TINDER DATES, PATRICK ZWEIG.
summary: patrick zweig isn’t searching for a relationship, hell no. not when his tinder bio specifically said he wanted quick fucks and a place to sleep, sometimes. when he texts you, you block him (he’s a weirdo). so why do you end up being fingered by him in his shitty car?
cw: +18! mdni. fem!reader. kinda plot kinda not. fingering reader!receiving. tease patrick zweig. car scene.
notes: i wanted to try something with fem!reader so why not a smut blurb that i have no idea is good or not? hopefully i won’t just embarrass myself with this. it’s practically my first time posting something like that so sorry if it’s cringe or something… yep.
Patrick wasn’t searching for love; he wasn’t searching for the butterflies in his stomach nor for a wedding, a house and a dog. No, fuck no – he didn’t want a relationship, all the problems that came with it; commitment, responsibilities, doing stupid shit for someone else. Once again, fuck no.
Of course Patrick knew he could be crude and disgusting at times, was it really his fault? His Tinder profile said it all – quick fuck, he liked blowjobs, wouldn’t say no to semi-public and threesome? A dream. If people wanted something serious and long term, he wasn’t made for them.
He liked to fuck. It was a stress-reliever for Patrick, something he did to forget about his shitty life, about his shitty family, his shitty friends and obviously, his shitty-self. Fucking was human, anyway, right? At least, he was honest to people; because playing them wasn’t really his style. A simple hey, I’m not going to take you on any fucking dates, but I’ll fuck you in my car.
And it was enough for most people to understand how Patrick worked; they either liked his honestly or blocked him (he could care less, he’d find someone else to fuck, anyway).
You were one of those people at first; Patrick’s first hey, wanna fuck? :) text had made you cringe, and you had immediately blocked him – you wouldn’t be caught going out with that weirdo. But the more you looked at his profile, the more you thought why the hell not? He wasn’t ugly by any means, seemed a bit rugged but you could care less about that detail.
That’s how you ended up in his car; it smelled like sweat and weed in there, the windows rolled down in an empty parking lot at night. It was awkward because Patrick wasn’t one for discussion; there was nothing he could say to make the moment better, anyway. How was your day? He didn’t care. Cool shirt. Yeah, you already fucking knew that. I can’t wait to be inside you. Shut up.
“Have you ever done that in a car?” The sound of his voice broke the silence suddenly while one of his hands grabbed a bunch of shirts from the floor of the car to throw them in the back, unbothered. He readjusted himself in the driver seat, pulling on the fabric of his shorts at the crotch as if it was uncomfortable already. “There’s not that much space, hope you don’t mind.”
Because he was a cheap fuck and not even capable of booking an hotel room for the night – he didn’t care if you thought you deserved that. He had loved to see the grumpy look on your face when you got to his car, earlier; realizing it was it. He’d fuck you here. And the thought alone makes him smirk again, as he grabs a cigarette from an almost empty packet.
Patrick wished to be more than that sometimes; more than just a quick sex in a car, in a bathroom stall, in the dark alleyway of a pub at one in the morning. He wished to give more; to be allowed to express feelings without the fear of being abandoned (again), of being mocked for them (again), of being ignored (again).
So sex, it was; pain and pleasure, tears and screaming, like a fight with naked bodies. He knew that by heart now.
His hand not holding the stick cancer moves to your thigh, and your reflex is to open your legs for him. “Can I?” He asks and you nod your head at him. The silence in the car isn’t as awkward as it was before when his fingers brush over your inner-thigh, smoke of the cigarette hitting your face. You hold yourself from coughing. What an ass.
“I don’t think we can do much here, yeah? Bit tight.” He adds and you understand the sexual innuendo in his words, especially when he looks at your face like he wanted a reaction from you. The only one you can give him is a sharp inhale for air when his fingertips brush over the fabric of your underwear, just under the denim of your skirt.
They tease, they are warm, they are here and you can feel them. Patrick feels cocky already; you search for his touch and he’s not even started with you yet. He wonders how it’d feel to have you on top of him in that car, not caring for the lack of space; hitting your head on the roof while bouncing on him.
The thoughts alone are enough to feel the tent in his shorts, and he grunts.
Perhaps what Patrick prefers in this all is the anticipation of it, the thoughts running through his mind, the vivid images of naked bodies, what he could make someone feel for a while.
His attention goes back to you when he hears you groan, your legs shaking for more; you look at him like you’re about to murder him. “Sorry, sorry. Impatient, I see.” He teases again, before pushing your panties to the side with his fingers, making you gasp as the cold air hits your damp skin. Patrick almost wishes to capture your face at that moment.
At that point, he decides you’re more important than anything; even than his cigarette that he puts off in the ashtray of his shitty car. His body turns onto the driver seat and he almost hits himself in the ribcage with the steering wheel before finding a comfortable position. His eyes, wide of focus, stay on your face at all times; he doesn’t want to look away from you. He needs to drink your expressions.
