#josh o'conner x reader

[leftoverghosts]

✩ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ · what is history but a fable agreed upon?

be careful what you wish for ( lest it come true ) · · ─── · college!art x gn!succubus!user

Art Donaldson accidentally summons a succubus while playing with a Ouija board, hoping for a laugh. To his shock, the demon appears, offering him a taste of the extraordinary and a night full of temptation and danger. Art’s disbelief quickly turns to intrigue as he faces the unexpected consequences of his curiosity.

pay a fair price for what you want · · ─── · hades!art x persephone!user

You, a tennis star, find yourself trapped in a toxic marriage to Art Donaldson, a retired legend whose mentorship turned into a relentless obsession. As his love becomes suffocating and his grip unrelenting, you must confront the dangerous depths of this bond to reclaim your freedom or surrender to his infatuation.

naturally impudent; only by custom · · ─── · crownprince!art x lady/heiress to a dukedom!user

In a kingdom bound by duty and alliances, you, the heiress of a powerful duke and the rebellious crown prince share forbidden midnight encounters in the shadows of an ancient library. As your rivalry deepens into love, you must navigate the delicate balance between desire and the obligations threatening to tear the two of you apart.

the flowers were summoned to a meeting · · ─── · flopping!patrick x manicpixydreamgirl!user

As Patrick Zweig’s eccentric, crystal-loving girlfriend you use candles, moon water, and affirmations to manifest his tennis victories. But as his ranking plummets, Patrick begins to suspect your magic might be working against him.

act in haste and repent at leisure · · ─── · 'homeless'!patrick x gn!ex-partner!user

After months apart, Patrick Zweig unexpectedly shows up outside your window in the middle of the night—shattering the glass and your peace in the process. What begins as chaos might just turn into a tender reunion, as old sparks reignite over grilled cheese and unspoken words.

reason and love are often at odds · · ─── · crownprince!patrick x crownprincess!user

Newly married to the Crown Prince, you find yourself at the winter estate, away from the world’s expectations. As you and Patrick embrace the solitude, the warmth of your love deepens, and he shows you a side of himself filled with tenderness and devotion, free from the weight of royalty.

i have revenge bedtime procrastination badly right now!! and i know i will regret this, but please!! i've been so excited about this drop as i worked on them slowly. titles ib aesop's fables. let me know what you think, i always love feedback! also!! i'm playing around with the posting template! i want to be aesthetic like you babes. xoxoxo.

[leftoverghosts]

half in love with her, and tremendously sorry

patrick zweig x childhood friend reader

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else."

warnings: nsfw!!! some curse words. pretty much plot so i could write reader begging for it again (my one good party trick). use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. not beta read.

nori says: to the anon who requested this, i love you. psa: i'm going to hang up my horndog hat for a bit and return to my angst roots. (also praise me, i didn't use the word tension once!! free me forever) xoxoxo

word count: 2,000?~

Mr. Zweig’s seventieth birthday gala was ostentatious to the point of parody. The ballroom of the Zweig family estate in Scarsdale glittered with the kind of extravagance that made people whisper the word dynasty under their breath, the chandeliers dripping with crystal and history.

The guest list was exclusive, filled with elite names by Patrick's mother, a descendant of the Rothschilds, and you, her de facto daughter in law— whose family's fortune was shrouded in mystery but rooted in generational wealth. Your great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather, and grandfather on both sides, were all born into privilege and riches.

As the night's events unfolded, you found yourself standing near the main table, holding a champagne flute in one hand while your date, a perfectly presentable finance bro, stood nearby, charming an elderly guest about his take on cryptocurrency and market trends.

True to form, Patrick arrived late. He had always despised these gatherings since you were children, rolling his eyes at his mother's insistence on upholding traditions. But he was here, all the same, his jaw tight, his bowtie undone in a deliberate nod to rebellion. It was the kind of disheveled charm that made people forgive him for being an ass.

And when his eyes landed on you—on your date—they darkened in a way that made you feel both victorious and a little nervous.

It wasn’t that you were intentionally trying to irritate Patrick. Well, maybe just a little bit, but you honestly hadn’t thought he’d attend. And this is what he deserved for not be available to escort you earlier.

