#patrick zweig drabble

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no more, you horndogs!”

[sukunasbow]

college art and patrick sharing you ; mdni

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[raekensluver]

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟶𝟽 — sǫᴜɪʀᴛɪɴɢ

october 13th | patrick zwieg x fem!reader

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

word count: 900+

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yameoto]

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

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

[wyniepooh]

Mess

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

mdni; 18+. car action w patrick.

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

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

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

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

and you suppose he was right.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

[yeahtimesten]

18+, mdni

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

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

to take a piss right next you in your toilet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

[castiwls]

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

Paring; patrick x reader, art x ex!reader

Requested; no

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

You paused for a moment. “Why now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

You frowned. “I don’t know okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Do you still love me? There it was.

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

What was he playing at here?

“You…you’re married.” You whispered 

He knew he was married.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then why didn't you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were a hundred reasons he shouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you were so fucked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted. “Art-“

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded slightly, your breath catching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That you both had commitments to other people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kitchen door opening fell on deaf ears.

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

Patrick looked pissed.

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

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

[kisses4kaia]

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

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

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

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

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

you and patrick zweig were not exclusive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[blckbrrybasket]

fwb art

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick.

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

[jesuistrestriste]

trainer!patrick + puppy!art + trainer!reader

you and patrick are a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure. art knows it, and he knows that you two know just how much power you each have over him.

patrick is usually the ‘bad guy’ when it comes to punishments, always being the one to deal them out when he deems it necessary. he’s the one who’ll tie art’s hands behind his back and dutifully edge him until he’s wailing, and he’s the one who’ll bend art’s toned body over his lap to spank him while he apologizes for his mistakes.

you’re much more forgiving.

you and patrick actually happen to argue a lot over the so-called ‘best way’ to keep your guys’ plaything in line. your fellow trainer always advocates for harsher methods, and refuses to listen when you argue in favor of the gentler side of things.

but art’s soft. he’s clingy, he’s touch-starved, and he’s desperate for approval. he responds soo much better when you reward him for a lack of bad behavior, as opposed to patrick’s reversed methodology.

you kiss him all over when you come home and find that he hasn’t touched himself all day, and you let him hump your thigh—your leg clamped between his own—when he uses his manners to ask for it (“please”, “can i”, “thank you so much”, and the like).

so what happens when you and patrick corner him in bed after a day of ups and downs?

well..

it only makes sense that patrick’s fingers are down art’s throat; the blonde’s drool bubbling and dripping down his chin as he chokes on the intrusion. after all, he’d gotten mouthy with patrick on the courts earlier.

“what? you had such a big mouth this afternoon and now you can’t even take my fingers, mutt?” pat groans down to his friend, watching his watery blue eyes roll back as he whimpers around them, “what’s gonna happen when you take my cock in the next five minutes? open that fuckin’ throat.”

art’s trying with all his might to properly service patrick’s body, to prove to him that he can be good again, even if what art’s sucking on isn’t his meaty dick. the guilt is enough to melt his brain— he’s swallowing like he’s about to get a load pumped right into the back of his mouth.

you, on the other hand, are being unsurprisingly much sweeter. art had been much better with you in the early evening; helping to cook dinner for the three of you and buying a bottle of wine before he got home.

so youre holding a vibrator to his tip while your palm cradles and massages his balls. your balmy tongue sliding over the shell of his ear and then down to the thumping pulse buried in the side of his neck. he’s dribbling all over the toy, but he’s yet to fall over the precipice. you can tell that he’s holding back by the way his thighs shake while he’s sat up over the edge of the mattress, low moans and anguished whimpers coming out muffled due to his occupied mouth.

“good boy, puppy… taking us so well, aren’t you? you know how much we love you, even if patrick gets mean sometimes,” you whisper against his skin, “don’t cry, baby, okay? i know it hurts, i know you wanna come… just hold out a bit longer…”

the tip of the buzzing wand glides down his shaft and then back up to meet his sticky frenulum. god, he can’t take much more..

patrick’s already stuffed his musky cock into art’s mouth in replacement, as promised, and is holding his head still as he bucks into his face. “shit, artie, fuck— angh-! suck me down, just like that, take it—“

art is getting drunk off of the sensations alone, but the conflicting ways of handling him and his body only muddle his thoughts further. he’s trying not to gag while patrick facefucks him, and he’s also trying not to climax while you lovingly torture his cockhead.

he can’t think, he can’t move, he can hardly breathe.

a growled voice breaks through his incoherence.

