#10tihay gif imagine
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TWO MONTHS
- work is taking a heavy toll on your boyfriend. (patrick verona x gn!reader, angst and slight fluff, established relationship)
word count: 657
a/n - another patrick fic :) i love him so much it’s not even funny. he’s my current hyperfixation- that being said, to all my patrick lovers out there, i’m planning a 3 part series for him <3 it’s called the summer before senior year and hopefully i get around to finishing it lol
Patrick closes the door to your apartment with a heavy sigh. The day rests heavily on his hunched shoulders, leaking through his pores as grease and dejection. You stir from your place on the couch. It’s 12:24 AM, and he is just returning from work. His hair is messy, tied up in a frizzy ponytail, and his eyes hold no sparkle. He doesn’t look like himself anymore. Your brows furrow, the weight of his condition nearly bringing tears to your eyes.
“Pat, it’s past midnight.” You murmur, reaching up to cradle his face in your hands. There is a smudge of dirt on his face, which you wipe away with delicate fingers. He melts under your touch. “This isn’t healthy.” He takes both of your hands in his, kissing each one gently.
“I have to.” He grimaces. “Rent’s gone up, baby. You know that.” You lead him to your bed. The sheets are messy, as they always are. In his exhaustion, he does not care; not like he ever did, anyways. “The boys at the car shop offered me this, and I took it.” It hurts you so badly to see him like this. He seems flat, dull, lifeless. Nothing like the Patrick you met, and nothing like you ever wish him to be again. You need him to be happy. He deserves it, if nothing else. He deserves everything good- he deserves the sunshine and tender love and a quiet kiss of calm, but you can only offer him so much.
He lays back, and you pull the sheets over his chest. “I can take a second job.” You say, tracing circles on his chest. He’s too tired to take off his clothes, and you won’t force him to. He’ll be out of the house by 5:00, and he needs all the sleep he can get. He shakes his head at your suggestion, looking at you with soft eyes.
“You have college and the diner already. You’re stretched as thin as you can be.” He whispers, threading his hand through yours again.
“I still have free hours. Not much, but enough to get you some proper rest.” You manage to say. The bags under his eyes speak for themselves. He’ll end up dead if he keeps working like this. You can’t do this without him, any of it. If he dies, if he ends up in some hospital being fed by the few coins you have left dripping through his veins, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You would gladly work every hour of every day just to see him healthy again. That isn’t realistic, though, and you know it. He’ll never let you take on that burden. You love him for it, but sometimes, his stubborn nature takes hold of him.
“No. This works, what we’re doing. We’ll be fine.” His voice is scratchy and low, but with just enough force to let you know he means it. When he looks at your face, eyes shining with unshed tears, his heart shatters. He kisses your hands again. “I promise, baby, we’ll be out of this soon enough. In two months we’ll have the money to take a break for a little bit. I’ll work lighter hours and we might even have enough saved to take you out on a proper date.” He smiles. You laugh quietly, though the sound is choked. Hot tears force themselves out of your eyes.
“Two months.” You repeat. He nods. “Two long ass fucking months.”
He starts to laugh, slowly at first, until you join. You wrap your arms around him as you giggle into his chest, and his whole body is shaking with the force of his snickering.
“Two goddamn bitches of months.” He offers, still grinning like a madman. He laughs, and you laugh in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, you think that things might end up working out.
Taglist (misc): @skeletonfromthecloset
#solar eclipse.#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagines#10 things i hate about you#10tihay#x reader#heath ledger#fanfic#fanfiction
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Love Potion.
pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader
word count: 801 (less is more with this one)
warnings: angst
summary: Reader reflects on their almost-marriage to Patrick Verona years after it’s all been said and done.
author’s note: Yes, I wrote another sad fic. I’ve had this in my head since last October. Based on a song...guess which one.
Unedited.
A lot could be said for all the sleepless nights, the grieving in slow-motion and the oblivion that followed, if you weren’t too exhausted to do so. For the last several years, you’d retreated from the world, hidden in plain sight, as it were, and you found solitude in the mundane. An average life for an average soul and that sentiment only bothered you as much as you were willing to admit.
You didn’t know what Patrick was doing now or if he had moved on. You hardly thought about him these days. Much had changed now that the two of you had grown up and apart; you were adults now and the impulses of youth that shrouded your past relationship had faded with time. The wounds were only so deep, but if you pick at a scab, it’s bound to open and that was the last thing you wanted.
You couldn’t say why he was on your mind. Something had reminded you of him, you were certain. Perhaps a whiff of peppermint had wafted into your nostrils and suddenly you were five years younger, sitting on the school bleachers next to your high school sweetheart, Patrick Verona, who was sucking on a peppermint candy he pulled out of his jeans pocket. He always used to carry them around with him. “It hides the smell of the cigarette smoke” he told you then in that thick, velveted Australian accent of his that always settled into the pit of your stomach just right.
He was like Christmas.
Senior year was rough on you both. You went off to college and Patrick got a technical degree to become a mechanic. He liked cars and was good with his hands. He made decent money and the hours weren’t the worst he’d ever had. He liked to work and it kept his mind off the fact that you weren’t there.
That must have been culprit. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, except when you’re two young adults trying to figure out the rest of your lives and where you fit in the other’s story.
Patrick was an impulsive young man. He made snap-decisions, but he had to live with them after and that was trouble. You loved his half-baked ideas, when he would beg you to skip class with him during fifth period so he could take you to the mall or the park. It was a lot easier to date Patrick when there were no strings attached. You had your whole lives ahead of you, why settle for a smaller picture?
You loved him. If you hadn’t known it then, you did now.
Why hadn’t you told him so more often?
Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. You had said it enough times to convince him to propose.
At the time, the worst things you could think of were losing your job, failing an exam, never reaching your goals. You never stopped to think about how much worse it would be to have to put a wedding ring on your finger.
You didn’t have the time to devote to a full-time marriage. You had spent your whole life striving to reach the point where you could be fully independent, and you were ready to take the moment and taste it; there must be another way.
Who gave you the right to break his heart?
Patrick was too nice. He did things just for you, he built his life around the promise of a future with you, but when you asked for it, he gave you your freedom just the same and you craved the hurt it brought.
Patrick was sunshine, but you felt more comfortable in the dark.
You wanted the pain the came with a clean break and you wouldn’t have been able to cut him off any other way.
You had changed after high school; your lover stayed the same.
You had led him on and that was your fault. It didn’t have to end this way, but sometimes you just don’t know the answer until someone asks the question and you wished you had been more prepared for the fallout.
At least now you were unbound.
You wondered if he ever thought of you and the answer came, years later. It was a postcard and Christmas never looked so good.
He had a family and that was what was supposed to happen, only it would’ve been your arm around him, your lips on his cheek and your children wearing big smiles and even bigger holiday sweaters.
From all appearances, your Patrick, ‘Peppermint’ you remember you used to call him, had moved on.
He still thought of you when it mattered and it always had to him.
And life went on.
You never thought of him again, except on nights like this.
#heath ledger#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#10 things i hate about you#10tihay#ten things i hate about you#biblio :: 📖
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Hi again!! Anon with the 10TIHAY idea here :) I had to hold back a squeal when I got the notif at work! It was literally so much better than I could’ve imagined! The daughter comment?! ON THE FLOOR It was perfection thank you!! <3
Awwww thank youuuu💗💗 but give yourself some credit!!!! It was a very good prompt😍
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could you do a heacanon for patrick x reader making out for the first time? sorry if this is uncomfy ♥️♥️♥️
Hello, honey!!!💖I can absolutely write this for you, thank you so much for the request!!! It's been... a while since I wrote for Patrick so I hope my characterisation isn't too terrible!!!! I hope you enjoy this, angel, and thank you once again for requesting!!!💜🌹
As always, GN reader (no pronouns other than "you" used) and no physical characteristics described to hopefully be as inclusive as possible.
TW; smoking & cigarettes (canon compliant), minor miscommunication (easily resolved) & I guess here I could say that reader isn't good at asking for what they want, which is what causes the miscommunication.
Word count: 772.
Written in a timed 30 minutes; unedited! ~ 🥰💞
Though you and Pat had been together for several lovely months, any affection exchanged between the two of you was chaste and increasingly, over the weeks, not enough.
You wanted Pat just as much as you wanted your favourite drink first thing in the morning, but every time you thought you were hinting for more, Pat only pulled away from you so smoothly that any sting of rejection you could have felt wasn't there.
How could you feel rejected when he was smirking at you like that?
While you had appreciated his refusals the first few times, after a few weeks of your first beginning to hint for more, you began to get frustrated. Even insecure. At least a little bit, as thoughts such as, don't you want me? occurred to you every time Pat pulled away from you.
Finally, you just had to ask him. You hadn't planned to say anything, but it seemed that your mouth had done the thinking for you, as you blurted out, "why won't you make out with me, Pat?"
Your sudden question made Pat choke on his inhaled mouthful of cigarette smoke and he exhaled shakily around a chuckle. "What's that?"
"It's just... I keep trying to ask you if we can go further but you keep saying no, so I don't - " do you not want me? is what you don't say, though you want to.
However, so perceptive is he and so intuitive is he that Pat hears you, and his humour sobers as he realises that a miscommunication between the two of you has occurred.
"Wait - " Pat's beautiful brown eyes are almost hidden by the severe crease of his dark brows, "What's going on, Y/N? Talk to me."
"I've been trying to...take our relationship to the next level and..." You sighed, "I don't know, I just want to kiss you more than how we already do."
A pause, heavy with contemplation, was beginning to make you nervous, but then Pat's eyes brightened with understanding and he smirked, "You want us to make out, don't you?"
You could only nod, your face heating up with embarrassment. A chill danced down your spine and made you want him. It thrilled and terrified you as a feeling.