Before you could even prepare, he was cutting through the crowd, murmuring clipped greetings to family friends until he reached you. “We need to talk,” he said quietly, making sure only you could hear him.

"Must we?" you countered, taking a slow sip of your champagne.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, his hand brushing your elbow in a way that wasn’t a suggestion but a command. “Now.”

Patrick all but dragged you through the twisting halls of his family’s mansion, your steps stumbling short. When he finally pulled you into his childhood bedroom, you couldn’t help but laugh. “God, this room. It’s like stepping into 2002.”

“Cut the crap,” he snapped, shutting the door behind him. His expression was stormy and his usual composure cracked wide open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know, Patrick,” you said with an exaggerated shrug, leaning casually against the edge of his old desk, the perfect picture of indifference. “Attending your father’s birthday party?”

He stepped closer, his jaw tight. “You know what I mean. Him. Bringing him here. Parading him around. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“Oh, relax,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He’s harmless. Besides, you wouldn’t have even shown up if your mother hadn’t threatened to cut you out of her will.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

“The point is—” He stopped, visibly struggling for words. His pants were usually down around his ankles when you were alone together. This was unchartered territory. “I don’t think I can survive seeing you with someone else.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. You tilted your head, a wry smile playing at your lips. “Well, you haven’t burst into flames yet, so clearly you’re stronger than you think.”

“This isn’t a joke,” he admonished, taking a step closer. His eyes held something that made your heart lurch despite yourself. “I mean it. Seeing you with him, pretending like this—I can’t do it.”

“What do you think this is, Patrick?” you countered, your tone sharper now. “We’ve been playing games since we were kids. The only difference is that now, the stakes are higher.”

He shook his head, his expression tightening slightly. “I don’t want to play anymore. Not with you.”

His hands found yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you, searching your face for something—an answer, a reprieve, a reason to believe he wasn’t crazy and you were actually in love with him.

“You feel it. I feel it. Why can’t we just give this a go? I want to be your plus one, baby. I know I don't deserve you. I know I've hurt you, but I also know that what we have is real. It's messy and complicated and probably a little twisted, but it's ours. And I don't want to waste another second pretending otherwise."

You stared at him, your defenses crumbling as his words sank in. “How long will that last?” You hesitated, “How long can I expect you at the table, Pat? You always push me away, you’d rather brood and sulk than admit you actually care.”

“We both sulk,” his lips twitched with the ghost of a smile breaking through his frustration. “But I do care, I love you. More than is good for either of us. It’s been that way since we were kids, since before I even knew what love was. And I know I'll love you until the day I die, whether you choose me or not.”

“Well,” you said, your voice laced with a shaky laugh, “that’s a hell of a confession to make next to your poster of The Pussycat Dolls. Nicole Scherzinger would be disappointed to lose her place as number one in your heart.”

"Come here," Patrick rolled his eyes as he reached for your face with his large hands. You pursed your lips in annoyance and he leaned down to kiss them. There was a brief moment of stillness before his signature smirk returned. “I’m going to cum inside you and then we’ll go back out there and you can ignore that douche.”

“And they say romance is dead?” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Patrick's lips crashed against yours with a fevered intensity, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he walked you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the old bed.

The same bed where you had spent countless nights as unshapen youth whispering secrets and sharing dreams, where you had comforted each other through heartbreaks and celebrated each other's triumphs.

It was only fitting that this is where you would finally surrender to the inevitability of your love.

He lowered you down gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight. His body covered yours, his hardness pressing against your stomach in a way that made you gasp into his mouth. His tongue swept inside, tangling with yours in a dance that was both familiar and exhilarating.

His hands roamed your body, skimming over the silky fabric of your dress before finding the zipper at the back.

You whined, giving him a look of warning. “Don’t tear it, this is Vintage! 1956 Balmain.”

“I won’t tear your ugly collectable,” Patrick sighed, tugging the zipper down more slowly than he would have without reproachment, his fingers brushing against your bare skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your own hands working to divest him of his tuxedo jacket and dress shirt. When you were both finally bare, skin against skin, a shiver of anticipation raced down your spine.

