he knew right away. your humor was too similar to his to say otherwise.
he never asks you about it, he knows better. you open up to him on your own schedule.
he knows the healing isn’t linear. he doesn’t take the bad days personally - he tries to help you through it. sometimes he can’t, which hurts him deeply.
the silence doesn’t scare either one of you. he always lets you sit with your emotions when they come but he’s right there if you need him.
again, your humor is similar - sometimes cruel. but he doesn’t ever joke about your pain.
the two of you have an unusual humor, but it’s relieving and comforting in a way when you joke about the morbid things.
patrick ALWAYS checks in with you - almost constantly - when getting intimate. he stops immediately if it gets to be too much.
he never, ever, forces anything.
sometimes he notices you withdrawing before you do.
he believes you 100% of the time and never asks for details. he lets you lead any conversations that come up.
healing isn’t a requirement, but the two of you are figuring it out the best you can.
synopsis : Reader stumbles upon an old lover while attending her parents' Silver Wedding Anniversary ball.
words : 3.1k
themes : angst, nostalgia, bittersweet ending
warnings : mention of previous drug use
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A/N : I guess you could consider this to be connected to Pleasant Beginnings. This is my first fanfic <33 wrote something long enough to be calling it that instead of just a simple blurb - I hope you guys enjoy it! I absolutely adore Patrick and I felt as though I had to write more for him. I used some dialogues from the show bc I still needed some guidance when I wrote this. Also yes, there is a hint of Stephen Strange LMFAO leave me alone.
It had been years since Y/N had last set foot in this mansion. The moment that she walked through that big adorned door, a wave of memories flooded towards her. The music, the drinks, the smell of cigarettes and the sound of pompous laughter. Self-centered conversations, conceited attitudes and overbearing compensations to mask the lack of inspiration these people had for living. It all boiled down to the numbers in their bank accounts.
It always did.
All that mattered in this world was money and image - and while Y/N tried to deny the fact that she inherited this mindset - she was glad to leave that world behind. She had never felt as happy as she had now, having found a new meaning to life. Even with the constant anguish that showered over her as she tried to build a life of her own or the countless curveballs that life would throw her way - she would never go back to her old life.
There was nothing that would make her change her mind.
She ignored the way the party guests gawked at her, the obvious hushed murmurs arising from the people surrounding her. She was used to it - ever since she was young, she had always been the talk of the party. Be it for her revealing outfits, her overly-accessible demeanor, or because she was quite literally the reason why the party was happening. Her mind wandered back to the events her parents would host to find her a suitor - only for her to disappear into the shadows, run through the gardens by herself, where she’d get lost in her personal little wonderland.
Until she met him.
Her eyes scanned the ballroom, the glass of wine rising to her lips as she hummed absent-mindedly to the music. Y/N didn’t expect much from tonight. She had only turned up because it had been ages since she had last seen her parents. Truth be told, she missed them. As much as she said she detested them, she didn’t really. So when she got the phone call from her mother, practically begging her to attend their Silver Wedding Anniversary ball, she accepted.
“Y/N?”
A familiar baritone voice made its way to her ears. It took her a few seconds to register where the sound came from before she slowly turned her head around; looking behind her.
Her eyes fell on a pair of ocean blue ones.
She’d recognize them anywhere.
“Patrick?” her heart fluttered at the sound of the old lover’s name. It surprised her.
“I knew there must’ve been a good reason why the guests had started gossiping so fiercely.” His tone was teasing yet comforting. His words held an affection obvious to any passersby who heard their conversation.
It was funny how the fondness between the two was practically palpable. No need to read between the lines, it was open; shameless, even. Quite a contrast to what would usually go down back in her new home.
In her journey of self discovery and trying to detach herself from the lavish world that she came from, she stumbled upon a man who swept her off her feet. A prestigious neurosurgeon that went by the name of Stephen. To say she was smitten by him would be an understatement.
There wasn't much that the lust filled relationship could offer her. She was in a constant search of love and yet ended up finding herself bound by the temptation of a no strings attached dynamic with him. The feelings that they had for each other were more than obvious but the denial that was wrapped around his heart seemed to be stronger.
Stephen's insecurities and fears often got the best of him when it came to his and Y/N's relationship, which would only lead to her frustration growing. Countless excuses of how morally wrong it was to develop a relationship with a patient's friend while still letting hypocrisy take over when getting lost between the sheets of her bed. A part of her understood where the apprehension came from - knowing his past haunted him to this very day. Shaping the way that he is, chained by the thought of being hurt or hurting the ones he loves, finding the mere concept of vulnerability unbearable.
But as forgiving and compassionate as she tried to be, she was still human. Her patience was finite and no one deserved to be strung along for that long. Yet, she found herself staying by his side. Telling herself that she'd wait a million years more if she had to. Sometimes she despised how loyal she was to commitments that weren't even there yet. She liked that about herself though. As much as it may hurt her now and again, she'd never change that about herself.
A hopeless romantic they called her.
Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she stepped closer to the man in front of her. “All thanks to my charm, I guess.” She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes ever so slightly.
Patrick chuckled, and he tried to hold back his smile but to no avail. He opened his arms, beckoning Y/N into a long-awaited hug. “It’s so good to see you.” He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders as she wrapped hers around his torso. Patrick looked down at Y/N and continued. “And may I add you’re looking lovely as ever.” The arm that enveloped her made its way down her shoulder to her hand. He took it softly and stepped back to get a good look at her.
His eyes trailed down the shape of her body. Observing the way that her black dress perfectly hugged every curve on her shape. Her legs exposed through the curtain-like skirt of her gown - her neck and hands adorned with silver jewelry. He swallowed dryly and his breath hitched slightly as his gaze landed on hers.