"C'mere, love," Pat leaned back in his seat, stubbed out his cigarette, and patted one of his thighs with a smirk which only made you want him more, "Get comfy."
You hesitate, but in the end, the eagerness to get what you want won over and you were on his lap so fast that Pat chuckled in surprise.
Pat's hot hands framed your face and the calloused pads of his thumbs smooth over your cheeks, his deep eyes now galaxies as he stares at you. Usually, such eye contact could be uncomfortable, but with Pat was it only safe and homely as you allowed yourself to sink into his touch.
He leaned in and pressed his plush lips to yours gently, softly, and you smiled against his lips; a familiar and comforting gesture was this affection.
Just like always, though, you felt the telling urge for more and you pressed your lips against Pat's, which made him chuckle against your lips as he obliged, touching the tip of his tongue to your closed mouth in a gentle encouragement.
You part your lips slightly, feeling out of your comfort zone yet bewitched all the same.
Like a switch did Pat surge forward, deepening the kiss and pouring everything he had into it.
You could feel how deeply and profoundly he loved you, and oh, how you wanted more.
Of the kiss, of his touch, of his voice, of him.
Pat pulled away and you chased his lips, which only made Pat's hands tighten their hold on your hips, his fingers squeezing as he gave as good as he got.
Soon did the need for oxygen become prominent and you broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily.
"Holy shit," you barely manage to say, and Pat nodded, his pupils blown wide with arousal. He swept a hand through his brown curls and took a deep breath, looking away from you in an attempt to cool himself down.
You leant forward, forward, and rested your face in the warm crook of his neck, and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself tight into his body.
"I love you, Pat," You kissed his neck and Pat's arms encircled you completely, trapping you in the safest cage you would ever know.
"I love you too, sweetie."
Worry not, Y/N - make out round two wasn't far away! 😉👀🔥
Patrick Verona @itsthejoker @royaleclownx @arianatheangelworld @scaredclowncat @crazygalore @call-me-harley-quinn @mountainjiwish @bao-styles @rafaelina-casillas
#nonnie#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona fluff#10tihay#10tihay imagine#10 things i hate about you#10 things i hate about you x reader#heath ledger
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A/N: Today is @swanimagines birthday! Happy birthday, Jenni! You are the absolute sweetest, a supportive and kind person and a talented and hardworking writer. I’m so glad I discovered your blog and the incredible person behind it! I hope you like this and that you have an amazing day 😘💜
Character: Patrick Verona
Fandom: 10 Things I Hate About You
Tags: Fluff, cuteness
Word Count: 370 words
Title: A Kiss
You were busy trying to write, but you would glance at him with the corner of your eye. Patrick kept hovering behind you, reading over your shoulder and clearing his throat or making any other dramatic noise that would get your attention on him.
A smile was fighting its way to your lips, but you rolled your eyes in any case as you stilled your fingers over the keyboard. Giving your writing session a rest, you finally looked at him.
“Did you want something, Patrick?”
“You’re ignoring me”
“I’m not ignoring you” You grinned, being fondly exasperated with him as you always were. “I have something I need to do”
“Pay attention to me, Y/N!”
“Or what?”
“Or I will have to demand it” Patrick replied, bearing a mischievous smirk that couldn’t mean anything good.
“Nice try” You began to say. “But I’m-”
Patrick made you yelp in surprise when he caught you by the waist and lifted you off the chair. With a swift movement, he turned you around to be face to face. You could barely handle the smirk plastered on his lips as it turned smug. Luckily for you, it slowly turned into a loving sweet grin as he watched you.
“That’s so much better” He wrinkled his nose in an adorable way, lovingly squeezing his arms around you to hug you.
“Fine, what do you want?”
“A kiss?”
You laughed, resigned to giving him what he wanted. Just in case, he was already giving you the puppy eyes. The beautiful smile that adorned his lips as he watched you would have been enough to convince you make you melt.
Wrapping your arms around him to be hugging him as well, you leaned in and softly kissed his cheek. He happily sighed when you did, tenderly rubbing up and down your back to thank you.
“It wasn’t so hard, was it?” Patrick said instead, lingering on his carefree attitude.
“I bet it wasn’t” You chuckled, deciding to tease him a little. “It’s easier to ask for a kiss than to just be dramatic and wait for it”
He laughed, pressing you against him and enjoying the hug as you both treasured the comforting feeling of your embrace.
Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @the-and-sign-anon / @bravelittlesunflower / @swanimagines / @ricksmorty / @fedorable-killjoys // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!
#i wasn't sure if you were comfortable with a romantic thing for patrick so i made it pretty light#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#patrick verona drabble#10tihay imagine#10tihay drabble#10tihay#10 things i hate about you#10 things i hate about you imagine#10 things i hate about you drabble#rfi writings#drabble#gift for them#reader insert#not requested
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THOUGH I KNOW MY HEART WOULD BREAK
Part 1 || Part 2
- your best friend has come to collect you after your first true night out, and you can’t keep your feelings in any longer (patrick verona x gn!reader, angst that will be resolved ⚠️ strong themes of alcohol / being drunk and smoking, there will be a second part)
word count: 1,187
a/n - aaa my first patrick fic!! i’m definitely going to make a second part because i absolutely cannot leave this unresolved lol. lightly inspired by “francesca” by hozier :)
Partygoers whirl around you, blending flesh with flashing lights and the strong smell of alcohol. You laugh at the feeling of people brushing by your shoulder, the slight touches sending shivers through your skin. You’ve had way too much to drink, and you revel in the feeling.
God, you never knew how good being drunk felt. That’s the problem with never getting out- you won’t get to experience how light your feet are after a couple glasses. You hardly even notice the arm slung around your shoulder.
“There you are. God, you got me worried sick! I can’t leave you alone for one night, can I?” The man half-grins. You instantly recognize him. It would be hard not to, with his brown curls and gorgeous smile.
“Patrick! What are you doing here?” You slur, melting into his touch. Your best friend has come to rescue you. The thought, slippery and soft, sets butterflies loose in your stomach. Patrick Verona is at a party for you. And you love him more than your voice could ever say.
“Oh, you know, just to mingle.” You begin to nod before he cuts you off. “No, I’m here to take your ass home.” His expression turns sullen as a hint of worry lingers in his eyes. His eyebrows are pinched, and it takes your last drop of willpower to avoid reaching up to smooth them with your thumb.
You scrunch your nose. He’s yelling over the cacophony of noise in the background, but his voice is all you can focus on. “But I’m having fun for once in my miserable life.” You poke his chest. “You can’t take that away from me, not right now.”
“Yeah, you’re definitely going home. Your goody two-shoes butt will not appreciate waking up in a stranger’s house.” You frown. “Trust me.” He’s speaking a bit quicker than normal, but you’re so focused on how his eyes reflect the light that you barely notice. Nothing in the whole entire world is prettier than this moment. Not the mountains, or fresh dew, or that perfume bottle you saw in a thrift store once. He is beautiful.
You let out a sigh, slightly disappointed that you won’t be able to revel at the strobe lights for much longer. The mess of color around you was abstract art in your mind, a canvas splattered with paint. In any case, however, you will always follow Patrick. Even to the ends of the Earth.
“Ok…” You trail off as he leads you out of the stranger’s house. He’s been smoking again, as told by the lingering scent on his shirt. You’ve always hated his smoking. The smell, however, lights some sort of fire inside you. You just wish it didn’t hurt him.
When you get outside, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. The night is cold, but the stars are out. They twinkle above your head, and your breaths form clouds in the air. The noise of the party is muted, and the sky is spinning, and Patrick is worriedly waving his hand in front of your face.
That’s really the last thing you remember before you’re walking through your front door. Your parents aren’t home, thank God. There is no chance they would be happy with this situation- you, drunk, and Padua’s most feared boy bringing you home.
“Careful,” He mutters as you stumble into your bedroom. How he got you in a car is a mystery, considering the fact everything in your line of sight is blurry. You could hold a book two inches from your face and not be able to see a word. You sit down on your mattress, patting the spot next to you. He sits, and you feel the familiar little jolt in your abdomen that you always feel when he’s close. You can hardly look him in the eye; not just because you’re drunk, though that is certainly a factor.
Your room is dark, and your floor is messy, and so is his hair. You suck in your breath. You want to say something, anything, and your mind can only come up with one idea.
You need to do this. You’ve been thinking it for so long, and he deserves to know. Something in your mind is telling you not to, but the liquid courage in your veins is telling you ‘yes, yes, a million times yes’. Even though it might break your heart, the words slip past your lips like a snake to hang in the heavy air.
“I love you.”
“What was that?” His eyebrows raise as he looks at you like you’re insane. That didn’t really come out of your mouth, did it?
“I love you, Patrick. Always have.” You smile, eyes slightly unfocused. “In a more than friends way.” He can smell the alcohol clinging to you, and he hates it.
He laughs, though the sound is laden with sorrow. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, I really mean it.” You put your hand over his warm ones, and he doesn’t pull away.
He’s been waiting for this moment for the entire time you’ve known each other. He loves you so much it makes his heart ache. He knows the sound of your voice like his own, and he’s convinced your hands fit his like they were always meant to. Patrick fears that his head might explode until he realizes one sad little thing. It was too soon, too intoxicated, and too uncertain.
“Get some rest, girlie. I’ll find you in the morning.” He stands up, eyes burning. He needs a smoke, a drink, and a place to let himself feel the self-pity coursing through his veins. This means nothing, he tells himself. You make a pitiful sound, trying to follow him, but he can walk faster than you can stumble.
You’re so drunk you probably don’t even know what you’re saying to him. He can’t accept it, and he can’t reciprocate. If he did, he would be the biggest douche in the world. The kind of douche that preys on his drunk friend the minute they say something they would never mean while sober.