"I need you," he murmured against your mouth, his voice rough with desire. "I've always needed you."

He moved to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your collarbone and then lower, his tongue swirling around your nipple before drawing it between his lips, sucking hard. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle licks and sharp nips that had you writhing beneath him.

"Fuck, your tits are perfect," he said, squeezing them roughly in his large hands. "Spread your legs for me," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "Let me see that pretty pussy."

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your thighs and baring yourself to his hungry gaze. He groaned at the sight of your glistening folds, already slick with your arousal.

"You're dripping," he was in awe, his fingers ghosting over your slit. "Is this all for me? Are you this wet just from a few kisses from me?"

"Yes," you breathed, your hips canting up, seeking more of his touch. "It's all for you, Pat. Only for you."

"Always so ready for me," he murmured approvingly, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. "Such a good girl, getting this soaked just from me touching you."

You whimpered, your hips bucking up into his hand, seeking more friction. He obliged, slipping one long finger inside you, then two, stretching you open. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so, hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Pat, please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for, just knowing you needed more, needed all of him.

"Please what, baby?" he taunted, adding a third finger, the delicious burn making you clench around him.

"Fuck me," you moaned, your voice wrecked with desperation. "I need you inside me, right now."

Patrick grinned wickedly, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his lips. He made a show of licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "You taste so fucking good. I could eat this sweet little cunt for hours."

Your core throbbed at his filthy words, a fresh gush of arousal coating your inner thighs. He noticed, of course he did, and chuckled darkly. "Later. Right now, I'm going to fuck you until you scream."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging your opening. You held your breath, waiting for that first delicious stretch. But Patrick, ever the tease, just rubbed himself along your slit, coating his length in your slickness.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice rough with need. "Beg me to fill this tight little pussy."

"Please, Patrick," you whined, dignity be damned. "Please fuck me. I need your big cock splitting me open. I've been such a good girl, I deserve it." You weren't usually vulgar, but this was his love language.

"Fuck yes you do," he agreed, and with one powerful thrust, he was inside you to the hilt.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around him as you adjusted to his girth. He gave you a moment, peppering kisses along your face and neck as he murmured praises into your skin.

"You take me so well, baby. This cunt was made for my cock, wasn't it? So fucking tight, squeezing me like you never want to let go."

"Never," you agreed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "I never want to let you go."

Something flashed in Patrick's eyes at your words, raw and real and achingly vulnerable. But then he was moving, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, and coherent thought became impossible.

He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that had the antique bed frame creaking in protest. You met him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper, your nails raking down his back as you held on for dear life.

The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, of your needy whimpers and his guttural grunts. You could feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter at the base of your spine with each expert roll of his hips.

"Fuck, I'm close," Patrick panted, his rhythm growing erratic as his own release approached. "Cum with me, baby. I want to feel this greedy little cunt milking my cock."

With a keening cry, you shattered, your walls clamping down around him like a vice drawing out his own release.

With a hoarse shout of your name, Patrick came, spilling himself deep inside you, marking you from the inside out. His hips jerked through the aftershocks, until finally, he collapsed on top of you, spent.

For a long moment, you just held each other, chests heaving, hearts pounding. His weight on you was comforting, grounding. A physical reminder that this was real, that you weren't dreaming.

Finally, he lifted his head, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. "So," he said, his voice still rough around the edges. "Think we can scandalize my family by skipping out on the rest of the party?"

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from your chest, light and carefree.

[leftoverghosts]

the weight of it all

divorcelawyer!patrick zweig x divorcelawyer!wife!user

or, patrick teases you with a paperweight. nsfw teasing under the cut.

PLAY MY XMAS GAME AND REQUEST A BOT/BLURB HERE!

"I can’t believe you thought that was okay—what the hell were you thinking?" Patrick snarled.

Your heart raced as Patrick pressed against you, his rage palpable, as he stood between your spread thighs. You'd been arguing in circles, when he'd hoisted you onto the desk unceremoniously. "I was trying to do what's best for our client," you shot back, meeting his furious gaze. "Art deserves a fair settlement."

