#Patrick Zweig girl dad

[amymbona]

thinking about reader babysitting dilf patrick’s kid…. he’s divorced but seeing you being so domestic is really giving him a little bit of a breeding kink which is bad because he shouldn’t feel this way for you and he shouldn’t fantasize about cumming in you :(((

I already have an idea for this in my drafts so YES!

I'm imagining you are sort of an assistant at one particular sports resort. You're responsible for greeting the players who show up for matches, show them the locker rooms, give them directions, make sure they're on time and just attend to their needs.

When Patrick shows up for his match, he's accompanied by a little girl, she couldn't be older than three or four, clutching onto her daddy as he greets you. He lets you know, with a worried pout on his face, that he couldn't find a nanny for today and naturally, being the kids loving person, you offer to take care of her while he's on the court.

He thanks you generously and almost kisses you, genuinely thankful for your kindness. And seeing his daughter has already warmed up to you enough, he offers you a side gig - babysitting. Naturally, you accept, not only liking the little girl but Patrick as well.

This is how you become a frequent guest at the Zweig house, slowly but surely becoming really close to his daughter. You stay at his place (and sleep in his bed) when Patrick has to travel over night, as he trusts you completely.

His daughter genuinely adores you, loves that you read her bedtime stories, paint and build lego with her and bring some sweet snacks every time you come for a visit. You have put the whole house in order too, not that is was unhygenic or down tight messy in any way, but it kind of lacked the touch of a woman.

Now, Patrick is finally able to find knives of all sizes in the kitchen, has the Harry Potter franchise sorted in his bookshelf from the first book to the eight and knows how exactly to cook his daughter's favourite spaghetti meatballs.

And Patrick adores you too, more than that, to be honest. He's so into you, like, you're the prettiest, kindest girl he has ever met before. You never get angry when he gets frustrated or unsure, not knowing how exactly to behave when his daughter falls sick, and actually help him instead of bitching about it.

The more time you spend at Patrick's place, the more he wants do keep you here forever. And from all the ideas how to exactly achieve that, a particular one has settled on his mind.

He's seen you naked once, when you were staying for the night and forgot to bring a towel when you went to shower. He brought you one, getting a little peek at your body through the gap in the door. As much as he tried to keep himself in check, he had to fuck his fist after he was sure you went asleep.

And ever since that, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. About your beautiful body and your charming presence. You make his house smell sweet, you make his daughter laugh like a ray of sunshine and you make him the happiest man in the whole world. At one point, he finds himself wishing you were the real mother of his child.

The thought of having children with you floods his mind like a tsunami, and he becomes completely obsessed with it. Oh, how bad he wants do fuck you. How bad he wants to see your bare body from all angles and hear you moan his name. How fucking bad be wants to make love to you in his bed.

But rather than the act itself, he's excited about the consequences. He gets so hard to the idea of you pregnant, forced to stay with him because he'd never let you leave, he's never let you take care of your baby by yourself. And perhaps it's selfish, it's selfish towards his own daughter and the possible child you two could have, but if that is the only way to keep you in his life, he's willing to take that step.

[tinytennisskirt]

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

[saturnicks]

girl dad!! GIRL DAD!!!

[princess-from-another-galaxy]

I kinda of want a fic where Patrick has a kid.

Like, you mean to tell me that resident man whore who's been fucking around the country in between tennis matches since he was a teenager (with only a brief period of faithfulness to Tashi) Patrick Zweig wouldn't have at least 1 oops baby????? Bffr

[sunsburns]

good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him. 

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis. 

Which he didn't. 

You let him win. 

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together. 

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise. 

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one. 

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right? 

Right? 

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief. 

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker. 

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you. 

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette. 

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips. 

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you. 

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art. 

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back. 

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you. 

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. 

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin. 

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past. 

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread. 

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room. 

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. 

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair. 

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see. 

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you. 

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath. 

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back. 

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head. 

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face. 

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly. 

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you. 

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips. 

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below. 

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes. 

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own. 

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache. 

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction. 

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake. 

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you." 

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips. 

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer. 

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop. 

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger. 

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch. 

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard. 

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. 

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man." 

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm. 

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

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[kisses4kaia]

patrick likes his girls mean!! he loves the stuck up, entitled, princesses who demand their every need be catered to. so when he meets you, all designer rackets and chanel sponsorships, he’s gotta bite.

you’d heard of patrick, of course. whom of your peers hadn’t? the effervescent tennis prodigy with a blinding career practically inscribed in his fates.

you couldn’t lie, learning about his reputation as not only a tennis god, but as a sex one, too… you had to bite.

hell if you were going to make the first move, though. that was quite literally never happening, and so you bided your time.

luckily for you, patrick was rather impatient—much differently to yourself—and would never miss the opportunity to make his way towards you at one of your dad’s events at your exorbitant, cherrywood-littered, home.

“that’s your third glass of champagne.” his voice startled from behind you. you swiveled on your heels to face the owner of such a bold tenor. “excuse me?”

patrick smiled to himself, nodding towards your glass. “tough night?” he’s suave, a large, single, step and he’s right next to you.

about to spit at him the meanest offended verbiage you could offer, your eyes found themselves catching onto his broad shoulders, and then practically raving all over his figure. his forearms, worked and muscled, were cut off from your view at the wrists, hands shoved deep into his pockets. there was a shock of dark, gelled, curls on his head, pairing dangerously fine with the honest and abyssal ultramarine of his eyes.

“you gonna keep checking me out or are you gonna answer my question?” he wore a stupid, smug smirk that had you scoffing. “sorry, do i know you?” you wished you could have looked down at him when saying this, but even with your heavy platform versace heels, you still had to crane your head to meet his eyes.

and of course, your question was redundant, but from the sounds of him thus far, he could do with a little ego death.

“patrick, zweig. i play tennis. and you do, too, don’t you?” he knew the answer to that question and he knew exactly who you were, because your father’s foundation that this very event was being held for, was titled in your name. “oh, that’s right. yeah, your parents were, i think.. third place at last year’s st. jude’s fundraiser?” his face twisted up in shame so satisfactorily, you had to physically bite back an evil giggle of victory. “well, patrick. it was really nice talking—“

“i’ve got something stronger than champagne in my car.” his tone was flat, practically monotonous, but his words had an implication of sheer fun, and who were you to skip out on that?

so, here you were, orange vodka bottle in your right hand as you jerked a whining patrick off with your left. “god, you’re so fucking pent up. what is it, tennis? or is it that no girl wants to fuck you, so you haven’t blown a decent load since back at school?”

ooh, he would tell it to you so straight, spit out evidence-backed statements of how easy it was to get a pretty girl on her knees for him whenever he wanted, he would. he would, if his mind wasn’t so fogged up with the pleasure, and the drinks, and mostly you. you you you.

“fuck—t’s so good, so good. please, i wanna cum, wanna cum,” he’d plead through the thick steam growing in the increasingly too-small cockpit of his car.

“how bad?” nipping at his ear, you were waiting to hear him beg, and he was waiting to swallow his mass of pride enough to get it out. “so bad, really fucking bad. i need it, need you, fuck. shit—please, need it so much,” he was so convincing, and it would’ve swayed a kinder soul, but then again, patrick likes his girls mean.

