keep an eye on things, alright? I won't be able to keep him in lockup for much longer and I can't be with you all the time to protect you, d'you understand?"

"Joel..." you whimpered, burying your face in your hands. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms. He fucking hated seeing you like this.

"We can file a restraining order tomorrow but a piece of paper won't necessarily keep him away, and I can't risk it," Joel explained, his heart breaking for you.

"Okay," you sniffled, finally coming to terms with it. If you were going to do this, you had to trust him.

"Okay," Joel repeated. "Tommy served in the Army, he knows what he's doin', I promise. I'll tell him to keep it quiet, alright?"

"Yeah," you whispered, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand.

"And no more walkin' back from work in the dark. Take your car or get a ride. If I can, I'll drive you - " Joel pulled out his phone to look at his calendar, but you stopped him.

"I can manage, but thank you."

You looked at one another for a moment, both of you unsure what else to say. You were thankful for what he was doing but you weren't sure you had the words to properly express your gratitude. Everything you wanted to say felt so small, so insignificant. So instead of attempting to cobble together some sentence that wouldn't do your feelings justice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his warm chest. He quickly brought his arms up around you in return, gently placing his hands on your head and back as he held you carefully against him, as if he was worried you would break. He was absolutely certain you could feel how hard his heart was thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel you, to hold you, to keep you safe.

"It's gonna be okay," he told you, his voice heavy, and he felt you nod against him before pulling back, his chest suddenly feeling so empty.

"Thank you," you whispered, then spared him one more glance before heading inside, the door clicking shut softly behind you.

Later that evening, after you had forced yourself to eat some soup and drink some water, you were settling in on your couch when you heard a soft knock at your door. You muted your TV and strained your ears to listen. It didn't sound like a familiar knock, not one filled with anger or urgency. You glanced down at your phone, wondering if Joel had sent you a text that you missed, but nothing was there.

Hesitantly, you made your way down the steps. Your fingers brushed the doorknob, but before you opened it, you spoke through the door.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Maria's voice drifted through the wood, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You unlocked the door and met her eyes. She tried to hold back the wince upon seeing your face, but you still caught it.

"Heard you might need some help," she said, holding up a small plastic bag. You frowned, confused, until she tilted it open for you to look inside. There, you found a variety of makeup bottles and powders in shades that looked pretty close to your skin tone.

You opened the door and let her in. You could tell you were able to take the stairs a little quicker than the morning, and you hoped that meant you were healing because you really couldn't afford to miss more time at work.

"Cute place," she said, glancing around before following you into your living room.

"Thanks," you murmured, turning the volume back on the TV as she settled into the couch next to you.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, motioning towards the bag. "Joel called and told Tommy what happened... I'm so sorry, I wish you would've called us, we could've helped you."

"Thanks," you said with a shrug. "I guess I'm just used to dealing with it on my own."

"Well if you're ever scared of staying alone, we have a spare bedroom, so please don't hesitate to ask."

You gave her a small smile, hoping she could tell how grateful you were. With the exception of one cousin back home, nobody had tried to stand up for you before. Not even your own parents. The whole concept was so foreign to you, you weren't sure how to respond.

Maria seemed to sense this and she changed the subject, leaning forward to sift through the contents of the drugstore bag, pulling out item after item and holding it up against your arm to decide which shade would work best. She spent the next hour helping you cover your cuts and bruises, and by the time you were done, you didn't look half bad.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she packed up her things and shoved her sneakers back on.

"A little less sore," you admitted. "I should be able to work tomorrow."

"Why don't you take one more day? Joel said you're going down to the station tomorrow, it might take more out of you than you expect."

You thought it over for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. Money was a concern, but you could wait one more day, and maybe you could pick up an extra shift over the weekend.

You thanked her as she headed down the steps and she reminded you again to call her and Tommy if you ever needed anything, and you promised you would.

When you were finally on your own again, you sat in silence, thinking about these people who barely knew you, who you essentially lied to, banding together to help you out. It was unlike anything you were used to, and you were beginning to think you may have finally found your home.

The next morning, you paced around your living room, anxiously nibbling at your nails as you waited for Joel to ring the bell. He had insisted on picking you up. He said he could swing by after he dropped Sarah off at school, that it wouldn't be a problem and he passed by your apartment anyway. You didn't understand why he was so insistent: the walk was less than ten minutes, but you didn't feel like arguing.

You were checking your makeup job in the mirror for the fifth time when the bell rang. With a deep sigh, you pulled on your sneakers, slung your purse over your shoulder and headed down the steps. When you opened the door, he was standing with his back to you under a brown blazer and his arms crossed, trying to appear casual for anybody who might be walking by, but when he heard you step through the door he swiveled around quickly.

"Good morning," you said to him with a small smile after you were sure the door was locked tight.

"Mornin'. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," you said as he led you to his truck parked a little ways down the street.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said again, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

"I know," was all he said before opening the passenger door for you and giving you a hand to step up into the cab.

The quick ride to the station was quiet, only the hum from his radio filling the air as your fingers fidgeted in your lap. When he parked the truck and you made a move to open the door, he held a hand out.

"Wait a minute, I gotta talk to you before we go in there."

You dropped your hand to your lap and looked at him expectantly.

"I can't take your statement today, I'm gonna have another officer do it," he said, his words rushed like he knew you wouldn't take the news well. And you didn't.

"What?!" you cried out softly, anxiety already creeping up and squeezing your chest.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he said, taking a deep breath and glancing out the windshield before looking back at you. "There's a conflict of interest. Patrick assaulted me, and if I go and take your statement, it won't look good to a judge."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"It'll be okay. I'll be right there the whole time. Right on the other side of the glass, okay? I promise, I won't leave."

He watched you for a minute, waiting for you to say something, and when you didn't he began to question himself.

"Unless you don't want me to hear, I don't have to-"

"No, I'd prefer you be there," you said quickly.

He nodded and took a deep breath in.

"I asked a female officer to do it. Her name's Beth. She's real nice, she's dealt with... situations like this in the past."

"Okay," you said softly, reaching for the handle, but once again he stopped you.

"One more thing. I gotta cut him loose tomorrow."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew this would happen, but it didn't stop you from feeling the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine.

"It'll be fine. I'll file the restraining order today. If he comes within fifty feet of you, he's goin' right back to jail, okay?" he said, his hand coming up to rest assuringly on your knee.

"Okay," you whispered, finally opening your eyes to look at him.

"You can do this. I know you can."

You had to hold back the tears that sprung up when his words hit your ears. Nobody has ever believed in you, listened to you, took care of you the way he did, and he hardly even knew you. People who have been in your life for years, your own family didn't encourage you the way Joel did. On one hand, it was depressing to realize it took this long for someone to give a shit, but on the other hand, you were so, so relieved someone finally did.

As Joel led you into the station, he kept his head held high, ignoring the glances shot your way and you did your best to do the same. You followed him towards the back, and you hesitated a brief moment before entering the interrogation room, pushing all the bad memories to the back of your mind and focusing on the present.

You needed to put an end to this, once and for all.

You were doing okay. It was half an hour into giving your statement to Beth, and Joel was right. She seemed very kind and patient, and you relaxed after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Or maybe it was because you knew Joel was just a few feet away, watching from the other side of the glass, just like he promised. Whatever it was, you were doing better than you expected.

You had gotten through the bullet points of your history with Patrick. You had detailed how you met after you graduated from high school, how he had just gotten back from basic training with the Marines and was applying to join the Philadelphia police department. You explained how at first, things were great. He was loving and kind, for the most part, but you had been inexperienced and didn't recognize the red flags when you saw them. Like when he got overly possessive at house parties, and especially so when he started drinking. At first, you had thought it was sweet, but then he started getting a little rough. You explained at the time, he would apologize the next day and promise not to do it again, but a few weeks later, he would inevitably go back on his word. The cycle repeated itself over and over for a year, until he proposed one night in front of your entire family, and you had felt pressured to say yes. You had hoped it was just nerves, that eventually you would be excited about marrying him, but it never came. He had rushed you into planning the ceremony and you were only engaged for a few short months. And again, you fooled yourself into thinking everything was just happening so fast, that it was so stressful planning a wedding and that one day, you would be happy.

You couldn't remember the argument that caused him to first hit you. To really hit you, enough to leave a nasty bruise, but you remembered the shock, and you remembered the pain and the fear. And once again, he had apologized the following day, and you forgave him. Because you were weak and scared and confused.

"Did anybody in your life notice?" Beth asked, her eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"I hid it at first, but eventually, yes, people noticed," you admitted, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt.

"Did they offer to help you?"

"My cousin," you said, looking down at your hands. "She helped me... she helped me find a clinic so I wouldn't get pregnant."

"Did Patrick know you were on birth control?" Beth asked gently while scratching away with her pen on paper.

"No, I didn't think he would like that."

"Why not?"

"He's made comments to me in the past about wanting a big family, and I was afraid to tell him no. I was afraid he would hurt our children, too," you said, still staring down at your hands.

"Has he raped you?" Beth asked bluntly, and you visibly balked.

"Oh, um," you faltered, the word for whatever reason sending shockwaves through you. You knew the answer, but you just hated admitting it.

"Yes," you finally said, your voice cracking, so you cleared your throat and took a sip of water.

"I'm sorry," Beth said quietly, catching your gaze and giving you a sympathetic look. "I won't ask too much today, but you need to know if this goes to trial, a judge will ask for a lot more detail. You can get a lawyer and they will help walk you through it when the time comes." She reached out across the table to place her hand on top of yours, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles. You nodded, wordlessly telling her to keep going.

"When did it start?"

"Right after we got married, I think."

"How often?" she asked, pulling her hand back so she could focus on writing.

"A few times a week, I guess? I mean, I don't know what counts. A lot of the times I wouldn't be in the mood and he would pressure me, other times were more... deliberate." You swallowed and glanced quickly at the mirror behind Beth, suddenly regretting asking Joel to listen.

"Did you tell your parents?" Beth asked, glancing up at you.

"I told my mom, yes."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me it was a wife's duty to... be available to her husband. She didn't think it was rape." You spit the last word out like it was poison on your tongue. Beth winced but tried to hide it by looking down at her notes.

"And when would he hit you?"

"It varied. Most of the time it was when he was drunk or high. He promised me all the time he would get help, but he never stuck with it."

"Did you ever have to go to the hospital?"

"Yes. A few times. He's broken my arm twice, fractured my hip, and I've had a few concussions. On one occasion, he strangled me until I lost consciousness. I had to be admitted for a bruised trachea." You absentmindedly rubbed your arm and neck as you spoke, your fingers gliding over the old wounds.

"And you've gone to the police before?" she asked.

"Yes, a couple times, but -" you could feel your resolve breaking, and you bit your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "But he always did something to make it go away, and then he would get really mad. One time when I went to file a complaint, he had a cop friend of his lock me in a room just like this one for a whole day. To teach me a lesson." You twirled your finger around the sparse room, tears glistening in your eyes. "They didn't let me out, I couldn't use the bathroom, I didn't have anything to eat or drink. I was all alone."

You stopped talking and tucked your chin against your chest, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. You wiped a shaky palm against your cheek, drying the tears that fell before you looked back up.

"There were times he would be gone for two or three days at a time and come back, all strung out and crazy... those were the times, the times I went to the police, that I ended up in the hospital. So I stopped asking cops for help."

She nodded as she wrote, giving you a minute to collect yourself before her next question. You glanced up at the mirror again and wondered what Joel was thinking. Did he leave? Or was he still there? You almost hoped he had left. You were feeling too vulnerable as it was, but the thought of him looking at you with pity after this was over made your stomach turn.

"I've done this before," you said suddenly, pulling her attention off the page. "And it always ends up the same. Please tell me this will be different."

"It will be different," she said immediately, her jaw set. She put her pen down on her pad and laced her fingers together. "I'm so sorry the justice system as failed you so tremendously, but we will do everything we can for you now that you're here."

You nodded and wiped more of your tears away before she handed you a box of tissues from a small cabinet in the corner of the room. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met her gaze once again.

"What else?"

"I think that's enough for today," she said, flipping the pages closed on her legal pad. "We got your doctor's report this morning, and combined with this statement we will start the process of formally pressing charges. After that, if he pleads not guilty, it will go before a judge. But let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Okay," you said quietly, gathering your purse and following her out of the room. Your eyes immediately drifted around the hallway and then the bullpen, searching for Joel, but he was nowhere to be found. You frowned as Beth led you towards the front lobby, prepared to walk home, when you heard his voice call your name just as you were opening the door.

"I'll take you home," he said. His face looked hardened and his eyes looked distant.

"You don't have to," you began, but he just shook his head and gingerly cupped your elbow, directing you out the door and into the parking lot.

The ride back was silent. He didn't even have the radio on. You glanced out your window nervously, trying not to read too much into it, but when he dropped you off with barely a comforting word or any acknowledgement of what you confessed, you were convinced your greatest fear had come true. Now that he knew it all, now that he finally heard the truth, he couldn't look at you the same.

You were glad Maria had the foresight to tell you to stay home that day. You were mentally exhausted. Rehashing everything and then Joel's reaction put you in an awful mood. By 4pm, after lounging around watching mindless television and checking your phone constantly for any sign of life from Joel, you decided to just make yourself an early dinner, take a shower and then go to bed early.

As you were stepping out of the shower, the water finally turned off and all of the day's makeup covering your wounds down the drain, you heard your doorbell ringing incessantly. Repeatedly. Urgently.

A jolt of dread shot down your spine, but you remembered Joel said Patrick wouldn't be let out until tomorrow. But what if he got out early? What if he made a phone call and Joel was forced to release him?

Wrapped in a robe, your hair dripping down and soaking the thin material, you jogged to the living room and checked your phone. Surely, if Patrick was released, Joel would have warned you, but you didn't have any missed calls or texts. Then the pounding on the door started, making you jump out of your skin.

Slowly, you crept down the stairs, your hand gripping the doorknob tightly, your fingers hovering over the lock.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," you heard Joel's voice say from the other side, and your eyes widened in shock. You glanced down at your robe, little streaks and drops of wetness trailing down the shiny material.

"Uh, can you -"

"Please open up, people are startin' to look at me like I'm crazy."

With a sigh, you unlocked the door and stepped back, clutching your robe tightly against your chest. Joel squeezed inside and shut the door quickly behind him before turning around, his eyes raking quickly up and down your body before looking you in the eye.

"You were in the shower."

"Yeah," you said, glancing around anxiously before looking up the stairs. "Did you want to come up or something?" He just nodded slowly, his eyes flitting down once again as you led him up the steps.

"I got worried, I was ringin' the bell but I guess you couldn't hear it," he explained, taking off his shoes and shrugging off his blazer.

"What were you worried about? He's still in jail, right?" you asked, handing him some water before sitting down on the couch.

"Yeah, I just... I shouldn'tve left you alone earlier. I shoulda stayed." He stood there, a glass of water in his hand, the other rubbing over his mouth nervously.

You stared at one another for a moment, both trying to figure the other one out. He was breathing faster than normal, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his white button down shirt.

"Why are you here, Joel?" you finally asked, your heart starting to beat faster. "Because if it's out of pity, I don't want it."

"It's not -" he cut himself off and shifted his weight before setting the water down. "It's not pity." He took two steps and sunk down into your couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, trying to figure out what to say.

"It's not fair," he finally said quietly. So quietly, you almost didn't hear him. "Everything that's happened. It's not fuckin' fair."

You scrunched your nose, confused, as you looked at him still staring down at the floor. You were about to open your mouth and ask him what he meant when he spoke again.

"I never shoulda let you leave with him that day. Somethin' felt off, I felt it in my gut-" he sat back to press his hand against his stomach for emphasis. "But I let you go. And he -"

He couldn't finish his sentence, his throat closing up as he fought to blink the tears away.

"It's not your fault, Joel," you told him, resting a hand on his broad shoulder but he stood up quickly to pace around the room.

"I'll never let it happen again," he muttered. "Never gonna let him near you again. I'll fuckin' kill him if I have to, he's never comin' here again." His voice was rising as he spoke, his breath coming in short stutters as he rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers, eyes wide and crazed as the panic seized him.

So it wasn't pity. It was guilt that brought him to you.

"Joel, calm down," you said, standing up to reach out to him, but he kept pacing.

"Oh fuck, I'm never gonna forgive myself," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"You didn't do this to me, he did," you assured him, trying to get him to stop moving. "You're helping me, Joel. You're the only one who ever really tried to help me. There's nothing to forgive."

He finally paused and glanced at you, his breath a little shallow as the panic began to subside.

"I'm gonna get you outta this, I promise," he said, his voice sounding more steady.

