#ex!patrick

[fawnnpaws]

sending ex bf patrick a pic of a hoodie you know isn’t his in a text that says “come get your hoodie, i don’t want it” and watching him short circuit in real time bc you stop responding. he sends you 27 texts in the span of 3 minutes. when you finally respond with “if it’s not yours don’t worry about it” you know what you’re doing. he shows up at your door in 10 minutes flat, was probably already on his way before you even said that. you feign annoyance, rolling your eyes and sneering at him when you open the door, but he doesn’t care. he picks you up over his shoulder and slams your front door shut behind him as he carries you to your bedroom.

he throws you down so hard you almost bounce off the bed and the entire time he’s bullying your little pussy with his dick he’s asking “whose fucking hoodie is that?” the more you skirt around the answer, the harder he fucks you - he’s got two fingers fishhooked in your cheek and one hand around your neck while he rails you from behind, your back to his chest. you’re drooling all over his fingers and your face, he gives you opportunity after opportunity to tell him but you won’t - you’re so fucked out on his cock you don’t even know your own name anymore, but it doesn’t stop you from being a fucking brat - you tell him the hoodie smells good, maybe you will keep it if it’s not his. he sees red. he pulls out of your pussy and has you on your back with your head hanging off the bed so fast it makes your head spin. “fine,” he says. “don’t wanna tell me? you don’t need to use that mouth at all, just take this fuckin dick.”

he fucks your throat so hard you think you’ll have trouble swallowing for a week. when he sees you try to snake your hands back down to your needy cunt, he grabs your wrists in one hand and pins them to the bed so he can keep humping his dick in and out of your throat. he slaps your poor pussy with his free hand for good measure, just to feel you yelp around his dick. your whines and whimpers below him send vibrations straight through him. “you like that, baby? you miss this dick? whatever prick owns that hoodie couldn’t fuck your bitchy little mouth the way you want? pushing my fuckin buttons. you know only i can slut you out like this. take it take it take it.” you swallow every drop of his cum like you’re starving for it.

and god, he still takes care of you after. cleans you up, tucks you in bed, and asks again about the hoodie. you give him a sleepy, smug smile and with your hoarse voice say, “picked it up at the mall earlier today. it’s cute, huh?”

[hyperballart]

I’m begging you on my hands and knees to make a fully fledged fic with the dirtiest filthiest sex with ex Patrick or frat boy Patrick because those sex posts you’ve made I actually die over.

here’s a lil blurb :3 FRAT BOY EX PATRICK !!! (previous)

you told him it couldn’t happen again — it took you nearly getting caught by your boyfriend to realize the gravity of your fuck-up. and you keep through with your promise of not letting the cheating repeat — for a good few months at least. your boyfriend, sweet as he is, can be overbearing at times; recently offering to fly you out to his hometown to meet his family already and talking way too far into the future. you need a breath of fresh air, which is how you end up taking a stroll around campus.

and of course with your luck, or misfortune, you see the last person you need to at the moment. a part of you knew taking the route near the tennis courts was a bad idea but you still headed towards it; probably out of habit from the past is what you try to tell yourself, but the real answer stands in front of you quite literally—sweaty and panting like a dog. he’s smirking at you while he gathers his belongings to head back to his room, “you’re a little late if you wanted to stand by and cheer me along,” and it riles you up enough to start bickering back and forth in the middle of the sidewalk.

as all arguments with you both tend to end, in a confusing sequence of events you’re spread out on his bed with both legs obscenely wide apart while patrick teases his tongue on your thighs. he comes up and spreads your pussy lips with his pointer and middle fingers forming an upside down ‘v’ and whistling, “look at that. i knew your little boyfriend wasn’t packing but it looks like he’s not even fucking you at all,” you gasp when his other hand joins to gently rub your clit, “tight fucking pussy, he doesn’t deserve this shit — left it all for me to play with — fuck.”

this goes on for far too long but you somehow get him under you. this is to release your anger and frustration — patrick is a fucking dick so you’ll use him for the only thing he’s good for. slapping him around and spitting in his face, “you wish you could be half the good of a man he is. he takes me on dates , shit, you never had time for that did you?“ he shakes his head with his mouth hung open.

“m’sorry baby — fuck — you know how busy i get,” you place your palms on his chest to ride him harder , “i spoiled you with this cock, that’s all you need,” he starts getting cocky, “it’s still yours. it’s always gonna be here waiting for you to get your fix, fuck me.”

it goes back and forth, you insult patrick and it gets him closer. you reach behind to squeeze his balls and drain his cum in you and he listens. you both know your boyfriend doesn’t get to fuck you without a condom, and patrick knows how much you love to be filled up — he’s just doing an act of kindness.

after you’re both laying in the quiet of his room reflecting, he breaks the silence: don’t make me wait three months for you again.