He had always remembered Y/N having an angelic aura about her. He always thought that was his mind romanticizing the image he had of her.
Having the woman stand in front of him in the flesh, after years of relying on his own memory, he realized she was even more than that. There were no words to describe her… and those eyes.
“Exquisite.” The words escaped him and he chortled at the effect she still had on him.
Y/N bit her lip, holding back a giggle. She could see right through him. It wasn’t that she found it amusing; au contraire. She was quite flattered.
A familiar heat began to creep on her cheeks and she prayed to anyone that would hear that her face was not flushed. She’d blame it on the wine if it was brought up but she knows that old trick would not work on Patrick.
“I see you still got your loose tongue, huh, Melrose?” She gave his hand a soft squeeze, her words smooth and teasing. She couldn’t stop herself as she let her eyes quickly scan him from head to toe.
“And I see you still think you’re subtle, huh, L/N?” He raised his eyebrow. Of course he noticed the way she was looking at him. When it came to her, he always did. “You know I’m weak when it comes to you, Y/N.”
Her giggles echoed through the empty halls, filling his ears and taking hold of his heart - his pulse rushing at the sound. He was beaming. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so happy and light.
“Remember when we dropped acid in Greece?” he said, letting his mind wash over with the memories that came flooding back to him.
The warm sunlight, clear blue waters, the fresh air, the smell of her perfume. God, her perfume. Delicate, heavenly. How it would hit him as he hugged her from behind, when he ran his fingers through her hair. The scent of roses lingering between his fingers where her locks had just been. A feeling of overwhelming luck for having found each other in a malice-filled world. Two specks of light in the middle of eternal darkness.
Patrick licked his lips, feeling the warmth on his chest slowly grow at the sudden yearning he felt.
“I remember where you stashed it.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry about that.” He let out an apologetic chuckle.
“Oh I didn't mind.”
Patrick reaches for his drink, a soft clinking sound catching Y/N's attention as his fingers wrap around the wine glass. Her eyes fall onto a silver band adorning his ring finger.
Y/N's smile falters slightly, her eyes land on his once again, realization in both expressions.
“But let’s not get nostalgic.”
“Another pleasure denied.” He brings the wine up to his lips, taking a sip as if to wash down the bitterness of his words.
She picked up the disappointment in Patrick’s voice almost immediately. It was too obvious, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a little sting in her chest at the realization. She couldn’t stand looking at the ring for too long. The brightness of it - shining, blinding her, almost as if to mock her. Y/N let her eyes wander towards the garden as she changed the subject.
“I heard your mother passed.”
“An orphan at last!” He opened his arms, his head tilted, an ironic smile painting his face. “It’s what I always wanted. After all this time I feel complete.”
Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the tone that he carried. “I hope that wasn’t your speech.”
“Oh no, my speech… I figured it was best to improvise, you know? Speak from the heart.”
“Mmm…”
“But with my heart—“
“With your heart,” Y/N interrupted, “I bet it was beautifully distasteful. Haughty, but sweet enough to stay with the mourners.”
Patrick looked at her, his cynical grimace changing as he heard her speak. His gaze softened, as did the corners of his mouth. He chortled softly, bringing his hand to his trousers’ pocket. He glanced at his glass as he swirled the wine around, his grin growing gently. “You always saw the good in me.”
“You say that as if it was hard.”
The look he gave Y/N was tender and loving. He had forgotten just how wonderful some people could be. How there were people out there who could actually love unconditionally. The feeling he had been trying to ignore only continued to grow, and at this point it had become almost overwhelming. He let himself go, and for the sixth or seventh time - who knows; at this point he lost count - let his gaze fall upon Y/N’s lips.
He stepped closer to her and felt his arm move on its own as he cupped her cheek softly with his hand. They looked at each other and the emotions started to bubble - they could see it in each other's eyes. Y/N bit her tongue, but Patrick decided to do otherwise.
“I thought about you…”
“Patrick…” Y/N felt her heart pound against her ribcage. As soon as she locked eyes with him, she placed a gentle hand on his chest.
The urge to pull him in was overwhelming, but she managed to at least stop him - keep him in place. She turned her face away, trying to escape from those icy blue eyes that tempted her with the promise of forbidden love. It had always been like this, ever since they were young. When they first got together, Y/N went against her parents' wishes, following her heart and Patrick ignored his own responsibilities to be with the one he ached for.
Only this time, the reasons why they couldn't be together were different, much more complicated.
Nothing too real was holding Y/N back, one would think. Stephen wasn't even someone who she had a formal relationship with. She could easily take the opportunity and let herself be swept off her feet by her old lover.
But him? He was a married man. He had a wife to come home to. Not only that but who knew if he had kids waiting around for him as well. She knew perfectly well about Patrick's self destructive habits, she just thought that had been something he had left behind.
She couldn't do this, she wasn't a homewrecker. She couldn't let Patrick throw away the life he had built for himself so easily either. One that he surely had worked hard for after having to recover from his addiction in rehab.
“You were constantly on my mind when it happened.” He pulled her closer, his fingers caressing the line of her jaw fondly. “You plagued me…” He leaned in, Y/N’s hand pushed him back slightly, but the effort she put was minimal.
She wanted this. He was sure of it.
He brushed his nose against her cheek and felt her shaky breath. He inhaled and caught a whiff of that same perfume that had bewitched him all those years ago. It smelled just as good as it did in Greece. He felt his heart race, placing his glass of wine down to rest his now free hand on her hip. His fingers dug slightly on her dress, desire threatening to over take his actions. “…You were the only one that I wanted— " he said through gritted teeth "—needed at that moment.”
