The First Thing I Think Of When I See This Is Broke Ex Patrick Zweig

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 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—“

strawberry love

patrick zweig x fem!reader

gif by @beelarson

word count: 2,037

warnings: swearing, a smidge of anxiety, this is a sort of situation where reader matches patrick’s freak aka they are smartasses to each other, flirting, a little drinking but both reader + p are of age

synopsis: patrick, your not-quite-boyfriend-but-might-as-well-be-because-you’re-both-down-bad, wants you to spend the night at his place. your anxious brain hates change in routine, and he does everything he can to make you comfortable.

a/n: first fic for the challengers boys!! i am very pleased with how this turned out and i think i’ve managed to get a hold of patrick’s mannerisms and his personality. this is also a bit of a new dynamic for me, but i think this fic’s atmosphere is a good one. happy reading <33

————

You are so fucking grateful that Patrick is on the other end of this phone call and not sitting next to you because, if he was, he’d see how your fingers are shaking and lift them up, going “What’s this?” with that stupid fucking smirk of his. 

And he’d look at you in that teasing way that makes you hate him more than anything.

“So, what’re you thinking? Got some excuse as to why you won’t come spend the night at my place?”

You can hear the grin growing in size across his face. You’re sure he’s sitting back on his hands with the phone on speaker as if this is the most casual experience of his life. 

“Patrick, I—”

“Be honest with me here, angel. S’all I’m askin.’ We need a fuckin’ code or something now?”

“I’m just anxious as shit and any change in routine fucks with me and so that makes me not want to put my brain through that by coming over and also…it’s you.”

He laughs. “It’s me?”

“Yes! You’re too fucking relaxed all the time and you’ve always got your googly eyes on me a-and it’s like you want me to join a damn cult, Zweig!”

Patrick laughs even harder. “You need someone to counter your constant state of panic. And where else would I have my eyes?”

“Oh, fuck me sideways, you shithead.” He hears you slap your palm to your face. “Pain in my ass.”

“You want me to pick you up, pretty girl? I bet that’d ease some of your stress.”

You sigh, all dramatic and high-pitched. Your heart is doing somersaults against your rib cage. That would help, actually. Then you don’t have to plan what time to leave, accommodate for traffic, shove all your shit in the car and let your thoughts engulf you on the ride over. 

“Y-yeah, fine. Whatever.”

Patrick knows that tone. “Hey. You know I’m gonna take care of you for real, right? That I just wanna see you and get you to be present for a little, yeah?”

Your voice softens. “I know, Patrick. Just let me pack an overnight bag, okay? And text me when you’re on the way.”

“Why don’t you pack a few extra things? You know, just in case you can’t get enough of me and need to stay a few more nights.”

You hang up the phone, leaving Patrick giggling to himself against his kitchen counter. 

————

Patrick’s lips are warm when he kisses both your cheeks in quick succession. “Hi, dove.” He takes your bag from your shoulder and walks off toward his bedroom, putting your things down next to his dresser. 

He’s back quicker than should be humanly possible, bringing that cocky ass smile with him. 

“So what, you come over and don’t even want a hug from your favorite person on the planet?”

You grin, and he flushes with excitement over that victory. “Oh, fuck off,” you say, walking into his arms. 

He smells faintly of nicotine and mints, probably those ones that Sonic gives you because he has a stockpile of them in his glove box.

His chest is firm and hot beneath you, and when you press your cheek to it your mind races with thoughts you don’t want it to have. So naturally, you pull away slightly, keeping your hands on his hips. It makes him bite his lip. 

“You smoke today?” you ask, raising a brow.

“Yeah, why, you want one?”

“You keep it up, I'm not gonna be able to hug my favorite person on the planet that much longer. Pretty pink lungs gonna fuck you over.”

He lowers his head and levels with you. “You want me to quit?”

“I can’t make you, Patrick.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. He loves how you say his name.

“Oh, you could make me do anything, baby.” His teeth shine at you, and you swat his stomach. You go to push him away but he grabs your waist and starts kissing all over your face, the top of your head, the tips of your ears. He does it again and again in an effort to make you laugh. 