"Fair?" Patrick scoffed, his hot breath on your face. "You call handing over half his assets to that gold-digging bitch fair?" He slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the glass paperweight behind you. You glared at him, not appreciating how he referred to Tashi.

“Fuck you. Taking on this case was a conflict interest anyway.” You stood your ground, staring down your husband as if he were the most foolish man on Earth. The Donaldson's divorce was in danger of causing your own, and you had spent countless hours trying to untangle their messy assets.

Between this case and all the others, you and Patrick barely had time for anything other than work - let alone to release any of the pent up aggression building inside both of you due to lack of intimacy. You weren't nice when you were horny, and neither was he. "If you'd just listen to reason, you God damn moron-"

With a snarl, Patrick grabbed the heavy crystal paperweight and shoved it roughly between your legs. You gasped as the cold glass pressed against your most sensitive area through your panties. He moved it in slow, deliberate circles, glaring at you with a mix of anger and dark lust.

"Is this what you want?" he hissed. "You uptight cunt. You need to loosen up. You’re driving me crazy."

A moan escaped your lips as the smooth paperweight rubbed against your clit through the thin fabric. You were appalled at his crude actions but your body betrayed you, automatically grinding against the hard glass.

Patrick watched your face with grim satisfaction as he continued to torment you with the makeshift toy under your skirt. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?" he taunted. “Who’s a moron, baby?”

You hated how your body responded to Patrick's aggressive touch, but you couldn't deny the electric sparks of pleasure racing through you. The glass was unyielding against your sensitive flesh, stroking you in just the right way.

"Stop..." you whimpered, but your hips bucked traitorously against the object. Your panties were drenched, desire coiling hot and tight in your core.

Patrick leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as he spoke in a dark, honeyed voice. "You need this. Need to be put in your place." He increased the pressure and speed of the paperweight, the glass growing slick with your arousal.

A cry tore from your throat as the blunt tip found your aching entrance through the soaked fabric. Patrick nudged it rhythmically against your opening, teasing penetration. You clutched his shoulders, head thrown back, panting as he worked you into a frenzy.

"Beg me for it," Patrick commanded gruffly. "Beg me to fuck your bratty little cunt." He licked and nipped at your neck, marking you as his.

"Please..." you whined desperately. This was so wrong, so unprofessional. But the taboo of it all only heightened your arousal. Your hips rocked shamelessly as Patrick worked the paperweight faster.

"Fuck, look at you," he sneered. "You love this, don't you? Such a dirty little slut behind that prissy act. It’s not even inside you."

His filthy words sent you over the edge. You came hard, shuddering and muffling a cry against his shoulder as your cunt clenched around nothing. Patrick held the paperweight firmly against you, drawing out your climax until you stopped mewling.

Panting, you sagged against the desk, thoroughly debased. He set the paperweight down with a clink and straightened his tie, a smug look on his face.

"Now then," he said coolly, as if nothing had happened. "Let's discuss the settlement terms again, shall we? And this time, I expect you to see things my way."

Cheeks burning with humiliation and fading pleasure, you had no choice but to meekly nod. Patrick had won this battle. And you hated how much you'd enjoyed it.

[leftoverghosts]

the covenant

Patrick's emotions simmered, a mixture of fascination and frustration swirling within him as he observed you. Your defiance after your rebirth was both infuriating and alluring. You were an enigma, the sun that was meant to give life but would surely burn his soul to damnation. No matter how hard he tried to possess you, you eluded his grasp, making him want you even more.

But tonight, there would be no resistance. The walls between you had been chipped away over weeks of tumultuous passion, arguments, and feedings. Now, in his dark bedroom, you sat quietly by the window, the moonlight casting a haunting glow upon your features. Finally, you had woken up, you were his in a way that he would not dare to make any one else.

He approached with caution, the intensity of his presence drawing your attention away from the book in your lap. His hand rested on your shoulder, as cold as the December night. "I trust you have been enjoying my family's collection," he said with a grin playing upon his features.

You looked upon him with a disdainful expression, holding forward the book. "Your family's library is full of deceit, just as you are Patrick. These supposed histories are nothing more than propaganda against humans. This segment is naught but lies about how we are no more than mere chattel."