“here it comes, here it— c-comes-!”

and then patrick is burying his length so far down art’s throat that his flushed nose presses into pat’s bush, cumming down his tight throat with a strangled groan. every salty gush of spend is gulped down compulsively by the blonde as he whines. pat smacks his cheek twice: good. boy.

you tenderly mouth at art’s shoulder as he jerks and swallows all of the brunette’s release, and then you decide to show your puppy some mercy.

the flush in art’s cheeks is ruddy when his airway opens up after pat pulls out, and you’re rewarded with increasingly urgent gasps as you lower the vibe to push against his sack. your hand that cupped him there moves; your index finger sucked warmly by your own mouth before it goes down to slip inside his hole. you curl it upwards, teasing that spongy spot, and art’s gone.

the whole world falls right out from under his feet.

“finish for us, puppy.”

art’s hands fly out; one grasping for your wrist and the other for patrick’s hip. he needs you both, he can’t take how good it all feels.

his jaw slacks open and the filthiest, most pornographic moan shudders out of his frame as his back arches and his legs kick out. every contraction of his abdomen results in a lengthy splurt of his orgasm over your wrist and his tummy.

he’s panting, completely overwhelmed with the aftershocks once a good several utterly blissful moments pass, only to come back down to earth at the feeling of a strong hand stroking his hair and a more tender one petting his bicep.

he doesn’t remember much else from that night, but he wakes up the next morning to clean smelling skin and a mess of blankets over his body. you two are gone from the apartment, but you clearly let him sleep-in alone. had you two wiped him down? tucked him in? more than likely.

the only evidence he has that the night prior even happened is a hickey on his collarbone, a lingering heat in his gut, and a note on the dresser.

‘to our pretty boy: see you later tonight…

… be good.’

[amiseuvx]

overstimming art donaldson with a vibrator.

He'd been looking in your drawers for something before pulling it out - cheeks flushed as you'd laughed.

Cut to half an hour later, and he'd be gripping the sheets, teary-eyed and panting, while you hold the vibe over his weepy tip. "You gonna cum again? Give me another?" You tease, knowing he's on the cusp of overstimulation.

His hips jerk, his body acting on its own as his mouth drops open. between moans, he manages out a small, "Pl-please." Before his stomach tenses and he comes with a yelp a small spurt of cum leaking from his purple tip.

"Off. Turn it off, please." He whines, thrashing as you shift the vibe over him. "One more." You coo, leaning over to brush a hand through his sweat-drenched curls. "One more for me?"

His hips jerk when you press the vibe to his tip, but he nods. "For...ah...for you...please!"

[ervotica]

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

shut up i’ll die actually

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

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

this is him <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

patrick zweig might just be in love.

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

-

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

[sukunasbow]

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

patrick fingering you in the bathtub ; mdni

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gonna cum, patrick."

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

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

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

[raekensluver]

challengers masterlist ˎˊ˗

* indicates smut/suggestive content

navigation. main masterlist.

art donaldson

one shots

you and art celebrate your birthday.*

series

nothing yet!

requests

nothing yet!

patrick zweig

nothing yet!

artrick x fem!reader

nothing yet!

©raekensluver 2024- do not translate, copy or claim any of my writing as your own.

[yameoto]

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shall receive anyway 🫡🫵

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

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

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

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

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

[pzweigs]

sorry for being feral just realized I commented on both your wip for you to tag me😭😭😭 artrick writers are just so much rarer and i love your writing style

but as for a request, I was thinking maybe stanford!art getting jealous of tashi (since patrick spends all his time with her) but once patrick realizes he’s like “awe baby if you wanted me to fuck you too all you had to do was ask”

omg, first of all, thank you so much! i really appreciate the interest! also, i am SO sorry for how long this took, truly no excuse, i just take forever and am very easily distracted… this really got away from me ehtiwjrjsjfjs i lowkey don’t know how to keep things short so this is kind of a mini fic… i feel like it might be a bit different from your original rec, it ended up being a lot cuter than i had originally thought!

anyway! artpatrick, stanford, 2.5k, m/e

When Patrick walks into Art’s dorm, he immediately knows he’s in trouble.

