#patrick can use the cheating to get him fired up but if tashi did it it would only humiliate him

[raylangivins]

CHALLENGERS SPOILERS. but god also like, patrick agreeing to throw the match when art asks like it's nothing, and then later when tashi asks behind art's back he thinks it's so fucked up of her even though he agrees to do it, but then he doesn't do it. he chooses to goad art into playing real fucking tennis again instead. something tashi couldn't do. jdgfslgkddlaksjh

[euosin]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 - patrick zweig.

patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: after a break through you and your bestfriends friendship, patrick comes to visit stanford in hopes that you can fill in tashi’s shoes.

warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, slight degrading, reader being jealous of tashi, cursing, the years and locations might be wrong, tennis terms and games also might be incorrect (I'm just a girl) pretend like tashi never tore her acl in this, several time skips, cheating sort of???

a/n: free patrick zweig 2024

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔.

When standing next to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, you seem to be almost invisible around guys. You only realized this when she suddenly had two guys pawning for her attention at her party. You recall the way they walked up to her, grinning ear to ear with ironed shirts and strong colognes that could easily be clocked from a mile away. Before they could get their names out, Tashi quickly spoke for them. “I know who you are. You're fire and ice, right?” Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson were their names. You watched their junior doubles match at the US Open earlier this year. To your surprise, Patrick led their win with a clean tweener. Impressive. “Which ones which?” Tashi asks between sips of her drink.

You sulk into the chair next to her, gripping the chilled glass in your hands as you discreetly roll your eyes when you realize that they aren't paying any attention to you. “What do you think?” Patrick asks with a smirk. Tashi pauses, giving him a slight glare before turning over to Art. “You were fucking incredible.” The blonde boy says. “It wasn't even like tennis, it was an entirely different game.” You take notice that Art had won over her curiosity better than Patrick did. Patrick mentioned something about him going pro, which caught your attention for a split second before Art quickly moved on to another topic. You scoffed quietly to yourself, locking eyes with Patrick before sliding past his shoulder to occupy yourself with something else.

Later that night you tried to talk to catch up to her but only found that she had suddenly disappeared from the party. You texted her several times, asking for her whereabouts. She replied the next morning, apologizing for her leaving you to fend for yourself last night. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” her message reads. That afternoon, Tashi met with you for lunch, going on about how Art and Patrick were practically on their hands and knees for her, evening going as far as to invite her to their hotel room. Of course, you listened to her with wide eyes and a small gasp every time she described her story. Playing for her number? Really? And a close call in a threesome? You tried to act unbothered but couldn't help but feel aggravated.

As the season went on, Tashi’s sudden absence from your life became apparent. You were only updated on her life now and then through mutual friends. But, you got closer to Patrick coming up to the time of his final. He practiced frequently at the same court you went to. At first, the two of you would share knowing glances, then it became small talk in between switches, then casual hangouts in the city. You even felt a small crush developing but held yourself back due to Tashi, but it wouldn't hurt to admire him now and then.

Secretly, you envied Tashi Duncan, from her unbelievable tennis skills to her effortlessly gorgeous appearance. She had an aura that attracted everyone to her. Maybe that's why your friendship was cut short before your first week at Stanford, your jealousy clouded your vision. Either way, she would've been “too” busy to stay friends with you. Although you were still friends with her at the time of Patrick’s and Art’s final, the final that would determine who Tashi would go out with. Patrick won, of course, bowing down to Tashi on the court before looking over at the defeated Art Donaldson with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

You went back to your house later that night, groaning in your hands at the image of Patrick flashing an arrogant smile up to the stands, the confident stride that remained consistent in his walk as he stepped off the court. Art was attractive as well, but he was already all over Tashi, and his daring counterpart just had something else to him that drove you insane. Tashi had disappeared from your life and Patrick was next in line.

You were then informed a few weeks later by another mutual friend that he and Tashi were now dating, “happily”, they added.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕.

You noticed Tashi around campus, occasionally close to Art. You were surprised to find out that she and Patrick were still together. Donaldson was snug around her, always. Did Patrick know about his best friend probing his way into their relationship? Back in your dorm, you roamed the web for a while before pausing at a sports article with a familiar name in the headline.