[zweiginator]

i fear we don’t talk about ex!patrick enough

probably my favorite trope ever.

bc ex!patrick cannot get over you. he has been an expert at detaching from people his whole life. doesn't really get affected when breakups happen. because he doesn't allow himself to get too close to people in the first place.

but then there's you and you're so focused on yourself and you don't really give him the time of day (which he isn't used to).

he begs for your number, drunk, in front of all his friends and some of yours one night at a party. and you give it to him, only because you feel bad and he looks cute pleading for something for once, instead of having it handed to him on a silver platter.

and then you fall in love with him. he picks you up for a date one friday night and you just never seem to go back to your own apartment. he's funny and charming and spontaneous and he asks you to be his girlfriend three days into hanging out. to which you surprise yourself by saying yes without a moment of hesitation.

the sex is passionate. he makes love to you. he can be sure of that for the first time in his life because he is in love with you. deeply and truly and unabashedly.

he opens up to you little by little but it's hard to change your ways overnight. so you get frustrated with him as time moves on. you're annoyed that it feels like you're stagnant in the relationship, like it was propelled forward so quickly at first and then patrick just slammed on the fucking brakes one day and refused to let off them.

you break up with him after five months. which sucks because you saw forever with him and him with you. but you tell him he's emotionally immature and he nods because you're right and he doesn't deserve someone like you.

you figured he would move on fast; that was how he described himself to you while you were together. that's how he always seemed.

but he isolates himself. he goes out sometimes with some friends of his from tennis, but he doesn't flirt with girls or buy them drinks. he calls you. a lot. texts you even more. you tell him you don't want to block his number. but you might have to.

and for the first time you hear him cry. he's sobbing to you, saying he doesn't want to lose you, he needs you--no you don't understand i fucking need you.

you tell him you'll talk to him that night. you'll text him later to set up a time.

not even twenty minutes later he's standing in the pouring rain. a lost puppy, soaked to the bone.

you hug him and he falls apart.

"tell me how to do better."

you kiss his forehead. which you shouldn't do.

patrick makes love to you that night. he says he wants to make it up to you. kisses your thighs and wraps his lips around your clit. pumps his fingers inside you and rests his head against your thighs.

"let me fix it. just let me fix us."

you pull him up by the soaked collar of his shirt and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue.

[gourdyshome]

THAT EX PATRICK BLURB…….. you may have ATE i fear… bcs he IS self destruction. (there’s some references to casual by chappell roan i couldnt help myself hehe)

can’t let himself have true happiness bcs deep down he feels like he hasn’t done anything to deserve it. his corrupted parents could not give less of a shit abt him when he wasn’t winning tennis championships, so why are you, a perfect, untainted angel, worshipping him like a god no matter what he does?

he doesn’t want to fuck other girls, their pussy doesn’t even feel good, but he feels like he has to. so he does, but doesn’t tell anyone how he can only cum if he thinks about you. doesn’t tell anyone that if he gets too lost in the sex, he has to bite his tongue from letting your name slip from his lips. doesn’t tell anyone how after sex, he just leaves, because he can’t bring himself to hold the girl how he held you.

it hurts to live life without you, so he tries filling the void of you with more nameless girls and forgettable parties. which makes life feel shittier, the feeling of which he tries fixing with more parties and one night stands. it’s a vicious fucking cycle.

and you’re not doing any better, either. he’s heard from mutual friends that you’re confused and hurt, that they see you cry almost every time they visit you, and that, apart from going to class, you don’t go out anymore. not with friends, not to parties. patrick hates that he’s the reason for all this, he genuinely despises himself for hurting his girl. he wants to come see you, but he can’t.

after a month of so of wallowing in self pity, you decide to finally go out. fuck patrick, you think. you go to this party your friends were talking about, and how patrick was gonna be a think of the past after this. you enter, immediately grabbing a drink and mingling with people and finally smiling and enjoying yourself for the first time in a while. that is, until you notice a tall, blonde girl pinned against the wall, moaning as a guy shoves his tongue down her throat. ugh, thanks for the painfully brutal reminder that i’m single, you say to the universe.

you can’t see the guy because there’s people standing in front of you, but when they shuffle out of your eyeline, you catch a glimpse of those unmistakable curls. it… can’t be him, right? you watch them from afar for a while to accept that yes, that is patrick zweig. her hands run through his hair, and he grabs her ass. you feel sick to your stomach. he’s kissing her with the same lips he kissed you, touches her with the same hands he held you. you push through the sea of people to go outside, you can’t breathe. you cause a bit of a scene and eyes watch you as you leave in a hurry, including patrick’s. he had no idea you were gonna be here. tells the girl to fuck off, and follows you outside.

you’re standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to breathe in the chilly november air and calm down. he waits, a minute passes, then two, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say. or how to approach you. you feel his presence. you know it’s him. you’ve always been able to tell when he was around. soulmates, you used to say. sounds so naive in hindsight. he touches your shoulder, you break down. you turn around to face him. “god, patrick, i can’t get rid of you! you’re fucking everywhere! i-in the mattress, in my s-sheets, in m-my clothes, in my fucking textbooks… and now here? why won’t you just leave? i-i can’t breathe around you anymore!” smudged mascara runs down your face. patrick bites the inside of his cheek, he’s not gonna keep it together for very long if he sees you crying. he feels sick knowing he’s responsible. he tries to wipe your tears. you flinch away. “don’t fucking touch me! you lost that right a long time ago.”

in his head, he’s still just protecting you from himself. so he says something without thinking. in actuality, he’s also trying to protect himself from getting hurt, and his hands retreat into his pockets and he shrugs coldly. “i don’t know what to tell you… we were casual, sweetheart.” a beat passes. you look at him through hazy eyes, with heartbreak, confusion, a sense of betrayal and vitriolic rage. “c-casual? were we ‘casual’ when you were knee deep in the fucking passenger seat, and you were eating me out?? mumbling shit about ‘i can’t wait to keep doing this for the rest of my life?’ or were we casual when we had been dating for two weeks and your mom invited me to her house in long beach for the day? for fuck’s sake, you said you loved me while we were having sex!”

every word feels like a dagger to his heart, because he knows he can’t keep justifying his behaviour to himself. still, he keeps the act up. asks you, “why are you so bitter?” you are genuinely floored… was everything a lie? “you fucked me in the bathroom when we went to dinner while your parents were at the fucking table! …and you wonder why i’m bitter?! you said… you could never see yourself with another girl, and here you are, shoving your tongue down some blonde’s throat a month later. fuck you, patrick zweig.”

he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he needs you back. he can’t breathe when you’re not around.

