pairing : patrick zweig x catholic reader
summary : patrick is disgusted with himself that he finds a christian prude like you so attractive. luckily, you’re not that hard to break
warnings : NSFW 18+, i am not responsible for your media consumption, religious trauma and religious themes, loss of virginity mentioned multiple times, masturbation (m), dry humping, no use of y/n, baby used 3x, umm not proffered sorry :3
would be pretty rad if u reblogged btw
Patrick wanted you. No, he’d say he needed you. Almost as much as he needed to wreck you so badly that your pretty lips would never speak of the church again.
That you’d never enter another service with those flowy dresses that still manage to drive him crazy because he knows what you’re trying to hide underneath them. That you’d never again put a hand on his chest when you two are kissing all sloppy, hot air and breathing too hard in the summer heat, and pull back, hair tousled from his hands and pink lips all wet and your voice shaky just to say - “we can’t,” - and pull his hand that’d been slowly migrating to the waistband of your shorts.
Ever since his mom started forcing him to go to the services after fighting a guy at the academy, he thought it was all so fucking stupid. (Not the religion as much as the people because he didn’t focus too hard on the preacher after he found you.)
He thought all Christian girls were long dresses and purity rings and fucking prudes — and, you are, to an extent.
But it made it hotter for him. He saw you — sitting there on a bench nearby, listening intently with wide eyes like the preacher knew everything, hands folded obediently over your Bible.
Your long dress and the sliver of skin just above your ankle, the only visible part of your legs. He almost died on the spot. Of course, his dick thinks first and somehow that single piece of skin makes his dick twitch. In church. He’s going straight to hell.
But then, the shame. Thinking for one second a prude like you might be able to be attractive to him felt like a slap in the fucking face. Church girls are always too good for anybody. Always waiting for the right one. Saving themselves, or some bullshit like that.
That’s why he was so surprised when you agreed to a first date after a half assed proposal and a flashy smile. Then even more surprised when you took it upon yourself to arrange a second date, before the first one even ended.
And it’s an understatement to say Patrick’s fucking crazy for you.
The first few dates were almost five months ago now. Patrick would say he’s a relatively patient man, and he enjoys make outs just as much as the next guy. But there’s just so many “we shouldn’t”s he can take when he’s constantly that fucking hard around you. He feels like an animal. All the time. Patrick jerks off — obviously. He’s eighteen years old. And before you it was more than average. But now, just a quick kiss in his truck before Bible study and he’s speeding to get home and shove those panties he’d stolen from your hamper in his face. He can’t help himself. By now, all his girlfriends had given up something.
Even in 9th grade, his girlfriend of about 3 weeks was just itching to get his hand in her pants. And obviously he went with it.. but you’re different! You’re kind and gentle and sometimes you meow back to stray cats and he starts thinking that, ‘okay, maybe christian girls aren’t so bad’. But it just can’t be true. Because he fucking needs you, and you won’t give it to him. Nothing other than kissing and his hand gently groping you through your t-shirt before you giggle like it’s a joke and swat his hands away. It’s not a fucking joke.
He, honestly, has an endless list of what he wants to do with you. To you.
Because, honestly, it’s what he thought about the first time he saw you. And now it invades his mind. Constantly.
Like when he’s sprawled out on his bed late at night after not seeing you for a day or two and all he can think about is how fucking bad he wants you there right now. He teases himself for a while, running his fingers along his lower stomach and dipping into his waistband just to see how it feels like he imagines you will. He imagines your sweet voice and your pretty mouth and your shaky hands and the body he’s traced as much as you’ll allow, and then the body he hasn’t. He imagines how fucking perfect you’ll be when you finally give it up to him. On your back in his truck, in the sluttiest panties you could find in your underwear drawer. He imagines the way you’ll be strumming with excitement after being forbidden to even touch there for all eighteen years of your life. He imagines the way you’ll be soaked through your panties, the soft cotton sticking to you like a second skin before he peels them off and finally sees you.
He squeezes his dick the best he can through his sweats at how fucking tight you’ll be. About how you’ll feel different than all the girls he’s been with because even though some of them were also virgins — they weren’t you. They weren’t untouched, they weren’t completely dirtied by him. You are. The only person to have kissed you for so long or let you touch him wherever when you got too curious, even though you would never try below the belt.
He thinks about what your virgin pussy would feel like. Gushing all over him and squeezing him tighter than his fist ever could. Pulsing and throbbing around him. Leaning down and kissing your tears away as you get used to his stretch. Permanently ruining your perfect body.
He gets off on that. His breathing picks up, forcing his freehand over his mouth as his hips jerk up into his hand, no matter the two layers of fabric separating him. He comes like that, whining into his palm and squeezing his length through his sweats, feeling his body tremble and release into his boxers.
He has a lot of fantasies about you. More than he should, probably. Definitely more than the girls he’s been with.
You told your dad you’re going to hang with a girl friend of yours and instead sit in Patrick’s truck on some dirt road outside town, slowly navigating to the backseat after some talking. Dragging your mouth along his as you plant yourself in his lap. Catching his bottom lip between yours so lewdly he groans into your mouth.
“Mm,” he hums into your mouth, moving to kiss down your jaw. “Can’t wait til you finally let me fuck you.” You whine softly, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. “Bet you’re tight as fuck.”
It gets heated enough that you start touching him, letting your hands roam places of him he thought you might never lay hands on. It’s not a lot to anybody else, but the feeling of your soft hands touching him over his shirt after so many months of your hands in his hair and on his face, it might be the best fucking thing he’s ever felt. Your hands drift a little too low, grazing his waistband just enough that it gives him an extra heartbeat in his dick, beating unsteadily against the seam of his jeans.
