you thought that you were already close with patrick and art; turns out, you could get even closer.
Boardingschool!patrick & boardingschool!art x boardingschool!reader.
it’s no secret that the three of you were close.
Everyone at school acknowledges it by joking that you’re practically their manager, because you’re on the bleachers at every practice, seated front row at every match, and the second the games finishes (usually in their favour), the first person they go running to is you.
in fact, you're all so close that you've developed a habit to follow them into the locker room after every practice. if anyone ever questioned your entry into the room, they’d both chime at the same time: “she’s ours.”
neither of them bat an eye when you sit down on the bench between the metal lockers and watch them get changed because it’s you, their little manager, and they didn’t ever hide anything from you.
You’d read them the daily school news, explain the daily school gossip, and update them on any homework they missed in the name of tennis practice. they’d thank you in their typical ways by ruffling your hair and throwing their sweaty shirts on you before sandwiching you in a suffocating hug.
You shriek and laugh and say, ‘stop it!’ but really, you’re too focused on the feel of their bare chests against you— slippery from sweat and hot from the heat— to care about anything else.
There’s always a brief moment after all the amusement when the laughter dissipates and you’re all just staring at each other. Your smile fades, and suddenly you’re painfully aware of their rapid breaths rising against you on either side, and the heat of it all fills the silent air with something else other than just audible breaths.
Today it’s patrick who looks over to art first, who returns his stare with pressed lips. you catch a flicker of something in their eyes, but they looked away before you could decipher it. However, it was clear that a silent agreement had been reached right in front of you. you suspect that for the first time since you transferred to the school, they were hiding something from you.
patrick breaks the silence first, turning slightly away from you to gently close his locker as he murmurs, “you know, there have been a lot of rumours on campus lately.”
You scoffed, stuffing your agenda into your bag before smoothing a hand over your hair. “Really? What kind of rumours?”
Patrick shrugged. He pulled a shirt over his shoulders, nodding his head towards art. “Rumours about us, mostly. Tell her, art.”
art purses his lips multiple rimes before speaking. “It’s just trash talk,” he pauses. patrick glances over to him one more time, flashing him a subtle glare before art finally continues, “there's talk about how the three of us are suspiciously close, or whatever.”
“I guess it’s not so much a rumour as it is true,” you responded. You tilted your head towards them both, eyes squinting with humour as you questioned, “you guys do consider us close, right? I mean, after all I do for you guys, I’m honestly glad that people are speculating and starting to appreciate my efforts.”
“It’s just,” Patrick turns back around, shuffling his feet to sit down across from you on the bench with legs on either side of the wooden plank. His hands are gathered in the middle, fingers attempting to itch closer and closer to your own without you seeing.
“We could be a lot closer, you know.”
You raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s sneaky hands, a slight smile still intact on your face as you asked, “How close can we get, pat? There’s a limit to everything. Even the sky.”
“he’s right.”
You almost jump at the sudden voice you hear in your ear. you cleared your throat as he slid closer towards your back. Art mirrored Patrick’s movements with legs on either side of the bench, but his hands fiddled with the edge of your hoodie as he rested his chin on your shoulder.
“We could be a lot closer.”
You observed the way art pressed his lips together, snuggling his face into the side of your neck as Patrick’s thumb rubbed circles on your hand. you hadn’t even registered that patrick was now grinning, guilding your unsuspecting hand towards his dark curls.
You instinctively wrap your fingers around his wet hair, and you almost gasp when you hear patrick whimper. He pants heavily against your wrist, lips tickling the tender skin as he breathes, “why don’t you come over to our dorm after class?”
You shake your head, dropping your hand from his head. “I don’t think-“
“Please,” art whispers against your neck.
You close your eyes, sucking on the inside of your cheek as you sighed deeply. For a beat, you simply listen to the sound of their synced breathing, taking in the familiar smell of the locker room, and the familiar smell of them. When you open your eyes again, Patrick and art are both eagerly staring at you, pleading with silence.
