#Patrick zweig drabble

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[nottsangel]

art would be eating you out but patrick gets jealous and they both fight to eat you out 🤗🤗

warnings: smut 18+, oral sex (f. receiving)

“fuck, right there! feels so good, art” you moaned as you ran your fingers through art’s blonde locks. his hands were pushing your legs further apart while he sucked on your clit so expertly, making you arch your back.

from your peripheral vision, you noticed patrick’s knee bouncing up and down, his painfully hard erection clearly visible in his pants as well as a wet patch forming on the fabric from precum. you promised he would get his turn after art, but with each passing second, it became increasingly difficult for patrick to just sit still and watch while soft moans left your pretty lips— it was torture.

“i can’t fucking take this anymore.” patrick muttered under his breath as he abruptly rose to his feet and marched towards the both of you before getting on his knees next to art and bumping his shoulder into art’s, causing him to stumble to the right. “what the fuck are you doing?” art snarled as he pushed patrick back with both his hands on his chest right when patrick was about to bury his head between your thighs. he tumbled backwards, giving art enough time to move his head to your cunt once again and pick up where he left off.

you smirked while observing the scene happening right between your legs, but without interfering as you let the boys fight for you. “just— let me join” patrick urged as he tried to squeeze his head between art’s and your left thigh, forcing himself to your dripping cunt. you grasped the sheets when you felt both their tongues eagerly against your pussy, fighting for dominance as you simultaneously felt their wandering hands all over your body.

the pleasure kept building, feeling as if you were in heaven with your right hand running through art’s blonde hair and your left through patrick’s curly locks. both of them occasionally made eye contact with you, causing your heart to skip a beat as they moaned into your core, the vibrations adding to the immense pleasure you were experiencing. “so fucking good, oh my god”

it was so fucking messy— saliva running down their chins mixed with your juices as they were fully making out with each other at this point. it became too much when one of them—you don’t even know who— pushed two fingers into your dripping hole before curling them up so perfectly, hitting your g-spot in no time and sending you over the edge.

“oh— oh my god, i’m coming— fuck!” a string of curse words left your lips as you firmly pulled both of their hair and arched your back, a wave of pleasure overtaking you as your eyes fluttered shut.

you slowly came down from one of the most intense orgasms you’ve had in a long time, your chest heaving up and down before slowly opening your eyes again, gazing down as both of their wide eyes stared up at you with mouths agape.

“fuck, that— that was so hot.” art stammered, shaking his head as he let out a chuckle. he then looked to the side, seeing patrick’s flushed face before gazing down at his crotch, the wet patch significantly more prominent, causing art’s smile to grow even wider. “did you just cum in your pants?” “can you blame me?”

ੈ♡˳

[sukunasbow]

college art and patrick sharing you ; mdni

there’s only one rule in your little arrangement, no telling each other about what you do behind closed doors.

that rule never stopped the two boys from claiming you in their own ways.

one night, you’re at patrick’s dorm, letting him roughly fuck you from behind, pulling at your hair and making you suck on his fingers.

“fuck, you take me so well.” he grunts, thrusting into you. “does art fuck you this good? hm?”

you open your mouth to say something, but the only thing that follows is drool pooling around the man’s fingers.

“answer, baby.” he removes his fingers from your mouth and tightens his grip around your hair, yanking your head back to look at him.

“patrick.” you start, your sentence getting cut off with a loud moan as he hits the sweet spot of your cunt. “fuck! i thought you and art had a deal, the two of you don’t talk about me and i don’t talk about the other one when i’m with one of you.” you pant.

“fuck the rules.” he huffs, picking up the pace of his movements, fucking into you at a faster rate.

a few days later and art is at your dorm, his head between your legs as he licks your clit, coaxing out pornographic moans from your mouth. you toss your head back and your legs start to shake, “art, i’m so close!”

your words only motivate him to flick his tongue faster, your pussy clenching with a knot building in your stomach.

“oh, fuck, i’m cumming.” your eyes flutter shut and you cum all over his tongue, words of praise escaping your lips as art helps you through your orgasm.

“you did so good.” art pulls away from your core and instead starts kissing the soft skin of your thighs, making sure he leaves behind marks for the next time you’re with patrick.

from then on, each night you spend with the two boys turns into a silent competition between the two, of who can fuck you better.

[wyniepooh]

Mess

patrick’s car was always in state of mess. the reason? probably you.

mdni; 18+. car action w patrick.

patrick’s car was a piece of junk. parts of the car seat were peeling, the windows forever had a sticky feeling about them, and the floor was often littered with fast food bags and cups.

and yet, you found yourself in the backseat of it, time and time again.

"your car smells like shit," you'd half-murmur to him, kicking away the various plastic containers with your feet as you attempted to crawl towards him. he'd sit back and watch you struggle for a second before dragging you onto his lap by the small of your back, strong arms wrapping around your waist and inhaling the sweet scent of your hair.

he'd grab your frantic wrists that are impulsively wiping down his dirty windows and hum a gentle 'shh' against your neck, whispering, "we're about to make it nastier anyways."

and you suppose he was right.

because once you were down on your knees and he was guiding your head towards him, once you were gagging and and forming a pool of saliva at the base of his cock, the sharp cups cutting into your skin no longer bothered you.

how could you even begin to care when you’re so focused on balancing yourself against the window as patrick drills into you from behind, a large hand on your lower stomach as he grunts, “you feel that? you feel me?”

You’d spit back at him, “you’re- you’re disgusting, patrick,” hand slipping from the condensation forming on the glass, your breath hitching as he grabs you up by the base of your neck and pulls your back towards his chest.

He pauses for a moment, and you take the time to catch your breath, body almost slumping over from exhaustion. You can feel the drum of his heart on your back, the scruff of his beard against your neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice as he mumbles, “you fucking love it.”

as he begins again from a new angle, a sharp yell escapes you, and you realize that you have no one else but yourself to blame for the mess in the car. the overwhelming pressure begins to build in your abdomen, and you mewl and thrash and bounce back against patrick, because there was no use in cleaning any of it anyways; after all, you’d just make another mess.

-

a/n: I rlly enjoy how we have all just accepted that patrick is a nasty fuck and that we all like it!

[yameoto]

The first thing I think of when I see this is broke ex patrick zweig

broke ex!patrick whose good morning text is simply a venmo request. broke ex!patrick who calls you pissdrunk to pick him up from bars so you can foot the bill. broke ex!patrick whose sending u 32 voicemails at 4am that u don’t even open. because he’s done this before and you didn’t get the sound of his filthy pants n the sloppy sound of his dick slapping against some other girls mouth out of your head, in his vain attempts to get u jealous. one new voicemail for each new girl. calling them the names he used to call you “pretty fuckin’ princess” “y’so good. so much better—“ and the second last one is punctuated by the sound of her sputtering, choking, gagging (she doesn’t take it as well as you). n he’s cursing and grunting and then he moans your name as he comes. guttural and ripping deep from his chest, completely unmistakable; and the next voicemail is the girl jerking back. spitting his dick out of her mouth n slapping him across the face. broke ex!patrick sending u a slew of more voicemails after that that’s just him jerking himself off n being like “fuck baby i miss your tight lil pussy so bad.” “m’sorry ‘m’sorry. i’ll pay you back next time. swear. pay you back with this fat fucking cock if you just—“

[coryosbaby]

I Wanna Be Your Dog

Teammate! Patrick Zweig x fem! Reader (minor mention: Patrick Zweig x reader x art Donaldson)

18+, MDNI !!

