Hii! Can I request Patrick comforting reader after a haircut? They cut their own hair, and it turned out shorter than they expected. Maybe they call Patrick crying on the phone and he goes over to comfort them? Thank you!🩷
You call him utterly upset, ugly crying on the phone. He’s out for the night with his friends, doing dumb stuff like he always does, and his phone buzzes in his pocket. The moment he hears your shaky voice he’s in an uber and going straight to your place.
“Hey…” he slurred slightly, face falling slightly as he sees your slightly lopsided bob and snot covered face.
“Hi,” you say softly, wiping your face with the back of your hand.
He sobered up instantly at the sight. “Oh baby…”
He stepped inside, shutting the door and taking you in his arms. He gently pet your hair as you clung to his shirt and cried. You felt a bit pathetic, crying over something as simple as a self done haircut. But Patrick had a soft spot for you, and only you. He held you till you stopped crying.
“Let me take a look at it,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around to see it from behind.
“It’s a mess!” you complain, tears threatening to spill again.
“Hmm…” he thought for a moment, before turning and heading quickly into your kitchen.
“Pat…?” you say softly, turning around to see him come back in with some scissors.
“Shh. Turn back.”
You did as he said, reaching out to take your hair into his own hands. He used the scissors to fix the problem, and then brush it out and drag his nails down your scalp.
“There baby. All better,” he smiled softly putting the scissors down on the table.
“Thank you,” you whisper, turning around to peck his lips and hug him again.
“Of course,” he whispered into your hair, gently rubbing your back. “Anything.”
a/n: regular text size and capitalization under the cut. somewhat inspired by come to me by björk.
cross-posted on ao3
Stanford University, 2007
You watched Tashi and Patrick’s relationship from the sidelines; never overstepping and never offering unsolicited advice. Truth be told, you knew that they wouldn’t last. When she came back from lunch with Art one day, disgruntled by him saying that Patrick wasn’t truly in love with her, you silently agreed. More than that, however, you thought that she must return the feeling—or lack thereof.
When she got hurt, Art was there for her, and you were grateful for that. Still, you couldn’t ignore that feeling of bitterness towards him. You liked Art, especially compared to Patrick. Still, as he started to come around more to your and Tashi’s shared room, that bitter taste grew stronger.
Late one evening, you’re sitting in bed, book in hand. You’d read the same page more times than you’d like to admit. You risk a glance across the room, seeing Tashi lying under her blanket, earphones in, and staring at the ceiling. After much contemplation, you try to get her attention.
“Tash?” you call out. No response.
You repeat her name once more, this time giving a small wave. That finally catches her eye. She looks over, removing an earphone.
She gives you a small smile. “What’s up?”
“Art’s not coming over tonight?” you ask, trying to remain neutral in tone.
“No,” she replied, “said he had something tonight. Why?”
“Oh, just wondering,” you replied, fiddling with a page of your book. “I guess that means no chicken noodle soup?”
She gives a small laugh at that. “I can’t believe he still brings that around.”
“It’s like clockwork!” you remark.
You share a laugh. You couldn’t even remember the last time the two of you had been alone for a longer stretch of time, let alone have the time to relax amidst everything going on.
As your laughter died down, Tashi looked at you with a glimmer in her eye. It was almost imperceptible, but you recognized it. It drew you in.
“C’mere,” she said, removing her other earphone.
Slowly, you closed your book, not bothering to mark your page. You made your way over to her bedside. You went to fiddle with your hands, not really knowing what to do with them. Before you could, though, she took your hand in hers.
She sat up a bit, still holding your gaze. “I’ve missed you, you know.”
“I, uh, I’ve been here, Tash,” you replied, brows knitting together.
“You know what I mean.”
She pulls you closer, and you sit down next to her gingerly. She begins to stroke the back of your hand with her thumb. Oh, how you’ve missed that feeling.
“Art’s great and all,” she starts, “he takes care of me.”
At that, you feel your stomach drop.
“But,” she continues, “I miss how you take care of me.” She looks at you expectantly.
The corners of her mouth lift as realization spreads across your face. You remain quiet, however. You wait for her cue.
“I want you to take care of me,” she said, quieter this time. “Can you do that for me?”
You nodded.
“Words, hon’.”
“Y-yes.”
With a practiced ease, you lifted your hand to stroke her hair softly. You moved slowly, as if through molasses, worried she’d slip through your fingers. Caressing her face, you lean in. And finally, as you’d so craved, your lips finally connect with hers.
Immediately, warmth fills your core. Tashi all but whimpers into the kiss, somewhat uncharacteristic of her. You can’t help but to echo the sound.
As the kiss deepens, you find yourselves sliding down the bed until you’re both laying down. You’re careful not to hurt her, forgoing your usual move to place a knee between her legs. That doesn’t quiet the urge, though. If anything, it grows stronger.
Tashi moans into your mouth before disconnecting the slightest bit. “I want you,” she whispers, “you know how much I want you.”
With that, she takes hold of your hand. Before you even realize, she’s taking your middle and ring finger into her mouth. She swirls her tongue around the digits, and you gasp at the sensation. Slowly, she removes them from her mouth. Still gripping your hand in hers, she guides you down, down, down under the blanket.
Your eyes widen as your hand reaches the waistband of her underwear, just now realizing that she’d barely been wearing anything this whole time. She lifts the blanket, covering you now, welcoming you in. With a final look, you dip your fingers lower, and Tashi welcomes you in more ways than one.
You sigh in unison: her, at the feeling of being filled, and you, at the feeling of her wrapped around you. You push your fingers in ever so deeper. Almost immediately, she lifts her hips up to meet you. You take that as a sign to keep going. Gently, still, you repeat the movement. This time you curl your fingers up, eliciting a hum from her.
She kisses you once more. “Go on,” she says quietly, “please.”
Never once had she been so needy for you. Never once had she begged. Never once had you been so determined to please her.
Forehead lowering to her own, you close your eyes. All you can focus on is the silky feeling around your fingers. You double down, still moving slowly, but now deeper.
“God, I needed this,” she moans, “needed you.”
You continue now with more fervour, feeling her tightening around you already. You inhale sharply as you feel her walls pulse and tighten. It takes a bit more effort to move, but you go on, nonetheless.
You could tell she was approaching the edge of the cliff, but you pulled her back in. Quickly, but still carefully, you remove her underwear. Eyes locked, you make your way down the bed.
Once settled, you spread her lips. Without wasting a second, you wrap your lips around her clit, sucking it just as she’d instructed you to do before. Her hand flies to your head, holding you in place.
You alternate between sucking and giving small kitten licks, and Tashi can’t help but cry out at the contrast between the feelings. You insert your fingers once again, resuming your ministrations. At that, you can feel her on the edge once again.
She gasps your name. “I—I can’t,” she struggles to get out, “gonna—”
Finally, she falls over the edge. You’re right there to catch her, working her through it, moaning into her core with satisfaction. Moments later, you feel her jerk slightly, most likely overstimulated. Gently, you remove your fingers and your mouth.
Resting your head on the thigh of her good leg, you look up. She’s in a daze, truly. Eyes glossed over, but still managing to look at you like you hung the stars.
So quiet that you barely her her, she whispers, “Thank you.”