“no.” with your hand lost on his stupidly bricked length, patrick groaned, and bitched, and whined, and complained about how unfair you were being, and how he’d never do that to you, and blah blah blah. “well, i can’t say i care, so. maybe i’ll see you later. bye, patrick,” your fingers twinkled goodbye in a wave, and you were out of the vehicle and back inside the party without another word.

it wasn’t over then, of course not, and you knew it. thus, it came as no shocker when an unknown number randomly applepays you $1000 in the middle of the night, along with a text that reads as follows.

had a great time. hope we run into each other again sometime soon. and, don’t spend it all in once place, yeah? - 💸

[miley1442111]

(part 8) choices in hindsight- a.donaldson

-------------------------------

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summary: eleven years later.

(dw there are more parts after this :))

pairing: art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment and depression, hurt, cheating, loneliness, etc.

PART 8 of 12

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Eleven years later….

You sat beside the umpire, your opponent smashing her racket in frustration as tears fell down her face. You were tired. Every bone in your body ached, your muscles were tense, your skin felt too tight. 

Your mind was worse. Playing tennis since you were a little girl does that to someone. Being in the public eye does that to someone, being alone does that to someone.

“You fucking bitch!” She shouted. “You fucking bitch!”

You didn’t care about it, the match was done, and you’d won. As usual. 

You hated tennis. You hated your life. Your lonely, empty life. 

-------------------------------

“How about a challenger? To boost your motivation?” Your manager, Michael, offered. 

“I’ll do whatever,” you shrugged. 

Michael stopped in front of you, stopping you from walking. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” you plastered on a fake smile. “Just tired.”

“In what sense?” He asked. He’d always been able to see right through you. You rolled your eyes. 

“In the sense that I’m completely alone and I’m sick of knowing that I’m a winner while I feel like a failure!” You exploded. “Tashi and Art got married. Patrick isn’t anywhere near as good as he was. I have no friends. I have no family. I have nothing but a bunch of cold, metal trophies, and a team who don’t care if I want to play anymore. All they care about is my game. And I fucking hate tennis!” 

Michael stared at you, face hardening. “You really had to do that in front of everyone?” He asked. You looked around. Your team was around you, but so was your next opponent.

“I’m not exactly worried,” you snarled. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Go win the match, then we’ll let you have some alcohol and you can drown your sorrows.”

“Fuck yourself!” you shouted as he walked away. 

“How can I do that when you’re constantly fucking me over anyways!” He shouted back. 

-------------------------------

Back on the court again. Another subpar player against you. 

HIT. You’re worthless. HIT. You’re awful. HIT. You’re nothing. HIT. You deserve to be lonely. HIT. You deserve to be alone. HIT. You deserve to feel worthless.

HIT. Be better. HIT. Be stronger. HIT. Be more. 

HIT. 

“We have a winner!” 

-------------------------------

“Come on!” Lily shouted from beside him, her eyes on the court as you won, yet again. She’d seen her mother do it so much she was turning it into a catch-phrase. 

“She’s pretty good, right?” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving you. He didn't want to let himself admit it, but god you looked good. The white tennis outfit you had on was practically making him weak in the knees, as well as the 'I don't give a shit' attitude you carried with you. You were simply leaning in your chair, a drink in hand as your opponent screamed to her manager about how unfair playing against you was.

I mean she wasn't wrong. You were the top female tennis player and you were practically unbeatable. You were incredible.

“She’s amazing!” Lily smiled. “When does she play again?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. He had your schedule memorised. 

“Can I meet her?” 

Art shook his head. “She and mom have a complicated history.” Also, I’m still madly in love with her.

“How so?” Lily asked as he walked with her, hand in hand to the concessions stand. 

“Well, back in college mom and her didn’t get along because mom couldn’t beat her-” he started but he felt Tashi beside him. 

“You’re lying to Lily now?” She snarked. 

Art felt his skin go cold. “No. It’s true-”

“I beat her,” Tashi nodded. “Dad used to date Y/n as well, isn’t that right?”

Art nodded and Lily looked up at him.

“That’s weird,” she confessed. “Why did you break up?”

“I was in love with mom,” Art lied and kissed Tashi on the cheek, the entire display looking awkward and rehearsed. His regret and resentment grew everyday. He’d never regret having Lily, but he regretted everything he did to you, and letting you get away. 

“That’s gross!” She squealed, shielding her eyes from her parents kissing.

“Alright peanut, what do you want?” He asked, moving up in the line and getting ready to order. 

-------------------------------

HIT.  Train harder. HIT. Work harder. HIT. You deserve nothing. 

The ball hit into your side and you groaned out in pain. “Fuck!”

You let yourself rest on the ground, not even bothering to turn off the automatic ball-throwing machine. 

“Hi,” a familiar voice smiled at you. Your eyes opened to find Patrick Zweig over your head. 

“Hi,” you mumbled, getting up. 

“How are you?” he asked, following you as you began to hit the balls again. 

“Fine,” you grunted out. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he smirked, watching your figure as you bent to hit a ball. “Very good.”

“Your dad give you a job yet?” 

Patrick’s fantasy was broken. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, not yet.”

“Too bad. You’d make a much better corporate asshole than the piece-of-shit tennis player you are.”

“Tread easy,” he chuckled, a touch of pathetic begging in his plea. You just rolled your eyes and continued on your exercise. 

“How about you go fuck yourself, Patrick?” Tashi scoffed from the stands, Art beside her. 

“How can I go back to that when she fucks me so well?” He joked. HIT. 

“Leave her alone Pat,” Art sighed. HIT. 

“Why are you defending her?” Tashi questioned, turning to Art. HIT. 

“She is right here in case you don’t see her,” Pat defended. HIT. 

“Pat we fucking know-” Art started, but it just ended up in Tashi talking over him to the point that Patrick started talking over both of them in the argument. 

HIT. HIT. HIT. 

“All three of you can fuck off!” you screamed. “I never want to see your stupid face again Patrick, Tashi you can stop flaunting that you got the love of my life, and Art, go be a dad or something! I don’t care anymore!” 

All three of them turned to you with various faces. Patrick was smirking, happy he’d finally pushed your buttons to the extreme. Tashi looked awkward and caught, maybe even guilty. 

But Art. Art looked at you like you’d hung the stars just for him, then tore it all down in front of him. His beautiful blue eyes filling with tears as he finally got to hear you admit that he was the love of your life, only eleven years too late. 

“I’m content with being alone, as shit as it is. I suggest you all move on from me now,” you sighed, grabbing your bag and walking off to find you manager. 

“See you at the challenger!” Patrick called after you. The ATP Challenger Tour. 

The same one from eleven years ago. 

Where everything fell apart. 

You got that familiar sinking feeling in your stomach.