You suddenly laugh, smiling uncontrollably as you lean back against art and pull patrick closer by the hand that is still wrapped around yours. patrick gladly scooches closer until his nose is practically rubbing against yours, and he returns your laughter with a chuckle of his own.
“Okay,” you mutter while glancing back at art, whose mouth was agape with something adjacent to shock.
“so let’s get closer.”
-
a/n: “why don’t u come over to our-“ bags r packed.
summary: the problem with patrick is that he can’t never stop thinking about you. away for a tournament, his thoughts gets heated with images of you… until he can’t stop himself and uses his fleshlight.
cw: +18. mdni. short blurb. self-pleasure. messy orgasm. needy!patrick. use of a sex toy (fleshlight).
The thin curtains, the sterile sheets, the hum of the air conditioner—it all felt cold, empty, like none of it belonged to him. He’d been on the road long enough to know the ache of loneliness, but tonight it was unbearable. Another tournament, another night without you.
He lay sprawled on the bed, still in his sweats, phone glowing dimly in his hand. Your last text sat at the top of the screen: Good luck tomorrow. I miss you. Just six words, but his chest clenched like he couldn’t breathe. He wanted more than words. He wanted your body pressed against his, the familiar heat of your skin, your hand sliding under the waistband of his shorts like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Fuck…” he muttered, tossing his phone aside. His hips shifted, restless, already too aware of how hard he was.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to hold out. He’d gone through his nightly routine—stretching, shower, hydration—like the good professional he was. But lying there in the dark, he couldn’t stop picturing you. The way you curled into him after sex, your scent on his sheets, the soft sound you made when he kissed you just right. It was killing him.
Patrick sat up, running a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He reached for the small duffel by the bed, unzipping it like a guilty secret. Buried under clothes and gear was the toy he swore he wouldn’t bring this time—a fleshlight, discreet, simple, but soaked in the memory of you.
He’d teased himself before by thinking of how you’d react if you knew, if you saw him like this: pathetic, needing something plastic just to make it through the night without you.
He shoved his sweats down and kicked them off, cock already flushed, leaking, bouncing against his stomach. His breath caught in his throat as he spat down on the rosy head of his cock and moved the toy up, pressing the soft entrance to his tip. Just the first push in had his eyes rolling back. “Shit—ah, fuck…” he gasped, voice breaking.
It was almost too much. The tight slide, the obscene squelch—it wasn’t you, it wasn’t even close, but his brain wouldn’t stop filling in the blanks. He pictured your hand wrapped around him instead, the heat of your thighs straddling him, your voice whispering in his ear. He bucked his hips harder, fucking into the toy with messy, desperate thrusts.
“Miss you,” he whined, throat raw, “God, I fuckin’—I miss you so bad.”
The words spilled out unfiltered, the way they never did when you were in front of him. He was needier like this, alone, no image to maintain, no teasing smile to cover his whimpers. Just the raw, pathetic sound of him chasing a high that felt hollow without you.
He tightened his grip, angling the toy just right until the sensation had him gasping, hips jerking uncontrollably. His thighs trembled, sweat dampening his skin, every nerve screaming that it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough without you.
“Please,” he whimpered—though he didn’t know what he was begging for. Your hand? Your mouth? Just you.
His pace turned frantic, almost punishing, as the slick noises filled the room and his balls slapped up against the handle of the toy. His eyes squeezed shut, imagining your body under his, your nails dragging down his back, your voice breaking when he pushed too deep. It was too vivid, too much—he felt his orgasm tear through him before he could even brace for it. “Fuuuuck—!”
His whole body arched off the bed, hot ropes of cum spilling, messy, leaking down his thighs and dripping from the toy as he kept thrusting through the aftershocks. His whimpers broke into ragged sobs of pleasure, chest heaving, thighs shaking.
Finally, the strength drained from him, leaving him slumped against the headboard, toy slipping from his weak grip. His cock twitched in the sticky mess, his skin damp with more sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. The silence of the hotel room pressed in again, broken only by his unsteady breathing.
He dragged a hand down his face, almost embarrassed, but the ache in his chest only deepened. Because even after all that, all the pathetic writhing and whimpering, the release left him emptier. It wasn’t you. It was never going to be you.