"I know," you replied, nodding your head.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and tore his eyes away from you to glance at his watch.

"I better go," he said regrettably, looking back up at you again.

"Okay," you said, following him to the door and leaning against the wall as he put his shoes back on.

"D'you need anythin'? Did you eat? I can -"

"I ate, I'm fine," you told him with a small smile. "Thank you, though."

"Alright," he said after a moment, then forced himself to open the door. Before he stepped through, he looked back at you over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm working dinner tomorrow," you told him, suddenly feeling crestfallen you wouldn't see him for lunch.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated, more firm this time. You slowly nodded and wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping he couldn't see through your robe.

You listened sadly as his heavy footsteps descended the stairs and the door shut softly behind him. You knew him well enough at this point that he would have turned the lock on the knob before he left but you still wanted to peek down the steps to check. Your eyes widened when, to your surprise, he was still standing there at the bottom of your stairs, his back leaning up against the door. His eyes flicked up to meet yours when he noticed movement, and you saw Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he spoke.

"I can't leave."

You looked at one another for a long moment, your heart slamming in your chest, knowing what this meant. You were sick and tired of always trying to do the right thing. Where did it get you? How could you even fool yourself into thinking you had any obligation to Patrick anymore? Joel knew everything now. He knew what he was doing, so you said the words that were on the tip of your tongue. The words that you knew would open the door for something both of you wanted so desperately, you could taste it.

"Then stay."

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things

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secretjeon · 1 year

Note

Could you write something for SebastianxF!reader? Maybe later in their 7th year with Sebastian being jealous of all the boys interested in you. Him figuring out his feelings for you and maybe some kissing at the end 😳

ONLY YOU; SEBASTIAN SALLOW

pairing: sebastian sallow x f!reader

warnings: teeny tiny bit of angst if you squint, some arguing, jealousy, very quick slight suggestiveness, reader is seriously so desired by everyone its not even funny, fluff!!! not proofread!

word count: 1k+

a/n: first time writing for sebastian but it was so much fun im so excited!! for anyone who might want to request I write fluff, angst and smut so there's not really any limits. i don’t know how to write dialogue as a british person in the 1800s, so take it easy on me, but i hope u like it!! 🤍

comments/reblogs/likes are appreciateddd

He didn't know why he was so upset at the sight before him. You were currently sitting in your Defence Against the Dark Arts class, waiting for the professor to begin.

It wasn't just you at your table. There were also two boys, whose names you can't remember. They were both bragging about different things to you, one about Quidditch, the other about his amazing skills in Herbology.

It was a painful sight to watch, seeing as Sebastian was sat at the table just behind you. From where he was, he could very obviously tell they were trying to flirt with you. It bothered him deeply, why would these guys ever think they had a chance with you?

Smart, beautiful, perfect you. Things he all believed. Of course, he didn't think anything of it. Why wouldn't he acknowledge how beautiful you were? That was just simple human nature. But that didn't stop him from wondering why he was so bothered by the guys flirting with you.

He hated the thought of them doing anything with you. Talking with you, kissing you, touching you. The thought made his blood boil.

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Sebastian can recall the many times your chats were interrupted by another guy trying to take you on a date. Of course, you said no each time, but it wasn't any less annoying to him. He'd learned to refrain from rolling his eyes at this point, but still silently cursed the lads in his head.

"Alright, everyone! Take a seat." Professor Hecat spoke, allowing the two boys at your table to sit at their respective seats.

"Today, we are going to be doing something a little different. I want you to each partner up with someone, and then I will be explaining the rest." You immediately got up, about to go towards Sebastian when another boy got in your way, Liam, if you can remember correctly.

"Hey, Y/N, wanna partner up?" Sebastian couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes this time. You paused for a moment, trying to find a way to politely reject the boy.

"Erm, sorry... Liam, right? I'm afraid I've already partnered up with Sebastian." The brunette boy lit up at your words, suddenly feeling confident and looking at Liam with a smug face.

The other boy nodded with a tight lip smile, before leaving, defeated. You sat down next to Sebastian, who now had a bright smile on his face. "What are you all smiley about?" You teased.

"Nothing, let's listen for Professor Hecat's instructions, yeah?" Both you and him brushed it off, spending the rest of the class chatting up a storm and doing the assignment.

___

A few days have passed, and it just so happened to be Valentine's Day. You and Sebastian had gone to The Three Broomsticks to drink a butter beer together, as your own 'Galentine's Day', though you weren't sure if you could call it that because Sebastian wasn't a girl, but you were both single so the concept was the same.

You were sipping on your drink, enjoying each other's company when you see a guy who you recognize from your Charms class, someone whose tried to ask you out before, approach you.

"Y/N? It's Patrick, from Charms? I was wondering if maybe you'd wanna get a drink with me." This visibly angered Sebastian, his grip on his glass tightening, knuckles turning white. Before you could speak, Sebastian decided to tell Patrick a few words of his own.

"Don't you see that she's busy with me right now? And I don't know if it's clicked in that noggin of yours, but have you ever considered that maybe she's just not into you?" His voice was slightly raising at this point, but you couldn't help but find it attractive.

Patrick's eyes widened a little before backing up, muttering an apology and walking away. You turned to face Sebastian. "Why did you do that? You didn't even let me get a word in."

"Oh, please, Y/N, didn't you see how he was looking at you? It's like you were a chocolate frog and he was ready to eat you! Trust me, he's not the right guy for you." You quirked an eyebrow at his statement.

"Then who is?" You watched as he hesitated for a moment, before taking a sigh as if to prepare himself, and looked you in the eyes.

"I am," You stared at him in shock, not knowing what to say at the sudden confession.

"Y/N, I'm not sure why I didn't come to this realization sooner, but I've fallen for you. Deeply. I mean, we've gone through everything together, and you're just so perfect. You're truly one of the most amazing people I've ever known, and I've never felt this way about anyone be-"

You cut him off by leaning forward and capturing his lips with your own, catching him off guard. He's thrown off at first, but quickly matches your rhythm with his own, your lips fitting together like puzzle pieces, sparks flying everywhere in the room.

The kiss is everything and more. With his mouth still on yours, he grabs your chair, pulling you in closer, before moving his hands to you, one on your face, holding your cheek, the other holding your hand.

You both break apart, breathless with stupid smiles on your faces. "I've been waiting forever for you to say that." You grab his hand with both of yours.

If it was possible, his smile got even wider at your words. "You have?" You nodded, figuring it was time to confess.

"You've given me absolute butterflies since the moment I met you, Sebastian. I had all but hoped that you felt the same way. Why do you think I've always rejected the guys that flirted with me?

It's because it's you. It's only been you." You lean in for another kiss before Sebastian suggests a real date, perfectly fitting the day. The two of you leave The Three Broomsticks, feeling happier than ever before.

#Sebastian sallow #Sebastian sallow x reader #Hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #harry potter #Sebastian sallow fanfiction #Sebastian sallow fluff #Harry Potter hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfic

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makeyoumine69 · 8 months

Text

Morning sex with Patrick | NSFW HEADCANON

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— A/N: That was very sudden, but I hope you like it. Many thanks to @sleeplessphantom for inspiration and @optional for the amazing gifs!😍

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [buy me a coffee]💓

It was no secret that Patrick's sex drive was quite high, so even if he fucked you before you went to sleep, it didn't mean he wouldn't fuck you again in the morning. Especially if you acted like a brat all day.

If Bateman woke up early, you were already in trouble, because his big palms would find their way under your clothes before you could even notice. Inch by inch he would explore your tender skin, enjoying the way your body would react to his small, innocent touches, making his cock harder than ever.

Patrick would play with your breasts, rolling your taut nipples between his skillful fingers as he turned on his side, pulling you closer to his body so you could not escape what was to come. Elated, Bateman would greedily take your little tip in his mouth, closing his eyes in sweet pleasure as you knit your beautiful eyebrows, by this time you would be so fucking wet and he would make sure to check it.

"Mmmhm," you mewled as you felt his hot breath on your belly as he descended upon you. "Pat… Patty!"

"Yes, babydoll," he growled back in a raspy voice, kissing your inner thigh as he caressed another. "I'm here and I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good."

Slowly you opened your eyes to see the sun reflecting off his beautiful hair, giving it a golden hue, while Bateman was already settling between your legs.

The burning sensation of his hot tongue on your sensitive clit made you almost bite the pillow — every time he did it felt like the first time, it was overwhelming and astonishing because he knew what he was doing. He always did.

"Aww—Daddy," you arched your back and buckled your legs up to his face as he lapped at your juicy pussy, holding you wide open for his thirsty mouth. "So good, it f-feels so good!"

Throwing your head back, you crumpled the blankets underneath you from the pulsating tension in your lower belly as Patrick was literally devouring your warm body, not forgetting to make lewd noises that drove you crazy. But as soon as he felt you begin to convulse, he stopped everything and pulled away from your heated slit, forcing a sad gasp from your rapidly breathing chest.

"Patrick?" You leaned up on your elbows to look down at him, but at the same moment he deftly grabbed your hand to wrap it around his engorged length. With each stroke, Bateman's panting grew louder and soon he was closing his eyes in pleasure, tilting his head and letting go of your hand as he allowed you to take control of the pace.

"Such a good little girl," he groaned passionately before lying down next to you and placing his hand where his mouth had been a few minutes ago. "Today I wanna see you bouncing on my cock."

His words, along with the circular rubbing movements around your swollen bud, made you whimper and encouraged you to jerk him faster. For a brief moment, the two of you would look into each other's eyes, blurry with intoxicating desire, as your hands were giving too much pleasure by playing with needy, hot flesh.

Soon you would be hopping on top of him, wailing pitifully as his beefy dick rammed into you from below, his firm hips giving you no rest.

"Daddy! You're s-so big!" Shaking, you cried out with your eyes closed as his strong arms pinned you down on his thick cock, slapping your ass from time to time when you dared to slow down just a tiny bit.

"Argh—yeah, just like that," he praised you, admiring the view of your bouncing breasts as you did your best to ride him hard, no matter how painful it was for your little hole - his veiny shaft tore you from the inside. "Use my cock... mhmm... use my cock like a dirty slut you are!"

Whimpering, you leaned on his buffed torso, speeding up and letting yourself get lost in the fire of passion, the curve of his dick hitting all the right spots and the angle of penetration was so sick — you had no choice but to cum hard around him, squeezing his pulsating cock so vividly.

"Mmhm! I'm so... SO CLOSE... AWW!"

"Jeez, your greedy pussy is clinging to me so fucking tight!" Bateman grunted, forcing you to sprawl across his chest as he fucked you senselessly, his strong arms giving you no chance to move.

You fell over the edge, feeling the waves of pleasure hit every part of your body like an electric shock. Patrick had to thrust harder to break through the grip of your pussy, soon he would join you in the ocean of bliss, spending his warm seed in your womb until it began to flow down.

And only after some time, when you both had recovered your breath, would Bateman cradle your face and bring you closer to kiss you gently on the lips, murmuring: "That's what I call a 'good morning.'"

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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whore-ibly-hot · 10 months

Text

Yan!Bully x Reader x Yan!Freak Pt 2

"Boys Night Plus One."

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Bullying, name calling, degradation, violence, non-consensual photos, nonconsensual touching, male pronouns for the yans, mentions of school, general perversion, toxic behaviors, creep behavior, cum, masturbation, male and female genitalia.

Part 1 here

(AN: This one is for you, anon who sent me a bullet-point list of some ideas for Ahmed and Patrick which were better than anything I could have come up with. I love you.)

You groan, struggling to yank off the cotton top you had taken to wearing for PE class. You had been sick for a week or so, and in order to stay up on your grades you had been doing classwork after school. Today, you are making up some time for gym class using the school's exercise facilities. Once you finally get it off, you unlock your locker and put your gym clothes inside, reapplying your deodorant and putting on your school shirt. Just as you shut your locker, you hear the door of the girl's locker room flap shut, and you perk up at the sound. That's odd, after a few days of working out after school, you've never run into anyone else using the facilities.

"Hello?" You call out, peering around the row of lockers. Suddenly, a fist slams into the locker behind you, making you shriek. You whip around, to see Patrick, the schools most notorious bully laughing his ass off at how spooked you got. "Patrick!" You yell, smacking him lightly. "Ooh, feelin' fiery, huh?" He takes a breath, calming himself after laughing so hard. "What's got you so pissed off?" You roll your eyes.

"You scared me, and you're in the girls locker room!" He fakes shock, and looks around. "Really, the girls locker room? Huh, wonder how I wound up here..." He muses, playfully leaning up against the lockers. "If it was the boys locker room, why would I be here?" You ask. He shrugs. "I don't know, maybe you were tryna' sneak a peek at some dudes after football practice." He grins, leaning over you a little more. "Or maybe you wanted one of them to sneak a peek at you." You blush, and push him away. "Go away, Patrick, there's no reason for you to be here right now." You try to quickly gather your things, and make your way to the door.

"Woah, woah, hey, where ya' going? I'm just checking on you. You haven't been to class lately, I was getting worried." He uses your moment of surprise to grip your wrist and gently pull you back over. "I was sick, just needed some time away from class. Why does that matter to you?" You ask, confused. He's always enjoyed tormenting you, and you would think you were special if he didn't also torment everyone else. Of course, Patrick knows where you've been, because he's had Ahmed posted outside your bedroom for the duration of your absence, both to get photos and make sure you aren't hanging out with anybody else. He shrugs again. "I missed seeing you in these." He reaches into your gym bag, gripping one of the pairs of gym shorts and pulling them out. "Y'know, I don't think these follow the dress code..." Admittedly, you needed to get some new shorts. These ones were small, but you just hadn't gotten around to buying new ones. "Gym class is already fuckin' boring, especially when I can't see your sweet little ass bent over, trying to do toe-touches or yoga or whatever the fuck we're supposed to in that sweaty shit-hole."

You only blush and grab the shorts from him, stuffing them back into your bag. "Well, I'm sure you managed fine without me. There's plenty of girls to perv on that aren't me." You whimper. Patrick chuckles, and shakes is head. "Yeah, but I don't want any of them." He pauses, then clicks his tongue. "That reminds me though, I did make a friend while you were gone. I had a lot of free time since you weren't around to play with." You glance up at him. "Another member of your gang?" You ask. The last thing this school needs is even more assholes hanging out with Patrick. "Nope. It's someone I knew before you left, but I've made amends with them. Patched things up, self-improved." He brags. He looks down at you smugly. "You should be proud of me, I'm a changed man."

"What do you mean?" You aren't sure what previous acquaintance he's referring to. Due to Patrick's widespread terror, it could be pretty much anyone. "You know that new kid, Ahmed?" Your mouth opens in shock. You had heard things about the new boy, with dark hair and wide eyes. You had noticed him a few times in English class. He was always quiet, only occasionally speaking when he was being picked on by the other kids, quietly protesting the abuse. You had traded poetry a few times for an assignment. He seemed very creative. You weren't really sure why the other kids picked on him so much, but you suspected it was because Ahmed was Patrick's new favorite. You had heard of the things he'd done to Ahmed, robbing him, beating him, stealing his classwork. You didn't do anything, how could you? Patrick hated when people stood up to him, and you didn't want his attention on you anymore than it was.

"You're... friends with him now." Patrick nods. "That's cruel, Patrick. You can't do all that stuff to somebody, then force them to play friends with you. It's not right!" You exclaim, boldly defying him for a moment. He only exhales lightly, and puts his hands up in surrender. "You got it all wrong, baby. We are friends, me and him. We've made amends. I told you, I'm changing. I'm a reformed juvenile." He looks up to see if you're buying it. He pouts when he notices you still seem skeptical. "Alright, I guess I'm not 'reformed', exactly, but me and him really are friends now." You only nod, hoping he will drop it and go away. This reaction makes him scoff. "You still don't believe me? Fine, I'll tell you what. I'm going over to see Ahmed at his house tonight, to hang out. Why don't you come with me?" He offers.

You shake your head no quickly. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Patrick." You exclaim. "Well, if you do go, and see me and him are friends, you'll know I'm not such a bad guy, and you might like my new friend. If you don't go though..." He chuckles lowly. "Me and this guy may not be friends... and by not going, your risking this kid getting beat up in his own home. Do you want that on your conscience?" You bite your lip, but shake your head. "No, you don't. I could handle that, but you couldn't, pretty thing. So come on, grab your shit and head over there with me, alright?" You make no movements, and Patrick groans, grabbing your gym-bag. "Fine, since I told you I'm changing, and I'm a gentleman, I'll carry your stuff." His free hand grabs your wrist. You both walk out of the school doors towards the bus stop. As you stand waiting for the bus, he leans in, his lips almost brushing your ear. "We're taking the city bus, and it's late enough that it's gonna be crowded." You nod, not sure where he's going with this. "Lots of hard working people want a seat, and we should give it to them. Being good members of the community and all that shit." He sighs. "So whether or not there's a free seat for you, I expect that ass on my lap for the whole ride, you feel me?" You blush, and look at him with wide eyes. He chuckles, leaning back from your ear. "Gotta save some room for everyone else. Besides, I'm plenty comfortable."

