#i love domestic patrick zweig | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

egcdeath · 5 months ago

Text

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate.

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite.

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly.

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else.

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her.

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about.

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation.

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now.

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar.

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating.

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you.

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters.

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda.

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch.

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man.

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before.

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone.

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning.

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money.

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city.

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous.

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats.

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw.

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity.

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time.

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond.

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters.

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could.

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too.

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give.

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that.

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world.

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family.

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day.

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all.

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered.

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship.

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him.

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building.

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died.

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree.

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it.

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support.

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him.

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father.

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters.

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this.

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself.

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man.

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive.

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry.

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend.

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you.

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner.

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him.

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you.

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless.

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life.

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh.

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time.

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless.

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye.

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away.

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away.

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in.

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her.

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal.

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good.

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you.

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital.

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him.

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him.

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep.

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged.

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included.

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict.

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people.

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt.

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you.

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so.

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up.

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you.

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands.

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head.

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all.

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins.

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk.

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation.

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear.

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine.

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately.

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him.

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered.

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner.

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously.

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so.

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car.

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting.

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either.

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours.

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him.

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him.

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed.

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?”

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend.

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on.

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised.

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was.

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story.

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box.

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles.

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him.

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did.

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense.

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig headcanon #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #challengers fic #reader insert #josh o'connor x reader

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tinytennisskirt · 4 months ago

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𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭'𝐬 m𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

MINORS DNI w/ RED HEART FICS ALMOST ALL FICS CONTAIN SUGGESTIVE CONTENT thank youuuu

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬:

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐧:

The Card and The Heart (x ZweigTwin!Reader) ♡

A Chaotic Reunion Pt1 (childhood bestfriend art! x reader- reuniting and rekindling)

A Chaotic Reunion Pt2 (childhood bestfriend art! x reader- rekindling and new romance)

Rumours (x fem!reader- miscommunication trope)

More Than Anything (childhood bestfriend art! x reader- slowburn? angsty? fluffy romantic ending)

Cottage Culture (childhood bestfriend art! x reader - ft. patrick, slowburn, close friends, cottage getaway, fluff)

Good Luck Charm (x gf!reader- sad to fluff, proposal)

Kisses (x gf!reader- hurt/comfort)

The Motions (x girlfriend/wife!reader- wedding, honeymoon, pregnancy) ♡

A Slippery Slope (x exgirlfriend!reader- apologies, rekindling, hurt/comfort if you squint)

Fresh Laundry and Other Things (x reader- flirting, fluff, laundry and coffee and music)

The Couch (x pregnantwife!reader- fluff, a little smut, pregnancy) ♡

Small Victories (x tennisplayer!reader- fluff, angst, recovery and slowburn friends to lovers)

Never (art x girlfriend!reader- breakup, angst, bittersweet)

Kiss Me (art x bestfriend!reader- fake dating trope with a twist, slowburn, super sweet)

Let It Linger (dual timeline- MRTA! art x bestfriend! reader / post divorce! art x estranged best friend reader- pining, yearning, slowburn)

From Pain To Promise (x bestfriend!reader- pining, yearning, angst, MAJOR TW, happy ending)

Wounds and Words (x bestfriend!reader- pining, taking care of wounds, drunk confession)

Chrysalism (x fiancée!reader- rainy day, shower sex, domestic love) ♡

No Consequences (x bestfriend!reader- stoned sex) ♡

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐙𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠:

Hall Pass (x Art'sGirlfriend!Reader) ♡

Angel Pt1 (x singlemom!reader - slowburn/age gap)

Angel Pt2 (x singlemom!reader - slowburn/age gap/tension and wanting)

Angel Pt3 (x singlemom!reader - slow burn, age gap) ♡

Rematch (ex-situationship!reader- enemies to lovers, smut)♡

Tease (x fem!reader- tease, hidden fluff, friends to lovers) ♡

Patrick and His Pattern (x girlfriend!reader- angst, mean!patrick, breakup) ♡

Sweetheart (x babysitter!reader- age gap, girl dad! patrick, smut) ♡

Those Three Words (friend turned lover! reader x player turned loverboy! patrick- fun, sweet, am ‘i love you’ confession, and hurt/comfort)

Sweet Tooth (x bakery owner! reader- post-canon player turned bf! patrick, flirting, the motions, falling in love, fluff)

Toast To Nothing (x girlfriend! reader- meeting his parents, smut!) ♡

𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐡:

The Gymnast (x gymnast!reader- tension, threesome, smut!) ♡

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

- patrick taking your virginity (blurb) ♡

- best friend!patrick who is totally not in love with you (headcanons with a plot)

- boyfriend!art who knows you like the back of his hand (headcanons)

- art giving you a tummy bulgeee (requested blurb) ♡

- you, art and pat singing some trashy song in the car (headcanon)

- Q: who is more likely to develop a crush for stupid reasons?

- Mark Rebellato Era headcanons

- vampire boyfriend! art (headcanons with a plot) ♡

- meet the donaldsons (almost-fic blurb)

- telling fwb! patrick zweig that you’re pregnant.

#tinytennisskirtmasterlist #artdonaldson #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #tinytennisskirt #challengers masterlist #masterlist #x reader

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amymbona · 2 months ago

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I was thinking about being Patrick’s childhood friend and accidentally marrying him at Las Vegas. You’ve been in love with him for years and he with you, but neither of you know that the other is in love with each other. The marriage is completely legit and it’s weird, but it is so much work and money to get a divorce. You’re both close anyway and there are some benefits to staying married, so might as well right? Patrick agrees and you both go with it. The fact that you’re both secretly in love with each other has nothing to do with that decision of course…

Just all the domestic bliss of living with someone you’ve loved for ages but are unable to properly say it. Slowly coming to realize both of you are in love wirh each other and that this is the happiest mistake of your life.

(very vague ik but just some thoughts)

Ughhh imagine going on a lovey dovey honeymoon because both of you feel like two weeks spend tanning at the beach and drinking cocktails are more than needed. If Patrick is still playing tennis, he's like semi-famous, so the two of you might meet a guy or two who excitedly take selfie with him and then swiftly tweet how the Zweig guy is married!

The way the two of you act is a mix of friendly and romantic, cause nothing changed, but actually everything has changed. You know what I mean? It's no secret the two of you are touchy, giggly and all that jazz, like you've been best friends since you've learned how to speak! You genuinely don't mind if Patrick sees your boob when the top of your bikini slips while the two of you are swimming the sea; he literally held your hair and rubbed your back when you first got drunk, and changed a pad for you once as well. There's no hint of embarrassment or fear between the two of you.

However, for some reason, Patrick can't keep his eyes off of you. He's looking at you in such a different - lustful - way, but not in the sense that he'd bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you. God, you're glowing, you're like an angel, like a goddamn diamond that shines brighter than the cheap gold ring he put on your finger (he needs to buy you a prettier one). He longs to see you in pretty dresses, to lay in bed with you while you're reading your favourite book, to twirl your hair around his finger, to kiss your pink lips. But do you feel the same way about him?

And, oh, you do. You fucking do, and it drives you crazy. If only Patrick knew how much you wish you were one of the girls that are mentioned in articles about him, how much you wish that the two of you could go out in public and people would speculate it you're just a family friend or something more. And now you might have it, but is it really what you dreamed about?

It's like a fever dream to you actually, like a beautiful dream that you will wake up from once you make it back to the USA, slipping into consciousness and forced to part ways. What if the excitement will wear of? What if Patrick will realise that this situation offers no benefits at all and decides to go through the awful process of a divorce.

Patrick manages to convince you otherwise, especially when he scoops you into his arms while you're walking along the beach and threatens to drop you into the water, when he buys you your favourite flavour of ice cream and wipes a drop of it from your chin. The more Patrick does, the more you find yourself falling in love with him, which can't be good at all. But in the end, these are just the feelings that you've managed to repress for years, and maybe now, you'll be finally allowed to let them flow freely, considering you're officially Mrs Zweig.

#pookies army <3 #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #ask

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ch4rryc0smos · 1 month ago

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⊹ scent of summer — a. donaldson.

synopsis — tennis, college, and everything in between. a celebratory party that leads to the same quiet night, just this time with unspoken words that finally leave their prisons.

genres — friends to lovers, tension, mutual pining, late-night conversations, teasing, friendly banter, admiring, friend of a friend, domestic fluff, tooth rotting fluff.

pairing — art donaldson x friend!self insert, art donaldson x mutual friend!self insert.

warnings — mentions of being drunk, if that counts.

word count — 2.4k.

author's note — i love writing oneshots, they are so fun, i swear. and i also love art very much, if it isn't obvious yet. i saw this challengers series here, and i really want to write one now, but i simply don't have enough time, i've realised. i had to put another one on hold, and over that, it requires planning. i might just die. anyways, happy reading!

masterlist.

The crowd cheers, and Marion’s ears won’t stop ringing, no matter how hard she tries to make it stop. She’s also trying to act like this isn’t totally hurting her (it is, but Art can’t know that). Art’s mop of blond hair is glistening, shining even, under the sunlight. It beams down on him, the warmth spreading under his palms. Every time he gets a bit too close to where she’s sitting she’s almost sure she can count the sweat droplets rolling down his forehead, the skin wrinkling in focus and his lips forming a pout. Every time he spares her a glance, she feels the smile bloom all over, and instead nods at the court.

Don’t get distracted, she thinks. Tashi sighs beside her.

Tashi, her superstar-model of a best friend turns towards her, giving her a tired look. “I don’t know if you being here gives him a confidence boost or if it distracts him more—”

“I’m hoping it’s the first.” Marion’s eyes are glued onto Art’s fluid movements. He hasn’t glanced at her once since the last time their eyes met, and she’s glad. Because he looks like he has the upperhand right now. And she hates how mushy his grunts of focus make her feel. They make her feel all fuzzy and her brain turn into pathetic mush. She huffs, turning away from the teasing eyes that Tashi has focused on her. She stares at the way Art practically bounces from one place to another, his eyes darting back and forth.

Marion’s leaning forward, breath caught in her throat as Art goes for the winning strike, his groan full of so much relief Marion has to grip onto Tashi’s hand. Her best friend grins, laughing and throwing her hands up. Marion topples back onto her seat, laughing out in relief alongside Tashi, eyes stuck to Art’s approaching figure as he jogs up to them.

