#he was not a good boy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orbitariums · 5 months ago

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Comfortfriend!patrick, what does Patrick do when he sees the boyfriend?

With Artashi, he was smug but quiet. Think he could pull that off with shitty bf?

Is it, All knowing smirks, firm handshakes, silently staring at you, long lingering hugs, soft kisses on the cheek, complimenting you outfit (he loves seeing your ass in a tennis skirt, he can’t wait to flip it over later)?

Or is he slight more overt? Hugs where his hands run down your back and end with him grabbing your ass in public, a cheeky kiss to the neck, stroking your shoulder whilst you’re talking, hand on your thigh, if bf makes a lewd comment about you, Patrick replies with ‘I know…’ with a look from you ‘I mean I can imagine bro’.

You try to ply bf with excuses He’s just like that, we’re known each other for so long.

But it ends up in a fight, you’re in tears abd of course running to Patrick. He hates that it’s technically his fault, but he’s happy to comfort you and work hard to make you really feel his apology.

but wow, what a moment in my career... thank u for this question, i truly never thought to expand this recoverybf!/comfortfriend!patrick au outside of the walls of his apartment and yet here we are... and what a wonderful place it is to be. still based on the song i linked below and always with black reader (anyone can read it and i don't get super specific with details anyway - i just want black girls in this fandom to have something for us <3) changed it just a bit so reader's not crying because she's PISSED! and of course she just HAS to confront patrick about it.

*+. 🎧 if you got a man we could bend the rules

recoverybf!patrick + black reader — to bend the rules

contains: cheating, jealousy, slut-shaming (once bad once hot), smut!

wc: 5.1k (was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away hehe)

even before you started "seeing" patrick — if you could call running to his studio apartment in the wee hours of the night for comfort in the form of rounds of relentless sex "seeing" him — you kept your boyfriend pretty separate from your friends. you, art, tashi and patrick were such a firm group in and of itself that it felt unnecessary and almost inappropriate to bring someone else in, even if that someone else was your boyfriend of nearly two years.

when it started getting bad with chris, you were secretly glad that you didn’t ever bring him around. your gut wrenching anxiety and reluctance when you introduced him to your friends for the first time should've been a sign. it wasn't that they were judgmental — although they were notoriously hard to impress — you just didn't feel right deep down. it didn't ever feel right to bring him around, but sometimes it was inevitable. this was one of those times.

tashi's parents were hosting a party for her birthday and to celebrate her fantastic season. you told chris about it in passing and he demanded that you should bring a date to those kinds of things because they're so "public"— as if espn would be flooding tashi's parents' backyard. you obliged because you didn't want to fight with him, but you prayed he didn't notice the way you grew more and more agitated as the day drew closer, and you obsessed over the thought of him having to interact with patrick.

it had been almost three weeks of you two hooking up behind your boyfriend's back, and it didn't take long for you to sink into a routine of it. the first time it happened, you came back home a wreck — the next few times, you didn't even think twice about it. now, it was almost as if you had to confront it head on, knowing you'd be forced to include him in your interactions with your best friends.

you were back to being a nervous wreck, flooded with guilt and shame, like you were just now realizing that what you were doing was wrong. but was it wrong? you were being mistreated, and half the time chris acted like he hated you. friends are supposed to support each other, right? and that's all patrick was doing. he was supporting you. he was just helping you. talking you through it — with his cock pushing past your folds, his lips against your ear as he ... talked you through it.

and patrick was not known for his subtlety. in fact, it was the opposite that had created that existing tension between the two of you in the first place — his intense gaze on you whenever you wore something tight, the way his jaw clicked when you even mentioned your boyfriend in passing, his touches held for an inappropriately long amount of time. you almost expected him to say something. it wouldn't be unlike him to make a sly comment about how much he appreciated chris for sharing you with him.

this worried you so much that you texted him a day before.

patrick i swear to god if you say anything tomorrow i'm gonna fucking kill you. and i will hide your body someplace no one will ever find it.

he called you right when that text went through, a grating nonchalance in his voice.

"what are you talking about?"