(maybe that’s why that other girl’s mouth was on his… she was just giving him mouth to mouth CPR!! 😍😝)

ps: i did not proofread this, i’m rawdogging it… i hope it slays xx

oh girl ... patrick kissing a hundred girls in bars ... speak on it!!!

i feel like he's such a douche that he would decide to try and apologize in the cheesiest way possible. literally googles "movie apologies" to get ideas. picks a day when it's supposed to rain, buys your favorite flowers and the most overpriced chocolate he can find. and then he's at your door, like a kicked puppy, soaked to the bone and holding a bouquet of carnations in one hand, a package of fannie may mint meltaways in the other.

i'm sorry, he says. i was an asshole, i was wrong. i should've never broken it off with you, i was scared and a coward. i don't deserve a second chance, he tells you. and then he asks for one anyways.

and maybe it's the rain, but you let him in. you let him press you up against the wall, soggy and water-logged, dripping all over the hardwood floor of your apartment. fuck, that's gonna come out of your security deposit. but when he's kissing you like this, like he needs you more than anything else, like he's missed you with his heart and soul ... you can't bring yourself to give a fuck about that $200.

he fucks you slow and sweet that night. missionary, which is rare for patrick. he tells you i wanna see you, baby, missed you so much. missed your lips, your body, your perfect fuckin' tits. god, you're so wet. missed this little pussy, pulling me in like y'r made for me, god -

you fall asleep wondering if he'll leave before morning. he falls asleep wondering the same.

[swetearss]

almost all the ex!patrick fics i had read have this "get him back!" by olivia rodrigo vibe

[diyasgarden]

diya, i need you to write some EX patrick, it's a need, i don't have a plot in mind but he's just DESPERATE

Errand Ex

rating: suggestive

word count: 3.3K

summary: After breaking up with Patrick, you realize there are other ways he can be of use to you.

contains: suggestive language

author's note: I love when you send me requests <3 Ex Patrick is so yummy. Desperate Ex Patrick is even yummier. I feel like there is already a lot of Ex Patrick out there, so I combined couple ideas I had into this and it turned into short fic. I'll be so honest, I did not proof read this.

----

“Why the fuck were you making out with him?” Patrick exclaims the minute he has pulled you outside of the bar. You’re not drunk, but tipsy enough that the fast motion makes you feel dizzy and you have to take a moment to process the fact that Patrick Zweig is once again standing in front of you. It’s a somewhat disorienting sight. No scratch that. It's a very disorienting sight. It feels like a cruel joke that just as you were trying to move on, this was when Patrick decided to make a reappearance in your life.

For the past two weeks, Patrick lingered in the back of your head. He was your boyfriend and suddenly he was nowhere to be seen. No texts. No calls. Nothing. It was exhausting waiting for some sign he was alive, and then finally you decided you had enough. You sent him a message saying it was over and decided to go out with your friends. Some guy bought you drinks, and well you were single now so you thought might as well talk to him. He wasn’t exactly your type, but you needed the distraction. One thing led to another, and in your tipsy state you both ended up kissing. It was just some fun. Up until Patrick came out of nowhere, pulling you away from the man, and dragged you outside. Now where you both stand. Patrick says your name which pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he is waiting for some response.

His expression is half confused and half angry. He’s upset? What right does he have to be upset? The more you look at the expression the more ironic this situation feels. If you weren’t so pissed, you'd probably be laughing in his face.

“Because I can?” You snap back without a second thought. 

“No you can’t” He snaps right back and he is starting to look more angry than confused. 

This just pisses you off more. You want to say something clever or snappy, but nothing comes to mind. “What the fuck” You exclaim. It comes out simultaneously as a question and a statement. 

“You’re my girlfriend!” he exclaims back, the confusion returning back to his face once more. There is a beat of silence. Now you look confused too. You take a moment to just process the whole scenario. Patrick Zweig who randomly disappeared for two weeks acting like you’re still his girlfriend. This is when you actually start laughing. “What the fuck,” Patrick says watching you laugh. His brows furrowed in confusion and anger once more.

“We,” you pause and make a motion in between the two of you (dramatic but it felt fitting). “Are not dating,” you finish. Your voice is stern and definitive, like putting your foot down. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. The confusion on his face just grows, which causes your expression to soften just a little bit.  “Did you not see my message?” you ask him, slight confusion in your voice now too. He just blankly blinks at you. “The one where I said we’re done?” you ask again, voice slightly trailing off. 

“That…” he starts and his eyes dart to the side as he thinks about it. You can see the exact moment in which he realizes, because he immediately looks back at you. “You were serious?” he then asks quickly. 

It feels like the stupidest question in the world. “You went MIA for two weeks!” you exclaim back as if it explains everything he needs to know (which in all fairness, it should). 

“I was out of town for a tournament!” Patrick says back, and you just scoff. “I was busy!” 