“Must’ve helped him loads, with you in his sweatshirt,” Tashi whispers into her ear when she notices the general direction Art is walking in. She slips her hand out, sitting up straight.

All while Marion feels the warmth pool in her face. She huffs, looking away.

“Hey—” Art has to stop and take a deep breath, his voice is shaking slightly.

He’s not been that unfit, surely.

“Not hitting the gym recently?” Marion says, standing up so she can ruffle his hair. He grins at her like he’s not seen her in ages. She shakes her head when he tries to wrap his arms around her. She is not hugging him while he’s got sweat all over him that makes him look like he could be the ultimate beacon of light, with all the reflection and the gleam of his pale skin.

“I want a hug,” he says, his racket hanging at his side.

Marion looks behind him, his sulking opponent storming away, she fights back her grin, focusing her gaze on his, smiling softly. “Not until you get a shower. You better scrub off that stench, Mr. Donaldson.”

He grumbles in indignation and hands her his racket, telling her he’ll be back soon. She knows exactly what to do. She waves off Tashi who’s already talking to Patrick, animated as she narrates the game that Zweig has also just watched anyway.

Marion weaves her way through the retreating crowd, she walks into the quiet of the campus walls, walking up to the room where Art camps out before games. She drops his heavy bag onto the floor, and stuffs the racket into it. She frowns at the crumpled tissue paper she forgot to throw away, dropping it into the dustbin stowed away in a corner, hidden from the public eye. She closes her eyes and lets her behind hit the chair stationed next to a metal closet. Her eyes flutter close and she relaxes into the cold of the room.

And then footsteps echo outside, quick as they came, the door is thrown open and Marion opens her eyes to meet Art’s gleeful face.

“Hey,” she whispers, smiling up at him.

“You good?” He stops in front of her sitting figure, looking down at her. She nods, standing up. “How was the game?”

“Shouldn’t I ask you that?” she mumbles into his shoulder, momentarily forgetting that he’s yet to take a shower. “You better let go of me, Art.”

“Why?” he mumbles, almost whiny while he tightens his grip around her waist. “I want to celebrate with my favourite girl.”

“Later?” she cards her fingers through his messy locks of blond hair, unintentionally melting in his arms. He pulls her closer, supports her full weight against him, somehow not wanting to collapse onto the floor.

Marion doesn’t get him sometimes, but she doesn’t question it. She hears him mutter something, and let go. She smiles.

“By the way,” he starts, rummaging through his bag, “Tashi, Patrick and I will be having a little party at our dorm later tonight, you should—”

He’s interrupted by her phone pinging incessantly. She glances at him apologetically, and pulls it out. Lo and behold, it’s Tashi. Talk about the devil. She skims the message, it’s something about what Art was just mentioning. Marion laughs.

“Tashi mentioned it,” she says.

Art raises an eyebrow at her. “Well, I was doing it before her.”

Marion grins, shaking her head as she steps up to him, planting a gentle kiss on his jawline before she takes the run, sprinting out of his room, and towards her dorm. She makes a mental note to reply to Tashi later. She expects her best friend to probably be with Patrick, either dissecting the game, or eating his face. And either way, she doesn’t want to deal with them, not just yet.

Whenever they have these little parties, they’re timid, alright, but it never fails to end up with Art and Marion alone, the former listening and Marion speaking to her heart’s content, spurred on by Art’s nice gaze, and his interest, and the late hours of the night that ask her to open the windows into her mind.

To him.

But the next day, neither of them talk about the way they’d end up curled in each other’s embrace, smiling like they’re on cloud nine, holding each other’s faces, pressed together.

When Marion reaches her dorm, she’s not surprised when she’s greeted by silence. She unlocks the door and steps in, a steady flow of sunlight flooding in from the window that she’d left open earlier in the morning. The air is humid, Marion now feels sweaty. She blows air into her t-shirt, shivering as she stares at her reflection on the mirror on her closet. Tashi’s tennis attire is thrown across their beds. Marion grins, picking it up and tenderly placing it on a corner.

Now, she has to get ready. She wishes Tashi was there, to help her.

She isn’t the best with things like this, and she would appreciate the emotional support.

Well, it never appears.

The night air clings onto her skin as she wades her way through campus, feet carrying her down the same path that leads her back to his place. And Patrick’s place. Tashi had called her earlier, letting her know that she’s already with Patrick, that she didn’t realise the time passing when she was with her boyfriend. Marion laughed it off.

And now she treads through silence, the stillness of the quiet night making her stiff, but she continues anyway.

She’s ever grateful to safely reach her destination. Her wrist reaches upwards to place three measured knocks on the door, she waits, bouncing from heel to heel. And then the door cracks open, locks of blond greet her before a face does, then Art appears in his entirety.

A smile breaks onto his face the second his eyes set on her. Oceans crash against the shore, a forest dances in the distance. She smiles back at him.

“I hope I’m not late,” she says, scratching the back of her neck.

He shakes his head, “not at all, don’t worry.” He holds his hand out for her. She accepts it graciously, letting him tug into the threshold of his dorm room. Laughter caresses her senses, her eyes immediately straying towards the direction of the sound. Tashi and Patrick are on the floor, grinning as Marion approaches them.

She notices Tashi taking a swig out of a beer can. And then her eyes inch upwards, and when she notices her best friend, she starts grinning. Marion sits down beside her. Tashi places her hands in Marion’s lap. The Brit holds them gently, playing with her fingers.

“Mari’!” she says, smiling, brown eyes staring into hers.

She blinks at her, “Hey, Tashi—” Marion starts, but is rudely interrupted by Patrick. Who is somehow slurring his words already.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

Marion shakes her head, face-palming. And suddenly the pressure of two palms are on her shoulder. She turns her head around and she’s nose to nose with Art Donaldson, kneeling behind her. He smiles. Marion sighs, tapping his nose, making him move back.

“Mari’...” he elongates the last vowel, pouting.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” she asks, glancing at the other two, who look considerably wasted, for the measure.

“Not quite.” Art nuzzles his nose into her shoulder, breathing deeply. She turns around to him fully and wraps her arms around him.

She laughs softly, “I can’t be the only one who isn’t drunk,” she whispers, eyeing the other two with mock disdain. Patrick grins, giving her and Art a look that plainly goes ‘just kiss already’, Marion looks away, trying to ignore the way her cheeks flare up.

Tashi on the other hand, is staring at Patrick, and then glancing at Marion. And she shrugs.

One thing leads to another, a cigarette break for Patrick has him going with Tashi to who knows where. But they’re not back, and it’s been a while.

“Don’t think they’ll be back any time soon,” Art mutters, face pressed into the crook of Marion’s neck. The latter nods in agreement, running her hands on his bare skin under his thin cotton shirt. His hands are on her waist, also under the warmth encapsulated by his sweatshirt that’s hanging loose on her skin. His hands are warm to the touch, and she shivers, but doesn’t ask him to let go.

At some point through the night, the window was thrown open, and it’s been like that since. Warm air wafts through the open window, the scent of summer lingering in the room, clinging to their skin. Marion’s chin rests on Art’s head, he’s tracing random shapes onto the skin of her sides, her eyes flutter close.

She feels shuffling, and suddenly warm air—No, a warm breath is fanning right against her face. She opens her eyes a sliver, to meet Art’s eyes, his lips inches away from hers. His hands have her caged against the headboard of the bed. She stares up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him, voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothin’, you jus’ look pretty,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead to hers. She has to reach up, wrap her arms around his neck. She wants to turn her face away before she’s sure she’ll bloom into a scarlet mess, but Art’s fingers find their way onto her right cheek. She instinctively leans into the touch, how she does often, more often than she should.

“I don’t,” she breathes into his fingers, turning her head slightly so she can place kisses on his fingertips.

“You always do,” Art counters, turning her face back so he can look at the entirety of it. He breathes softly, she’s back to counting every smile line, eyelashes, stray strand of hair, anything, so she doesn’t have to stare at the way his lips are parted.

The way he looks incredibly kissable.

And the way that makes her heartbeat stutter.

She shakes her head, Art tilts his head.

“Please,” he whispers.

Her breath hitches in her throat. She thinks she knows exactly what he’s asking, but she’s scared to say anything, to just say yes.

“Please what?” she breathes out with a shaky voice. He shuffles, pressing closer against her. Her eyes close.

“Look at me.” His hands trace the expanse of her face, cupping it.

She opens her eyes. The look in his eyes is so plain, she nods.

He leans down, captures her lips in a gentle kiss, pulling her as close as he can. She wants to crumble in his arms, he tastes like summer, or whatever she thinks it tastes like. His lips are warm, but soft, his breath makes her heady, tint of peppermint making her head spin. His hair is tickling her face as he presses ever closer, trying to seemingly memorise the way her lips move in sync with his. Her arms are pulling him closer by the neck until they’re practically moulded into one another. Hands weave into his hair, tugging at it.

He groans softly.

The butterflies erupt in her stomach.

When he pulls away, her chest is rising and falling quickly, shaky breaths slipping past as she stares at his red face, eyes barely open. He’s grinning. She chuckles.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers.

“You’ve said,” she whispers back, reaching out and pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. There’s no resistance, he just crumbles onto her, his head nuzzled against her shoulder, where he’s now peppering feather light kisses.

She presses her face into his hair, drinking in the scent of… the beach that infiltrates her senses. He is summer, to some extent. She reckons.

“No but, you just…” he trails off, breathing softly against the crook of her neck. She glances at the clock hanging on the wall, 01:44 it reads.

“Mhm, whatever you say,” she hums, closing her eyes, relaxing, Art’s weight pressed against her. He snakes his arms back around the skin of her waist, under the sweatshirt. She relaxes into his grip more, feels the exhaustion tugging at her consciousness.

“Wear my sweatshirt more often,” he whispers, voice quiet, the tiredness lining every syllable.

She nods against the headboard, holding him closer.

The strong scent of summer is wafting in from somewhere now, and she can hear a door creaking open, can hear the quiet murmurs of people from somewhere, but she ignores it. Marion’s mind is consumed by the urge to sleep and by Art’s comforting weight, and the way his chest is rising and falling against hers.

Summer surrounds them, and sleep speaks in quiet whispers to her. She smiles against the top of Art’s head, doesn’t care if there are obscenely loud giggles echoing around her, she’ll deal with it later.