“Patrick, dont.” She pushed him away slightly more forcefully this time, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were pleading, a mixture of feelings, filled with a hesitant longing.
“Is this what you’re worried about?” He brought his hand up, showing off his ring. “This? This doesn’t mean anything, Y/N. I’m quite happy to announce actually that we’re on the verge of—“
“Stop that.” She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see the ring, she hated the sight of it. It felt insulting, and made her grow embarrassed.
There were so many thoughts going through her head. She felt envious of the fact that he had found someone else - someone good enough to try to settle down with, at least at the time. Shameful of the thought that crossed her mind, how easy it would be to get involved with him. How easy he was making it sound.
All she had to do was lean in, no words exchanged, just kiss him, and all Hell would break loose. They'd surrender into the fires of their passion, a spark igniting the flames of an old love. Losing themselves into each other as they used to all those years ago…
“It wouldn’t be the first time I do it either! Remember Julia?”
“Oh my god.” She rolled her eyes just by the mention of her name. She could feel her blood beginning to boil but for entirely different reasons now.
Julia had always been around Patrick - the reasoning, Y/N could care less about to be honest - what bothered her about the relationship they had developed was the fact that Julia had become an enabler for Patrick's drug problem.
Whatever they had done or discussed behind closed doors and outside of his and Y/N's relationship was their business. She had no opinion on what kind of dynamic they had occupied themselves with.
So, it was no surprise to her that her name would come up when Patrick decided to reveal he had already been unfaithful to his beloved wife. It wasn't like it all fell on Julia's hands though. Y/N found herself frustrated at Patrick. She thought he had been trying to be better, she thought he was better. But it was clear to her that he still struggled with self restraint.
That wasn't the only thing that she found troubling though. She hated the way that his words, his excuses, were beginning to make sense. He was making a point and she found herself agreeing with him.
“It didn’t mean anything though. It was empty, superficial, spiteful even. All she cared about was my money. Wasn’t even mine and much less now with my mother’s passing, but with you… It’s always been different with you. Please, Y/N, I'm begging you I just need to feel something, I need you-“
It was tempting. He was practically pleading but she knew it was wrong. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t let Patrick fall into his self-indulgent ways again. She couldn’t do this to Stephen.
He was close, way too close. It didn’t make her uncomfortable but it made her whole body burn.
“Patrick, stop that.” She grabbed his wrists and took a step back looking at him. “Stop it. Please.”
They looked at each other for a moment, wanting to say so much to each other but neither of them could find the right words. Y/N’s grip on Patrick’s wrists loosened and they both slowly lowered their arms, hands never really leaving each other. Patrick sighed and turned his gaze to their hands. He took hers in his, gently caressing the back of it.
“I just miss you.”
“I know… I miss you too.”
Y/N sets her glass down next to Patrick's. She sits down and tugs on his hand softly, guiding him next to her. They sit in silence for another few seconds, refusing to let go of each other. Regardless of what just happened, it wasn't awkward or agonizing - a word that Patrick would often find himself using to describe the somber spaces. It was comfortable.
“Do you ever wonder…”
“I do.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know,” she smiles “But I do. Quite a lot actually.”
He hums quietly in thought, his eyes seem glued to their hands. He observes the way that they’re interlocked, how they fit perfectly into each other, filling up the spaces in between each other’s fingers. Patrick looks up at Y/N, and can’t help but mirror the gentle smile that he’s greeted with.
“Do you think it’s ever too late to change your mind?”
Y/N paused. She thought about it for a moment, trying to find coherence in her heart. It was only a few hours ago when she swore there’d be nothing that could make her want to go back to the life she had left behind. It seems like she was wrong.
She examined Patrick’s face as she let her emotions take over her words. “No. I mean, that’s what it's there for, right?”
Patrick leans on Y/N. He rests his head on her shoulder and her hand, in a swift motion, finds its home in his hair. An old habit that would never break.
summary: You tell Patrick you will go to England with him under one condition, but he can’t promise anything.
warnings: language, drugs, mention of suicide and overdose
a/n: okay I love patrick and I’m not sorry about it
word count: 1.1k
The next morning you find yourself back at the hotel, knocking on Patrick’s door.
There’s no answer. You knock again.
No answer. “Patrick?” you ask through the door.
You hear something, although you’re not sure what, through the door. As you go to knock a third time, Patrick opens the door.
“What the hell did you do?” you ask him, pushing past him and entering the room.
“You know,” Patrick mumbles, waving his hands.
“I’m worried about you.”
“Yes, you keep telling me that.”
“I’m serious, Patrick.” You turn to look at him, and you notice his right eye has swelled shut. “What happened?” you ask him, walking up to him to look at his eye.
“Honestly, I’m not quite sure.”
“Patrick,” you breathe.
“Yes, yes, you’re worried about me,” Patrick turns and walks away from you.
“What did you take last night?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does.”
“The usual suspects. Heroin, cocaine…”
“Cocaine? For Christ’s sake, Patrick.”
“I have to go meet some of my dad’s friends, as much as I don’t want to. Do you have an answer?”
“You remember that?”
“Fuck off! Of course I do!” Patrick shouts.
You stand there for a moment. “I’ll go to England with you under one condition.”
Patrick sighs. “Which is?”
“It’s going to be temporary until you show me you can put your life back together. I don’t care if you smoke and drink, I just don’t want you on drugs, Patrick. I don’t want to be constantly worried about if you’re going to be alive the next day.”
“I can’t promise you anything,” Patrick doesn’t make eye contact with you, “but I will try.”
You walk up to Patrick. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking his hands.
Patrick finally looks at you, and he lets go of your hands to put his hands on your waist and pull you into him. He leans down and kisses you - hard.
Your hands find the nape of his neck to pull him down to you as you feel his tongue ask permission to enter.