You grip onto his t-shirt, but he gently pries your hands off. You’re near tears now, and you wish he would just stay. Why can’t he, you wonder. You love him. You love him so much, so intensely it puts poetry to shame. You love his cologne, the way he speaks, his humor. You know him so well you could find him in any life, and your hands do fit his like gloves, and he can’t just leave you like this.
But he won’t let your drunk words ruin what you have. It’s too precious to be tossed out after one little slip-up. He’s not one to scare easily, but this moment is more terrifying that anything he has ever had to do in his entire life.
He needs to leave, and he needs to pray that he can get over this.
As he closes your bedroom door, separating you from the only boy you’ve ever truly loved, he mutters, “I hope you don’t remember this tomorrow.”
#solar eclipse.#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona#10 things i hate about you#10tihay#x reader#patrick verona imagines#heath ledger#fanfic#fanfiction
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I WOULD DO IT AGAIN
Part 1 || Part 2
- after the disastrous events of last night’s party, patrick comes back to dig out the truth (patrick verona x gn!reader, fluff, ⚠️ themes of alcohol / being drunk, this is the second part).
word count: 1457
a/n - it’s done!!!!! tysm to the people that read and enjoyed part one. i’m planning to write for patrick more, so stick around if you want to :) once again, this is inspired by the vibes of francesca by hozier
You wake to dappled sunlight filtering through your dust-speckled blinds. Your eyes flutter closed again as the gentle caresses of the morning are giving you a splitting headache- that, or the sheer amount of alcohol you downed last night. You move to pull the covers over your head, but your sheets are stuck on the corner of your bed. You just slip down further instead, groaning at the needling pains attacking your forehead.
When you try to think of the events of last night, past the time you spent dancing to the beat of pulsing strobe lights, very little comes to mind. Even the dancing is blurry. A warm voice, maybe, and the cold night air. The stars, spinning. Everything being blurry and broken and tinged with blue. God, your head hurts. You put your hand on your forehead, trying to soothe the ache.
When your front door opens, breaking your early-morning silence, you curse the god that sent your parents home so early. You will never know peace today.
Your door creaks open, and you snuggle down under your covers until your feet are almost hanging off the bed. You can’t let them know you’ve been out drinking. You hope they just think you’re being a moody teenager, too chronically tired to wake up earlier than 10:00 AM.
“You up?” The voice is rich, deep, and lightly accented. It’s definitely not your parents.
You shuffle up, poking your head out of your mess of blankets. You wince as your headache spits more of its fire.
“Pat?” Your throat is dry, and it’s reflected in your words. They come out scratchy and hoarse, and you wrinkle your nose at how pathetic you must look and sound. Does he know what happened when you got wasted?
Like he can read your mind, he closes the door and sits down on your bed. “You were pretty fucking wild last night. Got me worried.”
“You? Worried? About me?” You laugh, voice still on the rocks. “Usually it’s the other way around.”
Patrick smiles, but there’s something sad laced between his teeth. It shows through his eyes, how his dark brown irises look at you like a mourning dog. You sit up.
“What even happened at the party?” You ask. “I don’t even remember you being there.” You must’ve done something horrific to make him look like that. Did you flip off a police officer or scream at him?
Usually, you’re put together. A model citizen, even. Usually, you’re the one influencing him to be better. Usually, usually. Last night was definitely not a usual night.
His smile disappears from his lips, and a worried frown replaces it. He knows he has to bring it up. He debated it over and over in his head at home. Even on the trip to your house he was still trying to decide if he should tell you or not. He knows, though, that if he was the one drunk out of his mind, you would tell him the truth. You wouldn’t keep it from him. Besides, the burn inside him aches to know if what you said was true. “You said something stupid.” He mutters.
You internally punch yourself but groan out loud. You knew it. Why did you ever let yourself get that drunk? You should’ve just stayed home.
“What did I say?”
“You said…” He looks away, and you can’t help but notice how he keeps avoiding eye contact. “You said you loved me.”
That kickstarts your heart. Now your chest is pounding and you can hear the ringing in your head. You can feel the pulsing heat, the burn that comes with this.
“I know you didn’t mean it. People do stupid shit when they’re drunk. Don’t worry about it.” He says gruffly. He moves to stand up, but in a you grab his hand after a brief moment of hesitation.
You do love him. So, so much. “I wasn’t lying.” You whisper, and his eyes widen the slightest bit.
For a minute, you remember that this was exactly how he looked last night. Curls wild, the smell of smoke clinging to his body. And you love him just as fiercely now as you did then.
“You don’t regret it?” His voice shakes a little at the end of his sentence.
You’re panicking now. You’ve never done anything like this before, and today was not the day you were planning on starting. Every single possibility is racing through your mind, and you feel like you might throw up, but you have to tell the truth. You’ve gotten this far already- it would be cruel to leave your best friend hanging.
“I would do it again. Sober, I mean. I love you.”
You stare up at him, and he stares back at you. His eyes are broken like shattered glass, and when he sees you in his cracked lenses, the tears beginning to well up in your eyes could almost be glue.
It’s true. You actually love him, and it wasn’t just a stupid drunken confession. You didn’t latch on to the first friendly face you saw. You love him, of all people. Him. Patrick.
“You do?” His voice is quiet and just a little hoarse. His mind is reeling. Your words play like a mantra in his head, repeating over and over until the word “love” sounds like a made-up sound meant to rhyme with “dove” in a children’s novel. “Why?”
He isn’t deserving of it, he thinks. He could never deserve a love as great, as gentle, as beautiful as yours. He always assumed he would love in hellfire and smashed plates. Never once did he consider that you loved him back, and that he could have someone as good as the person staring back at him with messy hair and soft eyes.
You tilt your head. Why? He should know why by now. “I mean, what isn’t to love? You say it all the time.” He looks terrified and elated all at once.
“Well, yeah, but why?” He moves closer to you, his weight causing your bed to dip. The sheets wrinkle under his touch and the sunlight is bleeding through his hair. You have never seen anything more beautiful before.
“I love you because you’re funny. Not just in the class clown way, but you’re really genuinely funny. You always make me laugh every time I’m having a bad day. And you’re caring and strong and supportive. I mean, I’m pretty sure you were the one that took me home last night. You care about everyone a lot more than you seem to think. You’re talented, too, and really smart.” He snorts at that, and you add on. “Yeah, I know, you skip classes and stuff but you catch onto things quickly. And you’re good at figuring out how to work my appliances, which can come in handy.” You take a breath. “What I’m trying to say, Pat, is that I really do like you. In a serious, genuine, love-filled way.”
You feel the ramble lifting an incredible weight off your shoulders. You got it out, after so long of loving the boy that grew to be your best friend. It’s done. Even if he doesn’t love you back, at least you’re not carrying this intense, heartbreaking burden.
Patrick opens his mouth slightly, then closes it as he thinks about his words.
“That’s good.”
You feel it all coming back down to crush you.
“Good?”
“Yeah, good. ‘Cuz I love you too.”
And suddenly, you’re flying. It barely feels real, and you smile harder than you ever have in your entire life. “You do?”
You feel his rough hands come up to settle on your face, and you relish the warmth. He’s so close you can feel his breath fanning over your nose.
“Of course I do. You’re a catch.” He says. You laugh, he smiles, and he leans in further. You feel his slightly chapped lips on yours, and suddenly, nothing else in the world has any significance.
It’s gentle and soft, despite his rough edges. You can feel his curls tickling your chin, and he smiles into the kiss. When he pulls away, you’re left with the tingling sensation of touch and a heart that’s beating a mile a minute.
“I liked that.” You grin, breathless and wild. His cheeks are flushed.
“You better get used to it, then. There’s more where ‘that’ came from.” His thumb draws circles on your cheek.
He dips to the side, tilting his head to whisper something into your ear.
“Unless, of course, you actually do regret it.”
The corners of your mouth lift up involuntarily as you whisper something into his.
“Like I said, I would do it again.”
#solar eclipse.#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona#10 things i hate about you#10tihay#x reader#patrick verona imagines#heath ledger#fanfic#fanfiction
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Hello love,
Could I please request the prompts “I don’t deserve you” and 1 - 54 “I love your laugh” with Patrick Verone from 10 Things I hate about you?
Thank you so much!
I love Patrick! Thank you for requesting, enjoy this cute little thing!
Patrick Verona x Gender Neutral Reader
You hadn’t moved from that position for a while now. Standing before your front door, holding on to each other as you refused to say goodbye. Even if you knew you would see each other tomorrow, you never wanted to be apart.
“What are you thinking?” Patrick whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
“That I wish you didn’t have to go home, or that you could come in and stay” You smirked to yourself as you looked up to stare at him. “But then again, my parents don’t like my boyfriend because he’s a jerk”
He laughed in offence and tickled your sides, tightening his arms around you to trap you between them and his chest. You erupted into laughter as you squirmed against him, enduring the little punishment for your cheeky comment.
Patrick stopped tickling you and kissed the top of your head.
“I love your laugh” He told you, leaning down to kiss you in the cheek.
“That’s a good thing, because you’ll hear it a lot” You had to control yourself not to giggle at what you were about to say. “Since you’re such a clown”
“You win again” He grinned, clearly proud and smitten about how quick and witty you were. Then he kept on kissing you some more. “I don’t deserve you”
“You’re right, I’m much smarter and prettier and-” Too put an end to your tireless insolence, he smashed his lips against yours. That effectively silenced you.
The exchange lasted for several seconds until he abruptly pulled away, reveling in the fact that you were left wanting to kiss him, as his smirk reminded you.
“You love me” He obnoxiously booped your nose, making you roll your eyes.