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artdcnaldson · 4 months ago

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i love patrick zweig so much i need him to rail me but also be completely domestic with him. like yeah eat me out but also let me count every freckle on your face 🥲

Ohhhh I want to just sit on his lap and look at him. Brush back his hair and trail my finger over his features. Pepper little kisses on his cheeks and count his gray hairs and freckles :((( ohhhh

#oomfie

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fandomlurker333 · 6 months ago

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I would literally kill somebody (a kid, an old lady) for these two fics:

Domesticated Art : Art is such a repressed psychotic freak (But Daddy I LOVE Himmmm). I want fics that have him finally letting himself openly love his people. Like, bro your only access to intimacy with your wife don't have to be tennis trophies and emotional blackmail. And for God's sake, if you don't fuck Patrick Zweig and whisper filth in his ear in your marriage bed, I disown you

A Ballet AU: Okay, Okay, I know they're already athletes, but I'm thinking about how men don't partner in ballet, but Patrick and Art as Fire&Ice is always captivating as hell anyway, and Patrick finds ways to mold himself around Art, and Tashi's style is so powerful and energetic but she's so horrible to partner with because she is so damn excellent and no one LISTENS to her, except Art does. And they partner REALLY fucking well. And Patrick is devastated but amazed, and she and Patrick still fight and fuck probably and Art is still insane but BALLET.

#Okay go #Pls someone PLS I Beg of you #Challengers #Challengers Fanfic #PLEASE #I BEG OF YOU PLEASE

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minnie-cai · 22 days ago

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THIS IS ADORABLE AND SWEET AND I LOVE IT AND I WANT IT UGHHHHH

i actually seriously love you i adore this

gym teacher patrick! moodboard & headcanons

– thank you for 400!!! this is long overdue but i just had so many ideas for it, i had to write them all down. all hail gym patrick teacher anon. slightly proof read idk also i just kinda went ham on this so apologies if it's very out of character or slightly different from the ones i've posted before.

ꢾ꣒ the first time you saw patrick, he's walking down the hallways beside the principal. a very casual fit, jeans and shirt, because he doesn't have much going on in his wardrobe. (having sold his expensive clothes to afford gas and food)

ꢾ꣒ you were asked to give him a tour so when you were introduced, his first thought is how much you give miss honey from matilda vibes.

ꢾ꣒ your personality wasn't far from it as well– selfless, passionate and caring, everything he wasn't and hadn't witnessed in years.

ꢾ꣒ you've heard about him, of course. the teacher's lounge was filled with excited since the news of pro-tennis player patrick zweig coming to work in their local school.

ꢾ꣒ when you gave him the tour, he seemed a little jittery and ended up overcompensating with jokes and compliments. which he knows definitely weren't the right things to say but it's his first job, an actual job that he felt he had no qualifications for.

ꢾ꣒ you were understanding though, didn't judge him so quickly which he was extremely grateful for.

ꢾ꣒ he quickly got on well with the students because well, he's young, cool and funny. he was definitely not that great when it comes to paperworks and lessons during his first few months at school but he learned eventually.

ꢾ꣒ the students love calling him mr.z because they somehow end up butchering his last name plus he thinks it's very validating when teens think you're cool enough to give you a nickname.

ꢾ꣒ he loves making the kids play dodgeball because it's brutal lol

ꢾ꣒ he would always come by your room during short breaks, shamelessly sticking his hand in the fishbowl filled with candies for your students.

ꢾ꣒ he would always try to sit with you during lunch in the teacher's lounge because he claims you're the only sane one besides him. he'd ask questions about you or tea on the teachers...

ꢾ꣒ you tried putting distance between the two of you at first because you're professional and have boundaries and he's ... patrick and new. but you soon realized how fun and comforting being in his presence is. you love your job but dealing with kids five days a week is stressful and he helps make it bearable.

ꢾ꣒ during assemblies, he'd always stand next to you with his arms crossed. pretending to watch over the students and keep them behaved but in the end, he's the one who ends up misbehaving by trying to make conversation with you, he's not that good at whispering.

ꢾ꣒ he'd always say hi, compliment your clothes or pop into your classroom to rile the kids up and annoy you. he'd come up to your desk saying he has something important to tell you but it's all nonsense, and it's only when the door closes behind him that you noticed the post-it note he left on your desk. "dinner?"

ꢾ꣒ things start to escalate more when you two were tasked to chaperone a field trip. on the way back, everyone's knocked out including you. he lets you rest your head on his shoulder, his hand itching to grab yours and keep you close.

ꢾ꣒ he'd tap you awake when he notices you're getting closer to the school. dazed, you lift your head up. accidentally just centimeters away from his. after realizing you've just been staring into each other's eyes, you both look away with a light shade of red dusting your cheeks.

ꢾ꣒ after that moment, he'd try to convince the other staffs to plan a work dinner or a night out just to get close to you and talk without all the awkwardness.

ꢾ꣒ he'd be rushing to sit next to you, doing everything to keep your attention on him. he's handing you the things you're asking for, putting more food onto your plate, refilling your glass.

ꢾ꣒ by the end of the night, you mention how you were planning to uber home but he insists that he drives you, to be safe. and he definitely didn't plan for it because his car is a mess, he opens the door to the passenger seat and tosses a bunch of stuff to the backseat before stepping aside to let you in.

ꢾ꣒ you ask him if he wanted to go for post-night out burger before driving you home and of course he's not going to say no to more time with you.

ꢾ꣒ you get your burger and fries then he drives you to a small cliff he found when he first moved here, telling you the story of how he ended up in this town in the first place.

ꢾ꣒ he was surprised to see you tearing up, you say its because he's gone through so much and found the strength to start over again but he's downplaying it, saying he's sure other people go through much worse

ꢾ꣒ and you're like, no don't say that. you're valid, everything you've gone through is valid and i'm so proud of you for striving to be better (miss honey mode activated.)

ꢾ꣒ his heart swells, staring at you with a surprised expression because he hasn't heard that in so long, that someone was proud of him.

ꢾ꣒ fast forward, you're sharing a cozy apartment after you proposed being roommates, saying rent in this economy is really bad and with your pay, you're not sure how long you're gonna be able to keep a roof over your head. it was hasty, sure but it felt right. now you've made a home together.

ꢾ꣒ he gets up atleast half an hour before you, kissing you on the forehead before getting up to brew some coffee. you two live such a domestic life, different from what he's had before you.

ꢾ꣒ on weeknights, you get a lot of take out– mostly chinese, indian and thai because you have so much work to do. sitting together to prepare lessons or grade papers.

ꢾ꣒ if you're not busy, takeouts while rewatching sitcoms (i feel like he watches full house or b99). sometimes you'd play recordings of his games and he thinks you're doing it to embarrass him but really you love tennis era patrick.

ꢾ꣒ during the weekends, you would either go out (outside the city) and explore, hike maybe or just walk around. or you would stay in and make a full course meal together, with candles and music.

ꢾ꣒ you agreed (mostly you) to keep the relationship a secret for a while and he knows how important keeping your personal life from your work life separate is to you so he respects that. and also because you don't know how workplace romance is perceived at work so better safe than unemployed.

ꢾ꣒ he drives the two of you to school so you make him wait ten minutes after you go in before he can. after work, he'd drive over a few blocks from the school and wait for you there so people don't see you going in his car.

ꢾ꣒ he tries to act normal, like you two are just friendly coworkers but he can't help going out of his way to touch you or talk to you. sliding past behind you when you're in the lounge to place his hand on your back. standing beside you and touching your arm with his when you're making coffee. secretly holding your hand under the table when you're sitting down for lunch.

ꢾ꣒ the two of you think you're so slick but literally everyone can see that you're flirting, you're in your honeymoon phase– constantly smiling and whispering to each other, blushing instantly when you make eye contact from across the room. you're not very subtle.

ꢾ꣒ while hanging out with other teachers, someone casually mentions your relationship with patrick and you're like, "huh? what relationship? we're friends" and they're like girl cut it out, we're not idiots.

ꢾ꣒ patrick is so relieved to know that they know because he's tired of (badly) pretending that you're just a coworker. he wants to be able to tell and show people that he's yours and you're his.

ꢾ꣒ the students, of course, find out eventually and being teenagers, they're shameless with their teasings. wolf whistling and squealing whenever patrick would interrupt the class to tell you something (which you know he does on purpose because he's an annoying little shit).

ꢾ꣒ he loves giving you flowers and buying you books, massaging your feet after a long day, setting a bath for the two of you to relax in. his love language is quality time and acts of service.

ꢾ꣒ he couldn't believe how different the life he's living right now from the life he used to have. he's living in a stars hollow-esque town, has a proper job that's not about tennis and has a beautiful partner he comes home with.

ꢾ꣒ he can't wait to marry you in a church and raise a family with you, have kids that will eventually go to your school and he would teach :")

#i love drama but given the chance i will always love domestic patrick more #the chance to give this boy PEACE #TO LOVE HIM #to have him HEALTHY and SECURE #sosososo adorable #patrick zweig #challengers

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egcdeath · 4 months ago

Text

going the extra mile

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: patrick takes care of you after a rough day at work.

word count: 2k

warnings: domesticity, established relationship tooth rotting fluff, so much fluff you might have to visit your dentist, brief mention of alcohol, eating, baths, mentions of sex but no explicit scenes, so sappy, very lightly edited

author’s note: this fic is part of my succession au (previous part here) but you don’t need to read it to read this! all you need to know is that patrick and reader are engaged.

“Honey, I’m home!” you called out as you stepped through the door of your shared apartment, voice a little flat from an exhausting day.

What began as a joke after you first moved in with Patrick quickly began a critical part of your evening routine, where whoever got home from work later called the cheesy phrase out to the other person, then was excitedly greeted at the door. It was a cute routine and something for you to look forward to after a long day at work—much like the one you just experienced.

Just as you predicted, Patrick appeared at your door shortly after you announced your arrival, beating your equally excited cat by just a few seconds.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted you warmly before entering your space to give you a quick forehead kiss. “How was your day?”

“Stressful,” you huffed, allowing Patrick to take your work bag and hang it up for you. You squatted down to pet your cat, who was now enthusiastically rubbing her chin on your shin.