Reaching blindly for his phone again, Patrick snapped a picture—not of his cock, not of the mess, but of his face. Flushed, hair mussed, eyes glassy and wet. He typed out a message before he could stop himself.
I can’t wait to get home to you. I need you so bad.
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?
frat boy!patrick zweig x quiet!reader headcannons (sfw & nswf)
MDNI
frat boy!patrick, who promised himself he'd not let himself get tied down. It wasn't that he was lacking choice - god no, it was stress he didn't need. a girlfriend nagging at him for everything he did. getting pissy about who he hung around at parties, and complaining he was too close to others. no thank you. that was until he met you, at least.
frat boy!patrick who is a known womaniser on campus, has the longest list of all his brothers and holds a record for the most girls at one party. He's hardly the boyfriend type.
frat boy!patrick, who only hooks up with whatever sorority appears that night. his type is pretty much whatever girl likes him that night.
frat boy!patrick, who never even looked your way, even though he'd sat beside you all year. though eventually he misses one too many classes, and in his attempt to catch up, he turns to you (and is slightly shocked he'd never seen you before).
frat boy!patrick, who asks for your notes one time, saw your small smile and was a goner. suddenly he was actually attending classes and purposefully sitting next to or behind you.
frat boy!patrick, who fails an exam and takes up your offer for help immediately - almost too happy when you offer your services (and dorm room)
frat boy!patrick, who lasts for a total of three minutes in your room before he makes a move. his palm, warm and large settles over your thigh like it belongs there. like you weren't trying to explain the basics of economics to him.
frat boy!patrick, who for all his teasing and brashness, is surprisingly gentle the first time. his lips caressing your skin all the way from your neck to your pelvis. groaning when your fingers wind into his hair as his tongue flicks at your clit with deadly precision.
frat boy!patrick, who makes you cum three times that night, grinning like a cheshire cat when you mention no boys ever done that before. (he's by far the best you'd had, much to his joy).
frat boy!patrick, who doesn't go back to his brothers and gloat about his night, his win. who, for once, leaves the list tucked away under a pile of old homework and doesn't add your name.
frat boy!patrick who lets you explain whatever book to him your reading while he lays against your stomach. he loves to watch you read or do study.
frat boy!patrick, who for the first time since he started college doesn't hook up with whatever girl throws herself at him during the next fraternity party.
frat boy!patrick, who for the first time stays faithful to you and shows up at your door that night, grinning dopily, still slightly woozy with drink and rambling about how pretty you are.
𓊆 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𓊇 peace in your life didn't last long especially when patrick zweig is in it, so are you really that surprised when he calls you up in the middle of the night–drunk–confessing his love for you as if on truth serum?
The night was still and everything was silent. No baby crying, no noisy ex boyfriend in your ear–it was perfect. Such nights like these were rare, and you'd planned to savour each second.
You'd reluctantly left Vienna with your mother–who was a little too eager to watch your little girl, bringing her in and dragging her back to her own room like a child with a new doll. She always had been the mother–grandmother–who smothered her in love and too many sweets. Vienna was in good hands, you knew that, and if she came back with more toys than she'd left with at least she had fun.
With your baby safe and secure–and off your hands, you were free of worry.
Or so you thought.
Your momentary peace was interrupted by the loud vibrations of your phone buzzing against your bed side table. It was late–almost midnight, so who the hell could be calling you at this hour?
You rolled over, grabbing your phone clumsily through the darkness of your room. The bright screen flash banged your eyes for a moment before they finally adjusted, reading over the unknown caller id.
Probably a scam call. Bunch of those calling you lately...
You didn't think twice before tapping the red button, cutting the call off, and tossing your phone onto the pillow beside you. That was that it seemed like, your brain slowly shutting off once more, slipping into that sweet silence...
Before it rang again. The vibration dulled against the soft cotton of your pillow, yet still audible enough to tick you off.
"Holy shit.." you muttered beneath your breath, reaching out for your phone before taking another glance at the number once again. The exact same. Fine, two could play that game.