-------------------------------

art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

people who asked to be tagged :)

@fkaams

@emily-b

@yourmommycallsmemommy

@hrtsj1m

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[222col]

sugardaddy!art needs his lucky charm, but tashi is growing bored of it, sugardaddy!patrick on the other hand... | part two of this | 18+

you're frozen in motion, patrick's words lingering in the air as your phone keeps ringing. you always answer art's calls. "sorry, i- i just need to take this," you answer the phone, running out into the hallway. "hey baby," you're whispering into the phone. "hey sweet girl, you sound tired." he wants to look after you, cradle you in his arms and stroke your hair until you fall asleep on his chest. "just a lil, didn't sleep much last night." yeah too right you didn't, too busy fucking his best friend. "how was training?" you change the subject. "it was good, feeling confident about tonight. you still coming to watch me?" shit. of course you're going. you haven't missed a match since you started seeing art, he calls you his lucky charm. "of course! i can't wait." you can hear his smile as he hums into the phone. "good, wear the white shirt of mine that i left at yours last week, with the shortest skirt you can find." you melt against the screen. "yes sir," he's practically groaning into the phone. "i gotta go princess, can't wait to see you later."

you say your goodbyes and hang up the phone. rushing back into the hotel room. "you okay?" patrick asks, still sat against the headboard. "yeah, just my dad." art would come on the spot if he ever heard you say that. "so, my proposition?" patrick smirks, holding out his hand for you. you take it, joining him on the bed. "can i think about it?" he just laughs in response. "wow." he draws out the word. you smile, shyly. "of course you can, sweetheart." he kisses the inside of your wrist. "i gotta go, but i'll text you." you pick up your dress off the floor, it's almost a two piece from the way patrick ripped it off your body. holding the fabric in your hands, thinking about how sad art would be if he saw it. "oh, princess, i'm sorry," patrick jumps off the bed. "i'll buy you a new one, i just got too excited." he's smirking into his suitcase as he picks out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for you to wear. "here," he kisses your forehead and helps you get dressed. removing your robe and instructing you to lift your arms above your head to slip the t-shirt on. "you look so small in my clothes, angel, so sexy, makes me wanna rip them off your body again."

he offers to walk you home, but you tell him no, you'll be okay. picking up a coffee on your way, your mind is a mess. walking into your apartment, immediately jumping in the shower and starting to get yourself pretty for art. you wear as instructed, tucking the shirt in slightly to a small black tennis skirt art bought you. you tie your hair into a ponytail and finish applying your make up. you put your phone into a new chanel bag art bought you last week, embroidered with 'A.D'. booking an uber and making your way to the tournament. tashi had forwarded you your ticket, entering through the side entrance to pick up your VIP lanyard.

just arrived, the seat is perfect. i'll have the best view of you <3

texting art as you take your seat in the stands, placing your bag on the floor below your feet. tashi is a few seats in front of you, turning to smile at you once before focusing on the match playing out before her.

good, can't wait to devour you after i win for you, my sweet girl xx

art responds, his match up next. the seats fill up as art's match is announced. the seat next to tashi still empty, until a curly brunette makes his way there as art and his appointment's names are announced. no. it can't be. his head swings around, surveying the crowd, his eyes landing on you. patrick zweig. of course he's here, how did you not think that of course patrick would be here. he half smiles, turning around and unlocking his phone.

why didn't you tell me you were such a tennis fan baby? no wonder you were so desperate to fuck me.

your cheeks blush as you read the message from patrick, he watches your reaction carefully. his sweet boy facade disappearing, now that you're not in his bed kissing his body. you ignore the message, slipping your phone into your purse as art walks onto the court. the crowd lights up as you applaud his entrance. art wins, obviously. he's had a stellar season, on his way to complete his career grand slam, thanks to you and the motivation you give him. you exit the stands, heading straight for art's dressing room. he opens the door to you, smiling down, still covered in sweat from playing, he knows you love it. pulling you in to his private room, wasting no time placing his lips on yours. "missed you so much," he mumbles against your lips. "looked so pretty in my shirt, shouting my name for everyone to hear." your hand reaches into his shorts, "already so hard for me baby." you whisper into his ear as your hand enters his boxers. "mmm, mhm, had to hide it on the court, you know i love it when you wear your hair up."

you fall to your knees in front of him, pulling down his shorts and underwear. his grasps your hair, teasing him slightly as his cock delves down your throat. "atta girl," he whispers, guiding your head back and forth on him. he takes no time at all, groaning your name as he finishes on your tongue, swallowing every drop he pulls you back to your feet. "my pretty little girl, always looking after me." he strokes your cheek, kissing you gently. "go on, go find tashi, i'll meet you both after my shower and we'll go home." you simply nod, turning to the door, his hand gently spanking you as you leave. you walk towards the private bar to find tashi, your arm being pulled from behind you, stopping you in your tracks in the players hallway before the bar.

"and what would you be doing back here, you little minx?" patrick asks, letting go of your arm after spinning you around to him. "i, um, was just trying to find the bar." you're stuttering, scared he can smell art on your mouth. "were you now? or were you just trying to find another tennis star to fill your hole?" your knees nearly buckle at his words. he hasn't stopped smirking at you once. "and here i was thinking i was special." he fake pouts, he's eating this up. art could leave his dressing room any second now and find you two together. he laughs and walks past you to the bar. you take a second to collect yourself before walking in the same direction. luckily he's already chatting away with some other players, so you walk over to tashi's table that's tucked away in the corner. patrick of course notices, even more curious about you now. "art told me to come find you, then we'd leave after his shower. is- is that okay?" you ask her. she nods and pulls out a chair for you. you sit down, placing your bag on the table. she notices her husbands initials on your purse. "sweet touch." she thumbs the fabric that adorns the letters. "it was art's idea, i wasn't sure if it was too obvious."

tashi smiles. "he'd do anything to show you off to the world, he hates keeping you private." she states, no real emotion behind her words. "r-really?" you ask, a waitress offers a glass of champagne from her tray. tashi grabs you both a glass. "yes. he talks about it often, how he'd do near enough anything to tell the world you're his." you're blushing, patrick is staring, you don't notice. you open your mouth to question further, interrupted by the presence of the brunette beside your table. fuck. no. no. shit. you're in deep trouble now. "tashi, who is this beautiful girl you're keeping tucked away?" thank god. you thought patrick would immediately out you. tashi introduces you, none the wiser. "she's the face of my new adidas campaign, i invited her today to get to know the game a little better, before she does any of the promo." tashi is collected, whenever someone does catch the two of you together she always gives them that same answer. "huh, interesting," patrick pulls up a chair. go away. no. art cannot see this. "you gonna come watch me play tomorrow too? i'll show you what tennis is meant to look like." patrick teases, leaning back on his chair. "no," tashi answers for you. "she's just here this week for art's games."

art turns around the corner, into the bar. his chest rising at the sight of you, between tashi and patrick. "well, maybe art and i will play the final against each other again, and i'll get to see your pretty face some more." he winks at you, you nodding your head towards art as tashi turns around. she stands, you follow. the three of you rush to the side entrance, jumping into the car. tashi drives, you and art in the back seat. his arm sneaks around your waist. "what was that?" he questions. "patrick being patrick." tashi answers, focusing on the road. art kisses your cheek. "did he say anything inappropriate to you?" you open your mouth to speak, tashi interrupting you again. "he was just flirting with her, as i said, patrick being patrick." he kisses your head, pulling your body closer to his. "she can speak for herself, tashi." she shakes her head, gripping the steering wheel. art doesn't usually speak to tashi like that. you know he's riled up, another man flirting with you, especially patrick. you turn his head back to you, kissing his lips.

