#patrick jane x reader

*Reader look up from the reports*

Reader: About the relationship policy?

Kimball: Yeah.

Reader: *Crosses arms and looks at him expectantly* I’m sure Van Pelt and Rigsby are loving that.

Kimball: Yeah, they are... Eight o'clock?

Reader: *Smiling* Where are you taking me?

Kimball: *Typical Cho smile* It’s a surprise.

Reader: See you at eight, then.

*Bonus*

*Patrick watches Cho give a subtle smile at his water bottle before taking a drink*

Patrick: Finally.

*Patrick walks over to Cho*

Patrick: In case you wanted to know what her favorite flower is...

Based off of : @mildredxrunner

Contents: Patrick Jane/ CBI employee reader AFAB// no use of y/n // murder // hurt comfort// feelings confession //

4.5+k words

AN: This one is tame so no crazy smut today (sorry) I'm so happy that you all like this and that my boy Jane is getting the recognition he deserves. I'm working on 2 requests right now but please feel free to send!

I got laid off this week and this show and the likes I've been getting on these has been making me feel better so thank you okay enjoy

“I can't believe you would say that.” You say, smile wide and cheeks flushed. The one too many vodka crans had made you more extraverted than usual.

Your friend Rebecca smiles and holds her hands up. “Hey well maybe don't fall up the stairs next time.” Her smile is quickly cut from her face as she looks down at her phone. The sound of echoing laughter slowly fading as the group looked over to her.

“What's up?” You ask.

“Oh it's.” She puts her phone in her pocket and forces a smile. “ It's nothing I just, I gotta head out guys.” The boo’s and Nooo's were heard from across the bar.

She packs her stuff up and gets her boyfriend from the end of the bar and leaves. Looking back one final time. Before heading out the door.

The next two hours the bar got emptier and emptier. Till it was you and your old boss from your retail days.

“Thanks for staying out with me I really needed the time off, especially after…”

„Smoke”

— wc: 6,7k

— summary: you see how tense Patrick is almost everyday. So you decide to give him some weed to make him relax, and it turns out this was the last push he needed to act on his instincts.

— tw/warnings: smut with plot, MINORS DNI, unprotected p in v, sub!Patrick, weed, high sex, desperate!patrick, friends to lovers, dual masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), finger sucking, masturbation with underwear, slight dirty talk, authority.

You’ve been working in the CBI unit for far too long not to notice the weight that laid on Patrick Jane’s shoulders everyday. While appearing easygoing and confident everyday, you could see it so well in his blue, charming eyes.

The exhaustion. The guilt and pain he carried in his body without ever trying to open himself up to anyone. Despite the easy stroll and wide smile, every step looked forced. Almost acted out, in a way. Rehearsed.

It was a cycle with Patrick Jane. He would be alright, cracking jokes and hiding behind his very well crafted mask of indifference and intelligence. He’d stroll and charm people around just to get information out of them.

Then he’d break. Red John would strike and get himself deep into his head before stirring his brain to straight mush. Make him act irrational. Then he would lock himself in his little room upstairs, claiming he liked it because it had space for thinking. Then? couple days later? Mask back on.

He was intimidating, he sure was, but with you? He never played it off as well as with everyone else.

Maybe because you’d known him for so long now. It was you that didn’t dismiss his pain just because he was good at what he was during for the bureau. He knew that, and you knew that he knew you knew.

He did open up to you, once. Only once in ten years of your time in the same place as him. And it became a sacred moment in your memory palace he asked you to create.

It was when the whole squad was drinking after closing a very difficult case with his help. It was a dark April evening, his long legs seemed to limp behind him as he stumbled his drunk body into your car. He drank too much, said too much. His head slumped against your shoulder.

You remember it vividly, his hand holding yours over the console, his eyes boring into yours as he slurred his words. His eyes were heavy, breath reeked of sweet strawberry liquor. It made you nauseous.

„I don’t want you to get too close to me.” He’d slur, slow and syrupy as he talked, his palm warm on yours. You didn’t say anything, just glanced sideways at his big, glassy eyes. He was flushed, his cheeks warm and rosy, his hair messy.

„Everyone that I love gets hurt.” He’d say. „I don’t want you to be hurt.” He whispered, his lips quivering as he spoke quietly in the silent car. His voice broke half through the sentence, his pupils dilated.

His voice sounded pained, quiet and gentle. Almost melodic in it’s haunting melancholy. His eyes dug graves into yours, looking at you as if you were the only thing carrying him alive.

And after that night? You pretended he never said anything to you in that car. You said you simply drove him back home and helped him to his bed. That was all. But somewhere in your heart? The words stuck. They stuck so hard your heart clenched every time you looked at him.

But you pushed those thoughts away. For your own and his good.

Today opened with a very hard case. Someone impersonated Red John during the murder, drawing that big, smiley face in victims blood on the wall just above the resting, cold body. Seemingly just to get under Patrick’s skin.

You saw the hunted expression in his eyes as soon as he saw it, but then, after a panic induced reaction, he noticed inconsistency in some of the things the murderer left behind that didn’t match Red John even a little bit.

Of course, he called the bluff immediately and excused himself from the case for his own well being. Well, technically it was Lisbon that made him do it. Exclude himself. You could almost swear you saw him break down on the way to his car.

After getting back from lookout with Rigsby later that day, you were strolling around the bureau with case files in your hands, intending to give the full rapport of the lookout to Lisbon. But then you glanced sideways, seeing Patrick laying on his worn out couch, with his headphones in his ears.

You stopped in your tracks, your eyes hanging on his body stretched out on the leather, then you slowly looked down at the papers. You passed them to Van Pelt that just passed by, asking her to deliver them for you, before walking to Patrick.

He didn’t even move an inch when you approached. His headphones must be loud, per usual. You just stood over him for a moment, watching his peaceful face, his closed eyes and the way his lashes fluttered on his cheeks.

Then, you leaned in and hooked your finger on one of his headphone wires and tugged. The headphone fell out, dangling at his side as his eyes fluttered open, groggy and unfocused for a second, before zeroing on you.

„Hm?” He hummed, not even bothering to sit up. He rubbed one of his eyes and looked up at you, that charming, boyish smile of his blooming on his face like a flower as his vision unblurred and he saw you.

„Whatcha listening to?” You smiled, sitting beside him and keeping your eyes locked on his laying form. He finally slowly sat up, pulling both of his headphones out of his ears.

„Nothing you’d be particularly fond of.” He smiled again, before passing you one headphone. He held the little white head of it in his three fingers. You slowly took it and placed it in your ear.

