#dad!patrick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

badnewswhatsleft · 6 months ago

Text

rock sound #312 (nov 2024)

transcript below cut:

ROCK SOUND 25 ICON

FALL OUT BOY

A BAND THAT CAPTURED THE HEARTS, MINDS AND HEADPHONES OF A GENERATION OF KIDS WORLDWIDE, FALL OUT BOY UNDOUBTEDLY CHANGED THE LANDSCAPE OF THE ALTERNATIVE SCENE FOREVER, NEVER AFRAID TO EXPERIMENT, TAKE CHANCES AND MAKE BOLD CHOICES AS THEY PUSHED FORWARD. FOLLOWING A SUMMER SPENT EXPLORING THE 'DAYS OF FALL OUT PAST', PATRICK STUMP AND PETE WENTZ REFLECT ON THEIR PATH FROM POP PUNK, HARDCORE MISFITS TO ALL-CONQUERING, STADIUM-FILLING SONGWRITERS AS THEY ACCEPT THEIR ROCK SOUND 25 ICON AWARD.

WORDS JAMES WILSON-TAYLOR

PHOTOS ELLIOTT INGHAM

Let's begin with your most recent performance which was at When We Were Young festival in Las Vegas. It was such a special weekend, how are you reflecting on that moment?

PATRICK: It's wild, because the band, I think, is going on 23 years now, which really came as a surprise to me. I know it's this thing that old people always say, 'Man, it really goes by so fast', but then it happens to you and you're just taken aback. There were so many times throughout the weekend, every 10 minutes, where I'd turn around and see somebody and be like, 'Holy shit, I haven't seen you in 18 years', or something crazy like that. It was hard not to have a good time. When I was going up to perform with Motion City Soundtrack, which was an exciting thing in itself, I turn around and Bayside is there. And I haven't seen Bayside since we toured with them. God, I don't remember when that was, you know? So there was so much of that. You couldn't help but have a good time.

PETE: I mean, that's an insane festival, right? When they announce it, it looks fake every time. The lineup looks like some kid drew it on their folder at school. For our band, the thing that's a little weird, I think, is that by deciding to change between every album, and then we had the three year break which caused another big time jump, I think that it would be hard for us to focus on one album for that show. We're a band where our fans will debate the best record. So it was amazing that we were able to look backwards and try to build this show that would go through all the eras - nod to Taylor obviously on that one. But it's also an insane idea to take a show that should really be put on for one weekend in a theatre and then try to take it around the world at festivals. The whole time on stage for this particular show production, I'm just like 'Is this thing going to go on time?' Because if the whole thing is working totally flawlessly, it just barely works, you know what I mean? So I give a lot of credit to our crew for doing that, because it's not really a rock show. I know we play rock music and it's a rock festival, but the show itself is not really a rock production, and our crew does a very good job of bending that to fit within the medium.

That show allows you to nod to the past but without falling fully into nostalgia. You are still pushing the band into newer places within it.

PATRICK: That's always been a central thing. We're a weird band, because a lot of bands I know went through a period of rejecting their past, and frankly, I encounter this thing a lot, where people have expected that we stopped interacting with older material. But we always maintained a connection with a lot of the older music. We still close with 'Saturday'. So for us, it was never about letting go of the past. It was about bringing that along with you wherever you go. I'm still the same weird little guy that likes too much music to really pin down. It's just that I've carried that with me through all the different things that I've done and that the band has done. So for us, in terms of going forward and playing new stuff, that's always the thing that's important to me; that there should be new stuff to propel it. I never wanted to be an artist that just gave up on new music and went out and played the hits and collected the check and moved on. It's all got to be creative. That's why I do it. I want to make new music. That's always why I do it. So something like When We Were Young is kind of odd really. It's an odd fit for that, because it's nostalgic, which is not really my vibe all that much. But I found a lot of nostalgia in it. I found a lot of value in looking back and going 'Wow, this was really cool. It was amazing that we did this, that we all did this'. That scene of bands, we're all old now, but it has taken off into such a moment culturally that people can point to.

Let's jump all the way back to the first ever Fall Out Boy show. There is very little evidence of it available online but what are your memories of that performance?

PATRICK: So the very first Fall Out Boy show was at DePaul University in a fancy looking dining hall. I actually applied to DePaul, but I never went there because the band went on tour. I think there were only two or three other bands. One was a band called Stillwell, who were kind of a math rock emo band, and then this heavier, more metallic band. And then we were there, and we had a guitar player, John Flamandan, who I have not seen since that show. He was only in the band for a week or two, and we were still figuring ourselves out. We had three songs and I had never sung before in front of people. I did a talent show at school one time when I was a kid and theatre kind of stuff where you would sing, but it was more in that context. And I was also a kid too. This was the first time ever that I'm the singer for a band and I was fucking terrified. We had a drummer named Ben Rose, really great guy. I haven't seen Ben in a million years, either, but we were still figuring ourselves out. The other thing is that all of us, with me being the exception, were in other bands, and all of our other bands were better than Fall Out Boy was. We were very sloppy and didn't know what we were doing, and so I don't think any of us really took it seriously. But there was a thing that was really funny about it, where even though we kind of thought we sucked, and even though we weren't really focusing on it, we had a lot of fun with each other. We enjoyed trying this other thing, because we were hardcore kids, and we were not the pop punk kids and the pop punk bands in town, that was like 'the thing', and we were not really welcome in that. There was a fun in trying to figure out how to make melodic and pop music when we really didn't have any history with that. It was very obvious that we didn't know what we were doing at the beginning.

So when did it begin to feel like things were finally clicking? When did you find your roles and what you wanted the band to be?

PETE: In regards to the music, I liked Fall Out boy, way before I probably should have. I remember playing the early demos and it giving me a feeling that I hadn't felt with any of the other bands that I had been in. Now, looking back on it, I might have been a tad early on that. Then as far as the roles, I think that they've been carving themselves out over time. We've always allowed ourselves to gravitate to our strengths. Between me and Patrick, we'd probably make one great, atypical rock artist if we were one person. Because our strengths are things that the other doesn't love as much. But I think that what has happened more is it's less of a fight now and there's more trust. We have a trust with each other. There's things that Patrick will play for me or explain to me, and I don't even really need him to explain it, because I trust him. I may not totally understand it, but I trust him as an artist. On the other side of that, it's also very nice to have someone who can veto your idea, you know what I mean? It's nice to have those kind of checks and balances.

PATRICK: I had been in this band called Patterson, and all three of the other guys sang in kind of a gravelly, Hot Water Music vibe. I was not intending to be a singer, but I would try and sing backups and, it wasn't a criticism, but there was this vibe that, while I could do the gravelly thing, my voice was coming through and it didn't fit. It was too pretty and that became a thing I was kind of embarrassed of. So when Fall Out Boy started, I was actively trying to disguise that and mute it and hide behind affectation. Pete would really push me to stretch my vowels because that was in vogue in pop punk at the time. There were all these different ways that we were trying to suppress me, musically, because we were just trying to figure out how to do the things that the bands we liked did. But that wasn't really us, you know? It's really funny, because 'Take This To Your Grave' was recorded in three sections, about six months apart. Over the course of that time, I can hear us figuring it out. I think a really defining moment for me was 'Saturday', because I am not brave, I am not a bold person, and I do not put myself out there. When I was showing the band 'Saturday', we were jamming on the bit after the second chorus, and I was mumbling around, just mucking my way through it, and I did the falsetto thing. I didn't think anyone could hear me over us bashing around in Joe's parents house in this tiny little room. But Pete stopped, and he goes, 'Do that again'. I was so terrified of doing that in front of these guys, because you gotta remember, I was incredibly shy, but also a drummer. I'd never sung in front of anyone before, and now I'm singing in a band and I'm certainly not going to take chances. So I thought the falsetto thing was really not going to happen, but when I did it, there was this really funny thing. Somehow that song clicked, and it opened up this door for us where we do something different than everybody else. We were aiming to be a pop punk or hardcore band, but we found this thing that felt more natural to me.

As you embarked on Warped Tour, simultaneously you were finding this huge level of pop and mainstream success. How was it navigating and finding your way through those two very different spaces?

PATRICK: I used to work at a used record store and what shows up is all the records after their success. So I got really acquainted and really comfortable with and prepared for the idea of musical failure. I just wanted to do it because I enjoyed doing it. But in terms of planning one's life, I was certain that I would, at most, get to put out a record and then have to go to school when it didn't work out. My parents were very cautious. I said to them after 'Take This To Your Grave' came out that I'm gonna see where this goes, because I didn't expect to be on a label and get to tour. I'm gonna give it a semester, and then it will almost certainly fail, and then after it fails, I'll go to school. And then it didn't fail. Warped Tour was very crazy too, I was talking about this at When We Were Young with My Chem. Both of us were these little shit bands that no one cared about when we booked the tour. Then we got to the tour, and all these people were showing up for us, way more than we expected, way more than Warped Tour expected. So Warped Tour was putting both of us on these little side stages, and the stages would collapse because people were so excited. It was this moment that came out of nowhere all of a sudden. Then we go to Island Records, and I had another conversation with my parents, because every band that I had known up to that point, even the biggest bands in town, they would have their big indie record and then they would go to the major label and drop off the face of the planet forever. So I was certain that was going to happen. I told them again, I'm going to put out this record, and then I'll go to school when this fails.

