#patrick verona

[popclture]

Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You (1999)

[saramelaniemoon]

Eddie Munson and Patrick Verona are the same person and you can't convince me otherwise...

part 2

The eyes

The smile

Patrick sang and performed "Can't take my eyes off you" and in my opinion Eddie would make a great and (maybe too) emotional show with "Prisoner of your eyes" by Judas Priest.

[swanimagines]

Please can I ask for some headcanons about dating Patrick Verona (10 Things I Hate About You)? Please? Thank you!

- When you started at your new school, you immediately grew to be intrigued by your classmate before even knowing his name.

- A classic bad boy, charming, handsome, breaking the rules...

- Just your type.

- Even when you knew such boys could be bad influence.

- Your new friends were worried about your crush, often those kinds of boys could be violent behind closed doors.

- And honestly, you were kind of afraid of such behavior too.

- But you couldn't help it, especially after he started to show interest towards you too.

- He began to be flirty, though also a bit cocky.

- But he got you flustered anyway.

- It was the first time a boy had showed any romantic interest towards you, so you weren't entirely sure if he was actually interested, if he was just messing with you or... if he was just after your body and not you.

- But as time went by, his actual crush on you began to be more and more genuine.

- Unless he was one hell of an actor, he seemed to be really into you.

- Your friends told you to be wary, but they admitted that he did really feel like he was being genuine.

- So, you began to meet him after school.

- You asked him that you'd take it slow, you wanted to get to know him properly without making it anything more.

- He agreed to that, understanding your doubts.

- It started with just casually hanging out. Getting some food together and eating at the park, just chatting about your lives, going to school parties together, going on walks together...

- But eventually, he asked you on a real date.

- He admitted he wasn't used to being a romantic who could sweep people off their feet, he only knew how to be a charmer towards new people. 

- And the basic dinner and a movie after was something he apologised for.

- You were more than happy about it though, being able to spend time with him.

- When you opened the door for him upon him fetching you from your home, he looked you over in your attire, seemingly stunned.

"You look amazing." - Patrick

- You chuckled, looking at your feet for a moment and biting your lip.

"Oh, stop it." - You

- You had the most amazing time that night, and when Patrick dropped you off, he asked for your permission to kiss you.

- You blinked at him, but then eagerly nodded.

- So he slowly leaned in, and then he carefully pressed his lips against yours.

- You had never kissed anyone before, so at first you weren't sure what to do, but quickly got the hang of it and rested your arms on his forearms as he placed his hands on your waist.

- When you parted, you both laughed quietly, and at that moment you both knew you were now a couple.

- The next morning, upon you arriving to school, you found the most beautiful bouquet of flowers from your locker, and realised Patrick had used his lockpicking skills to surprise you.

- He also began leaving love notes at the inside of your locker door.

- When you were together, he usually had his arm around your waist.

- He also wasn't shy with PDA.

- Kissing your cheek, neck, shoulders...

- At first you felt awkward by so many looking at you being lovey-dovey, but got used to it as time went by.

- And, you kind of enjoyed seeing that old grump Mrs. Highwood glaring at you in disapproval as Patrick's face was buried into your neck.

- Your friends also approved of Patrick in the end, and you often hung out together.

- Your relationship ended up being the couple goals for many in your school.

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S)

[deadpoets]

Not even close Not even a little Not even at all (insp.)

[fanfics-for-you]

what's in a name? || Patrick Verona (TTIHAY) x gn!reader (Modern!College!AU)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ✨️Patrick Verona✨️

Summary: Patrick Verona is apparently the most intimidating guy on campus. You just want to get by, pass your classes, and get to your actual dreams. When you casually approach him one day and decidedly are not scared of him, Patrick has some questions.

TWs: light language, use of Y/N (only like twice), second person POV (you, yours).

[[A/N: This is basically under the concept that you approach Patrick first, and aren't really as afraid of him as anybody else. He's intrigued. Also this is a college AU, because I am in college and I think it's weird to write about high school lmao. ALSO,,, I know this is incredibly niche and a dead tag, but... I watched the movie recently and was violently possessed to write this. The parasites in me what to continue this universe, but idk. Anyway. Enjoy :)]]

You were exhausted. Totally and completely exhausted.

You'd stayed up all night for your chem quiz, and still, didn't think you did great on it. Which made your day ever so worse. So, when you went to the library, and someone was sitting in the spot you always sat in, you halfway wanted to cry and halfway wanted to rip your hair out. Normally, such a thing wouldn't be a big deal, but today it was. So, with a certainty that rivaled a lawyer in court, you stomped over to the chair.

For a moment, the guy didn't even look at you. He kept staring at his friend, a surprisingly 'metal' dressing guy who was talking avidly about something.

You cleared your throat.

That's when they both looked at you.

You were entirely focused on the one in your seat. A taller guy with built shoulders, curly hair and a sharp jaw. In normal circumstances, you'd probably think he was hot. Today was not normal circumstances.

The man raised an eyebrow.