"you know what i'm—" you closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower: chris was in the living room nearby, "you know what i'm talking about. if you fucking say a word about me and you—"

"yn, i'm not a sadist. i'll be a good boy."

you tried to ignore the visceral reaction to the way those words sounded in his throat, grainy over the phone and so fitting with his boyish drawl. patrick wanted to laugh— he could almost hear the scowl in your voice as you replied,

"you fucking better."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

the whole ride over there, you were silent, still brooding and hoping for the worst, smoothing your hands over your tennis skirt, which you wore in homage to tashi. your boyfriend didn't say a word, as he was usually oblivious to how you felt, but that didn't stop you from gazing out the window wistfully, winding it down so you could get more air.

by the time you actually arrived, you planted a smile on your face, hoping that you could just distract yourself with the party. you were glad to use tashi's parents as a buffer for a while, chatting with them about mindless things, your boyfriend mainly driving the conversation and trying to network.

after about five minutes, you finally noticed art, patrick and tashi in the distance out of the corner of your eye, waving their hands and trying to get your attention. so as not to appear distracted, you cracked a soft smile and then returned to the conversation.

that was until you heard an all too familiar voice shouting your name over the chatter and the music. when you looked again, who but patrick was practically out of his seat, waving his hand raucously, his blue-striped shirt lifting up along with his arm to reveal the slightest shimmer of his toned stomach. that expanse of skin just above his shorts that you knew all too well — the thought of where it led made your mouth dry.

your heart dropped when tashi's parents glanced behind themselves and your boyfriend cocked his head.

"oh, looks like somebody's waiting on you," tashi's mother quipped. "we'll let you two go."

you nearly wanted to plead with them not to, but it was too late. chris took your hand and practically dragged you alongside him, when all you wanted was to stay put.

"yn!" tashi got up first, her arms flying open to wrap you in a hug. "finally you're here."

you grinned, your eyes sparkling — out of the three, tashi was who you could relate to most, and you honestly looked up to her even though she was your close friend. the two of you balanced out the loud testosterone filled energy that art and patrick created.

"happy birthday, t," you handed her your gift.

art stood up to hug you, and your boyfriend followed that order, except all he got were awkward handshakes from art and tashi. not only did they not know chris very well since you never brought him around, but they also didn't like him that much based on what you'd told them in the past.

as you stood in front of patrick, you glared at him, silently warning him that he was already doing too much.

"my favorite girl," patrick grinned. three words that were innocent enough, but also enough to cause a stir. you were glad your back was facing art and tashi, because that meant you didn't have to see the look they shared, the corners of their mouth turned up in wait.

before you could even respond, patrick had wrapped his arms around you in a hug. a hug that started at below your shoulders and then traveled down slowly, slow enough that you could feel his hands embracing your curves, like he was trying to feel every last part of you. you almost gasped when you felt the way his hands hovered just so above your ass, in a sort of game of "i'm not touching you." if you moved, or if he slid his hands just an inch down, he'd be grabbing your ass. and in that stretch of time that felt like forever, you imagined how he'd do it — how he'd push his hands up underneath your skirt and squeeze the fat of your ass in front of everyone with no shame. you almost wanted him to, but you quickly remembered where you were and who was standing right beside you.

whenever there was a line, patrick was prone to cross it. but his hands did stop, only nudging the line instead.

when he finally pulled away, clearly the one in charge of the entire interaction, your heart was pounding in your chest, and you were vibrating with anger already. you wanted to slap the shit-eating grin off his face. compared to what you two did in private, this was nothing, but in private, your boyfriend wasn't just inches away from you. he didn't stop there — one hand was still on your waist as he did a onceover of you. you knew that look in his eyes all too well. a hint of playfulness mixed with a very obvious ogling.