The song rang out in your left ear, and a smile appeared on your face. ‚Every Breath You Take’ by The Police? You’d never guess.

„The Police? Really?” You chuckled, giving him the headphone back. He grabbed it and pulled it towards the rest of the cable. You looked over his face as he looked down and slowly twisted his headphones around.

„Never caught you to be the ‚Every breath you take’ kind of guy.” You smiled, looking at his hands. Your eyes lingered there for a moment before snapping to his face again.

He looked so handsome in this late afternoon night shining through the windows, it made the tips of his hair strands glow like gold and the stubble on his cheeks become visible.

He scoffed and lifted his eyes to yours, before he adjusted his seating position, his body gravitated towards yours like a sunflower turns to the sun.

„What can I say.” He said, giving you a soft smirk as he shrugged his broad shoulders. „I like to surprise.” He chuckled, but the smile barely reached his eyes.

You knew that look. You knew he had a lot on his mind, especially today. Suddenly an idea struck after a long while of silence between you two, your hand lifting a little, not to touch him, but to push your hair back slowly behind your ear.

„hey, uh, I have a… weird question.” You started, smile already forming on your lips slowly as you talked. He perked up slowly, shifting his body to face you. His arm laid on the backrest.

„Yes?” He said simply, leaning on his knees slowly, adjusting so he was sitting towards you even more. He tilted his head, his eyes locked on yours with intense attention. He made your heart beat faster.

You tried to bring that smile of yours down, but it was hard. God, why was talking to Patrick so difficult all of the sudden? Cocky bastard.

„I… wanted to ask if you’d like to come over to my place tonight.” She said softly, looking at his face as his smiled flattered slightly. He straightened slowly, keeping an eye contact.

„We could… talk. A bit.” You continued.

He closed his mouth entirely and rubbed his thigh nervously. But then that mask slipped on again, a broad charming smile blooming on his face instantly. It made your lips part.

„…Sure.” He agreed softly, watching your face. Then, before neither of you could say a thing, Lisbon called out to you from across the bullpen.

You looked at Patrick with an apologetic but sincere smile, your hand landing on his knee and squeezing gently as you moved to stand up. The motion was unconscious, but it turned his heart into flames.

„See you later.” You mouthed, before standing up fully and walking to the other room quickly.

His eyes followed you slowly as you walked away in those tight jeans that hugged your thighs and butt. He loved those jeans on you, but god, he would never admit this to anyone ever. He pulled his eyes away and looked down at the twisted headphones.

He was DONE for.

Your apartment was quiet, cozy and lived in — Patrick loved coming over to your place, simply because of how… homey it was. It was nothing like his cold, lonely apartment with blank walls and an even blanker rooms.

Your place was full of life. Pictures on walls, little things that reminded him it was your space. Books, bracelets, flowers, etc. Everything looked so… human. And he liked that about you. How much life you had in you.

You had been talking for about two hours now, two colorful mugs standing on the table in front of you as your bodies turned to each other on the small couch that stood in the middle of the living room.

Despite the easy flowing conversation, you noticed how his shoulders still tensed from time to time, how his jaw twitched. And before you could even think twice you acted on your sudden impulses.

„…I actually have a proposal.” You smiled, slowly reaching behind you into a small cabinet hidden snugly behind the couch, out of view. It was small, private, easy to come unnoticed. You flipped it open and pulled out a box.

He slowly set his tea cup on the coffee table in front of you, his eyes shifting to your hands as you showed him the small box now in your lap.

„And what that might be?” He said, shifting to sit sideways on the couch, facing you. He watched your delicate fingers trace the rim of the box, your manicured nails sliding on the shiny metal slowly, almost shyly.

„…You need to promise not to rat me out to Lisbon.” You smiled, slowly looking up into his eyes. You seriously never told anyone about this… but hey, this was for a good cause, right?

Before he even said anything, before you could even think about anything further, he reached out and flipped the clap of the box open with his finger, the clasp landing on the couch.

His eyes met with at least three weed joints and some rolling paper underneath. The smell of marihuana drifted into the air slowly, making you smile involuntarily. Your heart shifted in your chest.

„That was mean.” You chuckled, opening the box fully and then letting him turn it towards himself. He tilted his head, as if he was curious.

„You want me to smoke marihuana with you?” He smiled, lifting his eyes to hers. He had known for a long time that you had been smoking weed. Just never really saw the reason to bring it up.

„…Yeah.” You smiled, slowly picking up one joint and slightly rolling the top of it between your fingers, the paper scrubbing against itself. „i’m not telling you to smoke a whole joint… just… enough to unwind you.”

You looked up at him, his eyes locked on the joint between your fingers. It was scrubby. Good weed. You had been doing it for a while, so you knew what to buy.

„It will relax you.”

„It will relax me?” He repeated, looking back on your face. His voice sounded deeper and more intense than usual. It seemed like… some kind of desperation had found its way into his tone. But she couldn’t blame him for it.

„Mhm.” You hummed, gently grabbing a lighter from the small box and flipping it open, the flame coming to life instantly. You brought it to the tip of it, setting it ablaze when an orange shimmer started on the paper.

„i’ll help you. Not too much at first.” You said, slowly lifting it into your mouth. You inhaled softly, then held. One. Two. Three. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl against your lips.

He had been watching, absorbing the sight of you like that. He watched every move of your lips intently, watching the smoke curl up from your parted lips. It made him dizzy as he slowly took the joint from your delicate hand.

He looked like a lost puppy, just holding it in his hand and looking at it as if you just handed him a human head. You smiled, shifting closer to him and gently sliding your palm against the back of his hand.

„Let me guide you, yeah?” You smiled, both of you holding the joint as you coaxed his hand closer to his mouth. His lips parted slowly, and you smiled, eyes focused on them.

„Yeah.” He breathed out, but he sounded breathless in a way that made you smile even more. His eyes lifted to yours, your faces really close together.

„Open your mouth.” You murmured, then placed the joint in his mouth, watching him inhale slowly, not too much. „Hold for three. Yeah, that’s it.” You whispered, then pulled the joint out, letting him exhale.

The smoke blew out of his mouth and nose, carrying that delicious and characteristic smell through their whole space. You could see his muscles slowly unwinding in real time.

„Feels good?” You asked, gently placing the joint aside on the table, before sitting back onto the couch. You had already felt that your body had envelopes itself in that syrupy warmth of the weed filling your senses.

He smiled and swallowed, looking down at your lips as you sat back beside him. He did the same, his body sinking into the couch as he felt himself relax for the first time in a very, very long time.

