#challengers blurb

[sequoiaisstrange]

Bonding with ice skating!art outside of practice

Many platonic ice skating duos don’t spend their free time together because they spend so much time together, but that was the complete opposite for the two of you since you guys got over your “hating” each other phase.

A lot of your time spent together was being lazy, like watching a movie and overeating, because you two were the only other person who wouldn’t tell your couches that you were cheating on your diet.

At first, it wasn’t your guy's choice because you guys were told you needed to bond more, but it became so regular to you guys that you’d show up to each other's houses without making plans because you were already expected.

You guys started out sitting as far away from each other as possible because you spent a lot of time with your bodies very close, fighting and sitting on your phones, probably texting your friends about how much you hate each other. But now you guys sit right next to each other, sometimes touching and not caring what you are watching as long as you get to spend time with each other.

Your guys' other “free time” is probably spent working out together, trying to burn off all the junk food you guys ate the day before. It didn’t require your couch, but it was always better to have someone to work out with so it wasn’t so boring.

And like before, you started with you guys having headphones on the whole time and only talking to each other when you needed a spot, but now you guys pretty much talk the entire time and know each other routines to the point that you don’t even ask for a spot anymore you just automatically do it.

I love that this little cheese au is what is getting me out out my writing rut and I have so many more planed. Also the Patrick one is being started but I'm still trying to figure out the dynamics of it. Also the next part of this au will have angst.

[saintzweig]

going back to your dorm late at night after studying all day, not even bothering to change your clothes as you lay down on your bed with your eyes closed. your bag and books on the floor, and your make up still on. art comes by with some take out because he knows you're exhausted and probably haven't eaten dinner yet so he left practice early just to get food for the both of you.

he sits down beside you and you immediately shift on your bed to place your head on his lap, eager to feel his comfort. without a word, he takes your make up wipes from your bedside and begins to gently take your make up off for you. even with your eyes closed, you could tell he was doing his concentration face, his eyes focused and the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. he loves taking care of you and you love being taken care of by him.

[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

[amymbona]

What if you met Patrick Zweig on that crisp summer evening of 2011, crawling through the streets of Atlanta like a dead body, his stupid gray shirt wrinkled, curls messy and a pout on his adorable face. He has just fucked Tashi like his life is supposed to end tomorrow, like it's his last action on this Earth, and he's fucking miserable.

And you, a gorgeous, neat woman, very successful - a lawyer or a business woman - just about to leave the local bar after a night of celebration with you colleagues when he staggers in. It happens pretty quickly, and you're not even sure how exactly, but the younger guy's lips are soon on yours and he's desperately grasping onto your clothes as if you're gonna evaporate.

The way he fucks you that night is completely different to the way he fucked Tashi - tired, sloppy, almost childish - and you think he's crying too. You let him snuggle into the warmth of your chest, deciding to allow him to spend the night at your place. In the morning, he's surprised by waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs.

While munching onto the warm, proper breakfast and watching the outline of your body move smoothly under your silk robe, he tells you his name is Patrick, that he's 24 and a tennis player. A miserable one - you can see. He's sitting in your kitchen like a dirty mutt, almost begging to be taken care of. With his mouth full - he has no manners, you see - he calls you hot and sexy, failing to deliver a compliment that a woman like you would actually appreciate.

Later on, he lets you know that he really has nowhere to be, that if you want to, he can stay and make you feel even better than he did yesterday. And when you allow him to, quite aloof, you end up being the one making him feel good. It's comical, and Patrick feels like he's a goddamn toddler when you run him a bath and lend him some clothes after your ex-husband. Patrick stays at your place for a whole week.

The two of you exchange phone numbers, an action you assume is only symbolic, as Patrick has to travel to the other side of the States for a match, while you continue your meetings with clients and shine in the court room every so often. So it's obviously a surprise when your phone suddenly buzzes, a little Patrick - Aug 8th glowing on the screen. Apparently, he's currently in Nashville, offering to hop on an airplane and be at your place tomorrow morning. You don't refuse.

After his arrival, Patrick is still the same, giving you his signature and yet totally see-through smug attitude. He's dressed in that same fucking shirt, the slogan punching you like a laugh in your face. I TOLD YA.