You answer immediately and Patrick pulls you even closer as your tongues dance together. You pull away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you.
“I don’t think you can get any closer unless you’re in me,” you smirk.
“Is that an invitation?”
“I thought you had to meet some of your dad’s friends.”
Patrick groans and releases you from his arms.
“I’ll meet you back here tonight, okay? That is, if you want me,” you tease him.
“I think I will need that,” Patrick says, once again wrapping his arms around you, this time from behind.
You smile. “Okay, I will see you then.” You turn around to face him, and he almost looks genuinely happy - you haven’t seen that look in a really long time.
“Before you go,” Patrick says, letting you go to search the room, “I want you to take a key. In case I’m not here when you get here tonight.”
“Oh,” you say.
“It’s nothing serious, I have this thing with Dad’s friends, I need to pick up his ashes and I've arranged to meet a friend from university for dinner. Quite a busy night but I want to see you after all of it,” Patrick places a key in your hand.
“Okay,” you nod. You lean up to kiss him again. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“I can’t wait,” Patrick says smiling as he escorts you to the door.
———
You get back to the hotel around 10:30pm, a little later than you had hoped.
You knock on Patrick’s door and let yourself in. When you turn around from closing the door, you see Patrick on the floor.
“Patrick!” you shout, dropping your things and running to his side.
He mumbles something. You look at the coffee table to see a syringe and various pills.
“Patrick what did you do?” you rhetorically ask.
Patrick blinks at you. “Y/n,” he whispers.
“Patrick,” you say, caressing his head. “What happened?”
Patrick slowly sits up. “I… wanted to die.”
“Oh, honey,” you breathe, running your fingers through his hair.
Patrick places his head on your chest. You continue to caress his head and the two of you sit there on the floor.
Patrick starts to cry.
“Shh,” you say into his hair, holding him closer. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”
You kiss his head. “Let’s go to bed, Patrick, okay?”
He nods. You help him up and get him to bed. You shuffle through his clothes to find a t-shirt for yourself. You strip down to your panties and throw the shirt on.
“Y/n,” Patrick calls from the bed.
“I’m right here,” you say, crawling into bed next to him.
Patrick pulls you into him. “I love you,” he mutters. The two of you drift off to sleep.
The next morning, Patrick isn’t in bed when you wake up. You get up and walk to the bathroom. You see Patrick in the tub.
“Hey,” you whisper.
Patrick looks over to you and smiles. “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
“Are you ready to go?”
Patrick groans.
“I’m going to be with you this time,” you tell him.
“God, I need a Quaalude,” he mutters.
“We need to go.”
“Yes, of course,” Patrick says, getting out of the tub.
The two of you get ready in silence. You glance over to Patrick, and you see him take a Quaalude. He looks over and you look away, continuing to pack.
“Y/n, look, I will get clean, I just..” Patrick starts to say.
“It’s fine, Patrick,” you say shortly.
Patrick drops the subject and the two of you finish packing. You both leave the hotel and go to the airport.
As you’re waiting for your flight, Patrick suddenly gets up and goes to the payphone. You watch him from where you are.
At the end of the call, Patrick starts to cry.
You stand up, ready to go over but he waves you away. A few minutes later, he walks back to you and sits down.
You place your hand on his leg as he wipes his face.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Of course,” you say, kissing his cheek.
An announcement comes over the loudspeakers, saying your flight to London is boarding.
“Patrick, that’s us,” you say, standing up.
Patrick nods and stands up. As you walk to the gate, Patrick takes your hand in his. You give it a squeeze.
The two of you board the plane and head back to England. You wonder what is going to happen, and if Patrick is really going to get clean this time. You really hope he does.
summary: After moving to New York for a job, you don’t hear from Patrick for years. One night, you get a voicemail from him that worries you, so you go to check on him.
warnings: 18+, language, drugs, sex
a/n: okay this is an absolute rollercoaster but I feel like it encapsulates the patrick melrose character and vibe. definitely going to be a series, likely three parts but we will see what happens!! please let me know what you think of it! enjoy your reading ~
word count: 1.3k
As you make your way to Patrick’s hotel room, you try to mentally prepare yourself for whatever you’re about to see.
He left a practically manic voicemail, and you’re worried about how he’s doing.
You take a deep breath and knock on the door.
“Fucking hell!” you hear from behind the door. “Why can’t I just -”
Patrick opens the door, barely dressed. His face drops when he sees you. “One second.”
The door slams in your face. Moments later, it opens back up and Patrick is at least wearing boxers and a shirt that has three buttons done up.
“May I come in?” you ask him, gesturing into the room.
“Oh, yes,” Patrick steps aside and lets you in.
“I’m worried about you, Patrick.”
Patrick scoffs. “Join the fucking club.” He walks away from you to look out the window.
“What drugs are you on now?”
“Why does it matter?” He turns to face you.
“Patrick, you left me a voicemail and I’m… I’m concerned.”
“I did?”
“Fuck,” you mutter.
Patrick continues to stare at you, confused.
“Fuck,” you say again, rubbing you face as you sit on the couch. “Patrick…” You feel your eyes start to water.
“Don’t worry about me, Y/n,” Patrick says softly, looking back out the window. “It’ll only hurt you.
“Patrick,” you say.
“Please. I think it’s best if you go.”
“I’m not leaving you. I can’t.”
“Y/n, it’s just going to end like last time and I don’t want to hurt you again,” Patrick whispers.
“Patrick,” you whisper, your throat tightening and tears threatening to fall. “I still love you.”
“It’s a mistake to love me. I can’t be loved.”
“Fuck you! You can be loved. Fuck your parents. I know your childhood was shit and I just want to help you. I want to help you work through it. I want to show you what love is, Patrick. Let me.”