„Feels good.” He murmured, his eyes drooped close slowly as he exhaled deeply, letting his head fall back onto the couch.

Another hour later, and you both found yourselfs laying on your backs on the carpet in front of the coffee table, both having just finished a half of a joint together. Everything was fuzzy and nice as you laid there.

You’ve been lying on the floor of your apartment for long enough that the hardwood has started to feel strangely comfortable beneath your back. One of your arms is tucked beneath your head, the other resting loosely against your stomach.

The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the occasional sound of a car passing somewhere beyond the windows. Patrick is lying beside you.

Close enough that his shoulder is pressed against yours, his warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your shirt. Every now and then, when one of you shifts, your arms brush together.

Neither of you seems particularly interested in moving away. The apartment is dim. You had turned off most of the lights earlier, leaving only the small lamp in the corner of the living room glowing softly against the walls.

You stare at the ceiling. There’s a crack running through the paint above you. You’ve seen it hundreds of times. Tonight, it looks like a map. You’re trying to figure out where it leads when Patrick’s voice drifts through the silence.

“You know, I think it’s moving.” He murmurs quietly, keeping his drifting, heavy lidded and red painted eyes on the white space above him. He has this dopey smile on his face that makes you weak.

You blink slowly.

“The ceiling?”

“Yes.”

You stare harder. For a few seconds, you genuinely consider it. Then you nod. The corner of Patrick’s mouth lifts. You had never been more high in your entire life, possibly.

“It is.”

You turn your head toward him. He’s still looking upward, his blond hair slightly mussed, his expression strangely peaceful. There’s something almost boyish about him when he’s like this, without the usual sharpness in his eyes, without the constant calculations that seem to happen behind them.

“You look very pleased with yourself.” You remarked slowly, keeping your head turned sideways until he turns his own too. Your eyes meet, his pupils are blown wide.

“I usually do.” He chipped, his grin growing even wider. The atmosphere was easy, soft and pleasant. It was comfortable to be with him like this , relaxed and open.

“You’re insufferable.” You slur, looking down at his lips uncontrollably. They look so plush and soft. Your body is beating with the desire to close the distance completely. But you feel too heavy to move.

“And yet you keep me around.” He said, turning his head to look at the ceiling again, a chuckle escaping him in the process.

You laugh. It starts as a small sound, barely more than a breath, but then Patrick laughs too, and suddenly neither of you can remember what was funny. The laughter comes too easily.

It leaves you both breathless, staring at the ceiling again with stupid smiles on your faces. Eventually, the room settles. The quiet returns and your shoulder is still touching his. You can feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

You close your eyes for a moment. There’s something strangely peaceful about being here with him. You’ve known Patrick long enough to recognize the rare moments when he isn’t performing for anyone. No clever smile. No teasing remark. No carefully constructed little act designed to make people underestimate him.

Just Patrick. Your friend. Your oldest friend. The thought makes something warm twist quietly in your chest as open your eyes again. Patrick’s eyes are closed. For a second, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Then, without opening them, he speaks.

“No. I’m not asleep.”

You frown. You hadn’t said anything. Your eyebrows furrow slightly before you chuckle, stoned and completely not guarded at all. He was adorable like that, too. So, so adorable.

“Did you just answer a question I didn’t ask?” You chuckled again, looking at the side of his head as he laid there with his eyes closed.

“Yes.” He answered, licking his lips slowly. Your eyes trace the movement of his tongue, then your eyes move up the slope of his nose. Everything feels intense, more charged.

“You’re creepy.” You smile. The silence returns. A few seconds pass Or a few minutes, you aren’t entirely sure about time right now. The radio in the room hums some Jeff Buckley song in the distance.

Then Patrick speaks again, his voice is quieter this time, almost absent-minded. He rarely sounds like this, and it makes you shiver. “You know what? I love you.”

Everything inside you seems to stop. You turn your head. Patrick doesn’t move. His eyes remain closed, his face relaxed, as though he hasn’t just dropped something enormous into the middle of the room.

For a moment, you’re convinced you imagined it. The room feels suddenly much quieter. You study him, searching his face for some indication that he’s joking. There isn’t one. Your heart begins beating harder.

“…What?”

Patrick finally opens his eyes. He looks at you. And for once, there is no immediate smile. No clever comeback. Nothing to hide behind. You swallow. The words hang between you, fragile and impossible to take back.

He slowly pushes himself back up to a sitting position, and you watch the material of his suit jacket stretch on his back muscles. Then he turns around and faces you. The high is blissful for both of you.

„You heard me.” He murmured, his hand sliding into the side of your hair, tugging you upwards so incredibly gently. You lift yourself on your forearms, your skin flushed.

Then, his lips press against yours. It feels as if everything around you stops in its tracks as you feel his soft and gentle lips on yours. His hand is holding the side of your head, the weed making everything more intense.

The kiss is slow and unhurried, your fingers slide into his hair at the nape of his neck, keeping him close to the you. Everything disappeared, and it was just you two, kissing on your living room floor.

He rolled you slowly, making you straddle him. He pushed himself up with his best efforts, sitting back against the front of the couch, his back resting there gently as he kept you on his lap.

Your plush thighs hugged his hips as you continued kissing. Then you pulled back slowly, watching his heavy lidded eyes drift up and down your face as you cupped his jaw.

„What do you think you’re doing?” You smiled, watching him tilt his head to the side and nuzzling against your palm, before cupping it with his own, his big fingers closing around yours as he pressed his face to your hand and kissed your palm.

„I need you.” He whispered breathlessly, his heavy eyes swimming on your face as his eyebrows knitted together. He’s breathing heavily. „I need you so badly, baby.”

You smiled, your eyes were swimming too. It was obvious he wanted this for a while now, but the weed and the confidence that it brought was the push he so desperately needed. It made your heart pound in your ears.

„Yeah?” You smiled, pushing his hair back slowly. He looked like he was barely breathing, his lips dry. You leaned down slowly and kissed him. He tasted like weed and sweat.

Your tongue slowly slid into his mouth, locking your mouths in an intimate and deep manner, your head tilted to the other side slowly to deepen the kiss even more. His short stubble scratched your skin.

„Please, please, god, please.” He whispered shakily against your lips. You didn’t know someone could be so damn desperate after so much weed. You felt his warm palms sliding up the sides of your blouse, tugging it out of your jeans.

„Patrick…” You whispered as you pulled back from the kiss, his lips chasing yours. He pushed his hips up uncontrollably, whining against your skin as he did so.