Content warning . Pervy dom Patrick, major scent kink, wedgies, use of the word mutt once or twice, spanking, anal. A hint— a HINT— of a foot kink (I swear it’s not what it looks like). weird bullying tactics/ dynamics & teammate rivalry. Patrick is gross and unhinged in this

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to get filthy. If you ever come to him for a release, expect it to get sloppy and downright fucking disgusting. He loves to shove your nose right up against his pubic hair, all curly and dark, while he ruts against your face like an animal. He loves that you do anything he asks of you (outside of tennis, at least). So when he slides his cock up against your face for the first time— “cmon, baby, breathe that shit in… thaaaats it. You love that, don’t you? You dirty little girl-”— you exhale sharply and mewl. The idea of TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG shoving his cock down your throat shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG who lets you use his thigh to get off when he’s fixing one of his tennis rackets. The actual fixing doesn’t last long, obviously, because you get mad and you get bratty and you make fun of him for losing to you the day before. Patrick’s muscled thigh soon acts as a chair for your pussy as he guides your hips with one hand, the other wrapped around your throat and squeezing — “Can’t run that mouth now, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought, brat”— as he feels the sticky trail of arousal you leave on his hairy leg. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG also makes you clean up your mess afterward, ass perky and up against his face as he forces your tongue against his thigh and begins to peel your underwear to the side. Spreading apart your cheeks and tonguing your cute little asshole as you bury your face into his crotch for a more comfortable position.

And that’s when you feel the wet patch on the front of his briefs against your lip. His big fat cock is just aching for a nice, creamy cunt to come and choke it. He tells you that, too, and presses your legs down onto his hips, your hands against the floor holding you up so he can slide right in.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG who drags you into the sauna after a game. Just sits you down right across from him, rubs it in your face that you lost, and then stands right in front of you and drops his towel. All sweaty and musky and warm ughhh. And you can’t help but shove your face against his dick and let him hump against it, your tongue laving over his balls and making him cum all over your chin and neck. Doesn’t even give you anything to wipe it off with, just slaps your cheek lightly and says, “good job, kid” as he walks off (because TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG KNOWS you despise that nickname and the way he dumbs you down).

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to do this mean thing where he comes up behind you, sweaty and gross, and sticks his hand down the front of his pants. He shoves his fingers in your mouth— “taste that shit? Fuckin’ beat you again at practice, you little fuckin’ loser-“— swirls it around on your tongue then pokes the back of your throat until you gag. You push him off of you and swear up and down at him, but your panties are already soaked and you know you’ll be at his house later that night.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to shove your head against his sweaty armpit after you beat him at practice. He gets so mad and acts like a five year old. It makes you giggle until he’s holding you there and calling you a dirty mutt for “cheating”.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to shove his head between your thighs. No matter the day or time, he’s always got that tongue working wonders on you. Whether it be on your pussy, clit, ass. He doesn’t care! In fact, he prefers when you just finished tennis practice. If you have a hole, especially when it’s sweaty and warmed up, TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG is gonna stick his fucking tongue in it.

He’s good at it too. Uses his fingers and crooks them just right, absolutely devours that pussy like it’s his last meal. Clit swollen and throbbing as he takes it between his lips, chin and beard drenched in slick. His honey, as he calls it. The nectar of the Gods.

He loves putting his tongue on your little furled asshole, stretching out your rim and GODD is it the hottest fucking sight for him. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG, ladies and gentlemen, is an ass man. A fuck-it-and-fill-it-with-cream-then-eat-it-out-of-you type of ass man. And I don’t mean with just yours, if you get what I’m saying. You’re his little whore and he’s gonna stick your mouth wherever he wants it to be (and you have zero complaints).

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG is kind of a weird guy. Sometimes he bites the ends of your toes when he’s got your legs hiked up in the air and drilling into you. What can he say? He likes the pink nail polish you have on and the golden bracelet wrapped around your ankle.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG’s favorite position is doggy. Loves to watch your ass bounce as his balls slap against it ‘n the way your little asshole opens and closes like a pretty flower with each thrust. He also likes the way your back arches and how easy it is for him to wrap his biceps around your neck and choke you until you nearly pass out. TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG also loves when he’s got you in missionary and you shove your fingers into his mouth. He sucks on the digits while his eyes roll back and he grunts out a curse. He bites down on them when he finishes.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves when you beg for it. Spit slick lips sliding against his with a breathy whimper— “please, please, please, Pat, need it-“— as you take all eight inches deep in your tight little snatch, lips stretched obscenely around his length. Cunt drooling with your third—fourth?— orgasm of the night, eyes rolling back as your nails scrape down his broad shoulders. Abolishes that fucking pussy cus he’s so desperate to shoot his load.

TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG loves to cum all over your face and tits. Practically drenches you in his fucking cum, plays with it with his thumb and feeds it to you as it drips off his fingers. Messy creampies in your sore little pussy, spreading apart your hole so he can admire the sound it makes as it gushes out of you. Stuffing your ass full of creamy white cum and plugging it with a cute lil’ diamond anal plug. Ughh I need him

Lastly, TEAMMATE! PATRICK ZWEIG gives you wedgies. He bullies you so obscenely— sometimes he does it in front of your other teammate, Art. He’ll invite the man over, talking to him about the most random topics before girls are brought up. They’ll start talking about hookups, one night stands. You come back from a bathroom trip when they’re talking about pussy, and Patrick takes a swig of his beer and yanks you down on top of him. You grumble— no one is supposed to know ! But Art is Art, you guess, and he isn’t a completely terrible guy. He can keep a secret.

Patrick twists you and shapes you against his lap until you’re splayed across him, much to your annoyance. Your tummy presses into his thigh and your bare feet graze Art’s knee as Patrick directs the blonde’s attention to you. “yeah, but this one’s tight man. So wet, too—“

“Pat, if you don’t let me up, I swear to God—“

“You’ll what?”

He taunts you, flipping up your skirt and letting out a whistle. Art’s just as much as a sick perv, but he’s less open about it, so his cock tightens in his jeans and his eyes widen.

“She’s got such a cute little ass. She’d probably let you fuck it if you gave her a few wins on the court.”

You growl, but not before you’re whimpering when Patrick’s long fingers hook into the middle of your panties and pulls. Your underwear is pushed forcefully in between your cheeks, burning a little but also putting so much delicious pain/pleasure friction on your swollen clit. Patrick licks his lips when he sees the way your cunt lips practically swallow the fabric— he’s almost jealous of it as it becomes soaked with your slick. You press your head into your hands, embarrassed because of the company. Patrick ignores it, though, and his hand comes down on your backside as he holds you up by your panties. ‘N Art can’t help but let out a little chuckle when you begin to squirm, his fingers barely, just barely, leaving feather light touches on your outer thigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Quit it, guys, ‘s not funny!”

“Maybe,” Patrick chuckles, grabbing Art’s hand and pressing it against your skin so he can touch you properly. You can’t deny that Art’s hands feel good when they trail up to your ass and give your plump cheeks a nice squeeze. “But you’re adorable, sweet cheeks, and I think Art wants to watch us fuck.”

The three of you never speak about that night, but there are a lot more of them to come— literally.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[yeahtimesten]

18+, mdni

on a night that patrick zweig is visiting your dorm, you take a shower in your attached bathroom. you both have just finished each other off and you’re ready to wash off the smell of sex and the muck of the day before bed.

you’ve done a good job of setting the mood while you wash yourself. the lights are off, a wild rose & suede candle is lit, and your shower mixed cd is playing sade’s no ordinary love on your portable speaker. sensual, sultry, and succulent. the hot steam leaking out from the shower door entices patrick to join you in the bathroom…

to take a piss right next you in your toilet.