“I figured it would be. I know big presentations aren’t your favorite,” he acknowledged, ruffling your hair from where you were petting your cat. “So I picked up a bunch of food from that Italian place you like. Want to change into something comfortable then eat?”

“Oh Patrick,” you sighed in relief, looking up at him with love in your eyes. A huge feast was exactly what you needed after such a rough day. “You might be the best fiancé ever.”

As promised, when you returned to the kitchen after putting on a satin pajama set—one that Patrick randomly gifted you early on in your relationship—a variety of takeout boxes sat on the counter from one of your favorite restaurants. You didn’t even think that they did take out, but Patrick must’ve convinced them somehow. Knowing that he would go out of his way to do something like that for you made you want to grab and kiss him.

You grabbed what you wanted then sat down on your couch, not even bothering to care about marinara stains that might end up on the very expensive piece of furniture. At that point, your comfort mattered more than any material items—a sentiment that you were sure that Patrick would agree with.

Your fiancé joined you not too long after you sat down, bringing you an offer of focaccia and a glass of wine.

“You know me so well,” you practically purred, a soft smile on your lips as you gladly took the glass of wine from him.

Patrick smiled back at you in response, not outwardly acknowledging your praise, but the light dusting of pink on his cheeks letting you know that he appreciated it anyway. You always loved seeing the effects your compliments had on him, even if he didn’t immediately speak his mind.

“Do you want to watch a movie? Want a foot massage?” he offered, remote to the television already in one hand. It was sweet how he seemed to be going down a checklist of all of the things he knew you liked after a long, stressful day.

“I think I just want to enjoy your company for now. Maybe an early debrief? Tell me about your day?” you suggested, setting down your glass of wine to take a bite of the food on your plate.

“My day was pretty boring, to be honest,” he sighed. “We did some run-throughs of Glenn’s speech, then went back to the office and got some boring work done that you don’t want to hear about.”

“Maybe I do wanna hear about it,” you challenged, sitting up slightly straighter to indicate your interest. “Or maybe I just want to hear you talk a little more?” you added, figuring that it would be better to be honest.

Information about the campaign Patrick was working on would probably go in one ear and out the other, but his voice was always a comforting, grounding thing for you. After having such a busy, stressful day, you couldn’t think of a single better way to unwind than to hear Patrick talk endlessly to you.

Being the supportive fiancé that he was, Patrick did exactly that, telling you about all of the ins and outs of his day until you finished eating and drinking and were halfway into a food coma.

Sensing your sleepiness, Patrick paused in his storytelling. “I was gonna run a bath for you, but I wanted to wait so it didn’t get too cold while we ate. What do you think?”

“I think I want to marry you right now,” you gushed, thrilled at the prospect of a warm bath to help you fully unwind from the day.

As promised, Patrick set up a bath for you, complete with a candle-lit room and the soothing aroma of a bath bomb. You sat in a fuzzy robe and watched from your bedroom as Patrick set up the bath for you, flattered by his commitment to giving you a relaxing evening.

After he was satisfied with the bath he put together for you, Patrick retrieved you from your bedroom and led you to the tub, as if you didn’t already know where it was.

“Just yell for me if you need anything,” Patrick told you, letting go of the hand that he was holding.

“What if I need something now?” you questioned as you shed your robe and stepped into the warm, soothing water of the bath.

“What do you need?” he asked curiously, already preparing to get whatever it was that you wanted.

“Well, I don’t need it, but it would be nice if you joined me. If you want to,” you added shyly, still worried about accommodating your partner years into your relationship. Patrick wasn’t always in the mood to do super romantic things, but after giving you such a nice night, it seemed far more likely that he would accept your offer.

Your request was received even better than you expected, with Patrick making quick work of stripping and getting into the tub behind you, before letting you recline against his chest comfortably.

The two of you sat in the tub for a long time, occasionally talking about whatever came to mind, but mostly unwinding in silence and sharing the intimacy of having skin-on-skin contact.

Once again, you were sure that you could fall asleep right then and there, relaxed by a tiring trifecta of your dinner, the warm bath, and your fiancé’s comforting presence.

“I never wanna get out,” you sighed contently, turning your head to dreamily look at your partner.

“I don’t either, but I’m starting to worry that if I stay any longer, my skin’s gonna start falling off,” he showed you his pruning fingers to prove his point.

“Ew,” you said simply, that being all you needed to hear to get you out. Besides, the water had gone cold a long time ago, and you were itching to lay in bed.

“I want to get out, but I don’t think any of my muscles work anymore,” you explained as you watched Patrick wrap a towel around his waist after stepping out of the tub.

“Is this your way of asking me to carry you to bed?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Depends. Are you offering?” you fluttered your eyelashes at Patrick as if that would somehow sweeten the deal.

Patrick gave you a wordless grin, one that told you that you were about to get exactly what you wanted. He helped you out of the tub and carried you to bed as he promised, before setting you down and tossing some pajamas at you.

After he cleaned up the bathroom, Patrick joined you in bed, where you were chewing on your bottom lip as you answered a few work emails.

“Put that away,” Patrick gently chided you, shutting your laptop for you. “They can have you tomorrow. Let me have you for now?”

You couldn’t argue with that logic, not protesting when Patrick took your computer and set it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Though you really would like to get more work done, your partner was accurate in his assessment that nothing would change if you answered that night rather than in the morning, other than your peace of mind.

Once your laptop was out of the way, Patrick wasted no time pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which felt like the perfect way for you to end your night. As his hands eagerly roamed your body, you thought about how this was something that you both earned, with Patrick treating you to such a lovely evening, and you needing this one final action to complete your night of relaxation.

Just as Patrick found his way between your thighs, your heated moment was interrupted by the dejected sounding meows of your cat at the door, wanting to be let into the room. Both of you groaned, knowing that if you didn’t address the angry furball waiting for you, you really wouldn’t be able to enjoy your night.

“We’ll pick this back up in the morning,” he promised you as he got out of bed.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you laughed, sitting up and pulling your discarded nightgown back on while you watched Patrick open the door for your pet. Predictable as ever, she jumped into your bed and sat down where she always liked to sit between you and your fiancé.

“This has to be the most spoiled cat in all of human history,” Patrick commented as he sat back down next to the two of you in bed.

“Whose fault is that?” you teased as you pet the purring feline. Though he would never admit it, Patrick somehow loved your pet even more than you did. You often found him holding and cooing at the cat, or doing research on new toys and puzzles to enrich her.

“We share responsibility for it,” he dismissed, causing you to giggle.

“Sure,” you replied, not even bothering to hide the incredulity in your voice.

As the two of you sat in bed, you settled into your typical evening routine, with Patrick reading a book beside you and you catching up with your friends over text.

Out of the blue, your partner spoke up, grabbing your attention. “You still haven’t told me about how the presentation went.”

You groaned aloud and turned to look at your fiancé, reading glasses perched on his nose and an open book laid on his chest. His beauty, even in a moment of not being all put-together, felt like it should be a crime.

“It wasn’t my best work,” you confessed. “It was kinda my fault. I’ve been so preoccupied with all the wedding stuff, that I basically just let Art throw together the presentation. I just felt so unprepared, but it’s fine, I guess.”

“I’m sure you did better than you think you did,” he assured you. “And if you didn’t, that’s also fine. It’s over, and I don’t think anyone’s gonna remember that you were a little unprepared.”

Though you’d reassured yourself with similar words, it was nice to hear it coming from your partner.

“You’re right. Presentation aside, thank you for making me forget about the real world and all of my problems for a little while,” you leaned over and kissed his cheek, and felt your cheeks warm as Patrick followed up your kiss on the cheek with a real kiss. It amazed you how even after years of being together, he was still able to give you butterflies.

“That was the goal,” he was obviously happy to see that this evening of sweet actions had the intended outcome, based on the wide smile on his face.

You bit your tongue to hold back a sappy love confession, knowing that Patrick surely wasn’t in the mood to return you one, but you couldn’t think of anything else more obvious than the mutual love you felt sitting in that bed, thoroughly pampered after a rough day.

As you laid there next to your grinning fiancé, you couldn’t help but wish that your wedding would come even sooner, so you could look forward to endless nights of domestic bliss.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #reader insert #challengers #josh o'connor x reader #patrick zweig smut

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saintzweig · 1 month ago

Text

patrick zweig x younger socialite girlfriend! reader

– based on this moodboard

– to make up for my incessant posting, here's an apology from me (in the form of a rlly short patrick fluff/domesticity). also thank you for 300!!! yay i appreciate all of you

drunken giggles echoed through the empty apartment as you stumbled in, with your heels in your hands and patrick's lips attached to your neck as he followed from behind you. kicking his foot back to shut the door before smoothly grabbing you by the waist and pinning you against the wall.

he smiled fondly at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "the hicks are the most annoying people on earth, why do i let you drag me to these?"

"they're shareholders" you giggle, bringing your hands up to unbutton his crisp, white shirt. "we need to keep up appearances so they don't pull out before any important events, you know how sensitive they are."

he hums, reaching up to take your hand in his before putting it up to his mouth, biting lightly. "you're lucky i love you"

"do you love me enough to come with me to brunch tomorrow?" to which he groans, throwing his head back. he leads you to sofa, pulling you down on his lap. "do i really have to?"

you hum, shifting on his lap to place one arm over his shoulder. "marianne has been asking for you, she finally broke up with her idiot gold digging boyfriend thanks to your advice"

you feel him place his hand on your knee, slowly inching its way up as you speak. "if anything it's your fault, you're just too good at being an ally" you laugh softly.

he dips his head, connecting his lips to your skin once more as he placed a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder. his hand now resting under your dress, fingers feeling the lacy material of your panties. "let me guess, black?"

"nope, pink" you shake your head with a small smile adorning your glossy pink lips, "with the little bows"

"can't you just tell her i got more important things to do?" he grumbles against your skin, tilting his head up to your neck, making you giggle as you feel his scruffy beard tickle you.

"alright but you're not getting out of dinner next week with your parents." you say. he groans, pulling away to rest his head on the back of the sofa.

"they're your parents, pat! isn't it weird that i'm having dinner with them without you?" you playfully slap his chest, "it's like sending your girlfriend to war without any armor"

"they like you better than their own son" he mutters before sitting back up properly. "i'd rather sit through your girl brunch than have dinner with my parents."

you smile widely, bringing a hand up to push his hair back. "hey, you chose this." you point out, a teasing tone in your voice.