Patrick chuckled, leaning down to glance at the title, Elegy of the Mortal Flock by Tashi Duncan. “Oh, darling, did you really expect unbiased truth in a room owned by creatures like us? The stories are written by the victors, and we’ve always made sure to come out of top.”

You scoffed and allowed him to take the book from your grasp, watching as he carelessly tossed the ancient heirloom onto his desk.

“Everything they have told you about me, about our kind," his voice was dripping the excitement of a scholar with a new pupil, “is only half the story. We are not the monsters they paint us to be."

“Your companions certainly are,” you retorted, standing as he reached for your hand. He guided you towards the bed with slow deliberation.

Patrick laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement. “Oh, I will not deny that. Tashi is insatiable and Art is a cunning bastard.” He drew you closer, his arms encircling your waist. His breath was cool against your ear as he whispered, “But I am not them.”

“No,” you murmured, turning your head. “You are just the cub pretending not to have claws or fangs.”

Patrick's expression tightened with a sinister smirk as his hand trailed over the side of your neck, lingering over the faint scar from where he had marked you with his bite. "And yet, here you stand before me," he purred, a mixture of awe and lust in his voice. “Do you think a lion is defined only by its teeth and claws?"

“There is also its pride,” your tone was sharp. “And its hunger.”

“Ah, yes, my hunger.” He nodded in agreement, his hands moving to your hips, his touch turning rapacious. “And you, my love, are the only one who can satisfy it.” His lips replaced his fingertips, trailing the column of your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite yourself.

"How amusing," you muttered sarcastically, tilting your head to give him better access. "Considering all the women hidden away in your so-called pleasure wing that seem to keep you well-fed."

The keening sound Patrick let out was low and menacing, his eyes darkening with desire. "Pleasure, yes," he murmured, the tips of his fangs lightly grazing your throat. "But never true satisfaction. None of them compare to you."

You wanted to resist his words, to call him out for the lies they sounded like, but you could not. Not when his hands caressed the curve of your belly, lingering on the small bump that had irrevocably altered the relationship between you. His smile softened against your skin, the feral edge of his touch giving way to something achingly tender.

“This miracle has changed me,” he whispered, his hands splayed over your stomach, cradling your belly with reverence. “This life you carry… it was once thought impossible, but now it is our future.”

"Pretty words, Patrick," you said, but your voice caught with emotion as his mouth traveled lower, brushing against your collarbone.

"Do you truly doubt my sincerity?" he asked, dead blue eyes twinkling with mischievousness. "Perhaps you’re right. Words mean so little. But actions, my dear, actions speak louder than any words." He took hold of your chin, forcing you to meet his unwavering gaze. "You are bound to me now, body and soul, whether you like it or not. Your God forsook you the moment you woke as one of us." His voice held a possessive edge once again. "You carry my child, and you will stay by my side faithfully until the day you die."

“When will that day be?” you asked with frustration and anger. But before you could say anything else, he fell to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs.

The sight of him kneeling—Patrick Zweig, a monster so formidable and otherworldly, now entirely at your mercy—made your breath hitch.

"Patrick," you started uncertainly, torn between pulling him back up or succumbing to him completely.

"The day you die?" He whispered, his voice dripping with sorrow and hunger, gripping your nightdress in his hands, lifting it. "No, my pet, I will never willingly let you meet your end." His eyes glinted with adoration, as inch by inch, he slowly uncovered the apex between your legs. He pressed his face forward into the coarse hair, breathing deeply, before chancing a lick. "You are damned, we belong together," he warned, the promise of protection laced with a frightening undertone.

As his kisses explored your body, you realized that this oath was sealed in blood and would bind you to him for eternity. Quivering under his touch, the rational part of your mind could not help but ponder if this love was worth the cost of your very soul. You silenced it.

This redoubtable being had claimed you as his companion and the guardian of his legacy. A future filled with peril and sacrifice lay ahead, but right now, the only thing that mattered was the unbreakable connection between you and the nosferatu who held your destiny in his grasp.