Okay, so maybe it was a little normal circumstances, but that wasn't relevant.

"What are you doing?"

The man answered, simply -maybe a little confused, "Sitting?"

"That's my spot," you clarified, pointedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" the man pretended to start getting up before pausing -speaking sarcastically, "-Oh wait, I've just remembered, this is public property."

Mindlessly noting that he had an accent that you couldn't quite place, you rolled your eyes, "I sit there everyday. Just give me the spot."

"You weren't sitting here all day," he pointed out, "-or else I wouldn't be here."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, "I was busy failing a chem test, now get up."

His eyes skimmed over your face, thoughtfully, "Do you know who I am?"

"Why-" you sighed out, frustrated, "-would I know who you are?"

Even despite the comment, he did seem familiar somehow but you weren't going to tell him that.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and didn't say anything. You felt like you were going to explode in fiery flames.

You groaned, "Oh my god. There are thousands of seats on campus, just go sit somewhere else."

"Exactly," the man countered, "-why don't you sit somewhere else?"

"Because-" you huffed out a breath, "-that's my spot."

"And why is this spot so important to you?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hands along the cracks of the seat, "-You got something good stashed in 'ere?"

"Dear god," you huffed out a breath in defeat, "-Whatever. Enjoy your seat, asshole."

And with that, you spun on your heel and pulled yourself deeper into the library. Taking a breath in, you pulled yourself into a seat not too far from the original, but you were around the corner so you wouldn't have to look at his stupid face. You soured just at the thought.

You pulled open your chem book, and read through it -trying to figure out which ones you definitely missed, that way you could get the ballpark for what your grade might be. You really needed to know, to make sure your GPA stayed in the range for your dream university.

But, in the middle of it, you heard someone plop into the chair in front of you (it was a group of chairs, like for a group of people if necessary).

Before looking up, you spoke -sharply, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Your eyes shot up at that familiar accent, and you frowned.

"You got the seat," you pointed out, bitterly, "-What the hell do you want now?"

"Your name," he answered simply.

You blinked, (what?) before settling back into your seat and flipping to the next page, "Yeah, no."

The man seemed to move forward, and unwillingly your eyes flickered to him (his curls moving with the motion), "Why not?"

"I don't give my name out to strangers," you retorted -flicking your eyes down to your book, "-especially not assholes."

"Don't know if I can change who I am," he smirked, "-but, I can work on the stranger part."

You frowned, eyeing him particularly, "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I already told you," he replied, fidgeting with something in his hands (you weren't paying attention), "-I'm Patrick, by the way."

"Well," you exhaled, sharply, and ignored his name, "-you're not getting it."

"Well," he repeated with the same sort of grin, "-I'll just have to work on that too, then."

You looked up at him again and squinted at him -trying to read him somehow. All he did was grin at you, a charming kind, of course, that made crinkles on his cheeks. You ignored the flutter in your chest that it gave you and darted your eyes back down to your book.

The next day, you were in better spirits. After studying for an entirely different class, you were pretty sure you aced that test. So, you weren't as pissed, thankfully. Until you went into the library to sit between classes like you always did.

You paused in your step and frowned.

The guy (Patrick, your mind treacherously noted) was sitting by your chair, mindlessly tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair. He wasn't in your chair, thankfully, but still, he was in the one beside it. Pointedly close.

You huffed out a breath, and moved toward the chairs, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," he repeated.

You raised an eyebrow.

He seemed to take that as a repeat of the question -before saying, confidently (too confidently), "I'm studying for a test."

"You don't seem like the studying type," you retorted, throwing yourself into the chair and pulling out your laptop -realizing it was no use to try and get him to leave.

Patrick pointed out, "You don't even know me."

"And I don't intend to," you replied with ease, flicking your eyes to meet his, "-your point?"

He grinned the same bright one from before, amused maybe. Your heart skipped a beat, so you dropped your eyes back down to your laptop. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to look away.

"What's your major?" He asked, thoughtfully.

"I won't tell you my name," you leveled, scrolling through your online schedule for homework, "-but you think I'll tell you my major?"

"Well," he reasoned, "-a name is much more identifiable, but your major," he shrugged, "-not so much."

You eyed him again for a second, before saying, "What if you just want to look up my classes and hunt me down?"

Patrick smiled again, before asking, "What is your next class?"

"Why?" You ask, pointedly, "-So you can force me into talking to you again?"

"Preferably," he replied, grinning cheekily.

You raised an eyebrow, and bit your lip to pull down a smile that begged to quirk up, "I'm not telling you that either."

"What if I just follow you when you leave?" He questioned, curiously, "-Figure it out myself?"

"And what if I-" you smiled at him -patronizingly, "-call the campus police?"

He raised both eyebrows as if to say 'touché' without saying it out loud. You bit down another smile and moved back to your computer -pulling out your planner and jotting down dates.

"Your pissiness," he suddenly spoke, "-Are you often filled with boiling hatred?"

"No," you sigh out, before shooting him another patronizing smile, "-that's special just for you."