“PATRICK ZWEIG — Dominating the Courts in 2007”

His face is under the bold text, beaming proudly at the camera with his tennis racket swung over his shoulders. He looked good. He’s always looked good, but he looked older with his lightly gelled curls. He didn't look like a boy anymore, he looked like a man. You took your time reading through the article in awe with wide eyes. You pondered for a moment on how Tashi and Patrick dealt with long distance. He was away for so long at so many games, but—at least he was winning.

For the next hour or so you found yourself scrolling through press photos of Patrick at different games or just casual photos that were taken of him off the court. Unfortunately, your roommate had walked in with a “Ooh, who’s that?” causing you to close your laptop for the night.

𝟓 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

Maybe college was really getting to you because your skills on the court weren’t as polished as they used to be. Or maybe you were too distracted thinking about Tashi’s last match the week before. You were shocked at how quick she had gotten, slamming her poor opponent down with ease. She was getting better and better, while you were getting worse and worse. You didn't care for tennis as much as you used to in high school anymore. You despised it. You only kept up with it because your parents had spent too much money on the sport for you to suddenly drop everything, it was also because of Tashi, hoping one day you could beat her in a match. An unrealistic view, but it egged you on. You were practicing with your roommate, missing her ball when a familiar face stepped into your peripheral vision. He paused in unison with you, also acknowledging you. Patrick looked like he was in a rush to leave, walking rather quickly before doing a double take through the holes in the fence.

“Are you serious?” your roommate calls out from across the court. You ignore her, placing your racket down on the bench before running over to Patrick.

He's smirking subtly at your choice in clothing. “Pat, oh my God, hi,” you say through deep exhales. He was wearing blue jeans and a fitted white t-shirt that showed each curve of his muscles perfectly. You swear you would've moaned in his face at his appearance if it weren't for you holding back your noises. “Hey, it's been—forever, shit. You look fucking great.” he says as he takes in your different look. It’s only been a year or so since you've last seen each other, but you did change drastically. “Do I? I could say the same thing about you.” You reply innocently. Patrick bites on his bottom lip before eyeing you up and down. “You seem a little stiff out there.” He says as he points over to the court.

You groan in embarrassment, realizing he definitely saw your fucked up backhand and sloppy crossover steps. “I might have to learn a few tips from you.” you lean closer to the gate, taking in the scent of his cologne. He chuckles, “Uh huh, you need me to coach you or something?” he asks with a nod of his head. You stay quiet, watching as his eyes wander down to your short tennis skirt, then back up to your slightly scandalous tank top. “I might have to take you up on that offer,” you reply with a giggle. “What are you doing at Stanford?” Patrick tenses, running a hand past his dark curls. “I was visiting Tashi,” he says in a monotone voice, almost disappointed even.

You raise a suspicious brow, scanning his face for some sort of clue. He seems to catch on, shaking his head slightly. “We got into an argument, it's nothing.” you light up at his reply, suppressing the grin pulling on your lips. “Aw,” you say. “Well, you can always talk to me, Patrick.” the way you say his name is almost a whisper, soft and sultry. He visibly notices what you're doing, smirking at your bold actions. “I will,” he says before turning and walking off.

Eventually, the sky darkened as the day went on and you hadn't spotted Patrick since your last interaction a few hours ago. You were stuck on the court for the whole day, forcing yourself to practice, enduring the heat and your aching arms. You had gotten a few bruises on your legs from missing the balls. Your roommate got tired from your sore game so she left early, saying she’ll meet you back at the dorms in a bit. You frown as you play back every moment you fucked up a stroke in your head. As you're walking back over to the bench to pack up your stuff, the gate swings open. You glance up, eyes widening slightly at Patrick standing across the court.

He smiles, walking over before unzipping his tennis bag, and grabbing a racket and a ball. You laugh, “What?” you ask. “I thought you wanted me to coach you,” he shouts. You tap your foot against the asphalt, arms crossed under your chest as you look around the empty court. Patrick was a pro tennis player, you were like an amateur compared to him. “In jeans?” you shout back, pointing at his pants. He waves you off, “I’m alright.” his voice booms with arrogance and confidence, but—you couldn't blame him. With a body like that and a face like that, you too would be an arrogant dick.