“Against my better judgement... I do”
“So you do admit it”
“Yeah, you’d annoy me into saying it anyway”
“You know me so well”
You both laughed, but your smiles slowly died down as your eyes locked together. There was adoration in his, perhaps a reflection of your own, as he leaned in again. This time he kissed you slowly, saboring every second you had until you had to get inside. And you reciprocated, silently telling him that all those jokes of yours were only a representation of your love for him.
Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @the-and-sign-anon / @bravelittlesunflower / @swanimagines / @ricksmorty // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!
#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona#patrick verona imagine#10 things i hate about you#10 things i hate about you imagine#10tihay#10tihay imagine#rfi writings#prompt#patrick verona prompt#10 things i hate about you prompt#10tihay prompt#reader insert#requested#lunamooney2406#non anon request#faves
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Imagine: Patrick pulling a small prank on you on Halloween
Not requested
You knew he was around here somewhere. You knew, and still you nearly jumped out of your skin when he appeared. Patrick came out of nowhere, wearing a werewolf mask and roaring at you so loudly that it almost drowned the sound of your screaming.
“It’s me!” He lifted his mask to reveal that infuriating grin.
Patrick stood there staring at you, beaming as he rejoiced in the effects of his little prank. Meanwhile, your hand had flied to your chest, pressing it over your heart that still raced at top speed.
“You... asshole” You pushed him, only making him laugh a little.
“You love me” Was his cocky response, cupping your cheek.
“No, I don’t” You swatted him away, causing him to frown in confusion.
“Did I really scare you?”
“Yeah, duh! You almost gave me a heart attack”
“Sorry, babe...” Patrick pursed his lips, repressing a chuckle, but tenderly wrapped an arm around you to bring you closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you that badly”
You softly punched him in the chest in retaliation, but he only giggled and left a kiss on your cheek. Pressing your forehead against his shoulder, you let yourself relax while he fixed the damage he’d done.
“Make up kiss?” He muttered, already pressing his lips to your head.
You smirked to yourself, leaning back to be face to face with him again. Patrick dedicated you a fake angelic smile that you emulated, and the both of you leaned in. He closed his eyes, waiting for your touch.
Just when your lips were about to meet, you reached out to pull his mask down over his face again. Patrick yelped in surprise, his voice muffled by the mask as he complained. Before you could put together a plan of escape, he took his mask off and carelessly threw it to the side.
“You owe me a kiss, Y/N!” He tried to grab you, but you backed away.
You screamed again, this time delighted as the sound mixed with a guffaw. And you ran, still laughing, as he chased you to claim that kiss.
Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @the-and-sign-anon / @bravelittlesunflower // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!
#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#10 things i hate about you#10tihay#10tihay imagine#10 things i hate about you imagine#patrick verona imagine#rfi writings#imagine#gif imagine#halloween#10 things i hate about you gif imagine#faves#10tihay gif imagine#patrick verona gif imagine#reader insert#requested
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Requested by & anon (x) - Request a gif imagine!
You blew out the match once your pumpkin was finished and illuminated by a small candle on its inside. Then you looked over at your friends, who were taking their time with their carving. Kat was making an elaborate and spooky looking design, but Patrick’s looked awful.
You giggled as you watched him work. His brow was furrowed as he cut the surface with his knife. Not only was it turning out a disaster, his design looked goofy on the first place.
“I don’t know if it’s ugly enough to be scary or not” You teased him, earning a glance from him. “But it looks terrible either way”
“Just facts” Kat added, laughing at him too.
Patrick glared at you, terribly serious all of a sudden. You stopped laughing, fearing to have upset him. But then he grinned, pointing a finger at you.
“Scared you, didn’t I?” You mockingly wrinkled your nose at his smirk.
Walking away from them, you went to help Cameron and Bianca before Kat or Patrick could throw you disgusting pumpkin guts. Which you knew they would.
If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!!
#imagine#gif imagine#10tihay#10tihay gif imagine#10tihay imagine#10 things i hate about you#10 things i hate about you gif imagine#10 things i hate about you imagine#patrick verona#kat stratford#cameron james#bianca stratford#halloween#reader insert#requested#rfi writings
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~ Angry cuddles with Patrick Verona ~
Summary: Pat’s mad at you. But he also wants his cuddles. What occurs when his need overcomes his anger is too cute and it leads to the both of you melting into the mattress together. (SFW)
Something my darling @loveletterstoledger said to me today sparked this little ficlet. This idea was entirely her own and I wanted to write something about it so please send her some love directly if you enjoy this; she deserves it!💜💗🌸💙 (I hope you enjoy this, my love!!!! I haven’t written for Pat for a while so I might be a bit rusty!)💛🥰💕
TW; (minor) argument between Y/N and Pat, miscommunication (this is the basis of the argument), tension (momentary). If I’ve missed anything then please let me know!
Word count: 1, 038.
“Pat, would you just listen to m - “ Your voice rises slightly with frustration and with some kind of urgency for Pat to do as you ask him to, which is simply to listen because he’s labouring under a misunderstanding and you want to correct it, but his dark brown eyes seem to look through you.
Pat’s beyond the point of listening to you and so angry is he that he’s unable to be his best self for you as he scoffs and leaves the room, his dark curls flying about his face like the strands are electrical currents, so palpable are his emotions in this moment. He storms from the room and his steel toe caps thunder through the house until finally does your bedroom door slam shut so hard that the walls in the living room, where you stand, shake.
You sigh in defeat, a thick lump of unshed tears in your throat and a prickly heat behind your eyes and nostrils spreads. You wrinkle your nose - you won’t cry. You’re not going to follow him, so knowing are you that when Pat removes himself from a situation, it’s because he’s keeping venom from leaving his tongue; what’s said is said. Even in the worst of moods, Pat wouldn’t want to do you unnecessary harm, and so he silences himself before there’s even a risk of that happening.
You grab your phone as you sit on the sofa and give yourself a small break from the monotony of your daily routine. If you know Pat as well as you’re sure that you do, then he’ll be back within twenty minutes. With a small smile and a lot of anxiety, you force yourself to focus on mindlessly scrolling your socials (the irony doesn’t escape you).
Just as you get into the rhythm of scrolling without thought and refreshing your feeds every few seconds, cycling are you through the apps on your phone, Pat comes storming into the room and grabs your hand, pulling you up to standing. He seems to be a live wire, his skin almost crawling with energy. His dark curls fly around him as his hand tightly grips yours and without looking back does he walk with you to the bedroom.
Pat ignores all of your questions and all of your protests; half way to the room do you cease this and simply allow Pat to do as he will; so stubborn is he that he will always get his way. Truthfully would you allow nothing less than this, for there is nothing he could ask which you could ever refuse and the same is equally true in the reverse. You live for each other.
Finally do the both of you reach the bedroom and Pat uses his spare hand to slam the door shut behind you; you are barely in the room for there is a strong gust of wind against your head and you step closer into Pat, not wanting to get your clothes stuck in the door.
“Pat, what - “ One last attempt to see what Pat was after, but before you could finish your sentence, he grunted and threw himself down on the bed, the look in his eyes making his needs obvious.
You tried to not laugh but you couldn’t help it. “Ohhh ~ ,” You exhaled and made a sound of knowing at the same time. “You want your angry cuddles.” You bit down on your lip to prevent from laughing too much but you had always found it funny when Pat got angry. He just stomped around, made some noise and then demanded for cuddles like he was a belligerent cat. He didn’t like being angry and so he usually calmed down pretty quickly. You came forward and Pat lunged forward and wrapped his arms around you, tugging you down with him onto the bed.
Pat grunts angrily and crushes you to his chest, his breaths deep and long as he forces himself to calm down, as he gets himself reacquainted with what it means to hold you in his arms and to be safe in what the both of you share. He presses a tender yet somehow aggressive kiss to your forehead and rests his chin, the angles of which are sharp, against the crown of your head, and takes another deep breath before he makes another angry noise and rolls so that you’re pressed against the mattress and Pat is hovered over you.
You let him tug you this way and that, used are you to Pat’s angry cuddles. As far as healthy ways of dealing with anger goes, Pat has one of the healthier methods you’ve ever seen. He always lets himself vent his emotions and always will he apologise for negative ones as and when he expresses them to you, even and especially when they’re not actually directed at you. Normally are the both of you efficient at communicating with one another but for some reason today did you just bump heads and so was nothing solved.
He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, the fire in his eyes slowly beginning to simmer into a gentle flame. For some reason is there a tugging in your gut and and you begin to speak, your voice just above a whisper as you tell Pat what you had been trying to say before the tension had deafened Pat’s ears to your words only moments ago. He listens to you, inclining his head as he presses kisses to your cheeks, lips, the pulse point on your neck. He hums and makes noises of sympathy and of compassion, so large is his heart, and you know that all is well between you again when his hands slide up, up your body and grip your face. His fingers splay behind your ears and he kisses you so soundly that you quite forget what you were just about to say, and perhaps that had been Pat’s plan all along.
He lives in the moment and dwells not on the past, for it is gone and all he has is right now with you. You’re everything to him, just as he is everything to you.
Patrick Verona @itsthejoker @royaleclownx @arianatheangelworld @scaredclowncat @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn @mountainjiwish @bao-styles
#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#heath ledger#10tihay#10 things i hate about you#patrick verona imagine#10 things i hate about you x reader
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Kingdom Come Undone.
pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader
word count: 1,937
warnings: angst, language, cheating/unfaithfulness
summary: third part to my ‘Illicit Affairs’ mini series.
notes: I got inspired to make another part for this tragic mini series I got swept up in. I wasn’t planning on continuing it, but I had a sudden burst of inspiration for it and wrote this based off Taylor Swift’s song Hoax. Enjoy~
unedited.
Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in.
Don’t want no other shade of blue, but you.
No other sadness in the world would do.