He laughed then, and something warm zinged down to your toes (you ignored it), "Do you seriously not know me?"

"Do you know how many Patricks exist in the world?" you point out, "-No, I don't know you."

"So you do remember my name," he smirked, patting along his lap with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but didn't say a word.

It ended up like that for the rest of the time, Patrick shooting questions now and then, and you shutting them down. His stupid smirk and low, rumbly, accented voice, you hated that he actually seemed kinda nice -all things considered.

But, as you stood up to leave, you decided on something.

"Literature," you said simply, gathering up everything into your bag.

He paused, shooting up his eyebrows, "What?"

"My next class," you answered, nonchalantly pulling your bag onto your shoulder, "-Intro to Literature."

Patrick grinned, bright and shiny, "Gen Ed?"

"Yeah," you answered, moving to put the last few things in your bag.

"Can I walk you?"

Your eyes snapped to him then, curiously -detailing the rather honest look, before answering solidly, "No."

He burst into laughter then, throwing his head back against the chair -you mindlessly watched his curls fall back with the motion and then snapped your eyes away.

"Same time tomorrow then?" He asked, still laughing a little bit (something in you twinkled).

"Nope," you exhale a breath, ignoring the disappointment that swirled into your chest, "-I'm not on campus tomorrow."

He seemed to falter for a second, "Do you live on campus?"

You raised a solid eyebrow, you really think I'd tell you that?

"Right, yeah, okay," Patrick conceded, holding up his hands in faux surrender, "-What days are you on campus?"

You paused, pressing your lips together, but something in you did it, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays."

He grinned a little brighter, "Are you here around the same time on Mondays?"

Something in your chest flipped, but even still, you answered, "That's what you have to figure out. Not me."

And then, you spun on your heel and walked out of the library. His laughter trailed out behind you, and if you had a small little smile on your face at the noise, that was only for you to know.

Monday came, and you woke up early and made your way to campus -the first class of the day was at the crack of dawn. You physically despised it, but so is the schedule of a college student. Plus, you still worked, so the earlier the better for your schedule -didn't mean it didn't suck though.

Sipping on your drink, you wandered back toward the cafeteria -crossing the main connecting area, where everything led to. There was a baseball game going on, not an official one by the looks of it, in the grass. Your eyes hinged on the game for a few seconds, the echoes of laughter shooting toward your ears. It looked fun, but you weren't too invested in being outside for that long. Before you could look away though, your eyes caught on a familiar frame.

Patrick.

His hair was tied back, and he was wearing a pretty bland tank top (just grey), with some typical jeans. With his hair pulled back, you could see his jaw more distinctively -the sharp lines clear from even this far away. (Not that you were looking.) The sun bore down on them but all of the players seemed to be happily distracted. And you kinda were too.

You pursed your lips, for a moment, and looked forward again after a breath, heading toward the cafeteria again confidently.

Before you could get very far, though, you heard a familiar accent.

"Hey!" He yelled, a little distant -footsteps following his voice, "-Hey!"

At first, you weren't sure if he was talking to you, so you kept moving.

"Shit, I don't know what to call you," he called out, breathless and much, much closer.

You spun on your heels with furrowed brows, and met his eyes over a few people's heads. The grin that swallowed his face whole should've been criminal, bright and twinkly and... charming.

Before you could say anything, he was by your side with heavy breaths -assumedly from playing baseball and getting over to you. Leaning over slightly, he leveled out heavy breaths. You were almost concerned enough to offer him water, but he seemed to settle himself before you could.

"Hi," he echoed, "-'Ve been looking for you all morning, what time did you get here?"

You blinked, all morning?

"I get here early, 7, and immediately go to class," you answered, a little blankly (looking for you, looking for you, looking for you).

"Oh," he paused, "-I got here at 8. There's classes at 7?"

"Obviously," you respond, because you did in fact just say it.

"Did you-" Patrick started, before pursing his lips together, "-Are you going to the library now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "No, I'm going to the cafeteria to eat between classes. Why?"

"I'm actually quite hungry myself," he avoided the question, "-Do you mind if I tag along?"

"What about your game?" You furrowed your eyebrows even further -eyeing him curiously.

"'S just to fill time," he explained, "-It's nothing serious. They're sure to find someone to fill in for me."

You flicker your eyes along his face, trying to read him. What's your prerogative?

After a moment, you come up with nothing and instead, just turn on your heel -leading the way to the cafeteria.

"I'm taking that as a yes, then?" Patrick called out from behind you, catching up and matching your stride with ease (despite you making no move to slow down).

You decidedly don't answer him, and say something focused elsewhere -eyeing him as you walk forward, "Do you always stalk people this much?"

Patrick laughed, catching your eye with his warm brown ones (they were almost sparkly under the sun of the day), "Only the ones that blindly hate me."

You pressed your lips together in a flat line (trying not to give anything away), "I didn't say that I hated you."

His face lit up at the words (and you couldn't decide if you regretted it or not), "Well, you could've convinced me."

You roll your eyes, and keep walking forward, "Not telling you my personal information isn't... hating you."

