#10tihay

eddie munson x goth!reader.

based on the plot of 10 things i hate about you. in his desperation to go out with chrissy cunningham, jason carver makes the freak of hawkins an offer he can't refuse. 57k words; ongoing!

tumblr links under the cut; click here to read on ao3!

rating: teen!

tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, weird/antisocial/"freak" reader, "fake dating" only in that eddie's getting paid to date you. bisexual + adhd eddie, reader is also broadly neurodivergent-coded, you are both professional ragebaiters. chrissy is your cousin, but you're close in a sisterly way. mild subculture beefing. lighthearted tone overall, increasing angst-bombs spread throughout.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big, dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh. Even worse when you make me cry. I hate it  when you’re not around, and the fact you didn’t call. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

Pairing: Patrick Verona x reader

Word Count: 797

Warnings: none.

Summary: Patrick gets a tattoo in your honor.

Request: from @fan-of-pretty-much-2-much "Hi Rose! I saw your requests were open, and I was wondering what your take would be on Patrick getting a tattoo for his lover. How would he go about it?"

Author's Note: I'm sorry this isn't extremely detailed. I wanted to leave a lot up for the reader to fill in, because a tattoo is a very personal experience and tailored to that specific individual and I wanted the readers to be able to imagine the design they want, rather than having it spelled out here. I hope this is kind of along the lines of what you were looking for. Enjoy!

Unedited.

divider created by @/saradika-graphics on Tumblr.

As a younger man, Patrick was prone to make snap decisions. 

He would jump into things without giving them much thought, but not with this. 

Choosing to get a tattoo in your honor is not a decision Patrick makes impulsively. 

You are his entire world, a living piece of his heart, and for that was he going to be as precise in his planning and determined to invest his time, effort and money wisely.  

He took his time ironing out all the minor details before booking the appointment.

The first point of contention he must address is the cost. 

He never had any stigma against permanent ink and had known from a young age that he wanted to get a tattoo someday, but the price of one is what initially held him back. 

That, and he wanted his first tattoo to be a special one, not some meaningless design or impromptu doodle. 

Years after he graduated Padua High, he was able to devote time to his trade and earn enough money to afford a tattoo, from simplistic to the more elaborate. 

Since the tattoo was going to be specific to you, he knew he wanted to design it himself and would spend late nights sat at the desk he’d made himself—after school, he dabbled a bit in carpentry—and sketched various ideas and things which reminded him of you. 

 When it came to creative endeavors, Patrick could be a bit of a perfectionist. 

It took him months to achieve the final product, sketching new versions and perfecting every tiny detail he could until he was satisfied with it. 

You were not allowed to see it until he was done.

He presented the drawing to you one night while you cuddled on the couch, your head pressing comfortably against his chest. 

He had hidden his sketchbook under the sofa before you’d laid down and with the one arm he didn’t have wrapped around you, he carefully pulled it out of its hiding place and proffered it to you, holding it up for you to appreciate the design in every aspect. 

You immediately sat up and snatched the book from him, taking the time to truly appreciate the work that he must’ve put into designing it, the hours he had devoted to getting it just right. 

Any type of creation was a labor of love, and this was only just the tip of the iceberg from Patrick. 

You could tell immediately from the delicate pencil strokes, the outlining and how every single scribble, line and curve worked in unison to form the most intricately woven tapestry of your love, contained within the form of an elegant tattoo design. 

How he had managed to frame your love for him in such a way were you unsure; you didn’t know even if you could have done the same for him if you had tried. 

Patrick just had a knack for these things, a natural talent for manifesting his feelings in the form of something tangible. 

“Oh, Pat…” your gentle gasp resonated deep within his chest and he could feel his heartrate pick up speed, racing in his chest as his fingers itched to grab the sketchbook back from you. 

“I know, I know,” he reclaimed the sketchbook and admired his own work, his eyes unfocused and yet still trying to see, to understand what it was that you saw there on those pages that he was clearly missing, “it needs a bit more work. I was thinking I could add some more shading over here, and perhaps a little more detailing on this section, or I could-”

“Don’t you dare change a thing.”

Typically, you were one to encourage him, but you had never been happier with someone or something in your whole life and the very last thing you wanted him to do was to overthink his design or decide to do away with it completely. 

You thought it was brilliant, a true testament to his creativity and all you wanted was for him to get the ink so you could see it in true form, his skin the very pages on which your love story unfolded upon.  

And so, Patrick booked the tattoo appointment at your gentle behest. 

You went with him, now fully committed to the process because, after all, you were the reason he was going through with it. 

He got the tattoo on his bicep, an easily covered up spot on his body, just in case he ever had to hide it for some reason, not that he planned on doing so. 

Do you even know my name, screw boy? I know a lot more than you think. Doubtful. Very doubtful.