The aftermath of it all had broken you down, left your glittering exterior, once comparable to silver itself, tarnished with rust after years and years of misuse. You still thought back to the night you had left him there, shattered and heaped on the cold bedroom floor. All the anger had built up within you and all you wanted was to be left alone so you could hurt. No matter how many times you ran the scenario through in your head, you could not find a reason. What reason could there have been to lead him to do something like this? A part of you was still there with him, discarded and forgotten, swept under the bed never to be seen again. You were afraid you’d never be made whole again; the betrayal had hurt much, much worse than the act itself.
He had stuck the knife in and twisted gruesomely, pulling you apart so that he could see what was on the inside. Underneath those scars he left behind, your soul ached and bled at the seams. You had let him in, after all, so you were just as to blame. You were frozen with disbelief, your heart encased in ice that if a warm hand were to touch it, instead of melting it would disintegrate. Yours was the ash left in the wake of his fire, destruction, raging a war through your world till it was razed to the ground. It tore you apart because you had let him in. You had shown him the pieces of yourself, hidden from the rest of the world, even the tiniest fragments which made you who you were. He knew where to stick the knife; he knew the places it would hurt you the most and that, you were certain, was the worst of something like this.
Patrick hadn’t been the same young boy you had met years ago in some classroom at Padua High. He wasn’t the boy who sat on the bleachers and flicked cigarettes at the ground and crushed the leftover butts into the dirt beneath his sun-faded combat boots. He wasn’t the same boy who had always come to class late or not at all and every time he skipped and you didn’t go with him you’d wondered if something had been wrong, but then he showed up the next day with a big grin on his face and the warmth of the summer sun in him and then had you stopped worrying about him so much. He wasn’t the same as he was then and for the life of you, you could not remember the last time he had been that boy.
Things had started to change years ago, if you analyzed what your lives had been like since his grandfather passed. He started growing more distant, spending more time working and then sometimes not at all. Patrick had always wanted to do everything and nothing, all at the same time. In high school, things were easier for him, he could get away with a lot more than the grown-up world allowed him to. He couldn’t cut classes anymore because the equivalent was blowing off shifts at work and that had much more severe repercussions than missing a few classes. He was an intelligent young man, gifted in the art of metalwork and mechanics and he could make a decent living at that, taking into consideration that higher education and college were not in the cards for him. When he had gotten his diploma, that was the end of public or private education for Patrick Verona; he had no interest in it and Pat liked to do things that interested him.
As weeks turned into months turned into years, that light had begun to leave him. The spark of motivation that drove him towards success was no more. How many times he had been told it was all in his head and how many times he had not listened to a damn word of it. He was barely into his twenties and amidst the beginning stages of his very new adult life, he couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Instead of picking up a textbook or a toolbox, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey; he didn’t pour his heart out to you like he had done so frequently in the past, but he poured every drop out of that bottle.
There was more to your Patrick than he let you meet of him and that was what led to such great devastation. Perhaps a way could have been found, had you known what plagued him. It was not so hard for you to comprehend; Patrick hurt far more deeply than anyone you had ever known. He was more sensitive than any other soul in the world and for that reason were you afraid for him, for the boy you fell in love with and had only wanted to love him every day for the rest of your joined lives.
He had hurt you because that was all he knew how to do. He knew what it was like to hurt and he had been selfish in that right. You did not deserve to be hurt like this, by the person you trusted most in this cruel world. He had been granted access to your greatest weaknesses, painful memories and soft targets; he knew the easiest ways to make you crumble.
As much as it hurt to think on it now, you would soon get used to a life without Patrick. The most jarring part was the lack of him in your life, uprooting every shred of connection you had shared with this person felt foreign for all the wrong reasons. How were you to carry on without someone who had played such a vital role in your life? It felt almost like he had died and you mourned the loss of him as though it were true. You could picture a brighter future, one where the pain had dissipated, but you were not there yet. Your eyes still leaked tears onto the pillow where he used to lay his head on the corner and smile cheekily at you and scrunch up his nose when you pulled him in close. Perhaps a part of you died that day as well, because now all you had were the memories and those too were dirtied with the mud of his transgressions.
It was over now. It had to be, otherwise you could not have begun to carry on the same as though he had never been at all. You scrubbed away the haze that was your first young love and delved into the next chapter of your life because what more could you do? How else could you begin to forget him? How easily could you begin to forgive?
You had reached the very ends of your frayed rope, your heartstrings pulled taut and surely some had already snapped under the pressure of keeping the belief that there were still good things worth beating for. Even as time marched on, you occasionally thought of him and how you wondered what he was doing with his life now, but you never thought of her. You thought of yourself and how much you had grown since then, when you thought you knew nothing but as it turned out, you knew just a little about everything. You hadn’t meant much then, to anyone outside of your family and you had a difficult time explaining why it felt different to be loved by someone not bound by familial connection. You felt lost, forgotten, tossed aside, until Patrick had found you and decided you, of all he had to pick from, were his favorite. It still brought tears to your eyes to think of it that way and you always tried to picture the same bright boy you loved so much and still wondered if he pictured you the same way too. It was simpler when you first met than it was now and you were finally ready to heal.
Thoughts of him still lingered; would he, too?
My only one.
My kingdom come undone.
My broken my drum, you have beaten my heart.
#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#10 things i hate about you#ten things i hate about you#10tihay#biblio :: 📖
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Thread of Gold.
pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader
word count: 1,483
warnings: none.
summary: Patrick and Reader share a moment of direct intimacy in the form of a shower; ‘a thread of gold connected your hearts, drawing both of you closer than any other ever dared to go’.
request: [from anonymous] “can you do a patrick verona x reader where they shower together but its like sweet not smut?”
notes: Hello! Thank you so so much for requesting this! I apologize for how long it took me to complete it, but I hope I did it justice enough that you don’t mind having waited this long haha. This is a more lengthy version of one of my dribbles ‘Invisible String’. If you haven’t read that, I highly suggest that you do! I had so much fun with this piece. Please enjoy!
If you stood completely still, your body from head to toe beneath the gentle shower spray, it felt like you had entered upon a new world. Callused hands pillowed at your sides and rough finger pads kneaded and pressed into your soft skin; a thread of gold connected your hearts, drawing both of you closer than any other ever dared to go.
This, you imagined, was what it would feel like to walk among the clouds. This was heaven.
Patrick always kept you close, no doubt in your mind that was all he ever wanted the two of you to be; his soul was made to compliment your own and here, under steaming hot rivulets and the glow of the golden morning sun rays, he fit against you like the last perfect piece to your glittering mosaic of rapture.
He lifted your head when you refused to look at him, then, and coaxed you closer still, lips and spirits converging as one for not the first time and certainly never the last.
When you broke apart, Patrick leaned his forehead against yours as he lightly caressed your warm cheek with his fingertips. Something about you always made him feel. Patrick Verona had always been a known romantic, though never in his life had he ever shown it, but your voice made him weak in the knees and at the very sight of you did his heart pound with need. That was what love felt like, he knew, and he would chase that feeling if only so that you could feel it too.
“Let me wash your hair.”
Pat’s voice carried past the running water and you returned it with a relaxed smile. Water droplets clung to your lashes and caught the light; only in the sunlight did your life force take on some incandescent glow that Patrick had always been mesmerized by. Everything about your form emanated real, raw beauty and Pat simply could not get enough.
He scooped you up, nearly lifting you off the shower floor altogether as his forearms cradled your lower back. You had your own arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he embraced you with renewed fervor such that your breath caught in your throat and you could feel your heartrate rapidly increasing. When he finally let you go, his large hands cupped your cheeks, fingers tracing the contours of your face as his honeyed gaze took in your subtle features.
Unprompted, he reached over your shoulder and grasped the shampoo bottle, popped the cap and squirted some into his hand, “stay still,” he directed after he had guided you to face away from him, “I don’t want to get any in your eyes.”
You closed your eyes even though he hadn’t asked you to and you dispelled a gentle hum of pleasure as Patrick’s hands gently massaged the shampoo into your scalp and locks until it formed a healthy lather. The sweet-smelling soap filled your nostrils, mingling with the spicy brine of Pat’s skin.
Patrick’s distinct smell kept him close to you, even if he was far away. You could always smell him on your sheets, your clothes, your pillows… There was not an inch of you Pat had not laid claim to and if he hadn’t already, you would have swiftly and deliberately handed him the keys to that kingdom.
Your cheeks were aflame and you could feel it despite the current water temperature that had already produced heavy steam on the shower door. Pat touched you with a reverence that was almost spiritual. His thick fingers slid easily through your wet hair as he worked the shampoo in deep.
Pat’s tongue poked out from the corner of his lips in rapt concentration; he smoothed the excess lather from your hair as he turned you around to face him once more and tipped your head back into the spray of water.
“Easy,” he cooed thoughtfully, “let it all rinse out before you open your eyes…I’ll tell you when.”
His gentle touches flooded your senses. Patrick’s hand reached for yours as you rinsed your hair and he raised your joined hands to his mouth to tenderly kiss each of your knuckles. At last, you felt him unclasp your hands and press his lips to your palm; you smiled, unable to keep your eyes closed any longer, and just as soon as you opened them were you met with a look of adoration in Pat’s own sparkling eyes.
“I love you,” you blurted, instantly regretting how it had sounded, thrust so carelessly into his arms like a heavy load he wouldn’t wish to carry.
He chuckled, “I love you too.”
Patrick always repeated those words back to you, never minding how frequently or vehemently they were said. He had never disappointed you, in much the same way as he often told you: ‘you’ve never disappointed me.’
Your heart soared when he said the words; how little effort it took to speak them, yet the weight they carried was indefinable.