The tears roll out of your eyes and down your cheeks.
“Please, Pat,” you plead.
Patrick looks over at you as you place your face in your hands, sobbing.
“Y/n,” he says, moving to sit down next to you. He gently places an arm around your shoulders and you practically fall into him. He wraps his other arm around you.
The two of you sit there, not saying anything as you cry. Patrick rubs your arm and places a kiss on your head.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Patrick whispers against your hair.
“What?” you ask him, as you didn’t quite catch what he said.
You shift so you can look at him. “You can talk to me, Patrick.”
“I know,” he responds.
The two of you sit there for a moment, and Patrick slowly leans in, stopping inches from your lips. He pauses before he closes the gap and captures your lips in his.
Memories come flooding back as the two of you kiss. You remember all the nights you spent with Patrick, kissing and smoking and just doing what you’re not supposed to. Your parents hated Patrick but they couldn’t stop you.
You take your hands and run them through his thick hair, melting into him. You feel him smile against your lips.
“What?” you ask, breaking from him.
“It’s too easy,” he smiles.
“Come on,” you say, feeling your cheeks turn hot.
Patrick softly laughs as he leans back in to kiss you.
He pulls you onto his lap and he stands up, holding you.
“What are you doing?” you ask between kisses.
“You know exactly what I’m doing,” he says, kissing you back and taking you to the bed.
He tosses you down on the bed and takes his shirt off before he crawls on top of you.
You can’t help but laugh at Patrick’s actions.
“What?” Patrick asks you.
“It’s just…” you lean up and kiss him, “it’s like when we were young.”
Patrick smiles and kisses you. “I know.”
“Don’t make me regret this, Melrose.”
“Never,” he gives you a mischievous smile as he works to get your shirt off.
You let him take your shirt off and he kisses down your neck, your chest, and down to right above your center. He takes your pants off, never breaking eye contact.
“Patrick,” you whisper.
He pulls your panties aside and feels your folds, making you buck your hips.
“Mm, eager,” he practically growls.
He puts his long fingers in his mouth for lube and then slowly inserts one into you, making you gasp. He works you open, and he inserts another.
“Fuck,” you say breathlessly. He’s never forgotten how to make you feel good.
He picks up his pace and your moans grow louder.
“Shh,” Patrick mutters, placing a hand over your mouth. He removes his fingers and you whimper.
Patrick moves to be back on top of you, and he presses his hard length against you.
“You’re making this too easy,” Patrick growls in your ear.
“Just fuck me already.”
“If that’s what you want,” Patrick mutters, taking his boxers off to reveal his hardness.
“Fuck,” you say as you stare it down.
“Eyes up here, darling,” Patrick says, lifting your chin up.
“Like I said… just fuck me already,” you tell him.
“Mm, if you insist,” he growls.
He leans over you to fumble around the nightstand. He rips open a condom and slides it down his shaft before positioning himself to enter you. Patrick slowly pushes into you, and he closes his eyes, moaning.
“Fuck,” he whispers. He slowly thrusts in and out of you, teasing you.
“Patrick,” you complain.
“Needy,” Patrick comments, as he picks up the pace.
“Yes,” you moan, closing your eyes.
“That’s my girl,” Patrick mutters, leaning down and holding onto you. “Come for me.”
You whimper as he pounds into you, and you feel yourself reaching the edge.
“Good girl,” Patrick whispers in your ear.
You try not to come this fast, but it feels too good. You let go, digging your nails into Patrick’s back, leaving marks on his skin.
Patrick moans as he releases into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He stays inside you for a moment before he pulls out and discards the condom.
“Fuck, Patrick,” you say when he lays down beside you.
“I’ve missed that,” he says, turning his head to kiss your temple.
“Then why did it take until your dad died to reach out?”
Patrick doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” you say.
“No, you’re right. I should’ve reached out earlier.” Patrick grabs a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and takes one out, offering it to you.
“I try not to smoke,” you tell him.
He gives you a look. “Really?”
He lights the cigarette and takes a drag. You take it from his lips and take a drag yourself.
“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Patrick teases.
“Maybe I lied,” you smile at him.
He smiles back at you and kisses you.
“Come back to England with me.”
“What?” You’re shocked by his words.
“Please come back to England with me. After this,” he motions to the two of you, “I realized I have still had feelings for you after all these years and I fucked up. Let me fix it.”
“Patrick, I have a life here.”
“I know, Y/n. I will pay for everything to get you over there. I don’t think I can be alone…”
You stare into Patrick’s eyes. There’s so many emotions flowing through you, you don’t know what to do.
“I’m going to have to think about it,” you say, breaking eye contact.
“I’ll give up drugs.”
“You won’t, Patrick. We both know that. Just, give me a day, okay?” You stand up and start to get dressed. “I shouldn’t have had sex with you, I’m sorry.”
“Y/n,” Patrick says, getting up from the bed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You make your way to the door, gathering your things. You stop and turn when you get to the door.
“Please, Y/n,” Patrick pleads, walking up to you.
“I need to think about it, Patrick. I’ll come by tomorrow.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “Good night, Patrick.”
You leave the hotel room and make your way down the long hallway, tears filling your eyes.
synopsis : Patrick's back in New York to collect his father's ashes and remembers an old lover who might be there too.
words : 1.9k
themes : nostalgia, angst, just Patrick hating himself a lot lmfao
warnings : mention of previous drug use
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A/N : A little prompt idea I had to get out of my system - haven't been able to write for Built For Sin lately so I thought that maybe this would spark something. I wanted to make this longer but I figured I'd stop here and maybe in the future make a part 2 to it. Anyway, enjoy!