When you feel his fingers dance at your sides you escape him, “Don’t fucking try it!”

When the laughter in the room dies out, Patrick takes your hand and walks you to the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll make you a drink.”

You sit on one of his two barstools, stifling a laugh at the pitiful creak it makes. “Do you even have anything other than beer or whiskey? Because I don’t want either of those.” 

Patrick opens the refrigerator, motioning as if he’s clutching an aching chest. “C’mon, angel, don’t hurt my feelings. You think I wouldn’t buy the things I know my baby likes?” 

You brace your elbows on the counter and try to peek in the fridge. It’s not necessary though because he’s pulling out a container of frozen strawberries for you to see. 

“You got me stuff for—” 

“Strawberry daiquiris? Duh.” 

He places two bottles of rum on the counter, one full and the other half empty. You watch as he moves around the kitchen, gathering up the parts to the blender, which are for some reason in different cabinets. He gets out these fancy glasses (his only ones) someone gave him one time. 

“And,” he starts, “I remembered that you like it with a little less rum than most recipes call for so you’ll actually enjoy it.”

You tilt your head at him. He’s so pretty and he remembered all that shit just for you. “Lean over here for a sec, Patrick.”

He does as you say without question, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. You press a kiss to the tip of his nose. He loves that. The first time you did it he tackled you and asked you to do it again and again. 

You kiss his forehead and then the back of this hand, because boys should have their hands kissed too. 

Patrick’s cheeks are on fire. You take his face in your hands and let your gaze travel over each and every one of his pretty freckles. Your thumb rubs across his bottom lip and he moves closer, desperate for you to do anything. To give him anything. 

“Thank you for bringing me over here just to liquor me up,” you quip, your smile growing fast, eyes crinkling with humor. 

He nips the palm of your hand. “Yep. Just hopin’ to get you relaxed enough so you’ll confess your love for me, princess.”

You move away from his grasp, grinning softly at him and thinking how easily you’d confess that to him anyway. “Get back to work now, Zweig. Your strawberries have captivated me. And the curly straws.” 

His laughter is contagious.

————

Two strawberry daiquiris, and some of Patrick’s later, your anxious brain has finally settled down. You feel completely calm, and being with him makes you feel so comfortable that you don’t worry about adapting to a new space.

You register that he’s been distracting you all evening. He made your favorite drink, he’s been showering you with affection, he put on an episode of Jeopardy because he knows you like that smart feeling you get when you answer a question right. 

You’re laying on his chest, one hand snaked up underneath his sweatshirt to rest on the soft of his stomach. His skin is unbelievably warm and your fingers run back and forth over the short trail of curls there. 

“Who is Donald Sutherland, dumbass,” you say, annoyed that no one knew who played Mr. Bennet in Joe Wright’s adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. 

Patrick’s hand pushes under your shirt and rests on your spine. He starts scratching your skin lightly, up and down, up and down. You blink up at him. “That feels good.”

“Yeah? All you gotta do is ask and I’ll do it.”

“Well, will you please keep scratching my back for me, Patrick? It’s very soothing. Keeps me present.”

“‘Course I will, angel.”

“I know you like your physical affection,” you say, squeezing his hip lovingly. He kisses the top of your head as if to confirm your statement. 

“Have I succeeded in providing an anxiety-free sleepover environment for my girl?”

You push up onto your elbows so you can make eye contact with him. He leans his head back a little bit, teasingly making himself look more serious as if you don’t always have his full attention. 

Your eyes move from his to his lips and back. You start to nod. “You have. It feels like all the outside stressors don’t exist here.”

Patrick leans into your hand when you put it against his cheek. He is beaming. 

“You wanna go to bed, dove?”

“Yes, please.”

Patrick heaves you upward and over his shoulder, making you howl with laughter. You both get ready for bed quietly, doing your respective routines and getting everything settled. 

You meet Patrick in bed, padding over to the mattress in your panties and a big t-shirt. Your hands are keeping the shirt pulled down on instinct, making it look like a dress. When he sees you, he thinks he might combust. It takes everything in him not to. 

You’re so fucking sweet and perfect and gorgeous and you’ve got no clue. And you’re in his bedroom, pushing onto his bed and laying with him. Him, of all people. 