"wow, what a nice tennis skirt, you look like a pro. i love this outfit on you, this is very new," he said, but you knew what he wanted to say.

you flashed a tight lipped grin, choosing to take the low road,

"yours isn't. but thank you."

you stepped back, your hand on chris' shoulder as you guided him towards patrick. chris glared at patrick for just a second before he stuck his hand out. you wanted to wilt away and die when you saw that fucking smirk on patrick's face expand. the smirk you'd seen a thousand times, all with different varieties and intensities. smirking down at you slid down to your knees in front of him, your body brushing against his; smirking when you go wide-eyed at some lewd comment he'd make about your transgressions ("does he know that you like getting facials or do you only do that with me?"); smirking at your pussy when you come again after crying that you couldn't anymore, smirking when you show up to his door after saying you wouldn't anymore.

patrick gripped chris' hand firmly and they shook hands like two grown men at a business conference before chris uttered,

"patrick."

"chris! good to see you." he used his hand to playfully nudge chris on the side. "you never come out, what's that all about!"

chris chuckled,

"work is crazy."

patrick nodded, looking pensively down at the ground for a second before looking at you,

"why don't you invite your boyfriend out with us more, yn?"

you rolled your eyes,

"same reason you don't mind your business, zweig."

the night continued like that — like a game of tug of war between you and patrick, him pulling you in and you tugging back just before he could make you topple over.

while the table was yapping about something, you tried to purposefully avoid eye contact or any interaction with patrick, but you could feel the way his gaze burned into the side of your face even when you weren't talking. like he was inquiring about something. probably wondering why your boyfriend's arm has been around you the entire night. silently asking you why you allow it when you know you don't even like being touched by him for too long. at some point, he catches your eye, and he furrows his brows together slightly, biting down on his lip. you get flustered and turn away, swigging beer from the bottle.

everytime chris kissed your cheek, or showed any affection toward you— a hand on your knee, a squeeze of your arm, patrick reacted in only a way you could detect. a tick of his jaw, an eye roll, cigarette smoke blown in your direction. you pretended the smoke making contact with your cheek didn't bother you, wasn't purposeful.

drinks were flowing, the party was in full effect.

chris had one too many beers and was starting to get embarrassing.

"and this one, you know, she won't ever let me hear the end of anything," he pointed a thumb in your direction, hoping to get raucous laughter from your friends, but instead being met with meek chuckles. "just talks and talks."

patrick snorted. loudly. so loud that everyone at the table takes interest in whatever it is that he clearly has to say. he just leaned back in his chair and tossed the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

"she's a talker, alright."

your eyes went wide as you caught the way art covered his mouth to hide a smile, and tashi glanced over at you as if to confirm that what he just said was as damning as it sounded. a silence takes over the table for just a minute, and you try to gain your composure as you feel chris' eyes flitter from you to patrick. chris leaned in just a bit, chuckling, but not because he found it funny,

"what?"

patrick looked around for a second, feigning naivety,

"oh, i just said what you said. she gets pretty loud." he let that hang in the air, which was getting stiffer by the second. then, to recover, he nodded over at art and tashi, "but we love her for it, right?"

"yeah," tashi said hurriedly.

"of course," art tried not to snicker.

when everyone had finished their drinks, patrick took it upon himself to restock. he stood behind you, commanding the attention of the table,

"i'm seeing empty cups. anyone want anything?"

"just a water," tashi replied, and patrick pointed his finger at her,

"wrong, another beer."

he took note of everyone's drink of choice, but you didn't say anything. in what could be seen as camaraderie, he placed his hands on your shoulders and bent down slightly so he was at level with your ear. he's so close to you that you can feel his breath, accented lightly with the fermented scent of heineken, against your neck.

"you need anything?" need.

what a charged word coming from the man who had been tending to your every need for the last few weeks. he tended to your "need" for hours every time. so many times tonight, you'd almost given in, nearly fucked him right there. and although his cockiness, which you had specifically asked him not to exhibit, made you angry, you still had to practice restraint. after all, it was him. your attraction to him wasn't new, but it did triple once you finally started hooking up.

you turned your head just slightly, so you met his gaze. the two of you performed this sort of intimate dance. just two friends talking in hushed tones, as if there were more to a drink than just quenching your thirst. or maybe that was what it was. you held his gaze, letting your arousal snake around your anger and suffocate it. as if you had a choice — it was an almost primal reaction to him in your space, even if you were furious with him.