"can you wait until i'm out of sight before you kiss my husband again." you wouldn't normally kiss art in front of her, but he's angry, and needs your attention. "um, yes, of course, sorry," you whimper. art shakes his head at his wife. "stop talking down to her." art leans towards tashi. she simply shakes her head. "i set all of this up for you, art, don't forget that. i'm the reason she's sat in this car, i can take her away just as easy." they're never like this, not in front of you anyway. you're embarrassed, so's art. "no you fucking couldn't." you know he's angry because of patrick flirting with you, but now he's angry at tashi, her words cutting deep. his grip around your waist tightens. he covers your shoulder in kisses, he's insecure. you don't say anything, just grabbing hold of his hand. "fucking watch me." you hear tashi whisper under her breath, art doesn't hear, too consumed with your bare skin under his lips.

you arrive at their house, art opens the door for you. he picks you up, hands under your skirt, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. tashi closes the car door behind her, almost laughing at the sight before her. his lips crash into yours, staring straight at his wife as he does. "you're pathetic, art. seriously." she storms into the house, straight to her bedroom. he's so spurred on, carrying you all the way to his bedroom, throwing you down on his bed. "take your clothes off." he instructs, he's so rarely dominant, you can feel the wetness grow in your underwear. you slowly unbutton the shirt, shimmying out of your skirt. next your bra and panties until your laid naked before him. he's still fully dressed, "touch yourself" god, he's never done this before. he really is pent up. he stands in front of you, waiting. your hands roam down your body before you start to pleasure yourself in front of him. he's silent, stood still, just watching.

it's only once you've made yourself come that art pounces on you, ridding him of his clothes as quickly as you can. he's hungry, starving, craving the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock. he doesn't ask permission, or let you adjust to him, pounding into you harder than ever before, it's as though he wants to be deeper, go further into your body than he or anyone before him ever has. he wants to claim parts of you that remain untouched by any other men. "you're fucking mine, always will be fucking mine," he's tearing up, his arms wrapped around your body, head nuzzled into your neck. he orgasms, hard. more come dripping out his cock than ever before. he pulls out of you, and just lays there, on top of you. his eyes still full of tears.

you hold his head in your hands, looking into his eyes. "baby, what's wrong?" you kiss his nose. "she can't fucking take you from me, please, don't let her." tears fall onto your cheek from his eyes. you pull him back onto your chest. cradling him there, shushing him and stroking his hair. the two of you fall asleep like that together, only moving him onto his side once you've waken. he grumbles in his sleep as you slip your panties and his oversized shirt back on. it's early, the sun is rising, you head downstairs to the kitchen for some water. filling your glass, nearly dropping it in the sink when tashi appears in front of you.

"you're to leave my house in an hour, and never come back." you're shocked. you know she threatened this in the car to art, but you never thought she'd follow through. "but-" she doesn't let you respond. "you're not to tell art, don't contact him again, don't come to this house again, or everything we've given you will be taken anyway." your heart is shattering, thinking of the tears dripping onto your face as art begged you never to leave him. it's like subconsciously he knew. "not just the clothes, and jewellery. your car, your apartment, your career." you knew tashi could take everything away from you. you'd have nothing, be no one. you breathe in deeply, tears forming in your own eyes now. "do you understand?" you want to scream, wake art up and have him come protect you. you want to shake yourself awake, let it all be some horrible dream. you want to shout no at tashi, tell her you won't do it. "yes, mrs. donaldson." the tears fall as you respond. "good, the car to take you home will be here at 6:30." you look to your watch, 45 minutes. she turns on her heels, leaving you alone.

walking back into art's bedroom, you sit on the bed, just watching him. listening to his breathing, the occasional snore. you move his hair from his forehead, placing a kiss there. tears still streaming. you stand, putting your tennis skirt back on your body. you wipe your tears, picking up the used tennis shirt of art's from the floor, putting it into your purse. you take a piece of paper from his notebook.

i love you, art donaldson.

you place the note on the nightstand, taking in one last look at him and leaving through the front door. the car is waiting, the driver confirms your address and starts driving. you don't look back, just taking your phone out of your bag.

i'm in.

you send the message, the sound of a response catches you off guard. it's early, you don't expect it so soon.

good girl. come to my hotel

you're not thinking straight, you're making decisions you're in no position to make right now. yet you can't stop your fingers from typing back to him.

don't you have a match today?

you're so used to art's match day routines, not seeing him the whole day as tashi puts him through the works.

so fucking what? come bounce on my dick before i go to training

you tell the driver the address of patrick's hotel, asking him to drop you off there instead. before you know it you're outside his hotel room, knocking on his door. he answers in just his boxers. "still in yesterday's clothes? you really are a slut, aren't you?"

[zweiginator]

Patrick taking readers virginity so of course she can’t wear her purity ring anymore so when they’re done she’s like “have it.” cause she can’t bear the fact she didn’t keep her promise to chastity, but Patrick treats ts like a fucking trophy. keeps it on his chain like a wedding band. people even recognizing the ring as YOUR ring and he’s like 😄😄😄😄 ya 😄😄😄😄

well yes.

being soooo dead set about saving yourself until marriage. your dad gave you that purity ring when you were 13 and you made a vow to your parents--and to yourself--that you would be a good girl. find a sweet boy with good intentions and wait for him to propose. wait for your coveted wedding night and consummate it the way god intended.

and you were doing so well--until college. nobody even interested you at first. you were wondering if something was wrong with you, if a flip was switched off.

but then you went to a party you shouldn't have gone to. you left your phone at your dorm because your parents still tracked your location and this way there would be nothing to explain.

the second you saw patrick shotgunning a beer you felt that fire in your stomach, in your core. and patrick made eye contact with you as he wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. your ring glimmered and he looked at it and then you and then it again.

and after three tequila shots you just weren't caring about god's intention or the pearly gates of heaven. you were thinking about thie boy's strong biceps and the patch of hair that led beneath his jeans--a place you surely weren't supposed to look.

after that, things were foggy and you both were stumbling out to the backyard.

"there's a shed." patrick pulled you into him and you followed.

it all happened so fast. tongues slashing at each other almost violently. clashing teeth and wandering hands. the forceful rip of a zipper and the clang of gardening tools as patrick lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

it hurt, to take him in. but patrick's moans in your ear softened the blow. he turned you on so fucking much you felt more drunk on him than the alcohol. his fingertips pressed deep into the fat of your thighs and your nails raked down his scalp. his pelvis nudged against your clit.

you moaned freely, but pulled him close when you felt his hips stuttering.

"i'm not on birth control." because you weren't supposed to do any of this. you didn't need to plan ahead for something that was never supposed to happen.

patrick pulled out and aimed on your stomach. he clung onto you even after the fact but you pulled his own move on him.

"i gotta go." you stumbled out of the shed and patrick followed close behind.

"let me walk you back." he yelled.

"no--" the guilt was setting in and you felt nauseous looking at the ring on your finger. what a fraud.

you ripped it off and threw it at him. he caught it.

he realizes what it is as he holds it in his palm.

and you see patrick around campus. you swear your ring is on a chain around his neck. you may have to ask for it back. you may have to pretend this never even happened. how will you explain why your finger is bare and why patrick zweig has a new charm around his neck?

[kafka-ish]

Patrick is totally the first guy you fall in love with when you’re sixteen and it’s totally cliche. You do all types of stupid things you’ve seen in movies. Making lists of the things you want to do together. Making out in the backseat of his parents car in an empty parking lot at midnight. Discovering each other’s bodies and making each other cum for the first time. Patrick, like Art said, was an early bloomer. Maybe he fingered his ex girlfriends he had prior, had heavy makeout sessions with them that ended in head, but you’re each other’s firsts.

You and Patrick don’t expect to get this far but once your relationship hits the five month mark you realize it’s the longest you’ve been with someone.

Patrick’s enthralled. Can’t believe you put up with him, petty fights and all. His kiss good-byes become longer, sloppier; he wants this to last forever. It hurts when you leave and he knows it’ll hurt even more when you eventually come to your senses and call the whole thing off. Sorry I can’t do this anymore. He’d do anything to keep that from happening.