“what the fuck pat,” you sigh. “get out of here!! you’re ruining the vibes.”

“relax, i’m just pissing before i join you.” he looks over at you and smirks. “unless, you really want me to leave you alone.” he’s sure you wouldn’t tell him to fuck off after the way he just… fucked you off. even if he’s totally disgusting you right now.

“the showers too small,” you look at him with a slight pout, but he finishes his business and slides open the shower door anyways.

“come on, stanford will thank me for conserving the water.” he crawls into the shower with you. he’s looking around at all your shampoos, conditioners, body scrubs, the bush of eucalyptus hanging off your shower head. it’s a shame the shower heads not detachable, and the water pressure is ass, he thinks. must be why she jumps me every time i come around.

“i told you it’s cramped in here,” you smirk at him as he snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close. he rests his forehead on yours and looks deep into your entrancing irises. you’re staring right back, butterflies in your stomach, riding the high from ride you took on him about 20 minutes ago.

“we’ll make room,” he whispers. “switch me.” you oblige, and slide past him, your bodies pressed against each other. the lack of water falling on you feels uncomfortable at first, but the steam from the boiling water keeps you warm and relaxed. out of your eye sight, he grabs something from your hanging shower caddy.

“hey, that’s my loofa,” you whine. “get your own.” but you’re just teasing, messing with him. but he’s not in the mood for jokes.

he doesn’t break eye contact as he lathers it up with your favorite scented soap. it’s his favorite as well. he loves to smell it on you.

your breath hitches as he presses your cute pink loofa on your stomach, lightly tracing circles around your belly button. you look down and watch the soap lather, before you look back up at him. he looks hungry but he’s patient. with one hand, he’s scrubbing you, and the other he’s tracing your body with his fingertips. he makes his way up your breasts. he grabs the side of your left boob and scales his thumb over your nipple. he’s biting his lip, and you can tell he’s in the mood again, but he’s finishing his duty, cleaning up the mess he made of you earlier this night.

he kneels down in front of you, still refusing to break eye contact. he’s working on your legs now, starting from your ankles, your left and then your right, taking his sweet ass time while he works his way up. he’s at your knees now and you’re really starting to feel it. feeling teased. you’re letting him play the long game, but it’s becoming painful. eventually he reaches your mid thigh, then he’s pushing his hand into your upper thighs, forcing you to spread your legs for him a bit.

you’re not sure what possesses you to, but you grab your shampoo. he’s looking at you a bit dumbfounded, but you reach down and start to lather it into his hair. at first he slows down working on you, but he continues, his fingers barely brushing your clit. your heart is beating fast. you love and hate this feeling. is he being patient or is he teaching you patience? your head is flung back at this point.

you feel his hot breath on you, now. as his mouth cups around your vagina. your legs spread more for him, and a sigh escapes your lips. you gently scratch his scalp as you latch onto his curls and he’s practically purring into you. his tongue brushes against your clit and your knees become weak. fuck he’s so good. you feel wetter by the second, not just due to the shower pouring onto you.

he’s forgotten the loofa now, and his hands are snaking up your legs to your ass. grabbing, jiggling, rubbing. he’s obsessed, worshipping your body in its entirety. he sees you as a goddess, he’ll sacrifice his whole being for the taste of you, the touch of you, the love from you.

he’s done with the teasing. he’s lapping you up with his tongue, and you’re absolutely coming undone on top of him. your moans bless his ears, he’ll work so hard to hear you say his name. he adjusts the position of his arm to return his hand to your pussy, and he starts curling into your cunt with two fingers.

“fuck, patrick, oh my god.” there it is. your sweet voice turned gravelly over his touch. this is what he lives for. “just like that, baby, i’m gonna cum.” he knows it’s foolish to go faster or harder or change anything about his motion. he takes your words like an order. just like that, he keeps going.

he reaches that sweet spot, and it sends you over the moon. now, you’ve come completely undone. he slows down, not really to give up the taste of you. until finally, your huffs of breath calm down, and he meets you back at his normal height. you’re speechless, and your chest, still lathered in suds, is heaving, but his eyes aren’t leaving your face. it’s totally flush, your body heat caught on your cheeks and your vagina still. he has you pulsating and your legs are jelly.

he takes a step towards you, and his hard cock presses against your abdomen, your breasts against his chest. you wrap your soft manicured hands around his shaft and slowly run it up and down his length. he feels complete honor that you let him choose the polish color last time you got them done, as you prepped for his visit.

what color nails do you want to see wrapped around your dick, baby? you had texted him just yesterday. he sent you money for your full set plus a pedicure, as well as a generous tip for your nail lady.

and speaking of tips, you run your thumb over the ridge of his, and he enthralls you into a kiss that starts off sweet, as a few pecks, but turns deep and passionate in seconds.

“i love you,” he says. and it’s the first time.

and maybe to some people that would be a red flag, being told ‘i love you’ for the first time during a sexual encounter. but after the way he’s treated you so far during his visit, the texts and calls he gave you as you awaited the arrival of his train, the luxurious dress he bought you with a dinner date to match, and all the other gifts he’s collected over the last month to bring back to you as he travels the country. you believe he means it with everything in him.

“i love you too.”

despite his throbbing cock waiting desperately for attention in your hands, he’s not ready to take you for another round yet. he and you rinse off and hop out of the shower. your towel is wrapped around you and you flop onto your bed. you unwrap it, revealing your perfect body for him, fully expecting him to jump on top of you and fuck into you again. you’re ready.

but instead, he grabs the lotion, scent complimentary to your soap, from your dresser. you look up at him and he looks down at you. he starts popping your toes, much to your surprise. it’s heartwarming and so extremely intimate. smiling up at him, you feel a different kind of warmth come over you. when you said you loved him back, you meant it. and the feeling washing over you in this moment proves it. you’re blushing, and a huge smile paints his face, his cheeks as rosy as yours.

he takes your lotion and squirts some into his hands. he starts with your feet, lightly massaging the bottom of them. he kisses your big toe before he leverages your ankle over his shoulder. he works his way up your legs again, just as he did in the shower. the scent is turning him ravenous, animalistic. and the way you’re looking up at him with all the sweetest in the world, it’s driving him up the wall. his cock is still rock hard as he rubs you down. not like it takes much from you to cause these types of effects on his body. you could look at him and he’s chubbing up.

he’s discarded your bottle of lotion by now and he’s crawling on top of you, digging into the crook of your neck. and you’re feeling as crazy about him as he is about you.

he feels accomplished, he’s primped and preened and pampered you for round two.

[castiwls]

old habits die screaming - p.z & a.d

Paring; patrick x reader, art x ex!reader

Requested; no

Synopsis;you were finally happy. You had a good thing going with someone for the first time in ages but he just had to show up.

Warnings; mentions of pregnancy/babies, infidelity, kinda toxic reader & art I guess

Notes;Not much Patrick in this (sorry) but he is there and plays a large part so I'm tagging it as both of them. also this is long 4.2k words

Masterlist

“I can’t believe this” Patrick laughed moving to run a hand through his hair. “Him. Seriously.” His voice was venomous as he spoke. You sighed, exasperated almost as you sat on the bed.

He looked over to you from his place by the door. “You dated him for four years?” He scoffed. “You didn’t think to tell me this?”