Patrick spent the next few moments carefully preparing to wash the entirety of your body with the soap and cloth you had brought into the shower with you. It was not often that he washed you so tenderly, giving pause to make sure every inch of you was equally as carefully and gently scrubbed. He knew not how it made you feel, to watch him beneath your hooded gaze, giving attention to every bit of you like you were a lovely jewel to be polished with sentiment and bathed in love. He needed that, you had found, the closeness and the acceptance only the kind of love you shared could induce.
Patrick’s hands were the hands of a worker. He took pride in creation through the use of his hands; manual labor, blood, sweat and tears made Patrick feel accomplished and with those same hands did he apply the same gentle love and care as he would with every bit of work that crossed his path. He cared for you even more than that. If it were true that Patrick carried his love for you in his hands, then he would have reached directly into his chest cavity and removed his own heart, cradling it while you mended the broken pieces; you would stitch him back up with the threads that bound your two souls together and the cracks in his heart would be filled in with gold.
Patrick had knelt before you as he washed your body thoroughly, only stopping once he had finished to press a kiss against the inside of your thigh. You shivered pleasantly as you made for him to stand, “If you remain so attentive, I’ll start to think that you meant it.”
“Is that so?” Patrick quirked an eyebrow, “have I ever given you any reason not to?”
No. The answer remained; Patrick had never, not once, ever given you a reason to doubt his love. Just the idea was completely unfounded. Patrick’s love language could never be misread; his was a love that bubbled with energetic vigor until it boiled over into new heights of commitment and consideration you had only ever dreamed of knowing. Every look he gave was steeped in love and every word that left his mouth was based in thoughtful care, not one was he to ever disregard you.
Patrick shut off the water and provided you with a towel, stopping briefly to ruffle your hair beneath the fluffy canvas just to hear your indignant giggle. He shook water droplets from his hazelnut curls and wrapped his own towel around his waist.
“Come on, love,” he urged, already yearning for the warmth and comfort of your shared bedroom, beneath the duvet on your soft, plump mattress and encased in each other’s embrace, “I’m ready for a nap.”
“Pat, we just woke up a few hours ago!” you squawked in disbelief.
“I know,” he admitted as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “but the bed’s warm. And…you know I don’t need an excuse to be with you.”
A smile split across your features and Pat returned it with his own glowing one, his eyes full of secrets and wistful promise.
The secret to love is often lost on young souls, yet the knowledge one needed was stored, you imagined, in those eyes of his; Pat was a young man in form, but in soul, he knew all he could ever need to.
Pat was not built for the world he inhabited. He remained true to himself, stronger each day, because he never let anyone, ever, make him feel like he doesn’t deserve what he wants.
You took him by the hand, ready to lead him back to the bed.
Lucky for Pat, he did not have to chase you; two like-minded souls would always find each other…
At the end of that golden thread.
#heath ledger#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#10 things I hate about you#ten things I hate about you#10tihay#patrick verona imagine#biblio :: 📖
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I've seen your last post and now I'm too curious to not ask. (I hope you don't mind me asking these question)
What would Joker, Arthur or Patrick say if I say that I'm not worthy, after keeping my distance? That too much is wrong and problematic with me, that the effort to get to know me is too much in contrast to my boring personality. That there's nothing lovable within me, especially in relation to all my insecurities and loneliness.
Hello, my love!💜
I don’t mind you asking me these questions at all, especially because I asked for people to send me questions like this! Thank you so much for sending this in to me, darling, I really do enjoy answering these casual writing asks; it gives me a bit of a break from writing pieces but also means I get to write and it means that you lovely people receive more content and perhaps even some comfort!💙
I wasn’t sure which Joker you were referring to - TDK or 2019 - so I answered this for Arthur, J and Patrick. I figure Arthur’s Joker would react very similarly at any point of his arc because he’s the same man (in my opinion, others may disagree though and that’s okay!) I hope that you enjoy this!💗 I’m so sorry that you feel the ways that you’ve described, nonnie.😔 You deserve so much more than to feel this way. Just as you are in any given moment, you are worthy of and deserving of love and of getting to know. You deserve the world, darling, and I hope that the following offers you some support and comfort!💖🤗
If you would like to talk about this some more or if there’s anything more I can do for you then please let me know, angel!😊💝
What would Joker, Arthur or Patrick say if I say that I'm not worthy, after keeping my distance? That too much is wrong and problematic with me, that the effort to get to know me is too much in contrast to my boring personality. That there's nothing lovable within me, especially in relation to all my insecurities and loneliness.
Individual word counts are attached to the scenarios but the word count for all 3 scenarios combined: 2, 105.
This little paragraph precedes the beginning of each scenario from this point. To avoid repetition I’ve only written it once and it is not included in the word counts:
You let the words pour out. You tell him that there's too much wrong with you, that you have too many problems, and you're not worth getting to know... you tell him that you're unlovable. You say these things not as a thought, but as statements. You give him facts and there is no room for debate, no room for him to interject. Finally, though, finally, your words run dry and you can only wait for his reaction...
Arthur Fleck // word count: 705.
Arthur is silent for a few seconds, his nicotine stained fingers curling into fists, the material of his trousers bunched up beneath his grip. His nostrils flare minutely and you hold your breath. You can't - won't - apologise for telling him how you feel, because you know that Arthur wants to know everything which you want to share with him. He's grateful, you know, for your honesty, but you also know that right now, he's beating himself up. He's not loving you properly if you're having these thoughts, and he will do everything he can to comfort you and to soothe your insecurities, to be the man you need him to be, to be the one who will love you even harder for the fact that you don't - can't or won't is irrelevant, in his eyes - love yourself.
He inhales deeply and exhales shakily once, twice, thrice... and then when he speaks, his voice is that soft rasp which you know and love so well, though there is definitely tension in his voice. "Wh-why would you say that? Why are you saying those things?"
You shrug, your bravado gone now. You're just so tired of feeling like this. You're tired of beating yourself up over every little thing, for not being able to treat yourself the way that Arthur does. "It's just how I feel, honey. When I look at me, I don't understand how you can - " love me. You cut yourself off as your voice cracks, though you know that Arthur hears what you don't say.
Arthur will always hear you, whether you're screaming, whispering or remaining silent. Slowly do the pieces put themselves together in his mind. You had been distant for a while; you were always with him but you weren’t always with him. It was a subtle but important distinction; one which Arthur knew well. At first had he feared the worst, that you were breaking up with him, but now... oh, but now did he realise that he had been missing crucial pieces of the puzzle.
He coos softly as you look away from him, finally unable to say anything more for there is nothing else to say. Arthur has brought you to the point where words run dry, as he so often does. Where usually would he verbalise his thoughts, now does he only wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you into the side of his body the way one usually falls asleep; slowly and then all at once. Arthur is a man of action, he always has been, for he knows well that words can be spoken with little emotion behind them but actions, oh... his are practically screaming at you as he feathers kiss after kiss to the crown of your head, royalty are you.
"I love you, Y/N. You're the only one who's ever really been nice to me and you understand me on a level no one else does. You're not boring - don't you dare say that about my Y/N. You're perfect and I wouldn't want to share my life with anyone else." Arthur shifts in his seat so that he can face you, his legs turned towards you so that you know that you have his full attention. He presses a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead, as if he hopes for his kiss to seep into your skin and soothe your insecurities and raw wounds from the outside in. "You deserve to be loved, Y/N. Anyone who says otherwise has it all wrong," Arthur's dark brows crease, as if he can't even consider someone not loving you, his one and only.
"Thank you, angel." You give Arthur a smile, feeling somewhat better. His green eyes pierce your gaze and you know that Arthur knows you're still feeling iffy, but that's okay. Arthur will tell you his truth as many times as you ask him to. "I love you. So, so much."
Arthur coos again and kisses you soundly, wanting more than anything to show you that you're not alone in the ways that you feel. With time, patience and persistence, perhaps the two of you may learn to love yourselves through loving the other person.
Patrick Verona // word count: 924.
(A/N: @loveletterstoledger just recently wrote a piece in which Pat reacts to Y/N’s relationship insecurities (linked if you’re interested🤗💖) and so I’ve done my best to take on a different approach with this small piece. Any similarities are entirely coincidental but just in case, I’m crediting Rosie anyway (with permission💙)! Thanks, honeys!💗)
You and Patrick are sat outside in the garden when you tell him everything which is on your mind, and he is quiet... too quiet. You shift, uncomfortable in this thunderous silence, which may be dark and foreboding or merely contemplative... such is your anxiety that you cannot tell that which usually comes as naturally to you as breathing. Patrick reaches over with a hand and interlaces his fingers with yours, his thicker digits squeezing around your own, which shake slightly. You are barely holding it together. I'm here, Y/N.
Despite yourself and even with everything else which is going on, you can only smile as Pat communicates with you without saying anything at all, so emotionally intelligent is he. You have always marvelled at this aspect of him; for one so young, he is so knowing. With a twinge of your already tried heart do you know that it is because he has already suffered and gone through so much more than anyone his age should ever have to.
Pat is kind, warm and gentle because he has had to learn to be, and in his own strength and depth of character was your own enriched all the more for knowing him. Indeed, loving him came as naturally to you as breathing, and it was only in moments like this when it felt as though your soul could soar as Pat found you in that seemingly impenetrable darkness and brought you into his arms... back into the light.
You dare in this moment to look up at Pat and all you can see is a deep set frown on his face, his beautiful eyes with flecks of green in them watery and almost unfocused. His mind is clearly racing, trying to comprehend all of which has just spilled out of you like water from a running tap. As your eyes meet, Pat surges forwards, tugging you towards him too with the grip he already has on your hand, and you are pulled into Pat's broad, warm chest.