Patrick gets soooo jealous once he starts to take your relationship seriously and he doesn’t even realize it. Why were you talking to him? You know if you need help on the homework you can just ask me. / What do you mean you’re going to the movies with your family? …Well can I come? Your dad loves me! He’s in your room one day, talking to your stuffed animals and going through your photos. You’re doing your homework until he comes up to you, asking who this guy is standing next to you. It’s your fucking cousin. “Well, why is he dressed up so nice? And why is his arm around you? Kinda weird if you ask me.”

“Because it’s a wedding, Patrick.”

Patrick sighs, head dropping to his chest, flopping onto your bed. You’re a good one and he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. “Hey.”

Immediately, Patrick’s sitting up again. Eyes on you and he wants this to be his view every goddamn second of the day for the rest of his life.

“Somethings up. What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. Seriously, what’s wrong.” You stand up, make your way across the room to him. Take his hands in yours and play with his fingers. He loves that shit. And he doesn’t know how to express himself other than pulling you into him, pressing a big kiss onto your lips. It’s passionate and wet and takes you by surprise and it’s all Patrick Zweig. You’re breathless, gasping, and you need to pull away, just for a second. But that’s too long for Patrick so he opts for your neck, your cheek, your collarbone, anything. He needs to feel your skin on his lips. He needs to show you you’re his.

He’s downright devouring you. Pouring his heart and soul into sucking on your clavicle, nipping at your neck, licking your ear while your hands are still holding his, fingers intertwined like high school kids. Eager, aren’t you? He brings you down with him, flush against your sheets—you on top. It’s like a sandwich. Him underneath his favorite person, crushed against the duvet you sleep in and your velvety skin.

This time you’re the one to kiss him and he’s so touched. Touched from the way you moan in his mouth, the way you still hold his hand, the way you cup his jaw and grind into his pants. Fuck.

He whines at the contact. He whines at the fact that you’re on top. Whines at the sight of your pretty face and how it scrunches when you rub your clothed clit against his dick. Whines because this is the farthest you’ve gone in your bed and he can stretch out his legs. This is so much better than making out in his mom’s mazda, he thinks.

“Need you.”

“Mmm.”

“Patrick,” you say, panting, in between kisses, “please.”

He releases his hands from your grasp, opting for your hips instead. His grip is delicious, guiding you on his denim covered dick, fingers digging into your skin, pressing you into him. You feel his erection and all you can think about is taking him in your mouth, hands in your hair, saying good girl. But before you can unbutton his jeans he’s taking the lead, switching positions. Now you’re under him while he’s leaving a trail of open mouth kisses over your body, slipping off your tank so he can reach your breast. And he’s in awe at the full expanse of your chest. He relishes the moment. Wants to snap a photo and make you his lockscreen. Wants to rip off your shorts along with your panties. Eat you out and crawl inside you and eat your insides too. But he takes it slow. Sucks hickeys on your hipbone. Plays with your clit over your underwear and you’re so sensitive. The scratch of the lace and the pads of his calloused fingers feels euphoric. This is happiness.

"God you're wet." And you can't help but giggle. Fucking giggle even though your boyfriend's about to go down on you. Your thighs frame his face and every time his breath hitches the warmth of it hits your clit. You take his hand in yours again and he squeezes it while his tongue laps up into your swollen cunt. Yeah, this is way better than making out in his mom's mazda.

And if Patrick could think right now, he'd think this was heaven. Maybe we don't go anywhere after death and this is it. He wants to stay here forever, buried in your pussy for hours.

His tongue fucks your cunt, taking care of it with utter precision, getting a taste of every crevice, giving you his ultimate devotion. He's egging you on for a second orgasm until you pull him up by his curls and smash his lips into yours. He knows you can taste yourself and he groans. You pull away. Replace your lips with the fingers you've been massaging his scalp with. Finger the tongue that's been playing in your pussy.

"Patrick..."

"Mmhm"

"I want to lose my virginity to you." He can't tell if you mean it or you're just saying that, caught up in the moment.

"You sure about that babe?"

"Patrick, please." You're whining and he's never seen you this needy.

"Shit, yeah f'course princess. You got a condom?"

You shake your head bashfully. "No. But it's okay. Promise." You grind up into him, trying to find some friction. Patrick's looking into you, blue eyes boring into yours. Part of him is worried. What if it's just the nerves? But the sick part of him is thrilled. Gloating over the spontaneity of it all. Thanking whatever higher deity allowed this to happen to him of all persons. If he were a better man he’d stop right now, get his ass redressed and take it to the nearest cvs by your house. Run-in, not bothering to look at the size or brand, let alone lock the car or park between the lines properly. Thinks about walking out and leaving a twenty dollar bill at self-checkout. But this is Patrick Zweig we’re talking about. Too enamored by your pretty face and how you say his name, begging for him to take what’s his. So he swallows any left-over guilt that lingers in the back of his throat. Undoes his jeans and takes his dick out of his underwear with ease.

“It’s supposed to hurt, y’know.” His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I know. I don’t care. Patrick, I’m yours.” Fuck, he could burst at your words. But he doesn’t. Glides the tip against your clit. Sighs at the way it slides so easily with the wetness. And you just want him to put it in but like the good boyfriend he is he wants to prep you, get used to it. It’s sudden, stinging, a different sensation when you feel him. All of him. He stays this way for a while, holding you while you adjust to his size. He rubs circles on your skin and strokes your jaw to distract you from the hurt and pressure of it all.

“This okay? Just tell me and we can stop.”

“No, Patrick. God.” His lips latch onto your neck, sucking what will be a bruise your friend will ask about the next day at school. “Please move.”

“Whatever you say.” Slow strokes pump into you. It’s tender and tantalizing and somehow life changing. This is what love is, what you too are doing. Not buying cheap cvs condoms, but pulling out after you orgasm. Asking for him in the spur of the moment because you realize this is who you see yourself with. The boy who gets jealous of your cousin for wearing a tux to some relative you can’t remember the name of’s wedding. The boy who picks you up from work and kisses you even when you’re sweaty after your shifts. The boy who asks you out on dates to mcdonald’s drive-ins only to realize he’s been doing this wrong the entire time so he swipes his dad’s credit card and takes you out to a nice restaurant. Orders spaghetti and meatballs, thinking you’re gonna eat it lady and the tramp style. The boy laying next to you right now who says it for the first time You know I love you, right? And you do.

[amymbona]

Girl dad Patrick Zweig.

Someone give him a daughter.

That man deserves to have a daughter and dedicate his whole life to her.

She is the light of his life, the sun of his days. This man adores his daughter more than any other person in this world.

He is her protector, her prince, her knight in shining armour. Any kid being rude to his little girl? Patrick makes sure that kid is crying to his parents.

Someone said a bad thing about his daughter? That someone wakes up with all their teeth extracted, I'm not even joking.

He buys her sweets, chocolate, pizza, milkshakes, cotton candy, McDonald's, popcorn - anything she asks for! It's unhealthy? Oh, no worries, she will be eating a bowl of fruit after that.

He never lets her walk a longer distance. Always scoops her up in his arms and pretends to throw her in the air for some laughs.

Does his girl like a particular dress? A fluffy skirt? A little shirt printed unicorn? Socks with ruffles? It's in her wardrobe the next day.