You had never seen him act like this before. He was on fire, his limbs ached to be pinned down and he ached to be taken care of by someone who cared. By you.

„Please take care of me.” He whispered shakily, squeezing your arms tightly, before sliding his palms down and undoing the buttons clumsily, before pushing the fabric open.

„You want me to take care of you, baby?” You whispered, shrugging the shirt off, then throwing it aside. Your hands reached for his suit jacket and undid it too, discarding it.

„Ask me nicely.” You murmured, tugging his shirt open as well, revealing that masculine and sexy torso of his, his chest heavy and lightly freckles at the pecks.

His eyes focused on your face as you sat above him, your fingers tracing his chest. The weed was making him feel everything ten times more than he normally would. He hadn’t done anything like this in so, so long.

„Please.” He whispered, helping her push his shirt off, tugging at the sleeves before letting the fabric slide on the floor. „please, ma’am. Please.” He whispered, pushing his hips up.

„I need you to take care of me.” He breathed, pushing his hips up again, rolling slowly.

You gasped as he did that, feeling the hard ache of his cock through his slacks pressing onto your covered center through your jeans. It made your heart stutter.

„You’re such a naughty boy, aren’t you?” You smiled, leaning down to kiss his cheek, then slowly, gently down to his jaw and neck. Your lips were warm, sliding on his tan skin easily. You pulled back after a moment, your faces inches from each other.

He only whimpered, his hands sliding up your waist slowly, his eyes focused on yours as he nodded, his eyes red rimmed and pleading when he looked at your face. His jaw was slack.

„Yes.” He breathed, undoing your bra slowly, letting your breasts spill free in front of his eyes. But he didn’t touch, not without permission. Even though his hands ached with the need to do so.

„You’re so desperate.” You smiled, pushing yourself up from his lap and shimming out of your tight jeans, leaving you in just a pair of white panties, the lace standing out against your skin.

He swallowed and just sat there, his hand unconsciously adjusted the bulge in his slacks. He whimpered, loudly and shamelessly, so unlike the demeanor you knew so well.

The mask had officially slipped off. But instead of seeing a pained, deeply troubled man, all you saw was a man so desperate for you that he was barely breathing.

„Please.” He murmured again, his hands squeezing your waist. „let me go down on you. Please, that’s all i’ve ever wanted.” He breathed heavily, pushing himself up and kissing you.

You let out a surprised sound, kissing him back. You nodded wordlessly against his lips, your hand sneaking into his hair. As soon as the motion registered in his lust and weed clouded brain, he hoisted you up and sat you on the couch behind you.

„thank you, thank you.” He rasped, immediately scrambling to his knees. They sank into the carpet as he pushed your legs open, his patience gone.

You smiled, slowly lifting your leg and planting your foot on his chest, gently pushing him back. He looked up at you like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide in surprise and confusion.

„You have to wait. Earn it.” You murmured, slowly lifting your hips and sliding your panties down your long, slim legs and throwing them at his lap. You slowly spread your legs.

Your dripping, puffy cunt met his eyes and he looked as if his brain just fully evaporated. His face flushed crimson, his fingers dug into his thighs as he whimpered.

„How do I earn it?” He asked, his voice whiny as he bucked his hips unconsciously into nothing, struggling with himself. He looked down at the panties in his lap and touched them slowly.

„By being patient.” You murmured, slowly sitting up and bringing two fingers against his wet lips. „Open, pretty.” You whispered, tapping your fingers on his skin.

He obeyed, nodding and parting his lips. Your soft fingers slid in easily, his lips closed on them. He sucked with a whine, swirling his tongue around your digits, getting them nice and wet. He moaned softly, his sex drunk eyes focused on yours.

„Fuck, look at you.” You murmured, sliding your fingers out of his warm mouth with a wet pop that rang around the empty and quiet room. You breathed, slowly sitting back, a wide smile on your face.

„Now you’ll watch me. Yeah?” You smiled, opening your legs for him again and sliding your wet fingers through your soaked pussy, a moan escaping your lips gently. „No touching yet.”

He swallowed thickly, his hips shifting slowly forward again. His hardness was straining against the fabric. He looked at you, his eyes seemed to not know where to look. At your beautiful face twisting in pleasure or at your fingers touching yourself.

„But—„ He whispered, licking his lips with that pained expression on his face. He was struggling, and you could see it.

„No buts, baby. You need to wait.” You smiled, slowly circling your throbbing clit with your fingers, making yourself moan and forcing him to watch.

Your eyes slid down his trembling body, watching the way his shoulders slumped, his chest heaved and thighs twitched. His pants looked stuffed at the front, the bulge shifting obstinately.

„Please, can i touch myself?” He breathed softly, rubbing his palms up and down his thigh to self soothe. He licked his lips nervously, his eyes downcast, desperate and needy.

You looked over him gently, then smiled, slowly sliding one finger inside of yourself. The gummy walls swallowed your finger nicely, rubbing against them. It made you buck against your own hand. You added another one.

„Yes, you can.” You whispered, watching as he scrambled to undo his pants immediately, not taking his eyes off of your center for even a second. He looked starved, needy and sexually frustrated.

„Use the panties.” You instructed, watching him pull his pants down his thighs. His cock sprang out, flushed and neglected.

He was much bigger than u expected him to be. He obediently got down on his knees once again, his cock bobbing between his legs as his kneecaps hit the ground.

He was big. Eight inches or so, fully hard with a soft vein running down the underside and a pink tip that leaked precum. It made your mouth water. You had never seen a man more beautiful in your life.

„You’re so pretty.” You smiled. Your fingers pumped in and out of your wet cunt, making squelchy sounds that mixed with your moans and his desperate whimpers.

„Thank you, ma’am.” He whispered back, his eyes swiping over your body slowly, drinking in the sight that laid in front of him. He grabbed the panties and slowly wrapped them around his throbbing cock like a gift.

He wrapped his hand around himself and finally looked up at your face as he started stroking. You moaned at the sight, a smile blooming on your face as your fingers moved.

„You like this, hm?” You smiled, breathing heavily as your hips shifted uncontrollably. Your juices slid down your body, dripping onto the couch. „Looking at me like a pervert… ruining my favorite panties.”

He flashed you a smile, slowly looking down and watching himself stroking his cock with your panties wrapped around the shaft. It made him bite his bottom lip.

He was getting harder and harder with every pump, his plump head glistening under the dim light. He was burning hot, his whole body felt like it was on fire.