“Patrick.” You sighed moving to stand in front of him. “I was gonna tell you. I was just waiting for the right time.” You gestured to the crib. 

“You and Art.” He shook his head. The idea was so ludicrous to him. “He never mentioned you.”

“We weren’t together when-” You hesitated. “When it happened.” He grimaced slightly at your words, mumbling quietly under his breath.

Placing a hand on his cheek you smiled. “It was a long time ago. You have nothing to worry about.” His eyes met yours and for a moment a flash of vulnerability crossed his face. You weren’t technically his. Sure the baby sleeping only a few feet away was a product of you both but you and him were nothing more than two people raising a baby.

He wanted more. He’d wanted more from the moment he’d seen you hold your daughter for the first time but he refused to mess this up. He refused to push away what was possibly the best thing that ever happened to him.

So he was willing to wait - to play the long game.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. “He wants to talk to you.” The words hung heavy as you faltered.

“What do you mean?”

“It was him at the door.” His eyes hardened slightly as he almost forced the next words from his mouth. “Art.”

Your own breath caught sight. “So he told you.” Patrick nodded. “It’s not every day the guy who ditched you for your ex randomly shows up at your door.” He rolled his eyes.

You could almost imagine it. The look on their faces as they came face to face for the first time in what must have been years. “Did he say why?” You asked gently rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

“No.” He shook his head, his gaze almost burning through you. 

You nodded sighing quietly. “Okay.” You looked over to the crib. “I just got her down. She should sleep for a while.”

Patrick nodded, his face softening as he looked over to the crib. You watched him for a moment, a small smile playing on your lips.

Patrick Zweig may have been many things, but one thing he was not was a bad father.

You pressed your lips to his cheek for a moment before pulling back. “I won't be long.”

His jaw seemed to tense for a moment before he nodded. You hummed softly walking past him and down the stairs. You trailed your hand down the bannister as you thought for a moment. 

This whole situation left your head spinning slightly. You really had planned to tell Patrick about your past with Art. You knew it was something you’d have to approach gently yet apparently that had blown up in your face.

Art was still standing by the couch, though he’d taken a seat and his expression was pinched. When he saw you descending the stairs, his focus shifted and a strange mix of guilt and relief flickered on his face. 

He got to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looked you over, his gaze flickering across your figure.

You smiled gently as you reached the bottom step. You looked him over for a moment. He looked so different yet the same. He’d matured since you’d last seen him but you thought if you squinted enough you could still see the boy who you’d fallen for all those years ago.

 “Hey.” You leaned against the bannister, watching him.

Art returned the greeting, offering a faint and slightly forced smile in return, but it was obvious that whatever he wanted to say was weighing on him. 

“Can we talk?” He asked, his voice quiet enough that he knew Patrick wouldn’t overhear.

You cast a glance to the stairs for a moment just to make sure Patrick hadn’t decided to follow you. “Sure.” You paused for a moment. Whatever this was about you didn't feel like doing it out in the open was the safest idea. “Kitchen?” You offered 

The answer caused the corner of his mouth to twitch slightly in the faintest smile. 

“Yeah.” He murmured in response, leading you into the next room. He kept up a few steps behind as he walked up to the counter, leaning against it as he took you in.

You walked past him choosing to lean against the island opposite him. You left a safe distance between you both as you leaned forward, bracing your arms on the island. “Why are you here?”

Art exhaled slightly, looking up at you in earnest. It had been years since he’d last seen you, but it felt like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. He could still recognize the same fierce and determined look in your eyes. 

“I…” a moment of hesitation before he exhaled again. “I had to see you.”

You scoffed. “Seriously?” You shook your head. “What about your wife?” You spit the smile previously on your lips melting away as your gaze hardened.

Art’s expression dropped ever so slightly. It was exactly what he’d expected from you, and he knew he deserved it. Though part of him hoped you’d be more open to talking. 

“Tashi’s not…she’s fine.” He stated, waving an indifferent hand in the air. 

“Mhm.” You nodded slightly unconvinced. His appearance was more than random. After eight years why now? Why now when you finally had something good did he have to show up?

“How did you even find out where I lived anyway? We haven’t spoken in like eight years.”

His mouth twisted slightly at this, and he almost sheepishly shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“I, uh…” he trailed off, before exhaling. “I may have asked your parents.”

Your eyes widened as your mouth dropped open slightly. “Seriously? You called my parents!”

The look on your face was exactly what he was expecting, a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. He couldn’t say he blamed you for feeling that way, but he hadn’t exactly known another way to contact you. You weren’t exactly buddy buddy.

“Who else was I going to ask?” He retorted in a huff.

“Literally anyone else. What did you tell them?” You laughed in disbelief.

Art’s jaw set a little at the question, knowing how it would sound. 

“I just—“ He hesitated, not wanting to admit it. “…told them I wanted to see you.” He exhaled, and the answer came out slightly sheepish. He held his breath for a moment as you seemed to take in the information.

He knew it was low of him but part of him didn’t care.

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

You paused for a moment. “Why now?”

Art’s expression soured at the question, the reality of it weighing on him. He shifted a little, his gaze dropping as he exhaled. 

“I…” he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. He knew it was stupid but he was struggling to convey it. “I know I don’t have a right to say this, but…I need to talk to you.”

You sighed. “I’m here aren’t I?” You briefly glanced at the door.

“You know he’s fuming right?” You gestured to the doorway.  “I didn’t tell him that I knew about whatever the fuck went down between you both in college.”

The mention of Patrick made Art’s expression falter slightly, and he exhaled. As if on cue, he could faintly hear footsteps pacing upstairs, no doubt Patrick’s irritated footsteps as he was clearly itching to listen in. 

“Let him fume.” Art huffed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t care.”

He knew he sounded like a child but seeing Patrick had done enough to sour his mood for the day. Of all the people in the world, why did you have to choose him?

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I have to care! He’s the father of my child.”

Art’s expression dropped slightly at the mention of you having a child with Patrick. He couldn’t honestly say he was surprised, though he did struggle to not feel a pang of something. He’d always known you were bound to grow up and find someone.

“Do you love him?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

You faltered for a moment. Did you love Patrick? Sure he was the father of your child but what more was he? You’d never passed that line from friends to something more. A large part of you wanted to, but was that what he wanted?

You paused. “I…” you trailed off. “I don’t know yet.”

You shifted. “We’re not actually together.”

The answer didn’t reassure him as much as he would’ve hoped. A part of him still expected you to say yes, and he was surprised when you said something different. 

“You aren’t?” He echoed, shifting against the counter slightly. “Even…even after the baby?”

“I don’t like saying it but she was the result of a one-night stand.” You ran a hand through your hair a small pit of guilt forming in your stomach at your words. “We didn’t exactly plan this,”

Art’s expression twisted slightly at the revelation, and he exhaled. A one-night stand wasn’t necessarily shocking, but it was still somewhat surprising to hear. 

“Ah.” There was a pause, and his shoulders slumped slightly. “So…you guys aren’t…” together? The question was left unfinished, but it was clear what he meant.

“No.”

The answer made his heart leap ever so slightly, though he did his best not to show it. He exhaled, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to keep his expression neutral. 

“Do you…plan to?” He asked cautiously.

You frowned. “I don’t know okay.” 

Art’s expression softened slightly at that, despite the pang in his chest. He didn’t blame you for being conflicted about Patrick. Part of him understood that your situation wasn’t exactly conventional.

There was a moment of a pause, before he spoke up again, slightly hesitant and quiet. “And…what about me?”