One arm is wrapped around your lower back, as far down as Pat can hold you without being indecent or too forward, so respectful is he, and the other hand rests on the back of your head, his fingers flexing in your hair. The movement reminds you of a cat when they knead a soft blanket and you smile. Only Pat can do this to you. He rests his chin on the crown of your head and breathes deeply, trying to keep himself under control. Sickness roils in his stomach; he hasn't been a very good boyfriend to you if these thoughts are plaguing you. But this isn’t about him - this is about you and Pat pushes his guilt down as best as he can, channelling it into helping you.
"Do you see yourself the way I do, Y/N?" Pat's voice is deep and it rumbles through his chest. You burrow tighter into him and snuggle into his hold, wanting everything which Pat is willing to give you and more, so needing are you of him and of his particular brand of comfort, which has always been and, time will show you, will always be your favourite. No one loves you in the way Pat does and you love him all the more for the way his heart commands his actions even with everything he's ever been through in his life.
You shake your head against Pat, knowing he'll feel the motion and understand everything you're not saying. He's incredibly intuitive and so wise and even in silence does he understand you perfectly. You are your own people but it's almost like Pat's emotions are mere echoes of your own, so emotionally intertwined are you.
"I just told you what I see, Pat, and I don't understand how you can love me, I - "
Pat cuts you off with a shake of his head, his dark curls brushing lightly against the tops of his shoulders, and shushes you quietly. "Stay with me, Y/N."
You puzzle for a moment over his intentions but then it occurs to you that Pat means here. In the moment. Pat can't take your insecurities away by way of reaching within you and scooping the tar out of your soul and brushing the ashes away from your cracked heart from all that you have ever been through. He cannot change your thought processes or prevent you from feeling as you do. He cannot put you back together (though there is nothing to be romanticised about falling apart) but he can love you every waking and sleeping moment, so thorough a lover is he.
"I would never want you to be anyone but yourself, Y/N. Everyone else is already taken and even if you can't see yourself, I see you and I love you all the more for it."
Pat felt inadequate; what more could he say? What could he do? He wanted nothing more than to soothe away your loneliness and your insecurities, but the only thing Pat could think of doing was simply to stay by your side, just as he had told you to stay beside him. He was so young but he lacked not the life experience required to so selflessly love another.
If loving you was the only thing Pat could do, then he would do it so well that you wouldn't know what else to do with yourself. Such was the depths of his heart, and such was the ethereal bond which existed between you.
J // word count: 476.
(J's is really short because his comfort style is short and to the point asdfghjkl ~ )
J had had no idea that you had been feeling so badly about yourself. He had known that you had bad days but never had J ever expected something like this to come spilling past your lips like a dam had been broken. So down were you, so lost in all that you were that J had never expected something like this to be on your mind. He thought not of things he had or hadn’t done or of things which he could have done differently. J only thought of you and as your eyes began to look at your feet, as if all the answers you wanted were there, he shook his head as if to dispel the dark thoughts and took a step forward.
“That’s, ah - a bad joke, doll.”
“Who said anything about joking?” You spoke bitterly, your thoughts like acid which had poisoned your self-perception and been so thorough in its job that now was your relationship, a secret and a sacred part of your life, being touched by it, too. J deserved better than you. Your relationship had never made any sense, you had always known that. What you had used to dream about did you now dread, and not even J was able to stop the onslaught of negativity now that it had its grips in you. Usually did you not speak to J like this but you were too far within yourself to be able to monitor the tone in which you spoke.
"Is this why you've been, ah - disappearin' when I come home, doll? Ya' think I don't want ya'?" J took a deep breath, steadying himself, trying to not show his anger too much. He knew not who or what had put these ideas into your head, but he was not happy and he didn't like it. Not. One. Bit. He tongued the scars on his inner cheek and stared at you, his dark gaze seeming to look into your very soul.
You nodded, finally unable to say anything more, and J made a contemplative noise, happy to be getting somewhere and knowing what you were saying but not understanding. He was with you, wasn't he? What further proof did you want or need that he wanted to get to know you and that he thought of you highly?
"Don't, ah - don't think like that, toots. Y're better than that, I know ya' are." J reached out to you and grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up into his lap and held you tightly. You were going nowhere until J felt like you knew that here, in his lap, was right where he wanted you to be. There was more he wanted to say, there was more he needed to say, but for right now you were going nowhere and neither was J.
AF/J @nothingclown @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @lynnesm @sagyunaro @greghouse @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @scaredclowncat @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty @call-me-harley-quinn @cbloodmarch @askmrfleck @justacomedy @takemepedropascal
Ledger!Joker @anyatheladyclown @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @germansarechill @acw1 @harlequinautumn @mermaleizroseglasses @justawriterinprogress @truthbehindthemysteries @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn @mermaidpowers1 @scaredclowncat @jslittlebirdie @ang3l-d0ll @sacredempressnatlyia
Patrick Verona @itsthejoker @royaleclownx @arianatheangelworld @scaredclowncat @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn @mountainjiwish
#nonnie#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck imagine#ledger joker#ledger!joker imagine#ledger joker x reader#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#10tihay#tdk#the dark knight#ten things i hate about you#joker 2019#joker 2019 x reader
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Hi!! I hope your having a beautiful day/night ♥️♥️☮️☮️🧿🧿🌞🌞 how would Patrick Verona react to having his face cradled tenderly & so lovingly? I feel like that boy is mega touch starved oof. Love you!! ♥️♥️
Moooooon ~ 🌑
Hi, darling! 🥰🥰🥰 sdfghjkl currently I’m cosied up in bed watching Dracula and answering asks, so I’d say I’m having a beautiful night, yes! 💖💖💖 I hope you’re having a wonderful night, too!💗💗💗
how would Patrick Verona react to having his face cradled tenderly & so lovingly?
I think you’re right to say that Pat is touch starved! It’s implied in the brief story which he tells Kat on her porch that he had to care for his dying grandfather alone, he had to arrange the funeral alone, and he had to get himself enrolled back into high school... alone. To me, it very much sounded like before the events of the film took place, Pat did everything alone. He was self-sufficient not out of choice, but because he had to be.
That’s not to say that he was lonely, but I’m sure that he didn’t have anyone to hug him when he cried, comfort him or otherwise help him. It’s also implied that it’s just him throughout high school with all of the vicious rumours, too, because up until Kat no one bothered to find out who he was for themselves. I’m sure he played up to the rumours sometimes, if only so that he was left alone by the masses.
The only one who never left him alone, no matter how vicious the rumours were, was you. You, who loved Pat every day like it was your last chance to do so. You, who touched him with reverence, who returned his every kiss with a smile You, who made sure that Pat always knew that he was loved by you, and in moments of doubt like the one he was having right now, you were fiercely determined to set him to rights.
“Patrick. Verona.” You spoke his names with care, each syllable rolling off your tongue like they had been arranged in that particular order especially for you. You were Pat’s only, just as he was yours.
Your hands reached out for his face and initially did Pat pull his head back. You hadn’t ever done this before. As Pat relaxed and allowed you to grip his face with your hands, your thumbs smoothed over his cheeks in slow, soothing motions.
“I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
You watched as your words sunk into Pat’s ears and caressed the surface of his mind. He was so tired, for so much had happened to him in such a short amount of time, and only with you did he truly feel safe in his vulnerability.
His chocolate gaze melted and it seemed as if there were stars in his eyes, which were beginning to look slightly wetter than usual, so overwhelmed with love was he.
“I love you too, Y/N,” Pat gave you a watery smile. His breath hitched and you smiled in tenderness. His emotions were like extensions of your own, so thoroughly did you know each other.
Keeping your hold on his face, your hands fitted more naturally to the sharp angles of his cheeks, and you shifted so that you could rest your forehead against his own. Neither of you wanted to forget this moment for even a second so you both kept your eyes wide open.
Memory is humanity’s natural camera, and you both intended to use it well.
Pat’s hands crept up so that he could interlock his fingers with yours, still upon his face, and you heard him as clearly as if he had spoken the words himself as tears dripped slowly down his cheeks and collected in his lap like rain:
Stay with me.
I love you too, angel!🥺💙
#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#ten things i hate about you#ten things i hate about you x reader#10tihay#10tihay x reader#moonimagines
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Buttercups and Daisies.
pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader
word count: 2,436
warnings: strong language
summary: An encounter with Joey Donner leads to Patrick defending your honor and getting himself into trouble; he returns home late with flowers and an apology.
notes: I’ve been working on this for a couple days and I finally finished it! Yay! This is based on something @jokershyena said in one of our convos and I thought it was cute so I decided to explore the possibilities. I included the character Joey from 10 Things, because I needed an antagonist for Pat haha. Enjoy!
“Will you be sharing the bed with me or should I take the couch?”
Even through your light slumbering, coupled with the ambient noise outside your bedroom window did you hear the gentle fluctuations of Patrick’s honeyed accent. You lifted your head and craned your neck forward to meet his deep, mahogany gaze as he stood halfway across the bedroom; his eyes always conveyed comfort, steadfast support and an endless well of love. As you took in the sight of him, you noted all the little things you’d become so fond of. He wore his grey, pinstriped shirt for you today, one that you often stole out of his closet to wear on colder days. The material bunched at his wrists where he’d pushed up the sleeves and hugged his biceps (the shirt might’ve been a touch too small on him.)
In spite of recent events, he was smiling. The last time you’d seen him the opposite had been true and you were unsure of what had changed. You were still slightly bothered by the way you both had left things.
Earlier, Patrick had gotten into a nasty disagreement with a classmate over you and instead of admiring him more for his integrity and protectiveness, you grew upset because the ending never changed: he would receive a detention and be taken away from you. Even though detention was never more than a few hours, you despisedbeing apart from him more than you had to be. He was your life-line and every time you found yourself thinking what life would be like without Patrick, you immediately let the thought go because of how much the idea upset you.