Ahmed is sitting on his bed, foot bouncing at a pace so rapidly it practically shakes his whole scrawny form. He stares at the clock, counting the seconds until Patrick shows up. He promised, promised he'd have a way of getting you here. After weeks and weeks of photographing you from a distance, Patrick promised he would finally get to be near you, talk with you. Ahmed wasn't exactly sure how Patrick was going to accomplish this, but he knew given his reputation it would be easier for Patrick to get a hold of you than him. He just hoped whatever Patrick did, it wouldn't be as severe as what he endured before Patrick and him entered a truce. He didn't want you in his house for the first time, scared and unsure why you were brought there. No! He wanted his new house guest to be comfortable. His room was dark, with books, figures, and posters strewn about. He did his best to make it homey though. He opened the curtains, cleaned out any trash, (hid his camera and photo collection). He was sure Patrick was going to laugh at him for all this, seeing as Patrick had seen the state his room was in before. Ahmed shakes his head. He wasn't worried about Patrick right now. No, he was ready to see you, talk with you. Maybe... maybe even get to touch you.

The door creaks, and Ahmed hears footsteps approaching. Heavy boots, followed by the light patter of smaller feet. He bites his lip to the point it almost breaks skin. Patrick had done it. You were waiting just outside his room.

He hops back onto his bed, trying to look as casual as possible as the blonde menace he now called a friend traipsed in, with you behind him. "Ahmed... looks like you cleaned up a little in here. Huh." Patrick looks around, hands in his pockets as he leans against Ahmed's bed frame. "Ahmed, I believe you know my new friend." Patrick motions at you. Ahmed nods quickly. "Uh, yeah. We have an English class together." He says. "It's nice to actually meet you Ahmed, you and Patrick are-" You sigh. "Friends?" Ahmed nods. "Yeah, we actually have a lot in common..." He chuckles, shrugging. "Crazy, huh?" He coughs awkwardly. You nod, still not fully convinced.

"See, baby? I told ya' there's nothing shifty going on here! Me and Ahmed are just best buds." Patrick flops onto Ahmed's bed, bouncing the boy up a little as he wraps an arm around him, his grip rough on Ahmed's shoulder. 'Best buds' wasn't really a term Ahmed would use, especially considering two days ago Patrick was pounding Ahmed into this very bed, making the scrawny outcast cry and beg for his cock to go just a little deeper, just a little faster to give him that relief. Of course, Patrick was a jerk, and didn't let him reach that peak for at least three hours into the session, when Ahmed's parents came home. Patrick enjoyed making the boy finally cum on his cock, while trying to muffle his cries knowing his parents were just downstairs.

"So, w-would you like to watch a movie, or play a game? I've got Mario Kart, and Mortal Kombat-" Ahmed lists off a few more games, hoping something would catch your attention and endear him to you. You smile awkwardly, but shake your head. You hadn't really planned on staying, considering you were so sure that Patrick was just tormenting this poor boy. "I actually should get going, it's a Friday night, I don't want to intrude on your boys time." You move to grab your gym stuff, and Ahmed's face falls. He looks at Patrick, glancing at you and silently begging Patrick to do something. Anything, just to keep you here longer. "Calm down, I'll fuckin' handle it." Patrick whispers, before running a hand through his hair and turning back to you. "C'mon, baby! We don't mind you hanging out. Besides, Ahmed's had kind of a rough time in our school. I'm the only friend he's got." Ahmed blushes, not realizing the strategy was to make him look like a pathetic loser. "Patrick-" Patrick shoves his shoulder and continues. "Don't you wanna help him make at least one more friend?" You hesitate at the door, before sighing. It certainly isn't healthy for someones only friend to be Patrick, so you nod. "Fine, I'll stay..."

Several hours go by, and after two movies, four rounds of Mario Kart, and one two-liter of Sprite later, you are on the verge of passing out. You aren't really sure what happens in the next few minutes, but all you know is you are now laying in Ahmed's bed, with Patrick to your right and Ahmed squished on your other side, between you and the wall. Patrick fell asleep first, oddly enough. For a guy with so much energy, he gets sleepy quick. Now it's just you and Ahmed.

"Sorry about this, I didn't realize it was so late..." Ahmed apologizes. He isn't sorry. He imagined hundreds of ways this evening could go, but none of them ended with you pressed up against him, in his bed. God, you were getting your scent all over his sheets and his t-shirt. "M' never gonna wash these sheets again." He mumbles to himself. "Mm- what?" You ask groggily, making him jolt and blush. "Nothing, sorry." You go back to trying to sleep, and eventually pass out.

Ahmed tries to sleep as well, but just as he closes his eyes, he feels a weight on top of him. He gasps, and opens his eyes to see Patrick on top of him. "Come on, freak. We've got work to do." He sits back on the boys lap, allowing him to sit up. "Wha- I thought you were asleep." Patrick scoffs, and shakes his head. "Nah, just knew she wouldn't want to fall asleep around big bad me if she thought I was awake. But, I am. Now go find your camera." Ahmed looks confused, making Patrick roll his eyes. "Come on, you didn't think we were just gonna have a sleepover, did you? Tell secrets and make friendship bracelets like a fuckin' girl scout troop? We have a chance to get some close-up shots we could never get otherwise right now. Maybe even get a feel of her, now hurry up." The plan now confirmed, Ahmed scrambles as quietly as he can off the bed, practically throwing himself onto the floor as he blindly feels around under his bed for the camera. He knocks some stuff around, making Patrick his. "Shut the fuck up!" He whispers harshly. "M' sorry! It's dark." Ahmed whines. Finally, his fingers close around cold metal the camera, and he climbs back onto the bed beside Patrick.

"I'm ready. Just tell me when to snap a picture, and I'll do it." Patrick nods. "Heh, I've always wanted to see what's under this shirt." Patrick carefully slides the thin cotton up, not removing it from you but placing it just under your chin, exposing your breasts to the two boys. "Why doesn't she have a bra?" Ahmed asks. "She was coming back from the gym, already took off her sports bra, I guess. It's in her back over there, if you wanna smell it or some shit." Ahmed blushes. "S-smell it?" He stammers. "I don't know, you're the freak here. I'm just guessing that's something you're into." He isn't wrong.

"God, she's got a nice little pair, huh?" Patrick motions for Ahmed to snap a few photos. "Get one of my hands on em' too." Patrick's large hands cup your breasts, his thumb barely brushing past the nipple. Once Ahmed get's the photos, Patrick begins to gently rub his thumb and fore-finger over the nipples, watching as the delicate buds harden. "Fuck, I always like them better when there hard n' shit. Seeing them poke through t-shirts. I caught her out in the cold once, took everything in me to not make her pop em' out right there in the alley behind the school." Patrick smiles and the memory. Ahmed squirms, causing his friend to take notice.

"Gimme your camera." Patrick orders. "Wha- no! This, this camera is everything to me!" Patrick just groans at the boys pleading. "I'm not gonna' break it, freak. Just giving you a chance to free up your hands so you can play with her tits too." Ahmed looks between Patrick and your breasts, which are now peaking in arousal at Patrick's teasing. He sighs. "Okay, fine." Patrick takes the camera, and Ahmed places two hands on your breasts, squeezing ever so gently. "Wow, they're really soft, except for her nipples, I guess..." Patrick restrains himself from laughing so loud he'll wake you up. "God, you are such a fuckin' virgin. Do something photo-worthy, for fucks sake." Patrick eggs Ahmed on, and in a moment of boldness, the boy places a kiss on your collarbone, before slowly trailing his way down to your left breast. After a bit of careful kissing and teasing, his chapped lips find your nipple, latching gently.

"Shit... there you go." Ahmed is so lost in the taste of your soft skin that he doesn't register the camera flashing a few times as Patrick snaps some pictures. What he does hear however, is the soft, wanton moan that escapes your lips. He pulls back, eyes wide as he looks at Patrick. Patrick seems just as shocked, but this is quickly replaced with a toothy grin. "C'mon, clearly your making her feel good. Grab at her shorts, I wanna see if she's wet from us just playing with her girls." Patrick insists, and Ahmed obliges. Trembling fingers pull at your shorts, slowly inching them down your relaxed thighs. "Hurry up-' "I'm trying! It's hard when she's asleep, not exactly cooperating." Ahmed eventually gets the thin shorts down your legs, just above your knees in case they need to move them back up in a hurry. To his delight, he managed to hook your underwear down with them, leaving your soft mound exposed to the two boys.

Ahmed's nimble fingers move to spread your lips, the strings of slick breaking apart as he parts them, coating his fingers. He almost finishes right there, seeing the light of the camera as Patrick snaps a picture reflect off of your slick, letting them know just how soaked you are. "Fuckin' soaked... just from a bit of teasing." Patrick groans, making sure to get a picture of both your holes and Ahmed's fingers parting the folds around them. "Is that not normal?" Patrick shrugs. "I don't know, some people are more sensitive than others, I guess. Especially when they haven't been touched." Ahmed's eyes light up at that, and he whips his head towards Patrick.

"You- you think there's a chance she hasn't... y'know..." Ahmed trails off. "We're literally taking nudes of her cunt right now, just say 'had sex', 'fucked', anything. Jesus." The weaker boy shrinks into himself at the blonde's words. "I mean, it's possible. I've never heard of any guy doin' her, and I've never seen her with another guy around school." Patrick continues. "Isn't that your fault?" Ahmed asks, making his new friend chuckle. "Maybe. You're the one who's been outside her window for the past month, ever seen a guy over?" Ahmed shakes his head no. "Then maybe she's just been waiting for the right guy to come and show her a good time." Patrick moves a little closer to Ahmed, pressing himself against the boy's back. For the first time, Ahmed isn't bothered by Patrick towering over his smaller frame. "Well, right guys, y'know." Ahmed doesn't respond, his mind filling with ideas of what might happen, that night when him and Patrick finally get to be your firsts.

Would you be scared? He'd comfort you as best he could, but Patrick wouldn't be much help with that, (though he knows Patrick can be gentle when he really wants something.) Ever the anxious mess, he can't even focus on his fantasies without worrying. He needed to get condoms, and were you on birth control? Patrick should definitely get tested first, who knows what he's got going on. If Patrick takes you first, what should he do? He's content to sit in the corner and play with himself, but he know's Patrick would only make fun of him for 'not getting any'. A final thought strikes him. Would he be jealous? Would you like Patrick better? You've known him longer, and he's definitely more popular. He's pretty, whereas Ahmed is skinny and feral-looking. He's drawn out of his panic by the sound of a zipper.

"Whatcha thinkin' bout, 'Mhed?" Patrick asks. He can tell when his little freak-friend is spiraling. "You wanna touch her, huh?" Ahmed nods. He can feel the rough, calloused hands of Patrick palming his cock through his boxers. He shudders. "So much. I want... god, can I take her first?" Ahmed begs, gasping as Patrick pulls down his waistband, letting his cock stick out. Patrick gently rubs his thumb on Ahmed's tip, collecting a bead of pre-cum. "Maybe. You still' passing science?" Ahmed furrows his brow at the odd question. Why was Patrick asking about classes while he jerks him off over your sleeping form. "Yeah, I'm doing p-pretty well in all my classes..." He replies. He tosses his head back into Patrick's shoulder as the strong delinquent begins to stroke his length with quick, tight strokes. Patrick's free arm wraps around Ahmed's stomach, pinning the boy's back to his broad chest. "Gimme your notes for all your classes then. If you're good for me, n' keep proving you're worth something-" Another harsh stroke. Ahmed is on the verge. "Then maybe I'll let you be the one to break in her sweet little hole." Ropes of white, hot cum spill from Ahmed's cock as he cries out, before quickly biting his lip to try and silence himself. If you woke up now, there would be no way him and Patrick could make an excuse to get out of this. Just the thought of being your first leaves Ahmed so emotional that as his cock twitches in pleasure, he can feel himself tearing up.

"Are you fucking crying?" Patrick presses his lips to Ahmed's cheek, getting a taste. "You get jerked off one time thinking about our pretty girl and you fuckin' cry. Maybe you aren't ready to be her first." Ahmed gags, and turns around. He moves his arms, frantically whispering, begging. "No, no! I won't cry then, I'll be good. I'll make her feel good, please. I- I've gotta be her first, you don't-" Patrick shushes him. "You've got a long way to go. I think you and I will have to practice some more, making sure you last longer than you did just now." Patrick leans to the side, taking in the sight of your nude torso now decorated with Ahmed's cum. He grins. "Alright, here's the deal. You take some photos real quick, make sure we can see the pretty paint-job you gave her." Ahmed blushes as Patrick stands. "Where are you going?"

"Gotta go get some wipes, and I gotta be quick about it."

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere content #x reader #yandere boy #yandere bully #yandere freak #oc ahmed #oc patrick #tw.noncon #tw.corruption #tw.somnophilia

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cheriladycl01 · 4 months

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Ghost - Oscar Piastri x UnknownDriver! Reader Part 3

Plot: Reader is the first female F1 driver of the century, however no-one knows that as you are a ghost on the grid. You started in 2022, coming in P12 in the championship. You get moved to Red Bull Racing in 2023 with the off year for Sergio Perez.

Credit to yrsonpurpose for the GIF

Standing up on the podium, not being able to do anything as you watched Oscar run off was torture. You had to stay there while your national anthem played that should have been amazing considering it was you, Lewis and Lando all up there together.

And of course, there were no breaks for you afterwards. Everyone wanted you, from SkySports, to F1, to Netflix. Everyone was throwing questions at you and asking how different your achievements feel now knowing that your the first woman to have completed many of them.

You were fine answering them, because like they said. All of your previous achievements were now bigger than they were as Ghost. People could tell that you weren't fully with them, you were a little spacey and sometimes struggled with hearing and answering the questions.

Most of them put it down to the post race fuzz of the win and revealing who you were, but upon getting to the Sky Sports Team who consisted of Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg, Natalie Pinkham and Danica Patrick questions turned sour.

"So Y/N aside from racing we caught light of Oscar Piastri's quick depart after the reveal, any insight on this?" Danica asks, making you look down.

"I don't think these questions are necessary" Jenson says just as the Red Bull PR manager was about to ask for racing related questions only.

"Yes please stick to racing questions only" the Red Bull PR backs up, nodding before taking a step back. You look back up, straight to Nico who had a soft look on his face.

"I'm just interested, you raced for Alpine last year when he was a reserve driver... for Alpine and you've been promoted to Red Bull this year while Piastri's made the move to Mclaren. Can't help but wonder if its underlying sexism that's made him this mad, you all cant deny he was blunt and rude in his interview with us earlier" Danica pushes and you head snaps up. You feel a hand on your shoulder as if to stop you from what your about to say but you go ahead anyway.

"I've hurt a dear friend. So how dare you stand there and try to victimize me, when he is the one that I've hurt. He knew me as Ghost's assistant and media manager... we were close and I've not been truthful to him for obvious reasons. So don't stand there and try to make him out to be a misogynistic twat when he isn't. I don't know what you experienced in NASCAR Danica but in F1 all I've experienced today is love and support. Just because your sport sucks doesn't mean mine does" you snap, and recoil shocked that you'd just said all of that. She looks at you also in shock, Jenson and Nico were trying to stop their laughter.

"Well, some strong opinions there from Y/N Y/L/N" Jenson says as he watches you turn away and walk off. You were done with interviews for the day. You just wanted to find Oscar and talk to him now.

"Lando! Lando" you shout as you see the curly haired boy ahead of you walking into the Mclaren motorhome.

"Hey, Y/N or should i say Ghost" he smiles before pulling you into a hug.

"I was not expecting that bombshell today, and I will admit I'm sorry for assuming you were some ugly guy... your very obviously not" he laughs.

"Where's Oscar" you ask, you didn't want to seem rude but of course he was your priority right now.

"Y/N, I don't think its a good idea to see him right now. I think maybe just wait for him to come to you. He's upset and" he starts but you look him dead in the eye.

"He upset me too, he just ran off... at my first race win" you say as selfish as it was... but he also ruined that experience for you.

"I know, but you did like lie to him for just under 2 years" Lando says softly not wanting to rattle your already unstable cage of self hatred.

"And what was i supposed to do Lando, tell him a secret that Red Bull had me sign an NDA over and break my contract and risk loosing my seat?" you ask, hoping he would start to understand.