Going to New York to pick up his father’s ashes had turned out to be more of a disturbance than he expected. Patrick knew somewhere deep in his heart that even after receiving the wonderful news of his abuser passing away, there would be something that the rotten old man would muster up to torment him - even after banishing from this plain of existence. So really, he should not be feeling so surprised. Or at least that’s what he was shouting to himself while shaking on the sidewalk of the mortuary he had just exited, the memories overflowing him with anguish and confusion.
He didn’t know what it was or what had started his distress; maybe it happened when he looked down at his face. Static, pale, lifeless, he would almost dare to say that he looked peaceful. Though he refused to use such a word when referring to his father - he was everything but. He could feel his stomach turn as he had reached out to touch his face, not really understanding what had pushed him to do so. It was like finally being able to touch a wild, feral animal at its weakest, most vulnerable state. A state that very much ensured that there would be no type of harm done to him with such a simple act. He would scan his face, searching for any sign that the bastard had suffered in one way or another. Pain, rage, fear, he deserved all of it.
He was finally dead, the old prick had finally stopped existing. It brought a sense of relief that Patrick never thought he’d experience outside of heroin. But like anything else in his life that brought him any sort of peace or joy, it was minutary. What was missing? Why had his happiness of the situation lasted for such a short time? Was he really that greedy that his father’s death was not enough to fill the hollow, disgusting void that he had left inside of him? Of course it wasn’t. He wanted to make sure that he had suffered just as much, if not even more than Patrick had for the past years. But there was no way that he would be able to know.
Patrick shut his eyes, breathing in sharply as he felt the unmistakable need in his chest spread and overtake him. It was crippling, his voice beginning to echo inside of his head with the advertising tone he was so familiar with by now: ‘For the best heroin in town, simply call Pierre, 555-1726.’ The seconds passed and his anxiety only grew. Not being able to do anything about it, he tried to scream into his own internal void only to have his dismay and desperation be spat right back at him by the echo of his own thoughts. ‘For the best heroin in town, simply call Pierre, 555-1726.’
Simple, tainted words turned into a mantra. A prayer where Patrick scavenged any ounce of hope and light from, a tune ingrained into his mind that brought him promise of momentary peace like a sweet lullaby. The proof of the relief was painted on the skin of his arm as scattered red dots, in the places where he would choose to stick the needle that carried his cure.
‘For the best heroin in town, simply call Pierre, 555-1726.’
‘Just don’t think about it - the trick is to not think about it.’
‘How can you not think about it? It’s like not wanting to get out of a wheelchair when the room’s on fire.’
‘Oh this was a stupid idea. What a putrid, moronic idea it was to try to give up now. What good is this gonna bring you, Patrick? Only cold sweats and suicidal tendencies is what will await you at the end of the day, how could you think this was ever. A good. Idea?’
Patrick gasped as if he awoke from a trance. He hadn’t realised that as the walls of his mind were closing in on him he had been holding his breath.
‘God fucking damn it, god fucking fuck, fuck, FUCK.’
‘For the best heroin in town, simply call Pierre, 555-1726.’
“SHUT UP.” The words escaped him out loud, his hands had flown to his hair, tugging on it as if that would help silence the voice inside of him that was incessantly asking for a relapse. The people around him stared, but Patrick couldn’t care less. He shoved his hands in his jacket’s pockets looking for a couple of quarters urgently, looking around quite erratically as he tried to find a nearby payphone.
He looked back at the mortuary hesitantly, as he knew that there was no other place where he would be able to find both change and a landline. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he pondered for a moment about what he could do.
‘You said you’d stop using. At least cocaine and heroin. You said so.’
‘Oh, fuck what I said. We both know that was just a bunch of lies - we were never made to be good or get better. This is the best that we’ll ever be.’
“God, what a fucking joke.”
With no other option left, he made his way back into the building and asked for some coins from the receptionist at the building. After she had so kindly redirected him towards the line of public phones in a far off hallway, he immediately picked up the handset and brought it up to his ear. Mindlessly, he dropped each quarter needed into the slot and heard as each one slid in and fell into the coinbox. The clanking sound of metal reverberated from the phone, back to his ears and somehow sparked a small memory inside him. His movements faltered, as his fingers hovered over the buttons. His eyes scanned the numbers that were in front of him and he could hear the spokesman threatening to speak up once again, reminding him the buttons he should press for a little piece of heaven.
“A little piece of heaven…” He mumbled to himself. Patrick’s mind lingered on the foggy memory that the coins had brought up. Soon his hand was moving on his own, dialling a phone number he had basically tattooed on his mind.
The sound of the vibrating phone against the table fills the studio of the hotel room. Y/N mindlessly picks it up, not thinking too much about who would be on the other line. For some reason, this time she decides to look down at the caller ID on her phone, a habit that she had grown to forget with how busy she had become. There were never any surprises when it came to phone calls anyway. It was always work, or one of her two friends. She wasn’t much of a social butterfly. If she were ever to give out her number to a stranger she found worth her time, the courting would always come in the form of text.
She stared at the number on her screen for a couple of seconds and let it ring for one, two, three times before she picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Oh thank God you actually picked up."
His mouth moved faster than his mind; he hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear her voice. The prospect of her not having picked up or someone else answering the phone instead, a long dead thought by now as he rejoiced over the sound of her voice.
Y/N froze in place and she swore she stopped breathing. It had been years since she had last heard his voice. If she was being completely honest, she didn’t think she’d hear it ever again; not after the last time that they spoke.