„I’m a pervert.” He whispered, looking back at your face as he stroked himself, the fabric of the panties immediately soaking in his pre cum. His hand gripped himself hard. „I thought about you when I laid awake at night.”

You smiled faintly and licked your lips, eyes glued to his hard cock slowly sliding in and out of his fist. Then your chest heaved at his words, eyes snapping up to his flushed and needy face.

„What have you thought about?” You smiled and watched him, mesmerized by the sight. Your fingers pumped steadily now, making you drip down even more.

He swallowed thickly, a moan escaping from his throat as he looked down at himself. „I thought about you running your hands on my body.” He whispered, looking up.

„Tracing, touching me like we had all the time in the world.” He talked, his voice breathless as he watched you finger yourself. He was so close to coming already. „I thought about how you’d feel… how you’d smell, how soft your skin would be under my fingers—„

„I thought about your lips wrapping around my co-ock—„ He stuttered, breathing heavily at the thought. A soft whine escaping him as he bit down onto his lip, trying to be good.

You smiled and pulled your fingers out of yourself circling your clit slowly and watching his lips part again.

„Come closer.” You ordered, watching him crawl closer on his knees, his hand uncurling from his cock, now both palms hovering over your knees, not daring to touch.

He looked up at you with his glassy, wet and red eyes. He looked like a vision. You slowly lifted your soaked fingers and slid them into his mouth again, a whine escaping him at the taste.

It was tangy, but so incredibly sweet. He felt himself getting addicted to it instantly. His hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand in place. His eyes fluttered closed.

„mmph—„ He whined, moaning around your fingers as he tasted you. Before you could do anything more he pushed your hand away and leaned forward. He latched himself between your legs, his arms slowly wrapping around your thighs.

„I’m sorry— i’m so-ory, i can’t wait—„ He breathed, muffled by your pussy in his face. He opened his mouth widely and moaned into your pussy, sucking your clit desperately.

„Fuck—„ You gasped, back arching. Your hands slipped into his hair, holding him there. He did it like he was starved, his mouth messy and uncoordinated but so, so good.

„You taste so good, oh, mommy—„ He breathed, licking a broad strip from your center to your clit, before sucking on it again. He was feral between your legs, bringing you closer to the edge.

You chuckled and looked down, watching his closed eyes and knitted eyebrows. He was flushed and his body shaking. „Did you just call me mommy?” You smiled, grabbing his hair and pulling him back.

His chin glistened with his own saliva as he swallowed and licked his lips greedily. His lips spread in that wide, charming smile, his eyes heavy lidded. The weed had them both in a trance of pure pleasure.

„Mhm-„ He breathed, before diving right back in. He watched your head thump back against the headrest, his eyes focused on your heavy chest as one of his arms sneaked down.

He gripped his cock again, the panties still wrapped around his thick shaft. He thrusted forward, moaning into your pussy. He knew you were close, he could feel it so well.

„Please, please can I cum?” He asked, shaking. All he saw was just you frantically shaking your head above him, and he couldn’t register anything else.

He sucked hard on your clit as his hand sped up on his cock. His mouth turned erratic, bringing you to the very brink of an orgasm. He plunged his tongue into your pussy and it undid you.

You came on his face, holding him between your legs as your plush thighs squeezed his head. You heard the slurping sounds of him and a choked out moan.

He stroked himself frantically as he buried his face in between your thighs, lapping at your come. His hips stuttered and he came all over himself, making himself whine. The panties were officially ruined, the fabric stained with cum.

He unwrapped his hand from his cock and slid in on your thigh, smudging the cum all over your heated skin. You smiled at the sight, watching him still between your legs.

„Patrick.” You smiled, sliding your hand in his hair as he still licked, making your legs twitch around his head. He was panting against you like a dog in heat. „Stop, baby.” You smiled.

„n-no, just one more—„ He whined, before you forced his head away. He whined and looked up at you with those pleading eyes of his. His lips were parted slightly, trembling and puffy.

„oh, my poor boy.” You smiled, slowly cupping his face and watching as he leaned into your palm. You wiped his mouth with your fingers slowly. „You wanted to make me feel so good, hm? You did baby.”

He smiled faintly, his hands gripping your thighs as his face inched closer to you again. „Thank you, thank you—„ he whispered breathlessly, looking up as if you were a goddess.

„Get on the couch.” You whispered, slowly throwing your leg over his head and slowly getting off of the couch. He already knew what this was. He scrambled up like a excited puppy.

He sat on the couch, his legs spread open as he waited. His cock was still hard, standing tall and proud between his thighs. He swallowed, his eyes tracing your movements.

„Look at you. You’re so messy.” You murmured, watching his leaking cock. You slowly untied the panties from his dick. They were sticky and warm, completely soaked in his cum. You threw them aside.

„You make me so messy.” He breathed heavily, watching as you slowly straddle his lap. His hands went to your waist immediately, hands sliding up and down your skin.

„You want to be inside of me?” You smiled, slowly reaching down and rubbing his cock on your slick pussy. It made you moan instantly, and you felt the shudder than ran through his whole body when you finally touched. „beg.”

He swallowed thickly and whimpered. “Please—please, I’m begging you. Don’t tease me anymore. I can’t take it. I need you, I need this, I need you. Please… just let me have you. I’ll do anything. Please.” He whined.

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him. His hand slid into your hair as you guided him. Your lips parted against each other as you slammed all the way down, burying him to the hilt.

He choked out into your mouth, pulling you back and gripping your waist tight as he looked down. „fuck—„ He cried out, whimpering. He breathed heavily.

„Too much?” You smiled cruelly, slowly starting to move your hips on his lap. The motion was slow, unhurried, syrupy in that beautiful way. The weed made everything feel so much more intense now.

„Feels so, so, so good.” He whispered shakily, his head falling back onto the headrest as your hips moved. He didn’t dare to touch your hips or guide you.

He watched you, mesmerized at how beautiful you looked on top of him, riding him slowly. Every roll made him more and more whiny than the last.

„You like how deep your cock is inside of me?” You smiled, slightly bouncing before dragging your hips forward, ridges of his cock scraping your walls so beautifully.

He whimpered, his eyes watching as your breasts bounced in front of his eyes. „yes, god, i’m so deep inside—„ He breathed, before grabbing your lower back and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples.

He suckled like a baby, moaning around them as you bounced on his lap. You moaned with him, the room filling up with sounds of pleasure and skin slapping together.

His hands slid down onto your butt, squeezing it as he sucked on your breasts, leaving dark marks on your skin before moving to the other side.