"Look Y/N you really should go..." Lando pushes looking around the area you were currently in. He put a hand on your lower back as to guide you back out, but you planted yourself still.

"No, I'm not leaving till i talk to him" you grunt.

"Y/N I'm telling you this as your friend and your co-worker. You need to go" he says, you'd actually never seen his eyes this serious before and it had your head cocking to the side in confusion.

As your about to ask him why the hell he's being so twitchy, two people stumble out of the next room a little disheveled and both laughing. You eyes lock on them.

"O-Oscar?" you ask in shock, the girl looks up at him confused and his face turns red but also a sour expression comes onto his face.

Before any of them can say anything your turning away from them, everything feels slow motion, all the voices around you blur and your heartbeat comes erratic.

You couldn't understand why it hurt so much, the thought of him not even for a moment being happy for you up on a podium that he come here to be with some other girl ... or was it because in the time you'd spent with him you'd fallen for the racer.

You round the corner, stumbling behind the Mclaren motorhome so that you could just breath. You crouch down, your head leaning back against the side.

"Fucks sake" you say to yourself, once you'd calmed yourself from the initial shock you fully sat down on the metal edging outside the Mclaren motorhome.

"Y/N?" you hear a voice ask, your head peaks up and you spot Alex and Logan.

"Oh, hey guys. Great Race today!" you smile.

"Why are you just sat outside the Mclaren motorhome?" Logan asks raising an eyebrow at you.

"Oh, erm no reason. I just got lost on my way back to Red Bull" you smile standing up and walking to the long strip and turning left.

"Your still clearly lost, Red Bull's that way" Alex says pointing to the right hand side, that you weren't facing.

"Right, yeah i knew that" you smile, turning round and scuttering off the other way.

To say that the UK was the start of something spectacular was an understatement. You didn't go out and celebrate that night, you stayed in with your family.

The next race was Hungary where you proceeded to take the win away from Max in the last 3 laps, being on the fresher tires. They asked you to let Max take the win but you begged for them to let you fight it out. You shared the podium with Max and Lando, in Spa you came second, sharing the podium with Max and Charles and in The Netherlands you came 4th.

Throughout all of this Oscar hadn't reached out to you. You'd kept in contact with Lando, asking how he was and what had been going on. However Monza changed things.

An article came out about an interview Oscar had done about you and how you hadn't spoken to him since. He hadn't spoken very nicely about you when all you'd done was stick up for him. You guys got into a massive argument outside the garages that of course people caught on camera.

You had a really bad qualifying, the car just didn't have pace and your mind wasn't in the right place. So you were starting P14 on the grid, after a cry to Christian that you were so overwhelmed and him assuring you that it was today that really mattered.

You had turned off everything when you got in the car on the Sunday. No thoughts in your head just the racing. On the start you managed to get yourself to P12 overtaking Liam and Nico right of the bat.

"Excellent start Y/N lets keep pushing"

Martin Bundle - I have to say that Y/N is incredible with these races where she starts down in the back of the grid, and she gets those amazing starts where she slips in the middle of the two drivers ahead and is able to confidently get herself up too places

"Okay, and Alonso are ahead, you have DRS" your engineer tells you, and you are able to overtake Yuki who doesn't go as aggressively into the chicane as you do. You have a little spin but recover enough to pull up aside Alonso on the straight, going for the overtake.

"Amazing Y/N, that's P10 right now. Keep pushing"

Eventually you were left fighting Carlos, Max clipped a tire and was now down in 4th fighting with Charles.

"Y/N this has been a fantastic race, from P14 up to P2, Carlos is 1.8 second ahead. Lets get him and bring home a double podium. Max is fighting for P3 right now. 5 laps to go" he advises.

"Tell him to speed up, I'll give him DRS we can overtake Sainz together so its a 1.2" you advise looking seeing the Ferrari behind you. You slow down on the hairpin, breaking early, which Charles didn't expect where he was concentrating on defending from Max. You speed up, watching as he spins out a little leaving room for Max on the inside.

"Okay, Sainz has sped up there's now a 2.6 second gap"

"Copy that" you say, Max was using your slip stream, but didn't go for the overtake, you easily defended from Charles together while gaining on the other Ferrari.

"Okay last two laps, Sainz, 0.3 second gap"

"Yeah i can fucking tell I'm riding his rear end" you say, the minute you get onto the straight you and Max both go either side of Sainz, sandwiching him in as your about to go into turn 11. He breaks early falling back leaving you to take the optimal racing line and get ahead of Max.

"Is Max fighting this last lap?" you ask.

"He's been told is free to fight. Mode push and bring us another win" your race engineer advises, you breeze through the final lap, it was a close call but you came first.

"Y/N Y/L/N winner of the 2023 Italian Grand Prix" your race engineer says a big grin coming onto your face as you flip up the visor holding your fist up as you see all the Red Bull crew cheering for you on the fencing.

"Where did Oscar place?" you ask, you hadnt thought about him up until now. Even as you passed the orange 81 car, it was just another car then.

"Not a good race for Piastri, P12 behind Lawson"

"Okay. Thank you for the great drive today. Thank you Christian" you say before preparing yourself for the podium.

Would Oscar be there?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one #formula 1 #formula one fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri series #oscar piastri angst

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khristie16 · 3 months

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The Fast and Forbidden

Charles is a famous F1 driver with everything one could want: fame, fortune, and fans. But he is missing one thing. Being his new personal assistant changes everything for both of them.

— chapter 3 An unspoken connection builds up and seeing you half naked gives a top to it, right after your date with another guy

warnings: sexual tension, invading privacy (not the intention), charles is chuckling the charles out of him

.........................................................................

I haven't seen Charles for two days. We haven't even spoken. Right after our shared time behind the piano, his brothers came to his apartment to pick him up for the squash that was apparently delayed. I snapped from my sitting position and awkwardly disappeared, resulting in forgetting about the clothes I wanted to laundry. I felt weird. Torn apart. What the hell happened there? I was still overthinking the whole scenery, me and him playing together. Me and my feelings and him and his words. What the hell was he talking about that I am his boat in whatever ocean it was. My frustration grew extremely and I was mad about everything and I did not know where it came from.

After ruminating on the sofa I had bought two days ago at this new and absolutely with nothing in apartment, I had to buy at least few decent things to it. It is not like I care about it much, I'm not gonna stay here for most of the time and I definitely don't call it home. One thing came to my conclusion. I will go on a date. I don't know how or when yet, but I need to go on a date instead of thinking about the weirdfest that is happening between the two of us. What I didn't know though was the fact that Charles ignored me on purpose. He was cursing himself for saying what he said and he didn't know why he said it. It was like that day, that moment he was someone else. He doesn't do these sweet nothings. He isn't like that. And so he ignored YN as much as he could.

On the way to Japan, the ride was quiet. Charles had his AirPods all the time and all I could do was draw some stuff in my notebook. This is actually the only time where my mind doesn't lead. I don't think and that is when I like it the most. That is when I remembered I wanted to go on a date. I decided I will install these trendy apps that are viral nowadays.

''There you have my keys, we are still in separated rooms, but still.''

He nodded in agreement of hoping that I have some common sense and I know what he implies. As I am grabbing the keys from his hands on the corridor in this fancy hotel in Japan, I don't bother to say anything to him. As I turned around to walk to my apartment he said ''I don't need you for today, you have a free time''

I took a deep breath and encouraged myself to go even faster.

Give me your name and I will give you my last name

These guys hereeee. Ugh. Now I remember why I stopped finding my 'match' on these apps. These guys are cringe asf and the only thing they care about is the color of your panties, not your name. I chuckle as I scroll some more on the sofa in the luxurious living room that I roll my eyes at. Anything that reminds me of Charles is annoying. Luxurious cars, clothes and even hotels are annoying because of him. I fumed and threw the phone next to my lying side. My vision goes blur and black as put my hands over my eyes and try to just breathe. Just when I get into the moment, I receive a notification.

It is some guy called Patrick. I looked at his profile and I have to say I was slightly amused. A nice handsome guy, who is appearing normal. I accepted his offer and in one minute I receive his message.

When I saw your face I could not look away:)

I'm not gonna lie, it did flatter me.

Good for you you didn't:)

I'm Patrick. Not from here, as i see you are not from here either I'm YN. I'm just visiting for few days. Better to make it rememberable

I don't know what this guy was but he intrigued me and I accepted to go on a date with him. I put myself together very nicely and went on a date with him. He picked me up in a luxurious car (Charles) and greeted me with a beautiful smile. I had to give him credits for how handsome he is IRL. ''Hello you''

I have to chuckle as I make my finish line to him. ''Well nice to see you too''

I smirk at him and look him in the eyes. Brown eyes. Simple. Nothing complex. Not like Charles's eyes. *(internal grunt)*

''What's wrong?''

He asks me genuinely with frown on his face. I shrug it off with a mild smile that it is nothing, just that I am cold. He raises his eyebrows but don't comment it. Instead he opens the doors for me and I sit down, ready for the adventure of what this date will bring.

The date itself was very nice, a simple dinner with a beautiful view on the city underneath us. Patrick is very casual and calm guy, well mannered and well spoken. There was nothing wrong with him, yet, I felt shallow. I did not feel alive. I thought to it it is because of my shitty mood from earlier. More of someone specific. I checked my phone to see if I am not needed but nothing came.

''I see there is something bothering you''

I lift my gaze and look at Patrick. I give him apologetic smile and take my phone away.

''Just work''

He gives me a knowing smile but he doesn't know it is not the job itself but the person behind it. And I hate myself for letting that happen. I don't want to feel like that, especially with a decent man in front of me. We go back to our conversation and as the time goes by, I finally managed to forget about Charles.

Patrick talked to me about his life, how he started and how it lead him to be where he is now. I genuinely liked to listen to him and it was certain that his guy know what he is doing in life. He has a goal and it appears no struggle take him from it. Unlike me.

When he asks me about my life, I keep it very simple. I don't want to tell him how I lost everything I could, everything I had for the last twenty years known to my life. And there are few things that I am passionate about. one of them are chocolate desserts and so I call for one, to keep the attention from me and my 'old' life.

On our way back to a hotel I stay silent and let my mind wander wherever it wants. Patrick from time to time asked me about something but it looked like he respects my quiet time I need for myself. It is hard to talk when my body is met with so much food to process!

''I know I enjoyed it, I hope you did as well YN''

I smile at him and I cannot lie that it wasn't enjoyable. I give him a light nod with a smile.

He helps me out of the car and then we stand facing each other.

''Can I see you again?''

I look up to his warm brown eyes and melt for a second. They remind me of all those people in my life that I love so much. They are so welcoming. It makes me so vulnerable that I say yes.

I slightly chuckle and keep smiling more to myself than to him. He takes a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ears.

I see someone familiar on the left and my eyes wander there to see Joris with some other men. My body immediately goes tense and I search for him. But he is not there. Weird.

''You know them?''

I forgot about Patrick at all and my eyes widen at his sudden presence. ''Oh, uhm, yes, they are from work.''

I go back to look at Joris who is watching me closely as well.

''Oh, I see.''

I put my focus back to Patrick and give him a smile. ''Thank you for the date, I enjoyed it.''

He just nodded and kissed my hand with a promising look of a second date.

Right after I left the place in front of the hotel building, I lost track of time and focus on outer world that I just blankly stared on the wall in front of me. As the wall split in a half and opened for me, I blinked from the intrusion and get out from the elevator. I blindly walked to my apartment and opened the doors.

Darkness. Weird, I swear I left the lamp on. As I shrug it off, on my way to the bedroom I semi half get off the dress that were suffocating me the whole time after I ate the delicious chocolate dessert. That is why I get from having a sweet tooth. As I groan with the zipper in my lower back a light hits my senses. I blink many times in order to adjust to the surrounding and when the blurry lines make a form I see Charles staring at me expressionless. I stood there like a thief caught red handed and what gets me moving is his eyes lingering on my exposed chest and stomach.

I immediately cover myself and run to my right, even though I don't know what is there.

''Oh my god, i'm sor-'' ''-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!''

As I lay my back on the wall behind me I struggle to breath as my breathing became shallow. ''I-I thought this is my appartment. I'm so sorry''

All I hear is a chuckle and I frown at the reason for him to chuckle at all! I swear this guy just pisses me off.

''It's okay. What about I give you some space and wait in the corridor?''

I hum back in approval and get back in the dress so I don't walk half naked! With a grunt and victim mindset I get out the bathroom and straight to the door where is Charles waiting. There is a hint of amusement in his eyes and small smirk forming on his lips.

''It's not funny''

He chuckles even more and make few steps to me.

''I have to admit that I am glad I gave you my keys''

I stay watching him closely, with a smirk on his face, with my mouth parted a little at his sudden words and my eyebrows lift up. When I become aware there is silence between us I shut my mouth back again and roll my shoulders back.

''It's not gonna happen again''

I said it more with a threatening undertone and reached for the knob to leave this place. His place.

All I hear on my way out is ''What a shame''

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 3 months

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Hii love<3 i hope everything is fine🫂

So the other day i accompanied my brother to pick up my niece from kindergarten and she went out with a boy was he carrying her backpack, that was nice 🥹 but i also saw my brother almost have a heart attack because she is his little girl (that was funny lmao) i thought it would be nice - fun something like that with Jack🥹🫶🏻 you can take it if you want (no pressure only yesterday i remembered it while i was reading that petition where B was talking about Patrick)

Sending you lots of love and hope you are having a good week🫶🏻🫶🏻ily😙

Hi love! Thank you so much, I am doing well and I hope you are too! This idea is so cute, thank you for sending it in!

'Are we good? I've got somewhere to be." Jack looked up from his phone at Nemo who was focused on the control board. "Your last verse was a little pitchy, wanna run it again?"

"I like pitchy, its my new sound." Jack joked as he checked the time on his phone, his leg jiggling up and down nervously.

Nemo gave Jack an incredulous look. "Man, what's going on with you? Any other time, if I called you pitchy you'd cuss me out and you've checked the time on your phone like five times in the last 10 minutes."

"He's got a date with his girl", Urban chuckled from his spot across the room. "Girl? I thought your wife was out of town", Nemo asked as he looked between the two of them. "My other girl, Liyah. Its just us this weekend so I'm gonna pick her up from pre-school and take her on a daddy-daughter date today."

A low rumble of "aws" echoed across the room, making Jack blush. "I can still take five minutes to cuss you out if ya'll don't stop", Jack warned as he got up and grabbed his things before heading out the studio, Nemo and Urban busting into laughter as soon as the door shut.

Luckily, Jack timed it just right so he was first in the carpool line with a perfect view of the door so he could see when Aaliyah came out. He answered a couple of work emails while he waited for school to end, jumping out of the car as soon as the bell rung to join the group of waiting parents. Jack rarely got a chance to pick the girls up from school, so he didn't recognize but a few parents he'd met when Aaliyah had a playdate, giving them quick waves hello.

"You must be Jack. Aaliyah talks about you all the time." Jack turned on his heels to acknowledge a voice behind him, coming into contact with a parent he knew he'd never met before. "Hi, I'm Sarah, Parker's mom." Jack took the extended handshake as he slid his phone in his back pocket. "Nice to meet you, Jack Harlow."

"Oh, I know all about you. Parker and Aaliyah have become good friends this year so I've heard all about your music career and how cool of a guy you are." Jack gave Sarah a gentle smile. "I guess paying your daughter does work after all", he said in jest, quickly backtracking when Sarah's face fell.

"I'm kidding, promise I don't pay my children to talk about my career", he bit at his bottom lip, wishing he hadn't made that joke. "Sure", she muttered, taking a step back.

Jack made a mental note to tell you to avoid Sarah in the future, quickly getting over his embarrassment as a bunch of kids came running out. He spotted Aaliyah within the busy crowd, her messy curls up in two ponytails, her face in that beautiful smile that reminded him of you. He took his eyes off of her for a second when he felt his phone buzz, checking his text messages in case it was work related.

"Daddy!" The smile that formed on Jack's face at the sound of Aaliyah's voice quickly turned into a scowl as he saw that she wasn't alone, holding the hand of a little boy her same height as they walked toward him. His breath hitched at the sight, his chest tightening as he tried to keep his composure. "Hi Daddy! Look, I colored you a picture!" She shook the pink construction paper in front of Jack, but he was to preoccupied trying to figure out who this boy was that was holding his precious baby girl's hand.

"Who's this, Liyah?" Jack dropped to his knees to be at eye level with his daughter, taking her backpack from her. "This is Parker! He's my boyfriend!" It took everything in Jack not to pass out on school grounds, his grip on her bag tightening. "Hi, Mr. Jack!", Parker answered, jumping up and down, swinging their arms between them.