It had been a messy break up, but one that was necessary - or at least that’s what Y/N told herself. Her love for him was big, but the chaos that surrendered their affection was greater than them both. She’d always be dragged down with him, her free will ending up in chains whenever she was around him. She loved to see him smile, she loved to make him feel seen. So, she’d easily let Patrick take the reins of the night, guiding her through wonderland as they chased after the white hare, self destruction the motif of their love. Time and time again she’d let herself be blinded by the emotions that she had for the man, but not everything lasts forever.
She told herself that it would happen sooner or later, it was bound to happen. Especially since Patrick was never one for change. At least that’s what she had learned throughout the years. And so their break up, though for Y/N was a slow agonising thought, came like a tidal wave for Patrick; sudden and out of the blue. It drowned him and pushed him deeper into the darkness of the ocean that was his existence.
They both said a lot of things that night, things that now seemed to be buried in the past like a foggy nightmare, the words blurry and lost in time. But what prevailed was the feeling, which added to Y/N’s surprise. The bitterness of their separation had haunted her mind endlessly, she was sure that he’d never try to get in contact with her again. And so when she uttered his name through the phone, she let her lips savour every word that came out of her, her tongue immediately reminding her how sweet his name was.
“Patrick?”
It came out as a whisper, one that felt like it had pulled Patrick out into the surface after squirming around in the seconds of silence.
"It’s been so… long. How have you been?"
"Oh I’ve been amazing - never been better. Father dearest just died."
Y/N couldn’t help but chortle. Her heart beat against her chest, but somehow she felt herself relax at his comment. Always so wry, she’d forgotten how much she had missed him. "His time finally came, huh?"
"Yes and even after death he's made sure to be a fucking nuisance.” Patrick chuckled, a hand rubbing his bottom lip as he looked around the empty hall of phones. It’s funny how his panic attack seemed so distant now. His need certainly was still there, but at least the voice inside his head was less loud than before. “I had to fly here to New York to take a look at the prize before blasting it into flames."
"Wait, you're in New York?"
"I am... it's actually the reason why I called.” Lie number one. ‘Great, Patrick, good fucking job. At least the you from 5 years ago would’ve had the balls to tell her you were trying to get some smack before you even thought of calling her.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed softly as he did his best to shut out his inner monologue for a moment. “I know you go... back and forth between London and New York for business. I was wondering if life had decided to be kind enough to let me be in the same city as you for once?"
‘Whoop-de-doo, Melrose. Now let’s hope she doesn’t think you’ve been following her around like some kind of creep. Not that that’d be far from the truth. You can play dumb all you want but everybody’s seen how miserable you’ve been ever since she left you. You’re not so subtle about it either, trying to mention her casually here and there and asking about her every chance you get. No wonder every way you turn all you see are pitying looks.’
"Yes, I am in New York, Patrick."
‘Is that a smile I hear in her voice?’
‘Don’t be an idiot. Don’t get your hopes up.’
"Would you be opposed to meeting over a drink?"
"Not at all... but maybe a cup of coffee might be better."
synopsis : Patrick's interest is piqued as reader joins in on his spiteful rant
words : 603
themes : first encounter; a little twist on the party scene in Some Hope
warnings : allusion to Patrick's addiction - very mild though
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A/N : The first Patrick Melrose x reader I made - after watching the series he became my muse for the longest time and I still can't seem to get him out of my heart.
“There’s an air of palpable stupidity that comes off that man, like opening the door to a sauna.”
Patrick took a long drag off his cigarette, his eyes scanning the backyard full of guests. His words brought [Y/N] back to reality, a cigarette on her own fingers. Her eyes had been fixed on one of the guests, Sonny, observing the little panicked conversation that he was having with his mistress, Cindy. Her gaze moved and followed Patrick’s deep voice, his baritone timbre almost too irresistible to ignore.
She raised her eyebrow, intrigued and watched as Patrick continued talking.
“My God, look at them all.” he spat in disdain, “I remember these people from my childhood. Hard and dull.”
“Well they’re the last Marxists.”
“Hm?”
Caught off guard not expecting an answer, Patrick looked at the woman that stood beside him. If he were to be honest he was mostly just talking to himself - hadn’t truly acknowledged the presence of the [H/C] haired girl.
His mind was just naturally wandering off, his mouth moving almost on its own as he tried to keep himself busy. The only other diversion to his anxiousness and temptation being the small roll of tobacco that he held between his lips. Yet she was able to captivate his curiosity with ease. Something that was rare for Patrick.
[Y/N] shrugged and began, almost absentmindedly. “The last people to believe class is a total explanation.” As distant as she wanted to appear, the resentment in her voice was more than evident. Her lips curled into a bitter smirk, the words rolling off her tongue, soaked in apathy.
Patrick often found the act of being lucid so… dreary.
Sober life was a constant struggle and more often than not he’d find himself spiraling down - seemingly losing his grasp on whatever sanity he thought he had.
Sober meant he’d lose himself in reality - and by attending this party; he didn’t want to lose himself in a sea of shame. It was the last thing he needed.
He grabbed his cigarette between his fingers and extended his free hand to her.
“I’m Patrick—“
“—Melrose, correct?” [Y/N] interrupted, her head tilted to the side as she took his hand “I’ve heard about you.”
Patrick chuckled, slightly nervous as he shook her hand. He tried to disguise his uneasiness with a smile, hoping he’d be able to fake and amp up his charm. “Only good things, I’d hope?”
“Not at all.” There was no hesitation in her words, no second guessing. No apologetic look in her face or anything that signaled that she regretted her statement.
Her honesty stung, it was sharp and unashamed. It stuck to his skin and burned through his pores, her eyes never once faltering, locked in his. You could tell immediately she had a way with words - a silver tongue. For as hurtful as her words might be, they were still delivered with an almost mystical grace.