"I'm not sure not introducing yourself is exactly anything but hatred," he argued back, fluidly.

"I just told you that I don't hate you," you point out, "-so it isn't."

"Does that mean you'll eventually tell me your name?" Patrick asked, curiously.

You turned to him, flicked your eyes over him, and then looked forward again, "Maybe on good behavior."

He burst into laughter, brown eyes set on your face, "You're quite an enigma, you know that?"

"And you're not half the mystery you portray," you fire back, naturally, with the flow of the conversation.

He grinned at that, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite label, "You know, I don't think I've met a person like you. You're fearless in like a-" he motioned with his hands, "-casual way."

"I'm not fearless," you argue, approaching the door to the cafeteria, "-I'm just confident."

"Do they not go hand-in-hand?" Patrick offers, getting to the door before you and promptly holding it open for you -unflinchingly.

Something warm stirs in your stomach at the gesture (and his woodsy scent that brushes your nose as you walk past him), but you ignore it, "You can be certain and still be afraid."

"But knowing you're right doesn't necessarily mean-" Patrick followed you in, matching your stride again, as if it's natural, "-that you're confident."

You furrow your eyebrows, genuinely intrigued, "What do you mean?"

He paused, maybe a little shocked by your attentiveness, "Plenty of people know they're right and still concede to someone else because they don't want to fight it. You-" he pointed at you, "-will fight it."

"Well," you purse your lips, avoiding his eye contact, "-maybe I'm only like this with you."

"You," Patrick paused, "-You're not this fiery ball of rage with anyone else?"

You eye him for a second, before saying flatly, "Maybe."

"All of this seething hatred and impressive indifference just for me?" He grins, the big teeth-showing kind, "-I'm touched really. Because I am special to you in some weird kinda twisted way-"

Before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh at his words -just a quick one. Barely there.

But you could still see the delight smooth along his face, and just knew he caught it.

"How much of that have you been holding back?" He tilted his head curiously, before continuing to push it, smirking, "-Oh I bet you think I'm hilarious."

Your heart skipped a beat at the smirk, and you simply pressed your lips together and turned on your heel to the food counter. There wasn't even a second before you heard footsteps following you.

"You're not denying it, you know," he called after you, close on your tail.

You peer over the selection of food, eyeing the different items thoughtfully, "But I didn't confirm it either."

"Still not denying it," Patrick hummed, sing-songy.

"You know," you turn to him (mindlessly noting that he is very close), sharply, "-someone can have one good joke and still be unfunny."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes set on yours -challenging, "Then tell me why it came out like you were holding it back?"

You blinked at him, once and then twice, the sudden closeness sent a shock through your brain and the challenging tone of his voice nearly gave you full-body shivers. You can't find words to say, and you can nearly see it processing on Patrick's face (the way that he had made your mind melt for a moment), so you turn to the counter and point at something random for them to pick out for you.

The woman eyes the two of you suspiciously, but still diligently pulls out a to-go plate and piles the... mashed potatoes onto it.

"Oh my god," he finally says after a moment (you ignore it).

You go through a few other items, and the woman gathers them onto the plate. You pay, grab your plate-

"You like me," Patrick retorts, and you're not even looking at him but you can tell he's got a shit-eating grin.

Your brain malfunctions for a moment, but you step toward the tables and fire back (on autopilot), "I won't even tell you my name."

He's hot on your trail, following you diligently, "You're avoiding the question."

You spin to him, and reply -sharply, "You didn't ask a question."

His eyes flicker along your face, taking you in (you want to squirm but you steel yourself in place -your eyes now challenging), and then he grins so bright that you'd need sunglasses in any other scenario.

"Oh, you're really into me," he continues, low, gravelly, accented voice rumbling through your ears.

You screw up your face into something defiant, roll your eyes, and turn back to slide into a table. Patrick follows you like a lost puppy. Well, an incredibly arrogant lost puppy.

"You're still not denying it," he slides into the chair beside you and you hate the way your brain swims at the woodsy smell that brushes your nose.

"'Thought you were hungry," you say, simply (avoiding the question and decidedly not denying).

"It was very obviously a ploy," Patrick chimed back, with natural ease -tilting his head slightly and looking at you with twinkling eyes, "-They had pizza out there for all the players. I've already eaten."

Your fork froze for a millisecond (even still, you were sure he caught it), and after a moment, you pulled it to your lips. Maybe conquering both of your lack of response and the way your mind lit up at the idea of 'he just wanted to see me'.

His smile and eyes seemed to soften slightly, as he leaned his head down to catch your eye and guide it back up to your natural gaze (your heart skipped a beat). His brown eyes were soft and if you were honest, maybe a little affectionate.

"What's your name?" He finally said after a soft few moments.

And just like that, for you, the moment snapped, and you rolled your eyes -turning back to your food.

"Oh, come on," Patrick tried to catch your gaze again, "-Look, I'll tell you. Patrick Verona. That's my name-"

You bit down a smile, as he motioned to you with his hands.