PETE: I think that if you really wanted someone to feel like an alien, you would put them on TRL while they were on Warped Tour. You know what I mean? Because it is just bananas. On our bus, the air conditioning didn't work, so we were basically blowing out heat in the summer, but we were just so happy to be on a bus and so happy to be playing shows. You go from that to, two days later, stepping off the bus to brush your teeth and there's a line of people wanting to watch you brush your teeth. In some ways, it was super cool that it was happening with My Chemical Romance too because it didn't feel as random, right? It feels more meant to be. It feels like something is happening. To be on Warped Tour at that time - and if you weren't there, it would be probably hard to imagine, because it's like if Cirque Du Soleil had none of the acrobatics and ran on Monster energy drink. It was a traveling circus, but for it to reach critical mass while we were there, in some ways, was great, because you're not just sitting at home. In between touring, I would come home and I'd be sitting in my bedroom at my parents house. I would think about mortality and the edge of the whole thing and all these existential thoughts you feel when you're by yourself. But on Warped Tour, you go to the signing, you play laser tag, you go to the radio station. So in some ways, it's like you're in this little boot camp, and you don't really even think about anything too much. I guess it was a little bit of a blur.

Pete, when you introduced 'Bang The Doldrums' at When We Were Young, you encouraged the crowd to 'keep making weird shit'. That could almost be a mantra for the band as a whole. Your weirder moments are the ones that made you. Even a song like 'Dance Dance' has a rhythm section you never would have expected to hear on a rock track at that time.

PETE: You know, I just watched 'Joker 2' and I loved it. I do understand why people wouldn't because it subverts the whole thing. It subverts everything about the first one. That's something I've always really loved, when I watch artists who could keep making the same thing, and instead they make something that's challenging to them or challenging to their audience. Sometimes you miss, sometimes you do a big thing and you miss, and we've definitely done that. But I gotta say, all the things that I've really loved about art and music, and that has enriched my life, is when people take chances. You don't get the invention of anything new without that. To not make weird stuff would feel odd, and I personally would much rather lose and miss doing our own thing. To play it safe and cut yourself off around the edges and sand it down and then miss also, those are the worst misses, because you didn't even go big as yourself. This is where we connect with each other, we connect by our flaws and the little weird neuroses that we have. I rarely look at something and go 'Wow, that safe little idea really moved me'. I guess it happens, but I think about this with something like 'Joker 2' where this director was given the keys and you can just do anything. I think a lot of times somebody would just make an expected follow up but some people turn right when they're supposed to turn left. That's always been interesting on an artistic level, but at the same time, I think you're more likely to miss big when you do that.

PATRICK: Going into 'From Under The Cork Tree', I had this sense that this is my only shot. It has already outperformed what I expected. I don't want to be locked into doing the same thing forever, because I know me. I know I'm not Mr. Pop Punk, that's just one of many things I like. So I would be so bummed if for the rest of my life, I had to impersonate myself from when I was 17 and have to live in that forever. So I consciously wanted to put a lot of weird stuff on that record because I thought it was probably my only moment. 'Sugar, We're Goin Down' was a fairly straight ahead pop punk song but even that was weird for us, because it was slow. I remember being really scared about how slow it was, because it's almost mosh tempo for the whole song, which was not anything we had done up to that point. But in every direction, in every song, I was actively trying to push the boundaries as much as I could. 'Dance, Dance' was one of those ones where I was seeing what I can get away with, because I might never get this chance again. We were on tour with a friend's band, and I remember playing the record for them. I remember specifically playing 'Our Lawyer…' that opens the record, which has that 6/8 time feel, and they kind of look at me, like 'What?'. Then I played 'Dance, Dance', and they're like, 'Hey man, you know, whatever works for you. It's been nice knowing you'. But I just knew that, on the off chance that I ended up still being a musician in my 40s, I wanted to still love the music that we made. I didn't want to ever resent it. It's ironic because people say that bands sell out when they don't make the same thing over and over again. But wait a second. Say that again. Think about that.

That attitude seemed to carry directly into 'Infinity On High'. If you may never end up doing this again then let's make sure we bring in the orchestra while we still can...

PATRICK: That was literally something that I did say to myself this might be the last time, the likelihood is we're going to fail because that's what happens, so this might be the last time that I ever get a chance to have somebody pay for an orchestra and a choir. I always think of The Who when they did 'A Quick One, While He's Away' and there's a part where they go 'cello, cello', because they couldn't afford real cellos, they couldn't afford players. That's what I thought would happen for me in life. So I went in and thought, let's do it all. Let's throw everything at the wall, because there's no chance that it's going to happen again. So many things came together on that record, but I didn't expect it. 'Arms Race' was a very weird song, and I was shocked when management went along with it and had kind of decided that would be the single. I was in disbelief. It did not feel like a single but it worked for us. It was a pretty big song and then 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs' was easily the big hit off that record. So then we have two hit songs off of an album that I didn't even know would come out at that point. But again, it was very much just about taking the risks and seeing what the hell happened.

As you went on hiatus for a few years, you worked on a number of other creative projects. How did those end up influencing your approach to the band when you returned?

PETE: On the areas of the band where I led, I wanted to be a better leader. When you're younger and you're fighting for your ideas, I don't think that I was the greatest listener. I just wanted to be a better cog in the machine. When you're in a band originally, no one gives you the little band handbook and says 'these are the things you should do', you know? I just wanted to be a better version of who I was in the band.

PATRICK: There's a combination of things. 'Soul Punk' is a weird record. I love that record but I kind of resent that record for so many things. It's my solo record, but it's also not very me in a lot of ways. I had started with a very odd little art rock record, and then I had some personal tragedies happen. My EP that I put out far out sold expectations so then all of a sudden, Island Records goes, 'Oh, we think this could actually be something we want singles for'. I think we had all expected that I would be putting out a smaller indie record but then all of a sudden they were like 'oh, you could be a pop star'. So then I have to retrofit this art rock record into pop star hit music, and also channel personal tragedy through it. I hadn't ever really been a front man - I'd been a singer, but I hadn't really been a front man, and I hadn't really written lyrics, certainly not introspective, personal lyrics. So that whole record is so strange and muted to me. So I went from that album, which also failed so fucking hard - I should have gone to school after that one. But Pete had reached out to me just as a friend, and said 'I know you're in your own thing right now, and I know that you're not the kind of person that is going to be in my fantasy football league, so I'm not going to see you unless we make music. But you're my buddy, and that kind of bums me out that I don't see you at all, so I guess we have to make music'. I thought that was a fairly convincing pitch. It's true, that was what we do when we hang out - we make music. So we reconvene, and going into it, I had all these lessons that really made me understand Pete better, because Pete is the natural front end person. So many of our arguments and frustrations and the things that we didn't see eye to eye on, I grew to understand having now been in the position of the point man that had to make all the decisions for my solo thing. It really flipped my understanding of why he said the things he would say, or why he did things he would do. I remember early on thinking he was so pushy, but then, in retrospect, you realise he was doing it for a reason. There's so many little things that really changed for me doing 'Soul Punk' that were not musical but were more about how you run a band and how you run a business, that made me understand and respect him a lot more.

What are memories of that initial return and, specifically, that tiny first show back at the Metro venue in Chicago?

PETE: Those first shows were definitely magical because I really wasn't sure that we would be on a stage again together. I don't have as many memories of some of our other first things. We were just talking about Warped Tour, I don't have many memories of those because it is almost wasted on you when it's a blur and there's so many things happening. But with this, I really wanted to not take it for granted and wanted to take in all the moments and have snapshots in our own heads of that show. I did a lot of other art during the time when we were off, everybody did, but there's a magic between the four of us and it was nice to know that it was real. When we got on that stage again at the Metro for the first time, there was something that's just a little different. I can't really put my finger on it, but it makes that art that we were making separately different than all the other stuff.

Musically, as you moved forward, everything sounded much bigger, almost ready for arenas and stadiums. Was that a conscious decision on your part?

PETE: Patrick felt like he was bursting with these ideas. It felt like these had been lying in wait, and they were big, and they were out there, and whether he'd saved them for those records, I don't really know. That's what it felt like to me. With 'Save Rock And Roll', we knew we had basically one shot. There were really three options; you'll have this other period in your career, no one will care or this will be the torch that burns the whole thing down. So we wanted to have it be at least on our terms. Then I think with 'American Beauty...' it was slightly different, because we made that record as fast as we could. We were in a pop sphere. Is there a way for a band to be competitive with DJs and rappers in terms of response time? Are we able to be on the scene and have it happen as quickly? I think it kind of made us insane a little bit. With 'American Beauty…', we really realised that we were not going to walk that same path in pop culture and that we would need to 'Trojan horse' our way into the conversation in some way. So we thought these songs could be played in stadiums, that these songs could be end titles. What are other avenues? Because radio didn't want this right now, so what are other avenues to make it to that conversation? Maybe this is just in my head but I thought 'Uma Thurman' could be a sister song to 'Dance, Dance' or maybe even 'Arms Race' where it is weird but it has pop elements to it.

