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fruitjoos
daisy. she/her. woc. baby 20s. istp-t. challengers fanatic. melophile. josh o’connoisseur. patrick zweig’s pr manager. may contain adult content.
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Reblogged glassmermaids
i still think about this shoot daily
Reblogged
[so real — patrick zweig x reader] it's been years since patrick had even spoken to you, but tonight he still finds himself in front of your door with an overnight bag and a hopeful heart. he doesn't even deserve your time, though, and you both know it.
You have by now, in all your years of living, made peace with the fact that you were a weak person. A pushover or people pleaser in better terms maybe; willing to break your back for people who wouldn't even think twice about you. You didn't know why you were this way, but you couldn't find it in yourself to hurt or God forbid, inconvenience someone they way they've done to you countless times.
Reblogged
CAN’T CATCH ME NOW
Patrick Zweig x Reader
I don’t even know what this is. Really angsty, even though I’m usually not into that.
You’ve been seeing Patrick for a few months now. Not really a couple but not not exclusive either. It was casual, a bit of fun. While he was off touring, you focused on your classes occasionally meeting up with Tashi and Art but mostly you stuck to yourself. Every once in a while, when his schedule allowed it, he visited you on campus. You liked having him there. His hair all wet from the shower as he lied on your bed watching you go through your notes of the seminar.
“I’m here once every few months and you’re trading me for notes,” he whined. Despite popular believe, he was quite needy when it came to your affection. He fed off of it, yearning for the attention you so rarely gifted to anyone. It almost felt like an honor. Like he was chosen to be in your presence. No one got to win uptight-you over but him.
Naturally you were quite the private person, you didn’t hold your thoughts to yourself on purpose but it aggravated the people around you. Especially Patrick. The nosy fucker would’ve loved to crawl inside your head and bury himself under all those thoughts you kept closed off.
He didn’t notice the shift in you over the months. Did you seem more closed off than usual? Yes. But who could tell the difference. It was probably due to exam season closing in. You always grew a little tense during that time.
So when he got off the plane in early June and Art greeted him with the words “She’s way weirder than normal, in a total mood. We haven’t seen her in weeks.”
He drops his bag on your dorm room as you sit on the window sill, window wide open, barely acknowledging him. You were dressed in one of his old shirts, long legs dangling off the window sill as a slight breeze caught your curls.
“What, don’t I get a proper greeting anymore?” He smirked as he approached you, trying not to get thrown off by the stuffy air in the room. The window was wide open for Christ sake. Why was his throat feeling like he’d been screaming himself raw then?
“Baby.” He brushed his knuckles along your cheekbone but you turned your face away, huffing.
“Not right now, Patrick.”
“Not right now?” He mocks. “I’ve been on a flight for eight hours to see you and you’re not in the mood right now?”
He doesn’t want to be an asshole but this was his way of coping. He could see you closing off and it was hurting him. So he needed to hurt you back. Crossing his arms in front of him he watched you turn your head to glare at him.
“I need to be alone right now.”
“Why?” He pushes with a frustrated huff. “What happened? Why are you being this way?”
He just endured his flight partner drooling on his shoulder for hours, sitting in a cramped seat with his knees up to his ears and a tiredness clawing at his bones. Only the thought of seeing you got him through that.
Suddenly you slip off the windowsill and walk past him.
“Wait—“ he doesn’t even know where you’re going but he follows you. “Don’t walk away from me now. Talk to me.”
Little did he know that talking was not one of your fortes. Talking was the last thing you wanted to do. Even if you did want to how would you word it? That you’ve been feeling like an open wound, gaping for everyone to see? That every minute he spend away on tour it kept your thoughts spiraling, creating worst case scenarios? You felt like you were decaying, only growing better when he would visit and you hated that feeling. You loathed that you got even a little better once he was there, only for him to leave you once again.
You didn’t want him, if you couldn’t have all of him. You’d rather have no taste at all of him than only glimpses here and there. So you needed to get rid of him. And you only knew how one way.
Walking over to the door you open it up for him.
“I’m sure you can stay with Art as long as you’re here,” you say.
“I don’t want to stay with, Art.” He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t come here for Art, I came for you.” He wasn’t good with emotions. This was supposed to be easy, casual. Then why did it feel like his heart was withering away in his chest?
“God what is with you?” He pressed.
“I don’t want you here, Patrick.”
He almost recoiled at your words. Ouch. He stopped in his tracks, trying to reach for you. You felt further away than ever and you were standing right in front of him.
“I—What?”
You go and grab his bag pushing it into his hands.
“Leave.” You press.
Patrick is not that easily pushed away. He won’t give up. Dropping the bag he was in front of you in one step, trapping your wrists. Your pulse was fluttering beneath his thumb.
“Stop running away and tell me what’s wrong,” he said, his eyes searching your face for a speckle of warmth. Anything but that ice cold gaze you offered him.
“Why are you mad?” He asked.
“I’m not mad,” your voice shook a little. “Just leave me alone, okay? I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “Art said—“
“Don’t listen to anything Art says. Listen to me. Leave.me.alone.”
“I’m not gonna let you push me away.” His grip tightened on your wrist and you felt tempted to pull away. Your skin was burning where he was touching you, almost setting your body alight.
“Leave me alone Patrick or else—“
“Or else what? Huh?” He egged you on.
“I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want it.”
He laughed acidly. “Done with me then, yeah?”
His voice was cold but you could see right through him. Patrick was bitter and he was hurt. Shouldn’t have expected anything else, he was good for one thing and one thing only. You were bound to grow tired of him.
“You’re done with me.” He repeated. “Did I do anything wrong?” At the risk of sounding desperate, he tugged you in, your scent familiar. It wrapped Patrick in a hazy cloud, wanting to lean closer and nuzzle your neck.
“This is not about you, Patrick. It’s my decision.” You turn your head away.
“So that’s it then.” His hands slipped of your wrist. “It’s over, just like that?”
“Yeah it is.”
He nodded multiple times, staring down at the dirty carpet. Hurt turned into anger turned into revenge. Hauling the strap of his bag over his shoulder he looked at you, no ounce of affection left whatsoever.
“I guess you got rid of me then, free to fuck your way around.”
Something in your chest shatters but you go to hold the door open still. “No need to make this ugly, Patrick.”
He laughed again but it was devoid of humor.
“Yeah right.”
“We said this was casual from the beginning,” you reminded him and his jaw clenched for a moment.
“If you just wanted to fuck someone else you could’ve said so.”
He turned to leave but anger sparked in you.
“You’re unbelievable,” you breathe. “You’re so desperate to be loved you’d take anyone. Get over yourself, Patrick. There were no feelings involved in this relationship.”
He turned around ice cold glare in his eyes. “I’m desperate for love?”
You laugh. “You beg for it. Walking around like you want to fuck everything that has tits and an ass or just an ass but you secretly only want for people to want you. With your fuck-up parents it makes sense. But it’s not my job to love you.”
“Fuck you,” he hissed and you smiled. Good. He was angry. He would get over it.
“Already did that. Wasn’t that great,” you said and he straightened but something flickered in his eyes. Something vulnerable and raw.
You closed the door in his face. “Goodbye Patrick.”