You roll onto your side and face him. He’s a little stubbly and his curls are a mess, but somehow he looks more gorgeous like this than when he’s all prettied up. He smells like toothpaste and that Old Spice deodorant he uses. Your bare knee brushes his, but neither of you move away.

Your gaze falls on the only source of light in the room aside from the moon; the children’s night light that looks like a tennis ball. Art got him that as a Christmas gift, and Patrick would be lying if he said he didn’t actually like it. 

You move your hand close enough to his body that you can feel the warmth of him, but not enough that you make any more contact. 

“Patrick, I don’t think friends treat each other the way we treat each other.” You realize your fingers are trembling. 

His smile lines grow as a grin spreads across his face. “You think so?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. 

You nod, still looking at the tennis ball. Then his fingers are on your chin, coaxing you into looking at him. “D-do you think we should be more than friends?” 

Patrick’s hand hasn’t left your face. His thumb traces over your eyebrow. “I think we already are.”

“Could we maybe m-make that definitive?”

“Is this you really confessing your love for me?”

You roll your eyes so hard you might as well have rolled out of the bed. “Fuck off.” You swat at his chest and attempt to move away from him. 

He’s laughing and then he’s pulling you flush against his body, securing you there with a firm arm around your back. “You want me to be your boyfriend, don’t you?”

“I hate you.”

“Well, yeah. And I want you to be my girlfriend, angel.”

“So I can make googly eyes at you as often as you do me now?”

He squeezes the fat of your hip. “Oh, you already do. You just don’t notice how obvious it is that you’re infatuated with me. You looked like you wanted to eat me alive in the kitchen earlier.”

“The bad part is that I know you’d let me.”

“So you don’t deny the allegations?” He holds his fist up to your mouth, mimicking a microphone. 

“No, Patrick. I do want you to be my boyfriend. And I want to do this all the time. I hate how easy you make everything.” He chuckles, biting his thumbnail. “It’s not natural to be this calm. And I hate that you’ve made me a sap.” His brow raises just before you continue, “I brought clothes for like, three nights.”

Patrick hugs you to him so quickly, laughing into your cool skin. 

“I fucking knew you would.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

far from prudish but just got blazed porn of someone's pussy spread out so hard and up close like it's a map of the polish-lithuanian commonwealth and I'm king and grand duke sigismund II augustus inspecting his lands to plot defense against the swedes

Jarvis enhance image………..

@lgbtqcreators​ creator meme (v2): [6/10] lgbtq+ characters — patrick zweig, challengers

Prizes <3

(Artrick x reader fluff) [Warnings: No use of y/n, fem reader, pre-established relationship, not proofread, typos mayhaps, maybe ooc? word count = 1,950]

~

A dim light shines through your cracked open window, you can't help but let out a sigh of exhaustion as you try (and fail) untangle yourself from your two sleepy boyfriends. rubbing your eyes from grogginess, your gaze falls on Art and Patrick, both boys holding onto you with a death grip. Patrick’s hands are tangled under your back with one hand on your thighs, squeezing them every so often. Art grips your waist, his leg wrapped around yours.

Both boys are making it increasingly difficult to get out of bed.

“Get off…” you groan, albeit reluctantly. as much as you love them, you want to get out of bed and shower, preferably without them clinging to you believe it or not.

“mm-mm…”

“noo… ”

After much struggle, you finally got out of bed, freshly cleaned and sipping coffee in your living room. Art sips on a smoothie, flicking through his phone. Patrick just plops down on the couch, peering at what Art is looking at with zero subtlety.

“ya know, there’s a fair in town happening today. we should all go, could be fun.” he mumbles, chewing on his nails with his spare hand as he looks through social media. his nail biting earning a slap on the wrist from Patrick to get him to stop. which he does, thankfully.

“Sounds cool to me, I don't have any plans this summer besides training and hanging out with you two.” Patrick snickers, wrapping his arms around Art and snatching his phone from his palms. the blonde glares back at Patrick, and they look just ready to fight before your voice interrupts.

“Sounds fun, we should go.” you chuckle, followed by a warning glance at your rowdy boyfriends. you swear they act like feral animals at any given opportunity.