“Fine, one game.” You were prepared to be humiliated. Patrick shrugs, still smirking as he gets into position to serve the ball. You stretch your legs, staying on your toes as he hits it with a loud grunt. You run after it, hitting it back with a rough forehand. Patrick returns it with a transition step then a backhand lob. The game seems to go on for hours and hours, but unfortunately, you lose against Patrick’s clean slice. “Fuck!” you shout as you pat off the sweat on your forehead. Patrick claps from across the court. “You don't need any practice at all,” he says. “maybe a little work on that topspin though.”

“Oh, shut up.” you groan as you chuck the tennis ball at him. He catches it with a single hand before it can hit him, bouncing it one last time before putting it inside his bag. You're quick to pack your stuff, running up next to him. “Where are you gonna stay tonight?” you ask as you walk together. “Mm, I've got a hotel.” you cock your head to the side. “You got a game here?”

Patrick nods, “You should come, watch me absolutely demolish Lester Svensson.” you shrug, “Lester Svensson? Fuck, I’ll send my prayers in the crowd.” He looks over at you, lips pressed together. “I don't need it,” he replies sternly. You roll your eyes, almost forgetting how stubborn he was. You stop abruptly in your tracks when you realize you've passed your dorm. Stepping back, you point at the door. “Sorry, this is me.” Patrick pauses, looking at you then past your shoulder at your room. “Is your roommate here?” he questions. You jiggle the handle. Locked. “Nope,” you reply as you fish out your keys from your bag.

“Can I come in?”

Your door opens with a click. You stiffen, looking around before nodding. You nudge open the door, watching closely as Patrick sets his bag down on the desk chair before sitting down on the edge of your bed. You shiver slightly, switching on your string lights as you join him. He looks around, examining every element of the side of your room. “Huh,” he mutters as he picks off a picture of you and Tashi smiling together on your bulletin board, arms linked—seemingly to be at a local tennis match from your sophomore year in high school. You clear your throat, quickly grabbing it out of his hands and tossing it to the side. “Forgot to take that down.”

Patrick squints. “I guess you're not cool with her either,” he says jokingly. You nod, leaning back on your palms. The two of you bask in each other's silence and quiet breathing before Patrick scoots closer to you, his hand slithering around you and over your hand. He holds it, softly nudging his nose into your shoulder. You instinctively roll your head back, giving him easy access to your neck. He presses open mouth kisses against your damp skin, licking at your sweat. You whimper, raising a hand around up to his wet hair. You tug on his curls, his blue eyes low and dark with lust. You kiss him, letting his tongue explore your mouth as his hand trails up your torso to your tits.

“Teasing me in your tight little tennis clothes all day, huh?” he groans, you giggle, quickly taking off your tank top. “Not on purpose,” you say through labored breathing. Patrick smirks against your lips, bucking his hips against your clothed pussy as you straddle his lap. You grip the hem of his shirt, assisting him with taking it off. Your eyes trail down from his toned abs to his happy trail. Brows furrowing together as he turns over, flipping you onto your back against the mattress. He’s on top of you, hungrily kissing every inch of your skin. Patrick lifts your sports bra over your head, revealing your breasts to him. He moans at the sight, trailing kisses down the valley between your tits as your hands scramble to unbutton his jeans. He pulls them off, leaving him with a painfully obvious tent in his boxers. Patrick’s large hands settle on your waist as you shimmy off your skirt, kicking it away on the floor.

“Fuck, I need this so bad, baby.” he whines, fingers dancing along the waistband of your panties. He pulls your underwear off, tossing your legs above his broad shoulders as he presses a wet kiss to you to your clit. Patrick looks up at you with glossy eyes before he licks at your slit, still holding eye contact. Your stomach tenses at the sensation, fingers gripping around the soft duvet on your bed.