“For fucks sake,” you mutter as you turn around and start walking away from him and the bar. After this interaction, you don’t have the energy to go back into the bar. You walk in the direction of your apartment building, ready to get in bed and forget about any of this happening. Patrick follows behind you. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks.  

“No.”

“I really was busy!”

You both go back and forth like this until you get back to your apartment building. It’s a short walk, but you think for those five minutes it must have been amusing to anyone who saw you both bickering as you walked. You infront, him a little behind you. You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t find it somewhat endearing that he followed you home like a kicked puppy. 

“I think you’re overreacting,” Patrick says, as you open the door. “You know I can be bad at responding to messages.” He wasn’t wrong. He had a habit of taking time to respond to your messages, but usually he responded. Or at least you’d see him. 

You scoff and roll your eyes in response, “Leave me alone.” You realize as soon as you say it, you don’t mean it, but you quickly walk inside and start going up the steps to your floor so he can’t see that realization on your face. You feel relieved when you hear the old steps creak behind you as you walk up. 

“Please,” he says as you both get to your apartment door. You huff as you take a second to unlock the door. It never opens easily, so you channel all the frustration you have towards him and use it to push the door open. Once you’ve done so, you turn back to look at him. A part of you wants to let him back in and forget about the past two weeks. Then you remember this is the same man who just disappeared for two weeks. That was enough to snap you back into reality.  

“Goodbye,” you say as you walk and slam the door in his face.

----

The next morning you woke up on your bed in the same clothes as last night. You realized you must have fallen asleep as soon as you got back. This prompts the realization that you forgot to tell your friends you left, and you grab your phone to send them messages. As expected you see texts from your friends asking if you were okay. What you didn’t expect was the spam of messages from Patrick. 

Patrick: I’m sorry 

Patrick: We should talk about this. 

Patrick: This isn’t a big deal 

Patrick: Let’s talk?

Patrick: ????? 

Again you found yourself mildly endeared by the messages. Your finger moved to type, but you didn’t know what to say. You’d say yes and fall back into a relationship with him? You’d say no and would he keep sending more messages until you agreed to talk? Both possibilities would have taken you down a path to a location you were trying to avoid. You decided it was just best to ignore them, telling yourself he’d stop sooner or later. 

----

Well he didn’t stop. He took a complete 180 turn when it came to texting. You were constantly receiving messages. 

Patrick: Please can we talk about this. 

Patrick: It was a mistake. 

Patrick: Please I miss you. 

The content of his messages differed, based on when he was sending them to you. He sent messages throughout the day, but he would spam at night. Couple hours after midnight is when they would be most explicit. . 

Patrick: [Image Attachment]

Patrick: [Video Attachment] 

Patrick: I can’t get my hand to feel as tight as your cunt. 

(He sent a good amount of dick pics and jerking off videos)

After a couple days you also start getting messages like this. 

Patrick: Okay fine. You want to be done? We’re done

Patrick: Going to go find someone else to be with. 

Couple hours later those messages would be followed up by messages like this. 

Patrick: I thought about you the whole time.  

Patrick: No one feels as good as you. 

Patrick: I only want you.

It was also pretty easy to tell when he was drunk. 

Patrick: Plrssw. Cqn I cine ocet?

Sometimes they could be sappy. 

Patrick: I want to hold you. 

Patrick: I miss holding you. 

Sometimes they could be random. 

Patrick: I saw those cookies you like at the grocery store earlier today. 

And sometimes they managed to be horny, sappy, and random all at the same time. 

Patrick: I smelt your perfume in public today and I got hard. 

Patrick: It didn’t smell as nice as it smells on you. 

Patrick: I miss how you smell. 

Everynight he spammed. It was a combination of all of these messages, and you never really knew what to expect besides the fact that you’d be getting spammed in the first place. 

Waking up to all of them was a treat. Going through the spam was your version of reading the news. You’d wake up, get ready, grab something to eat, and sit down on your couch while you scrolled through all of them. You wondered how long this would go on, while also hoping it’d never stop. 

----

As you sit down on the couch with tea and a bagel, getting ready to do your morning scroll through everything Patrick sent the night before, when you hear a little zap sound. It takes a moment to realize what happened, but when the room suddenly feels a little more dull, you realize one of the light bulbs fizzed out. 

You look up at the ceiling and notice that in the four lights in the living room ceiling, only one is still working. “Fuck, did another one go out too?” Cailee, your roommate asks as she walks in, seeing you look up at the ceiling. You nod still looking at it. “One in the hallway went out too,” she adds with a sigh as she looks up at it. “This place is a dump,” she mutters, as she sits down on the couch beside you. 

She wasn’t wrong. While the both of you did the most to keep it nice, the apartment building itself was old, and it was clear in all the little repairs neither of you got around to. Whenever you brought it up with the landlord, he simply shrugged you off. Saying he’d get around to it (he never did). 

Changing the light bulbs was a small task compared to the other things that needed to be fixed. It was just an annoying one. You’d need to get the mini ladder and it reminded you of all the other things that needed fixing. “Guess one of us should handle that before the last light goes,” Cailee says looking up at the lights. As you looked up at it, a little light bulb went off in your head. 

----

You: Can you come over? I need help changing some light bulbs. 

Patrick: Seriously?

You: Yes

Patrick: On my way.