She grinned, and only then did he realize he had been standing there, holding her hand still. He blinked, unsure of what to do, only to feel her hand give his a soft squeeze.
There was a glint of delight behind her eyes as she spoke up again. It was obvious that her interest had somehow been piqued by him.
“Nonetheless, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Patrick. I’m [F/N], [F/N] [L/N].”
Inevitable. That’s the best way that he could describe the smile that spread across his lips. His eyes looked down for a split second before he turned to [Y/N] to reply.
Built for Sin - Prologue: In Seventh Heaven | Patrick Melrose x F!Reader
pairing : Patrick Melrose x F!reader
synopsis : Patrick and reader find themselves lost in their personal heaven after a substance filled escapade.
words : 1k
themes : this is the only part of the three part story that has any real fluff, so enjoy it while you can <3
warnings : mentions of/implied drug abuse
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~Series Masterlist~
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A/N : FINALLY ITS HERE!!! The prologue to the three part story I'm planning on doing for Patrick <33 Life has been kicking my ass lately and sucking up my time but I will do my best to put out the chapters as quickly as possible. I'm super excited about this story, even though its basically pure angst. Anyway, enjoy this because as I said before, it's basically the only part that is just pure fluff, the rest is just sadness with maybe a little of fluff (if you squint) ANYWAY ENJOY <333
There were moments when the world was too loud to handle, too much to bear.
There were moments when Patrick found it better to run away from reality into a state of pure bliss. A world where nothing else mattered, where nothing else existed. Only him, the needle in his hand and his lover on the other.
He couldn’t remember when or how it all started, or when Y/N had decided to join him in these ecstasy filled escapades. He couldn’t remember if he was the one that dragged Y/N into these addictions or if she had already come into his world carrying her own sins. All he knew was that — right here, right now, as they lay on the floor with their fingers intertwined, shutting out the meretriciousness of their existence — this moment was pure perfection.
“Patrick…” Y/N called out, her voice soft and loving yet distant. He could tell that the little bit of MDMA she had decided to dab into her gums was working its magic.
“Yes, Y/N?” He replied, his thumb began to caress the back of her hand absentmindedly.
He felt as her fingers disentangled from his as she began to lay on her side, resting her head on her now free hand. His eyes followed her movements, watching her, admiring her carefully. A soft smirk painted itself across his lips as he noticed how dilated her pupils were, her hand slithered up his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt as she let her teeth graze her bottom lip delicately.
Patrick watched as Y/N meticulously tucked free the first three buds on his shirt, letting a bit of his chest be exposed. He couldn’t help but chortle softly at the sight as he rested his hand on the back of his head. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful.
Her half lidded eyes explored every inch of him and he couldn’t help but feel hot under her gaze. She let the tips of her fingers lightly touch his skin, making little goosebumps arise on him — tracing his collarbone before making its way to the middle of his chest, her finger softly dancing down his sternum. The ghost of her fingertips leaving warm trails on his skin.
“Y/N?” he called out once again, trying to not get too lost in her loving touch.
“Hmm?” Y/N replied, still half lost in her trance.
“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Oh.” She blinked once before a lazy smile appeared on her face. She let out a soft chortle as she moved her gaze from his chest to his face. “Right. Sorry. I got a bit… distracted.”
They both let out a few silent giggles. Patrick moved his free hand up to where Y/N’s hand now rested on his chest. He gave it a soft squeeze before he began to play with her fingers, letting the feel of her skin against his be his anchor for the night.
“So?”
“Have I ever told you…”
“Uh-huh?”
Their voices carried a giddy tone with each word they said. Their smiles never left their faces as they looked at each other with nothing but affection in their eyes - high out of their minds off love and their own chosen poison.
Y/N scrunched up her nose as she let her hand rest upon her cheek, almost as if to massage her giddiness away so she could continue her conversation.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“You have. You always do. In fact, I don’t think you ever stop saying it.” Patrick brought Y/N’s hand up to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it, his smile still evident.
“Well that’s only because it’s never enough.”
“Really? Even if you told me a thousand times that you loved me in a day - would that still not be enough?”
“Nope.”
Y/N leaned in giggling once again before she brushed her lips against his gently. Patrick chortled at the feeling, a sudden warmth rising in his chest, one that he knew wasn’t coming from the heroin he had shot up a few moments ago.
Y/N began to move her lips delicately against his and they couldn’t help but grin against each other’s mouths. Patrick tried to move closer to seal their lips together but Y/N moved back softly, letting her lips linger just out of his reach. She laughed as he groaned in playful frustration.
“Stop being such a tease, temptress. Come here.”
Patrick rolled on his side wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist as she shrieked in delight, letting herself laugh once more, her lover pulling her close to his chest as he laid down on his back again.
After a few seconds of watching each other in pure bliss, Y/N leaned in as did Patrick. Their lips met in the middle in an eager kiss, moving against each other with tenderness, exploring each other as if it were the first time they locked their lips together.
Y/N’s hands caressed his jaw until she was cupping his cheeks, breathing him in completely as she tried to bring him closer, the feeling making Patrick’s whole body tingle. His hands explored her back for a few moments before he wrapped them entirely around her body, mimicking Y/N’s attempt to bring their bodies closer, the desire of melting into one another greater than any other craving that Patrick had ever experienced in his life.
Y/N pulled back slightly as she opened her eyes slowly, wanting to admire her lover once again. Patrick looked back at her, lovestruck. His eyes looked deep into hers. His hands rested on the small of her back, his fingers resting against her skin and her hands slowly moving to the back of his neck. Patrick’s smile grew as a sudden realisation washed over him.
He had finally found someone who truly loved him, someone who he truly loved. And with that, the words he had said a thousand times before became heavier than they already were.
“I love you.”
~
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