The two of you fuck and fuck and fuck, Patrick spends the whole evening buried between your legs, his pink tongue gently swirling around your clit while you respond to some emails. Shortly after midnight, he falls asleep, nose buried between your slick folds. You wake him up with a handjob when the sun rises, listening to his sleepy whimpers and gentle curses, telling him that it's okay and he doesn't have to do anything, just enjoy it.

After that, and everything else, Patrick doesn't feel like leaving at all. The tender treatment he has been receiving from you is something unknown, something not even Art or Tashi could ever give him. He tells you about the two and cries a bit, and that exactly makes your heart swell.

So you propose an offer - a life-changing one - that he stays with you, that you will take care of him, treat him like he deserves to be treated and give him all the love he needs. All of that under one condition. He continues pursuing tennis.

Patrick agrees, obviously, he'd be a fool to walk away from you. And so within the next few weeks, he's completely moved to your place, has his own spot in your bed and on the sofa, has his toothbrush in the bathroom and gets to eat how much food he desires. The relationship between the two of you blossoms almost naturally, with you being a natural caregiver, and Patrick offering the satisfying element in response. It's a perfect coordination of two parties where nobody feel forced into something or neglected.

Glued to your side, Patrick eventually finds his spark again. Slowly but surely, Tashi and Art begin slipping into the very back of his mind - he never forgets, you don't force him to. You know the three of you can co-exist freely in his brain - and he's finally happy. Finally that Patrick Zweig that needed to be found again, and you are the person who helped him achieve all that.

[tinytennisskirt]

art giving you a tummy bulge or whatever it’s called

PUT IT IN MY LIVER

um yes ofc mwah mwah mwah 😉

18+ MDNI under the cut!

warnings: mentions of marijuana use and drinking, sex!!! and subby art <333

one minute you’re just getting high to balance out the small buzz from the vodka and the next, you’re kissing him as the weed hits. you feel a little extra aware of your body as you kiss him, feeling his hands slide down your waist as yours crawl up around his neck. you both leaned in and just ended up kissing and you were here now, in a kiss that wasn’t urgent, but wasn’t too slow either. feeling the high over the alcohol as you crawl onto his lap where he sits against his pillow, his hands sliding down over your hips, your ass.

“oh fuck,” he whispers against your lips as you press against him more intentionally. you can feel him get hard through his sweats and your yoga pants. his face flushes pink and you can feel it from the heat between kisses. “i’m sorry-“ he mumbles. you just smile, continuing to kiss him. the radio on low across the room the only sound aside from the sound of fabric hitting the floor as you take your shirt off. you’re just possessed by the weed. every one of his kisses feel so good, they feel like music, they’re soft and they tickle a bit as he kisses down your chest.

you wouldn’t have even thought he was into you. you thought he just enjoyed your company. maybe it was the weed or the alcohol but it felt right in the moment. no need to dwell on something that would ruin it. you sit up a little more so that he can continue to kiss down your chest, but he looks up at you and you can’t help but kiss him properly. his jaw is tipped up so that he can kiss you where you are, but his hands pull at your hips, asking you to sit on him again.

you slowly sink back down, grinding gently on him when you land. he makes a noise you didn’t think he’d be one to make and it ignites a fire in you that even the lighter on the bedside couldn’t spark up. you begin to grind on him a little more, looking for that gorgeous noise again as you kiss rather lazily, slow but not in a boring way, in a way where there kiss is so concentrated that there’s no other way to go about it. hands on each other’s bodies, slowly, sensually roaming. feeling the weed being you up into the clouds, making you hyper aware of everything you’re doing but it all feels so fucking right.

when you grind it feels like your bodies are melting together. you can’t stop smiling through every kiss and his hands are pushing you into him more for more friction and he’s kind of pathetic that way but it’s adorable. you move from where you’re positioned and you swear he almost whines, but you’ve only moved off his lap and next to him. you’re sitting on your knees now, turning his face and kissing him again, just a little harder than before. just as slow. just as smooth.

one moment you’re smoking, the next you’re kissing and then the next you’re sliding your hand down his pants to grab his dick. and he hums when you grip him, trying not to make another noise but it’s everything and your hands feel so good. he’s sure there’s nothing better than how he’s feeling. he kisses you harder to silence himself as you begin to stroke his cock, pumping gently and slowly up and down. the space is limited so he pulls his clothing away from him so you have full range of motion.

and soon you’re picking up pace, kissing him, letting him grab at you the way he needs. he’s desperate to grab and feel everything as you jerk him off. “that feel good?” you ask him.

you like how he struggles to answer. it’s cute. “really good.” he answers breathlessly. “so good- mmm”.

