Drunken mistake (Part 7)
♡Pairing: patrick bateman x pregnant! fem!reader
Summary: after too many drinks one night, you and patrick end up in bed together, but when morning comes it's as if nothing ever happened. Patrick carries on with his life, leaving you to deal with the weight of that night alone but as the days pass, patrick continues acting like nothing happened and you're left wondering if can you pretend it never happened too.
♡Contains: fluff, no smut, sex is mentioned, patrick being sweet (trying to lmao) reader being embarrassed, anddd that's it i think
I feel like it's a little ooc for patrick..
💕🐇hope you enjoy! 🐇💕
His hands tremble when you start to pull away, his lips chasing after your own, desperate for more. But you gently stop him, resting your forehead against his.
"We should leave" you suggest, taking his hand into yours.
"Fine"
—
the second patrick opens the door, five heads snap toward you—David, Craig, Timothy Jean, and luis, all eavesdropping.
"So… congratulations?"
"Oh my God," Craig says, laughing as he looks between the two of you. "You’re actually going to be a dad. That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard."
"Funniest and most terrifying," David adds, dramatically shuddering. "I mean, let’s be real, Bateman raising a kid? That’s nightmare fuel."
"You think he’s gonna show up to work with throw up on his Valentino suit?"
"Oh, definitely," Craig snickers. "Bet he’s already Googling ‘how to get baby vomit out of expensive suits.’"
"Patrick, I can clear your schedule if you need some time to—"
"Don’t," he interrupts, clearly desperate to put an end to this conversation. "Everything stays as it is." Jean just nods, clearly not wanting to upset him further.
"Right, because you definitely don’t have bigger things to worry about," Craig says, shaking his head with a laugh. "Like, you know, diapers."
Patrick looks like he’s about to kill him.
You squeeze his hand, "I swear to God," he mutters under his breath, dragging you away from the humiliating scene.
"Bye, Daddy Bateman!" Craig yells.
When you both step outside, Patrick hails a cab, still tense from the absolute disaster that unfolded back at the office. His tie is slightly crooked, and there's a deep frown on his face as he thinks about everything that happened today—his argument with you, the very public humiliation, and the way his friends wouldn’t stop grinning at him like he was some kind of joke.
When the cab arrives, He helps you step in first, then gets in beside you, giving the driver his address. The second the cab starts moving, you both don't say anything. though he does shift awkwardly and drapes an arm along the back of the seat. It’s not quite touching you, but it’s there. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. "Wake me up when we get there," you mumble, already feeling your body relax against him.
things are peaceful and warm for a bit. You feel..good, shockingly. but it doesn't last because all too soon the cab comes to a stop and you feel Patrick gently nudge you awake.
“We’re here” he mutters.
You groan, shifting slightly but refusing to open your eyes. “Five more minutes.”
Patrick says nothing. pays the driver, and then–hooks an arm under your legs and another behind your back, lifting you effortlessly. You jolt awake with a gasp. “Patrick, what the hell—”
“You were going to sit in that cab all night.” he says as he carries you up the steps to his building.
“I could’ve walked,” you grumble, even as you instinctively cling to his shoulders. Patrick doesn’t bother responding, just tightens his hold and strides inside.
Inside the elevator, you sigh, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “I feel like shit.”
“You need to eat something.”
“Too nauseous,” you groan.
He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated, but doesn’t push it. When the elevator doors open, he carries you straight into his apartment (after having a hard time unlocking his door because he's nervous and his hands won't stop shaking) setting you down carefully on his expensive white couch. He disappears into the kitchen without a word.
a few minutes later, he returns with a glass of water and a plate with toast, setting them on the coffee table in front of you.
You stare at it. “...Toast?”
“You need something,” he says, crossing his arms and watching you expectantly. You sigh but pick it up, nibbling on the corner. he sits down next to you, his posture stiff. For a while, neither of you say anything. You keep nibbling at the toast, and Patrick just exists. awkward, quiet, but there.
After a moment he hesitates before resting a tentative hand against your thigh. You glance down at it, then at him. He’s looking anywhere but at you, his jaw clenched like he’s embarrassed by the gesture.