You smiled and pried his hands away from your skin, making him whine in protest. His head lifted and your eyes met. You slammed your lips against his, peeking up the speed of your hips.

He was a whining mess in the matter of seconds, clawing at your skin like a mad man. You silenced him with your own mouth, pinning his hands back to your thighs.

„i’m close, please, please—„ He panted into your lips, his hips lifting along with your grinds to make the friction even more intense. You smiled and snapped your hips down.

„shhh, shhh—„ You whimpered into his mouth, your own voice shaking terribly as you neared the edge too. The sounds you two were making were getting louder and louder.

You just hoped no neighbors will come knocking.

„oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, i’m coming—„ He gasped before he grabbed your hips and slammed you down, keeping you down as he erupted inside of you in thick pulses. His head was swimming, not only from the weed, but from pleasure.

You let him ride his high out before slowly moving again, your hand sneaking down to circle your clit. You were coming on his cock before you even registered it. Stars bursted behind your eyelids, your pussy fluttered around him.

You both slumped against each other. Your weed hazed mind barely registered when he slipped out and began to clean you both gently. You were both sluggish and exhausted, his body glistening with sweat.

„you alright?” You whispered, kissing his lips slowly as he wiped himself. A smile bloomed on his face as he slowly calmed down, his chest heavy still. He nodded.

„I’ve never been better.” He smiled.

The next couple minutes were spent by cleaning up and soft aftercare. You ended up on the couch, still naked, you laying on top of him with your head beneath his head.

A big blanked laid on top of you both, his hand slowly sliding on your bare back, soothing you to sleep. He gently kissed your head and glanced down, catching the opened weed box on the floor.

He smiled to himself and then closed his eyes.

Nsfw Alphabet.

I saw this concept everywhere around tumbrl and I couldn’t find a single Patrick Jane one. So i guess its time to give this beautiful man some justice!

— This is only my interpretation of the character. Feel free to tell me what would you change in the comments! I’d appreciate everything.

— Minors DNI.

A – Aftercare

Patrick is big on aftercare. No matter what was happening a moment ago, he will ask you if everything alright and if you need anything. He’d accept whatever you want to do after. He would hold you close and run his hand up and down your bare back, he would help you clean up and dress up if you want to. He would kiss your face and shoulders, thanking you quietly between pecks.

B – Favorite body part (his and yours)

His favorite body part on him are his eyes, obviously. He uses them for doing most of his work — get’s people to get lost in them. He loves seeing how you get lost in them too, captivated. On you? He loves your lips. He could stare at them for hours if he could. He adores watching them part when he says something a bit too personal about you two in public.

C – Cum

He doesn’t like making a mess, so he would prefer to cum inside of you or somewhere where it would be easier to clean up. He secretly wants to do it mostly on your stomach or chest, because the sight of your body covered in him makes his ego spike even more than it already is. But he always helps to clean up anyway.

D – Dirty secret

He fantasizes about you for the most of his day. When everyone thinks he is just relaxing with music in his headphones, on his worn out couch, he would think about the ways you’d touch him if you were there. This happens ESPECIALLY after you two have a long, steamy night together the previous night. He also sprays your perfume on his sleeve to be able to smell you during those moments. Where everyone see his hand thrown over his head as he sleeps, all he can smell is just you. He gets irrationally hard because of it.

E – Experience

Patrick is not a god of sex, he’s not an expert. He still learns what you like and what you don’t like, and he is open for suggestions. But he definitely knows how to satisfy a woman just enough to make her squirm all night long. He knows the right places, where to rub and where to suck. He hadn’t been with many women in his life, but he understands them better than most. He’d take you to heights you’re never been on.

F – Favorite position

Everything that involves him seeing your face. He analyzes every micro expression you make and takes note of everything that makes you moan. But to be completely honest? He is a sucker when you’re on top. Him sitting back against the headrest with you moving on his lap? He loves it. He loves seeing you make yourself feel good on him.

G – Goofy (humor during sex)

He is not particularly goofy during sex. I mean yes, he would crack a joke or two sometimes or laugh at a funny sound or motion, but otherwise he is completely focused on you. He adores when you laugh at his ‚stupid faces’ though.

H – Hair

He is not completely bare down there, but he keeps it under control. He is mostly trimmed and kept together, but he made sure what you’re comfortable with and just keeps it that way. Though, he does keep a happy trail leading from his stomach down to his cock. His blonde hair are not very visible but if you’re close enough, you’ll definitely see it ;)

I – Intimacy

He doesn’t get the idea of one night stands and no strings attached. To him sex is something vulnerable and intimate, so he sees emotional and physical intimacy as something he is all in for. He would look at you as if you’re the last woman in the whole world, even outside of sex. He likes to shower you with praises and compliments, his hands running all over your body. He would never want to make you feel used or uncomfortable after sex with him.

J – Jack off

He doesn’t do it often, he is not that kind of guy. But when he does, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He mainly does it when you’re not able to do anything because of work for several days at the time, and he still sees you walking around the house in those little shorts you like to wear. He would sneak to the bathroom and do it in the shower most of the time. And he would always be thinking of your hand being there instead of his.

K – Kinks

He is all in for being blindfolded. The thought of not seeing you and only feeling you turns him on beyond comprehension. He lets himself get more into your touch that way. He would never admit that but he fantasizes about you riding his face quite often — but feels too shy to mention it. He loves feeling your thighs around his head, and the sounds you make when you finish in his mouth.

L – Location

He doesn’t like to be obnoxious with it, so he prefers private rooms and beds. He likes seeing your body on top of soft sheets, your body sinking into the plush. He’d do it everywhere where you have privacy and at least one bed to spare. But when he’s extra horny? He would never say no to shower sex. Having you pressed against the glass with hot water dripping down your skin? Yeah, he’d never deny this.

M – Motivation

He doesn’t need motivation. You’re his motivation as a whole. Weather you’re at work and he sees you in all your authority with a badge strapped to your leather belt, if you’re in yesterday’s clothes and messy hair, just out of the bath with a towel around you, in lingerie with red lipstick on or just peacefully reading a book on the couch? He’s in for it. You get him going like nothing else in the world.

N – NO

He is absolutely against borderline violent sex. Choking, slapping, degrading? Yeah, not his cup of tea at all. He tried spanking once, and that could maybe pass somehow. But anything besides that? A big no no. He doesn’t want to hurt you in any way. He would do things only if you really want him to, but he would deny anything abusive. He just never sees himself doing something bad to someone he loves and it instantly turns him off.