“What about you?” You frowned moving to clasp your hands together on the counter.

The expression on his face was strangely vulnerable as his gaze met yours. 

“You know I—“ He paused, shaking his head as if trying to think of the right words to say. “Do you still….” His voice trailed off, and he exhaled. He didn’t know how to finish the question, he didn’t know if he wanted to. 

Do you still love me? There it was.

The words seemed to fall over you like ice. The question made your head spin slightly as your gaze darted from him to your hands and back to him. Your face softened for the first time since you’d entered the kitchen and for a moment he could have sworn you looked slightly concerned.

What was he playing at here?

“You…you’re married.” You whispered 

He knew he was married.

Art had been expecting that response, he’d thought he’d come to terms with the way you most likely wouldn’t reciprocate the statement. But hearing it still stung, and he had to work to keep his expression neutral in light of the response. 

“You didn’t answer the question.” He managed to say, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

You nodded casting a glance out the door. You moved around the island, standing slightly closer to him.

“We dated for four years. Hell, you were my first real love…I’m always gonna hold some sort of feelings for you.” You sighed, your eyes refused to meet his.

Art’s heart leapt at the confession, and he inhaled ever so slightly. Still? After all this time? After everything that happened between you two? 

He had to keep himself under control, swallowing and working to keep his expression steady. As if to compensate, he shifted on his feet, not sure how he felt being this close to you again. 

“Feelings?” He echoed after a moment. “What kind of feelings?”

You rolled your eyes scoffing. “Don’t play dumb.” 

The comment made Art scoff slightly, and he crossed his arms over his chest. In spite of himself, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t help it, the way you responded to him was the same as it had always been. 

“I’m not playing dumb.” He shot back, his tone slightly teasing. “I just—“ He paused, a faint smile still on his face as he looked back down at you. “—I want to hear you say it.”

“What you wanna hear me say that I still love you?” Your eyes met his, yet they didn’t hold the coldness they had only a few minutes ago. Your head was spinning almost as you tried to digest what he was saying.

Art’s breath caught, and he paused for a moment. 

Yes

He exhaled again, his expression slightly pained now. He knew it was a stupid thing to want to hear. He was married for Christ’s sake, he shouldn’t want it. But he couldn’t help himself from wanting to hear the words come from you. 

“Yeah.” He found himself blurting out as he leaned forward a little. “Say it.”

“Why?” You shook your head taking a step back. “Why do you care.”

Art paused, trying to think of an answer in spite of himself. He didn’t know why he cared so much, he just did. 

“I just…” He trailed off and exhaled. “I just want to hear you say it, just so—“

The word caught in his throat, and he hesitated. Just so I know it’s not too late.

He couldn’t say that, he couldn’t admit that.

You thought for a moment. Did you still love him? 

You’d barely spared him a single thought in the last eight years yet now…now actually standing in front of him you doubted that you’d truly gotten over him. 

Flipping the situation on him you glanced to the door before looking back to him. “Do you still love me?” You pursed your lips watching him closely.

Art’s gaze flickered as your question. The answer was yes, he did still love you. If anything it was more than before, and that’s what scared him. 

“I…” He paused, again struggling to find the right words. “…yeah. I do,” he admitted shakily, the words almost a whisper.

Your breath hitched. You hadn’t expected that. “Then why did you marry her?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name. The thought of her alone left a bad taste in your mouth.

Art almost wished you hadn’t asked the question. He felt his body almost go tense with the question, and he swallowed. 

He didn’t know how to explain to you that he’d been desperate and scared, that he’d felt like he was losing everything and that Tashi was an escape from it. He didn’t know how to admit that he wished he hadn’t done it, that marrying her had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. 

“I…” He started weakly. “…I thought I loved her

You shook your head staring at him dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

Art exhaled, a hand going to run through his hair. He couldn’t look at you, he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eye. 

“Everything was changing.” He said quietly. “And you were—“ He cut himself off, as if not wanting to say it. “And you were gone, and I just…” 

He exhaled, struggling to find the right response. “I didn’t know what to do.”

You sighed nodding slightly. “If you’d called I would have picked up.” You let the words hang for a moment.

The words hit Art like a truck. The worst part was you were right. You would’ve picked up if he’d called you. If only he’d had the insight to call you if he’d had the courage to call you.

“I know.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he sighed, looking down. “Believe me, I know.”

Then why didn't you?

The words hung unsaid in the air as you stared at him. “Is that all?” You sighed after a moment.

Art exhaled again, shifting uncomfortably. He wanted to say no because he knew it was far from all he had to say. He wanted to say I’m sorry and I should’ve called and I wish I hadn’t married Tashi and on and on and on. 

Because he was still scared, he was still terrified of losing you for good. 

“Yeah.” He blurted out in spite of himself. “That’s all.”

You nodded. “Okay.” You allowed yourself to smile as you reached over to rub a hand up his arm. The touch almost made Art shiver, and he had to force himself not to lean into it. Your words stung a bit, a sharp pain in his chest. 

You were quiet for a moment before softly saying “I’m sorry it didn’t end differently.”

“I’m sorry too.” He whispered, his gaze flickering up to look at you. It was at that moment that he realized how close you were to him, and he had to stop himself from pulling you even closer.

Your hand paused for a moment as your eyes met his. Your heart seemed to stutter as you let out a breath. Art’s eyes darted between yours, his expression torn. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew he needed to pull away. He was married, he had a daughter. 

There were a hundred reasons he shouldn’t.

Yet none of them seemed to matter when you were standing so close to him.

Your breath seemed to catch for a moment as you felt a slight pull.

You shifted ever closer, your eyes still locked on his as the world seemed to almost fade away. The guilt began to claw at your brain. It screamed at you to pull back, to turn around and walk away.

To go back to the father of your child. But you didn’t

Art’s breathing hitched as you moved closer, and his mind practically went blank. The logical part of him knew he should stop you, he should pull away and step back because *this was wrong*, but he didn’t. It was as if he was paralyzed by the proximity. 

“We…” He managed to say weakly, his voice barely a whisper. “Shouldn’t.”

“I know.” You whispered sinking your teeth into your lip. “You married and I have a baby with your ex-best friend.” you looked down for a moment.

you were so fucked

Art swallowed as his gaze flickered down to your mouth, and he inhaled slightly. The words should be a reason to move, should be a reason for him to step back, because you were right, he was married and you had a baby and you weren’t even his anymore. 

But Art didn’t move away, and something about it just felt right. 

“I know.” He repeated your response, his voice coming out slightly strangled.

You nodded before dropping your hand from his arm and starting to move back.

The guilt of the situation beginning to take over. You couldn’t do that to Patrick - you wouldn't do that. 

Art wanted to swear as you moved away. Stop being logical, he wanted to say, because he knew that he should feel guilty but somehow he didn’t. 

Instead, he reached out without thinking, his hand wrapped loosely around your wrist as he gently tugged you back.

His touch burned almost. The heat travels up your arm and over the rest of your body. The touch seemed to dull the voice in your head as you swallowed thickly before you silently met his gaze. 

Art’s heart was racing in his chest as his hand was wrapped around your wrist, the feeling of your skin against his sent a little jolt through him. His eyes never left yours as he gently tugged you back towards him. 

The logical part of his mind was screaming at him to let you go, that he shouldn’t be doing this. But for the first time in years, he ignored it.

Your lips parted. “Art-“

The way you said his name sent a shiver down his spine, and Art found himself shifting even closer to you. The guilt and the fear almost completely faded out of his mind at that moment, and it was only you. 