“faster? slower?”

“faster-“ he says, “please.”

and you do as he wishes, moving your hand faster. he’s pressing his hips upward into your hand for extra leverage. you’re high and you can hear the radio and the white noise and his moaning and it’s perfect. the fire between your legs burns and you just… need him. your free hand cups his jaw, tilts his head up to kiss you when you raise up on your knees.

“i’m gonna-“ he says, breaths growing sharp. “can i?” you’re taken aback a little by the question, you’ve never been asked it before. if you were wet before, you were wetter now.

“uh huh.” you nod. and it’s only a few more strokes before he comes undone. it’s warm and it leaks down over your fingers and knuckles and he’s breathing hard and you don’t give a fuck, you need to fuck him now. the weed and alcohol says so. you’re dizzy but you need him. and he’s all sensitive but it’s so pretty the way he sounds-after helping you take your pants and underwear off- when you slowly sink down onto his cock. smoking, kissing, jerking him off, to fucking.

he makes these adorable little half-groan, half-moan sounds and they’re somewhere between high and low pitch. all you know is that they fuel you as you rock back and forth on his lap, your own moans mixing with his. he’s still coated in his own cum so even if you weren’t the waterfall you were at that moment, he’s still be slipping in and out of you so easily. it was a good thing you were on the pill.

“fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he mumbled over your lower lip before you bit it gently, pulling just the slightest.

“you like this?”

“so… much… fuck,” his sounds were so fulfilling. “you feel so fucking good.”

his hands wanted to touch every single inch of you they could, they slid up and down your back but mostly rested in a grip on your waist, your hips, pulling you down on him. lazy, easy, sloppy sex that felt like the greatest thing in the world when you were crossfaded. neither of you cared about how you presented or how you sounded. not even about how loud you were as art fucked up into you while you rode him.

his hand was strategic, fingers reaching down, finding your clit and rubbing small, quick circles. you felt ripples of pleasure throughout your body and you knew maybe he’d been with a few girls based on that move alone. but that wasn’t the concern. you rolled your hips and he groaned so loudly. you’d never fucked anyone so vocal and you loved it, every move you made had a purpose- to elicit a noise from him. he made such pretty noises.

and it wasn’t long before his hand and his dick were both feeling just right. your own moans bounced off every wall in the dorm room and you rode him harder, feeling him deeper and deeper inside of you. he was big, he was really big, bigger than you thought. you knew it was genetics and probably because he was so thin, but it went so deep it hurt. and you had lost your virginity ages ago…

you could feel it in your lower stomach and as art trailed his other hand down your stomach, it trailed over the small spot where you could feel he was hitting. he was so deep there was the slightest little bump where he reached the top. you looked down as you bounced, “oh fuck- i’m going to“ and without warning you finished… HARD. harder than any orgasm you’d ever had alone. the mixture of sensations pushed you to the absolute limits of pleasure. art finished right after you, filling you with more of his cum, so much that it leaked before he even pulled out.

you slumped a little bit into him, dizzy. the room felt like it was spinning and you kissed him gently before resting your head for just a moment more before cleaning up. this was unexpected, sex on a whim, but it was definitely fucking good. and you would do it again. and you did do it again. twice more just to see the little bulge in your stomach again.

[sluttyenthusiast]

All Patrick needs is somebody to be mean to him, for somebody to match his energy, his freak.

Patrick needs someone who's mean to him and bullies him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He loves when you're mean, it turns him on, and he's not embarrassed to admit it.

One day he'll be telling you about this nice watch he saw that he wants and without hesitation you're quipping back at him, telling him that if he started winning matches he could buy it, and you say it so nonchalantly.

He especially loves when you're mean to him in bed.