"Hi, Parker", Jack mumbled, watching Sarah approach out of the corner of his eye. "Aren't they so cute? They think they're boyfriend and girlfriend", she chuckled, reaching out for Parker, who took her hand. "I wouldn't call it cute, but what do I know?", he gritted out between clenched teeth. Jack didn't mean to sound argumentative, but he sent off a pre-schooler to school this morning and he was picking up a teenager. "Alright baby, let's go." He gave Sarah a weak smile as he grabbed his daughter's hand.

"Bye Parker! I see you soon!" Aaliyah broke away from Jack to give Parker a hug before catching back up with him. "Yeah, bye Parker, see you never again." Jack mocked as they walked to the car, his face scrunched up in irritation.

****

"Baby, we need to find a new preschool for Aaliyah." Jack stroked his beard, his gaze focused on the ceiling. He had his phone rested on his chest as he laid in bed talking to you, the house quiet with Aaliyah asleep.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, even though he couldn't see you. "Like hell we do, Jack. We were on a three year waiting list for that school. What happened?"

"Parker." Jack grumbled out, making you laugh out loud. "Ah, so you finally met Parker." That made Jack quickly shoot up. "You knew about him?"

"About your three year old daughters harmless little boyfriend? Yes, yes, I did." Jack scoffed, throwing himself back down on the pillows. "I don't know about harmless, baby. They were holding hands and everything."

"Jack, please, don't start. Liyah is only three years old, she thinks she's in love with every boy she meets because that's all she knows." The only thing Brooklyn and Aaliyah knew about love at a young age was from watching you and Jack, who even so many years later were still head over heels in love with each other. It set a great example, but they were both so young and didn't understand different types of relationships yet. "She sees the way we are around each other, and thinks that how you act with people you love."

"I guess", Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair, "it just made me realize she's not my baby anymore."

"Jack, you're getting way ahead of yourself. She is only three, she still needs you for pretty much everything, and she loves you so much more than she does anyone else, including her boyfriend." You threw that in knowing that would irritate him, hearing Jack shiver over the phone. "Stop using that word, please."

"Fine", you giggled, "but you still have plenty of years before you have to worry about any real boyfriends. Plus, I'm pretty sure Parker is your biggest fan."

"What does that say about me, that my biggest fan is a toddler?", Jack asked, but you chose to ignore his quip. "So we can stay at this school?"

"Yes, we can stay at this school. We do have to avoid Parker's mom, Sarah, though." That caught your attention. "Why? I like Sarah. We're on the PTO together."

Jack let out a nervous chuckle. "She may or may not think that we pay our daughters to talk about how good of a rapper I am."

#jack harlow #jackharlow #jackman harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

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pixiesfz · 4 months

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Once again on my knees requesting a follow up where frat Jessie goes to see the reader working their shift at the bar to flirt and distract them while they’re working

I did think of this and I was like hmmm I'm not sure but you have convinced me. so here is frat boy Jessie part 2

plot: it's been a week since the college party and three days since your dinner date with jessie and now you have a shift at your club for bartending

warnings: suggestive, ass grabbing, homophobia (idk if I'll do smut cause not sure if I'm comfortable writing it yet but we'll see) I'm back, yeah a little bit of smut. kinda public, reader went commando today

You looked at yourself in the changing room of your work, your shorts were so short you felt your ass peeking out and your bum bag was almost longer than them. It was saint Patrick's day so your work had decided to change up the uniform for the day, instead of the usual black attire you sported green sparkly shorts with matching dark green fishnets and a whit singlet that was cut in the middle with a four-leaf clover on your left boob.

Let's also mention the leprechaun hat you sported with your hair in two plaits.

You saw another co-worker walk in to start their shift when they stopped and looked at you "that's what we're wearing tonight?" she asked with a smirk "at least it's better than Halloween" you shrugged before making sure you had a pen and paper in your bum bag.

You don't usually work weekends but you had a week off volleyball and your best friend Morgan asked if you could somehow be out of the dorm so she could spend time with her boyfriend, you agreed and now you were hear reading the recipe for a 'lucky charm' cocktail that was only on for the night.

It was a busier night than usual, boys from your school coming in to hang out, some of them noticed you but didn't comment, others were too drunk to notice.

It wasn't until 10 that someone started some trouble.

"Hey little lady" a mans voice popped up from behind you as you rolled your eyes but turned around with a fake smile, he looked about 50 "what can I get you sir" you said "Can I get you" he smirked and you had to stop yourself from laughing "unfortunately us workers aren't up for sale, can I offer you something else," you said, pointing at the menu

You had been through this many times before.

"what about some money would that change your mind?"

"She said no you fucking pervert!" a voice called out to him, a voice that you had become familiar with.

"Is that so, cause she was smiling at me-"

"It's called service with a smile, not an invitation to get into my pants" you cut him off "now fuck off before I call security" you said before you looked at Jessie who was to busy looking at you already.

"You fucking lesbians always think you have control over us men" the man grumbled and you laughed "Josh!" you yelled out to your security man who walked over.

"Is there a problem?" he asked and you watched the man cowardly walk away as you pointed at Jessie to join you at the other side of the bar.

"Wow," she stated "What?" you asked "I'm not sure what's hotter right now that outfit or how you shut that fucker up" She smiled.

"How'd you know I was working?" you asked as you dried beer bottles, "Morgan told me" "Of course she did" you laughed "You glad I'm here?" Jessie asked you as you blushed "I think the way I'm seeing you stare at my ass whenever I turn around gives me the impression that you're very happy to be here"

"I will say I am enjoying the view" she said with a smirk.

A customer came in and you excused yourself to take his order as Jessie watched you from her seat, her grip on her glass tightning when she saw his stare on you.

When you returned you looked at Jessie "Hey your knuckles are white, I don't want to clean a broken glass tonight" you joked as her grip loosened "do all the customers look at you like that?" Jessie asked with a stern face.

"Jealousy is not a good look on you Fleming" you teased "Ha Ha" she fake laughed "What time do you finish?" she asked "An hour but I have a designated 'toilet break' in about 15 minutes," you said and her eyes brightened.

"So I can get you alone in a bathroom whilst you are in that outfit?" Jessie smiled like the cherished cat as you took away her drink "Not with your breath smelling like beer"

"that wasn't a no"

"You are distracting me at my work" you told her and she looked proud "Do I distract you y/n" she whispered going closer to you which made your cheeks redden.

"Y/n!" your boss's voice called out "Yeah" you replied "Toilet break Kenz will take over," he said before disappearing into his office again.

You placed your bum bag down behind the counter before walking past the bar and looking back at Jessie "you coming?" you asked with a small smirk and the soccer player scrambled off her seat to follow you.

When you walked back into the changing room you showed Jessie your little wardrobe "This is hot" she admitted as she looked at some of the outfits "You should see valentines day" you snorted at yourself as you watched her scavenge for it.

"Jessie" you called out to her as she just nodded her head, looking through your work clothes "Jessie" you called again as you sat on the couch behind the curtain "what?" she asked looking down at you.

She couldn't help her eyes for going straight to your cleavage as you looked up at her "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"Oh fuck yeah I'm going to kiss you" Jessie whispered out to herself before joining you on the couch and grabbing your waist to sit on top of her.

Your bare legs rubbing against her jeans as her hands found a comfortable place on your ass is what made her smile "I knew coming here would be a great idea" she smiled "I'm in heaven" she joked as you looked behind you "wait" you told her as you got up

"Nooooo, don't stop heaven"

"I'm just closing the curtain so nobody see's us"

"let them see" Jessie shrugged "so they can know what's going to be mine"

"I think a few more dates until that happens Fleming," you said as you closed the curtain "but I do like your forwardness "Yeah?" Jessie questioned with a smirk and you couldn't help but fold at her words "Oh yeah, I'm free real estate at the moment until proven otherwise" you teased.

This made something in Jessies stomach turn "come here" she ordered as you sat back down on her lap "free real estate huh?" she questioned and you nodded, You felt her grasp on your ass tighter, leaving marks before looking at you and kissing you.

It didn't start slowly like it did at the end of your first date, no this time it was harsher and you loved it, from seeing Jessie so jealous from one look of a guy you wanted to test the waters.

And test it you did as you felt one of Jessie's hands pull you closer to her and create friction which you moaned quitely at giving Jessie dominance at the kiss "Do it again" she ordered before sloppily kissing down your neck "What again?" you asked and she rocked your body up and down her again, creating more friction.

You did as she said and grinded against her without her help as her nails dug into your ass with her denim grinding against your thin layers you couldn't help your quiet moans from coming out your mouth.

"Just like that" Jessie said as she nibbled at your neck, you reached your head back at the action as yo found yourself riding on the girls jeans quicker as you grew hotter and hotter.

"Jessie" you breathed out into her ear "Yeah baby" she says "Touch me" you mutter "Touch you where?" she asked and you buried your neck into her shoulder "down there" you mumbled

"be more specific baby" she teased you as you groaned, she gripped your ass so tight that you couldn't move anymore, you couldn't stand it, you wanted her.

"fuck Jessie" you muttered "What was that?" she asked as she gave you another hint of friction "Touch my pussy Jessie" you told her which she smiled at

"Only cause you asked so nicely" she smirked and you wished you had the power to humble her a bit, but right now you liked it as she placed you down on the couch and spread your legs apart for you.

You held eye contact the entire time as she lowered onto her knee's "you sure?" she asked and you nodded. You didn't even care that you were at your workplace any more, you just wanted Jessie.

You still held eye contact as she rolled your shorts down only to reveal you wore no panties which she raised her brows at "I don't like having undie line" you defended yourself as you watched Jessie try and figure out what to do with your fishnets, with no thought she ripped them from the middle and out, giving her easy access.

You felt the cool air hit you as you rolled your head back "Patience" Jessie laughed before leaning up and kissing you again but she kissed from your lips to your stomach and now a soft kiss to your clit that made a moan escape your lips, she smiled at your reaction before licking your folds slowly

"I know you said patience Jessie but we don't have a lot of time" you reminded her as she smiled at you "Okay"

You gripped onto the edge of the couch in pleasure before she entered a finger inside of you whilst licking at your clit "Oh fuck me" you muttered out as you felt Jessie smile against your clit as she added a second finger.

You felt yourself growing closer and closer as Jessie sped up "Jessie" you moaned out as you reached out your hand to grab her pony tail. She felt you clench around her fingers as she lifted her head up "you gonna cum?" she asked as you nodded

"I'm gonna cum Jessie" you moaned as continued to somehow go faster "Then cum for me" she ordered as you rolled your head back and let go, Jessie slowed down as she let you ride out your high before taking her fingers out and sucking them herself and then pointing them to you "suck them," she said before you did.

"kiss me" you told the soccer girl who came up to you and pulled you in by your chin to kiss her, you could taste yourself on her lips which you loved.

"Y/n toilet break over!" Kenzie yelled out from the door "yep be there in a sec just getting changed!" you answered back as you and Jessie tried not to laugh "If that was ten seconds earlier she would've heard you moaning out my name, did I make you feel good?" she asked and you nodded, grabbing your shorts from the floor.

"You wait here till my shift ends and I'll make you feel good too" you promised her with a kiss on the lips "I'll be waiting" Jessie smiled as she watched you open the curtain and walk out the room, Jessie quickly slapping your ass as you walked by.

"Jessie!"

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aalyssah · 4 months

Text

I’ll Find You

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst and Mentions of Killing.

Word Count: 1,805

Summary: Patrick overhears you telling a friend about a guy who kept asking you out and even following you home, so Patrick gets rid of him, which causes you to run away.

A/N: This isn't a sad, heartbreaking angst, but there's no happy ending. Hope You Enjoy!

It was 10:00 and your shift finally ended. You've been waiting all day to go home, and yes, you do love your job at the small coffee shop, but sometimes you're just ready to go.

You began cleaning up your area and putting everything back where they belonged. You were in the middle of stacking your cups when the sound of a clearing throat caught you.

You turned around to see your best friend, Kate. "Oh, hey Kate!" You greeted her, finishing up the cups. "You ready to go? We can walk home together." You nodded your head, untying your apron, and placing it on a hook. "Yeah, let's go." You grabbed your purse and walked out the building with Kate by your side.

You both walked side by side, talking about the types of customers you both had today. "Speaking of customers, who was the CUTE boy that came in, in the morning."

You thought back to all the people that came this morning and rolled your eyes once you figured out who she was talking about. "Oh, Ethan? Curly hair, brown eyes?" You asked, describing him.

Kate nodded her head eagerly. "Yeah! He was soooo into you. And he was totes flirting with you." Once again, you rolled your eyes at her. "He's nobody. He's just someone who came in and thought I was beautiful, and tried to get with me, but I rejected him."

Kate frowned. "I would feel bad for him cause he's cute, but he's gotta know who you're dating, right? Everyone knows!" She exclaimed the last part, and that's because everyone did know.

Patrick was one to show you off to any and everyone, making sure everyone knew who you belonged to and vice versa.

"I know, and I told him that! I told him that I was taken by Patrick Bateman, and guess what? He said he didn't care." Kate's mouth dropped open.

No one would dare say anything like that when talking about Patrick.

"What?" You nodded your head agreeing. "Yep, I kept telling him, but obviously he hasn't stopped. This has been going on for about 2 weeks now, but what he did the other day actually freaked me out so much."

Kate grew worried, hearing the slight tremble in your voice. She looked at you and saw how your attitude completely changed. "Hey, let's sit down for a sec." You followed her to a nearby bench, taking a seat.

Kate held your hand. "Talk to me. What did he do? He didn't hurt you, did he?" You quickly spoke up. "No! God no, I would never let him do that, but the other night when I was walking home from work, I thought someone was following me." You gulped.

Kate's eyebrows were furrowed down. "Following you? Did you see who it was?" You shakily replied, "Ethan. I knew it was him. He was wearing the same hoodie that he wore when he came to ask me out that morning. He was following me home, but I went into a grocery store, and luckily there was a lot of people, so I could escape without him seeing me, but that scared me a lot."

Kate looked angry, but sad. She couldn't believe what you were going through. "Did you tell Patrick? I'm sure he would-" You quickly cut her off. "No! I can't, he'll—I don't know what he will do." You sighed out.

This was too much on you so you stood up on shaky legs. "It's okay. Just, let's not talk about this anymore. I'm getting kinda tired." Kate gave you one last look and started walking with you.

She knew she couldn't say anything that would change your mind. You both continued to walk home until you reached your apartment complex.

You both gave each other a hug and off you went into Patrick's apartment. You opened the door with a sigh, placing your keys in a dish bowl and hanging up your jacket.

“Patrick, I'm home!" You called out expecting him to come around the corner with a cocky smile on his face, but it was silent. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Usually he's always at the door waiting for you, but today was different. "Pat?" You called out once more. You walked around the corner in the kitchen just to see Patrick leaning over the counter. “Patrick, I've been calling you!" You lightly scolded him.

He finally stood up tall, turning around revealing the tall bottle of scotch-whiskey. He was drinking straight out the bottle. "Patrick, why are you drinking whisk-" You stopped talking when Patrick looked at you with mad eyes.

"Please don't start tonight. Let's just go to bed." He simply replied, but you still tried to ask him. "Why in a rush? I just wanna know-” Just with you beginning to talk again had him mad.

He quickly slammed his hands against the island counter, yelling, “Damn it Y/n, I said let’s go to bed!” You jumped at his sudden outburst. You were quiet as you made your way to your shared room and changed into your pajamas.

As you both slid into bed Patrick pulled you close to his body, forcing you against him as if nothing just happened.

He was so tense, but why?

It was the next day and when you woke up Patrick was nice again. He even woke you up to a little surprise under the blanket, but all good things must come to an end, meaning you had to get up to go to work.

You left Patrick with a kiss, but before he left he said something that threw you off.

“Don’t expect a certain customer today. He’ll be gone.”

You were confused for only a second, but brushed it off not understanding what he was talking about.

All day you went to work, working like normal. Everything seemed normal, too normal. It was until the end of your shift when you realized you didn’t see a familiar face all day.

You were now walking home with Kate again, Kate scrolling on her phone as you thought about Ethan. “Y’know Ethan never came by today.” Kate hummed. “Feels kinda weird. I guess I got used to him.”

Kate looked at you smiling. “What, do you like him or something.” You awkwardly laughed. “Hell no. It’s just weird that he wasn’t here today. Hope he’s okay.” Kate dropped the conversation, once y’all got to the apartment complex. “See you tomorrow.” You both said your goodbyes and up to your apartment you went.

This time when you walked through the door Patrick was on the couch drinking some water. He looked back at you and smiled. “Baby! How was work?” You let out a sigh. “ Exhausting, I’m so ready to lay down.”