Watching TV shows together. Introduces her to South park and teaches her curse words at an early age.

"Mister Zweig? Your daughter called her classmate an ugly ass horse."

No punishments. That man is proud of his little girl for standing up for herself.

Braiding her hair. He's been watching youtube tutorials on that.

Even learned how paint nails with perfectly chosen non-toxic nail polish.

Her room is her kingdom. A canopy bed, fluffy carpet, pushed scattered all over the room. Lego buildings by the wall. All book series neatly sorted in her bookshelf. Little fairy lights on the ceiling. Pictures of the two and posters of One direction on the walls.

Allows her to play the Sims and Minecraft on his computer.

Little tea parties each Sunday.

Lets her do his makeup with one of these shitty sets. There are glitters all over his face but he loves it.

His girl could actually be a makeup artist in the future.

"Did such a good job, sweetheart!"

Neat and thoughtful. His girl never catches a cold in winter, buys her little vitamin C gummies, tucks her shirt in her pants so she's all nice and warm.

Teacher his daughter tennis but never wants her to pursue the career professionally. Knows it could eventually ruin her.

Attends every single ballet performance. Always sits in the first row and records a video.

"That's my girl!"

When she's older, talks about boys follow. And Patrick gets so protective.

"Never let a boy treat you bad. If he's being rude, just kick him in the nuts. Yeah. Just like that."

When she gets a love letter from her classmate on Valentine's day, he calls the guy's mother to know everything about him. His daughter won't be dating some asshole.

Unconditional support. Whatever hobbies she pursues or clothes she wears (unless they at especially revealing), whoever she loves or however she feels, he always supports her.

Pep talks about mental health. Patrick knows how important it is to feel mentally comfortable.

Would do everything for daughter to smile and be happy.

A proud concert dad. Always accompanies his girl and records videos for her so she can enjoy the whole experience thoroughly.

Cries at her graduation.

"They grow up so fast, don't they?"

Forever the most important woman of his life.

[artssslut2]

Patrick Zweig as a Dad Head-cons:

- As soon as you brought your daughter Billie home from the hospital Patrick was in full dad mode. You had never seen him so grown up.

- When Billie would have rough nights or restless moments Patrick would watch tennis with her. He would explain everything going on like she understood it. It worked every time.

- Patrick was always doing skin to skin with his baby. He never wore a shirt to begin with but now he really never did.

- When your daughter got a little older Patrick would put her in the baby bjorn While he hit tennis balls, she thought it was the funniest thing ever. She would giggle nonstop, it was music to your ears.

- Patrick wanted nothing more than his kid to share his love for tennis. But of course she wanted nothing to do with it. She took lessons for a little bit but it wasn’t her thing. Patrick pretended he didn’t care but he was secretly heartbroken.

- His daughter loved to dance. She was an amazing dancer, it was her version of tennis.

- Patrick was at every recital and competition. He never missed one. He even built a little home studio in your basement for her.

- Patrick was such a girl dad, he would let her paint his nails and put makeup on him. Something he never thought he would do.

- He spoiled his little girl rotten. She got whatever she wanted, he could not say no to her. He even retired early because she asked if he could pick her up from school more.

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag babes! @guiltyasdave • nsfw under the cut! 18+ MDNI!

wip #1 • show me a little bit of spine! feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

'five x-men walk into a bar, only three walk out…'

oops i don't have a sneak peek for this one...sorry chickens.

this is an official part two to "all's fair in love and viscera" cause i can't leave them alone to save my life! i finally decided on the name crimson for this specific reader, and the au as a whole will be called the to the bone universe (that’s also how it’ll be tagged on my acc!!!)

this is jealous!logan getting down and dirty in a bar bathroom after a special someone makes a move on his girl...wink wink nudge nudge. a special guest! a very special guest, cause what better way is there to get a man off their ass and admit they like you than dirty dancing with another man in front of him.

think degradation, biting, pain kink (obvi wtf). there's also some emotional constipation and just a hint of angst. it'll be so fun!

wip #2 • says he needs it bad (oh so very bad) feat. sub!logan howlett (& crimson!)

'it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…'

double oops i don’t have a sneak peek for this one either…pls forgive me!

this is also apart of the to the bone universe but it's more like a non-connecting little blurb than another part...if that makes sense lol i just wanted to write more crimson!

all this is thanks to a lovely anon who sent in a req desperately needing me to speak on sub!logan. it's funny because ofc i'll speak on sub!logan wtf who do you think i am. it's honestly one of the fluffiest, softest things i've ever written...established relationship is really locking my ass down. it's still filthy though don't worry! think riding, think pain kink, think light dustings of a breeding kink. i really don't know how to explain this lmao it's gonna be great trust me!

wip #3 • hunting for sport... feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

'there's a big bad wolf somewhere in these woods...'

You scramble backwards, stuck watching the way the brush starts to rustle as he gets closer. You push yourself back to your feet, muscles screaming in protest as you break into a sprint. It's all in vain, you know it is. He's only playing with you, letting you tire yourself out. He’s known where you’ve been the whole time, could smell you the whole time, could hear you the whole time. The two of you have been at this long enough now, his patience is starting to run thin. He's right behind you, if the violent thrashing of the brush over your shoulder getting louder is any indication. The dull sound of claws ripping through the forest floor growing closer and closer before the entire woods suddenly tilts on its axis.

this is also in the to the bone universe! can you tell that i'm really into this au? i physically can't stop writing them...another little fic that's outside the events of parts one and two :))) who would i be if i didn't write a chase fic for this man? that's the real question. more violence heavy than the other fics listed, i got bit by the freak bug and i need to write nasty sexy violence sorry babes.

wip #4 • give it to me like a man! feat. dbf!patrick zweig

'patrick comes to your college graduation party, he gives you the best gift...'

“Yeah, I've been pretty busy since the season started. Lot’s of traveling and shit, you know?” Your dad hums in agreement, nodding his head lazily. “For sure, my schedule has been killer this season.” He brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Patrick are in the same boat. Only your dad’s boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing to cushy televised matches and Nike shoots while Patrick is floating on a dinghy to some barely media covered ITF matches. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?” Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow motion, your palm grinding over the tip through the denim. “Yeah, daddy.” You say, voice going light and airy around the edges. Patrick thinks it’s being said to your dad, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re already looking at him. Eyes half-lidded and shiny as your fingers brush over the metal of his zipper.

the long awaited dbf!patrick lol i know i've been dragging this damn thing out for like three weeks but it's the most "done" fic on this list so maybe maybe MAYBE it'll actually be posted soon...

anyway this is nothing but pure filth. just straight up nasty no plot at all pure sex and fucking hard gross style. lots and lots of dirty talk, degradation, risk play, sort of public sex, a barely there daddy kink...just me being nasty on a google doc for no reason!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing (it's technically thursday but like oh em gee who cares just do it anyway chickens)

[artdcnaldson]

Consider: you're a close friend of Tashi's from stanford and you'd drifted apart after the injury. You vaguely recognize Patrick at a bar and decide to go home with him despite not... Really remembering where you knew him from. This becomes a semi regular hookup. Until...

You get pregnant. You try calling him but it's not like he picks up. And you'll be damned if you beg for help from any man, especially Patrick fucking Zweig. So ... Maybe it's a bit spiteful. You could've included that important detail in any of your voicemails.