----

“So he’s really just came over for that,” Cailee asks as she takes a sip from her coffee. Both of you are standing in the kitchen watching Patrick screw the light bulb in. He’s tall enough that he is standing on a little stool and is able to replace the lights. 

You nod in response as you watch him do so. She looks at you with an expression that shows she clearly doesn’t believe in you. “I’m dead serious. He kept texting me, so I asked him to come over for this,” you say with a little head shake. 

“And he’s just here to change the lightbulb?” she asks again in a voice that shows she doesn’t believe you. 

“Cailee. Just that,” you tell her with a little huff, as you look back at Patrick. He’s nearly done with the light bulb. 

Your roommate just sighs with a shrug. “Well if you say so,” she says as she takes another sip of her coffee. You know she doesn’t believe you fully so you just roll your eyes. Patrick steps off the stool now and she must realize he’s done too. “See you later,” she whispers to you as she walks away from the kitchen back to her bedroom in the apartment. You watch her go and when you turn back to look in the direction of the living room, you see Patrick walking towards you. 

“Fixed the bulb,” he says, his voice slow as if he is trying to lead into something. You know he is going to apologize or ask about getting back together or something like that. Before he has the chance to say anything you decide to speak. 

“Come there are some more you need to replace,” you say quickly as you drag him into the hallway to change more light bulbs. 

----

Once the light bulbs were finished, you started to realize how many other things in your apartment needed fixing. Well you already knew that, but now it was glaringly obvious how much they needed to be fixed. 

“I just think we can call him over to help with some other things around here,” you say with a shrug looking over from your place on the couch to where Cailee is sitting. She looks at you with a raised eyebrow and then laughs. “What?” you instantly question. 

“You just want him around,” she says with a smile. 

You roll your eyes in response. “No, of course not.”

“Hmm yeah sure,” she says sarcastically. 

You roll your eyes again, “I just think there are a lot of things in the apartment that need to be fixed.” You move your hands around a little bit for dramatic effect. “You agree.” Caillee slowly nods her head as well. “So he could come help us,” you add with a little shrug. 

She just sighs with a little laugh, “Yeah okay he can.” It’s clear she doesn’t believe this is not about seeing Patrick again, but her voice is genuine as well. It’s the acknowledgement that he could actually help out, that makes you give her a small smile.

----

You: There are some other things I need help with

Patrick: Okay

Patrick: Are you asking me to help?

You: Yes 

----

You knew it was somewhat cruel to keep him coming back for more things. You reasoned that it wasn’t necessarily exploiting his kindness either. You knew Patrick was only saying yes because he wanted to get back with you. So in a way his behavior was self serving too. If anything you were just making the most of the situation. 

Over the next couple weeks, Patrick was at your apartment every other day to help with something. He helped patch up that weird dent in the wall that was there when you moved in. He helped fix the front door, which now opens without a struggle. Sometimes he’d come even if you just needed help moving furniture around. 

He was still sending you messages, except now he wasn’t spamming as much and the messages were scattered throughout the day. Your text history looked like this: 

Patrick: Do you want to get dinner together?

Patrick: ???

[seen by you]

You: Need some help fixing the ball and chain in the toilet. 

Patrick: On my way

You were pretty sure that some of the things you asked him to do were things he had no idea how to do either. When you called him to help clean your drain, you caught him looking at a youtube video on how to do it. Somehow more than the help itself, the fact that he was actively learning how to do it for you made it more endearing to you. There was also something very attractive about watching Patrick do these things. The way his muscles flexed. The way his shirt would raise just enough when he raised his arms. The little grunts if something was hard. (Although you’d never admit this to him). 

The bad part was that he tried striking a conversation with you after everything he did. While he tried doing this over text as well, it was easier to ignore him there rather than in person. Anytime he finished whatever errand you needed help with, you would suddenly “remember” that you had some work you needed to finish up or that you were late to meet with a friend. Somehow this always worked. 

----

Eventually, you ran out of things for him to do around the apartment. He resolved nearly every thing you and Cailee put off and what your landlord ignored. Not that you stopped asking for his help, you just started asking for different things. He was now regularly helping you pick up your groceries and mail. 

You: Can you help me take some things to the laundromat tomorrow? 

Patrick: Yeah 

Patrick: Are we’re back together?

[seen by you]

Patrick wasn’t the only one under the impression all of this meant your relationship was basically repaired. “You do realize he’s basically being your boyfriend now,” Cailee said when you told her about how you and Patrick were both going to the laundromat. 

“No, he is just helping.” 

“Yeah okay sure,” she said with a little laugh. Most of your other friends assumed you were back together too. It was frustrating. You just needed the help. He was willing to help. It was nothing else. 

----

You realized how much of a mistake the laundromat was the minute you put everything in the machine. 

“Can we finally talk about it?” Patrick asks. 

You sit down on the bench in front of the washing machine and shrug. “There is nothing to talk about,” you say, unable to make eye contact with him. 

Patrick scoffs and looks at you. “I made a mistake. I want to be with you.” He pauses and then asks, “Isn’t this enough?” He makes a little motion to the washing machine as he asks, although you know he is referring to everything he has done for you in the past couple weeks. In retrospect, you had him doing things for you for a longer period of time than he actually ghosted you by this point. 

“I just needed help,” you say, turning to look at him. “I’m sorry if you’re 

“No you wanted to see me,” he snaps back, leaning in a little closer to you as he says it. Now you scoff, but before you can say anything, he goes, “Don’t fucking deny it. You asked me to help you at a laundromat?” 