"mm" he hums, "i chose you" he places a kiss on the corner of your mouth, subtly hooking his finger on the waistband of your underwear. "if i eat you out well, would you let me miss brunch and dinner?"

he flips you over, placing you on your back with him hovering above you. his thin silver chain dangling just above your lips, "i'll have to see how well you do it first"

#i need to go to sleep omfg #patrick zweig #challengers #challengers x reader #patrick zweig x reader #saintzweig writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

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amymbona · 4 months ago

Note

So I kinda had this au idea for sex therapist!Patrick but who specialises in treating people who find it hard to cum. But he's got this warm/confident/empathetic vibe, like what he loves most about his job is helping the men and women who come to him for guidance; who trust him to touch and tease their bodies, to just look at them and know what it takes to make them finally feel good. I dunno, I can just see Patrick putting his sex god powers towards helping and healing ❤️

THE GASP I JUST GASPED

Poor you :((( You're so ashamed of yourself, thinking all of the mistakes come from your side, that your body is just broken in some way, that you're the reason why none of your sexual partners were satisfied. And it breaks your heart honestly, 'cause you're afraid you won't be able to find a long term partner just because of this simple reason. You're aware sex is important in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be only your partners who remain unsatisfied - usually under the impression that you're not turned on enough by them to actually cum - but mainly yourself, unable to cum despite your raging arousal. And the worst thing is, you still don't know whether the mistake is really in you, or if you've just only been fucked by shitty men.

It takes a lot of courage for you to make an appointment at the Zweig clinic, as you're incredibly creeped out by the idea of opening yourself like that to some stranger. He sounds friendly on the phone, offering you a bunch of dates to choose from and just tells you not to worry, come in some comfy clothes, have a good breakfast in the morning, and that he will help you.

When you actually first step in, you're surprised to find a pretty domestic looking place. There's no waiting room, only a small corridor with one chair. It seems that doctor Zweig either has very little clients, or just manages to split them into so many appointments that they never overlap. You sit on the chair, one leg nervously bouncing as you wait for the door to open, really nervous what he will be like.

Doctor Zweig doesn't let you wait for long, his curly head peeking out of the door - "Welcome, it's so nice to meet you!" - and simply from the sight of his handsome face, you feel like you could cum. He's by far the most gorgeous man you have ever set your eye on, and suddenly you're almost sure why he is so successful.

He invites you in, insisting you call him Patrick and asks your name, then offers you a place to sit. "Would you like anything? A glass of water? Tea, coffee?" You leave the comfy looking sofa for him and plop down in a vintage looking arm chair as he goes to fetch you a glass of water. Soon, he returns with a smile and leisurely sits down, shooting one more smile in your direction.

You do the basic introduction when you tell him your name and age and then obviously the reason why you came. Patrick doesn't ask for your personal details at first, instead opting to tell you something about himself too. You learn he is nearing his thirties and has a fair share of sexual experience, that his biggest hobby is tennis and some other facts he considers important for you two to warm up.

For the whole time, you're struggling to keep your eyes off of him, drinking in the sight of his face. He's genuinely so handsome, like a god damn model, like he should be on the cover of some magazine. His eyes are so rich, shining at you like two expensive diamonds, and yet incredibly warm, compliment by a casual smile on his face. The curls on top of his head bounce lightly as he nods in response to your slurred words, patiently waiting for you to fully explain yourself. He allows you all the time you need, stating you're his only customer for today and so there's no need to rush. Your comfort, he says, is his priority.

Then, the personal questions begins. How many sexual partners have you had, all the positions you ever had sex in, which one usually makes you cum and do you ever come? Have you ever squirted? Does penetration work? So many questions that have you a blushing, sweating mess, almost making you want to cry. But Patrick is so sweet and kind, saying that it's completely natural, that nobody is judging you and you can talk to him as if he's just an old friend. This time, nothing serious happens and you two only make another appointment for next week, allowing you all the time in the world. When you're leaving, he asks whether you're feeling, in any way, aroused, stating it's important to know the effect he himself has on you. He gives you a homework as well, to come up with all the things that turn you on.

The next time you come in, you're wearing a pretty floral dress, as you're more afraid of him seeing you than really touching you. This way, if you two proceed to anything like that, it could all be hidden. Again, Patrick greets you with the usual smile, making your heart warm up, and invites you in. He sits you on the sofa, positioning himself next to you, and listens as you list all the things that excited you the most.

"I'm gonna touch you a bit, okay?" Patrick proposes and you nod, knowing that's the whole purpose of this predicament, so you can't really refuse.

He goes really slowly on you, so slowly and cautiously, that is actually leaves you surprised. First, his hand finds yours and he intertwines your fingers, inspecting the rings on your fingers and then the bracelets on your wrists. He kisses you on the cheek and throws one arm around you shoulders, easing you into his chest. He's so warm and smells good, it makes your head spin.

Then, Patrick finally kisses you on the lips, just lightly smooching the cherry taste of your lip stick, tasting you. He lets you kiss him back, allowing you to set the pace and intensity, engaging in your first make out session. His palm finds a place on your knee, just where your dress ends, but he doesn't dare slide under the fabric yet. Instead, his fingers lightly rub your knee and squeeze it.

When you begin responding more hungrily, your nose bumping into his messily, he pulls away. In front of him sits a cute, blushing girl, her pupils blown wide as she's unable to believe she's been kissed like that. Seriously, nobody has ever kissed you better than Patrick just did. And it's only the first kiss you two have shared. If he's supposed to fix your body in the most intimate ways, you can't even imagine what it would feel like when he proceeds further.

"I want you to set a pace. And a boundary. Okay? Don't just kiss me because you feel like you have to," he tells you, still massaging your knee gently, while he runs the fingers of his free hand through your hair. "Think of it as a real sexual experience, because it is. As if I was your boyfriend, doing all this with you."

You nod again, suddenly feeling shy of your actions. The sudden need you have for him. "Can I kiss you again?"

He lets you. He lets you kiss him and crawl onto his lap, to run your hands over his shoulder and tangle in the curls on the back of his neck. He allows you to touch him just as you please, discovering his body in your own way. When you hands keep roaming over his chest for too long, Patrick gently directs them to the top button of his shirt. "If you want to."

You take your time, slowly undoing the buttons on Patrick's shirt one by one, allowing for your palms to feel his skin. He's ripped muscles tight even when he sits so relaxed under you - probably the result of frequent tennis playing - and not so hairy either. All in all, he's warm and nice to touch.

Patrick notices the little falter of your breath as you stare at his body, and the gentle raise of your own chest, each and every breath passing through your mouth. The lipstick is a bit smeared from the messy intensity of your kisses and so he reaches up to wipe away the bit that remains on your chin, his touch gentle.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispers with full honesty, unable to tear his eyes off of your face. It's natural for Patrick to develop a bit of a relationship with his clients, his magic wouldn't work otherwise, but with you - such a pretty girl on his lap - he genuinely means it.

"Patrick," you sigh, lips parting as his finger slides over them.

"I want to make you feel good," he states in determination, his eyes glowing as he looks at you. "Will you let me?"

You let him. With his help, you sit with your back facing him, between his spread legs. Before your back could come to rest against his chest he stops you, and slowly slips down the straps of your dress. Shivers run down your spine at the gentle touch of his fingertips, feeling the softness of your skin. You have such a beautiful body, and he has only seen so little so far.

The top of your dress pools around your hips as he pulls you into his chest and his hands settle on your waist. There you rest, settled into the warmth of Patrick's body, eyes wide as you stare ahead, wondering if he can see your breasts over your shoulder. And you'd be really nervous if he could.

"I'm gonna touch," his whisper reaches your ear, the slow movements giving you time to reject his advances. But you don't.

Patrick's palms cup your breasts delicately, earning a small sigh from your pink lips, your own gaze slipping to see how good they fit in his hands. Almost as if he was made to holds them. He feels the weight in his hands before lightly squeezing, one more sound from your lips following. There, as you rest, Patrick begins gently kneading your breasts, squeezing the muscles and letting you get adjusted to the unusual intrusion.

The moment Patrick senses the ease in your posture, your shoulders slouching just barely and your head falling on his shoulder, he decides to proceed. Both of his thumbs roll over nipples, the touch so light but thoroughly felt. It makes you shudder and moan, the high pitched sound filling the room of his office.

No man has ever paid a generous amount of attention to your breasts, finding them just pretty to stare at in your low cut tops, but never enough to fondle or fully touch them. A kiss here and a violent tug on your nipple there, but that was all.

"Do you like it?" Patrick asks, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

"Yes," you nod.

"Woman's nipples are as sensitive as her clitoris, at most times, but many people fail to notice that," Patrick continues talking while still teasing your nipples delicately, earning a small sigh from your pink lips. This is, honestly, better that any soft of a dirty talk. Simply being told how exactly your body works while it's being touched at the most sensitive spots. That's thousand times better. "It's crucial that they are stimulated too, as it adds to the sexual experience and makes the whole act much more enjoyable."

"I-" you attempt to speak, but all that leaves your mouth are small gasps and moans. "I haven't really... No one ever pays attention."

But Patrick is. All his focus is glued to your sensitive, pink, pretty nipples and how the feel under his fingers. By all your reactions, he's well aware that it's making you feel good, better than just good. "That's okay, sweetheart, I am. Do you know a woman can orgasm purely as a result of nipple stimulation?"

Of course you don't know that. With all the attention your breasts have ever received, you barely know how they work. "N-no."

"I want you to know. To make you feel it. Will you let me?" he's determined. He wants to make you cum, not by fucking or fingering you. But simply by playing with your beautiful breasts and whispering sweet words into your ear, have you lay and pant against his chest, too shy to actually face him. He wants you exactly the way you are, that's how your first proper orgasm should be.

"Please."

That word is like a switch turned on for Patrick, stopping him from holding back. His lips mouth your neck, trace the path down your throat while his hand keep kneading your breasts, listening to your delicate moans that follow each time he deliberately brushes his fingers over your nipples. You're a perfect little patent, but you're also much more than that. A wonderful young woman with shattered sex appeal who's begging to be put back together, to be given the lacking confidence and shown how much fun sex can really be. You're all he needs for his work and he's all you need for your life.