[leftoverghosts]

outrun myself

pbr!patrick zweig x separated!wife!user

or, what I think what would happen between you and my cowboy!patrick bot. light smut under the cut.

requested by my love @diyasgarden!! i will never, ever get tired of pbr!patrick.

PLAY MY XMAS GAME AND REQUEST A BOT/BLURB HERE!

Your tumultuous relationship with Patrick was a constant roller coaster ride of emotions. Starting out as high school sweethearts and ending up married shortly after graduation, you knew all too well the pressure of being the small town's golden couple. He was Patrick Zweig, the reigning king of the rodeo, and you were simply seen as his pretty arm candy.

But deep down, you yearned for more - to explore, to travel, to break free from the confines of this stifling town. It wasn't entirely his fault; he had always been clear about who he was and what he wanted. Pat liked what he liked and at one point, so did you.

But that didn't stop the resentment from growing inside of you and when you finally took off his ring and left for college, you thought you had escaped the suffocating country life.

That is until the phone call came.

You were still legally his next of kin, a fact that you had almost forgotten in your quest for independence. But now you were rushing back to your home town, bracing yourself for the inevitable scolding from his mama.

As you used the keys he never asked for back to enter your old ranch house, your heart raced with worry and anticipation. You found him in the kitchen, dressed only in boxers and a cast on his arm, stirring something on the stove that don’t quite smell right. The sight of him brings back a wave of memories - good and bad - but all that matters now is that he's safe.

"You came, baby." He smirked, one side of his mouth tugging upwards in that infuriatingly charming way it always did.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You smiled at his smirk, your heart fluttering at the sight of him. Despite everything that had happened between y’all, he still knew how to charm you with just a look. But you quickly pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the present.

"Yes, I came." You said quietly, your own accent thick, walking towards him. As soon as you reached the stove, you wrinkled your nose at the smell of the stew that was cooking. "What is this?" You asked with a laugh, peering into the pot.

Patrick chuckled and shrugged his good shoulder. "I don't know, I just found some things in the fridge and thought I'd give it a go." His eyes sparkled mischievously as he gestured towards the chopped vegetables on the counter.

You couldn't help but sigh in amusement. Despite being separated, he was still very much the same man you fell in love with - adventurous and carefree.

"I'll throw this out and make something simple for us." You said definitively, as you moved to grab out some pasta from the cupboard. Everything was as you left it, even the decor on the walls.

Without hesitation, Patrick jumped in to help. He grabbed some cans of tomato sauce as you boiled some water for the noodles.

The kitchen felt like second nature to both of you - each of your movements flowing together effortlessly, even with his broken arm. It was almost like no time had passed since you used to cook together back when you were living here.

As dinner came together on the stove, Patrick pulled you into his lap at the kitchen table, and you found yourself lost in tales of his latest rodeo adventures. His eyes lit up with excitement as he recounted the thrill of the crowd cheering him on, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he rode atop a bucking bronco.

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, marveling at how his passion for the rodeo had never waned over the years. It was one of the things you had always admired about him - his unwavering dedication to the things and people he loved.

"And then, just as I was about to make the winning ride, ol' Bucky threw me off like a ragdoll!" Patrick laughed, his good arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you sat perched on his lap. "Landed right on my wrist and heard a snap. Knew right then I was in for a world of hurt."

You winced at the thought of him being thrown from the horse, your hand instinctively reaching out to gently touch his cast. "I'm just glad you're okay," you murmured, your eyes meeting his. "When I heard about the accident, I was so worried…"

Patrick's gaze softened as he looked at you, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip. "I know, baby. I'm sorry for putting you through that. I thought I changed my emergency contact to my Ma. But I'm alright, I promise. Takes helluva lot more than this to take Patrick Zweig out.” He snickered, shaking his cast at you, as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“If you had changed your contact, your Ma would be sitting right here right now.” You teased and he gave you a disgusted face, shaking his head. "Forgive me God, but have I mentioned how annoying you are, Patrick Zwieg?” You continued negging him, rolling your eyes.

"I've missed this," he giggled softly, ignoring your taunts, his breath tickling your ear. "Just being here with you, talking like we used to. It feels right."

You nodded in agreement, leaning back against his broad chest. "It does. I didn't realize how much I needed this until now."