“I couldn’t carry it all by myself,” you say back quickly to depend on yourself. You realize how stupid it sounds the minute it leaves your lips. He scoffs again, but before he can say anything, you snap back, “Well no one forced you to come.”

He just looks at you for a moment with a slight smirk and mutters, “Fuck this.” He then stands up and storms out of the laundromat. You just watch him go.

You end up handling the rest of the laundry by yourself. You spend the entire time at the laundromat, and then walk home thinking about Patrick and the conversation you had before he left. Even when you walk back into the apartment and look around, all you can see are the things Patrick helped you out with around the place. 

----

The next day you wake up to no text messages from Patrick, but instead a package delivery. “I think it’s that bookshelf we ordered,” Cailee says as she drags the Ikea box into the living room. 

As Cailee begins to open the package to confirm what it is, you can feel your hand pull out your phone without thinking. It was a reflex at this point. 

You: Want to help me build something?

It feels a bit silly the moment you realize what you were doing. Even sillier the moment when you click send. The feeling goes away completely the minute you hear the ding of a text notification. 

Patrick: On my way. 

Well, some things never change.

author's note: Thoughts? This was just a silly idea I had. Hope you enjoyed!

[dogwittaablog]

Featuring my favourite quote replies:

[defectivegembrain]

There should just be a universal rulebook. Like for general life. Just want clear instructions so I can do everything right. Tell me what the secret is I know you have the manual Patrick I know it's in your truck Patrick

[valsmotive]

You believe me like a god, I betray you like a man. I'm sorry I'm the one you love, no one will ever love me like you again. So when you leave me, I should die. I deserve it, don't I?

brocedes & challengers (inspired by @/QUART20RARO)

[screamingfrenchfries]

i find it way too funny that matpat's son was able to connect the dots that tbob is kinda about bill's ex but then MATPAT immediately goes to think his ex is JHESELBRAUM 😭

[amymbona]

I'm so obsessed with the idea that Patrick will have a daughter, not a son! but a daughter. And I need to read something abt ex-husband! Patrick and their daughter again. Saw ur bot in character.ai, but I need something more on this topic, 'm dying 😭😭

Patrick is hundred percent a girl dad, that's an iternationally known fact! I was almost convinced that I posted some headcanons about girl dad Patrick but I can't find it anywhere on my tumblr, so maybe it was just a dream. 😟

Despite Patrick being quite a reckless prick, you're always sure she's safe with him. He can be a bit messy, you're well aware, as you used to be a frequent coordinator of his messiness, but with your daughter, he could earn a master's degree in cautiousness. It's almost surpising to you, how clean his place is and how beautiful of a room he has made for daughter there, with pink walls and a princess bed, all to ensure his daughter gets the treatment she deserves.

Sometimes, when you drop her off and catch a glimpse of the pristine marble counter in his kitchen, you get very doubtful of your own job as a mother. It's not like you're poor, no, but with Patrick being a successful and now retired tennis player, he's able to afford whatever you have times three. And for that reason, you're afraid your daughter would tend to gravitate towards him. After all, you work a lot and aren't able to buy her all the toys she'd like (you'd be able to, if you accepted all the money Patrick has generously offered you over time, but your own pride doesn't allow you to) and Patrick is basically a stay at home dad, constantly present and showering her with gifts.

This is a thought that you've managed to keep safe from the outside world, mainly from Patrick. Despite him being allowed to see his daughter at any time, her permanent residence is your place, and after the divorce you've been assigned as her number one guardian - a mutual agreement between Patrick and yourself, as you both know the little girl needs her mother's presence more - you're still too afraid that the moment Patrick sees you fall behind, he'll attempt to gain full custody over her. And that would be an absolute stab in your heart.

Each time you drop the little one off, he notices you disheveled appearance and offers you to take care of your daughter for a day or two longer so you could get some rest. He even offers you money again, so you don't have to work your ass off and stay at home with your daughter instead. But again, you reject.

"At least come inside," he insists, bouncing the little one in his arms.

"No, Patrick, I have stuff to do," you reject his offer with a shake of your head.

Patrick rolls his eyes just subtly enough so your daughter wouldn't notice. "Don't be stubborn. I'll make you some tea."

So you do come in, finding yourself absolutely unable to oppose Patrick. In full honesty, you're too tired to fight him, feeling like you could fall asleep even when you're standing on your feet. The last couple of days have been rough and you simply weren't able to get enough sleep.

"I'll go make it," Patrick announces, his voice much softer as his hands are now free and your daughter runs in the direction of her room.

"Okay," you nod, unable to offer even a simple smile and follow your daughter. You've only seen her room at Patrick's about two times, but that was about half a year ago, and your curiosity gets the best of you. "How about you show me what's new in your room?"

"Yes, yes!" the girl's little hand slips into yours and she drags you behind herself with the force of a horse, probably having inherited that after her father. "Daddy got me a new lego house last time. Come, look!"

You follow the little bundle of joy into her room, a gasp leaving your mouth when you see the little princess chamber Patrick has transformed it into. A pink canopy bed sits in the centre of the room, surrounded by an uncountable amount of toys all over the floor, various houses for her Barbie dolls lined up by the wall. A giant teddy bear is occupying an armchair in the corner, where Patrick probably sits when he reads her bed time stories, and little stars that presumably shine at night are hanging off of the ceiling. This is nothing like the excuse of a room she has at your place. This is way better...