You'd be riding him, not paying him any mind as you talk about the lunch you had with your friends, and he would groan, and that would have you rolling your eyes as you cover his mouth with your hand, telling him he can't cum until you're done with you're story.

All Patrick needs in his life is just someone who's mean to him, who lowkey humbles him.

[artsangell]

Need to be punished by dilf Art :((

I imagine that Art isn't the type to be super mean when he's domming, but you just do something that really pisses him off. The first few times you called him names and flirted with his colleagues, he let it go. blamed it on you just messing around. What he won't excuse is blatant disrespect, when you (somehow) manage to drag him to a nightclub and start dancing on some idiot,he fully loses his shit.

Which is how you ended up laying over his lap,his hand continuously spanking you like he hates you. Art makes you thank him after every slap too :((

When you forget one too many times to thank him for it, he flips you around and starts slapping your cunt.

"If you don't show me you have some godamn manners right now, I won't fuck you for a week."

He's bluffing but you don't need to know that. Tears are streaming down your face, you let out a strangled cry when he gives your poor cunt a harsh slap.

"Thank you, thank you. I'm sorry"

Your voice comes out strangled, he wipes a tear from your face. The juxtaposition of him just abusing your pussy and now caressing you almost makes your head hurt.

"Aw poor baby"

He coo's at you in an almost mocking tone. "Gonna be good for me now right?"

[decodedlvr]

the night tashi made art and patrick make out was the same night art started questioning his sexuality. sure, he’s admired other men in the past but something about how patrick carried himself really stirred something inside him, and it was far from innocent.

he’d never considered himself a very perverse guy but being around him night and day started to nag him.

he started noticing the way sweat rolled down his adams apple after each match. the way he ate everything with his hands like a messy child, licking his fingers and plate clean. the way he would leave his dirty boxers scattered around their shared bedroom..

some nights he’d make excuses to sleep in his car to prevent himself from listening to all the women he’d bring back and fuck; but really it was so he could jack his cock profusely in secret; drowning his senses in patrick’s briefs hoping to stay unnoticed

but he noticed. patrick knows art like the back of his hand, literally. he’d never tell art how he’s spotted him peeping at him in the shower. how he’s felt his dick jump everytime they play wrestled. he’d never mention how many times he’s spotted art through the bedroom window, in his car across the parking lot; desperately panting like a dog

he’d been doing it on purpose

but soon he plans on the right time to leave the bedroom door open wide enough to get caught touching himself to the drunken polaroids he took of art from his 21st birthday

[mercury-in-pisces]

Patrick likes being called daddy

patrick zweig the typa guy to call himself this “ironically” because it pisses tashi the fuck off. he changes her ringtone for him to that one song and will just be super cringefail about it.

[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!”

[sequoiaisstrange]

Hey, I have a request for ice skater! Art but feel free to ignore it <3

I was thinking about something angsty like Jessica Dube's accident with Bryce Davison where his skates cut her across the cheek ones. How do you think Art would act if it happened to them?

Again feel free to ignore it if it's too gore or just not your thing

You get hurt during practice

You and Art were used to being covered in bruises or maybe a sprain after a long day on the ice, but you never broke skin except for maybe your hands if you fell without gloves, so when art accidentally dropped you hard on the ice he felt like to worst person on the planet and looked like a kicked puppy for days

Of course, Art never intended to hurt you, but you could tell he was having an off day beforehand because he had difficulty keeping on beat. So all it took was one wrong move Art did, and a second later, you were sitting on the ice, holding your head from the pain of hitting it.

Thank god it was only a minor injury. You had a little bit of bleeding on your head and a slight concussion, but nothing that will leave you permanently damaged. But that didn't make Art feel any less horrible because of what he did; he was by you the whole time you got checked out in the hospital to when you got sent home and until you got cleared to go back on the ice.

Art never truly got over that incident, even though you told him you weren’t mad at him, and he had no reason to feel bad because you knew he didn’t do it on purpose. But Art never listened. It was always in the back of his mind anytime you guys got on the ice, and if he ever were having an off day again, he would call it and sit on the side and watch you practice so there could be no chance of that ever happening again.