Art is lying supine on his bed—doing that thing where he pretends to be asleep but is really just quietly furious—arms crossed and hat covering what is sure to be a very dower expression.

Patrick double checks his watch, only now registering it’s three hours past when they’d originally agreed to meet up. He winces—he’d been in a haze after leaving Tashi’s dorm, high off the sight and sound that is Tashi Duncan in the morning. She’d rolled on top of him and his brain leaked out his ears. He’s only human.

He’d been late arriving to the Stanford campus the day before and was too tired after hours of driving, so he’d crashed in her dorm. He hasn’t even had the chance to see much of Art yet. Patrick feels a twinge of guilt—it’d been some time since his last visit—but can’t help the smile that quirks up at the familiar picture Art makes: pouting and waiting for him. Always with the dramatics, Patrick thinks fondly.

“Hey.” He tries, opting to ignore the tense atmosphere he’d just stepped into.

Art doesn’t respond, continues lying there like he’s not in the room. Patrick, never one to be ignored by Art, lands on the bed brashly, hard enough to jostle Art in his place with the loud creak of the springs. His dumb, red Stanford hat tumbles off his face, revealing his annoyed expression as he sits up to glare at Patrick directly. “You’re three hours late.” He finally says.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He is, is the thing. “Tashi and I—“

Art cuts him off sharply. “I don’t need to hear about you and Tashi.” His tone is increasingly harsh—Art seems to be getting angrier the longer he looks at Patrick. “Do you even know what you look like right now?” Patrick blinks. He really, really doesn’t—can only imagine it’s something along the lines of very-freshly-fucked. “It couldn’t be more obvious that you two—”

“Had sex?” Patrick finishes with a grin. “Why, is that a problem?” He asks, faux-innocently with a tilt of his head.

Art on the other hand only gets more tense, brows furrowing further as he looks away from him. “It’s kind of fucking gross, yeah.”

“Gross?” He scoffs. “Me, having sex with my girlfriend? Are we twelve?” Art twitches at the mention of girlfriend, staring hard at the door as if he’s trying to will Patrick into leaving with just his mind. Like hell he’s going anywhere now.

He shifts even closer, on his knees knocking into Art’s legs. “Figured you’d like it. Smelling her on me. Like a contact high.”

The blonde whips his head back towards him, seething: “Can you just,” He grits through his teeth, “for one second, not fucking push me?”

Patrick takes a second to think about it. He answers easily and honestly. “No.”

Something snaps in Art’s eyes, his body language, and it freezes him in his tracks. Art is seriously pissed, Patrick can tell, but he can’t help his heart skipping at the sight of him anyway— hurt, furious, blazing with it.

“I am so sick of your shit,” He says, face burning but voice cold, embittered. “All I do is just—wait for you like an idiot, or watch you fucking leave.”

The sudden nconfession makes Patrick crumple a little. “Art—“

“No.” Art only gets more and more worked up as he goes on, fists clenched at his sides. “I just sit around, waiting, and then you’re here, for like, a second, before you’re fucking gone again. Like I don’t exist whenever you’re in drooling distance of Tashi. Do you know how shitty that is for me?”

If he’s being honest, guilt isn't something Patrick experiences a lot. It’s just not how he moves through life. He’s thoroughly and proudly self involved, with very few exceptions to the rule. But the fact that he could make Art—Art Donaldson, of all people, feel unimportant to him—it breaks his heart a little. A lot. He figured Art would be pretty upset at him spending all this time with Tashi, hell, he kind of liked the idea. Even more so Tashi spending all this time with him, but—

Something of a light bulb moment occurs just then—an unexamined, unacknowledged truth suddenly staring him in the face, loud and clear. A puzzle finally coming together. Which is all to say that, “Oh,” Patrick grins, “You’re jealous.”

Art’s anger burns to a fever pitch, flushing his skin. “That’s all you have to—“

“You’re not just jealous of me,” Patrick continues as if Art hadn’t interrupted, voice a little awed, smile growing on his face. “But Tashi too.” He swings a leg over Art and straddles him to deliver his simple, tender finishing blow. He cups one hand gently to Art’s cheek, watches him twitch away before eventually leaning into it. “You could’ve just said you missed me, you know.”