With a yawn, you drop down on the bed, the soft mattress creaking under the weight of your body, while your daughter begins excitedly showing you all the outfits she put together for her falls, explaining how this one is meant for a casual walk and that one will be worn at a Barbie winter ball. Her eyes are glowing and she's clearly in her element, constantly pulling your attention with look, mommy! from one gift to another. She has everything she'll ever need in here.

The distant noise of the running kettle fills your ears as you lower yourself down, knees curling up by your chest as the bed clearly isn't made for someone your size. But you're really fucking tired at the moment and just need to rest for a while. While your daughter plays, your eyes follow all the goods in her room, eyelids becoming heavier and heavier with each passing moment. Perhaps if you close them for just a few seconds, it'll get better.

Just few minutes after that, Patrick's curly head peaks through the door, a cup of black tea in his hands. "There you go, now we can- Oh."

The sight in front of him is something he would have never expected to see in a million years, his ex wife, evidently absolutely worn out, funnily curled up in the toddler bed and snoring softly. It's pitiful, and at first, he wants to laugh and make fun of you for being so pathetic. But then it hits him, like a dagger straight through his heart, that you're really fucking exhausted.

Patrick squats down by the bed, eyes settling on your beautiful face, so pale and almost lifeless. It hurts him to see you like that and he doesn't have the heart to wake you up, deciding that even if you don't suit the surroundings at all, you deserve to stay asleep as long as possible. So he gathers the bunched up princess blanket and places it over your back gently. With a small, partially guilty smile, he smooths the blanket down and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

"Come on, princess," he gets up with a small pat on his thighs and walks around the bed to scoop your daughter into his arms. She's so similar to you, a little reminder of what he has lost. "We're gonna let mommy rest."

[hyperballart]

she just cant stop accidentally spotting patrick??

https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1826214137715667348?s=46

lying in bed with your bf both of you on your phones when you get a text from an unsaved number that just says “outside” and you roll your eyes but put your shoes on either way. you tell your boyfriend a package you ordered just came in and needs a signature and he nods with a careful, babe. god you feel horrible.

you quickly get in patrick’s car and he parks around the corner and fucks you hard and fast in the passenger seat. “milk that fucking cock, hurry up, you don’t wanna worry him,” and the mention of how fucked up the situation is makes you clench harder. you keep begging him to fuck you faster, harder, right there — that fucking spot, and he is heaving from his rapid thrusts. the windows are fogging up and the car is nearly swaying, you yank his curls, “cum in me, fucking cum. i need it — i feel so empty — just fill me up, make it stick,” patrick’s eyes are rolling back into his head at your rambling, “i don’t care, just give it to me it’s mine.”

he hunches over and empties his balls in your pussy, stomach caving in as his arms give out next to your head, leaving a kiss to your neck. when you get back empty handed and with wobbly legs you ease your boyfriend’s confusion, “had to run after the truck, apparently my package got lost.”

[poppy-metal]

ooh a continuation of your texts with patrick. he gets to your house, and you open the door, already annoyed. he lets himself in, smug smirk on his face like he knows how the night’s gonna end. you turn away from him, practically ignore him while you make yourself do chores around the house. he talks about how good you are together, but you just roll your eyes and sass him back because (last you recall) you left things off very messy.

somehow, patrick manages to maneuver his way behind you, whispering in your ear about how you belong together and how nobody can make you feel the way he can. you try your best to wash the dishes in front of you, but patrick’s hand that’s down in your pajama shorts, in your underwear, flicking your clit, makes it hard to concentrate. he slips a couple of fingers in, grinding his palm in the same rhythm he’s rubbing his hard on on your ass.

he nips at your ear, spare hand roaming under your shirt to fondle your tits, pressing your gasping body towards his. with a couple of flick of his wrists, your shorts are pulled down and his cock is splitting open your pussy from behind. soon you’re rocking as a single unit against your kitchen sink, dishes forgotten.

fuck man him just coming up behind you and maybe it's better that you don't have to see him and face your own weaknesses - the second his hand is cupping your bare cunt you're gripping the sink and biting your lip. telling him he's a bastard in the same breath as you grind your ass back against him. you need it just as much - just as bad - already clenching around nothing in anticipation for the stretch but patricks sick in the head because he makes you wait for it - yanking his jeans down just enough to fit the length of his cock against the seam of your cunt - just let's himself rock back and forth there and when you whine you feel his chest move like he's laughing -

"what is it, baby? what do you want?" while he bullies the fat head of himself between your lips - nudging back and forth against that tiny opening that always, always, opens for him. "is it this? you want this?"

of fucking course you do. so bad your whole body is thrumming with it. pulse damn near in your clit it's throbbing so needily. "fuck you -" you snap instead, because you hate how weak he makes you for this. that he's so goddamn good at giving you what you need you throw out all your promises to yourself as soon as he's teasing himself at your entrance. "- fuck off if you're gonna play games - ah!"

you whine when his head pops in. the stretch sending tingles all the way down to your toes which you stretch up on - running away from and chasing the sensation of him inside you. patrick fists a hand in your hair, yanks your head back roughly so his lips are at your ear - "who's fucking playing, huh? nothing funny about how much this pussy needs my dick." and he feeds you another thick inch, groaning softly right into your ear. "fuck - you take me so well. there's no one like you - no one else with this fucking -" a crack fills the room as he spanks your ass - "- tight little hole."

you hate how much that makes you wet. how it makes you moan and fuck back on his cock, ass rippling against his pelvis because you do need it - you need him so desperately it makes you sick with longing. it feels wrong to sleep without him wrong to exist without him - all you can do is. is hope he needs you just as badly.