"i'm okay, thanks," you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, quietly confirming the tension you were both feeling.

you didn't miss the smug satisfaction on his face and his eyes as he registered that switch that had flicked in you. it was so slight but if anyone could notice it, it was him. he pulled his bottom lip inbetween his teeth and his lips quirked up in what was almost a grin.

"c'mon, i'll get you something. tell me what you need," his voice way too smooth and quiet to just be talking about a drink.

you held his gaze just a moment longer, and then grinned,

"surprise me."

patrick smiled, finally tearing away from you and squeezing your shoulders as he stood back straight again,

"attagirl."

as he walked away, he patted chris' shoulder, too.

you cursed yourself for being obvious, but you mostly cursed patrick for doing the exact opposite of what you'd told him to do. you shouldn't even have brought it up to him to begin with, you knew how much he got off on being ornery and oppositional. maybe if you hadn't told him not to make it obvious, he might have actually allowed the night to be normal, not charged with this weird sexual tension and energy that everyone could see, including your boyfriend.

when you get home, you didn't hear the end of it. chris was shouting at you for what felt like an hour, angry at you, angry at patrick, angry at your friends, angry at the world.

"where does he get off touching you like that, huh? 'my favorite girl', are you fucking serious?"

"babe, we're friends. seriously, i've known him for years, it's nothing. patrick's just... like that."

that doesn't cut it. he's shouting at you and berating you for what feels like an hour, directing his anger at a different person every five minutes — you, patrick, art and tashi, the world. by the time it was over, you were exhausted. when were you not, with him?

the sharp hiss of the word "slut" from your boyfriend's lips rang in your ears. to your surprise, when he said it, you laughed. you were amused at the sheer irony of it all. he's not wrong. somehow, knowing that you were about to do exactly what he was accusing you of gave you a rush of power, a sense of self-righteousness. there was no guilt, not now —you were justified in your wrongdoing, and he had just proven that to you. why shouldn't you be a slut?

you were sitting behind the wheel, your jaw tight as you pulled out your phone and sent a text to the one person who you should hate right now, but who you need the most.

i'm so fucking mad at you right now.

you leaned your head back against the headrest, perking up as he responds within the minute.

yeah. wear that skirt when you get here.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

when you showed up you didn't even bother with a greeting, gliding right past him when he opened the door, leaving him there with his hand still on the doorknob.

he was taken aback for a second, frozen in place as he registered you standing in front of him defiantly with your hands on your hips. clad in that perfectly pleated white tennis skirt and short short crop top, just the way he wanted you.

“seriously patrick, i’m upset with you,” you announced, folding your arms over your chest which only accentuated your tits more — if you weren’t so focused on being defiant you’d have noticed the way his eyes trailed down to ogle your breasts.

he blinked, his mouth slightly open as he let the door close. he considered for a moment, shrugging and opening up the discussion.

“mkay… you wanna talk about it?” he pressed his lips together and pushed them to the side like he was considering something — he doesn’t give a fuck.

you glared at him, narrowing your eyes,

“yeah, actually. i told you specifically not to say anything.”

he laughs, actually laughs, tilting his head back with a wide smile,

“i didn’t!”

“you fucking may as well have!” you hissed. “he practically yelled at me for an hour when we got back, what the fuck is wrong with you? what happened to ‘i’m not a sadist, yn’? you think you’re so fucking smart.”

“okay, okay, hey. listen. i’m sorry. okay, i’m sorry. i just… god, i hate him. i wanted to make him feel like shit, that’s all. for the way he treats you he should,” he replied, finally sounding at least slightly reasonable and sincere.

“and you decided the best way to do that was to hint that me and you fuck on a weekly basis? you couldn’t emasculate him any other way? challenge him to a match with you for god’s sake,” you bleated, your expression unchanged, but your heart warming just a bit.

“ok, it wasn’t the best way to do it. it was the first thing that came up and you know how i am anyway,” he continued, and although you were still angry you understood him, you could even reason with him.

how could you not? that was just how he was anyway, how could you possibly expect him to turn it down just because your boyfriend was around? no, you couldn’t possibly ask for that.

he stepped closer to you, making you lose resolution in your once solid glare. he watched as you started to crumple, yet open up at once.