Perhaps a part two? :3

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers x reader #patrick zweig #josh o'connor #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig blurb #challengers blurb #therapist!au #sub!reader #dom!patrick zweig #ask #send asks

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tinytennisskirt · 3 months ago

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underrated tinytennisskirt fics you absolutely should read (if you haven't already) and why

The Card and The Heart

i know why this one flopped and maybe- one, it has to do with being the first fic I ever posted on here, and two, it's not 'x reader' it's written with pronouns like 'i' and 'my. it's self-insert, you have to imagine. i really like this one, it's long, it has a lot of backstory. It's Zweig Twin! Reader, so Patrick's twin sister who has liked Art since she was young. it has emotion, it's fun, there's a good storyline, and there's SMUT. yum. as well as a little bit of a full circle callback moment that makes you go 'oh my god'. i love it.

The Motions

this was a good fic but if you're not into the idea of having a child, then maybe I get why it wouldn't appeal. it's very domestic, very based in love and security and has some tasteful, meaningful smut scenes. scenes PLURAL. the fic is x reader w/Art and goes through early marriage, honeymoon, and pregnancy. he's a loving, supportive young husband and it's very cute. i think it's very cute. it goes through all of the motions and overall it is a very sweet, lovely little fic.

Fresh Laundry and Other Things

this one was sooo simple. slightly meetcute. instant chemistry and very sweet right off the bat. college era art and his time at the laundromat and a tennis playing reader who likes all the same things as him. he's smitten!!! sharing earbuds, are you kidding like that's so... i'm so genius for it. sharing WIRED earbuds. nervous flustered art my favourite baby.

Hall Pass

this Patrick Zweig fic is a little odd because it's x Art's GF! Reader. Pat is down bad for a girl Art snagged first but it's a party and they're drinking and reader cashes in her 'hall pass' with Art for some time with Patrick, who has been thinking about and waiting for this kind of thing for far too long. SMUT. smut. it's so good. it's diiiirty ;) it's like ethical cheating. she's got Art's permission.

Those Three Words <3

saying this is my third fave Patrick fic i've written is a little weird. it definitely comes after Sweetheart and Sweet Tooth, (ignoring how they are both sweet tf). It's based around Patrick Zweig who has BEEN a player for some time, fucking girls after going to clubs and bars and not ever committing. and ofc, along comes reader and for once things get taken slowly. he's got real feelings. and he is in it BAD for reader, wants her soooo bad and doesn't know what to do with that since he's so new to the real feelings thing. what i LOVE about this one is i love to write casual displays of affection and this has tons of that. it has a very real first kiss and a twist of angst when his three words aren't reciprocated. i'm very much obsessed with this fic. Player! Patrick to Loverboy! Patrick pipeline is sooo addictive to write. Please read this one if you haven't. Read again if you have.

last but not least, Vampire Art! Headcanons with a Plot

this baby is sooo niche and so silly. i loved writing it. it has vampy little art with feelings and sharp teeth he's so cute, he's so pretty n he wants you!!! i'm kind of weirdly obsessed with vampire boyfriend art donaldson like he lives in my brain. he looks a lil tired and he's pale, but he's still playing tennis. it's got all those little headcanons of being with him, but at the same time it's got the progression of time and feelings and some smut for sureeee, but not before him denying it to you over and over and over in fear that he'll hurt you. but that's all the fun!

mwah mwah mwah thank you all for being here <333

#challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tinytennisskirt #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fluff #patrick zweig fluff #patrick zweig x reader

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egcdeath · 4 months ago

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getting down to business

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick deal with pre-wedding nerves. (part of the succession/tomshiv adjacent au. previous parts here: part 1 and part 2)

word count: 6.3k

warnings: mostly fluffy with a hint of angst, a touch of jealousy, some allusions to cheating but no written cheating, tashi cameo but she’s a little mean, weddings, a bit of family drama, super brief mention of alcohol, a little domesticity and cheesiness at the end

author’s note: this is very much the calm before the failmarriage storm.

i would be remiss if i did not thank my succession anon for all of their help with brainstorming this fic and au. i mean it when i say that this literally would not exist without them. i hope you all enjoy!!

You were no stranger to anxiety, but as you sat at a vanity in a bedroom located in a castle, applying mascara in a way that was much more meticulous than mascara application ever called for, you couldn’t deny that this particular flavor of anxiety was something that you hadn’t ever experienced.

It was a strange mixture of excitement, knowing that you’d finally be marrying Patrick in just under 24 hours, fear of what the future may hold for you, and a touch of dread of having to spend the evening with a mixed bag of guests—some who loved you and hated your fiancé, others who hated you and loved your fiancé, and a few who didn’t particularly care for either of you.

Your eyelashes were beginning to look a bit like spider legs, so you put the wand down and let out a long, drawn out breath. Everything was going to be fine.

In a stark contrast to you, Patrick strolled out of the bathroom confidently, his posture so impeccable that it could put anyone to shame by just looking at them. He had no reason not to look as sure of himself as he did, as he looked absolutely dashing in the tailored suit he wore. If you weren’t so anxious, you certainly would’ve commented on how handsome he looked—maybe even running a hand down his chest or copping a feel of his ass that looked criminally good in his pants.

“Ready?” he asked after approaching you where you sat on the bench in front of the vanity before setting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you laughed nervously and looked at the two of you in the mirror in front of you. You snaked your hand up to set it on top of his and gently squeezed it.

“That doesn’t sound very ready to me,” he sat down next to you, the two of you barely fitting on the small bench.

“Sorry. I am ready to marry you. I’m not ready to mingle with your family and my work associates,” you shifted your gaze from looking at Patrick in the mirror, to looking at him beside you. “Can you believe that by this time tomorrow, we’ll be married?”

His expression briefly shifted away from one of confidence to one of nerves, the moment so small that anyone else would miss it, but after knowing him for as long as you did, you picked up on it with ease. Though he was putting on a brave face, it was somewhat of a relief to know that he was feeling just as anxious as you.

“If it’s any comfort, your guests don’t like me very much either. We’ll just stick together and have each other’s backs.”

“Sure,” you agreed and smiled at him, though you knew that things were never that simple when his family were involved. You kissed Patrick’s clean-shaven cheek, leaving behind the smallest hint of a lipstick mark. He turned his face to look at it in the mirror, and set his hand on top of the space that you just pecked.

“I hope you know that I’m not wiping that off.”

“Good. Let everyone know you’re mine,” you grinned, then stood up and walked away from the vanity and over to the floor to ceiling window that gave you the perfect view of your first few guests arriving, milling about and talking with each other.

It didn’t take long for Patrick to join you, wordlessly announcing his arrival by setting his hand on the small of your back as he stood beside you, taking in the scene below you.

“Should we just run away and get married at a courthouse or something? No guests, no castle, no fancy rings, just you and me?” you asked jokingly, though your words had the slightest bit of truth to them. Genuinely, you would marry Patrick anywhere or any time. You would marry him right in that bedroom, though the fact that the bedroom was located inside of a castle only slightly betrayed your sentiment of not needing extravagance.

Patrick laughed at your words, so you laughed along with him. Your laughter was a welcome antidote to your nerves, your anxiety dispelling with every rise and fall of your chest.

“I would marry you anywhere,” Patrick said rather earnestly for what should’ve been a joke. “But our guests are starting to arrive, and I don’t want to piss anyone off by being late. Let’s go?”

“Good point,” you agreed, wasting no time by pacing back over to the vanity and taking one last good look at yourself.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Patrick complimented as he set a hand on the small of your back once more, subtly shepherding you to the door. “You know how much I love that dress on you.”

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you replied as you closed and locked the door behind you.

“Even at my best, I couldn’t look a fraction of how good you do.”

“Are you sure? You clean up pretty nicely.”

The two of you went back and forth as you walked out, your silly and meaningless banter a welcome distraction from the particular flavor of nerves that your wedding produced.

The months leading up to your wedding were nothing short of an absolute whirlwind. Between deliberating on cake flavors and laborious dress fittings, you were relieved that the drama of your engagement was finally coming to an end, but slightly anxious to see what your marriage had in store for you.

You were pretty sure that nothing would really change—that was the case for most other couples, so you couldn’t see why that would be any different for you—other than your net worth increasing by a few billion, of course.

Patrick had been a bit of a diva leading up to the wedding. Though you had some of the best wedding planners money could buy, he seemed to be stressed and nitpicking every single detail that they ran by him. It started off as sweet that he was so worried about giving you the best wedding possible, but eventually became a little concerning to see your fiancé practically pull out his own hair over an event that would only last a few days. Still, it was a relief to finally see the fruits of his labor pay off, and to know that his higher stress levels would finally come to an end.

While you were excited for Patrick’s stress to conclude, you were also ready for the rumors and gossip of you being a gold digger to be put to bed. You would think that after years of being together with Patrick, people would eventually stop accusing you of being his sugar baby or someone who slept her way to the top–but no, the tabloids and his family always seemed to have something to say about your relationship. Surely, tying the knot and legally being bound to one another would give the media a little less to discuss, and might finally shut up his sisters.

You would never forget the look on their faces when Patrick announced that the two of you were engaged. You weren’t exactly sure if he meant to do it as unceremoniously as he did, but after growing tired of seeing you being picked on at a family dinner, he finally revealed the news by referring to you as his fiancé. It was nice to not have to hide anything, but if you’d known that you would spend the next several months hearing the same lines about how they never expected their commitment-phobic sibling to marry someone, let alone a small-town nobody, you would’ve kept it secret until the day of the ceremony.

Regardless, his family was your family now, and your family was his–which was something you tried to explain to him as you attempted to convince him to come to Minnesota with you and meet your parents for the first time. After years of your relationship (and years of Patrick putting off meeting your family), he finally agreed to come back home with you. Though the trip didn’t go as well as either of you probably would’ve liked, with your parents turning out to not be the biggest fan of your fiancé, you were at least able to check that box off.

Besides, it was basically a rite of passage to hate your in-laws. At least that aspect of your relationship felt normal.

As the date of your wedding grew closer, you couldn’t help but notice Patrick’s weird moods. How he’d pull away from you and grow distant when you brought up how soon the wedding was, or how he’d occasionally reject your affection shortly after you mentioned that he’d be your husband in a short while.

Not to mention the prenup. You would remember that conversation for years to come–how he awkwardly served you the papers over breakfast, giving you a manila envelope and an awkward justification of how his family insisted on it and that it was just a formality, how you eagerly agreed to sign it regardless of his contents, and how he insisted that you at least have a lawyer look over it.