PATRICK: I had a feeling on 'Save Rock And Roll' that it was kind of disjointed. It was a lot of good songs, but they were all over the place. So when we went into 'American Beauty…', I really wanted to make something cohesive. I do think that record is very coherent and very succinct - you either like it or you don't, and that's pretty much it all the way through. By the time we got to 'MANIA', I had done all this production and I'd started to get into scoring. The band had done so many things and taken so many weird chances that I just felt free to do whatever. At that point, no one's going to disown me if I try something really strange so let's see what happens. 'Young And Menace' was a big part of that experiment. People hate that song, and that's okay. It was meant to be challenging, it's obviously not supposed to be a pop song. It's an abrasive song, it should not have been a single. However, I do think that record should have been more like that. Towards the end of the production, there was this scramble of like, 'Oh, fuck, we have no pop music on this and we need to have singles' and things like that. That took over that record and became the last minute push. I think the last half of that record was recorded in the span of two weeks towards the end of the recording to try and pad it with more pop related songs. I look at that record and think it should have all been 'Young And Menace'. That should have been our 'Kid A' or something. It should have really challenged people.

But we have spoken before about how 'Folie à Deux' found its audience much later. It does feel like something similar is already beginning to happen with 'MANIA'...

PETE: I agree with you, and I think that's a great question, because I always thought like that. There's things that you're not there for, but you wish you were there. I always thought about it when we put out 'MANIA', because I don't know if it's for everyone, but this is your moment where you could change the course of history, you know, this could be your next 'Folie à Deux', which is bizarre because they're completely different records. But it also seems, and I think I have this with films and bands and stuff as well, that while one thing ascends, you see people grab onto the thing that other people wouldn't know, right? It's like me talking about 'Joker 2' - why not talk about the first one? That's the one that everybody likes. Maybe it's contrarian, I don't really know. I just purely like it. I'm sure that's what people say about 'Folie à Deux' and 'MANIA' as well. But there's something in the ascent where people begin to diverge, you are able to separate them and go 'Well, maybe this one's just for me and people like me. I like these other ones that other people talk about, but this one speaks to me'. I think over time, as they separate, the more people are able to say that. And then I can say this, because Patrick does music, I think that sometimes he's early on ideas, and time catches up with it a little bit as well. The ideas, and the guest on the record, they all make a little bit more sense as time goes on.

'MANIA' is almost the first of your albums designed for the streaming era. Everything is so different so people could almost pick and choose their own playlist.

PETE: Of course, you can curate it yourself. That's a great point. I think that the other point that you just made me think of is this was the first time where we realised, well, there's not really gatekeepers. The song will raise its hand, just like exactly what you're saying. So we should have probably just had 'The Last Of The Real Ones' be an early single, because that song was the one that people reacted to. But I think that there was still the old way of thinking in terms of picking the song that we think has the best chance, or whatever. But since then, we've just allowed the songs to dictate what path they take. I think that that's brilliant. If I'd had a chance to do that, curate my own record and pick the Metallica songs or whatever,that would be fantastic. So it was truly a learning experience in the way you release art to me.

PATRICK: After 'MANIA', I realised Fall Out Boy can't be the place for me to try everything. It's just not. We've been around for too long. We've been doing things for too long. It can't be my place to throw everything at the wall. There's too much that I've learned from scoring and from production now to put it all into it. So the scoring thing really became even more necessary. I needed it, emotionally. I needed a place to do everything, to have tubas and learn how to write jazz and how to write for the first trumpet. So then going into 'So Much (For) Stardust', it had the effect of making me more excited about rock music again, because I didn't feel the weight of all of this musical experimentation so I could just enjoy writing a rock song. It's funny, because I think it really grew into that towards the end of writing the record. I'd bet you, if we waited another month, it would probably be all more rock, because I had a rediscovered interest in it.

It's interesting you talk about the enjoyment of rock music again because that joy comes through on 'So Much (For) Stardust' in a major way, particularly on something like the title track. When the four of you all hit those closing harmonies together, especially live, that's a moment where everything feels fully cohesive and together and you can really enjoy yourselves. There's still experimental moments on the album but you guys are in a very confident and comfortable space right now and it definitely shows in the music.

PATRICK: Yeah, I think that's a great point. When you talk about experimentation too and comfort, that's really the thing isn't it? This is always a thing that bugged me, because I never liked to jam when I was a kid. I really wanted to learn the part, memorise it and play it. Miles Davis was a side man for 20 years before he started doing his thing. You need to learn the shit out of your music theory and your instrument - you need to learn all the rules before you break them. I always had that mindset. But at this point, we as a band have worked with each other so much that now we can fuck around musically in ways that we didn't used to be able to and it's really exciting. There's just so much I notice now. There are ways that we all play that are really hard to describe. I think if you were to pull any one of the four of us out of it, I would really miss it. I would really miss that. It is this kind of alchemy of the way everyone works together. It's confidence, it's also comfort. It's like there's a home to it that I feel works so well. It's how I'm able to sing the way I sing, or it's how Andy's able to play the way he plays. There's something to it. We unlock stuff for each other.

Before we close, we must mention the other big live moment you had this year. You had played at Download Festival before but taking the headline slot, especially given the history of Donington, must have felt extra special.

PETE: It felt insane. We always have a little bit of nerves about Download, wondering are we heavy enough? To the credit of the fans and the other bands playing, we have always felt so welcomed when we're there. There's very few times where you can look back on a time when... so, if I was a professional baseball player, and I'm throwing a ball against the wall in my parents garage as a kid, I could draw a direct link from the feeling of wanting to do that. I remember watching Metallica videos at Donington and thinking 'I want to be in Metallica at Donington'. That's not exactly how it turned out, but in some ways there is that direct link. On just a personal level, my family came over and got to see the festival. They were wearing the boots and we were in the mud. All this stuff that I would describe to them sounds insane when you tell your family in America - 'It's raining, but people love it'. For them to get to experience that was super special for me as well. We played the biggest production we've ever had and to get to do that there, the whole thing really made my summer.

PATRICK: There's not really words for it. It feels so improbable and so unlikely. Something hit me this last year, this last tour, where I would get out on stage and I'd be like, 'Wait, fucking seriously? People still want to see us and want to hear us?' It feels so strange and surreal. I go home and I'm just some schlubby Dad and I have to take out the compost and I have to remember to run the dishwasher. I live this not very exciting life, and then I get out there at Download and it's all these people. Because I'm naturally kind of shy, for years, I would look down when I played because I was so stressed about what was happening. Confidence and all these have given me a different posture so when I go out there, I can really see it, and it really hits you. Download, like you said, we've done before, but there's something very different about where I am now as a person. So I can really be there. And when you walk out on that stage, it is astounding. It forces you to play better and work harder, because these people waited for us. The show is the audience and your interaction with it. In the same way that the band has this alchemy to it, we can't play a show like that without that audience.

#sir the ''schlubby dad'' in question is getting on stage and GROWLING. people are dying and creaming and dying and cr #time capsule #read the charts #fall out boy #patrick stump #pete wentz #joe trohman #andy hurley

619 notes · View notes

tinytennisskirt · 9 months ago

Text

Sweetheart

girl dad!patrick x babysitter!reader

summary: the growth of a mutual ‘crush’ between babysitter!reaser and the father of the little girl she babysits. problem is, he’s about fifteen years older than her and they get along a little too well. he has to remember fucking a twenty-year-old is wrong, no matter how much he might want to. no matter what other feelings might be involved… he just knows what he wants and it’s hard to ignore it when she feels the same way.

warnings: unedited from the notes app and i accidentally switched tenses so ignore that!!! and SMUT. tension. flirting. age gap, obvi! sex. sex. sex. rough.

babysitting for DILF! Patrick, his house is a little cluttered and messy but it’s his. He’s fixing his screen door when you come by, he’s got a nail clenched between his teeth, he’s not worried.

he thought you’d be younger, sixteen, maybe, but you’re twenty and a half, he deducts from asking about your birthday. he still thinks you’re gorgeous before he does the math, he’s a bit of a dirtbag that way…

tells you all about his daughter and what she likes to watch, what she likes to eat, says you can order pizza if you want and as long as she’s asleep by midnight, he’s happy. he’s more carefree than other parents you babysit for. you find your eyes resting on the muscle of his upper arm as he shows you around the house just so you can find your way. part of his introduction is just flirting, his face getting a little close to yours with that smirk of his.

you’re standing your ground and he likes that. he’s only half-aware of his intentions. asks again what your hourly rate is and when you tell him, he tacks four dollars onto it. you’re saying thank you, but he says he’ll be back by 1:30 and he’s out the door.

his daughter, dark curls and freckles is standing on the steps. she’s a happy girl, she’s polite and she’s smart, like- gifted smart. she’s silly and has hobbies of building cubes out of paper. she teaches you how and soon you’re in a pile of paper cubes.