He can feel the tension finally break as Art sputters, face contorting from confused, to embarrassed, then back to furious. “I—“

“And I really am sorry.” Patrick looks him straight in the eye, wanting to get this part right. “I’m bad at this shit, and we—we never really had to make plans, before.” Up until last summer, Art and Patrick had practically lived the same life. There was no need to establish dates or times to meet. He’d simply look over, and Art would be there. He’d figured it as a fact of life—Art would always be there for him, waiting.

He doesn’t want to make Art wait anymore. He watches Art absorb this, his shoulders softening for the first time since he’d gotten here.

“And for the record,” He continues, because he always does have to push, “You always exist, even when I am drooling over Tashi. I miss you even when I’m with her. You’re all we talk about, anyway.”

Art tenses again, this time out of clear surprise. Patrick lets his hand drop from the side of Art’s cheek, down, slowly, to his neck; thumb rubbing at the intersection of his throat and collarbone.

“Really?” He asks, softly, all the air out of his sails.

Patrick shrugs, but he’s smiling, and it gets Art smiling too. “What else would we talk about?”

They sit there with a pair of goofy smiles on their faces, chuckling at how quickly their anger had dissipated, before Art shoves him playfully in the chest. He leaves his hand there, warm next to Patrick’s kicking heartbeat. He bites his lip, waiting for something. “Aren’t you going to tell me you miss me too?”

Art’s soft smile turns into a smirk, eyes crinkling with humor. It gives Patrick butterflies to look at so closely. “Nah.” He says, boyish and adorable.

“No?” Patrick pouts. “Not even if I do—” He takes a quick, measuring breath, praying he’s not somehow off the mark; “This?” His voice barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to Art’s.

His entire body tingles at the touch, the subtle press of his lips to Art’s—is this what they mean when they talk about sparks? He feels Art’s breath hitch, a tiny gasp of air when their lips part, then Art’s mouth chasing his. Their kisses are soft and short, tentative in this new balance they’ve struck. When he pulls away, Art’s still smiling, eyes closed. Even so, he shakes his head.

Not saying it, his bouncing curls telegraph. They both giggle, giddy with happiness.

Patrick could sit here kissing Art forever, but right now, he has other plans to put into action. A myriad of ways he could make it up to Art flash in his mind, and he's beyond eager to get to work. He rises further onto his knees, kissing down his throat. “Still no?” He rasps.

“U-Uh-huh,” Art breathes shakily as Patrick uses one hand to push him back on the mattress as he makes his way down further. He pulls Art’s shirt up to reveal the expanse of pale, smooth skin, lips tingling and head dizzy at the contact.

Patrick’s kissing his way down his heaving stomach, fingers resting at the waistband of Art’s shorts. He holds onto Art’s hips, slinking further enough down the bed that he can see the effects of his mouth so close to the tent in the blonde’s short’s, hearing him panting as he appraises it up close.

Art’s a twitching mess under his hands, trying not to get ahead of himself but clearly wanting for more—the desperation makes Patrick smile. Without warning, he’s kissing his crotch, mouthing at the fabric to a loud gasp and lingering groan. “Oh, fuck, Patrick.”

“Miss me yet?” He mutters, dizzy with his nose digging into Art’s groin, soaking the fabric with brief sucks of his mouth.

Art’s hands lift from their place on the sheets, tentatively gripping at Patrick’s hair, as his groan bubbles into a disbelieving laugh. “Patrick, c’mon.”

Patrick’s smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks, dick throbbing in his own pants. He feels so fucking dirty, lapping at him through his shorts. This might be the sexiest thing he’s ever experienced, his head buried in Art’s crotch. “Not till you admit it, baby.” One particularly harsh tug of his hair has him groaning into Art’s clothed dick.

“I fucking missed you, ok?” He looks up to catch the expression on Art’s face; a wobbly grin to mirror his own, cheeks flushed with arousal instead of anger, eyes filled with bemused adoration. “Couldn’t stand it. Everything’s—” He breaths, “Everything’s so fucking boring without you.” The confession makes Patrick moan and his heart clench. He gestures quickly for Art to lift his hips so he can remove his shorts and toss them aside, mouthing at his thin briefs instead.

“Fuuuuck,” Art moans, shivering. Now that he’s started babbling he can hardly stop, and it’s driving him crazy. “Patrick, please, I missed you so fucking much, I miss you all the time, miss you—“ Patrick sucks at the tip through the tiny fabric, prompting a string of curses from Art, hips jumping from the bed in pleasure.