Patrick chuckled, patting a spot next to him. “Come sit. Let’s watch the news.” You didn’t question him, slipping your shoes and jacket off before making your way to him.

You watched the news for a little bit, listening to the Weatherman tell y’all about the weather for the week. You got up, going to the kitchen to look for a snack when you heard the news.

“Another topic of the day, a man named Ethan Jones has been found in an alleyway near a small coffee shop. Police said he was killed with 27 stab wounds with a knife and a carving of the letter ‘P’ on his balls…”

After hearing the opening of the story you took a quick peek at the TV and to your surprise, it was Ethan’s face. The same boy that flirts with you daily at the shop.

“Oh my god, Ethan!” You yelled, giving your full attention to the TV screen. You looked at Patrick for a second only to see him looking at you, but with a smirk on his face? “Patrick, why are you looking at me like that?” You asked him.

You studied his eyes for a couple of seconds and that’s when a suspicion hit you. “Patrick, did you-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head.

There’s no way he knows about Ethan, you didn’t tell him and Kate sure as hell didn’t either. “What, kill him? If that’s what you’re asking then yeah. Yeah I did.” Your eyes grew wide when you took in his words.

You took a step back, feeling a little unsafe at his confession. “Patrick, are you joking because this isn’t the time to be joking.”

Patrick lowly chuckled, standing up from the couch, and walking towards you. “Why would I lie about murdering someone? Especially when they mess with my girl, and even follow her home.” You let out a small gasp hearing him.

How did he know?

“H-How did you know?” You meekly asked. “Got a small camera in your jacket. I can hear and see everything.” You looked over at your jacket on the coat hanger. Now everything made sense.

He was listening to the story you told Kate that night, and it was smart too because he knows that’s the only jacket you can wear to work.

You looked up at Patrick with no words to say, just too stunned. A quick idea came to mind. You don’t wanna be with a killer, who knows what he’ll do to you?

You looked around the apartment for a quick second, planning a distraction. “Okay, well how about this. You go pour us some wine and we can watch a marathon of scary movies as a celebration to no more Ethan!” A smile came to Patrick’s face at your suggestion.

Patrick didn’t say another word as he went to the kitchen and began getting wine glasses and a bottle of your finest wine out. You took the opportunity of a distracted Patrick to make a run for it.

You quickly turned around, fumbling with the door knob. Patrick instantly picked up on the sound of the knob jiggling and turned the corner to see you opening the door.

He made quick moves, running to you and attempting to grab your shirt collar, but it was too late. You were already taking off near the exit and down the stairs.

Patrick knew he couldn’t go after you, and all he could do was fall to his knees with a cry. “Y/n, please come back!” He cried loudly, not caring if his neighbors were sleeping.

His cries echoed around the hallway until he got up wiping his nose. “I’ll come for you, I swear I’ll find you and make you mine again. And you’ll never run away from me again.” He spoke deeply under his breath, going back in his apartment room and planning on his way to get you back.

No matter who he’ll kill, you’ll end up back in his arms.

#patrick bateman #patrick bateman angst #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #patrick bateman smut #slasher angst

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slashingdisneypasta · 1 year

Text

Things Y/N says in the Horror House

Plot: Just the title XD Or 'Y/N having a rough time all the time*

Warnings: Sexual references and course language

"Freddy- Freddy you are a grown man- "

"CHUCKY YOU STOP ENCOURAGING HIM- "

"No no, Patrick, I was not looking at you and wouldn't dream of looking at you no no no Oh would you look at that, Chucky's trynna get Bubba to sniff glue again, so good talk I gotta go- "

"Bubba, I- I just... I desperately want to help you, but- I just- I have... I have no idea what you're saying to me."

"Pennywise how many times have I told you don't transform into residents of the home!! You are going to cause an accident!"

*Gassp* "Oh my god... Michael is going to murder you."

*Gasp* "Who told Carrie the f word!? I THOUGHT WE HAD AN AGREEMENT STU."

"THATS IT!- I HAVE SEEN ENTIRELY TOO MANY PENISES IN THIS HOUSE. WE AS A COMMUNITY ARE GOING TO NEED TO START LOCKING THE TOILET DOOR."

"Jen I need so much therapy... "

"Bubba don't put that in the muffins."

"Oh yes Billy I can ground you- JASON COME ON IN NOW AND BRING THE SHOVEL."

"Jason, you are an angel."

"Jason are you serious right now? Put all the Slashers down- "

"Jerry, stop trying to seduce everyone. You're about to win over Freddy and you're gonna regret it I promise you."

"Billy? Stu? Whoever you are take off that stupid mask and go to bed."

"Between you and me Jen... Patrick terrifies me."

"THATS IT- you two CANNOT play together anymore!!"

*Jamming the end of a broom into the ceiling while Chiffany do marital things~ in the room above* "IT. IS. BED. TIME."

"Penny what are you doing... sneaking into Chucky and Tiffany's room... you know what I don't wanna know. As you were."

"Freddy do you... can you just think about the things that you say?"

"What do you mean Bubba's brothers are coming for a visit!?!?"

"Jason I have your mother on the phone!! She says I love you and please put the doll down." (Spoiler alert. Pamela was not on the phone)

"Put Chucky down." (At least 7 times a damn day)

(Part 1) "Okay... someone's gotta feed Aubrey II. I volunteer Micha- where did he go??"

(Part 2) "AUBREY TWO. AUBREY TWO SPIT HIM UP THIS INSTANT."

(Part 3) "Oh, so you listen to Carrie, huh... stupid plant."

(Part 4) "So for now on Carrie will be in charge of feeding the killer plant."

"... Oh god why on earth is Chucky laughing in the other room... "

"What do you mean 'what am I doing baking at midnight?', its called stress baking, I am literally terrified 24-7 around here and the sweets are the only thing between me and 6th degree online shopping addiction."

"... No... Michael I am not on Amazon... "

"I AM NOT Y'ALLS SEX EXPERT. STOP ASKING ME AWKWARD QUESTIONS- no, no, except you Carrie. You get back here and get an education. Don't listen to Freddy- "

"Chucky stop bullying Bubba."

"Oh, what am I doing? Well, Jason and Michael are glaring at eachother from across the room and I'm moving out."

"Behave or I will get Freddy- OH YES I WILL I AM ON MY FINAL STRAW HERE."

"Billy, Stu, leave Michael alone."

"... *Sigh*... I didn't think I needed to actually say this... but please do not watch porn in the livingroom."

(Part 1) "Tiffany help me to understand what you see in Chucky."

(Part 2) "Tiffany stop helping me I don't want to know these things."

"So this is how I die."

"Patrick that is a spectacular tie- annnnd he's just walked past me without a word... "

"Pamela is coming everyone act like you have impulse control."

"No Jerry I'm not gonna bet on who's gonna win todays fight between Freddy and Jason- alright, 10 on Jason."

"... *Deep breath* ... I'm gonna buy that platter on Amazon I don't need."

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doormatty3 · 6 months

Text

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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justrainandcoffee · 2 months

Text

Deal (Tommy Shelby vs. oc!Solomons) + (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 1

“You're a lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf.”

Masterlist

Summary: Why is Thomas Shelby in front of Mrs. Solomons? Just business. Tommy just needs information. But first he needs to deal with Rose Solomons who, unlike her husband, has no sympathy for the man sitting in her office. And yet, they know how to make a deal. "A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby."

Warnings: Mentions of dead, killing. Allusions to sex. Mentions of physical violence. Misogyny.

Words: 4.5k. || Special thanks to @look-at-the-soul who helped me today 🙃♥️.

1924.

Yesterday

"The bastard is a fookin' ghost!" yelled Arthur.

The Garrison was empty except for those members of the Peaky Blinders, allowed to be there. There was a person that they couldn't find. An Irishman called Nicholas Baker, possible member of the IRA. Last time they saw him, it was he when he shot a blinder and left him to die in the streets. He escaped before Arthur or anyone else could catch him.

Since then, the brothers and the rest of the gang were looking for him no succeed. Not just because he killed a man they know, but also because they were sure he was a spy.

"Maybe he's dead," suggested Isaiah.

"No. He's alive and living in London." This time, Tommy Shelby's voice could be heard all over the place. "And Elias is not the only person he killed. And his real name is Sean Patrick O'Finn."

Tommy dropped a newspaper in front of his brother and Arthur read it out loud.

"His own sister! He fookin' killed his sister!"

"And tried to killed his wife as well, according to the neighbours. She escaped." Tommy sat in his usual place as he lit up a cigarette and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He looked at Arthur and the rest of his men.

"We have nothing, then! He can be in middle of fookin' Russia by now." Arthur was frustrated as usual.

"I don't think so. I think he's still there in London, and as we know, police is useless. London is a big city and they don't care. People are killed every day" Tommy lit another cigarette "but I'm going to find him. And I'm going to put a bullet in his head, too."

"You don't know where to start, Tommy!" Arthur furrowed brow and look at his brother.

"Yes, I do know where to start. I need to talk to his wife."

"But do you know where this woman is, Tom?"

"Yes."

The Solomons residence in London was quiet. Rose was working and Alfie just arrived there over an hour ago. He was about to rest his back in bed when their maid announced that he had a call.

"It's Mr. Shelby," the woman said. She saw him do a grimace, but he said nothing to her.

"Thanks, Doris."

Alfie entered his office and closed the door behind before picking up the phone. Every time Tommy called it meant problems, usually for him. But this time what Tommy said, took him by surprise.

"Are ya mad?"

"I just need her this time, Alfie."

"She will kill ya, mate."

"No, she won't. Your wife isn't a killer."

"Maybe. But the women around her are. Honestly, Tom, they're a pack of fuckin' bloody wolves claiming for men flesh. You're a little lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf. Rosie is the leader of that pack, if she gives the order next time I'll see ya it'll be in your own fuckin' funeral... If I find your body." On the other side of the line, Tommy opened a drawer and picked up some papers and started to take some notes. Sometimes Alfie exaggerated, especially if he was talking about his wife. As far as Tommy knew, Rose Solomons just worked helping women in need and in the streets fighting for equal rights. The few times he saw her in Alfie's place she didn't seem to be a menace to anyone.

"They're just women, eh?"

"My Rosie isn't just a woman, Tommy. She's me wife." Alfie sighed "Rosie will decorate the fuckin' Christmas tree they put on her workplace with your balls."

"I'll take a risk, then. Just wanted to inform you."

"Fine. But I'm not going to tell her yet. I prefer she knows it on her own… good luck then, Tom."

1924.

Today. London.

It's only 7am and the Solomons were making love for the second time in the morning. Rose didn't know what her husband was thinking, or feeling, that he had waking up so passionated but she wasn't complaining either.

"Alfie… I can't… god…" her back arched and her toes curled once last time until she fell on the mattress, completely satisfied. She could feel Alfie finish as well.

The man stayed on top of her few minutes more, catching his breath, before rolling on his back, laying next to her. Alfie opened his arms and invited her to be against his chest.

"Are you fine?" she asked kissing his neck.

"Feelin' like a God now, luv. Why do ya ask? You're talking like we never fuck like this before."

"I ask, because I know that sometimes you use sex to channel your frustrations and I just want to know you're fine."

"I'm perfect, Rosie. Gimme some time and we can repeat it."

She laughed. "No way you still have energy, Al. I can't, I've to work. Tonight, maybe."

In response, Alfie kissed her. That same night, probably she wants to kill him. He had talked to Tommy the day before and she didn't know. Alfie was just trying his best to calm her before the storm. Although spending time with her, it was always beautiful. The kiss continued until she pulled apart slowly. He caressed her cheek. Rose knew that Alfie definitely was hiding something from her, but she didn't know what. After one last brief kiss, she sat down in bed and then walked to the bathroom to take a shower.

Alfie stayed in bed, thinking about his friend going to his wife's place. In all those years, over a decade since it was founded, he visited her school just twice. Once when it was inaugurated, when they met each other again, and the other one after the war. They had an implicit deal: "You don't interfere with my business and I don't interfere with yours" even if they asked each other for some advice, suggestions or help. He was a bit worried about her, even when he knew that Tommy wasn't going to hurt her.

When Rose went out the bathroom, she found him sitting in bed, stretching his back, ready to have breakfast. She approached him and played gently with his hair.

"Thought you're going to join the shower."

Alfie put his hands on her hips and pushed her down on his knees. She was wrapped with a towel and when Alfie kissed her shoulder, he smelled the fresh soap on her skin.

"Ya didn't invited me."

"Since when you need invitation?" she chuckled and put her arms around him. Her hands were stroking the back of his neck. Rose was staring at him, "are you sure you're fine?"

"I am, Rosie."

"Okay," she didn't believe him, but she wasn't going to pressure him either. Instead, she kissed him and he reciprocate immediately. Her towel fell on the floor and she felt him ready to be with her once more.

Never two without three.

Arrow house

By the dawn of the next day, every Shelby knew where the leader was going. If they had any opinion about it, they didn't share it. A car was parked outside Arrow House with three men in it.

"I'm going now," announced Tommy. His black coat was over a chair and he took it. "Johnny Dogs and the Smiths are coming with me."

Arthur chuckled. "Johnny Dogs? And the Smith brothers? Ain't too much, Tom? Four men to visit just a bunch of pussies and tits? They're just chicks."

"Not according to Alfie."

"According to fookin' Alfie! The fookin' Alfie! Ya believe him?"

"Yes. Alfie will never allow me to be near his wife, if he didn't know now that she's safe. I know that. And if she's safe that means she's surrounded by an army."

"Are ya planning to kill them?"

"I don't kill women, Arthur. And I don't want problems with Alfie. It's just in case."

"So take me with ya!"

"Arthur, no offense but you don't know how to deal with a Solomons. Stay here and take care of the business, eh? I'll be back at night, probably or tomorrow."

"Tom! Tommy!" the eldest brother yelled but the other man already reached the door.

"Goodbye, Arthur. Tell Pol, that I left her a letter under the flowerpot."

Pebblebrock was Rose Solomons' former manor and prison hell at the same time. Now it was a beautiful school for girls and at the same time it served as a roof for some women who had run from their abusive homes.

As the owner, she was the one in charge even when she had several women in which she trusted working with her side by side. But the final decision on everything was always hers.

Alfie, and Tommy too, were right. The place and Rose, were surrounded by women specifically trained to kill. It wasn't uncommon for men to try to reach those who they already hurt. The rules were crystal clear MEN ARE NOT ALLOWED IN PEBBLEBROCK. The ones who didn't understand the warning were now resting eternally in a cemetery.

Men were only allowed if they were doctors or priests. The institution had nurses and two nuns who volunteered to help there. But sometimes a doctor was required, same with priests. Any other men should call for an appointment, only under that circumstances their entrance were allowed.

"Look at this fucking place."

From the road, Tommy, Johnny Dogs and the Smith brothers were watching the entire property. The gardens extended beyond their sight.

"Full of pussies, it's my fucking paradise. An all-you-can-eat-fucking restaurant" commented Gregory Smith. Except Tommy, the rest of them laughed.

Rose heard the crows. That was never a good signal.

"Now who?" she thought for herself. A lot of names crossed her mind, but none of them was the right answer.

Five minutes later a knock on her office's door brought the answer.

"Who?" she asked not believing her ears.

"Mr. Thomas Shelby, Mrs. Solomons" repeated the woman in front of her. "He says he needs you."

"The Thomas Shelby?"

But unaware of who he was the other woman didn't respond.

"Yeah, well. Tell him I'm coming."

"There are three other men with him, Mrs. Solomons."

Of course.

The day was beautiful. Cloudless sky and almost no wind. It'd be perfect if not for Tommy Shelby in her property.

"Didn't you read the sign?" she said greeting them "men are not allowed here."

"Good morning, Mrs. Solomons," said Tommy with deep voice.

"It is, Tommy. It is."

It always was intrigued him that a man like Alfie could be so devoted to a woman who barely reached his shoulders. His Rosie. Alfie Solomons could start a war against the king and the Pope if something happened to that woman.

Gregory Smith had another idea.

"We don't follow rules, sweetheart. We're the peaky fucking blinders."

"The Peaky who?" Rose looked at the man "Who the fuck are you?"

"The audacity of this bitch. It's a Solomons, eh?"

"Gregory…" warned Tommy.

"Yeah. I'm a Solomons. Proud of it. But I'm quite dumb, Gregory. So I need your help, I only know how to count to two. Like, one, two… what's next?"

"Three."

BANG.

A woman stading behind Rose was holding a gun.

The bullet impacted his head. The man was already dead when his body collapsed on the ground. Rose just looked her pocket watch and then clicked her tongue.

"Men are not allowed here," she repeated. "You understand the warnings now or you what to be the next?"