You have a girl. Victoria. (Ricky for short. Yeah it's corny but hey. You're a single mom. You get the right to feel however you want about the situation.) You try not to be bitter - even when you start seeing news that the three of them are together again and you're... SOL.

There's a kids tennis day camp nearby. Shed seemed interested and it gave you some free time. Ricky's 6 now, just a couple years younger than Lily. You show up to pick her up, all sunglasses and tight ponytail and cool ease when you see a girl with the same eyes as your college best friend clinging to your baby girls hand with two men walking behind a bit awkwardly.

What were you going to say now?

This actually makes me insane like hbngngnggg also changed the daughter’s name one fraction ok i think it makes sense tho

Patrick was getting too attached— 24 years old, in his prime, and he didn’t want to tie himself down to someone. He stopped picking up your calls and fucked his way through the eastern seaboard— far away from you so he could get you out of his mind.

A little over a month after he started ignoring you, he got a text.

hey. can you call me?

And he was mean. He knew it was mean, because he saw the message come in and he felt a fondness. And he wasn’t sure if he missed your pussy, or if he missed you. He knew he longed for conversations with you, the way you’d mindlessly trace whorls over his back and talk about the day, ask about things he liked, his childhood, fond memories, tell him some of your own. It came too easy, the most natural thing he’d felt since Art, since Tashi, so he got out. He stayed out.

who is this lol

You don’t text back. He doesn’t see you again for seven years, but you don’t stop seeing him. Partially, you see him in your daughter, in her personality, in her eyes, in her crooked smile, in her ears. It always struck you as funny, the way genetics picks and chooses things like that.

It wasn’t just her— it was your incessant need to know about him. You kept up with his ranking, watched a few of his matches after Ricky goes to sleep and you have the TV to yourself. It was just like that for a while— his rank would dip, it would rise, but he stayed relatively stagnant.

Until New Rochelle. You watched the match live with Ricky, because she had developed a persistent interest in the sport since she’d learned about it in P.E.. A month prior. After the match, after the insanity of the tie break, when Patrick wins, Ricky asks for you to please put her in lessons.

You start small— a local thing at the YMCA. She takes to it like a duck to water. Fucking genetics, if that was even how it worked. You start working your way up, wind up paying a ridiculous amount of money for a fancy tennis camp just because she loves it so much. You show up a couple minutes late for pick up a few weeks in and Ricky runs up to you with a friend in tow.

“Can Lily go to lunch?”

You crouch down and push your sunglasses atop your head, smiling fondly at your daughter. “I dunno, baby… does Lily want to go to lunch?”

“My dad and Uncle Patrick already said yes,” Lily supplies, gesturing behind her.

And fuck, of fucking course. You stand, sweep invisible dirt off of your legs and look at Patrick Zweig in person for the first time since, what? 2012? He looks good, of fucking course he does. You’d seen him during matches, but normal clothes look good on him. It pisses you off.

“You know you just agreed to Chuck E Cheese, right?” You say in lieu of a greeting, omitting awkward pleasantries with Art and Patrick. Maybe Art at least deserved a hello, congratulations on retirement, on the US Open, but the asshole standing beside him was all you could focus on. “I take Ricky after tennis lessons.”

“You have a kid,” Patrick says, not a question, just a statement of fact. You nod, swallowing down irritation. Your luck was so fucking bad. “And she’s…”

You sigh. “She's turning seven in a few months,” you supply. He swallows, nods, does the math in his head

Chuck E Cheese is hell. You remembered liking it as a kid, having your fifth birthday there and being scared of the animatronics. But they got rid of the animatronics, and made the mascot in question creepy and skinny and all but one skeeball machine is out of order. But you play anyway, leave Art and Patrick at the table as soon as the girls get up.

Patrick finds you, sidles up so close it’s like he has no sense of personal space. “She’s mine?”

You huff in annoyance, flub your roll down the skeeball lane. 0 points. What you want to say is something along the lines of, what the fuck do you think? But you remember where you are, sigh, and try your best to censor yourself. “Yes. Biologically, she's all yours.”

He fucking groans, swears under his breath, paces a bit behind you as you ignore him and keep playing. You toss another skeeball down the lane, then another, and the timer runs out before he speaks again.

“You didn’t think maybe you should tell me anytime in the past seven years?” He finally says, He grabs your arm, his hands warm and big and exactly like you remembered.

“I thought I should,” you reply, as casually as you can as all of the hurt and frustration and resentment rears its ugly head. “But you lost my fucking number within the same week that you ditched the west coast for wherever the fuck you went. I called you— over and over. You were the one that never picked up.”

He huffs in annoyance. “You could’ve left a message. Something. I deserved to know that I had a fucking kid running around.”

Ricky darts by, steals your hard earned skeeball tickets from the machine, and runs off giggling like a maniac. You smile fondly and pocket your game card. You turn to Patrick and let the expression fall back into something cold and stern. “I disagree. And I think it’s best if Ricky doesn’t find out.”

He grabs your arm, pulls you closer. “You fucking named her after me,” he practically growls in your ear. You clench your jaw and look away. “She’s never asked who I am? Never wondered about her dad?”

You pull your arm away and glare. You’re sure you look like two divorced parents trying and failing to play nice for their kids’ sake. It honestly amuses you a bit— you might have laughed about it if you were with anyone else. “One, her name is Veronica, okay? Ricky’s a nickname. Two, yes, of course she wonders. She’s a kid. Kids ask questions. You should know that Uncle Patrick.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, an annoyed smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “I’m living with Tashi and Art. Tashi’s coaching me this season.”

You laugh wryly and start to walk back towards the table. “I didn’t ask.”

“Yeah, but you want to make bitchy fucking comments, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes and brush past him. “Fuck off, Patrick.”

But you can't deny it. As you sit at the table and watch Patrick get roped into some game hacking scheme by Lily, as Ricky stands to the side and watches with wide, interested eyes, that you feel a twinge of... something.

When Ricky comes back to the table with a large plushie she got from the prize counter and happily says that man helped her win it. When Patrick smiles fondly down at her and steals crusts from Lily's plate. Maybe you don't have to hold him to a seven year grudge. Maybe you could let him back in.

Not for your sake, of course. Clearly that would be a bad idea. A horrible idea.

But for your daughter? Maybe you could just reap the benefits.

[tinytennisskirt]

TINYTENNISSKIRT PERSONAL FAVES & PERSONAL SUMMARIES (CHALLENGERS)

summarizing my favourite fics that I've written so maybe if you haven't read them, you find reason to. Not in any specific order.

More Than Anything- Art Donaldson

I love this one a lot personally. It was a request and although I had to stretch to make ends meet, I am a huge fan of friends to lovers. I love childhood best friend! Art so much. He's a cutie. But thats what this is, childhood best friends to lovers but the platonic doesn't change. It just alters. The miscommunication, the misunderstanding of Patrick's words to reader are hurtful and they change things but Art fixes it and brings it all back together? I was already in love. It's worse. A kiss ending with a HUG ending is a weakness for sure.

Cottage Culture- Art Donaldson

It's an Art fic but it definitely doesn't lack Patrick. I love the dynamic I wrote for reader and the boys- its very established that they are long time friends and are very comfortable with each other. There's a lot of casual touching which means a lot to me. I love it. But Art who has feelings ugh love him for it. It's that thing with the trio where the connection between reader and Art is just a little bit more intimate in the ways that matter. Just a hint, but it makes so much difference. Plus a kiss in the water? Need. This fic takes place at a cottage away from the world and takes place over the course of a few days, so there's so many instances of attraction and so many POVS. It's also very summery so if you're feeling like a cottage getaway with your two fav challengers boys, this is perfect.