The following circumstances were somehow even more awkward–the phone call you had with your mother after she looked through the document where she advised you against signing it and pointed out that the document seemed to have a clause for everything under the sun except infidelity. Even worse was the conversation you had with Patrick after your call with your mom, and the weird way he danced around that particular clause–or the lack thereof.

Still, you were so in love with your partner and wanted to marry him so bad that it didn’t even seem like an issue. You knew Patrick had a lot going on, but you were more than pretty sure that he would never cheat on you.

You all but put that out of your mind, not letting a few weird instances get in the way of you marrying your dream man.

Once your bachelorette party came around, you made the mistake of taking the party out of your closest friends’ hands and into the hands of one of Patrick’s sisters, who insisted that she be in charge of the event. Several fun cocktails, some sort of business meeting between Patrick’s sisters and the owner of the family’s biggest competitor, and one tablet of molly later, his sisters were loaded with blackmail material for the rest of your life.

Stress around your wedding only seemed to continue to grow as the date grew closer, with Patrick managing to somehow grill your wedding planners even more, his father declaring that he wouldn’t be attending the wedding at the very last minute after Patrick somehow pissed him off, and your parents putting pressure on you to reconsider the union altogether.

To say that you were relieved that this pre-wedding chapter of your life was closing was a complete understatement. You could only hope that the event finally happening would put an end to the endless cycle of tension and drama that was turning out to be your wedding.

You did your best to hide your relief as you stood in the pathway in front of his mother’s castle and clung onto Patrick’s side, greeting your guests with a friendly wave or a hug if they were particularly close to either of you. You spent so much time waving, shaking hands, and hugging that your arms were beginning to go sore, and you were starting to grow worried that the next person who shook your hand and complimented your appearance would be on the receiving end of an unwarranted angry outburst.

Luckily for both of you, the endless greeting and small talk was beginning to come to a close. Most of your guests arrived right on time, if not earlier than expected, and were all chattering amongst themselves on the inside of the old building.

As you were beginning to wind down, finally letting out the hefty sigh you’d been holding all evening, a sleek black car pulled up, and out walked one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever laid eyes on. Looking like she sauntered right off the cover of a magazine and donning a dress that looked particularly similar to yours—save for its red hue—you couldn’t help but lock your eyes on her as the valet took her vehicle and she walked toward the two of you.

The woman approached Patrick first, shaking his hand in an almost awkward way, as if she weren’t totally sure of what way was most appropriate to greet him.

“Glad you could make it, Tashi,” he said, sounding slightly awkward himself. His interaction with her was such a stark contrast to the way he held himself just a few guests ago that you almost couldn’t believe it.

It felt strange for you to be putting a name to the very beautiful face that was Tashi Duncan. You couldn’t help but wonder why Patrick seemed so awkward with his coworker, as if he didn’t work closely with her every day–though you figured it was more likely for him to be generally feeling uneasy from the wedding and the sheer amount of people you’d both just greeted, rather than anything with that one particular guest.

Still, something about meeting her felt a little off. You vaguely recalled when Patrick told you about working with her, soft launching his new position by telling you that he’d be working with an old friend from college. A week later, and her description turned into an old friend-with-benefits from college, and a few days after that it turned into the woman he dated for a few months. You’d been so offended at the time, but seeing her now, in all of her beauty and confidence, made you realize why your partner might want to keep that type of thing from you. Besides, you’d been the one to omit the information that you were almost engaged to the boyfriend you were with before Patrick until he’d come face-to-face with him during his trip to Minnesota–though that’d been more accidental than on purpose. Neither of you were perfect.

“Yeah, good to be here,” she commented, then looked up at the looming building above the three of you. “Glenn will be here later. He’s on his way but his flight got delayed. He should make it in time for the strategy session tonight, though.”

You were a little surprised at her ability to talk shop right away and so freely at your wedding, despite the policy you insisted on having no discussions of work. What was even more surprising was the fact that Patrick would be working on the eve of your wedding night. Surely, Glenn’s presidential campaign could wait a few days.

You bit your tongue despite the newfound complaints for your fiancé and continued to observe the two of them and the way that something seemed to hang over their interaction. Did a presidential campaign really call for all of that drama? Maybe they secretly hated each other. You would have to ask Patrick about it during your pre-wedding debrief.

“Cool. Well, there are drinks and snacks inside. I think Cornelia wanted to talk to you about something, too.”

“Cool,” she replied, parroting Patrick’s words. “Congrats, guys,” she said as she acknowledged you for the first time in your entire interaction.

She walked off without sparing you another glance, leaving you to look at your fiancé

“Want to head inside?” he questioned, all tension suddenly gone from the air.

“Sure,” you shrugged.

As the two of you walked inside, you held onto Patrick’s arm for the stability that walking on gravel in high heels required. “So that’s the famous Tashi?” you asked, mostly trying to make small talk.

“Yeah,” he replied, keeping his eyes glued in front of you.

“She’s hot,” you replied, mostly joking after what was clearly a very tense moment.

Patrick chuckled, but it sounded rather forced. You tried not to think too much of it. Besides, there was no time to think when you were immediately bombarded by your guests the moment you walked into the room.

The two of you socialized with guests as a unit for as long as you could both manage, knowing that both of you desperately needed the backup when it came to interacting with each other’s inner circles. You would never let Patrick take on your parents alone, and he would certainly try his best to not leave you alone with his sisters.

Somehow, the two of you still ended up separated once Patrick was whisked away by his mother—who he needed to give a stern talking to after she spent the evening making small talk with your guests by asking how long they thought your marriage would last—leaving you to take on the rest of the foreseeable evening on your own.

If you had to make small talk on your own, you at least needed something strong to drink. You wandered off to the bar to attempt to fulfill that need before you received yet another passive aggressive comment from Patrick’s mother about you not being the right person to marry. Though, you guessed if you owned a castle that would be inherited by one of your children, you would probably want their spouse to be an heiress, too.

You ordered yourself a cocktail then took in your surroundings, finding yourself surprised when you realized that you were standing right next to your fiancé’s coworker and ex-girlfriend.

It would be rude of you to wordlessly stare or to act like you hadn’t seen her after you already clearly made eye contact with her, so you had no choice but to commit to speaking to her, lack of liquid courage be damned.

“Great dress, by the way,” you referred to her dress that looked nearly identical to the one you were wearing. You’d picked it special for this occasion, its tight fit complementing your curves nicely and being one of your fiancé’s favorites in your closet.

“Thanks,” she looked down at the dress as if she were seeing it on her body for the first time. “This guy I knew used to really like this style.”

You raised your brows curiously, knowing that Patrick was a big fan of your form-fitting cocktail dress, much like the one Tashi was wearing. Surely, the man she was referring to was him.

You wondered if your fiancé’s taste hadn’t changed since college, or if the two of them discussed fashion often while they worked together. For some reason, you just couldn’t imagine Patrick showing his coworker a picture of his favorite dress of yours in his closet. For the first time that night, you felt genuinely uneasy. Was she trying to play some sort of mind game with your fiancé?

“You know, I never really thought that Patrick would settle down. Especially with someone like you,” she paused as she took the sight of you in and gauged your unmoved reaction. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you lied. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

You laughed the comment off, doing your best not to assume the worst of your guest, despite the fact that you were growing very tired of that sentiment. You’d heard it a thousand times from Patrick’s family, even more often from the press, and now from his ex-girlfriend. Besides the fact that it was painfully unoriginal, you didn’t need to be reminded that you were out of Patrick’s league at the frequency you were currently at. Hopefully, that would be yet another thing you would stop hearing after you finally tied the knot.

“Well, I don’t think any of us thought he would be able to get his shit together around love and commitment. You should’ve seen him back in his prime. God, he was such a slut. He was so scared of commitment that he would self-sabotage and cheat on everyone, even people he’d only been seeing for a few weeks. It’s honestly a miracle that we lasted as long as we did.”

What was the point of her sharing this information? Was she trying to play mind games with you?

“And how long was that?”

Three months. You asked as if you didn’t already know the answer. At least, you knew the answer that your fiancé told you.

“Not long,” she replied coolly, wholy unphased by the reminder that their relationship came and went. “All that’s to say, congratulations on domesticating Patrick Zweig. He talks about you like you’re the best invention since sliced bread. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You would certainly hope he talked about you so highly–especially to his ex who didn’t seem to be fully over him. You wondered if her little crush on your husband was as obvious to him as it was to you. Again, the thought made you feel uneasy.

You didn’t have the time to collect your thoughts enough to come up with a witty remark by the time that you were interrupted by your partner who was looking more than slightly disheveled by an urgent speed walk over to you.

“Hey!” he sounded slightly out of breath as he greeted the two of you. “Mind if I steal my fiancé?”

“She’s all yours,” she gave Patrick a smirk and for a moment, he looked mildly alarmed. The look didn’t last long, but it was enough for you to feel slightly unnerved. You didn’t enjoy feeling like you were out of the loop when it came to your partner, but you did your best to push the weird feeling you were having out of your mind. It was probably nothing.

You allowed yourself to be swept up with Patrick for the rest of the night, endlessly socializing with your guests despite your quickly depleting social battery. You didn’t even have it in you to protest when Patrick snuck off to meet with his candidate and Tashi, despite your plans to give him shit about working at a very explicitly no-work function.

The exhaustion of your day fully settled into your body the moment you stepped into your bedroom. You all but collapsed in bed, burying your face in a pillow that smelled distinctly of your fiancé’s shampoo. You lamented the fact that he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with you that night out of tradition and superstition. You had so much you wanted to discuss with him about the day, like his overzealous aunt who seemed to be following you around all evening, and his ex-girlfriend’s strange behavior. You wanted to ask him if he was as nervous for the ceremony as you were, or if seeing you in your dress turned him on as much as it turned you on to see him all dressed up in his suit.

Shit. Your dress. You needed to shower and take that annoying, tight thing off, then prepare your hair for the stylist in the morning, and do a twelve-step skincare routine to ensure that you looked as dewy and radiant as possible for your wedding.

You groaned into the Patrick-scented pillow at the idea of having to get up, but accepted the necessary evil with the knowledge that you’d thank yourself in the morning.