she’s in bed by ten just because you asked her to be and she’s not fussy at all, just silly when she brushes her teeth. she has a good sense of humour and makes good references. as you tuck her into her pretty pink room with lots of books, she tells you she has ice cream in the freezer and that you’re welcome to it because she only pretends to like the flavour her dad buys her- eating it would help her out. she’s only six but her brain is amazing. you hope you see her again.

she goes to sleep and you turn off her lamp and slip out of her room. the hallway is dimly lit and you find yourself looking at the pictures on the wall. patrick was or is a tennis player, there are trophies on top of cabinets and old player photos. old player IDs and he was… hot. not that he wasn’t now, he was, but he was your age in these photos no doubt… came naturally to find him attractive. you continue down the hall and his daughter starts appearing in photos and he looks a little older but you’re noticing that there’s not a single photo of her mother.

it’s just them, you deduct. she’s not in any picture so she must not be in the

picture. you get the small tub of ice cream from the freezer and eat it on the couch, finding a show you’re fond of and watching it, finishing the small bit left, twirling the spoon around in your mouth.

you get up and look around the house a bit more. observing the clutter of books where his daughter sits on the couch, walking to where there’s a bit of sports equipment, tennis rackets, a few looking a bit… broken. smashed. you wondered if he broke them himself. your fingers traced over the pictures on the kitchen wall. he looks good without facial hair, you note, but you prefer him with. he looks like a great dad, the various photos of him and his daughter in various places, the beach, outside of a restaurant, pictures of her holding up his trophy while sitting on his shoulders. a duo for sure.

you wash your dishes in the sink and decide to maybe tidy up a bit, cleaning a few other things. you wipe down the counters and make the clutter into piles. you busy yourself until you hear the key in the lock. you’ve made the living room neat and tidy and you don’t know what to do when he comes in and he looks over everything. you just stand in the centre of the living room.

“she was really good,” you say, hand on your stomach. “she really likes broccoli, which i didn’t expect, but she showed me how to make paper cubes and she was in bed around ten, so i cleaned a little bit.”

he looked a little rustled, his shirt a little more wrinkled and his curls a little more all over. you assumed he’d had a good night out. he looked good, though. lucky woman, you were thinking. “yeah, i see.” he chuckled, setting his jacket down on the back of the couch.

you’re young and you’re shy and he can tell you’re nervous, “it’s okay? you don’t mind, i hope you don’t mind.”

“i don’t mind,” he grinned, pulling out his wallet, “it looks good, i never would have done it.” he steps closer, close to you, just in front of you, looking down at you. you’re under his gaze and he keeps eye contact with you as he pulls out his wallet and you’re a little taken aback by how intense it is. “i owe you how much?”

you state your old rate and he just grins, dimples on his face. the ones you only saw in his photos with his daughter. he smells like cigarettes and cologne. something about the way he looks at you makes you feel a little weak. your eyes fall on his hand as he flicks through bills, handing you about $60 more than you were owed. his bonus and a second bonus for the cleaning. “you don’t have to… i usually tidy up where i babysit.”

“well, i didn’t ask you to, nor did i expect it.” he says, grinning down at you. it’s smug and he smells good and he’s looking at you like you’re a meal and you kind of like it but he’s… an older guy. he has a daughter and she’s asleep and he’s tall and you are staring. he’s hot. he’s really hot and he’s looking back at you, “thank you. i’ll probably need you again in a week, are you free?”

you blink, “i’m free.” you tell him. “thank you… again. i really should be going.”

“do you need a ride home? she’s okay to be alone for a few minutes.” he’s still close, he’s still standing over you.

“thank you, but i’m okay. i just walked over, i listen to music there and back.”

“you’re sure? it’s late.” his grin is all consuming. you’re sure it’s stealing your thoughts as you continue to blank.

“i’m sure. thank you again. for everything.” you step past him and he turns with you as you go and slip on your shoes.

“thank you,” he says, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “have a good night, alright?”

“i’ll try. goodnight mr. zweig,” you smile as you pull open the front door.

“patrick.”

“hm?”

“call me patrick.” he repeats, nodding.

“goodnight, patrick.” your smile grows into a grin and you slip out the door. he hates how he feels about you. you’re cute, he notes, but you had something about you. something he observed when he was handing you your pay that told you there was something more to you. more than nervousness and doe eyes and mid-length skirts. maybe not. but you’d be back here next week.

he heard how much his daughter liked you the next day. she rambled on and on about how pretty you were and how sweet and nice you were, how good your food was. patrick found it good to hear, the other babysitters often couldn’t handle her, but you seemed to with ease.

the next babysitting gig you were wearing a baby tee. a short sleeved, almost cropped t-shirt and jeans and you greeted him as mr.zweig again and this time he didn’t correct you. he told you to help yourself to anything in the fridge and that he’d be back around 1:00 this time. your bright eyes lingered on his hands, his forearms as he spoke, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. you couldn’t help it, he was gorgeous. and tall. he was very tall and very strong looking and maybe, just maybe it couldn’t hurt to have a small crush on him. only natural right?

he wasn’t oblivious. he saw the way you nodded when he was speaking. the way you fidgeted with the ring around your pinkie finger. you were gorgeous and you were sweet but you were young. too young. and he was going out on a date with a woman who was in fact, age appropriate. he wasn’t opposed to watching the way your hips moved or the way your ass looked when you went upstairs to find his daughter, but he was opposed to doing anything about it. you were a good treat. that was about all he could let himself think.

you had a good time with his daughter and once again put her to bed just a little earlier. 9:30. she didn’t mind, you did so much with her that she was right out. you swept, did some dishes, nothing too noticeable. you’re sprawled out on his couch when he gets back, you don’t even hear him come in. he nods, watching you watch tv for a minute before he makes himself known. he doesn’t want to startle you, so he jiggles the doorknob and pretends to shut the door so you wouldn’t know he’d been watching for a moment. you turn your head and sit up. “no rush,” patrick says with a smile. “how was she?”

“excellent.” you reply, sliding your hands down your thighs and onto your knees. “she’s amazing, i’ve never met any little girl so well-behaved and so smart. she’s very well-rounded. you did a great job.”

you almost made a grown man bashful. he smiled, looked at the wall, “she doesn’t get any of it from me. it’s all her mom.”

“oh… how long has it just been the two of you? i assumed… from the pictures.”

“her mom left a year in,” patrick replied.

“so it is from you.” you answered. “must be, who else?”

“must be.” he said, a bigger smile creeping up his face. “so you come over, watch a kid and flatter the parents, hm?”

“yes but only when i feel like it.”

“does it work?”

“with you, yes.” you were more bold, he noted. last time he’d made you nervous but he was standing just far enough away where you could hold your own. he wondered, stepping closer, if he could change that. he did the same thing as last time and stood over you while he went though his wallet for his money.

he hands the money to you, “that’s enough?”

you look at him with those wide eyes again, “mhm. yes. more than. thank you.” he was right, all it took was the close proximity to make you nervous. “you know i wasn’t trying to flatter you?”

“i’d prefer you pretend you were so i can pretend to hate it.” he chuckled, “thank you.”

“for?”

“she really likes you. you’re good with her. i’ll need you again in two days, are you free?” he smiles down at you. his eyes linger on your lips, slightly open. he found himself thinking impure things as he stared. he wouldn’t stop himself. there was no reason to stop himself. what a treat you were to have around, he reminds himself. such a pretty thing.

you smile at his ask, “i can be. i’ll text?”

“sounds good.” he nods. “need a ride home?”

“i’ll be okay.” you nodback. “thank you though.” you pick up your sweater and get your shoes on. you’re sweet, patrick wonders why you’re so okay with walking. it would cut the time to get home in more than half. aside from time alone with you, he does have a daughter and he would like it if you got home safe. “goodnight, mr. zweig.”

“patrick,” he corrects you again with that gorgeous, sly grin of his “please.”

“patrick.” you say, locking it in. but it feels wrong. too personal. “goodnight.”

“goodnight, Y/N.” he answers. your name on his tongue feels so strange to hear. you’re pressing your back to the door. god, he’s fucking hot. the other parents you’ve babysat for are very much so married and both balding, the boys your age weren’t so charming. this might be a problem, you developing a small crush… earlier it seemed fine, but faced with him. dear god.

you were back there a few days later and was patrick mistaken or was your short a little shorter? a tank top, completely reasonable for the heat, but it hit just above your belly button, just under if you weren’t moving. it’s not like it was inappropriate, if anything what was a babysitter if not hot? patrick remembered his babysitters from back when he was a kid and yeah, they were always hot and older and just out of reach. you fit the genre today expect not the older part. you were younger- much younger. at least your skirt was mid-length.

he looked at you, “you know my rules. that i really don’t have any and i’ll be back at 1:00, 1:30 latest.”

“leaving some room for a kiss goodbye,” you said under your breath. he caught that.