Your boys eventually stop their death glares and nonverbal threats, visibly relaxing and smiling brightly at you. Art nuzzles his fluffy blonde hair into Patrick’s shoulder, his back pressed against the brunette’s chest, and resting his legs on your lap.

After much needed cuddles, you three eventually start to get ready. you prance off to your closet, throwing loose clothes and combinations of clothes everywhere. half land on Patrick, and the other half land on the bed. the soft sprinkle of Art taking a shower and humming is faintly heard; even from your shared bedroom. Patrick can't help but let out a bark of laughter.

“As much as I love your panties, babe, I’d prefer you don't throw them at me. what’s got you so indecisive anyway?” he hums, peeling a bra of yours off his face and placing it in his lap.

“Dunno, just don't have any clothes that scream ”summer fair“ ya know?”

“what the fuck does that even mean?”

“..nevermind.”

After many tortuous hours of you asking what Patrick thought of each outfit while Art quickly picked an outfit and got dressed in half the time it took you. You ended up with a tan crop top with red accents and cherry on the chest of the tee, paired with tattered jean shorts and red and white sneakers with white crew cut socks. you slung a messenger bag over your shoulder and hopped on the backseat of Art’s clean car, the exact opposite of Patrick’s.

Art brushed dust off his pink button up shirt and light blue jeans. He swung the driver’s car door open and plopped inside, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms and putting the car into drive. “Hurry up Pat, we’ll leave without you!” Art cocked his head to the side, flashing a cheeky grin at Patrick rushing into the passenger seat of the car with a petulant demeanor.

Patrick shifted in his blue polo and tan cargo shorts, buckling his seatbelt in with a click. “I was pissing, god damn Art- have patience!”

“Well piss faster!” Art sneers, giving Patrick a death glare

“I’ll piss in the fuckin car next time then, smartass!” Patrick huffs, rolling his eyes.

“fuck you!” Art groans

“no, fuck you!” Patrick scoffs, tapping his leg on the floor of the car while pouting.

“can you both just shut up and drive?!” you interrupt

“…yes ma'am” they both bristle through gritted teeth, but Art does pull out of the driveway well Patrick sets up the GPS on his phone, you connect your phone to the car and just sit pretty and play songs the three of you all love and enjoy on the car ride. The ride isn't too long, but it’s enough to calm both Art and Patrick down from their rowdiness, while you and Patrick belt out songs in the car. Art focuses on the road, trying not to facepalm as he glances at the GPS every so often.

The car eventually skids to a stop infront of a big and cleared out park with different stands and attractions you can faintly make out. something about going to a fair with your two immature boyfriends does seem childish in nature, yes. but you cant help but be excited, and you feel the huge giddy grin spread on your face as you step out the car and squint your eyes to see what's to come.

"you look excited." Patrick chuckles, blatantly stating the obvious yet again as he steps out and leans on the car, his forearms snug on the roof of the car to support his weight. Art squints, hopping out the car and putting a hand above the sun to cover the reflection. "how the hell are you guys even seeing that far?"

"do you need glasses, Art? it's literally right infront of you!"

"no-! 'm fine! it's just the sun."

you giggle at the thought of Art with glasses, or maybe even colored contacts. "you would look so fucking adorable with glasses~" you tease, Patrick following suit "oh hell yeah, adorable is an understatement, you'd look cute as hell, Artie~" he snickers, slapping a blushing Art on the back "well, let's not waste any time, I wanna play the shitty rigged games!" Patrick grins boyishly, turning heel and walking towards the ticket booth with a quickened pace. You and Art follow suit, having to jog to catch up to him.

Art snorts, skidding next to Patrick excitedly buying three tickets (definitely not with Art's card) "fuck, I havent seen you this excited in a while. you wanna ride the teacups too, Pat?" he muses playfully, nudging him on the shoulder.