"You need to get paul his job back," you say after swallowing the last bit of toast.
"No."
You scoff, looking at him like he's insane "Excuse me?"
"He's not getting his job back" he says firmly. "End of discussion." Your frustration starts bubbling up again. "End of discussion? Patrick, you broke his nose. You can’t just—"
"I can," he interrupts sternly. "And I did."
You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "Patrick you are so—" you close your mouth, trying to keep your emotions in check. "You can’t just do whatever you want and expect no consequences."
Patrick leans forward slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. "I don’t regret it."
You roll your eyes, "Of course you don’t."
His gaze flickers down for a second, landing on your stomach before meeting your eyes again. "He shouldn’t have been around you so much. He was always—"
"You were ignoring me, Patrick!" you cut him off. "You were the one acting like I didn’t exist! I was alone, and Paul, is a helpful friend! He's there for me, and you haven't been."
Patrick closes his eyes briefly before exhaling, his fingers dragging through his hair. When he looks at you again, something in his expression cracks—just for a moment. "I don’t know how to fix this," he admits, and for once, his voice lacks its usual control.
"Start by getting Paul his job back,"
Patrick shakes his head, like the idea physically pains him. But he doesn’t argue this time. his mouth presses into a thin line, unsure of what to say now, he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours as a way of saying "I'm sorry" his lips are warm, hesitant at first, but as soon as you kiss back, something in him shifts. His hand moves from your thigh, trailing up over your side, fingers splayed wide like he needs to feel you, hold you there.
He deepens the kiss, pressing harder, letting out a soft groan against your lips—and then his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, silently asking for permission, Your breath hitches, but you part your lips for him. That’s all he needs.
Patrick groans softly, almost frustrated, as he slides his tongue into your mouth, slow but needy. He tastes like coffee and something so him, His tongue moves slowly against yours, driving you crazy
You grip the front of his shirt, holding onto him as he kisses you deeper, his mouth hot and consuming. He tilts his head, changing the angle, drawing another shaky moan from you as his tongue strokes against yours, his free hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself, like he doesn’t want to let go. He kisses you harder, groaning low in his throat, lips parting against yours, tongues sliding together in a way that’s almost too much, almost too good.
Patrick presses one last lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, his breathing all uneven now.
You’re both flustered, lips both swollen, and wet, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid. You are still mad at him—because of Paul, because of how he’s been acting—but after everything, you’re just too exhausted to fight anymore.
Patrick pecks your lips once more, then without a word, he stands and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the rush of water, the soft clink of bottles being moved, and when he returns, he wipes his hands on his slacks and exhales, like he's disappointed. Or upset? Tired? You can never tell with him.
"I ran you a bath," he finally says, in that stupid unreadable voice.
You stare confused, still not used to this–him, you're thrown off. "You did?"
he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. “You’re pregnant,” he states flatly, like he’s only just processed it. “You’re exhausted.”
You watch him closely. He’s tense, like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know how. And then, suddenly, you understand.
Oh
He doesn’t just want you to take a bath. He wants to take a bath. With you
For a second, you’re tempted to call him out on it—make him say it out loud. But you’re too drained to fight, too worn down by the day, by everything. So instead, you sigh, rubbing your temple as you make your way to his bathroom.
“Fine.”
Patrick nods, then follows as you step into the bathroom. The tub is full, steam curling into the air. It actually looks nice, calming, though the tension in the room is anything but.
patrick removes his shirt with practiced ease, folding it neatly before setting it aside. Even now, he’s meticulous, as if stripping down for a bath with you is something that requires such a thing.
You watch him for a moment before sighing and peeling off your own clothes. too exhausted to dwell on the strangeness of it all.
patrick steps into the bath first, sinking down into the water with a slow exhale. He leans back against the porcelain, closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening his eyes again and looking up at you.
now it's your turn to hesitate because this is awkward. Really awkward, but the warm water looks too inviting to resist, so you step in carefully, settling down front of him.