“something like that,” he smiled. if he didn’t know better, it was a pass at him for going out with women. it made him grin, in fact. it had some affect on you and you’d only seen him how many times?

you wouldn’t do anything, you knew that, but he seemed to look better and better every time you saw him. at first it was black polo t-shirts and jeans and he’d moved to long sleeved shirts with the sleeves rolled up and he smelled so fucking good, it was hard to ignore. you looked another way at his response, knowing he’d heard you, but what did it matter. could have meant anything… he could fire you if he thought you were bitter or judgemental.

his daughter was so excited to see you, she practically leapt into your arms. she was a thin girl, short in stature, it was no big deal. the perfect saved by the bell moment. “y/n!” she exlaimed. she was so happy to see you, it made patrick chuckle a little. you held her to your hip and something in him shifted just a little, seeing her resting in the crook of your hip like that. it flashed through him like a blast of heat and then it was gone. “you have to come see what i made today. a big cube!” she was so excited.

patrick shook off whatever the hell he just felt, snapping back to reality. “alright, honey, i’m heading out.” he told his daughter. he advanced a step to ruffle her braided hair. you wondered if he braided it himself… the thought was interrupted by his hand sliding over your waist just for a split second, enough for the leverage to kiss his daughter on the forehead. before you could think, his hand was gone and he stepped toward the door, grin on his face. “have fun. if you end up eating the ice cream, save me the last few bites.”

“okay!” she called to her father as he opened both doors, waving enthusiastically at her as he shut them behind himself. the second he was gone, she turned to you, “you’re eating it, not me.”

“deal,” you nodded at her. and you went upstairs to go see her big paper cube. You had her in bed at 9:30 again. you went to lay on the couch, kicking your feet up, your eyes settling on the picture of patrick on the wall. he was a good looking guy at your age. freshly shaved, not exactly baby-faced but compared to now, entirely baby-faced. you wondered what his type was, his daughter was such a little copy of him. she was a pretty little girl, long eyelashes and pigmented lips. her nose wasn’t exactly a button nose, but it was only a little bigger and it was perfectly proportionate.

you got up, looking at the pictures on the walls again. him, clean shaven, holding his daughter as a baby, big smile on his face. you smiled just a little at it. and the one of him holding her up in the air like she was simba from the lion king. she said her father helped her with the big cube… he was a good father. and she was lucky to have him.

you went and you got the tiny ice cream tub from the kitchen along with a spoon and you followed the pictures down the hall again. the pictures turned more to tennis memorabilia as you got closer to the end of the hall, where his room was. you found it really admirable that he never brought a woman back to the house. you stared at the door, just a little curious, but you weren’t that kind of person, so you continued to eat the ice cream and sat down on the couch again, snooping through his DVDs instead.

you left him about a cup and a half serving in the tub and watched pineapple express and thirty minutes or less and he came home at 1:05am. you turned, eyes meeting his before any words were spoken. he smiled just a little, “how was she?”

“perfect. you’re raising an angel, did you know that?”

“news to me,” he said, dropping his wallet and keys on the table by the door, adjusting his belt just a little. your eyes lingered on his hands. “here i thought i just had a daughter.”

“well, your daughter is an angel. she showed me her big paper cube, she’s very proud but she made sure you got your credit.” you said, moving your feet to the floor.

“i just held it together while she taped, she’s very authoritative when she needs to be.” he headed more into the house and you rose to your feet. “but she’s good with you. she likes you a lot, she doesn’t let me go a day without hearing about something you said or something you like.“

“ooh, and what do i like?” you said, moving around the couch to meet him on the other side. his hand was in his pocket, he grinned a little, that dimple on his face on full display.

“she says iced tea and chinchillas.”

“ooh, i do like those things.” you smiled a little. “she knows me.”

you were so peppy, he wasn’t one to want to get rid of that, but he was looking forward to his favourite part of the nights with you. he stepped forward, the same fashion as always, close to you. grabbed his wallet again, went through his bills. pretended not to notice the way you instinctively pushed your hair behind your ears. you were met with the scent of his cologne again. “she really does like you, you know. do you watch kids during the day? i have something to attend to on wednesday and i need you friday night. you’re free then?”

“i think so.” you nodded. “and i do watch kids during the day, i would love to come by and watch her, how long were you thinking?” your sentences lost their pep and spice at his closeness.

“i’ll let you know,” he nodded, handing you the money and meeting your eyes, sly grin on his face still. you were so pretty, all doe-eyed. “i paid you until 1:30, by the way,” he said, watching you eye the money in your hands. “to spare the thirty minutes kissing goodbye before i came home.”

you pressed your hand to your head, “i am sorry i said that, it’s not my place.” you were more apologetic than you’d been when he was several feet away the first time you thought it him.

he just grinned, knowing he made you feel bad for something he didn’t take to heart. “you were right. no shame in it.” he said. “how are you getting home?”

you uncovered your face, “bus today.”

“you know who rides the bus at 1 am?”

“me?”

“not tonight.” he said. “i’ll drive you.” he didn’t even ask this time. “c’mon.” he tossed his keys up and snatched them out of the air and it was hot. he was too hot. too hot to be in a car with for the ten minute drive.

you swallowed hard, grabbing your jacket and slipping out the front door, patrick locking it behind him. he had a camera outside his door, she’d only be alone asleep a little while. “you don’t have to drive me home, mr. zweig,” you spoke up once you were more than a few feet away. “i usually make it just fine on my own.”

“i’d feel better seeing you get home safely.” he said, opening the passenger door for you. you hadn’t thought him the type to. “you live with your parents?”

“no,” you said, getting in. his car was a little messy but it was mostly papers and an empty cigarette carton or two. you moved them to the back seat. “i have an apartment off aberdeen street.”

“mmm, yeah i know where that is.” he nodded, starting the car. “just want to see to it you get home alright. i haven’t been the best with it, but you’re the best babysitter we’ve met and i can’t have you going missing or see you in the obits.”

“morbid,” you noted, smiling. “i’m that good? is that your thing, babysitter comes over, watches your kid, and then you flatter the baby sitter?”

patrick grinned wide as he reversed, which was hot, his arm on the back of his seat as he did. “yeah, but only when i feel like it.” he rebutted. you smiled.

“and does it work?”

“you tell me,” he answered, your heart skipped a beat. he was probably the hottest man you’d ever seen in your life and you had to come to terms with that. you swallowed hard. he was good with callbacks.

you couldn’t even answer his question. you had to straighten out, recalibrate. he understood your silence. maybe he’d overstepped with that last one. “does she like tennis?” you asked him.

his smile got humble, “i tried. she’s not a sports girl.”

“that’s fair. neither am i.” you nodded. “tried, couldn’t.”

“also fair.” he chuckled. “so what kind of girl were you?”

“were or am?” you asked. he hated that he wanted to know so badly… he hated wanting to know anything about you, but he wanted everything. the image of his daughter resting on your hip flashed in his mind again. “i think more… writing. reading”

“anything good?”

the conversation continued, going over books and ones he skipped reading in highschool. that and tennis, his career. you were impressed. and he pulled into the lot of your building, putting the car in park.

“thank you for the ride,” you said, just a little desperate to get away from him. all the closeness and the conversation god he was so fucking hot. the car smelled like him and the cigarettes and you were just a little bit dazed.

he chuckled, watching you undo your seatbelt, his eyes on the exposed skin of your waist. “i’ll see you wednesday?”

“i still need a time,” you nodded, “but i’ll stay flexible.” you said, opening the car door. you could smirk when he wasn’t so close to you. he smiled back. “see you then. thank you again for the ride home.”

“you’re welcome, sweetheart,” he grinned. and he was evil. he knew it. he watched your expression struggle to stay the same, those pretty eyes wide. you smiled a little nervously, shutting the door and fully reacting once he couldn’t see you. you tried to compose yourself, but your body felt like it had burst into flames. you waved, going into your building as fast as you could. the entire ride up the elevator, you were thinking about it. replaying it, repeating his sentence in your own voice just completely thrown. it was a lot. sweetheart.

fuck. you took a cold shower but it wasn’t enough to keep your hand from diving between your legs. back arched, sweetheart echoing around your head. imagining those hands of his on your throat, wide, strong. he probably tasted like cigarettes and god, the thought of it was more than enough. it was only the first time of a few that night that you did the same thing.

the next morning you woke up feeling just a little confused, but he was the first thought in your head. and what was two more times before breakfast?

you got up eventually, grabbing your phone off the counter where you’d left in such a haste last night. you looked over the new messages in your phone,

was thinking 3-7, that work for you?

with freshly washed hands, you typed back

sounds good.

so casual. and you got there at 2:55pm on wednesday. patrick was dressed for tennis, leaving with his rackets. “you still play.” you said, looking at his things. “game day?”

he let you in, smiling, “practice. hi.” he noted your skort and tank top. more skin. “have you had lunch?”

“no, actually, i was just going to wait until dinner-“

“there’s hot dogs on the stove,” he said. “help yourself.” he seemed like he was in a rush, grabbing his water bottle. “and iced tea in the fridge. yours.” he said, grabbing his keys. he stopped in front of you, close to you, smile on his face. it clouded your thoughts a moment. “see you at seven.”