“and plus you looked so good. you don't want me to act the way i act but... you just can’t do that to me. it’s not fair,” his voice was soft and convincing, encroaching in the right way.

it sounded like all the things your boyfriend could never be. it was full of true desire and an apologetic nature that you sought out so often from the man you were supposed to love. when you were in need of that, you could find it here. that’s why it was so hard to stop.

“hmm,” you hummed, tingles running down your spine as you glanced up at him and let your arms fall down to your sides. giving up, giving in. he let his hands rest on your hips, pulling you in just slightly so he truly towered over you.

“are you still mad at me?” he looked down at you, his voice so sweet and soft and unlike how he usually was, his deep brown eyes twinkling.

you frowned, your brow quirking, but you couldn’t even fully convince yourself. like a brat you uttered,

“yes.”

chills when he started to rub his hands up and down your sides, ever so often brushing against your bare skin exposed by the crop top. he had that stupid knowing smile on his face — stupid because not only was he being presumptuous as always but because it made you melt. it reminded you that he really did value you, that he wanted to take care of you in any way he knew how.

“well, you can’t be mad at the both of us. who’s gonna do my job?” patrick asked, like a professor readily awaiting an answer from his uninterested class.

“me,” you pouted, looking away from him. amused, patrick giggled and used a finger to lift your chin, quipping,

“oh really? you wanna show me how you do it?”

"you wish, patrick," you rolled your eyes, simply unable to ignore the way his words went straight to your core.

he could tell, past the feigned annoyance, that you were imagining it, thinking of letting your fingers trail up and down against your slit while patrick looked on with watchful eyes. maybe even lighting a cigarette and leaning back to watch you and drink in all of you. so calm and cavalier, taking drag after drag from his cigarette. you imagined how he might sit there so calm and cavalier, taking in drags from his cigarette with a nonchalant expression on his face that didn't indicate any of the arousal he felt poking through his jeans. just sitting and watching you fall apart with each needy pump of your fingers pushing past your folds — the sounds of your desperate whimpers and gushing pussy squelching as your fingers work faster filling the room. if you started to close your legs, he'd lean forward and push them apart, then sit back again. he didn't blame you for it, he was thinking about it too. you both knew he was adding that onto his mental checklist.

"hmm, i do," his fingers gripped your chin and he squeezed it gently, his deep brown eyes pouring over yours so gently, filled with so much love and appreciation. you could burst. "hey, if you're so mad at me, why'd you show up in your tennis skirt like i told you to?"

he asked this question while letting his hands smooth down over your body, reminiscent of the way he hugged you earlier in front of your boyfriend. he stopped just above your ass, his hands hovering there while he awaited your answer like it was a green light.

"i was already wearing it..." you trail off, unable to keep steady in your resolve, and he knows he’s got you.

“yeah, you’re full of shit,” patrick laughed. you felt his breath on your face, coming in heavy huffs of laughter as he leaned in.

the tip of his nose bumped against yours, his lips fanning over your own. you felt him smile against your lips as his hands drifted down and underneath the hem of your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass with his rough, worked hands, just like you imagined he would. you couldn't help the way a little moan escaped your lips, finding the slightest bit of relief at last, and all from his touch. he felt it too, a peaceful sigh escaping his parted lips. he kissed you then, biting down on your bottom lip and pulling it back slightly. hints of heineken meeting the coconut vanilla lip gloss you'd slathered on before you came here.

"i wanna make it up to you," patrick murmured against your lips, pulling you in closer by the small of your back and kissing you again, obsessed with the way the gloss made his lips glisten with the memory of you.

"yeah?" you gazed up at him, fluttering your lashes in that way you knew drove him crazy— he knew you were doing it on purpose, but somehow that intention made him all the more attracted. "how?"

that was how you ended up with your legs suspended in the air, hooked around patrick's beefy arms as he fucked into you, his cock hard and thick and rigid, twitching constantly at the sound of your moans.