He pulls away from your cunt, a string of his saliva connecting him to you. His fingers go to spread your folds, you moan when you feel his thumb graze over your clit. Patrick seemed to know everything about your body. He laps his tongue over your wet slit several times, pulling back with low eyes before sliding two fingers inside of your tight walls. You spasm around his fingers, arching your back as he starts eating you out while massaging your insides. There's a small smirk dancing on his lips as he sucks on your clit, swirling his large tongue around the sensitive bud. You moan and whimper loudly, quickly placing a hand over your mouth to soften your noises. You watch with glossy eyes as he continues eating you out like a starved man.

It was all too much, he was so good. Too good. His other hand grazes past your stomach, fingers pinching your hard nipples. “Pat, oh fuck—mhm!” he hums against you, slurping at your juices. His thumb continues to rub deep circles on your clit, drawing more moans from your lips. He’s sloppy, burying his face deep between your legs, drooling all over your little pussy, and groping at your thighs. He clings onto your figure underneath him, suffocating himself with your legs and your pretty cunt. Before you could reach your climax, Patrick pulls away, scoffing at the way you whined from the absence of his tongue.

“What are y—”

“Shh, be a good girl for me, okay?”

Patrick pulls boxers off, his heavy dick slapping your leg. You gasped at his size, he was above average with an insane girth, a bulging pink tip leaking with precum staring at you. You feel ashamed under his lust driven gaze. You feel desperate and needy. Patrick will hang this moment over your head forever, you could tell. The way he was practically eye fucking you with that cruel smirk on his face. “I need you, please.” you cry out as you hold your tits in your hands. “Yeah? How bad do you need me?” He taunts in your ear, his wet tip rubbing against your folds. Your pussy throbs and tightens around nothing, yearning for his dick. “Tell me. Use your fucking words.” he spits out as he continues edging you with his tip.

Your breath hitches every time you feel him at your entrance, tears pricking down your soft cheeks. “If you need me so bad, use your words like the little slut you are.” Patrick grabs your jaw, kissing you roughly as your hands round up his neck to his curls. “I need you so bad, please fuck me, please, please,” you beg with puppy dog eyes, your lips pouting with anticipation. He smiles widely at your pathetic pleads, “That’s it,” he whispers before stretching you out on his thick cock. You pull his body close to you, skin to skin as you wrap your legs around his hips. His low laugh vibrates against your skin, hands gripping your flesh. Before you could even adjust to his size, Patrick’s quick to slam inside of you, splitting you open with his dick.

He keeps his pace frantic and rough, pounding into your cunt like a whore. You whimper and moan as his hips roll against your sensitive clit, running electric currents through your body. He thrusts into you with force, by now you are sure your appearance is rough with your hair splayed out against the pillow, wet eyes, and red bitten lips. “Right there, oh, yes, yes,” you chant through cries, letting him fuck you into oblivion. There's a rush of adrenaline running through you, also the slight fear of your roommate walking into you getting slutted out by the Patrick Zweig. “Shit, you're so tight, so good for me,” the backboard of your bed slams against the wall repeatedly, echoing throughout your tiny dorm.

“M’gonna cum in this tight little pussy, yeah?” he murmurs in your neck before looking up at you. You nod eagerly, arching your back into his stomach as his tip reaches to your sweet spot inside your gummy walls, your clit being bullied by his touch over and over. You feel limp against his strong body, tired and weak from his constant pace. You help him get off by grinding your hips against his in unison, forcing loud moans from the both of you. “Look at you, so needy and desperate.” He’s mocking you with each deliberate and fierce buck of his hips. One of his arms are over your head, hands gripping on the wood as his other hand is fondling your plump breasts.

You use all of your strength to lift your head up, watching as his cock slide in and out of you with a lewd squelch, your eyes rolling back with an open mouth. Before you knew it, his dick twitches inside of you, spiking himself inside your warm hole. He rolls his hips against your clit one last time, drawing your orgasm from your core with a loud moan. Your head drops back into your pillow with a soft thump, his lips finding their way to your collarbone. He curses against your skin before chuckling.

You swallow the lump in your throat, breathing in and out sporadically. “Tashi’s gonna break up with you,” you say as he lets his dick slide out of you, his cum dripping out of your pulsing cunt. “I don't mind.” he replies with a kiss on your jawline.

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