“see you,” you replied warily, blinking hard. he looked you up and down before leaving. you slowly made your way up the steps. it was a good thing his daughter was so happy to see you, you would have read into that.

she talked to you all about her drawings, showing you one of yourself. she was so sweet. she talked to you all about her drawing of her dad, her tennis rackets oddly detailed in crayon. you spent the afternoon together, you helped yourself to one of the cans of iced tea in the fridge.

patrick was back by four, just a little sweaty. you hated that. after last night’s sex imagery, seeing him all sweaty was a horny girl’s nightmare.

“dad!” his daughter greeted him by jumping up on him. he dropped his bag to pick her up. “me and y/n made hot dog people. come eat, come eat.” she said. you pressed your lips together to stop from smiling when patrick shot you a semi-confused look. he carried her into the kitchen, you grabbing your purse, getting ready to go. you had just finished making dinner, which you didn’t have to do, turning the hot dogs from lunch into a topping for the macaroni and cheese you’d made. that and broccoli. simple, something little miss picky eater would have.

“wow,” patrick nodded, looking at the hot dogs that had been cut strategically in person. he looked at you, sitting in the chair at the table with her on his knee. “you did all this?”

“all this?” you chuckled, “of course not, i had help.”

“i stirred,” his daughter nodded.

“very good.” patrick nodded. “think you’re going to be a chef?”

“maybe,” she said, a little sing-songy. “i’m

good at stirring.”

“she’s so good at stirring,” you nodded. patrick chuckled, eyes set on you. “i’ll get going.” you said, checking your purse for your phone. “you guys enjoy. i’ll be back tomorrow, so no need to pay me.”

“n- why don’t you stay for dinner? i didn’t hire you to make us food and run.”

“please!” his daughter leapt off his lap and pulled you to the chair. “eat!”

you smiled, “thank you. i really can’t though, i have to run! i’m so sorry, baby.” you crouched down to her height. she pouted. “if i didn’t have to go meet my mom, i’d be here eating our food, i promise.”

“your mom?”

“my mom came to visit me today, she’s at my apartment waiting. i’m so sorry, baby.” you said, wrapping your arms around her. patrick watched the way her arms wrapped around you too. she really, really liked you. “i’ll see you tomorrow night though. i’ll be here early, we can make dinner again and everything. whatever you want.”

“can we make pizza?”

“it’s a friday night, why not?” you smiled. it was cute. “i’ll bring the ingredients tomorrow.”

“yay!”

“yay is right.” you kissed her cheek and cupped her face just a little before standing up again. “you enjoy your hot dog people.” you said. you looked at patrick, who hadn’t seen you in action with his daughter yet. he was a little bit in awe. she loved you. it was more than a like. the other babysitters were tantrum material but you were an angel just the same as his daughter. he hated how he was thinking about you after something so pure, thinking about you. eyes lingering on your thighs, your waist. thinking about you, something so fucking paternal in him wanting you. it was dark. “i’ll see you both tomorrow.” you said, giving him a little look. it was cheeky. like you knew something.

“thank you,” patrick nodded.

you nodded back, waving bye to his daughter before slipping out the door. patrick would be lying if he didn’t give into himself that night. his hand pressed to the shower wall, hand pumping as the water poured over his body. he hated himself for it, but it was your image that pushed him over the edge. his daughter fast asleep, his thoughts were disgusting. he felt disgusting, it’s why he chose the shower. you were too young. and well he was a bit of a dirtbag, the age gap was enough to even throw himself off.

you, your little shirts and little skirts, the way you looked in jeans, the pout to your lips, your eyelashes, your eyes that screamed innocence when he got too close. fuck, it was dirty the way he thought about you. he thought about fucking you on that couch you were always on. the extent to which his mind went was so fucking wrong, so wrong, he reminded himself. he went to bed guilty. a grown man turned guilty.

patrick was glad he had a date the next night. someone to fuck his age to get you out of his head. he was never more glad for a sad date. his eyes fixated on you. “gonna let me in?” you smiled. he realized he was just standing in the doorway after you knocked. a near-bashful grin spread up his face, turning sly. “you know, you’re paying me by the hour and it’s 5 right now. you’re paying me to stand outside your door.”

he smirked, moving out of the way to let you in. he smelled good, date night cologne. you almost rolled your eyes. “i pay you enough for it, don’t i?”

you giggled a little, “true! i’ll go back out there if you want.”

he chuckled, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. “i wouldn’t hate to see it. if you didn’t make a promise for pizza to little miss upstairs. all she’s talked about.”

“oh i love that, i’m so excited,” you said, putting the bag of ingredients on the table. “i was thinking of making you one too, are you a fan of pepperoni?”

“big fan,” he nodded. “olives too.” he looked into the bag of ingredients, pulling them out.

“you don’t have somewhere to be?” you asked, coming to help pull things out of the bag with him. “hot date?”

“something like that,” he answered a little monotone. “i’ll be back at one.” he nodded, backing away. you nodded back, following him to the door. god, he needed to leave for his date before your eyes got to him. your hand trailed the back of the couch, walking with him. “that’s okay?”

“you’re asking me?”

“you look like you’re about to tell me my curfew,” he replied, grabbing his wallet and keys.

you smirked just a little. your mind wandered down to his hands, the hand that had your waist just days before. your eyes met his, “oh yeah. come home when the streetlights come on?” you joked, that gorgeous smile his main focus.

he grinned, “i’ll try,” you were so cheeky, god he wanted to fuck that grin off your face, he had better be gone before he did. “have fun with the pizza, help yourself to the drinks in the fridge. she’s in the backyard.” he held his keys a little too tight in his hand.

your smirk stayed. he’d never been more glad to be going out as he drove over with your voice in his head. he ordered a drink as soon as he could.

your pizza night went well. it was good, delicious, even. she was a good little helper, obsessed with getting everything perfect on her dad’s pizza. you smiled. she slept early again, tired from all the pizza and karaoke and dancing. you were a little bit tired too. you hopped on that couch and you were out like a light.

you woke to patrick’s hand gently on your shoulder. you blinked a few times, rubbing your eyes. “oh my god, i fell asleep.”

“you’re okay,” he chuckled. “it’s a good couch for it.”

“great for it, apparently.” you nodded, sitting up. “i’m so sorry, that’s so irresponsible of me.”

“it’s late, it’s understandable.” he replied. “i’ll drive you home.”

you tilted your head, with a smile, “kicked out so fast. i’m so sorry for falling asleep on your couch, if i’d known it would ruin the way you see me, i would have never even sat on it.”

he chuckled, “okay, c’mon. i’m not kicking you out, i’m getting you home in one piece.”

“i appreciate it,” you smiled genuinely. “but i’ll be okay.”

“you were asleep about two minutes ago,” he said. “you’re not going home alone.”

you really couldn’t handle another ten minutes alone with him in his car. your hand was still cramping from the other day. he gestured the way of his car. “you had fun?”

“so much,” you told him. “she insisted on making your pizza ‘happy’ which took her about thirty minutes because the smile didn’t look right. your pizza is resting on the stove. she devoured hers and probably half a bag of mozzarella cheese.”

“she loves cheese,” he chuckled. “i’ll need you again tomorrow, is that okay?”

“tomorrow night?” you asked. you stepped closer to him, a twist of fate he didn’t expect as he grabbed his wallet. it was that time of night, but it was you who moved forward on him.

“tomorrow night,” he said. you fought the urge to ask if it was the same woman. it wasn’t your place to ask. he looked at you, the way you were looking up at him, so fucking perfect and so fucking… he felt his pants tighten at his growing erection. fuck. he hated that you had him like this. such a fucking grip on his mind, his emotions. it was so frustrating, beyond frustrating. “that’s okay with you? short notice.”

“i wasn’t busy.”

“you’re never busy.” he smiled a little. “you know most girls your age go to the bar. flirt. drink.”

“i’m not legal drinking age,” you reminded him. fuck, that was too true. couldn’t be more fucking true. you were only twenty. “i’m well aware of what girls my age do. i find the time between, believe me.”

he chuckled, “yeah?”

“yes. i do all of those things you mentioned and more. i’m a riot. a party girl. you know this money pays for my coke addiction.”

he held the door for you, grinning, “glad to be of service. you know how obsessed little miss upstairs is with the snow queen from narnia.”

you laughed, hand on your stomach. he kept his smile smug. “that’s good!” you laughed, leaning against his car. he locked the door and walked down the few steps. he stepped close, your laugh faded away as he reached around you to open the door for you. you were trapped between him and his arm and the car. you blinked a few times and he smirked as he walked to his side of the car and got in.

you got in with him, buckling up. fuck. he was good. you almost recovered from the close contact, he put a cigarette between his teeth as he backed out of the driveway. you thought that was hot. “you smoke?” he asked, pulling onto the road, lighting his cigarette.

“no.”