Tommy looked at the dead body. The blonde woman behind Rose was staring at him and Tommy knew that she wasn't joking. One more step and it couldn't be any difference between a Gruyère cheese and him.

Tommy sent Johnny Dogs and the remaining man again to the car. He also gave his gun to his friend.

"Ya sure, Tom?"

"Just go, Johnny."

When Tommy turned around again, he saw the woman extending her arm, she moved her hand "gimme the fucking cap."

Again, Tommy did what she said. She gestured him to follow her.

The interior of her office was elegantly decorated. An expensive rug on the floor matched the wallpaper and the mahogany desk. Lots of books were perfectly ordered on the bookshelves. Rose Solomons invited him to take seat on one of her velvety armchairs. Tommy followed her with his eyes. Now his cap was over the head of a marble bust representing Aphrodite, just behind her, looking at him. The woman sat behind her desk and put her hands under her chin.

"We have a beautiful garden here. A greenhouse full of exotic flowers and plants. Was your man married? I'd like to send the widow some flowers."

"He wasn't."

"Better, then."

Her brown eyes never leave his blue ones and same as Alfie, he felt she was trying to anticipate his movements. But Tommy didn't express any emotion.

"So? What the hell is doing Thomas Michael Shelby here? My husband isn't here."

"Not looking for Alfie."

"That's fucking new considering the mutual obsession you have with each other."

Tommy curved his lips, barely smiling. "I'm here purely for business, Mrs. Solomons."

"I'm not the kind of person you do business with."

"You are."

Both of them remained in silence for several seconds. Probably she was unaware of it, but Tommy noticed some mannerisms in her that he had witnessed in Alfie before. She was thinking while playing with her fingers. Impossible to say who copied who.

"What kind of business? Illegality has no place here," she finally said.

"I need to know where a certain man is."

Before she could say something Tommy saw the door opening and a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, entered Mrs. Solomons' office. She greeted him with a movement of her head and then started to talk to Rose in French but she stopped her almost immediately.

"This isn't going to work now, Geraldine. The man knows french," she said pointing to him "same as Alfie he fought in France during years. Tell Edith to come. She speaks Hebrew."

Geraldine nodded before leaving again.

"You do that often? Speaking other language in front of strangers?" Tommy settled in the armchair.

"Don't you do the same? I'm sure that speaking Romani is very useful if you want to express something to a friend or relative but you don't want the other to know what are you saying. Don't judge me, Mr. Shelby."

Edith, Tommy asummed it was her, was barely in her 20s, probably she was still a teen. Young and with a cheerful face, the girl approached Mrs. Solomons and both of them started to talk in Hebrew, a language he couldn't understand. For a moment, Rose looked at him sideways.

"Thanks, Edith" she said and the girl left without looking at Tommy. "One of your men tried to sneak in my school. Or they're fucking dumbs or they're really ready to visit God."

"Fucking hell…" Tommy rolled his eyes before breathing deeply. He was sure it wasn't Johnny Dogs but the other Smith. "Listen, Mrs. Solomons, I didn't give the order. I didn't know."

"I know, he acted by his own. Good news is he's alive. Bad news is my girls are taking care of him. It depends on you what I'm going to do with him. Alfie knew you were coming, didn't he?"

"I called him yesterday."

Rose sighed "Yes, of course he knew. Of course he fucking knew," his actions that morning now it made sense to her. Not because it wasn't unsual for them to have sex in the morning, but because there was something in his eyes that his mouth wasn't saying. And after all those years together, Rose knew him very well. "Anyway… what do you want do with your man, Mr. Shelby?"

"Can I smoke?"

"If you go next to the window and put your hand with the cigarette out, I don't have any problem. But I don't want smoke here."

She saw how he stood up and walked towards the window. That one in particular faced one of the gardens where the rosebushes were. In spring and summer, the sweet smell of roses invaded her office and it was something that she really liked.

When that morning Arthur asked him why he took three men with him just to visiting a school and women's residence, Tommy was exploring his chances. Better Gregory Smith than him. He trusted Johnny Dogs, he was a loyal, obedient man. But the Smiths…

"Kill him if you want," Tommy finally said "if my man can't follow my orders, then he should face the consequences. This is your place after all, Mrs. Solomons."

"Edith told me he was screaming that he wanted to avenge his brother."

"Yes. The one you kill it was his brother." Tommy glanced at her. A ghost of a smile was on his face.

"I never killed anyone, Mr. Shelby."

"You don't need to hold a gun and shoot to be a murderer. Most of the murderers just give the order behind their desks."

"Well, he'd be alive if he hadn't been an asshole. It's all about the rules, Mr. Shelby. The sign is there for a reason and if you ask me, you don't seem very concerned about your man's death."

"Rules, eh? Something tells me you're not very fond to follow them, either, Mrs. Solomons. How was the prison?" Tommy blew another puff of smoke out the window, but kept looking at her.

"Pretty cold. Full of cooties and rats. I named one in your honour, that's a tradition that we the Solomons have. Name a goat, name a rat… How's Arfah, by the way? Alfie misses him."

"Thanks for the honour, Mrs. Solomons. Arthur wanted to come. I told him he doesn't know how to deal with a Solomons."

"Oh," she grinned. "And you do?"

"I'm pretty confident about it. It worked in the past."

"I have no doubts about it. But I'm not my husband, Mr. Shelby. I don't fall for a pair of blue eyes and a chiseled face and most of all, I don't trust men."

Tommy threw the remaining of his cigarette in a basket that was there and walked again to the seat in front of her. He crossed his legs and rested his hands over his stomach.

"Do you want to fuck me, Mrs. Solomons?"

"Yes. Just bring me a bottle of cyanide to accompany the moment. And then I want to hug a black mamba. Your place or mine?"

Tommy chuckled. "Wherever you prefer, sweetheart."

Far away from being intimidated by the confidence he was exuding, Rose just scratched her chin.

"Alfie accepted? I mean, if this is the way you deal with a Solomons..."

"Never asked."

"Oh, you should have. The answer maybe could suprise you. But, let me tell you something, Tommy. Can I call you Tommy?" he nodded. Rose left her armchair and approached the man. He followed her with his eyes. Her face was now in front of his, their noses were touching. Both pair of eyes were staring at each other. Tommy felt her breath on his skin "I know who you are, Tommy. Reputation precedes you. I know how you do business with women. But here's the thing: I'm not them. And yes, I'm a Solomons, yes Alfie and I we have lot of similarities. But I'm not Alfie. I'm not interesting in you as a man and if your cock is the only thing you have to offer me, you're wasting your time here… sweetheart." Rose inhaled deeply "God! I never killed anyone, but I swear the devil keep tempting me. How about having your head as a trophy hunting hanging on this office? But…" Rose moved her head back again "as I said, I'm not a murderer."

"Alfie is a lucky man, Mrs. Solomons," Tommy said once she returned to her seat behind the desk.

"Is he?" She tilted her head.

"Believe me." Tommy straighted on his armchair "and I'm sure If something happens to him, I'm sure you're going to heard the devil that keeps telling you to kill someone."

"Be sure of that. If anything happens to my Alfie, the only one who can stop me is Alfie himself. I hope nothing happens to him, EVER. You know about it, don't you?. Your late wife, we knew what happened. I can't imagine the pain."

"No, you can't imagine. But I'm getting over it." Tommy cleared his throat "Mrs. Solomons, I need information."

"In exchange of…"

"Mutual respect."

Rose snorted. "Yes, sure. Alfie could be delighted when I tell him. Information means business, Mr. Shelby. And whiskey is for business, innit?"

She opened a cabinet in her desk and put a bottle of whiskey with the Solomons logo on it. Behind her, were two glasses that she grabbed. A rose was engraved on them.

"I didn't know you drink," he said.

"Only in very few occasions. I prefer just tea for the rest of the day. So? You tell me."

Tommy drank a sip of whiskey before talking again. In his mind the image of Elias dead on the streets of Small Heath appeared again. Contrary to Gregory Smith, Elias was a good man. Her widow was pregnant and a payroll wasn't enough for the woman to compensate her for her husband's death. Yet, it was the only thing that Tommy could do.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Baker."

"There are several, Tommy. It's a very common name. Any details?

"It's an Irishwoman. I don't know her appearance but her husband killed her sister-in-law. It means his own sister."

"Sonia," mumbled her, "but the last name isn't Baker. It's O'Finn. Although she said that prefers her own surname. I'm going to keep that information to me until you tell me what the hell is going on."

From the murdered committed in Birmingham to the one in London's underground. Tommy told her about his suspicions that O'Finn was a member of the IRA and how he, Tommy, was now a target of them. Again.

"If that's true," she replied "then no matter what, your head already had a price and it's not going to be me the one hanging it on my office, but them. Nowadays it's very easy to send a message to the other side of the map. A telegram or a phone call… I don't understand why do you want to talk to this woman if he already communicated with his people."

"Because I don't think he did that. He's hiding. He's a fucking rat."

"Ok. Well, there's a lot of problems first. Mrs. O'Finn, she's not in conditions to talk. Even if she can, you're not allowed to be near her and this is not negotiable. These women are under my wing. Not you, not fucking Churchill can be near them. I don't give a fuck if you bring an order from the fucking president of I-don't-know-where. Understood? I have women specialized in talk to women with the kind of trauma that Sonia has, so, think about twice before suggesting another way to do this."

"The less people know about it, the better, Rose."

She pointed to the door, silently. Tommy sighed. "Fine. But I prefer that you can be present. And me too. Or at least I want to hear everything by myself."

"Agree. We have a place we can use. I need to tell you, or better say, reminder you that Sonia is highly traumatized. Yes, she's alive but the price she paid…" Rose stood up again but this time she walked to one of her bookshelves and picked up a carpet, although to do it she had to climb a ladder. "Tommy, I don't have this rule of "men aren't allowed" just because I'm fucking misandristic bitch, I'm not. I believe in equal rights. I fight for equality. I have that sign because people here, women, kids… are afraid of your kind. I have a register for every single woman that lived here since 1911 when I inaugurated this place. Open the folder."

Tommy obeyed and his first reaction was exactly what Rose hoped to get "Shit…"

The first page was the document of a woman who lived there in 1914 before volunteering as nurse in France, Rose never saw her again. Her name was Rita Brown, 20 years old. She escaped from her house because her father was an abuser. He ended up cutting her face marking a cross on her.

"I don't allow men, because we don't know what kind of bastard will cross that gate. Your man, that Gregory, he's not the first. Dozens before him, I'm genuinely surprised that if you talked to Alfie yesterday he didn't mention my women."

"He did."

"So you knew."

Tommy nodded and Rose studying his face laughed . Suddenly she understood. "You bring this bastard on purpose! You fucking did! You wanted him dead. Fucking hell, Tommy. I heard things a lot of things about you and I'm still impressed. The brother, too? You wanted me to rid off the other guy, too?"

"Why not?"

"Fine. I don't give a shit. One less." She returned to her seat and rang a bell. The same young girl called Edith appeared. Both of them talked in Hebrew again and Edith went out again once they finished. "We have an agreement, it seems. Now my payment."

Tommy opened his coat and placed two payrolls on her desk.

"I appreciate the effort," she said no looking at the money. "But I'm not interested it in cash, although if you don't want it. I can use it to buy something for the school like a new piano for the girls and some violins. A donation."

"I don't want it," he confirmed "then what's your price, Mrs. Solomons?"

"A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby. I want a man dead."

"Who?"

"Churchill's right hand man."

Next part.

...so? 👀

#alfie solomons #tommy shelby #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders #tom hardy #peaky blinders x oc #alfie x rose #Thomas Shelby #cillian Murphy

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marchsfreakshow · 6 months

Text

Nicknames and Praise {James Patrick March x Reader}

You're a sub. A big one. So James helps you find a way to ride him confidently.

Pure Smut underneath the cut !!

No one's perspective

18+!! MINORS DNI Warnings: pure Smut, bare-bones plot, pnv, riding, praise, use of the nicknames daddy and master, Just a lotta praise. Crud smut writing ಠ⁠◡⁠ಠ

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Whines and small groans took over the room. Sloppy kisses pressed to your lips and his lips. People walked past the room, distracted by the noises coming from room 64. They were distracted by the wonder of how much he was pleasuring you, or how much you were pleasuring him. They simply carried on walking, however, not wanting to peek in and distract you and James.

Both of you were almost high from each other's scents, unable to keep yourself from kissing his neck and wanting to leave marks. "Sir...please. please let me lay down.."

"no no Mon Cher...you're staying on top of me today. I'm teaching you how to be a good girl for daddy."

You gulped as you sat up, and nodded. "Yes, daddy." A blush made your face more red, and James stared up at you. Almost intimidating you. Fine. The clothes were coming off. First your thin, woolly jacket. It barely hid your sheer, white shirt. The shirt proudly showed off the bra you wore especially for James. Dark red. Almost a maroon. James secretly hoped it was a matching set because it looked so good on you.

He cursed under his breath. A rare thing, for James. Cursing. You leaned down and smiled warmly at James. "You're such a good girl, aren't you? Wearing your best lingerie for me. You planned this didn't you?"

"Maybe." As you were leaning down, he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, revealing the seductive underwear you put on earlier.

Your skirt went next. He wasted no time moving you around so you were laying under him. Both of you were staring at each other, the tension wanted to be cut. Cut by James turning you around and undoing your skirt, ripping it off along with ripping a hole in your tights. A perfect hole that lined up with your pretty, plump ass.

James stared at your ass. He stared for so long, that you propped yourself up on your elbows and attempted to turn around again. "Sir...?"

"I'm going to make you scream."

You let out a little squeak as you let yourself move your face back into the pillow. "Oh, puppy no. Not today." James grabbed your hair and moved your head up, only slightly, so your neck didn't feel like it was going to rip open. He would most likely prefer that, however.

"Sir...Daddy please.."

"Please what?"

"Please do me already." You whined, staring at the general direction of the headboard. He let out a 'hm' and a little laugh, letting go of you already. Your head immediately plopped back onto the pillow. James had sat himself down next to you and was staring at you. The lust in his eyes was like a fire, wanting to be ignited by your moans, and making you feel like a fuck toy for him.

His trousers had been taken off, and his shirt, messily unbuttoned. It made you want him more. You hastily straddled him again, and he chuckled. "Look at you my whore, so desperate for me yes?" You nodded again, hiding your blushing face from the man below you. "Go on, put it in."

The eye contact was unbearable. You slowly move your own underwear to the side. It matched your dark, maroon bra. Uncomfortable but lacy, and it turned James on more. You took his cock out of his own underwear, staring longly at it. But you looked back up, and he was staring darkly at you. The light in his eyes was no more. All he wanted was to see you whimper and feel embarrassed as you rode his cock, without any guidance. He wanted you to do it solo. Ride him, pleasure him, and make you feel more dominant because of how much of a submissive woman you were for him.

"oh, my pup can't even put it in herself can she?"

"I...I can do it daddy." You quietly moaned, adjusting yourself until you were lowered onto James cock. He made you sit upright on it, so it reached the G-spot immediately. It made you whine slightly and grip onto his sides. Your whines turned him on more, both of you staring intensely at each other. The tension rose again quickly. It ended when you leaned down and hid your face in your master's neck. Yet, you attempted to continue moving. You rocked your hips back and forth rather than up and down.

James groaned heavily but pushed you and kept you upright. "You're such a good girl for your master. Riding me just right.." You nodded in response, hiding your face in your hands. "Look at me, angel."

He held your hands away from your face and gestured down towards you sitting on top of him. Gulping slightly, you started to move again, attempting to go faster. The small whimpers and moans left your mouth as you moved, with James holding your hips and helping you move.

It was easy to find your pace, but he wanted you to look at him. If only looking at him didn't make you weak, and soft. If only looking in his general direction didn't turn you into his putty to play with. His eyes truly intimidated you, you became a whimpering, slutty mess under his hands. Even if he just praised you for looking at him while he fucked you raw.

"oh pup. Mm, puppy."

He was close. You could tell.

He had his eyes screwed shut, his hands still gripping onto your moving hips.

Quickly, you took the opportunity to grind down, and rock back and forth on his cock as fast as you could. "f..fuck. daddy.." You whispered in between your own moans. James continued to moan your name out, resisting the urge to cum without looking at you.

As your head was thrown back, he opened his eyes to look at your pretty face. "my pretty girl.." his voice was breathy. You looked back down and immediately hid your face. "Daddy didn't teach you to hide your face...when he's gonna come." James barely managed to get out between breaths.

Despite feeling incredibly embarrassed for no reason, you carried on grinding and riding James. He whispered and moaned out praises for you as you cried out his own names you had for him. Your dynamic was heard by everyone on the current floor of the hotel. Yet you didn't care at that moment, you were being James' good girl, and taking him until both of you were in a mess.