Hope you like it! I changed how the reader got hurt because I didn’t wanna to copy what exactly happened so I hope this was close enough.

[saintzweig]

art is definitely the corporate texting bf, i can just imagine it. recently divorced and older boyfriend art texting you like 'Good morning sweetheart, I'll be at work today until 6pm, I'll pick you up for dinner. Does that work for you?"

vs. patrick who's the sassiest person you've ever texted. you text him, telling him to call you but you don't answer immediately. he instantly goes 'bitch' 'u hate me' 'why do u hate me' . he also does not spell words completely and correctly

[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?”

ੈ♡˳

[amymbona]

No wishing bad stuff to anyone but imagine that Patrick Zweig is after an injury, like a really fucking bad one, and his lower half doesn't work properly. There was something wrong with his spine and spinal cord and has to spend like half a year bound to a wheelchair, needing a 24/7 assistance. And you're a good, young medic, specializing on people like Patrick, providing them care. So it's only natural that you move to his place to assist him fully.

He hates you at first, fucking despises you, because you're all smile and sunshine. He's so pissed at the positive energy you bring, how you keep taking care of him and being all nice and kind. Every other meal you cook, Patrick just pushes the bowl down the table and lets it shatter. Each time you attempt to excercise with him, he keeps complaining and not putting his whole effort in - even though he fucking should - and then, ironically, gets anger when there's no progress. Obviously, he can't stand up within days. But Patrick Zweig is an impatient man.

He hates everything and everyone, hates the whole fucking world and he hates you the most. Stupid, naive girl. If you were a magician, oh, maybe he'd buy you that vintage moped you keep babbling about to get you to heal him. But you're not. You're just a girl who never shuts up, keeps banking him stupidly sweet pies and gently touching his legs every day at four in the afternoon in his small house gym (not that he can really feel it). You wash him too, you hold his hand when he's in pain even though Patrick would love nothing more than to twist your wrist so hard that you'd cry. He wishes it was you who could cry instead.

Patrick is genuinely at his fucking worst. He's lost all hope of ever healing even though his prognosis is not that bad at all. But Patrick is a drama queen, he's a bitch, a menace and all the other words, but you never dare say that to his face. Not until he throws a childish fucking tantrum at lunch one day, throwing his glass in your direction and almost hitting you in the head. This time, you don't reach out to hold him, to drive him to his room, you don't even smile.

Instead, you yell at him. For the first time ever, your voice raises. Significantly. You yell at him for good ten minutes, calling him every name under the sun, calling him out for his constant complaining and childish behaviour. He's a grown man, for god's sake, you tell him while standing up and slamming your delicate hands on the table. And then, as you walk around the table, you say you're not gonna leave him, but you won't accept his behaviour either. He hears you cry later that day.

Ever since this encounter, he doesn't dare say a single word against you, against this treatment. It's evident you're angry with him, mainly from the harsh way you keep handling him suddenly. No more nice girl. You keep twisting his ankles, bending his knees the way he used to bend girls during sex, completely silent with a single crease between your brows. At one point, you really push too hard, so hard that Patrick gets a cramp in his calf - the first distinct hint of regaining the lost feeling - but he never tells you, not when you're pissed at him. That night, he cries in his room.

One day when you go out, as one of your colleagues offers to look after Patrick for the afternoon, you're wearing the prettiest floral dress. And at that exact moment, Patrick's dick twitches, he gets fucking hard the sight of you. As if magically regaining all the feeling in his cock. Your colleague is terrible, by the way, absolutely unable to care for Patrick the same way you do. When you come home in the evening, Patrick tells you that you're really pretty. As the time goes on, he begins thinking you might be his guardian angel.