The timer on the stove went off, signaling that the pasta was ready, but neither of you made a move to get up. Instead, Patrick tightened his hold on you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Let's stay like this for a little while longer," he whispered, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. Patrick would do this sometimes, clinging to you as if you were his tether to the world. He wasn’t one to speak a lot of words, but you could sense his anxiety from the tension in his smile. It was a subtle tell, something only a person well-versed in his expressions would pick up on. "The food can wait. I just want to hold you."

You twisted in his lap to face him, your hands coming up to cup his rugged face. "You plannin’ on burning my house down the second I step back into it?" It was an attempt at levity, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he shook his head, reaching up to trace the curve of your lips with his fingers.

The way Pat was looking at you right now, was as if he couldn't believe you were really here. “You make the whole world quieter just by smiling at me, you know that?” His blue eyes glistened with emotion as he leaned in for a slow and intense kiss.

The kiss deepened as Patrick's hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against his front. A low moan escaped your throat as his tongue explored your mouth with a sensual intensity.

Without breaking the kiss, Patrick effortlessly lifted you up and placed you on the kitchen table, settling himself between your parted thighs. His good hand roamed your body, caressing every curve and dip through the thin fabric of your sundress. The heat of his touch seared your skin, reigniting a passion that had laid dormant for far too long.

Your fingers tangled in his thick hair, pulling gently as you got reacquainted with the taste and feel of him. Patrick's hand slid up your thigh, pushing the skirt of your dress higher and higher until it was bunched around your waist, exposing your lacy panties.

He paused, pulling back slightly to gaze at you with hooded eyes full of desire. "God, you're so beautiful," he rasped, his voice thick with need. "I've dreamt about this moment every night since you left."

"Show me," you breathed, your body aching for his touch. "Show me how much you've missed me." You found yourself tugging impatiently at the waistband of his boxers.

Clumsily, Patrick did his best to rip open the front of your dress, sending buttons scattering across the kitchen floor. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck and across your collarbone as his hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your bra.

"You're wearing too many clothes, darlin'," he drawled, his accent thicker than ever with arousal. In one swift motion, he unclasped your bra and tossed it aside, his mouth immediately latching onto a hardened nipple as his fingers moved back down to push aside your panties. He stroked your slick folds, teasing your sensitive bud until you were writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

You leaned into him, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. "Pat…" you whimpered.

He chuckled darkly against your skin. "Patience, baby. I'm gonna take my time with you, make sure you never forget how good I can make you feel. Make you want to stay in this shitty lil’ town."

Two fingers slipped easily into your wet heat, drawing a gasp from your parted lips. Patrick pumped them in and out slowly, his thumb circling your sensitive clit with each stroke.

"You're so tight, so perfect," he groaned, watching your face contort with pleasure. The normally reserved man was being incredibly vocal, giving you so much to work with.

Unable to endure the sweet torture any longer, you reached down and freed his hard length from his boxers. With firm strokes of your hand, you urged him closer. "Gimme what I came for, cowboy."

With a throaty noise of approval, Patrick removed his fingers and positioned himself at your entrance. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way. You cried out in ecstasy, your nails raking down his back as he set a lazy pace, not wanting to just pound into you with abandon.

The table shook and creaked with the cant of his hips, but neither of you seemed to notice. Although a small part of your mind was aware that your grandmother would not approve of what was happening on top of her prized wedding gift. Your bodies moved together effortlessly, as if no time had passed since you were last entwined in each other's embrace.

"I love you," Patrick panted against your lips, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

"I love you too," you gasped, your walls fluttering around him.

[leftoverghosts]

round and round

canon!patrick zweig x nonchalant!user (gn)

When Patrick needs a place to stay during his tour break, you're his favorite person to torture. The tension between you is palpable, as old frustrations and unspoken emotions resurface on the balcony of your high-rise apartment.

chat here!

lmaooooo i thought you requested a bot @diorrfairy!! and wrote this before i realized you said blurb!!! take this as an extra & i hope you like fighting with him!

PLAY MY XMAS GAME AND REQUEST A BOT/BLURB HERE!