As fun as teasing him is, if Patrick doesn’t get his mouth on Art’s dick immediately he might actually die. With a quick tug of Art’s underwear it pops out, pink and straining and perfect. Patrick’s mouth waters as he quickly licks a stripe to the top of Art’s cock, tongue swirling at the head.

“Jesus Christ,” Art mutters, looking straight at him, both hands deep in Patrick’s curls as he encourages him to take him in his mouth. Patrick acquiesces happily, taking him deeper, cheeks hollowing as he meets his eyes.

He hears Art’s head hit the pillow, sighing like nothing has ever felt better. So it catches him off guard when he says: “Is this what you talk about with Tashi? Hm?” He tugs at his hair again, taking control of the pace to Patrick’s surprised pleasure. “How badly you want to suck my dick?”

Patrick feels shivers run down his entire body, grinding down into the mattress, moaning on Art’s cock. He pulls off to catch his breath, letting his hand take over as he huffs. He’s so turned on he can barely think, can only offer a breathy “Yeah,” before he’s going back down for more.

He gets an answering “Fuck,” in return, Art’s dick throbbing in his mouth as he bobs his head faster. Patrick and Tashi had never really said as much, not in so many words. But everytime she put her fingers past his lips, making him choke on them, the way he’d suck and bite without question, he could see in her eyes that’s what she was thinking—and vice versa.

Art’s dick is a lot bigger than Tashi’s fingers, and Patrick fears he may be addicted to the weight of it in his mouth. What a waste to have not been doing this the entire time, he thinks, head fuzzy with how good it feels to finally have Art where he wants him. He sucks harder to compensate, tries to remember all the tricks girls had used on him in the past while his brain is still functioning.

Not that Art would notice any of his attempts to impress—he can feel how close he is, the way he’s dripping into his mouth, the way his hips buck under his hands, the way his moans ring loud in his tiny dorm, probably through the hall. Moans that sound so sweet, that’ll haunt his dreams, his waking days, for the foreseeable future—until he gets to hear them all over again.

“Shit, Patrick,” Art’s voice and body trembles, his thighs quivering underneath his palms. “So close—Oh shit—Please please please,” He starts blabbering, drunk and desperate with his approaching orgasm, and Patrick could probably get off just like this, hips rutting into the mattress and Art begging to come in his mouth.

He takes him in a little deeper, almost in his throat now, humming in encouragement; he wants to show him how bad he wants it, too—and Art’s off like a rocket in no time, entire body arched, overcome with his release. Patrick watches him fall back into the mattress like a puppet with his strings cut, filled with a sense of pride and, also, a mouth full of come.

He’s not going to make it to the bathroom, figures what the hell, and just swallows. Art gets up on his elbows and watches him do this, watches him lick his lips to get the rest of it and groans weakly, dragging him back up. “Christ,” is all he can manage, pulling Patrick’s lips back on his, tasting himself, while his hand shoves it’s way down his pants. Patrick jolts into him immediately, whimpering into his mouth after being on the edge for so long. Art’s hand starts to move, firm and fast—a little rough from practice—it has Patrick groaning into Art’s neck, thrusting into his fist.

“Missed you,” Art whispers into his ear, leaving soft kisses to the side of his cheek. Patrick turns, chasing his mouth. Art’s somehow even sweeter after he’s come, voice velvety and earnest as he mutters sweet nothings between kisses, working Patrick up even further. Art’s twisting his hand the way he knows he likes, thumbing his head hard the way Patrick told him to all those years ago, and all that combined with the soft way he says; “Missed this face—” makes Patrick melt, cut him off with a breathless groan, and come into his fist. Boneless, he collapses into Art, who graciously lets Patrick lie on top of him as he catches his breath, other hand rubbing soothing circles into his back.

They bask in the afterglow for sometime before Patrick pipes up, rolling off him to press up against his side, ankles crossing and legs tangling together. “Happy now?” He mumbles into his neck, and smiles as feels the vibration of Art’s laugh.

“Very.” Art replies, fucked out and satisfied. He turns to his side, hand coming up to play with Patrick’s curls. 

“Good.” Patrick says around a yawn, sleep closing in faster with every soothing scratch at his hair. He thinks about how Tashi might feel when he inevitably tells her about this development between him and Art— that she’ll probably be very happy too, so long as they can both make up for excluding her this time. He dozes off to fantasies of all the things he and Art can do for her, content in his best friend's arms.