"-Now, your turn, tell me yours."

You raised an eyebrow.

Patrick let out a half-laugh, before leaning forward slightly on the table -not quite a breath away, but certainly closer.

"You're so stubborn," he laughed, "-I'll beg. You want me to beg?"

You can't help but let the smile slip onto your lips then, "Why would you beg for my name?"

"Because I want it," he pointed out, still grinning "-Because I want to know you, and personally, I think it should start with a name."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you let your fork hang there on the path to your face. You took a moment, scampered your eyes along his face (dark brown eyes so incredibly soft, curls coming down from where he put them up in individual tendrils). Your resolve was weakening, it was really and truly broken under Patrick Verona's hand.

Stupid pretty boys-

"Y/N," you said finally (quieter than intended), immediately pulling a bite to your mouth.

Patrick blinked, "What?"

"'S my name," you explain -shortly, moving a hand in front of your mouth as you chew, "-Y/N."

His eyes lit up at the words, that stupid charming grin smoothing onto his face as he repeated, softer than expected, "Y/N."

You shove down the fluster that begs to climb up your cheeks at his accented voice saying your name. It's something you'd never really thought about but now that it's said, you probably should've thought about it.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, eyes still set on you. He was still grinning, as he said simply, "Suits you."

You furrow your eyebrows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raises his hands in faux surrender, laughing to himself, "Jesus, you're a true ball of rage, you know 'at?"

"I'm not-" you huff out, and take a deep breath in, "-I'm not mad."

"Defensive then," he mends, "-You act as though I'm about to strike any minute."

You pursed your lips, "Whose to say you aren't?"

"Me," Patrick laughs, "-This entire conversation. The way I've acted around you since the beginning-"

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your lips, "-you were an asshole once."

He groaned, but something like amusement was twinkling in his eyes, "You are the most stubborn human being on this earth-"

"You took my spot," you interrupt, sturdy.

"-It's public property," Patrick argued back, "-and how was I supposed to know it was yours before I sat in it?"

You paused, for a moment, before saying, "You couldn't. But, you could have given it to me when I asked."

"And then we wouldn't be here," he explained, now fully grinning, "-and wouldn't that just be such a bore."

Your eyes swam over his face a moment, Patrick Verona. And his dumb persistence. And his stupid handsome face-

God.

You let out a long sigh, picking around at your food. Eyes watching the swirl of your fork, you debate a few different things to say. Finally, after a few spare seconds, you made up your mind.

"Yeah," you hum, flickering your eyes up to his, "-it would."

Patrick grinned, big and bright and twinkly (you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest). His eyes, the deep brown that if you weren't careful you could stare at for way too long, were soft but still sort of happy, eager. Definitely eager.

And maybe, just maybe, you could get used to-

"I told you I could work on the 'stranger' thing," he suddenly said, smirking, "-You never should've doubted me."

"What?" You raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You said-" Patrick explained, "-you don't give your name out to strangers. And I said I could work on that part-"

You level a look at him.

"-And look, I did," he continued, before adding with a smirk, "-I have successfully escaped the cavernous barrier, deeper than the ocean I'd say, that walls you off from any poor soul who wishes to know you-"

"You're really pushing it, Verona," you chime back, fiery (but not quite all the way).

"What?" He raised his eyebrows, like he said nothing at all to warrant the reaction, "-You can't tell me that it's not like pulling teeth getting to know you. Or trying to anyway-"

You press your lips onto a flat line, "Wow, you must be a sort of masochist, then?

He faltered for a second, before laughing a little, "Oh absolutely, I chase the high of you ignoring me for 2 hours straight every day."

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile, "I despise you."

"Better that than indifferent," he responded with ease, "-I prefer you feeling something rather than nothing at all."

"Oh my god-"

It continued like that, a back and forth, as you finish eating your mediocre cafeteria lunch. The silence is sparse but not uncomfortable when Patrick isn't running his mouth, that is. It was nice. Insanely nice. You'd probably never had as much fun on this campus as you did with him, just in general, but...

"Same time Wednesday?" He poses with a cheeky grin, leaning onto one hand against the table -closer to you than before.

You felt something warm swirl into your stomach, as your eyes flickered over his face. He was still smiling, like he wasn't able to stop when he was here with you. And something in you never wanted to see it go away anyway.

So, with a slight head tilt and a brighter grin than what you'd let slip past all day, you repeated.

"Same time Wednesday."

[spacebabesuki]

ok but how do I explain to a normal person that Eddie Munson, Patrick Verona and Eric Draven were written in the same font???????????? long-haired metalheads with the most gorgeous smiles on earth, completely obsessed with their girlfriends like??????????

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[pinkcarnati0ns]

10 things i hate about you poster

[harritudur]

10 Things I Hate About You  /  Stranger Things s04e01

[masivechaos]

there's nothing cats can't fix!