“Shh…” He murmured, his breath coming out shaky. “Don’t talk.”

You swallowed thickly as you felt your heat beat impossibly faster. His chest pressed against yours as you craned your neck slightly to look up at him. Your mind raced.

Art’s heart was racing in his chest, his breathing coming in a ragged, uneven pace as you stood so close to him. You were pressed against his chest, and it was as if almost instantly, any sort of hesitancy or guilt he’d been feeling before was gone, replaced with an almost desperate desire. 

You tilted your head up to look at him, and Art leaned down ever so slightly so his face hovered directly above yours.

You froze.

His breath ghosted against your lips as you blinked unable to move.

Art’s grip on your wrist loosened, his hand moving up to cradle the side of your face. 

The air between you was so unbearably charged. You could almost hear both of your hearts racing as Art hovered his face just above yours, his breath fanning against your face as he hesitated. 

His thumb traced a gentle, light pattern over your skin as he paused as if silently asking for permission.

All your morals seemed to melt away at that moment. The gesture alone had your knees feeling weak as the guilt seemed to fully melt away.

You nodded slightly, your breath catching.

The instant you nodded, it was like a switch flicked on inside Art. Before you could even register it, his lips were against yours. 

It was desperate, and needy, and almost hungry as if he was trying to make up for three years worth of missed kisses at that moment. His hand not on your face moved to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped quietly a hand going to fist his hair as your other fell to the edge of the counter. Your body moulded against his perfectly as he pressed you back into the counter firmly.

A little gasp left Art’s mouth as you tangled your hand in his hair, and the feeling seemed to send a wave of heat rushing through him. Feeling you against him was like taking a breath of air after drowning, and it just made him want more. 

Art tilted his head, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as he pressed against you.

The kiss only seemed to grow more desperate as time went on. You were both seemingly trying to make up for lost time as the world seemed to disappear until it was only you both left. 

He needed you closer. The hand on the small of your back was keeping you practically pressed against him, and he let out a low gasp into your mouth as if he was trying to taste you. 

He practically lifted you off the floor, setting you down on the counter and standing between your legs.

You shifted closer to him, your hand slipping from his hair to the nape of his neck and your other one lay on his shoulder.

The world around you seemed to narrow down to nothing more than the two of you.  The feeling of his lips against yours was intoxicating so much that for a moment you almost forgot that 8 years had passed. 

That you both had commitments to other people.

Art’s head was spinning. He couldn’t think of anything, the only thing going through his head was you, you, you, and the way your body felt against his. 

He needed more, and his hands roamed over your frame, touching your waist, your hips, your thighs, your cheeks, anything he could reach. 

Just this once, a little voice in his head whispered. Just this once.

So lost in your own world you both missed the footsteps making their way down the stairs.

Both of you were completely oblivious to the footsteps, Art’s focus was solely on you. One of his hands was firmly on your waist, fingers digging into your skin as if he was afraid you’d disappear. 

The other was gently resting against your cheek, his thumb tracing a light pattern over your skin as he pressed you as close to him as he could.

A small content noise left you as he pulled back for a moment. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath before pressing your lips back to his again.

The kitchen door opening fell on deaf ears.

you both failed to notice for a moment until the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through your haze.

Patrick looked pissed.

His jaw was clenched tightly as he stepped fully into the kitchen, shutting the door quietly, and his glare flicked from Art, to you, and back again. 

“Having a good time?” He finally said through gritted teeth, his expression hard and sharp.

[raekensluver]

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟶𝟽 — sǫᴜɪʀᴛɪɴɢ

october 13th | patrick zwieg x fem!reader

contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, female ejaculation (squirting), use of pet names (baby), teasing, fingering.

word count: 900+

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

patrick's hands were warm, the touch surprising against your skin as he reached for you. your breath hitched as his fingers traced the edges of your underwear, playing with the fabric before sliding beneath it. his touch was firm but gentle, the kind that promised pleasure and a hint of something darker. your body responded instantly, the heat between your legs growing with every caress.

his fingers found your slick, and he chuckled lowly at your responsiveness. "you're always so eager, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice a tease. he began to stroke you in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you biting your lip to hold back a moan. each movement was precise, as if he knew exactly how to coax the most intense sensations from your body.

you leaned into his touch, your knees weakening as he worked his magic. the room around you blurred into a haze of sensation, your eyes fluttering closed as you focused solely on the feeling of his fingers against your sensitive flesh. you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the pressure building with every stroke.

his other hand reached up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over your hardened nipple. "you like that, don't you?" he said, his voice thick with desire. "you're so fucking wet for me." the words sent a jolt of arousal through you, and you nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued to toy with your body.

his fingers delved deeper, the sensation making your legs tremble. you reached out to steady yourself, gripping the edge of the bed as his thumb began to circle your clit with maddening slowness. your breath grew ragged, and your eyes snapped open to meet his, pleading for more. "please," you whimpered, and his smile grew wicked.

"please what?" he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. "you know you have to use your words."

despite the fire in your belly, a blush crept up your neck as you whispered, "please… make me cum."

patrick's grin grew wider, the desperation in your voice spurring him on. his fingers danced in a pattern that was both familiar and thrilling. he picked up the pace, his movements more urgent as he felt your body tighten around his hand. "that's it, baby," he murmured, his voice a seductive purr in your ear.

you moaned, the sound low and guttural, as his thumb applied more pressure to your clit. the tension grew unbearable, coiling in your stomach like a tight spring about to snap. your hips began to rock against his hand, seeking the release that hovered just out of reach. his eyes bore into yours, a silent challenge to keep looking at him as he brought you to the edge.

with a final, swift flick of his thumb to your clit, the dam broke. your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure washing through your body. your muscles tensed, a keening cry escaping your lips as your body shuddered with the intensity of it. patrick's eyes never left yours, watching the ecstasy play out on your face with a smug satisfaction.

despite the overstimulation, patrick didn't let up. his fingers remained unyielding, pushing and teasing until you felt like you were going to break apart. your breaths grew shallower, and your nails dug into the bedspread, the fabric bunching under your grip. "please," you gasped, your voice strained with need.

suddenly, you felt a strange sensation deep in your belly, something foreign. it was like a coil of energy, winding tighter and tighter. your eyes widened, and you looked at patrick, searching for an explanation. his smile was knowing, his eyes never leaving yours as he increased the speed of his strokes. "just let go," he urged, his voice low and soothing.

the feeling grew, a pressure that seemed to fill you up from the inside. your breaths turned into gasps, and your hips began to buck against his hand. your body felt like it was no longer your own, a vessel of pure sensation at the mercy of his skilled touch. "patrick...i-i'm… i'm going to…," you stuttered, the words barely leaving your mouth.

patrick's eyes narrowed, his own arousal clear in the tension of his jaw. "cum for me," he ordered, his voice a gruff command. "show me how much you love it."

you felt the coil in your belly give way, and a flood of sensation washed over you. your muscles contracted around his fingers, and a gush of wetness soaked his hand as you squirted. the intensity was like nothing you'd ever felt before, your body arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you. the sound of your release filled the room, a mix of a gasp and a whine that was equal parts pleasure and surprise. your vision swam, and for a moment, everything went white.

as the wave subsided, you collapsed against the mattress, your chest heaving with the aftershocks of pleasure. embarrassment began to creep in, a hot flush spreading across your cheeks as reality crashed down around you. you had never squirted before, not like that. not so… uncontrollably. you looked at patrick, unsure of how he would react. his eyes were wide, a look of shock and awe on his face that quickly morphed into a smug smile.