"did you mean it?" you pant - squeezing your walls around him. "when you said you missed my pussy, daddy? d'you mean it?"

his fingers dig into your waist. "fuck yes." he grunts. animalistic. yanks you back and forth on his dick, sawing it into you. the wet slap slap slap of your flesh meeting filling the apartment - "fuck yeah, baby. miss your wet princess cunt choking my dick just like this -"

you reach down, fit your hand between your legs to feel where hes splitting you open wide and wet - feel his cock everytime it slides out and then slides back in. god, you're so good together. bodies made for eachother. "no one takes this dick like me." you tell him, possessive. "you were made for my pussy - you'll never find better -"

you dont know if it's a promise or a curse, but you mean it all the same. and patrick groans like he knows it to be true. like he fucking believes it, too. he's watching where he fucks in and out of you - watching the way your lips splay around his cock - how you suck him back in every fucking time and wrap around him so fucking snug. mouth fucking dropped open in awe of it.

"no I wont." he agrees. slams back inside with a force that rocks your pelvis hard enough into the sink to hurt. "you've got me addicted to this shit between your legs, baby. and you keep it from me - why is that, huh? why do you fucking torture me?"

he doesn't pull out. grinds his hips into your ass in slow sensual swivels. his cock is so thick inside you - you can feel him against your walls - rubbing.

"shit." you gasp. "shit that feels so good, daddy. oh fuck - I'm gonna -"

he abruptly pulls out. leaves you clenching around nothing, your orgasm fading from where it'd been building and you look behind you with this kind of betrayed expression, a wounded puppy. hole spasming like it needs his dick back inside.

he's hard and flushed, cock standing straight and touching his stomach - wet with the sheen of your pussy and he fists one hand around his thick base. strokes from root to tip as you watch with hungry eyes.

"patrick." you whine. petulant. "get back inside me. I was so close."

"so you can throw me out after?" fuck why is he so hot when he's angry. and he is angry, you realize. eyes blazing on your bare cunt - the veins in his arms prominent as he pumps himself. "nah, I don't think so."

you had planned on doing that but - "please - I need to cum -"

"you will. on my cock - when I decide you deserve it. after I've heard you tell me how much you want me back."

you scoff. even as your pussy clenches at the raw determination in his gaze. how he looks on the other side of the net when he already knows he's going to win, but he'll still have a fun time demolishing his opponent. running them ragged.

it's a good look.

[zweiginator]

imagine running into ex!patrick at a stanford party.. you're just staring at each other the whole time across the room and end up going home with him

seeing him flirting with another girl, putting all the moves on her and patrick just senses he's being watched so he turns around only to see you. maybe his face softens a little, but you roll your eyes and turn your back to him. he excuses himself and walks over to you, but you don't talk to him, you just move towards the kitchen to get another drink.

and the whole night you're playing cat and mouse. patrick chases after you. squeezes through the crowds and whispers in your ear. asks why you're being so fucking immature. why you can't just talk to him.

you roll your eyes at him again and he grabs your wrist.

"are you going to tell me to fuck off?"

you just stare at him.

"i fucking thought so." he spits his words at you and you cross your arms over your chest, tensing your jaw. "because you want me here. you love the attention. well here it is."

you still don't say a word to him; you know how much the silent treatment gets under his skin.

but as you try to turn away again he grabs your wrist.

"how about i take you home right now." he has to yell it against the shell of your ear. it's loud. "since you can't be a big girl and use your fucking words--if you don't want me to, then let go of my hand and walk away."

his grip on you almost cuts off the circulation in your arm, makes it fall asleep. but just as you both suspect, you don't let go of his hand and you stumble through the crowd with him as your leader.

you're quiet until patrick shuts the door to his room and bends you over his desk, yanking your panties down your legs as he flips your skirt up. he holds your wrists behind your back and leans forward so he can talk in your ear.

"do you want me to fuck you, or do you want me to make love to you? maybe just for old time's sake."

you whimper, feeling patrick's erection against your ass.

"i want you to fuck me." you look up at him.

"that's what i thought." he hooks his fingers into your mouth and unzips his jeans.

[gourdyshome]

patrick falling in love with you and then self-destructing as he always does by going and fucking other girls. maybe even ones you know. sleeping around, showing off his newest piece of ass every weekend. grinning like a bobcat in pictures, his eyes dull and devoid of joy. he misses you, god does he miss you. your laugh and your hair and the way you smell and yeah he misses the sex but mostly he misses the way you'd hold him when you fell asleep afterwards. like you never wanted to let go. and then he had to go and wrench your hands off of him, like he always does.

[shinypatrolhedgehog]

Omg im still obsessed with Challengers but like i was rewatching some parts and this time ive noticed that scene where tashi just stops watching the game and just starts messing with her engagement ring

We all know how much this woman loves tennis and she just stopped watching the game??? Like she must've really felt like her marriage was over for real by that point.

And then right after that we get the flashback scene of her asking Patrick to throw the match like she loves Art yall!!

And even though she fucks her ex, when he starts trying to walk down memory lane she reminds him that shes there for her husband first!

She loves that man she just wants to see him win like she knows he can!