── ☆ patrick verona x gn! reader

── ☆ Request: yes / no

── ☆ Synopsis: Patrick finds you upset after a bad grade in math and he knows exactly how to make you feel better

── ☆ Warning/content: my English

── ☆ a.n.: 0.9k words-

masterlist/ ttihay masterlist / navigation / taglist 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

“Hey there,” Patrick grinned as he approached you. “How you doin’?”

You glanced up, eyes tired “I’m… fine, I guess,” you said as you got into your car “What do you what?”

“Can’t I just check up on you?” he dared with a smile playing on his lips, he rested his arm on the top of your car, he kept talking to you, bent over so he could speak through your open window.

You sighed, not answering to your usual banter. Patrick frowned “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you answered a second too fast.

Patrick shook his head “You can’t make me believe that lie. What’s happening in this head of yours?” he asked, a little softer. He didn’t want to press you but he also wanted to know. 

With your eyes closed and the back of your head against your seat, you spoke, “Just a bad grade in maths, nothing important”

Patrick’s face softened “Ah, maths,” he whispered “It’s just one grade. It’s fine”

You opened your eyes “No it’s not, it’s not my first C- and I feel like I can’t get better at maths. I try, I really do. But maybe I’m just not made for this.”

“Don’t say that,” Patrick immediately said “C’mon now, stop being so upset, it won’t help you get better.”

“I know,” you answered a little more harshly than intended.

Patrick rolled his eyes, “Get out of the car,” he commanded.

You glanced up, eyebrows frowned in confusion “What?”

“Get out of the car,” he said again, softer. Still not understanding, you opened your door. “Now, get into the passenger seat.”

Once settled, you sighed “I can drive myself just fine.”

“Choose another moment to act tough,” he said as he put his seatbelt on.

“And where are we going?” you asked, too tired to handle if it ever was a sort of joke.

He stared at the road as he drove “Don’t you trust me?”

You sighed “I do, I do”

Of course you trusted him. He was your best friend at the moment, he always knew what to say, how to cheer you up. When you first met him, you couldn’t have imagined how important he would become to you. He didn’t have the best reputation, hell, he even had lots of scary rumours about him (which you had found out were false).

And maybe, just maybe, you had a tiny bit of a crush on him.

It wasn’t your fault though. Who could resist the Patrick Verona grin?

You and Patrick drove to the sound of the radio blasting the Cardigans. He knew that during these moments, you didn’t like to speak. So despite his urge to make sure you felt a little better and the hint of worry in his chest, he kept his mouth shut, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

After twenty minutes, he pulled over. You looked out the window “Where are we?””

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick smiled as he got out of the car and hastily moved to the passenger side and opened the door. “Come here”

You walked for a minute before Patrick stopped “Here we are,” he said.

Your gaze explored the frontage, eyebrows knitted together “Marceline’s cat café?” you whispered and then your eyes widened “wait-”

You turned around and beamed at Patrick, “You took me to a cat café? Why? How?”

As Patrick saw your smile, he knew exactly why he had done this. To make you happy “Well… you had been talking about wanting to go to one and you seemed pretty upset today so I thought… why not.”

You kept beaming at him “No way,” you whispered under your breath.

Patrick led you inside, the café was cosy and sunny, cats displayed everywhere, on the floor, on a chair, on shelves, on their cat tree “Oh my…” you mumbled in awe

You both took a seat “This is so cute,” you said when you saw a cat on the chair next to yours.

Patrick chuckled. Once you both had your drinks, you started to talk about mindless things, school, parents, homework, things like that…

“I swear it’s so-”

Patrick glanced up from his limonade when he heard you stop talking. And then he saw the cat crawling in your lap. He chuckled as he saw you froze with a huge grin on your face, not wanting the cat to leave.

The cat, with its long black hairs, turned around on your thighs before finally deciding to lay there, curled up.

“Patrick Patrick Patrick!!” you whispered, excited “Are you seeing this?

“I am,” he said with an amused grin, “He likes you.” Who wouldn’t? He thought.

You kept staring down at the little fur ball in your lap with a grin. Patrick’s heart felt warm in his chest, this was definitely a better sight than seeing you all upset because of maths earlier. You looked so adorable like this, a cat was enough to make you happy and he loved this idea. You carefully leaned forward a bit and wrapped your lips around the straw of your drink, the cold strawberry lemonade felt good for this hot weather.

“You’re feeling better?” he asked softly.

You glanced up from your lap, still in awe of the small cat “Yeah definitely, thank you” you said with a genuine smile that changed something in Patrick. He just loved you so much.

“Next time, don’t worry so much for a simple maths grade,” he smiled

“Yeah I know…” You were definitely someone who constantly worried too much for nothing and Patrick knew that. But now that he was here, he was going to help you as much as he could.

“And remember,” he grinned, “There’s nothing cats can’t fix.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

[innocent-artery]

hi! if your requests are open could you do anything for patrick verona? like anything lol ill take it

So requests are actually not open right now, but given that this was sent in when they were I saved it for Kinktober. I hope you like it!

Kinktober 31st: I Knew You'd Come Around

aka hate sex with Patrick Verona

1k words

Summary: Hate sex with Patrick Verona. That's it.