Let It Linger- Art Donaldson

I think I'm probably most proud of this fic. It took forever to write and I actually gave up twice, but it got completed. It's like an AU of the movie itself, but it bounces back and forth like a tennis ball on a court from Art's time at MRTA to post-canon divorced! Art who is searching for his old best friend at their 15 year high school reunion. I really really love this one because it's very friendship and yearning oriented. How close reader and Art get to being together before they fall out and into no contact for fifteen years but he sees her again and talking to her again feels like no time has passed? Finding out that fifteen years ago, reader liked him too? I really like writing super non-romantic romantic scenes like the simple things and the simple conversations between reader and Art that are so specifically somehow intimate though they're trying to make it feel like it's not. It's friends to lovers but in a way that isn't exactly satisfied. It's honestly so fucking good, I loveeee this one.

Sweetheart- Patrick Zweig

an AU where Patrick is a girl dad is just the perfect universe. He's a single dad in a cluttered house with an absolute angel genius of a daughter and reader is considerably younger than him. She's twenty, he's nearing forty. It's not inherently romantic at first, it's just banter, but he's soooo dirty. He can't help but think about her in a way that isn't exactly holy. And she's got some semi-innocent crush on him. He goes on dates but every night he comes home and has his little bits of banter with her and things get increasingly harder to manage over time. He might actually like her which is crazy, but I never specifically wrote that he does like her in any way that isn't sexual because I wanted the reader to kind of be in the not-knowing because why would anyone expect his character in this to be ACTUALLY into the twenty-year-old babysitter? This one is a smut and it's honestly really tasty and rough, but the ending is what is supposed to get you like 'ah, I see. feelings.'

Best Friend Patrick Zweig who is Totally Not In Love With You

This was my second headcanons list and I somehow ended up giving it a plot, so it's not just headcanons. It's a list of things Patrick does as your best friend who has feelings for you. The list format is loose, it's a headcanon and then it's like... written dialogue underneath the headcanon to explain it so it's more engaging. I really enjoyed tapping into my autism like 'yeah, he'd do that'. It's got all the good stuff like some jealousy, some quiet yearning, He's repressing his feelings which I love because it's so him. He and reader have a good dynamic and it's NOT ONLY x reader but it's also NOT ONLY headcanons. It's a good mix!!!

Those Three Words- Patrick Zweig

I'm honestly a little unreasonably obsessed with this one. It was such a small but well-written request I just HAD TO make it extra. I honestly never really plan out the way my fics go other than knowing the basics. But the aspects are always just as I go. Patrick going from a player to set on ONE girl for the first time in his life is wild and crazy and he likes her and gets her number but they're friends for months before they start dating. Reader becomes one of his best friends and it's lovely and fun and he's so into her. Surprisingly so. Like even takes him by surprise but it's so fun to write Patrick who is actually IN LOVE for the first time WHAT SO CRAZY. I love domestic life kinds of romance and yeah he says I love you so soon, but he means it. And he gets a bit of a monologue and it's funny and he's soft with her which I love and adore.

Just some behind the scenes thoughts. All fics are linked at their titles! Also just a sly little reminder that I LOVEEEEE comments. Your thoughts and feedback mean the world to me. Also, requests are open always <3333

[castiwls]

"your my sun, my moon, and all my stars"

having a baby with patrick zweig...

I feel Patrick is the type of guy to be absolutely terrified of pregnancy he kinda hates the idea but then the baby is actually born and he’s just smitten.

You’d barely been going out 3 months but you’d both been hooking up for just under a year when you randomly show up at his hotel with a pregnancy test.

His initial reaction is to slam the door in your face - he’s not ready for this. A baby would get in the way of his career.

After having the door slammed in your face you stood there for a moment, the hormones already seeming to affect you more than you’d known as a rush of anger runs through you so you do the only logical thing and bang on the door until he opens it.

“Patrick Zweig open this door right now or I swear to god.”

He opens the door and you have half a mind to slap him for getting you into this mess in the first place.

Neither of you was exactly ready to be parents.

You spend the first few months of your pregnancy trying to get used to your relationship and to the idea of being parents.

The idea terrified you but the fact that Patrick seemed to be slowly coming around to the idea left you feeling more relaxed.

You half expected him to run for the hills when you’d randomly shown up at his hotel yet he surprised you.

I feel he’s the type of guy to buy baby clothes based on his interests (like when they buy football kits for their team.)

He DEFFENTLY buys your baby a little tennis outfit with a toy racket and all.

“You did not buy our unborn child a tennis racket?” He shrugged placing the bag down. He looked at you with that lopsided grin which always made you melt. “I’m being prepared! My child will not be a football player.”

(He’s already looking into tennis lessons for when they're older but you don't have to know that)

He definitely cries the first time you see the baby on an ultrasound.

Also, I'm sorry but he gives girl dad energy - the idea of a mini version of him scares him more than he’d admit.

Secretly hope the baby takes after you more than him.

You both decide to do a really low-key gender reveal with only your close friends and family. When it’s revealed as a girl he completely freaks out.

This man is a MESS when you eventually do go into labour.

“Oh my god. Is…is that normal? You're not going to die right?? I can’t do this alone i don't know the first thing about babies never mind girls.”

You're considerably calmer than him for most of it. (You joke about him needing the gas and air more than you and he fully tries to grab it)

I saw this video on TikTok of a woman being like I wanted my boyfriend by my head the whole time I didn't want him to see anything but then the nurses asked if he wanted to catch the baby and he full-on sprinted to get gowned up - that Patrick.

This man full-on starts crying with the baby the minute she's out.

Holds your hand the entire time she’s being checked and cleaned. He just stands there whispering sweet nothings as you both watch.

Cries again when you get to hold her - you cry with him this time.

“She’s so tiny.” You sniffled slightly stroking a hand over her tiny head. “We made that.” He grins. You laugh quietly. “Yeah…I guess we didn’t do too bad.” He presses a kiss to your lips before running a hand idly up her tiny back. You're both quiet for a moment, watching her in pure disbelief before. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment you think that it's some sort of pain relief-induced dream. There is no way Patrick Zweig of all people just asked you to marry him. This is the same guy who not even a year ago happily lay in bed and planned his next hook-up.

Turns out to be the BEST dad!! This man is happily up at all times of the night to feed her or rock her back to sleep.

Whenever he can't soothe her he just ends up on the couch watching back old tennis games with her until she falls asleep.

Much to your chagrin, your daughter ends up sleeping best when a tennis game is playing in the background - truly her father-daughter,

“I told you she’d like tennis.” “She's 4 months old.”

You both wait a few months before going back to the marriage conversion.

This man was prepared. He had a ring and all much to your shock.

“I didn’t pit you for the marriage type.” “Well, it wasn’t high on my list but you’ve apparently changed that.”

You agree to marry him but you both wanna wait a little till your daughter is older. You make a one-off mention about how cute of a flower girl she would be and he is sold.

Overall he’s a surprisingly good dad and partner. He’s still trying to move up in the tennis world but manages to split his time so that he never misses anything big.

Though he did make you promise that when she’s older you’ll come to his games - you roll your eyes and begrudgingly agree but deep down you know that there is a good chance watching him play tennis may lead to your daughter getting a sibling or two.