“Fuck—” Patrick can hear coming from your lips as his fingers circles around your pussy; not yet touching the lips or your clit. He thinks teasing is better than the act itself, or maybe he just wants to see your eyebrows furrow and the pout of anger on your face when you scream at him to finger you, finally.
He can’t help but chuckle, grunting when his lower body moves which makes him realize how painful hard he is. But he’s too focused on you, so it doesn’t matter — nothing matters but the pleasure he can bring to you.
And when both his middle and ring fingers finally decide the teasing is over and brush along the slit of your pussy to part the lips, he can hear the trembling of your voice when you call his name. “Come on, don’t be an asshole.” He hears you say, and it makes him chuckle. His second hand moves between the headrest of your seat and your neck to support your head, and mostly to turn it in his direction.
“Look at me while I finger you, I wanna see your face.” He tells you, eyes to eyes.
The only noises in the shitty car are your loud breathing, Patrick’s fingers rubbing your wetness around, and the cracking of the seat as your hands hold onto the fabric. Is it leather? Nylon? Your thoughts are broken by the intrusion of Patrick’s finger inside you; the middle one first to let you adjust; and you gasp at the feeling, awkwardly shifting on the seat for a second. It’s cold.
You can feel his thumb from his other hand on your jaw, brushing the skin there – you never thought of Patrick to be so gentle. Like the Tinder bio said, he wanted quick fucks, in, out and go; not some kind of touches that made you question everything. At least he wasn’t the ass you thought he was.
“Can I add the other one? You good?” He asked you, eyes looking at your face for any indications that you wanted everything to stop; but he didn’t find anything. Your thighs actually closed onto his hand, hips rolling to feel his finger before he added the second one. A shiver ran through your body at that point; and your eyes looked to the window of his car, not fogged yet.
“Can you move? Your fingers are cold,” you said to him, looking at him like he had asked you to before, the words that had made butterflies hit the inside of your stomach. Patrick hummed at the words and you felt his fingers curl up inside you before they moved. His thumb found your bud of nerves and he brushed against it, wondering what kind of reactions he’d get from you. It was nothing but gentle, and you only whimpered his name like a demand.
Patrick seemed to understand as his fingers inside you brushed against the rough skin of your spot, and your body squirmed; his pace wasn’t that fast and you wondered if it was a way of him to tease or torture you. “That’s how you want it?” He asked you but no words could leave your mouth as he rubbed against that spot again, his thumb finally rubbing your clit.
“I guess I’ll do it however I want, yeah?” he added but your head only rolled against the headrest of the seat, your breathing labored. You could feel your thighs clenching around his hand, keeping him where it was warm, and Patrick smirked just at the action from you. “Just’a bit faster, please,” you finally told him.
And as much Patrick just wanted to be a dick and tease you again, you had asked so politely that he felt the obligation to give you what you want. His middle and ring fingers rolled in and out faster like you asked, making sure to brush onto the right spot while his thumb pressed slightly harder onto the bud of nerves. Your hands previously holding onto the seat moved away to grab Patrick’s wrist, your moans echoing inside his car to create a melody.
He decided at that moment the melody was probably the prettiest thing he had ever heard before.
His hand at your jaw moved to your hair, brushing the sweaty strands away from your forehead and he shushed you. “Don’t be so noisy, what if someone drives by and hears you?” He joked, but the words made you bite down on your lower lip. Patrick licked his lips. “No, don’t do that, I want to hear you.” And you listened, because you could at least give him that while he ignored his hard-on for you.
Little moans and whimpers of his name made Patrick pick up the pace again, the stimulation of your clit and his fingers inside you were making you feel dizzy; your hips rolling with the movements of his hand between your thighs.
“You’re doing so good.” He whispered to you like it was a secret, praises falling from his lips while he moved, and Patrick swore he had felt your walls tightening around his fingers at the words. “I’m close– Don’t stop,” you said to him, eyebrows furrowed to focus on the pleasure he was bringing to you. Knowing you felt that way because of him made a smirk appear on his cocky face.
His body shifted closer to yours, his free hand moved to your chin to turn your head to the side, just so he could look at you as you came on his fingers. Your voice was louder than it had been before, calling his name so sweetly that his fingers kept moving even when you were getting down from your high; which made your body squirm. One of your hands moved to his shirt and you tugged him closer, head falling on his shoulder.
Only a few seconds later, Patrick pulled his fingers from inside you; sticky with your essence. “That was good, uh?,” he asked, looking at you as he moved his middle and ring fingers to his lips, licking them clean while you blushed from the action.
Your legs felt heavy as they fully rested against the seat once more, and Patrick smiled at you. “I’ll book a room next time.” He said and you scoffed at him, shaking your head as you watched him search in the backseats for tissues so you could clean yourself up.
“Who said anything about the next time?”