“mmm, good girl.” he said, blowing smoke out the window. he grinned to himself. if you weren’t wet before, you were now. your breath caught in your throat and you felt your cheeks and ears burn. fuck. fuck. fuck. it was all you could think about. good girl, he knew exactly what you wanted to hear and it was a good thing it was exactly his vocabulary. if he gave in right now he’d pull over and fuck you to pieces and you know what, you’d take it. you almost veered the car off the road yourself.

your throat was dry. your brain was screaming to kiss him at every red light. fuck him here in his car in the middle of the road and get dragged away only by cops with tasers and guns and batons. your whole body was hot, white hot, burning.

he just smiled to himself as he drove. he didn’t mind the silence, it had a good reason. it had flustered you so badly, you couldn’t crack any witty little cheeky jokes. he said goodnight and watched your ass as you walked inside.

the desperate need to get off was so wild you almost called an ex. like you were drunk on some strong alcohol his words reverberated around your brain it called for bad decisions and a need to fuck SOMETHING. like you were a creature, you needed something, someone inside of you now. it couldn’t be him, he was gone.

no, he was too old, it wasn’t because he’d gone home to his perfect, lovely daughter because he was a grown man with a six year old daughter and he was technically your employer and fucking him would be wrong. but it would feel so good. you had to resort to your own hands, sliding down into your underwear on your couch in your apartment. fingers rubbing your clit vigorously. you breathed hard, thinking about him fucking you in his shitty car on top of all the papers and cigarette cartons. fucking you so hard your head hit the car door repeatedly. he could have. if he had done anything to you after saying those two words, you would have let him do anything he fucking wanted to you.

you slept like a baby, knocked out after several rounds, enough to dull the need to be fucked to a low hum. he messaged you. before you went, though.

3-8?

perfect.

you replied short and sweet before passing out.

the next day you were back at his. he was in the driveway, you were just a little late. it wasn’t a big deal. he said goodbye, very friendly, very normal. you went inside and did various crafts and activities with his daughter, letting the good girl thing slip your mind.

he was back by eight. eight on the dot. talking about his mom being in town. you didn’t inquire. you had to meet some friends for ‘drinks’ at her place. you said goodbye to his daughter, smiling and telling her you’d see her soon. patrick thanked you for making chicken, paid you extra plus bonus for the pizza ingredients the other day. he didn’t seem like he really had this kind of money to be giving you, but you took it.

in taking everything else, you said goodnight and headed over to your friends house. had a can or two of a pre-mixed margarita, talked about things with your friends. it wasn’t until the conversation turned to something you needed to show them a picture of when you realized you didn’t have your phone. you looked around everywhere- your phone was expensive, you didn’t have the money for a new one. you got up and looked around and then it hit you. your phone was probably at patrick’s.

you didn’t have his number memorized. “do you need it?” your friend asked. “can you get it tomorrow?”

“i guess i could, but that’s my uber home and all of my cards are in the back, i wouldn’t have bus fare, i wouldn’t have- fuck.”

“just go honey, we’re not going anywhere!” your other friend chimed in. “i literally only have enough for you to get one bus, but get a transfer to come back?” none of them could drive impaired. or would. you shut your eyes. you hated the idea of showing up unannounced. but you took that bus fare. and you got on a bus over to patrick’s. you walked down his street trying to rehearse what stupid thing you’d say about this. forgetting your phone- like an absolute idiot. you had no idea where it even was but you came straight from there to your friends so it could be three places and the bus was not an option you could seek out.

you walked up the front steps and quietly knocked. you tucked your hair behind your ears and folded your arms over your chest. the evening air was chilly for a tank top and a skirt. it was a moment before he answered the door, it was around midnight so you knew he’d be up. or you hoped. it was stupid to even have come, but the margs were hitting just enough to screw up your decision making.

he was surprised to see you at the door. opened the screen door. “hey,” you said. “i’m so sorry about this, i’m so sorry- i know it’s late-“

“yeah- are you okay?” he asked, looking to see how you got there.

“i’m fine, i just… i think i forgot my phone here.” you said. it wasn’t the smoothest delivery. your eyes wandered down his body, eyeing his true build, hidden underneath those other shirts. the one he was currently in was tight, a black t-shirt. and sweatpants. he was muscular but it was all soft, soft features. one of those dad bods that bad definition not to pass as a true dad bod, but one still. holy fuck, this was a terrible idea. he grinned, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “it’s so stupid, i know.”

“happens,” he chuckled. “you want to come in and look for it?”

“could i? i would be so quick,”

“i’m not in any rush,” he replied. “c’mon.” he stepped out of your way, holding the door as you came into the house. most of the lights were off aside from the adjustable dim ones in the kitchen. he turned on the lamp in the corner. “she’s with her grandma at the hotel tonight.” patrick said, starting to look around. you looked over at him. “is your ringer on?”

“i have it off when i’m with her,” you replied. patrick smiled. it was sweet. “fuck, i really am so sorry about this mr. zweig, i-“

“how many times before you call me patrick?”

“hm?”

“patrick.” he restated. “i’m not calling you ‘miss y/l/n’.”

“very true, i’m sorry sir,” you said, leaning in a little as you passed him, looking up on the mantle of the fireplace.

“that’s worse,” he chuckled.

“i think you like it.”

oh, it kicked into existence. hard. that fire you’d felt before lit up in his body. you were so smug when you thought you could be. it was all witty and teasing and the need to fuck that teasing smile off your face was back. you were too young, he reminded himself, watching you bend to look under the couch cushions. fuck, why did you have to be so…

the margaritas maybe made you a little bold. not too much, you were still you. he checked the table, looking around more for your phone. “what does it look like?”

your laugh from the other room was so pretty. “red!” you called back. red phone… red phone… patrick was so glad to be separated from you by a wall. he was hard just thinking about you. having you here was dangerous, his daughter away, nobody could stop him from doing what he wanted but himself. his morals. you were twenty years old. barely fucking legal. he was almost 20 years older than you. but you followed him into the kitchen, pretty doe eyes and pouty lips and worried eyebrows and he could have fucked you on the table when you looked at him. “nothing? again, i’m so sorry for coming in like this.”

“it’s fine,” his words were a little more forced than natural. “bright red?”

“dark red,” you replied.

“flashy?” he meant if it had anything to make it stand out.

“no sir.” you put your hands on your hips and turned around, looking on top of the microwave, behind the stove. anything. you and that tiny skirt, what the fuck was he supposed to do with himself? twenty, in a little skirt on the tips of your toes looking in high up places. the skin of your waist showing as you stretched, finding nothing. “fuck, it’s really nowhere.” you turned to patrick again, pressing a hand to the side of your face. “tell me you hid it and this is funny and that i didn’t drop my phone with all my cards on the bus on the way to my friend’s. i’m begging you.”

he shook his head, grimacing a little. but you were standing just below him, close to him. you looked up at him, observing his expressions while thinking this all over. you’d been so stressed you forgot patrick was hot as fuck. and it almost took you by surprise to snap back to reality here, where he was looking at you like there was something he wanted from you. it was extremely flustering, you blinked it off and went back to the living room to check again. patrick went down the hall and checked the bathroom.

“found it,” he called from the bathroom. you were glad this was over, you needed to get out of this house before the idea of being home alone with him sunk in. him in his tight black undershirt… him in his sweatpants, you tried and tried to ignore the print. he handed you your phone and you slid it into your purse.

“thank you so much,” you nodded, eyes meeting his. his eyes were dark. “again, i’m so sorry to disturb you this late and without warning.”

“anytime,” he was so excited to have you get the fuck out of his house. he watched your hips move as you walked out of the bathroom and down the hall. “where are you off to now?”

“i’ve got to go meet my friends again. i’m probably going to get the bus back, i have a transfer.” you showed him the little white slip of paper, your back pressed to his wall by the door. you looked him over, trying not to think about his ‘sweetheart’ and the way his ‘good girl’ lingered in your brain. you felt that fire ignite in your lower stomach. you had to say goodbye. and fast.

“let me drive you?” he offered. he didn’t know why. he’d probably crash the car. something about the night, something about the way you looked in this lamp light, the idea of being alone.

“i’ll be okay,” you said, stepping just a little closer and it wasn’t even voluntary. “it’s a short trip. a few stops.”

“remember what i said about the obits?” he tsked. “i’d rather see you here at my house than in that section of the newspaper, thanks.”

“here at your house?” you smiled. “it’s either die or be here at your house, i love that.”

“what can i say? i like you here.” he shrugged. you tilted your head. he cleared his throat, “you’re good with her.”

“so you’ve said.” you nodded. “thank you.”

“no problem, sweetheart. and i’m driving you.”

“you’re not driving me,” you replied.

“but i am. c’mon.” he picked up his keys.