By the time you got yourself settled back in bed, you shot Patrick a text message that remained unanswered and tried to relax your racing mind enough for you to actually fall asleep.

A soft knock on your door disturbed your restless half-awake half-asleep state, the anxiety and excitement of getting married the next day coursing through your veins and preventing you from properly sleeping.

You didn’t respond to the knocking, hoping that the person might get the memo and walk away on their own. When the knocking happened again, this time with more gusto, you sighed as you got out of bed, fully prepared to snap at a drunk guest who wandered to your room and decided to bother the bride.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to find that your visitor wasn’t a drunk guest at all, but your fiancé.

“Patrick?” you asked as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, still not completely sure that you weren’t dreaming.

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper-shouted. “It’s bad luck.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asked with half a smirk. Regardless of what you believed, you immediately knew that he would be seeing you in some capacity before your wedding, despite whatever old wives’ tales had to say about his action.

“I believe that I don’t want you to see me like this,” you gestured up to your face, where under-eye patches and a sticky face mask sat on your face.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he dismissed before worming his way into the room. You accepted defeat and closed the door behind him.

“Everything okay?” you asked him. “Having second thoughts already?”

“I just wanted to see you,” he dismissed. not really answering either of your questions.

“At,” you glanced at the clock on your bedside table, “3:35 in the morning? You’ll see me in a few hours. What’re you really here for? One last fling before the old ball and chain?” you joked, though you were genuinely curious about his middle of the night appearance.

He looked at you for a moment, trying to read your expression. You looked back at him just as openly, trying to figure out if you should continue joking with him or take his nerves seriously.

“Pat?” you asked again, trying to catch his attention.

“Sorry. Want to come out to the grounds with me?”

You glanced over at the clock once more, knowing you were going to be absolutely exhausted in the morning, but your fiancé looked like he was in need of a little late night debrief.

“Sure. Why not.”

Patrick waited patiently at the bench in front of your vanity as you searched for and pulled on a robe. You swore you heard the faint sound of him looking through your jewelry and makeup as you changed into something a little less pajama-like and peeled off the items on your face.

Your fiancé took your hand as the two of you left the room, leading you through the sprawling old castle. The two of you did your best to be quiet, though you couldn’t help but let out the occasional gasp of surprise at the sight of such an awe-inspiring building.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” you were slightly wonderstruck once you finally arrived at the massive garden, taking in the tall, neatly trimmed hedges that were currently surrounding you.

“I know. I spent so much of my childhood admiring it from afar. My mom always spent so much time and effort hiring people to make it as beautiful as it was, then never let us come out here.”

“That seems like a waste,” you commented as you sat down in a padded chair.

Your partner shrugged dismissively, never one to do any deep analysis on his very strange childhood. “Bring that up with her, I guess.”

“Does that mean we’re breaking the rules right now?” you asked with a mischievous grin.

“I’m sure she can make an exception for the newlyweds.”

“Not newlyweds yet,” you corrected. “Which reminds me, why did you bring me out here?”

“I wanted to show you the garden. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you repeated, then leaned into him. “Obviously you’re withholding information. So spill, before I start talking your ear off with gossip from today, since we didn’t get to do a debrief.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” he replied, though you both knew that wasn’t the truth. “Is it a crime for me to want to see my beautiful fiancé before we get married?”

“Stop trying to butter me up, Zweig.”

“I’m not buttering you up, soon-to-be Zweig.”

“Sure,” you eyed him in a playfully suspicious manner. “I’m not sure I believe you though. I think the Patrick of last week who was running around like a chicken with his head cut off to make sure every detail of the wedding was perfect would have an issue with that.”

“Trust me when I say that my belief that this ‘bad luck if you see each other before the wedding’ superstition is bullshit did not change over the course of a week.”

“I’ll remember you said that when our marriage falls apart,” you joked, fully confident that your marriage could withstand anything that was thrown your way.

Patrick grew silent momentarily, his bit of laughter fading away. “You don’t think that that’s gonna happen, right?”

There it was. For a moment, you were reminded of your earlier conversation with Tashi, where she told you about Patrick’s fear of commitment. While you’d heard this sentiment from his inner circle a number of times, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen it so blatantly in front of you. Patrick never seemed to have an issue with you when it came to the progression of your relationship—not hesitating to ask you to move in with him or even to marry him. Still, it was interesting to hear it come from the source himself. Patrick was nervous about what marriage meant for the two of you and your future.

“Of course not,” you leaned against him and took his hand, knowing that physical affection was a nearly foolproof method of helping to quell his nerves. “We’ve been together for so long now that I can’t see how one extravagant event, some pieces of paper, and jewelry are gonna make any difference with us.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” he paused and trailed off, trying to collect the thoughts that he hadn’t been able to put into words. “I never had a good example of love growing up. You’ve seen how my parents are. It’s a miracle that my dad decided not to come to the wedding, ‘cause god knows those two would find a way to make it all about themselves and how much they hate each other. And you’re so… I don’t know. I don’t know if I deserve this. You, I mean.”

You were taken aback at his confession, completely unaware that Patrick ever worried that he wasn’t a good enough partner for you. Suddenly, all the drama of trying to give you the perfect wedding made a little more sense to you.

“Oh Pat,” you laid your head on his shoulder and scooted so close to him that you were practically sitting on his lap. “I feel like I should be the one who’s worried. All night long, people have been telling me that you settled for me and that I’m out of your league. Even your ex-girlfriend told me that.”

“They’re all idiots. You’re the one who settled for me. I don’t know what the hell I did to get someone like you in my life.”

“I guess if we both settled for each other, then we’re even,” you gently poked at him. “I think maybe we should put less stock into what other people think of our relationship. I love you and I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume that you love me. I don’t see why it has to be any more complicated than that.”

He wordlessly kissed the top of your head and somehow pulled you even closer to him. Though he didn’t say it, you could feel those three words on the tip of his tongue and radiating from his actions.

The two of you moved on from the topic of your pre-marriage fears rather quickly and spent the rest of the night swapping stories and gossip of your guests. It was refreshing to have a moment where you could both pretend like one of the biggest days of your life wasn’t rapidly approaching.

Eventually, the dark night sky began to fade into a lighter, brighter color, and the sun peeked out from the horizon. You hadn’t realized just how long the two of you’d been talking until the morning light reminded you that it’d been hours since you initially began your conversation. Years into your relationship, and you were still stunned at your ability to never run out of things to say to each other.

You yawned, doing your best to keep the action subtle despite the lack of sleep beginning to catch up with you. You were having such a good time with your partner that you almost didn’t want it to end.

Despite this, when Patrick noticed just how tired you seemed, he insisted that the two of you go back to your respective rooms. Though the task seemed simple, there was one small issue—a few of the staff for your wedding had already arrived in the building. You certainly didn’t want any rumors about your whereabouts, or the fact that you’d broken tradition and apparently doomed your marriage in one fell swoop.

Luckily for you, Patrick spent many summers wandering the halls of the castle, sneaking in and out to spend the night at a club or smoke a blunt with his sisters on one of the many acres of land his family owned.

Your partner took your hand as the two of you snuck through corridors, trying your best to be quiet despite your urge to giggle or step a little too aggressively on an old, creaky piece of wood. At one point, you were nearly caught by a caterer, only narrowly dodging them by pressing yourselves up against the wall and holding your breaths. Once the coast was clear, Patrick stole a quick peck from your lips, then continued to show you his secret way to get back to your bedroom for the night.

At last, you made it back to your bedroom, where Patrick nudged the door open and stepped inside behind you.

“Do you remember the night we met?” Patrick asked out of the blue as he stood by your doorway. He had a slightly distant look in his eyes, as if the reality of your situation was settling in for the first time after a somewhat surreal night.

The first night you met was one of your clearest memories. You swore you could remember every detail of your conversation with your friend before she told you that Patrick was coming, and the drink you ordered to calm your nerves. You remembered exactly what bedsheets were sprawled across Patrick’s mattress, and every subject you covered as you talked to him for hours in his kitchen.

You didn’t know how to put that all into words, so you responded simply. “Of course I do.”

“I remember thinking that you changed my life already, and I’d only known you for a few hours. I think I wanted to propose to you after you stayed up talking to me all night.”

For a moment you thought about the ring box you’d seen hiding in his dresser, well over a year before he proposed to you. You wondered just how long Patrick thought about asking you to marry him before he actually ended up doing it.

“Is that version of yourself jumping with joy that we’re finally getting married?”

He grinned at you. “This version of me is jumping with joy that we’re finally getting married. I love you. Like, a lot. More than I thought was possible.”

Though you knew it was the truth, you didn’t hear those three words from him all that often. Somehow, hearing them made all of your nerves and fears for the day melt away. You didn’t even get a chance to return the words before your fiancé was pulling you in for a gentle kiss, his hand coming up to cup your face sweetly. Even as he pulled away, you chased his lips, not wanting the moment to be over.

“Save the sappy stuff for your vows. I don’t want you to be all sapped-out by the time we’re actually getting married. Unless you’re planning on marrying me right now,” you held his hand that had fallen from your face against your chest, right next to your heart. You wondered if he could feel the rhythmic pattern of an organ that only seemed to beat for him.

“I told you already, I’d marry you anywhere,” his voice was only slightly louder than a whisper, as if someone might overhear and interrupt your moment.

You smiled into his eyes that almost looked like they were sparkling in the dim morning light peeking through your windows.

“Goodnight, Patrick. I’ll see you at the wedding,” you forced yourself to bid him farewell, knowing that if you had your way, the two of you wouldn’t leave the room for the rest of the day.

He gave you one last farewell kiss, this one deeper and sweeter than the one that preceded it. Though you were attempting to send him away, you couldn’t help but drape your arms around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer and allowing him to kiss you even deeper.

The shrill sound of your phone alarm rang out from the pocket of your pajama pants, letting you know that you only had a half hour before a makeup artist, maid of honor, and bridesmaids joined you to help you prepare for your big day.

“You really need to go now,” you laughed, pulling away to turn the annoying sound off. “I love you so much.”

He blew kisses at you from the door as he left, clearly feeling just as reluctant as you to leave you alone and prepare for your actual ceremony. You watched him go and shut the door behind him and you softly sighed to yourself–a complicated mixture of relief and fear that you were one step closer to your wedding.

Part of you still couldn’t believe that he would be your husband in just a few hours.

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