O – Oral

He prefers to give more than recieve. He is a munch in all his glory. He adores seeing you between his legs, looking up at him with your mouth full of him, but he is much more keen on eating you out. He could do it all night if you let him. And besides that? He is great at it. He could make you squirm around and whine. And oh, he’s not letting you go after one orgasm. He wants more and more.

P – Peace

He likes to keep things slow when you have time for it. He’d praise you with every thrust of his hips and every moan spilling out of your mouth, he would kiss your body up and down and trace you with his lips all night long. He likes to prolong the pleasure or go multiple times in one night. He’s never in a rush, even when you beg him to go faster, he wouldn’t. He would tease and enjoy himself with looking at you, all desperate and needy beneath him.

Q – Quickie

He is not a fan, but when it’s necessary he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t like hurried sex, but when it comes to sex in the morning before work he knows it’s necessary to keep things quick. During it he constantly promises you’ll go slower when they are back home in the evening, he is desperate and needy during those. Also faster, like, significantly.

R – Risk

He hates risk. He wants this intimacy to be private. He never starts anything in public, even though he thinks about it quite often. He’s rather not worry about anything else than getting you to cum on him. So he prefers closed spaces where you can lock the door and where nobody would walk in or interrupt.

S – Stamina

He’s surprisingly eager in bed and can go for a long time. Yeah, he might be a little older than a prime man, but gosh he does keep his stamina quite alright. He doesn’t force it on you, but he is open to multiple rounds only if you want to.

T – Toys

He is keen on vibrators. He likes to use them on you just because he knows they bring you even more pleasure than just his cock when you fuck. His pride is not wounded by those in any way. But he won’t fight if you want to try it on him as well, but this will just lead with his thighs shaking and his breath getting sharp, just for him to deny he liked it later.

U – Unfair (teasing)

Oh when I tell you this man teases like a motherfucker in bed. He would make this small comments about how you’re keeping back yourself from him, and he will for sure deny you orgasm if you do it. He wants to see you. All of you. He reads you and teases you as long as he possibly can, because he knows he is just making you wetter. But as soon as you beg? He breaks.

V – Volume

He is not very a moaner, but he does start to whimper after one or two rounds. He mostly grunts and praises, sometimes a moan is possible to slip out when he is particularly enjoying himself. He isn’t as vocal as you’d want him to be, but his voice when he’s talking during sex? Pure porn.

W – Wildcard

He goes wild when you call him Mr. Jane. It seems small and irrelevant but it gets him going like nothing else. But only when it comes from your mouth, especially when you’re half naked on him or already impaled on his dick. He loves when you tease him enough, and when you also sprinkle that bit of implying that he is the authority here? He’s gone. Absolutely and utterly gone. And that’s how you know you won’t be getting out of this bed in HOURS.

X – X ray

He is not small but he’s also not enormous. He is definitely above average though. Thick and with a plump, dark pink head. But his ability to use it definitely overplays even the size. He doesn’t brag about it much, he only does when you purposely stroke his ego and you might get a „you feel so good on my big cock, baby-„ once in a while.

Y – Yearning

Oh he is a big yearner. He treats you like a goddess in bed, doing everything you tell him to. Even though sometimes he appear authoritarian and he is definitely getting off to the thought of being it, he is like an obedient puppy when you get him horny enough. He would speak how much he loves you and how beautiful you are all throughout the sex. He is just all over you.

Z – Zzz

He doesn’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re fully comfortable and satisfied. He keeps you close and talks to you until you fall asleep against his chest. Only then he finally rests his eyes and falls asleep.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Patrick Jane x fem!CBI agent!Reader

Summary: you’re dealing with the aftermath of a kidnapping from a case a few weeks back.

Content warnings:mention of past kidnapping, mention of blood, reader had a off duty weapon and it is used(not to shoot), reader has anxiety and a hint of depression, vulnerable talk, nightmares, fear of guns(Patrick), hint of readers fear of codependency, no description of reader, PTSD I think that’s really all I’m not sure

A/N: This is my first mini fic or whatever, I’m open to criticism. I truly just started rambling on with this in google docs, this is not edited Because I’m lazy and not very good at this. I think this like like 2k words. Credits to @cursed-carmine for divider!

The first week after your kidnapping everyone came to see you. Lisbon stopped by with antidotes and food you insisted you didn't need. Grace dropped off a get well gift basket and tried to make you laugh.Cho left a paper bag with your favorite bakery's cinnamon rolls on your doorstep without knocking. Patrick came every day. Sometimes with food. Mostly with tea. Sometimes with absolutely nothing except himself. He never stayed long unless you asked. You never asked. It wasn’t because you didn’t want him there, you did. Desperately. But the thought of becoming someone who was needy, the thought of becoming a person who solely depended on another person just to breathe was not a person you wanted to be, especially not to Patrick, the man you loved, the man who had gone through more than anyone thought, and the man who had enough on his plate without a needy girlfriend. Even if he’d fight you on it, saying it didn’t matter, it did to you.

The physical injuries healed quickly, bruises from the handcuffs faded from angry purple to yellow. The burns from the taser stopped aching. The cuts on your wrists closed and the bruises on your ribs had started to fad. The nightmares didn't. Nor did the panic, the way every unexpected noise sent adrenaline flooding your system before your brain could catch up. The director had signed off on mandatory leave Lisbon had extended it, to your dismay and adequate thought that you were ready. "You'll come back when you're ready." "Im ready." "No." "You haven't even looked at me." Lisbon sighed. "I just watched you check every window in this office before you sat down." Your mouth closed. "You picked the chair closest to the exit." Silence. "You jumped when the copier started." "I was startled." "You were frightened." "I'm fine." Lisbon's expression softened. "No." "I'm surviving." The correction slipped before you could stop it. Lisbon caught it immediately. "Exactly. Two different things. Im giving you this time off so you can figure out how to live again. Not just survive. You went through trauma that would have thrown any of us off.” You stayed silent, you hated hearing what was right. Teresa softened her voice again. “I care about you, enough to know when you're faking it till you make it.”

Patrick noticed different things. You answered your phone still, smiled when he smiled or said some stupid joke, thanked him every time he brought dinner. But you no longer paced your apartment while you talked. You stayed curled tightly into one corner of the couch, startled if he stood up too quickly or made fast moves with his hands. When he reached for your hand, you sometimes hesitated. Only for a second, Patrick noticed, of course he did. You apologized every single time. "I'm sorry." "For what?" "I don't know." That answer alarmed him. You always knew, you always had an answer. You were the one that made him apologize for stupid stunts, this wasn’t you, this was some hollowed out shell. The real you got left in that god-forbid warehouse. He missed you. it felt as though some part of you had stepped several feet backward, watching the world from behind thick glass. He couldn't reach you no matter how much he tried. And god did he try.