"you've never done that before, have you?" he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction.

you nodded shakily, still trying to catch your breath. "no," you admitted, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. you had no idea what just happened, only that it was more intense than anything you'd ever felt.

patrick's smile grew even wider, a hint of pride in his eyes. "it was so fucking hot," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "i want to feel that on my cock."

kintober taglist: @multi-fandom-imagine, @imamexican, @majaduzejaja, @moony-artemis, @emma-e-a, @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @indigoangel77, @froyofreya, @weirdothatwritess @dale-kobbles-wife @mattheoriddles-slutt

[kisses4kaia]

I've been looking everywhere for new challengers content so I'm GLAD you're asking

idk if you just want thoughts or like fic ideas (I have both if you want to let me know) but I'll start with the thoughts cuz I needed to talk about patrick zweig 24/7 sorry

I can't stop thinking about marking him/him marking me LET ME EXPLAIN just in every way possible, hickeys, bite/scratch marks, all kind of bruises (given very lovingly and consensualy ofc)

him being so cocky for basically branding and claiming you BUT being even more proud of the marks on his own body, wearing slightly shorter shorts on the court the next day so it's showing a little etc...

anonnnnn this is too good to be true thank u (college!patrick x college!reader)

you and patrick zweig were not exclusive.

he ran around his tennis court, campus, parties, the city, getting in bed with whichever warm body welcomed him—you never knew him to be picky—and you did similarly, just not nearly as indulgent as he.

but for being just friends who fool around from time to time, patrick was awfully careless. his hands would get greedy and leave lasting bruises on your hip-dips (love handles, as he likes to call them), and his cologne lingered due to his insistence on you wearing his clothes while he fucked you.

all of the tell-tale signs of his familiarity with your body weren’t fooling anybody, but more than anything it was the marks. he loved displaying his whereabouts on your body with his mouth, and there wasn’t much that could top hearing the stutter in your voice when somebody points out the nasty rash on your collarbone. there was not much, but there was something.

the one thing patrick zweig adored more than marking you, was your marking of him. it wasn’t even the product of the love-bites he liked the most, although he was quite fond of those, but it was the feral cloud that overtook you, the heat of the passion getting to you and throwing your caution to the wind. it was the eagerness you had to really fuck him well, the best. making him feel your need and desires and all of your experiences without words through your sex was his favorite part—one of yours, too. and if that meant hurting him (at least a little bit) for him to get the sentiment, you could do that.

and even when he claims you went a little bit overboard, patrick still shows up to practice with you, shorts a little shorter due to what only could have been an intentional scrunching, spreading his heavy legs on his seat with his crotch and inner-thigh hickies exposed.

art shook his head and laughed when he saw them, and the look on your face seeing them, too. all his brunette friend could say in response was “you wish that was you, huh?” nodding down to art’s glares’ subject.

the retort was taken in good jest, but the flush of his friend’s cheeks at the comment made patrick wonder what both you and art would look like with matching stains of skin, whether it be hickies or bruises on love handles. he smiled at the thought, and stood to play.

[amiseuvx]

Being Patrick’s new doubles partner and he’s making it his life’s mission to annoy you. He hides your stuff when you’re not looking (so he can offer you his hoodie). Always late to practice because he’s either hungover or been at a hook up.

You try and be nice about it, shrugging it off and smiling and this infuriates him. How can someone be so nice? So he keeps pushing and pushing until eventual you snap.

Your at some sort of tournament and he bangs on your door at 3 am “I lost my room key.”

Barges his way into your room and flops down on your bed. “Get out.” You grab his ankle and pull. He barely moves simply grinning at your effort.

“I think I’m gonna stay justtt here.”

“Patrick. Get out.”

He simply grins closing his eyes with an exaggerated sigh of content. You glare at him from the foot of the bed before pinching the skin at his ankle.

He yelps. “What the hell-“

“Get the fuck out.” You snap, catching the skin between your fingers again.

He’d never seen you hold your own before. Usually you just put up with his bullshit - let him lead - yet now? The look in your eyes only seemed to heat the pit in his stomach as he schooled his expression.

Maybe you were more 8 than he’d thought.

[ervotica]

i just saw someone talk about pornstar!patrick and my third eye opened up

shut up i’ll die actually

warnings; smut, 18+, fem!reader, pornstar!patrick, p in v sex, allusions to reader being eaten out, patrick is hot <3

a/n; i’m insane for this actually. pls send more pornstar!patrick asks i’ll beg for them 🥹

this is him <3

thinking of a self made pornstar!patrick, started off making solo videos of him jerking off in the dirty backseat of his car. utterly surprised when viewers couldn’t get enough of him and he earned enough money to make a living off of making porn of himself.

he starts inviting other men, women - anyone who shows interest in him and his videos - to shoot with him, and soon he has a plethora of people lining up for a chance to fuck him, even if it’s on camera.

he bypasses the entire queue when he catches wind of you, a soft little thing with a mean streak he so desperately wants to explore, and he’s running straight to your messages to set a date.

he pays for your transport and your stay — a five star hotel that is far more expensive than anywhere you’ve been in your entire life.

it doesn’t feel orchestrated when the camera starts filming. it doesn’t feel like an act as he works you up with his hot breath over your cunt and two thick fingers that sink into your weeping hole. it doesn’t feel fake when you bury your fingers into his hair and tug, relishing in the way he moans and ruts his hips into the plush bed beneath you.

and it certainly doesn’t feel fake when he makes you cum harder than you ever have before.

his viewers all envy you, want to be you, when he folds your legs to your chest and feeds you his cock inch by inch. it’s a tight fit, that’s for sure, but you’ve never felt more full, more stretched in your life, and you fucking love it.

the way the head of his cock, a visceral red, notches against your entrance as he sinks in in in, further than you thought possible until the weeping slit burrows against your cervix, the way you keen and clutch at his shoulders as he murmurs praises because you’re being so good, baby, just a little more now.

he’s barely one thrust in before you’re cumming around him with a shudder and a cry, and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever felt in your life, so easy the way he takes you apart because he’s already memorised your cunt, already knows how to fuck it.

and he’s hooking his arms beneath the dip of your spine, dragging you up to meet his hot mouth in a greedy kiss, all tongues and teeth and fire and passion, and that paired with the way he’s fucking you - the filthy roll of his hips that never slows, never stops - is enough to have you cumming round him again.

he fucks like he’s in love with you and he hates you all at once, spears you open on his cock and keeps you spread out beneath him, teases and taunts until you growl with frustration and claw at him. it makes him laugh, a low, gravelly sound against your lips as he concedes and pistons his hips into you with more fervour than before.

once you’re well and truly fucked out, you crawl between his legs and wrap your mouth around him, and he’s sure he meets god.

and then the camera comes off, and a switch flips in him as he watches you laying on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed, a sleepy smile on your face.

patrick zweig might just be in love.

the video skyrockets in views and profits, climbing straight to the most popular he’s ever made. viewers beg him to keep you as a permanent fixture within his channel. and, well, who would he be if he didn’t give the people what they want?