[tinytennisskirt]

little blurb about Art n Pat NEEEEDING to fuck the cute southern girl that works at the motel they’re staying at 🤠

patrick and art driving themselves crazy over the southern girl who works at the motel in the countryside they’re staying at before heading to a tournament nearby. she’s got short shorts and she’s usually in some form of crop top and she’s got those braids. and her accent…

the second they meet her, perfect, short n sweet, she asks for their names and for a second they both forget they’re checking into this little motel. she looks at them through long flirtatious eyelashes with naturally pink cheeks that glow when she smiles and both boys are awestruck and are instantly insane about her.

the thing about her is that she’s real. she’s not california plastic, she’s real, with thick thighs and round hips and perfect tits and you usually can’t have all that without a little bit of a stomach unless you’re california-doctored. she does have it all, including the non-flat stomach art can’t stop thinking about. the little stretch of skin between her shirt and shorts? he fucks up into his hand at the thought of it later that night. he’s picturing her in this very motel bed, riding him like he knew you rode horses. the pictures behind you at the front desk said so… save a horse, maybe. something like that but he KNOWS he needs her on his dick.

patrick in the motel room bathroom in the shower trying to mask the fact he’s doing the same thing. he’s thinking about bending her over, fucking her hard, hearing her moan out his name with her slight twang. he’s got that farmers daughter fantasy in his head and he’s thinking about what sounds she’d make if he pulled her braids as he fucked her.

both boys finish at the same time, unbeknownst to them.

art wakes up the next morning a little eager to go down to the main hall where he knows there’s a small diner attached to the motel. he’s starved after last night’s activities. he and patrick head down in their casual shorts and t-shirts and there she is, a fucking waitress. she seems happy to see them as they stand there, mouthes a little open at the sight of her in her short skirt, skirt apron, and blouse with a few buttons open. same braids. patrick grabs the back of art’s arm as to brace himself and art over this look on her.

she strikes up a conversation with them just wondering what they’re in town for. they explain their tennis plans and you sit down with them to hear more about them. patrick and art are both so fucking hard under the table over the fact that when she leaned forward to rest her elbow on the table, there was a good, clear view of her tits in a red checkered bra. too fucking on brand. patrick and art try to be inconspicuous about the fact they have to adjust themselves so often.

she’s onto them. more than onto them she’s into them. cute boys, her age, maybe a little older if she guesses. from the city. she talks about herself and as she does she’s twirling her hair and she’s got gum in her mouth and she blows bubbles and patrick is just numbed by how much he wants to fuck her.

they have to go but they stay a little longer to talk to her. the problem is getting up to go when they’re both so painfully hard. thankfully she’s smart, catches on, says goodbye and walks into the back room of the diner so the boys can make their escape.

the thought of her throws off both of their game. they’re only thinking about going back to the motel to see if she’s still working. good thing it’s only a practice day.

they do head back. they haven’t spoken to each other about her, but they know they share interest. the boys head inside the main part to ‘head to the vending machine’ and there she is, making fun of the city boys for their choice of sodas when she knows that nothing compares to her sweet tea. patrick wonders if it’s an innuendo.

she takes the time to sit and talk to them again, engaging in ways that excite them as she sits across from them, in her shorts and a baby tee, thighs on the arm of the chair, art wishing they rested on him. they’re flirting the way they usually do, helping each other out while taking playful jabs at each other. they are so down bad for this little farm girl who holds her head high.

but she has to head to bed to be up early for a shift at the diner and the boys respect that. she asks to be walked to her quarters and both boys scramble to stand and agree. she asks if they smoke and they nod. out in the parking lot she’s got a pack of cigarettes and she puts one between her lips and art is almost drooling. and the way she’s talking to them both, you’d think it was flirting. how close she can get with both of them as she speaks and shares her cigarette with the two boys…

patrick is staring at her ass in those shorts and it’s driving him insane and art is so fidgety just watching the way she sways in the evening breeze.

the second they’re alone in their room they’re talking about her. gushing not only praise for her body, but her accent, her braids, her clothes and its kat zimmerman all over again. the boys are more comfortable crossing that line after the tashi incident, where they kissed, so yeah the line is blurred.

patrick is more bold, hand on his cock, pulling it out, talking about your perfect lips. and art agrees, talking about how soft they look as he presses the palm of his hand against the bulge in his jeans. patrick groans about how they’d feel wrapped around his dick and art knows he can’t take it slow, he pulls his out as well.

“i’d fuck her backwards,” patrick says. “how much dick do you think she gets? she’ll be all tight and those girls get wet so easily…”

art groans, “so easily… fuck… you think she’d ride your face like she rides her horses?”