[leftoverghosts]

round and round

canon!patrick zweig x nonchalant!user (gn)

or you're tired of arguing with patrick zweig.

requested by @diorrfairy this one is sfw, it wouldn't get spicy even after i begged it. :( xoxoxo

The city sprawls beneath you, the lights flickering like distant stars against the night sky. The cool air from your high-rise balcony is a welcome contrast to the heat building between you and Patrick. The panoramic view of the skyline feels like it belongs to someone else’s life, someone who doesn’t have to deal with the chaos you two have created.

Patrick needed a place to stay during his tour break, and, as always, you let him in. It’s a habit by now, one you don’t question. The familiar tension between you both is something you’ve grown accustomed to, but tonight, it's especially annoying.

“I’m too emotional? Maybe if you showed some emotion, we wouldn’t be here!” Pat’s always liked to play the victim.

You remain composed, your gaze still fixed on the nightscape below. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s frustrated, maybe even hurt. This is his coping mechanism; he brings everything to the surface when he wants his loneliness to become your responsibility.

“I’m not the one making things complicated,” you say, voice calm, controlled. As the wind stirs your hair, you take a slow, deliberate sip from your glass, your face a mask of indifference. You've heard it all before— the same accusations, the same frustrations. And yet, as soon as the tour picks back up, he'll be gone, proving that he never cared enough to change anything.

“Patrick.” His name is an admonishment as you turn to face him finally, one eyebrow arched, the air of nonchalance you’ve perfected hanging around you like a cloak. Patrick stares back at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, frustration painted on his features.

He remains determined as he moves closer, his hand reaching up to cradle your face and slipping into your hair. “You always shut down. It’s like I’m talking to a wall. I’m here, trying to make sense of this, and you—” He falters for a second, before he steels himself again, voice tight. “You just float through it like none of it matters.”

“You know what you’re here for, what you’re good for, Pat.” It’s a cruel statement, but it is just one of the many hurtful things that have been exchanged between the two. He stares at you as if he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth before his hand in your hair tightens its grip.

You watch as realization dawns on Patrick's face, his features twisting in anguish. "How can you say that?" he spits, his grip on your hair tightening. You feel a sharp pain shoot through your scalp but you refuse to flinch. He can be rough, but you don't mind it, and deep down you know he would never truly harm you physically. He knows that the best way to hurt you is by withholding his affection and attention.

"You know it's true," you respond coolly, meeting his gaze head on. "You come back to me whenever things get tough and then leave when it's convenient for you. It's always been about what I can do for you, never about how I feel."

Patrick's eyes flicker with guilt and something darker. "That's not fair," he says, his voice strained.

You shrug, feeling a numbness settle over you. "Life isn't fair." It's a phrase that has become all too familiar to you over the years.

He knows you're right. He can't outwit you, so he does what he's good at and kisses you roughly, anger evident in the harsh press of his lips against yours. You let him, knowing that this is just another part of the twisted dance you two do. His other hand grips your waist tightly, fingertips digging in like he's trying to leave a mark, to prove that he was here.

When he pulls back, breathing heavily, his eyes are stormy with a mix of lust and resentment. "You think you have me all figured out," he says, voice low and dangerous. "But you don't know anything."

A humorless laugh escapes your lips. "I know enough. I know that by this time next week you'll be gone, off to the next city, the next bed, the next distraction."

Patrick shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "It's not that simple."

[leftoverghosts]

i need you to need me

husband!dusty x wife!user

The air is heavy, rich with the scent of honeysuckle and freshly turned soil. You stand on the porch, barefoot, watching your husband. The scorching Southern sun beats down on him as he labors, his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat. Even in the midst of winter, the heat remains relentless. The old pickup truck gleams dully in the heat, its hood propped open like an animal baring its teeth. He’s muttering to himself, a wrench in hand, jaw tight in concentration.

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[leftoverghosts]

love or perish

philip elton x f!user

The carriage jolts softly as it moves over the frosty road, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the earth filling the air. You sit poised, the chill of the evening creeping through despite the carriage's interior warmth. Across from you, Mr. Elton is unusually restless, his gloved hands fidget in his lap, and every few moments, he darts a glance your way.

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