Pairing: Patrick Verona x fem!reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to enemies to lovers, a spotify playlist by me!

~

You hated yourself for doing this, you really did. You hated the butterflies in your stomach for fluttering when he grabbed your ass, hated your hands for tugging him closer by the collar of his, hated your heart for racing at the feeling of his tongue on yours.

That was the general emotion when you were around him. Hate. Hate and frustration and annoyance and pure, fiery arousal.

The last one is the most prevalent as you're pressed up against a bedroom wall, the bass of the song playing outside reverberating on your back. Patrick's hands are all over you, groping and tracing every inch of skin he could find.

"Fucking idiot," you huff in between wet smacks of your lips, yanking at his shirt collar, trying to signal him to take it off.

"Y'know," he starts, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, "for someone who proclaims to hate me so much, you sure are hell-bent on getting me naked."

"They're not mutually exclusive concepts, dumbass." Your words seem frail, and your voice trails off at the end as his fingers tug at the belt loops of your pants.

"Ooh, big words." He purrs, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you doing that thing where you try to sound smart so that I don't notice that you're full of shit?"

"I am not- oh..." Any biting remark you may have had ready died on your tongue as his fingers slipped under your pants and stroked your covered lips, building a dull, throbbing ache between your legs.

"Aw, not so talkative now, are you?" Patrick placed open-mouthed kisses over your neck, nipping gently every so often. "If I'd known this was all it took to shut you up, I would've done this sooner."

With a gasp, your hand snakes up to his hair, fingers curling when the pads of his fingers linger over your covered clit, roaming a little before finding the rhythm that made your head fall back with a thump.

"Atta girl, keep making those pretty noises." He hummed, using his other hand to pop open the buttons of your pants and tug them down to your knees.

Well, naturally, you just had to do the opposite of whatever he told you. So you clamped your mouth shut. But by then your vocal cords had developed a mind of their own, so your hums and sighs were still crystal clear in his ears.

Patrick pulls back for a moment to look at you, eyes darting all over your stony face. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

"Shoulda seen that coming. But we'll get you talking."

And you should have known he wasn't all talk. Before you have the chance to scoff at his remark, his hand dips under the waistband of your underwear to trace along your lips, skin to skin contact.

You could feel your cheeks turn hot as he watched you, eyes wide with awe and amusement. "'S such a mess down there, pretty. Little ol' me did that?"

He knew you weren't going to admit it, so he didn't wait for a response. He got all he needed when he saw you react, saw you keen when his fingertips dragged over your clit, resuming the rhythm that set fire in your belly.

"Aw, it's okay," he purrs, tonguing over your collarbone. "Y'don't have to say it. Y'know why? 'Cause this pretty pussy says it all for me, doesn't she?"

That makes your pussy clench, and you know he can feel it. An airy chuckle tells you he definitely can. "Thought so. Can feel her asking for it, begging for me."

You can't help the surprised moan that is ripped from your throat when he sinks a finger in, curling at just the right spot to have your nails digging into his shoulders. Your legs are already weak, and stray hairs are already pasted to your forehead by sweat.

"Fucking hate you," you sigh, but when you're rolling your hips up into his hand it doesn't hold much venom.

"Can't hear you, sweet cheeks, might need to speak up."

"I hate you."

"What's that?''

"I hate you." You can feel pleasure boiling in your gut, seconds away from boiling over.

"One more time," he purrs, pressing his palm up into your clit.

"I hate you! Patrick!" You grasp onto his shoulders as pleasure comes over you in waves, spreading through every vein into your fingertips until you're panting through a blissful afterglow.

"There we go." Patrick wipes a hair that fell over your mouth away, grinning. "Knew you'd come around."

You roll your eyes as Patrick pats your cheek and then leaves towards the ensuite bathroom. The air is suddenly cold against you, and a strange feeling swoops in your gut when his figure disappears from your sight. But he comes back a moment later with a wet rag to hand to you, and the feeling lightens.

For the first time in all the time you've known each other, a thick silence permeated the room amongst the smell of sex. The sound of fabric rustling against skin and the bathroom sink running sounded louder against the tile.

Patrick was the first to speak. "I'm assuming you don't want to be seen together, so I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll see you around." He didn’t meet your eye, murmuring into his shirt as he buckled his belt.

You didn't respond. You weren't sure why, and you weren't sure what the answer would have been if you had. But Patrick doesn't seem to take offense to it, instead stepping out of the bathroom. You watch through the mirror as he heads towards the bedroom door.

He stops in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. He's wearing his telltale grin and his hair whips with the movement as he looks back at you.

"If you ever feel like hating me again, give me a call."

.

[ghostlyfleur]

eddie munson = eric draven = patrick verona

same character, different font

[popclture]

10 Things I Hate About You (1999)

[ahsxual]

Good evening/morning/afternoon

Could you possibly do a patrick Verona headcannon with an s/o who loves taking care of people, constantly baking things and buying gifts and they're like the parent of the group with basically a never ending supply of everything (plasters, scarves, blankets, medicine etc) in a huge bag

Thank you!!

Pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Patrick instantly felt a strange, yet comforting feeling towards you once he noticed that you genuinely care for others: you somehow reminded his late grandfather and how he used to be so caring with him as well

He couldn't stop imagine himself with you by his side and how you would take care of each other so dearly. After all, that's all he wanted: someone who truly cares for him and knows him well, without any kind of judgment. Our poor baby just wants to be loved, be understood and love back

You eventually discovered that Patrick is actually a great cooker, so you usually bake things together and have lots of fun, since he can't hold himself to make a joke here and there

He loved spoiling you with gifts himself, so you both often fight for other's attention to prove who loves the other more, until you realized that gifts meant nothing in comparison to your physical love and deep emotional bond

Patrick considers himself the “father“ of his friend group, not allowing them to get drunk or get hurt in parties, so it was funny when you told him everyone sees you as the "Mom Friend" of the group as well. You definitely hear your friends calling you the parents of the friend group, and how you both would be so protective of your own children

He also finds it funny the fact that you carry a kit of first supplies with you, saying that you care way too much for others and how is it possible for someone to be as kind as you

"I'm not religious princess, but you're definitely convincing me that angels actually exist." or "My girlfriend/boyfriend is a goddamn nurse?! I must have won the lottery! " he would say to you, making you blush at his funny compliments towards you

Patrick genuinely feels so lucky to have you as his romantic partner and is so proud of you... he wouldn't change you for no one or anything in this world

[deadpoets]

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU (1999) dir. Gil Junger

[ledgerserious8]

Shoulder To Cry On | Patrick Verona & Reader

Warning : Don't copy my writing Don't steal my writing. All rights are reserved for my writing

Genre : High School Christmas Eva Love Confession

Summary : After you get your bag from stealing you find something into it..

Word count : 1.4k

You was looking at the light of the moon it's was one of Christmas nights and you was breathing slowly trying to get a free moment

The air from the sky coming towards your window and made your shiny hair started moving slowly the light of the moon on your face making your expression more clear

And you smiled to yourself..

Because you can handle yourself this morning and get your black bag after someone unknown in the high school steal it

You was happy that you was strong because that's how your parents teaching you to be

However you was smart person and you was the only one who ignoring Patrick Verona the bad boy of your high school

A lot of girls was having crush on him especially your bestfriend Katarina "Kat" Stratford the girl with blonde hair

She had always talking to you about Patrick and sometimes explaining her love feelings for him to you

But you was a lot different from her you was having dreams and future you didn't care about getting love and be loved

...because you never fall in love before

Sweetie don't forget to eat dinner - your mother explained she in the living room but you still can hear her

Yes mom don't worry - you replied calmly as turned your head to your room noticed your objects

And your black bag on the table

You get curious feelings into your heart because you didn't open your bag from the morning after you get it back

Your foots walked and you sit down on the chair your fingers grabbed the zip of the bag and somehow you felt nervous from opening it

Come on y/n there's nothing wrong - you thought into your mind trying to calm yourself down

Your fingerstips pulled the zip down to be off and you opened your black bag you signed in relief after seeing there's nothing wrong

But suddenly..your eyes catch a letter was hiding into the bag

It's was a love letter..

You grabbed the letter and looked at it trying to study it but there's no signature and that's made it hard to you to know who

Let's see - you whispered to yourself as opened the letter by your fingers

'My dearest Y/n..

"My beautiful darling. I don't know where to begin..

"I just want you to know that I love you, and I don't know where I would be right now, if it wasn't for you.

"I am nothing without you. And i Swear to"

"I want you to know that I think about you every day. While everyone think about me

'Baby it's you into my heart my mind and my soul"

"I can be the shoulder you will cry on just by simple word from your sweet mouth..."

'That mouth that I'm dreaming of kissing it every night"

"I know that I'm probably not good enough for you... But I hope that you can find a way to love me back.

Your.....

Your eyes was shining as your heart was beating faster than before you could feel there's butterflys into your stomach it's was weird feeling but..

It's was so beautiful and good..too good to be true

You felt high on your cheeks because you was red like tomato but when you heard the steps of your mother coming to your room

You hided the letter into your bag again..

Come on sweetie we're waiting for you - your mother explained calmly after opened the door and looked at you

Yes mom i was just busy cleaning my bag - you lied and smiled because you noticed she believed you

Darling you need to eat and rest come on join us let's enjoy our Christmas nights - your mother explained tenderly as grabbed your arm gently

I know mom i know - you replied calmly as smiling while your eyes was shining

You smiled as standing up and walking with your mother leaving your room for dinner and making it empty for some time

But you will never know the handwriting was from Patrick Verona the bad boy of your high school

But as he wrote into the letter while everyone was thinking him..you was the only person into his mind

He want to be your boyfriend your man the one you put your eyes on and the happiness of your heart

A simple from your mouth will make him..

Shoulder To Cry On