Patrick rolls his eyes, snatching the tickets with his hand and practically crumpling them on the spot. "i would, but you'd probably puke if we did since you're such a little bitch-"

"I am not! and no I wouldnt!!"

you ignore the bickering momentarily admiring the beautiful sights of the bright and flashy fair. a big ferris wheel on the middle of it all, stands and booths with different and very rigged games, vendors with novelties, food trucks, the works. Your feet move before your brain does, taking you to the purple booth with plushies strung up on fishing string, below the booth us a table with glass bottles, a box of rings to the right of them. of course, one of the most rigged and aneurysm-inducing games has the cutest of stuffies on the shelves. it's unfair, really.

Art jogs up to you, Patrick in hand. the grin boyishly, eyes sparkling at this given opportunity to show off and impress you. they may have both won you over, but they're still going to bicker and compete for your affections. of course they are.

"which one ya want, baby?"

"psh- I can win all of em for you, doll."

"no you cannot."

Patrick pouts, glaring at Art with no real bite. stepping up to the booth with overflowing confidence, slamming a few bills on the table and receiving 5 red rings he twirls around his finger. Patrick flashed a charming smile at you and Art, "which one do you both want? I'll win two." he boasts, his confidence is admirable, but his ego Iis 100% gonna take a hit after this.

"I want the bunny.." you coo, looking up at a black and white stuffed bunny dangling above your head.

"I dunno, guess I'll take the little dog over there." Art chuckles under his breath, stuffing one hand in his pocket and another pointing at a stuffed tan dog stuffie flopped on the shelf, it almost reminds you of him.

Patrick scoffs, "lightwork." he beams. tossing one ring out only for it to hit the floor. another, and another, and another, and another. all fail. "...fuck." he grits his teeth, running a hand up and down his face and messing up his curly brunette hair even more than it already was. he slams 5 more dollars on the table, reciving 5 rings again.

"hold on, I got this guys-! that-that was just a warm up, ya know!?"

"fuck."

"ugh.."

"okay, well that- that was atleast somewhat close-!"

"..."

"one more t-try..?"

Patrick has lost you all way too much money, Art is facepalming- but you can't help but feel atleast a little bit bad for him. it is a tad bit funny, though.

"Pat, people are waiting in line. just- let it go, honey." Art groans, taking away Patrick's money privilege and grabbing his shoulders, pulling him away from the line of little kids and other couples.

"But I almost had it-! what'a 'bout your plushies..?" he sounds like a kicked puppy, adorably pathetic and sad. you chuckle softly sitting him on a bench and peppering his face with kisses "it's fine..you can try later, my love." Art pats Patrick's head "I'll get us some ice cream, wanna come with?" he turns to you, holding out his hand. you accept, grabbing it and kissing Patrick on the cheek and ordering him to stay put.

You and Art step backwards, the bench where Patrick sat was empty! where the hell did your boyfriend go?! you place the two icecream cups you hold in your hand (chocolate for Patrick, vanilla for yourself.) on the table, looking around to see if you can spot the ruffled and messy brunette you adore, but no luck.

"where the fuck did he go..?" Art huffs, licking a strawberry icecream cone as he squints and circles around the bench for any signs of him, he doesnt seem to be doing a much better job than you are though..

Not even a second later, and there's a tap and you and Art's shoulders at the same time. so sudden it has you jolting upright and whirling your head around- Art's reaction is pretty much the same, whipping his head back and almost dropping his icecream.

Patrick stands in between you both with a big boyish grin on his face, an empty wallet, and a black and white bunny plushie in his right hand, a fluffy and tan puppy stuffie in his left. sure he lost loads of money, but seeing you two beam and hug him, squeezing him so tight her gasps for air? that's all he really needs. and you two both know it well enough. you gasp, the shock and adrenaline soothing as you feel the plushie in between your fingers, the fabric soft and the material plush. Art hugs both Patrick and his new stuffed animal at the same time, it's kinda childish, but you're all smiling wildly. Patrick is an idiot, he blew all his money but god. its impossible to stay mad at him when he has the stupid grin on his face that you just wanna kiss off. you love them both so much, really. its unbelievable. this fair is going to be one hell of a ride...

-xoxo, Ari <3

(soft patrick my beloved. boyish Artrick my beloved. ohmygosh this tool way too long with my unmotivated adhd ass I hope you enjoy anyway, lots on smoochies MWAH mwah mwah. tags: @swetearss)