“good point-“ patrick says through a heavy breath. “she can ride me until i die for all i care. i bet she’s good at it, and those thighs-“

“her waist,” art remarks. “fuck, her waist. “thighs.. she can crush me, i’d die happy.”

and they stroke themselves until they come. patrick first, this time around. the cleanup is silent but both boys are satisfied with the shared fantasy. art, however, dreams about her. having her. kissing down her soft stomach, tongue between her legs…and he’s asleep but he’s grinding softly against the bed. patrick is asleep. he ends up grinding into the bed so much he finishes again in his shorts. he has to clean that one up alone.

they see her the next morning as she pours them coffee and they stare at her, grins on their faces, art still fidgeting in her presence. she’s got this light to her that makes the room feel warm. she flirts shamelessly today with both of them and adds on a little invite to a fire she’s having out behind the motel by her quarters. if they aren’t too tired from tennis, that is.

both boys play awfully that day in practice. there’s nothing they can think about other than her and her invite. her, alone. HER. it’s all her. no they’re not too tired from tennis, they’re at her door at 9pm like she asked and she answers it with her hair down. it’s wavy from the braids, it’s gorgeous and sultry and so are her eyelashes, her cheeks, those lips… and some shorts, not jean shorts, but short shorts that almost look like underwear. that and another baby tee…

greetings are exchanged with the anxious boys and art begins to ask where you’re going to have the fire when she pulls him into a kiss, a hard kiss, hot and lust-filled and both boys were not expecting that.

“oh, fuck,” patrick says as he realizes what’s about to happen when she leaves art to kiss him too, stumbling into her room and shutting the door.

the three of them exchange kisses, art and patrick included, both eager to feel it all. she straddles art and his hands fall on the waist of hers he so adores. patrick ends up behind her kissing her neck and jaw and art is making out with her, hands gently squeezing the absolutely fucking perfect love handles, made to be held the way they are as she takes her shirt off.

both boys pause to see exactly what she has and satisfied, go back to what they were doing, art’s hands travelling up to her chest to squeeze gently as she begins to roll her hips against him. he groans into her mouth and she takes it with a smile, moving downwards, unbuttoning his pants. art and patrick kiss again, sharing air, sharing tongue, and the air is warm.

clothes are stripped and the boys take turns with her in exactly they way they imagined. patrick’s hand on his dick watching her bounce on art’s. they’re right, she rides hard. art is a fucking mess of curls, he’s grabbing her waist with one hand and the bed with the other as she rides him. she’s got art trying desperately not to finish, she’s got patrick jerking himself off fast and hard. her pretty pink lip between her teeth and perfect tits bouncing.

art has his eyes shut telling himself not to come. if he opens them he’ll see her perfect thighs spread over him, he’ll see how she sinks down onto his cock, see her waist as she rolls her hips down onto him. “you like that?” she asks, twang apparent even through her heavy breathing. “feels good?”

“so good,” art manages.

“you can look at me, y’know.” she’s evil. patrick knows it, hand speeding up. “i don’t bite.”

“uh huh,” art replies. he’s weak, she’s wearing him down he could come any second if he wanted to. “fuck, you feel so good.”

“yeah? why don’t you look at me, pretty boy?” she says and it takes all of his strength not to come there and then. patrick is watching, eyes half-lidded, watching as she fucks his best friend. “come on.” art doesn’t want to. he wants to last to impress her. but fuck, he looks at her and he’s done for, patrick knows it. “go ahead.” she knows it. and art finishes hard into the condom, grabbing hard at whatever he can.

all of it almost gets patrick too, but he stops. art is more than undone as her hips roll to a stop. she bends down, tilts his head up to kiss her while he’s still inside. he squirms just in the slightest as she grinds down on him just once more before moving off of him. he’s awestruck, but removes the condom and tosses it, laying on his back, still hard.

she crawls over to patrick and replaces his hand with her own. he’s got eyes clouded over with lust as she strokes him gently, slow pace after she just fucked art to completion. he groans a low groan and she just smiles.

art, fucked out, lifts himself up on his elbows to watch. he’s so fascinated by her, he’ll watch her do anything. eyes on her lips as they connect with patrick’s, watching his hand grab her bare chest, leaning her back. art passes him the condom and he slips it on before he plunges into her. it’s wet, she’s so wet, it’s easy to slip into her. she’s moaning already, having already been fucked with no end in sight. her hands on patrick’s back.

art watches with his mouth a little open as patrick fucks her hard in return for how hard she fucked art. she’s moaning out and her hand grabs art, pulling him close to kiss him while patrick fucks her. the kiss is desperate and halted by moans. art takes a liberty and kisses down her neck, down to her chest, taking her perfect nipple into her mouth and sucking gently. she’s moaning, hands in art’s curls again as patrick pounds into her.