"fuck, you're so fucking hot. i'm so- fuck - i'm sorry, baby," he stammered just slightly dropping that guise of cockiness for you. there's no need, you forgave him the second he bullied his gorging tip inside of you and rewarded you with that miraculous stretching feeling, a key fit snug inside a lock. you might've forgiven him even before that, when he spat on your pussy and placed a wet kiss on it before positioning his cock at your entrance.

your breath was caught in your throat, all you could feel was your body — your legs stretching back towards your head, your breasts jiggling in tandem with patrick's thrusts, sweat prickling the surface of your soft skin, your pussy getting fed with cock, stretching and molding his own and sending sensations up to your lower abdomen. you couldn't think.

" you forgive me? not mad at me anymore?" patrick asked, and usually his voice was dripping with immodesty, but this time it was ladled with desire — he wanted to hear you say the words. he was full of shit, and sometimes a dickhead, but he wasn't just some archetype. you had been friends first, and he wanted you to know that he gave a fuck.

"mm-mm," you shook your head, your eyes clenched shut. you brought your hand up to your lip to bite down on it, but patrick shook his head and swiped your hand away.

"no, no, no, none of that. i wanna hear those moans, i wanna hear how good i'm making that pussy feel," he pants, hinging on something similar to desperation.

you whimper and it trails off into a loud crash of a moan as his tip hits just right, you feel like you can feel the outline of him inside you. he moans too, readjusting so it feels like he's power fucking you, his hips gliding back and forth at a new speed, previously undiscovered, so fast and hard and yet smooth that your eyes are rolling back in your head before crashing shut again, and your mouth is open but no sound is coming out. then, at once, a raucous moan that didn't even sound like it could come out of you — not you, so soft and sweet and innocent and wet, mush under his touch.

patrick can't believe it, can hardly stomach looking down because he knows the sight of your wetness glistening on his cock, practically soaking him, will make him come in five seconds tops. he spares a glance anyway, his stomach flipping. he laughs incredulously, glancing down,

"you're so fucking wet, my god — cock just slides right in, i don't even need to — fuck — fucking try. imma make you mad all the time if this is how wet it gets you."

just a moment later he's yapping again, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't bring you closer and closer to the edge.

"tell me. tell me that you're – shit – that you're not mad at me anymore. open your eyes, want you to look at me when you say it. want those pretty eyes looking at me while you take my shit."

you shake your head furiously, forcing your eyes open even if they are low-lidded,

"n-not mad at you anymore. i forgive you, i forgive you, just fuck me, please!"

you'll be embarrassed at how easily you give in later on, but right now you wrap your arms around his back and pull him in closer to you.

patrick chuckles, astonished at just how fucking horny you could be,

"god, you're fucking easy. just need a little dick to get your head screwed on straight, fix that fucking attitude. need it from me. all you need's a little dick to be a good little slut again, yeah?"

and you barely realize it, but you're blubbering and nodding as he drives his dick deeper into you, forcing you to sink your teeth into the flesh of his prominent bicep. digging deep into you like forgiveness could be found in the warmth of your pussy.

it doesn't take long before you're bent over and he's letting the tennis skirt flutter ever so slightly over your ass, groaning as his thrusts cause the skirt to jostle around and expose more of your ass, which bounces back each time he cracks his thighs against you. he's easing in and out of your pussy and his hand has found a home in the arch of your back. nothing has ever looked so appealing to him before— twice he paused and just let you work him, fucking back onto him, while he zoned out and just admired the magic happening before his eyes. you work hard, and he's in disbelief at how much you make an honest job out of fucking back on his cock. sweat dripping down his forehead, his eyebrows raised slightly, mouth dropped just so. he's in a lull, completely in awe. when he comes, he aims it onto your ass, bending down immediately to lick it up and clean up his mess, his tongue flirting with your asshole in the process.

after the whole ordeal, he'll tell you to leave your skirt here, and sends you home in a pair of his sweats.

you don't ask why, you just watch the snapchat video he sends you not too long after of him jerking off onto it, his cum spilling out and dripping onto it, blending in with the soft white fabric. you wish you were disgusted, but it makes your mouth practically water, makes your pussy throb.

as he drills into you from behind and whispers nasty, beautiful things into your ear, you realize "slut" sounds so much better coming out of patrick's mouth than your boyfriend's.