On the 17 day of the time off a small shift happened, he showed up carrying two paper bags from your favorite Thai restaurant. You ate together at your kitchen table. Or rather Patrick ate. You pushed rice around your plate. "You don't like it? I thought it was your favorite?" "I do—it is." "You've had four bites." "I'm not very hungry." He frowned. "You used to steal half my dinner." "I did." "I miss defending my spring rolls."

Silence settled again. Not awkward. Just...heavy? Eventually Patrick stood. "I'll clean up." "You don't have to." "I know." He gathered the dishes anyway. When he returned, you were staring blankly out the living room window. "Whatcha thinking about?" You answered honestly. "Nothing." That worried him..

"You want me to stay tonight?" The question surprised you. "You don't have to." "I know." "You've got your own place." "I do." "You'll sleep better there." Patrick smiled sadly. "I don't know about that." You looked down at your hands. "Yeah sure, Okay."

He slept on your couch. you never asked him too. Because it felt less intrusive than sharing your bed. Before heading to sleep, he peeked into your room. You were already lying down, lamp on, eyes closed. "Goodnight." "Night." "I'll be right down the hall." You gave a tiny nod and nothing more. Patrick had never been a particularly heavy sleeper. Years of grief, anxiety and imsomnia had been parts that played to that. Every unfamiliar sound pulled him awake. So when the scream tore through the apartment sometime after three in the morning, he was was moving before he was fully conscious. It wasn't a frightened cry—it was raw, animalistic—a sound of absolute terror. Then a thump, and tumble from your room down the hall. His heart stopped. He sprinted down the hallway. "Love!" No answer.

He reached your bedroom door. It was half open from when he left the room hours ago. The lamp had fallen sideways onto the floor. The blankets were tangled. And you—you were backed into the far corner of the room, breathing in desperate gasps like the air could fill your lungs entirely, like you were coming up for air after being shoved underwater. Both hands gripped your off-duty 9 milimeter. Your hands shook and barrel shook violently too. Pointed directly toward the doorway. Toward danger—Toward him. Patrick froze. Every instinct screamed at him to reach you his heart breaking at the sight of you. Instead, he stayed perfectly still. His stomach twisted. He hated guns. Always had. But he loved you infinitely more than he feared one and he knew this wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know that you’re safe, he understands and he won’t hold it against you. "Hey, sweetheart." His voice barely rose above a whisper. "It's me." Your eyes darted wildly around the room, refusing to focus, refusing to let you see there wasn’t danger. Only him, only your Patrick. Instead your mind had you trapped somewhere else. "You can't—" Your voice cracked. “Don’t come closer!" His chest tightened. "I'm not." "They said-." Your breathing hitched violently you fought back a sob. "They said if I moved..." Oh. Oh God. Patrick felt sick.

You weren't awake. "You're home." No response. "You're in your bedroom." Another choked off sob. "No." Tears streamed down your face. "I'm still there." He swallowed hard. "No." "I can smell—" Your voice broke. "I can smell the blood." Patrick forced himself to stay calm not to make sudden moves that would scare you further or spiral this nightmare more. "Listen to me, sweetheart," The gun trembled harder. "You are not in that warehouse." "I am." "No." "I can see her." His eyes stung. "The little girl I can see her." You shook your head frantically like you didn’t want to see it, like you couldn’t believe it. "I left her." "No." "I left her." "No, sweetheart." "I promised—" Your breathing dissolved into panicked sobs. "I promised she wouldn't be alone, I promised I’d save her, I’d bring her back to her dad!"

Patrick carefully lowered himself to one knee several feet away. Making himself smaller. Less threatening. "I need you to look at me." You couldn't. "I know, I know baby," He kept his voice impossibly gentle. "So just look at me. ." Another choked sob. Your eyes went toward him for half a second. "There you are." He nodes carefully. The gun lowered an inch. "You live in Sacramento." His voice stayed slow, hoping that if he could give you clues to where and who you are, it’d bring you back to him. "You have a blue couch." "You always leave books on your coffee table." A tear slid down your cheek. "I'm your boyfriend, we’re in your apartment, it’s 3am, and I’m here." Another inch. "You are not alone, baby. As long as I’m breathing you’re not alone." Your arms finally gave out. The gun slipped from trembling fingers and landed on the carpet. Patrick didn't move toward it. He moved toward you. Slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop, or move or do what you needed.

The second he reached you, you collapsed into him. You clung to his shirt with strength, knuckles turning white. Your entire body shook so violently he could barely hold you steady. "I thought—." You couldn't finish, words cut off with a desperate breath. "I know." "I thought they came back." "I know." "I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, kept his arms wrapped tight around you, one arm around your lower back, the other wrapped so he could hold the back of your head. He looked over your shoulder at the pistol lying a few feet away. Unloaded, he didn’t notice, didn’t think to look. The magazine sat on your nightstand. His shoulders loosened just slightly. "You keep it unloaded?" You nodded against his shoulder. "I—." Your breathing hitched. "I can't sleep unless it's there." The confession broke something inside him. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t as welcoming to him sleeping with her.

"I know you hate guns." "I do." "I tried, I did." Your voice was so small. "I tried putting it away." "But then I couldn't breathe, I felt so vulnerable like if I wasn’t careful—." Your voice cracked and you went silent. Patrick wrapped both arms around you. "You don't ever have to hide that from me." "I didn't want you to think that I was crazy."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Your face was blotchy from crying. Your hair was a mess. And your eyes….They were exhausted. They held fear and anxiety. "I think," he said quietly, "that someone did something unimaginably cruel to the woman I love." Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. "I think your mind is trying very hard to keep you alive." His thumb brushed gently beneath one eye. "I would never think you’re crazy, love. Never ."

"I don't know what's happening to me." "You've been having panic attacks." A tiny nod. "Nightmares?" Another nod. "How long?" "Almost every night." His heart sank, that meant there were nights when he was just a few feet away from you and you’d been suffering, alone. "And you didn't tell me." He sounded heartbroken, not because he was mad, never. But because the thought of you going through this without a word was enough to make him cry. "I didn't know how." He understood that way too well, after Angela and Charlotte, there had been years where language had failed him, too. Sometimes pain simply existed beyond words.

there aren't nearly enough patrick jane writers so you are doing the god's work