The silence stretches. The only sounds are the faint drippings of water and your slow, measured breaths. Patrick reaches forward, his hands ghosting over your sides before resting on your stomach.
You gasp softly, shivering from his touch. His head tilts slightly, eyes fixated on where his hands rest. “You really are…” He trails off, but you know what he was about to say. Pregnant. It’s like he’s still processing it, like he still doesn’t quite believe it. you don't either. You swallow. “Yeah.”
His thumbs trace slow circles over your skin. You shiver again, not from the water, but from the unexpected tenderness of it all and patrick—patrick doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second. His hands stay on your body, gliding over your skin with a quiet sort of reverence, like he’s memorizing you. The warm water laps around you both, but all you can focus on is the way his fingertips trace delicate patterns along your arms, your sides, your stomach.
His lips find your shoulder, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the damp skin. You sigh, tilting your head to the side, giving him more space, and he takes it. His mouth moves up the column of your neck, his breath warm against your ear, the water rippling as his chest presses flush against your back. His arms wrap around you, hands splaying across your stomach, holding you in place. One of his hands drifts lower, his fingertips barely skimming your thigh.
You shudder once more, the sensation sending a slow, lazy heat through you. He’s never been this gentle before—never this careful. There’s something about the way he’s touching you that feels almost… hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking whatever fragile moment this is.
Your hands rest over his, stopping his movements. You turn slightly, glancing over your shoulder. “Patrick.”
His gaze meets yours and.. He looks—lost. Or dazed Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with his feelings, with you.
At loss for words he leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss. It’s slower this time, deeper. His tongue flicks against yours and you let yourself melt into it.
When he pulls back, he presses his head to your shoulder, his breath steady but heavy....the warm water and his touch surrounded you, your muscles finally began to relax—until you shifted slightly and became painfully aware of something.
Patrick was naked.
It was absurd to feel embarrassed after everything that had already happened between you, but somehow, this felt different. The way his bare skin pressed against yours, the steam making every touch feel hotter, heavier—it sent an unexpected flush up your neck.
You tried to shift forward, put some space between you and him, but his hands caught your waist instantly, holding you in place.
“What are you doing?” he says, voice low and confused, his lips brushing against your shoulder. You clear your throat, willing yourself to act normal. “Nothing.”
Patrick hummed, clearly unconvinced. His hands smoothed over your stomach, lingering as he watched your face closely. “You’re tense.” You scoff, feeling ridiculous. “I just—Patrick, you’re naked.”
“Yes,” he said flatly, “So are you.” but for once, he didn’t seem to know what to say.
“…We’ve already had sex,” he said, like he was reminding himself more than you.
You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Patrick, I’m aware.” His grip tightened just a little. “And you’re pregnant.”
You sighed. “Again, very aware.”
“…Then why are you..?” he asked, almost genuinely confused.
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Because! You’re—you’re just sitting here, and I can feel you, and it’s—” You huffed. “I don’t know! It just feels different, okay?”
“I don’t understand”
You blink, lowering your hands. “it's fine it's just..” He frowned slightly, like he was irritated by his own lack of words. “I don’t—understand it. We’ve had sex. You’re pregnant. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now.”
You stared at him, then couldn’t help it—you laughed.
Patrick’s frown only deepened. “What?” You shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
After a very awkward bath and a even more awkward wash up from patrick—he drained the tub and stood, reaching for a towel. Without a word, he wrapped it around you and helped you out of the bath. You shivered slightly, though not from the cold, as his hands worked over your skin, drying you with slow, careful movements. Then, he disappeared into his bedroom for a moment before returning with one of his white dress shirts. He didn’t ask if you wanted it. He simply unbuttoned it and draped it over your shoulders, his fingers fastening each button with the same efficiency he used for his own. The fabric was soft against your skin, far too big on you, but you didn’t complain.
Patrick’s hands smoothed down the front of the shirt once he was finished, his thumbs barely brushing over your stomach before he stepped back. His eyes lingered there for a moment longer before leading you to his pristine comfortable white sheets.
—
not feeling the best at all but I wanted to get this posted cause I've been thinking about patty recently and how i miss posting about him