“you like fucking two guys in one night, hm? don’t get much dick around here?”

“n-no,” her accent is so cute.

“you like being a whore?”

“if it gets me this,” she replies. “fuck… art.” patrick fucks her harder and it’s his name out of her perfect mouth.

“she’s so perfect, hm, art?”

art nods, “so perfect. so pretty.”

she moans. she thought she had control but the boys are teaming up. “fuck, i’m close,” patrick groans, thrusting harder, sloppier. followed by, “fuck, i’m coming.” and when he does, it’s hard and breath taking. she’s breathless when patrick and art share a look. she doesn’t get a break when art’s head sips between her thighs, beginning to lap at her juices. her thighs squeeze and she moans loud, hands pulling art’s hair hard. it only lasts second before art has an idea. patrick understands too easily.

moving onto his back, art pulls her onto his face a little bit shamelessly. his nose bumping her clit as she grabs the headboard. she’s moaning and she’s mumbling his name as she moves her hips, art’s arm half grabbing her ass, half supporting her as she begins to ride his tongue, his nose- like they’re the saddle of her horse.

he’s leaking, patrick notices before grabbing art’s dick firmly. art makes a sound that vibrations of send chills down the skin of their shared southern doll. patrick slowly, but firmly begins to stroke art’s cock, hand slightly twisting as it goes up and down. art moans out under her as she continues on his tongue making circles around her clit.

“fuck!” she cries out. “oh my god, oh my god.” her accent the cutest thing. “i’m gonna-“ she’s got both of the boy’s attention. “so close.” her noises are hotter than any they’ve ever heard. patrick’s hand speeds up and before he knows it, his hand is covered in art’s cum the same way art’s mouth is covered by her juices as she unravels on his face. no better way to go than that.

heaving, the three lay there for a moment before cleaning up. the boys have a game tomorrow…

she bids them goodnight after a bit of easy laughter and conversation and the boys talk about the sex the whole way back to their room where they both pass out as soon as they hit the pillow. sex with the country girl was a lot more work than they’d estimated.

[sluttyenthusiast]

We all know that Patrick Zweig, is most definitely a whore, and he would most definitely freak out if he started to like you.

The both of you had just started seeing each other, it was casual, you both liked each other's company but you hadn't labeled it.

You often spent your time together entangled in his sheets or on impromptu movie or dinner dates.

And Patrick thinks he likes you, he likes what you have, he's stopped seeing other people, because you were enough to keep him engaged.

But Patrick wakes up in a cold sweat one night, heart pounding as he held his head in his hands.

The cause? He dreamt of a life where the both of you lived together, he dreamt of the comfort of having you, he dreamt of waking up to you in the kitchen as he would pepper soft kisses along you shoulder. He dreamt of a life where he was happily with you.

It scared him because he had never felt this, so he did the only thing that made sense to him.

He ghosted you.

And it pissed you off because you were just starting to like him, you thought maybe he needed space but after the first week you were seething with anger and you found your way to his apartment, banging his door down.

He answers begrudgingly, and he looks, horrified to see you, and maybe even a little turned on.

He tried to speak up but you stormed past him into the room, throwing your hands up in the air as you began to yell at him.

He sat there and took it though.

After two hours of screaming at him for being so stupid, you couldn't help but launch yourself at him, grasping his face as you kissed him hungrily.

The kiss lasted about ten minutes before he placed his hand under your shirt, trying to get a feel for you.

You were still angry though, so you pulled back, shaking your head at him with a frown.

That's how he ended up with his back pressed to your chest as you slowly and painfully jerk him off, whispering in his ear about how he's been so mean to you, denying his orgasm for about the third time this night.