You swiped the green button this time, putting your phone to your ear. You barely have the poor person a chance before you were speaking. Clearly irritated. It was your one day free, and yet this stupid–probably a scammer–kept you trapped from just rolling back into bed.
"Hello?" You grumbled, resisting the urge to roll your eyes even though you knew they couldn't see you.
"You always were such a skeptical person."
As soon as his voice–that familiar voice–hit your ears it had felt like you were unable to breathe. Of course, it was Patrick. Who else could it have been?
"It's 12AM, Patrick–" You started, only to be cut off by his slurred laughter.
"I can look at a clock.."
"Are you drunk?" You scoffed, already picturing him in a bar, in and old jacket and messed up hair.
He makes a noise, small and just loud enough that you could hear it through the phone. His voice when he spoke came out softer now, hurt.
"Why do you always think I resort to drinking? Why can't I just call you like this?"
"You're not saying no, Pat."
"I missed when you called me that ..." He sighed, the line going quiet for a moment, filled with unspoken words that he'd so desperately wanted to say. Unfortunately, he still had some sense of self awareness and dignity. But, maybe just not enough.
"I miss you in general, really. I haven't seen you in forever.."
"It's been a week."
"I want to see Vienna too y'know? She's my baby too." He mumbled, fumbling for an excuse. Any excuse that could make him seem rational for calling you so late. Drunk.
"You're not calling me from your phone. There wasn't an id–where are you?" Trying to change subject, shift it from whatever god awful conversation this would spiral into.
"Are you really worried about me?"
You could practically picture the smug little smirk on his face, it was so obvious in the way his voice went just a teensy bit higher at the end.
He took your silence as yes, letting out a soft chuckle before answering you. "Some...bartenders. Let me take his phone for a minute.."
"Why not call me from your phone?"
For a moment he said nothing, simply letting the silence suffocate you.
"My phone died."
"Liar."
Patrick zweig's phone was dead? Yeah right. That thing was glued to him, but it never died. No, it was magic of some sorts.
"You wouldn't have picked up my phone if you saw it was me calling I knew that much." He confessed, swallowing hard on the other side of the screen.
"I just wanted to hear your voice, alright? I missed it...missed you."
"You've said that already–"
"I love you."
Your eyes shut on instinct like it was bracing from impact, as if the words could get a physical reaction out of in some sort of way–and it did. Just not the one he wanted.
"You're drunk, and you need to go home." You sighed, rubbing your temples with the tips of your fingers, already predicting a migraine.
"I'm drunk, but I'm not stupid." He started, not giving you time to speak before going on. "I love you, and I have forever. I just want us...and Vienna back together. Wasn't it nice when we were? Just the three of us."
His voice shook with each word he spoke, cracking like thunder. He sounded like he was going to cry, maybe tearing up behind the phone at the least. Patrick wasn't emotional, but when he started it was like he couldn't stop.
"Please, I'm sorry. I love you..I love you so much–"
The line went dead before he could finish, a sudden silence filling the room until you could drown in it. You sat there, eyes glossy and lower lip quivering like a kicked puppy. Fuck him for getting you like this.
You expected a call back. You expected for your phone to buzz again, and maybe this time you'd say something back–but you're phone never even so much as lit up.
The phone probably died. It was late at night and the bartender's shift was probably over, his phone was bound to be used through the night. That's not his fault, but what was his fault was leaving you here. Alone. Wondering about his stupid health and if he was even alright.
You couldn't even blink. Could barely think about anything else on the supposed calm night you were supposed to have–except for Patrick. He'd probably want it that way anyways.
You placed your phone back down on the pillow beside you, looking up at the pitch black ceiling of your room because if you–if you stared just hard enough you could disappear somewhere else.
Your chest felt tight. Not from his words–You'd heard "I love you" before, but never in that way. Broken and desperate.
With a shaky breath, you shifted back beneath the covers, blanket up to your chin. Sleep wasn't coming easy now, not with his voice still echoing in your head, not with your heart betraying you with each beat it took. Faster and faster.
Even when he wasn't there, Patrick Zweig always had a way of keeping you wide awake.