The incident had taken place in painting class (a class which Pat wasn’t particularly skilled at but had nonetheless taken without complaint so that he would have at least one shared class with you) when yours’ and Pats’ leastfavorite person came waltzing through the door: Joey Donner.
To every girl in your class, he was the most attractive male in school, but to you he was just another douchebag, overrated at best. Said jock would roam the halls during last period (unquestioned, because he was oh-so liked, even by the faculty) and insinuate himself into the classroom of whichever pretty girl had caught his eye that day, or perhaps to ingratiate himself with the teachers that took his flattery to heart.
Today, the pretty girl he had his eye on had been you.
In class, you’d sat opposite to Patrick as you had worked studiously on your painting. In the midst of adding some extra detail to the petals of the sunflower on your canvas, you did not notice Joey as he had strode across the room and plopped down on the empty stool to your left. However engrossed you had been, there was still someonewhodid notice the undesirable presence in the room.
Joey had leaned over your shoulder to study your painting and the smell of his cologne had wafted toward your nostrils; you’d had to suppress your gag-reflex, “Wow, that’s a really good sunflower, y/n. You didn’t need to look at a real sunflower for that or anything?”
The initial commentary had started off innocent enough that you grudgingly humored him, “nope. I didn’t. I’m justthatgood.”
Patrick had looked up from his own work; his dark curls fell loosely into his face and his hands were spattered with paints: yellows, reds and greens. Though slightly perturbed by Joey’s lack of respect towards your personal space, he had kept his cool and remained unbothered, “to what do we owe the pleasure, Joey?”
Joey recoiled the instant Patrick had spoken to him, “no one’s talking to you, kangaroo boy,” he sneered and had quickly turned his attention back to you, “I was talking…to this little sunflower.”
You had involuntarily shifted away from the boy seated beside you and the look on your face conveyed to Patrick just how uncomfortable you were by the entire situation. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have let Joey get to him so badly (or easily), but the fact that the jock had picked youof all girls to flirt with was him desiring to send a message to Patrickas well.
“Leave her alone, Joey. Go back to…whatever sewer-holeyou crawled out of,” Patrick’s voice was thicker and deeper when he was upset and his tone had made you look up and meet his gaze. Pat’s intensely dark eyes were nearly black as he had taken in the sight of Joey sitting next to you; you didn’t like it when these two got together. Joey didn’t have a care in the world that you were Patrick’s territory. The two young men despised each other and nothing was going to stand in the way of their rivalry.
Joey had chuckled lightly and held his hands up in a defensive surrender, “sure, sure, I’ll head out,” he put his hands back on the table, “Verona’s PMS-ing today. Must be from all the time he spends in here now instead of metal shop.”
“Knock it off Joey, that isn’t funny,” you grumbled as you had hunched over your painting and tried to drown him out. You had felt Patrick reach for your hand beneath the table and you gave it to him, letting his thumb brush over each of your individual knuckles in an intimate effort to calm you. It wasn’t much, but you’d take all you could get. You just wanted Joey to back offand leave you both be.
You had had a number of encounters with Joey before, but most now had been limited because he rarely had the guts to call Patrick out. Deep down, you believed Joey was still afraid of Pat and the thought had made you want to laugh on the spot. He was trying so hardto seem fearless, but the look in his eyes betrayed him; Pat was much quicker on his feet than Joey, but still, he persisted.
“Aw, you don’t like jokes?” Joey asked, the hint of a pout on his lips, “it’s not my fault somebody cut off your boyfriend’s balls.”
“Alright that’s enough!” Patrick slammed his hands down on the table as he practically leapt out of his seat. His canvas had been discarded onto the floor in his haste and Joey, who had been thoroughly enjoying himself up till this point, had quickly gotten up and was cautiously backing away from Patrick who was closing in on him a little too quickly for your liking.
Your classmates were staring, all looking on in eager anticipation as each and every one of them were hoping for a fight. Across the room, the teacher was shouting for them to break up their disagreement and head to the principal’s office, but neither heard anything other than their own voices.
“What are you gonna do, Verona?” Joey mocked as he held his hands up in feigned fear of being hit. Ever since Patrick had become ‘mister romance’ with you, all of the horrific rumors floating around about him had made him into a laughing stock among the ‘populars’ and he was not necessarily as feared as he once had been, or so it seemed to you now. You could hear Joey trying to suppress his quiet giggles,“ you’re not as valiant as you think you are, defending your dickand not your woman.”
Patrick had scoffed and angrily combed his fingers through his unruly mane, “spew your filth, Joey, go ahead,” he had exhaled through his nostrils which you knew he only did when he was livid, “say whatever the fuck you want about me. But I told you to leave her the fuck alone.”
Joey had felt the tension pooling within the tiny classroom and the crowd was beginning to turn on him as he had been backed into the corner of turning tail and fleeing. The students sitting closer had heard what was being said and more than a few had been frowning at Joey, “whatever, I’ll go. I’m not interested in her anyways if she’s a psycho like you.”
Patrick hadn’t been going to let one more second pass him by where he allowed that smug smirk to be plastered across the asshole’s face as if he had won. You had learned more than one thing that day at school, the most important being that Patrick Verona had a temper. You had never seen the Aussie in such a blind rage before and even still he was the gentlest young man you’d ever laid eyes upon. Just because your classmates and teachers never saw it didn’t mean it was not there.
Pat could have thrown a punch or two, kicked some shins or kneed Joey the in the balls, but instead Patrick had grabbed an open bottle of blue paint from the table and squirted its contents at Joey, coating the other man’s pristine white shirt in thick, heavy strings and gobs of sapphire.
Joey had stood dumbfounded, in complete and utter shock at what had just taken place. His jaw had dropped and he looked like a fish out of water as he stood there gaping down at his mussed shirt, “what the hell?!” he roared, “this is brand new you fucking prick!”
Muffled giggles had rung out from the surrounding pupils and Joey angrily reached for a bottle of yellow paint to retaliate, but the teacher had been too swift and intervened before Joey could get the lid off and had snatched the bottle out of his hands, “both of you! Principal’s office, now! Donner you’re not even in this class!”
Joey huffed, “thanks a lot, ass-wipe,” he shook his head in disbelief at the entire situation as he had ducked out of the classroom and retreated down the hall in the direction of the principal’s office.
Patrick had then set the open paint bottle down on the table and exhaled as he, too, had exited without so much as a backward glance at you. He knew what was to come when the two of you made it home (you much earlier than he would due to a more than probable detention in the impending future). He had followed the teacher’s pointing finger as he walked out the door and trailed Joey down to the office.
As quickly as his temper had risen, it dissipated. Patrick could get riled up easily, but within five to ten minutes, he would have been over it. He never held grudges or stayed angry for very long. If he did, then he liked to work off his frustrations in metal shop, where he could weld, hammer, pound and destroyanything as much as he liked without consequence. The last thing he had ever wanted to do was destroy what he had with you.
Patrick didn’t know much anymore, other than he couldn’t wait to make it up to you any way he could.
“Why would you take the couch?” you asked softly, your voice laden with exhaustion as you pulled yourself up and shifted over so that you could see him more clearly. When you found yourself in an upright position, your eyes fell to Patrick’s side as he was clutching a rather haphazardly thrown-together bundle of what looked like weeds. Patrick could tell by the direction of your gaze that you’d seen the flowers and he presented them to you, holding them up to the light so that you could have a better look at the tiny wildflowers he must have picked. Your gaze returned to his and his smile grew, “I picked them for you, on the way back. I know you’re not…thrilled with me for the way I acted today.”
“Pat…” you started, spreading your arms and legs apart as he stepped forward and let you embrace him, “you didn’t have to…Joey’s a huge idiot. I don’t blame you for any of that.”
“I know, I know,” Patrick laughed lightly as he let himself enjoy the feel of your warm body on his. You were always warmer after you’d been asleep and Patrick’s favorite thing on the planet were your hugs. He craved them the way most people would crave a delicacy like chocolate, but whereas chocolate could be as bad for one as it was good, nothingabout you was bad for Patrick’s soul. He felt at ease with you in his company and he would have doused Joey a thousand times with every paint color under the rainbow to defend your honor.
“I supposed since we’re fine then there’s no more reason for these?” Patrick winked at you as he held the flowers up to you.
“Oh, no I’m keeping these!” You greedily snatched the flowers from Pat’s tight, hot grasp on the stems, “they’re beautiful. I love them. Thank you, Pat.”
The Aussie chuckled, “buttercups and daisies,” he murmured as he smiled over how you admired the flowers he’d picked especially for you. Everything reminded him of you nowadays and he couldn’t pass the tiny namesakes by on his walk home from the school, “buttercups for my buttercup.”
You felt your heart beat a little bit faster over his last few words, “I love you, Pat,” you leaned closer and pecked his cheek, suddenly uncaring of the fight that had taken place earlier that day. It mattered little with Patrick in your arms. It was in this moment that you realized just how lucky you were to be loved by him in spite of all his imperfections. He’d gotten yet another detention that day, but he’d done it all for you and no matter how hard you contemplated it, you could not think of another soul who loved you so deeply that they would do the same.
Patrick held you closer to him, nuzzling in against your shoulder as he drank in your smell, drawing comfort from your shared closeness, “I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered to you and he kissed your shoulder. You could feel the gentle thumping of his heart inside his chest and you smiled, knowing that same heart was beating now just for you and onlyyou.
You stayed close like that for how long you did not know, clutching the bouquet of flowers in one hand and embracing Pat tightly with both arms.
You loved him with every little broken piece of your heart that he’d glued back together with his love, this emotive and captivatingly genuine man whom you’d fallen deep, deep in love with, and whom you did not ever, ever plan to let go.
#heath ledger#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#10 things I hate about you#ten things I hate about you#10tihay#biblio :: 📖
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