“mr zweig,” you reasoned, pressing your hand to his chest. your heart beat hard in your chest as his choice of words. “i’m fine.”

it was getting harder and harder to remember why fucking a twenty year old felt so wrong. he looked down at you, your hand on his chest. mr. zweig, like it was the worst thing on earth but the hottest fucking thing to come out of anyone’s mouth. he looked at you, his chest rising and falling like his restraint was an exercise, like it was a fight. it might have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. your magnetic force was pulling him in and soon he’d have to chain himself to something so he didn’t do anything that’d get him in trouble. you were too fucking young. too young. too young.

you stared back. and the moment felt like forever. you could make it back alone but you weren’t sure if you candle heading back to your friends when you felt like this. that ache was back, the one that felt like drugs, like alcohol, like gambling, like the edge of an addiction, knowing the hook, the high is right there. your restraint was prettier, just a reminder that he wouldn’t. you’d let him, but he wouldn’t. it was more cut and dry to believe it was a crush and as much as you wanted him, he wouldn’t. for his daughter, for the sake of the springs on his bed, you hoped. you let out a breath between perfectly parted lips, shrinking into it.

he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. the problem was that he would. he would. he wanted to. he needed to. the second you were gone he’d go feel disgusting about it as he fucked violently into his hand, crude imagery plastered on the inside of his eyelids and he’d go to bed guilty and vile and disturbed. but you were right here and you weren’t gone yet. it was the same feeling, knowing you’d probably take the bus home just to find peace with a showerhead or even the fucking doorman of your building. you’d take anything at this very moment. what patrick wouldn’t give to have some trashy woman in his bed right now. he could call one of his dates up to fuck- he would have given so much to have been with one of them right now. because looking at you, he couldn’t… you were too pretty to be fucked by him, he’d ruin you. you were too young for him. too young and too pretty and too perfect.

he wouldn’t. you were fantasizing just looking at him. your body in flames, burning in a pit of lava, absolutely rolling in hot coals. you needed to stop. you needed cold water. ice water. liquid nitrogen. cryogenic freezing.

“i think you should go,” patrick managed. his voice was cold but not cold enough to cool you down. but he was right. you should go. the idea you’d leave was the same as believing it was all over and a guard was let down. you had the same feeling, moving just slightly to put your shoes back on, but only getting so far as an inch.

it was spontaneous and it was harsh, but it was insanely mutual, the way you kissed. you’d believed you’d get peace and that you could leave, no, wrong move. very wrong move. he kissed you with a force that pinned you to the wall, lust masking the impact of your head against the wall. hungry, starved, violent, he kissed you, hands on your waist, gripping hard as they moved down to your ass, squeezing, grabbing. fast, messy, sinful, his hands under your ass, he lifted you up against the wall.

it would have taken more than the jaws of life to pull the two of you apart. it was fast paced, like the both of you were in some sort of vicious caged battle, your arms around his neck, fingers curled right into his hair. you’d never been kissed or touched like this before. you were moaning from just the kiss and he swore the god he’d never been harder in his life. neither of you could wait, there was no time to just kiss, you weren’t teenagers, you weren’t patient or naive or curious, you were demanding, grabbing at each other like a lifeline.

he stepped off the wall, carrying you the best he could, too distracted to actually know which way his room was. he could have you on the couch, he was impatient, so were you. he let your feet down, your hands desperately clutching his shirt, pulling him down the hall as you kissed nonstop, breaking only for small breaths and for your shirts being stripped as you walked backward. his big hands cupped your face, pressing you against both sides of the hallway while your hands fumbled with the drawstring of his sweats. there was no time for any of this.

it was animalistic. it was the basic need, it was desperate. you crashed into his closed door and patrick swore to god he’d destroy anything in the way of him fucking you right now. he would have either kicked his door in or fucked you against it, no problem, but you reached behind you and opened his door so he didn’t have to do either of those things. he was blinded by lust, your hand down the front of his boxers within seconds of being in his room. you crashed backward onto his bed, crawling over him in your skirt, your hand stroking him up and down, but he had no need for it.

in seconds you were flipped onto your back and you were working together to kick your skirt and underwear off, gone to the same abyss his pants and boxers went. you were too young, patrick reminded himself as your bra came off. too young for him, too young, to pretty, too perfect to be fucked so hard by him. but he had you and there was no stopping him. it was a mistake, it was wrong, but there was nothing in his way as your hand slid down over his chest, following the trail of hair. he kissed your neck enough to make you cry out as his teeth followed his lips, leaving what would be nasty marks by morning.

your legs open, ready for him, he didn’t waste a single fucking second more, grabbing your hips and fucking into you. you swore to god you felt stars with how hard his first thrust was. he filled you to the brim, you weren’t sure you had any more space of all of him inside of you. you felt him stretch you out from the inside and you had no time to adjust to just how huge he was as he was instantly pounding into you. “good girl, taking all of it so perfectly,” he groaned. your nails were already in his back, desperately grabbing for something. your moans were loud and fucking pornographic. he wouldn’t have thought something like that could come from your pretty mouth. he wasn’t very considerate for your young, tight pussy as he thrusted into it with a violence only seen in the most gruesome of acts. he’d wanted to fuck women before, but he’d never needed to fuck someone so badly in his entire life. and it showed with the sheer force of which he fucked you. “you feel so fucking good.” he assured you with a decency that was not genuine whatsoever. it came from a place that disgusted even himself. you were only twenty…

“oh my god!” you exclaimed. you were sure he was actively bruising your cervix. it hurt so fucking badly but it felt too good for you to care. you saw stars, they spun and danced as your pleasure took over your entire body, legs wrapped around him, shaking already from the impact. skin on skin, loud as you both were, groaning, moaning, dirty little strings of words slipping from his mouth as he fucked you. “fuck me, fuck me- fuck!” you couldn’t help the noises you made, pathetic, reduced to just a moaning mess and a puddle of a girl who had only thought this was a violent crush.

“so wet for me, you wanted this so fucking bad, hm?” he taunted, evil grin on his face.

“uh-huh,” you sighed, hardly able to say the words. “s-so-“ you knew you had something to say but it was gone, erased repeatedly with every thrust into you. you’d have a witty response if it wasn’t for how good and all-consuming this was. “god-“

he fucked you with all of his pent up frustration, his hand sliding up the soft skin of your neck, pressing just gently, but enough. you were moaning loudly, the headboard hit the wall hard, and that hand on your neck moved to shove his fingers in your mouth. it was enough to make you into something even less, taking them in your mouth like you should. “so good for me, so pretty- fuck-“ he groaned, strong thrusts not faltering for a second. “this what you wanted?”

“m-mhm,” you said, pretty lips closed around his fingers, struggling to feel so much at once.

“so fucking perfect, guys your age fuck you this good?”

“god- fuck- no,” you moaned. he took his fingers away. he lifted your leg up, fucking into you with a new angle that spread goosebumps all down your skin. you were being fucked dumb- you were sure that you were forgetting your own name actively. losing yourself in this. patrick had never fucked anyone so hard in his life, feeling himself reach the furthest point inside of you over and over and over. “patrick-“

his name moaned from you gave him new momentum and you couldn’t help the constant warm rushes that ran over your body like pulses, like waves on a shore. your body was a solar system of exploding stars. the hands that travelled your body were sure to leave bruises on you by later… harsh and strong and not letting go, fingers in your flesh. it was only fair, your nails dug into his back, he was probably bleeding. “gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he said, grinning over his own groans. if he’d been anyone else the question would have been stupid, sex is never that good, but this was. no clitoral stimulation needed he was hitting every right spot in the right way. you felt it like a knot coming undone, like all the stars that were exploding were both imploding and exploding rapidly, like a blinking threat for the collapse of a universe. dramatic, an imperfect display and an unfair comparison but so fucking needed. you nodded hard, mouth open, breathing hard, kissing him when you could. it was messy, uncalculated, but so fucking perfect.

out of desperation, you lifted your hips the best you could to meet his harsh thrusts. needing to finish, needing this more than you’ve ever needed anything. you couldn’t help the grin that spread up your face, even in the heat of things. you won. he caved, you won. and he couldn’t fuck this smile off your face. you only held it as long as you cut put off finishing, the friction, the feeling building up to crash around you. it was full-body, felt entirely. your nails dug into him harder and he waited just another moment to spill into you. you felt it hot between your legs as he continued to pump in and out of you, so much cum that it seeped out before he could pull out. he didn’t think about anything but you, how wrapped up he was in this, how fucked he was. he’d lost to a pretty twenty year old. as if this was some sick game. you’d both gotten what you wanted, but the cost was greater.

it was the hardest orgasm you both had ever felt, both of your ears ringing, breathing heavily, feeling all of it. to the greatest extent possible. he pulled out and collapsed beside you, his back stinging as it hit the bed. your smile returned as you tried to catch your breath, the stars dancing out of sight slowly. “oh, i’m fucked,” patrick breathed, hand falling onto his chest.

you laughed breathily, “other way around.”

he chuckled over his harsh breathing, chest rising and falling deeply. he rubbed his face, but it couldn’t erase the fact he had sex with a controversially young woman. what was worse? the fact he had needed to fuck her so badly or the fact he didn’t feel any better about it afterward? or the surprise third thing that was the urge to keep you close?

“okay, listen-“ he said, propping himself up on his elbow turning your way, but you grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him into another kiss. a second kiss, with a different meaning than the first one. it was still hard to breathe but he didn’t mind, grin spreading up his face, a little sly, dimple showing. he felt a little less ashamed with this kiss in the way. it was different. oh he was soooo much more than fucked now.

taglist: @kaaaiiaaa @swetearss @xoxog0ssipg1rl @lalalandofive

#challengers #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #tinytennisskirt #patrick zweig smut #dilf!patrick #dilf!patrick zweig #patrick zweig fluff #patrick zweig headcanons #girl dad! patrick zweig #patrick x reader #art donaldson x reader #challengers fic #challengers x y/n

731 notes · View notes