-

challengers taglist; @diorrfairy @igotmajordaddyissues @xotwod-jade @imbabycowboy @cloudnitee @hobocatton

[nottsangel]

imagine being in tashi’s position and your two boys wanting to prove to you that they’re better for you and getting to reap the rewards (patrick fucks and art makes love I’m convinced)

patrick wants to prove to you that he’s better by fucking you, and not in a gentle way. he begins by marking your entire body in hickeys, not leaving an inch uncovered as he roughly kneads your tits before his thick fingers find their way inside of you, digits moving in and out at a fast pace. and when he finally fucks you, he slams into you with forceful thrusts that got you curling your toes and dragging your sharp nails down his bare back. he whispers filthy words in your ear as he pushes one of your legs up, allowing him to go even deeper, causing you to arch your back as you feel him hitting all the right spots inside of you.

art, on the other hand, is sweet and affectionate while trying to win you over. he really takes his time, admiring your entire body and planting gentle kisses wherever he can while he constantly praises you, telling you how beautiful you are. he sucks on your tits with his tongue gently teasing your nipples, causing you to tug at his hair. and when he’s inside of you, it’s deep, slow strokes with intense eye contact. he’ll hold your hands beside your head, your fingers intertwining with his while you wrap your legs tightly around his muscular torso. the slow pace allows him to massage your inner walls so perfectly, as you close your eyes and savour every second of it.

ੈ♡˳

[sukunasbow]

idea: patrick fingering reader while they’re in the bathtub. like, he just walks in while reader is taking a bath and goes to town. i know he’d be so smug, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, talking you through each one🫣

patrick fingering you in the bathtub ; mdni

after a long tennis practice, you decided the best remedy for your aching limbs was a relaxing bath before your boyfriend got home. however, your plans changed when just a few minutes after you got into the tub and nearly fell asleep, patrick walked into the bathroom and decided to join you as well.

now, you're sitting in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest and his arm reaching around your torso, sliding down to your pussy and curling his fingers inside of you.

"had a long day, hm?" he coos, pressing small kisses along your shoulder.

"yeah, i'm really tired." you cut yourself off with a loud moan when he hits the sweet spot of your cunt. "patrick, i just want to relax with you, i don't think i can take this." you pant.

"you can take it, baby. gonna make you feel better, mm'kay?" he whispers, nipping at your earlobe.

"patrick." you gasp, resting your head on his shoulder. "fuck, 'ss to much."

"be a good girl, it's alright."

you look up at him and are met with the sight of him smirking just as he slides another finger inside of your cunt, stretching you even more. with each movement of his fingers, you feel your walls adjust to them, as if his fingers were made to be inside of you.

he continues finger fucking you, watching your eyes glaze over and your lips part, getting dumbed down from the pleasure he's giving you.

"gonna cum, patrick."

"yeah? cum for me, baby." he nods, his tone mocking your current state.

his words push you over the edge and you feel your cunt tightening around his fingers, then releasing as you ride out your orgasm, your juices mixing with the water. you're left a gasping mess, your chest slowly rising and falling.

"we're not done yet, princess." he pauses, "we're just getting started."

[blckbrrybasket]

fwb art

keeping it on the dl so people don’t know but he’s such a loverboy

fucking Art on the down low because he doesn’t want Patrick nor Tashi to know. his acquaintances in his class or other tennis players know about you. he acts like they don’t see him ogling you the moment you get close.

you’re informally banned from the court, by Art.

but when you’re back in his dorm, near the locker rooms, or really anywhere besides the court he is all over you. arm around your waist, hand in your back pocket, all of it. so why are Patrick and Tashi left in the dark? simple, Art doesn’t trust them.

now he wouldn’t say it to their face, and barely puts a label on the mistrust, but he doesn’t want them to ruin it. it took him a lot to get over Tashi, but being able to see her real self now…he knows she’s more like Patrick than himself.

so he keeps you away from them, and it was good. until Patrick walked in on you two.

Art had planned the whole day out, really trying to woo you. up until now it had been casual, but Art wasn’t made for that. he suspected you wanted more too from how you’d started visiting him more. a pair of lovesick puppies is what you looked like.

it had gone perfect. Art had even splurged on dinner to make sure you loved what you had. if he had to burn the world down for you, he would. and when he asked you to stay the night there was no way you could say no.

you’d spent the night in his dorm before, but tonight it was different, domestic. Art had brushed his teeth with you and rubbed your lotion into your arms before sliding under the covers with you. but at your core you were still horny college kids and it took barely thirty minutes to start making out with each other.

the intimate nature stayed, neither of you wanting to break the peaceful atmosphere. it was slow and sweet as your lips grew swollen from never parting. when breathing became a necessity, Art kissed down your neck and sucked hickeys onto your skin.

you returned the favor when his head tilted back, wanting everyone to know he was yours. your lips were latched onto his milky skin, sucking a purple hue to his neck when the door burst open from a surprise visitor that couldn’t stay in their girlfriends dorm because they were fighting once again.

Patrick.

Art assumed Patrick had said some dumb shit like “honey i’m home!” but he couldn’t really remember. all he remembered was the way his hips stopped rocking into yours, that your mouth left his skin, and that he was so fucking angry that Patrick had ruined another good thing.

[yameoto]

perv!patrick Zweig with a scent kink methinks. (OUGHHHH im having thoughts.)

imagine this mf being your roommate, and you’re just like “oh he seems nice! i hope we’re friends!”

next thing you know, you overhear him whining, and moaning right next to YOUR bed. he’s totally not jerking off using your underwear/any other piece of your clothing, sniffing it, slobbering all over the fabric—

(he would definitely cum on your underwear with no shame. and he’d had clueless when you ask him if he knows why your underwear keeps going missing). he’s obsessed with your natural scent, and lowkey hates it when you wear perfume/cologne to cover it up.

to put it lightly, he pops a boner everything he smells you. hehe 😁

good lord, i have (SO MANY. too many, actually.) other thoughts on the characters of this silly little tennis movie. you didn’t ask but..

you shall receive anyway 🫡🫵

about to fall asleep but fuuckkk. need gross nasty musky scentaddicted patrick zweig to perv on me bad.

perv!roommate patrick w a scent kink… oh i think the concept of your musk mixing wld drive him crazy. sifting through your dirty laundry like the freak he is and pressing your damp, freshly jacked-off panties to his nose.

and yeah, he’ll lounge back in bed with one hand fisting his cock and the other rubbing your dank panties to his face, of course. but he’ll wanna wear them, too. he’ll take some sick perverted pleasure in that it’s your underwear that his balls are swamping up as he plays hours of tennis under the sun. that it’s your underwear his dick is swelling up against, darkening the fabric in spurts of his precum. that it’s your underwear he has to pull aside to give his sack room to breathe, adjusting them as he walks. and yeah. your underwear that he’ll eventually drench in several fresh loads of cum. wrapping them round his dick and moaning n bucking like wild as if he’s fucking your cunt and not the barest impression of it.

perv!roommate patrick who comes back from practice all sweaty n gross. his skin is sticky, damp clothes clinging to his body, hair plastered to his forehead like he’s just been dunked in water. and of course when he gets back the first thing he does is collapse onto your nice, clean sheets. making a show of rubbing his face into your pillow (and grinding his growing hard-on into your mattress) before you yelp. shove him off. playful.

though, it’s not like you can stop him when you’re not around. the amount of times he’s treated himself after practice; rolling around your sheets like a pig in the mud is countless. patrick’s face buried in your pillow as he huffs the scent of you. dragging his nose further, further down the mattress to press against where your crotch might be and creaming in his pants immediately. grunting like an animal as he humps your blankets n pretending it’s your face. he’s definitely jacked off in your bed, too—once or twice. don’t worry, that old t-shirt you left lying around makes for an excellent cumrag.

perv!roommate patrick just leaving his mark everywhere because maybe if you smell like him, too, then he can pretend that you’re his, for real.