When James gripped your waist one last time, you could feel him coming, so you let yourself flop down. You hid yourself in his neck again. "You're such a good girl for me.."

"mhm.." You managed to squeak out as you moved around and lay beside James. Soon though, you took your cloth and cleaned yourself and James up. "I love you, darling."

"I love you my hummingbird. I'm so proud of you. Next time I'll do everything hm?"

"Thank you daddy." Before kissing him softly, you laid the blanket over yourself and the man lying next to you.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @ahsrulez420 @taintandviolent @lilthbunny @howtobesasha @hyperharlz @tatelangdonsweater

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makeyoumine69 · 6 months

Text

Call Me Babydoll 3

— PAIRING: DBF!Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: This game of cat and mouse between you and Patrick continues, and it seems that his patience is thinning. During a very heated makeout session, Patrick finds out about a shameful secret of yours.

— CONTAINS: Smut, Dom Patrick, semi-public masturbation (female receiving), Patrick being an asshole (as always), cursing, use of pet names (babydoll, etc), mentions of food, a little bit of corruption kink, Daddy kink, dry humping, dirty talk, nipple tugging/sucking/biting.

— WORDS: 3.3k

— A/N: Hey guys, thanks a lot for your support and patience! I'm so happy you like my story and I hope you enjoy this chapter too!🤞

— LINKS: [Ch.2]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [MASTERLIST]; [buy me a coffee]💓

Your favorite local café welcomed you with the invigorating aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Despite the fact that it was quite crowded tonight, you couldn't stop smiling because you had been dreaming about that delicious cup of cappuccino since the morning.

"I can't believe you dragged me into this shithole," Patrick scowled in disgust, ignoring all the curious glances from the group of women sitting at the table next to the exit. "I was ready for anything but this..."

"You could just send your driver after me if you didn't want to leave Manhattan," you unbuttoned your coat, took it off and casually handed it to Bateman — the poor guy didn't even know how to react, so he just took it and held it over his hand. "Why don't you buy me a cup of coffee? They make a great cappuccino and latte here."

You accompanied your words with a brief lick over your lips that Patrick couldn't miss, his nostrils flaring with heat. With a mischievous smile, you pointed in the direction of display cases full of various desserts like cakes, pies etc.

"Do you want one?" You asked him, pressing a finger to your lips as you thought about the cake you wanted to try.

"No," he growled, but followed your gaze anyway, staring at the different cakes with a disapproving expression. "I'm on a diet, and I'd advise you to stop eating such junk food since…since your physique is far from good."

No matter how much Patrick tried to mock you, you wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing you affected by his words. You knew your body was not perfect, but you loved yourself anyway because it was your body and anyone who thought otherwise could fuck off.

"Oh yeah, you're right," you glared at him without ceasing to smirk. "But that didn't stop you from pouncing on me the day you visited my father."

"You can think what you want," Bateman replied, looking around with undisguised hostility at everyone who walked past you, especially guys who ogled you. "If it makes you feel better."

It appeared like you could continue this game of trying to cut each other with sharp words forever, but since you were quite hungry, you finally decided what you wanted to try today. Innocently batting your big eyelashes, you suddenly grabbed his hand, shaking noticeably at the size of his palm in comparison to yours, and led him to the barista who was standing on the other side of the counter.

"Hi, how can I help you?" A young girl asked you, her friendly smile widening as she saw Patrick behind your back.

"I'd like a large cappuccino with a piece of chocolate cake," you murmured before locking eyes with Bateman — the difference in your heights almost forced you to stand on your toes, but as soon as you did, he gently wrapped his arm around your waist and rested his chin on top of your head, making your heart skip a beat. "Pat-Patrick, are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Do you have any whiskey? Scotch, brandy or anything?" He asked, his other hand already fumbling with his black leather wallet.

"Uh, no, sir," the barista replied, a little embarrassed. "But we do have amazing teas…lots of different kinds," the girl hiccuped when she saw Patrick's hand shamelessly tracing up to your breast, squeezing it through the soft fabric of your long sleeve, and you didn't even make a sound or try to push his hand away. "W-we also have juices..."

"Mhm, juices sound good to me," the undertone in his words set your body on fire and you couldn't fucking believe he was doing it right in front of the poor barista in the fucking café. "Do you have the orange juice? Is it fresh? I love fresh juice, it tastes so delicious."

Holy shit.

"Yes! Yes, of course we have orange juice," she started to dial on the cashier, her cheeks turning red by the second. "So a cappuccino, a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of juice?"

"That's right." You confirmed in a shaky voice and gently covered Patrick's hand to bring it back to your waist.

Bateman didn't wait for the barista to say how much they should have paid, he just offered her a hundred dollar bill with a charming smile. "Keep the change, baby." He winked at her, watching your reaction from a distance, but you remained still. "Uh, thank you, sir. Please take a seat, I'll bring you your order."

At first, you thought you'd have to persuade Patrick to sit at a table, but to your surprise he didn't even say anything, just followed you until you chose the place you liked. In a few minutes, your coffee was in your hand and your mood brightened with the first sip of your favorite drink.

"Well, that barista is the only good thing about this shitty place," he grumbled, taking his drink and swiveling it in his hand to see the liquid splashing against the edges of the glass. "I hope I don't die trying this."

With that, he sipped the orange juice and looked over your shoulder to see some random girls at the table next to yours, gossiping and occasionally looking at you.

"This cake is amazing," you smiled as you took a bite. "Are you sure you don't want some?"

Your calm demeanor was oddly irritating to him, and Bateman just growled in reply before setting his glass back on the table with a thud. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes," your tongue slipped along the fork, and you almost moaned with pleasure, this cake was so damn yummy. "Did I…miss something?"

"You did," Patrick suddenly took the cigar and the silver lighter out of his jacket pocket. "One thing I don't understand. Why do you visit such places, since your father is not a poor man?"

Frowning, you quickly cleared your throat before answering. "What does that have to do with my dad?"

Patrick opened the lighter with a click and wrapped his lips around the cigar, twisting it nonchalantly before lighting it. "In this world," he paused, blowing several rings of smoke. "Money is power."

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, suddenly losing all appetite. "Oh, please, don't lecture me. I have a job and I don't need anyone to give me money. Believe me."

"I see."

"Money is just a tool," you explained, his walnut eyes never straying from yours. "With which you can build something that can make you happy. But money itself cannot make you happy."

"What an interesting hypothesis," Bateman replied sarcastically, and then, puffing on his cigar, he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small, soft box. "Here, I have something for you."

How primitive and obvious — you thought, but curiosity took over, and you quickly grabbed the box to open it. To your surprise, there was a beautiful pen with a color that reminded you of white gold.

"Oh," an unexpected chill swept over you like a bucket of cold water. "This is such a beautiful pen. But…but how did you…?" You took the pen in your hand, enjoying the pleasant touch of cool metal. "...my Dad told you this too?"

"What? That you wanted to be a writer and publish your own book?" He chuckled and put the cigar in the ashtray. "Well, he told me that you work in a publishing house, so I made some theories about your job and I thought you should at least have a good pen."

"At least?"

With a smug grin, he tilted his head to the side and ran his finger along the top of your hand holding a pen. "Do you like it?"

Embarrassed, you swallowed a lump in your throat and looked up at his arrogant face.

Damn it! Of course you like it, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't.

"Yes, Patrick," his name falling from your lips sounded like music to his ears. "This pen is amazing, really. I've never had a pen like this before!" You rumbled like a child who got a toy he dreamed about. "Can I try it?"

Bateman couldn't help but giggle and squeezed your hand a little before pulling away. "Sure, go ahead."

You didn't hesitate to take out your notebook, set it down on the table next to your coffee, and opened it to the last page you'd written. Carefully, you picked up the pen again and began to write.

"I wonder what you girls write about in your diaries," he chirped with a boyish smile, rubbing his neck just above the mole. "Always wondered."

"It's not a diary, it's the notebook I use for my work," as you lifted your eyes to him, you noticed how relaxed and comforted Patrick looked now, casual even. "But I do have a diary…it helped me a lot during my darkest days."

There was a brief pause between the two of you after your words. Bateman wasn't in a hurry to resume the conversation, instead he continued to smoke, glancing at the window from time to time.

"The rain could start at any moment, if you don't want to get wet," he paused and a nervous laugh escaped from his chest. "I mean, if you don't want to get your clothes wet, we'd better go home soon."

Oh my God, why was he so fucking unbearable?

"Okay, just a minute," you admired your handwriting for a moment before rolling up your sleeves to make yourself more comfortable. "I'm shocked at how this pen fits in my hand."

Patrick's eyes narrowed as he saw the beautiful tattoo on your forearm. "I never knew you had a tattoo."

"Really?" You pressed the tip of the pen to the corner of your lips and threw one leg over the other. "That's not the only tattoo I have," you could see the interested glint in his brown eyes, so you decided to continue. "Have you at least noticed my nose ring?"

"I'm trying to pretend you don't have it," he urged, putting his cigar out on the ashtray. "To be honest, tattoos and piercings and stuff like that are not…my thing."

That was not surprising, so you just hummed and continued writing. "Yeah, I know guys like you only date blonde bimbos with fake tits."

Bateman chuckled softly at your words. "Oh, Babydoll, you don't have to be jealous. It's just that high society women don't spoil their perfect bodies with stuff like that." He pointed at your tattooed forearm before standing up to put on his coat. "'C'mon, it's getting late, and I've got a lot of things to do."

"Like what?"

"This," he paused as he buttoned his coat. "It's none of your business, sweetheart."

"'Mmm, your poor girlfriend is probably waiting for you," you clicked your tongue before tucking the notebook into your bag. "Just don't tell her you were here with me, or she won't let you cross the threshold of her apartment again. Patrick Bateman visited the cheap café in Brooklyn. How did it happen?"

Bateman stared at you like a cat ready to pounce, though his face remained straight. "The limo's outside, I'll wait for you there."

No, you were not disappointed, you were furious at how masterfully he thwarted all your attempts to needle him. At the end of the day, he was just treating you like a silly little girl, but you had your own leverage because you knew that he wanted you, that he thirsted for you, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual mask that he always put on when he was in public. Yes, yes. It was a dangerous game to play, but the thrill of the rush was so tempting, the irresistible urge to dive into the abyss of the unknown. It was crazy, and you knew that one day you would burn like a moth flying to the light, and you could only ask yourself — was the game worth the candles?

Inside the limousine, you couldn't take your eyes off of the beautiful interior; the luxury was almost palpable in the air.

"Is this your first time in a limo?" Bateman asked when he noticed your curious look.

"Uh, to be honest, I used to ride in pretty expensive cars with Dad, but not the limo," you turned to face him, his side profile looking amazing in the dim light. "And you were probably born for cars like this, right?"

His deep chuckle echoed around the car. Cautiously, Patrick closed the distance between the two of you and placed his warm palm on your knee, stroking it as gently as he could.

"My family is fabulously wealthy, it's true," he began, turning in your direction, a broad smile forming on his perfectly sculpted face when he noted that you didn't try to remove his hand. "But that doesn't mean it's the only necessary condition to become successful."

"It does," you replied immediately, fidgeting in your seat as his hand slid up along your inner hip. "Because if you are born in such a family — all doors are open for you, you can apply to any college, any university...even if I don't agree that money is happiness, money is, as I said, a key that opens many doors."

"But not yours?" He whispered into your ear, scorching your tender skin.

"W-what?" You hiccuped and sensed your heart pounding against your chest.

For a brief moment, the two of you found yourselves looking into each other's eyes, the surrounding air as hot as if the limousine had suddenly driven around the mouth of a volcano. As Patrick pulled you closer, you understood that the source of this unbearable heat was his body — so strong and huge. In the blink of an eye, your lips locked together in a thirsty kiss, and Bateman immediately parted your mouth wider, sliding his tongue inside to take the lead in this lewd game.

"Mhm," you murmured through the kiss, wrapping your trembling hands around his neck while he worked to undo your coat. "Pat..."

Patrick didn't let you finish whatever you wanted to say because the blazing desire had already consumed his mind, and now it was your turn to get scared. You thought you could play with this man, test his limits and try to provoke him, but now you ended up writhing on the seats of the expensive limousine as his chiseled arms explored your small frame so delightfully, kneading and squeezing in all the right places.

"Ugh, you're so needy," he grabbed your throat possessively, pulling you closer, marking you with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. "You should see yourself, honey," Bateman murmured, alternating between licking your cheek and nibbling your neck. "So innocent, yet so hot, and all for me."

With one swift motion, he removed your coat and forced you to mount him, groping your ass without shame. Right now you didn't care about the driver who might see you doing this, you didn't care about all your stupid attempts to taunt him, because everything ended up exactly as you planned, even if Patrick might think otherwise, but let it be.

Growling in a raspy voice, Patrick lifted your long sleeve to quickly get under your bra and damn it, his mouth felt amazing on your engorged nipple and you couldn't deny that you had been thinking about this sensation all these days since that dirty episode in your bedroom.

"Patrick," you moaned, bringing him closer, his strong tongue swirling around your little tip as he stared at you from under his beautiful lashes. "A-aww, that feels so..."

"Good?" He asked in amusement, unbuttoning his coat. Then he grabbed your hips to make you grind against his hard groin, the friction making you wild.

"Yes, y-yes." You hitched from the hard slap on your ass.

"Arrghh, such a nasty Babydoll," Bateman left a painful hickey on your nipple and held you close in his sturdy arms, forcing you to move faster. "Is this what you want, huh? You want Daddy's cock so bad?"

Oh shit.

You wanted to say "yes," but instead you just whimpered against his mouth, not willing to ruin the moment with a confession that you were a virgin.

"Daddy," you purred suddenly as he cupped your pussy through the tight fabric of your jeans. "Oh God...did I really say that?"

His devilish grin spoke for itself. "That sounded so good," he kissed you hard on the lips before returning to your swollen breasts, his sneaky hand beginning to unzip your jeans with expert ease. "I liked that."

Having said that, Patrick pressed you closer, lifting his hips to meet yours so that your mound rubbed against his fully erected cock, and you could swear to God — it was so damn huge that your inner muscles were already cramping in pain.

"Babydoll," he crooned in a sweet voice when he noticed you were getting anxious as he slipped his hand inside your pants, outlining your oozing lower lips through your soaked panties. "Fuck, I can smell your arousal in the air."

"Aww!" Your high-pitched wail bounced off the interior of the limo from the sudden touch of his thumb on your bare skin, especially your throbbing clit. "Pat-Patrick...Patrick!"

"Shhhh, honey," he cooed to you, his voice laced with pure passion. "Daddy knows what he's doing...mmm...gonna make you feel so good."

Paralyzed by the new sensations, you arched your back into his face, letting him take your hard peak into his mouth once again, while his thin fingers rubbed invisible semi-circles into your bundle of nerves, smearing your flavor around your folds.

"Good girl...you're so good for me," he praised you between sucks on your nipples, watching you tremble on top of him. "Let it go, Babydoll, I know you want it."

Fucking hell! How in the world did this man manage to treat you so right, as if he played you like his favorite musical instrument, knowing exactly where to press.

"Daddy," you couldn't even hear your own voice, and you didn't realize that you instinctively started to hump his hand, allowing the blissful rapture to wash over you at any moment. "I—I…! This is so good—I…!"

"I know, I know," Patrick brought you closer, gently kissing your collarbone and increasing the intensity of his rubbing motions. "You're literally riding my fucking hand," he groaned, watching you throw your head back, and then he could feel your whole body shaking so violently that he had to hold you to keep you from falling. " Just like that, Babydoll, just like that."

A soothing touch on your lower back seemed to have the opposite effect, fueling your orgasm, you screamed loudly, but there was no sound. "P-Patrick...mhm!" You hugged him like a lifeline, burying your nose in his soft brown curls. Everything felt so perfect, but then the sharp pain cut through your body like a flash of lightning as Bateman tried to shove his fingers into your moist cleft, and you even had to claw at your own skin to prevent yourself from crying. "STOP!"

Patrick literally froze and stopped doing everything as he realized that he had just found some resistance with his digits. "What the fuck?"

The limo was still moving, and for a few seconds you both remained silent. Only after almost a minute did you dismount him and get back to your seat, quickly zipping up your jeans and adjusting your top. All the while, Bateman was looking at you with a strange expression that was hard to read — a mixture of shock, irritation and lust.

"(Y/n), talk to me." Patrick raised his voice after cleaning his fingers by licking off your sweet juices. "You're a fucking virgin? And you didn't tell me?"

Yeah, this time you actually fucked things up.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

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