“Fuck,” he hisses, head tipping back against the seat, his hands on your hips loosening involuntarily. He lets out a little frustrated whine that makes your stomach flip. “Don’t go too — too low.” He mumbles, gripping your hips tightly again as he catches himself slipping.
“Why?” You hum, sliding your hands back up, then back down. You’re curious, who can blame you? You’ve been shielded from anything borderline sexual and the entirety of the male anatomy since you were a baby. Now here sits your boyfriend — all flushed and needy and whining, apparently.
He scoffs, glaring at you like he’s mad. He’s definitely not mad. “You know why,” His breath hitches when a thumb peaks into his waistband. He groans your name softly, hips shifting.
You pause for actions. This.. is definitely sinful. Making out was pushing it, of course — but this is really pushing it. You notice your hands are shaky where they aren’t firmly pressed against him and your heart is achy feeling.
You push a few more fingers into his waistband, feeling the hot skin under his jeans. “Jus’.. wanna see.”
“Yeah?” He nods senselessly, running his hands down your sides to grip your ass. “You wanna see?”
You meet his eyes. His chest is heaving and his eyes are wide like you know everything. He huffs again and glances down at his lap, your hand still in his waistband. “M’ so fucking hard right now.”
You can’t find it in yourself to pull away. He’s so wanting and he looks so fucking good with his brows furrowed like he’s in pain, lips parted, sweat growing on his hairline with the heat swirling around you in his stuffy truck.
“Okay,” you breathe. You’re going to have to pray for this later. “Show me.”
He catches your eyes again, his head tipped back slightly against the headrest. He slowly reaches for your hand, taking your wrist in his big hand and guiding it lower.. then even lower. Til you feel something firm and throbbing under your palm through the fabric of his jeans. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something you’ll regret and have to pray away.
He keens and spreads his legs even wider when you press the heel of your hand into him. His breath picks up instantly. “Shit. Can — let me take them off, baby. Please. Then no more.”
You glance up at his face. His green eyes seem dimmer than usual, eyes half lidded. He looks.. sexy. You never thought you’d use that word.
You nod without thinking, retracting your hands to let him take them off. He reaches down quickly, pulling his shirt up to give him room, pinning the fabric between his torso and his arm, then reaching down to unbuckle his jeans.
You let your eyes roam what you can see already. Dark, coarse hair growing down and disappearing into his jeans. It makes your stomach flip in a way you can only describe as primal. There’s a V shaped line parallel on each side of his lower stomach. It feels like opening a present, to you, the way his body is so effortlessly beautiful. God is funny that way.
Patrick finally shoves the jeans past his hips, belt jingling as he tries to settle into the seat behind him. He’s got these gray boxer shorts on that have a little wet patch on the front.
Now, you’ve never seen this before. Excluding the covers of Playboy magazines in the gas station which you promptly avoid. But he looks big to you. He’s got the cotton stretching around him, pulled taut. It’s definitely bad how you wanna pull them down, too.
His hands coming to rest on your thighs, rubbing them. You notice he’s breathing harder. “..well?” He huffs. You can tell he’s trying to break the tension but it seems impossible when your first real life dick is one very thin fabric away from your real life hands.
You glance up at him. He’s beginning to form beads of sweat along his hairline, dark curly baby hairs sticking to his forehead. There’s a faint pink along his cheeks and nose, underneath the freckles painting his face, then some pink on the tips of his ears too. You’d like to lick the sweat off him. Oh. That’s not a good thought.
You can feel dampness start to pool in your panties, your thighs clenching together as he stays tense. You shift on his lap, swallowing and trying to not make a big deal out of how you can literally feel your pussy throbbing over a real life boy. Not a TV scene of a heated make out from your favorite rom-com.
In this moment, you cannot seem to fathom why God would make Patrick so incredibly teasing. Or why he would make your paths cross if he knows it would lead to this.
You swallow, hands resting on your thighs. “..should we..?”
His eyebrows furrow for just a moment before he seems to get what you mean, nodding vigorously. “Yeah. You want me to take ‘em off?”
You hesitate for a moment, an uneasy kind of feeling in your stomach. But there’s a much more intense, hot feeling between your legs. One outweighs the other and you nod.
He reaches down, watching your face. Because in some strange way he wants to make sure you’re still okay with this, even as hard as he is right now. It wouldn’t be the first time he went home with blue balls.
It’s terribly slow how he peels his boxers off. Slowly, more and more hair gets revealed until — the real thing comes out. It’s a little bit more strange looking than you imagined, but it still makes your stomach flip.
His dick comes out of his boxers, springing up fast before it slaps against his stomach. Your first thought is he’s huge. You haven’t seen any before, but he feels big. And it looks kind of heavy and it’s got those big, weird, thick veins running up it. He’s leaking from his pink tip and the dark hair curling all around it makes it much hotter to you.
“Oh god,” you mumble, breathing harder. You’ve suddenly forgotten all about youth group and your pastor preaching of the deadly sin that will corrupt your innocent, youthful body. Lust. It felt like he was really speaking at you, specifically. After a night with Patrick, and you feel like you two didn’t do anything unforgivable or anything — but the thoughts you have about him definitely are. The positions you imagine yourself in. The way he’d sound and the way he’d look when he finally sinks into your pussy and fills you.
“Baby,” Patrick mumbles, chuckling a little. It’s a laugh, sure, but he seems a little stressed out at the lack of attention to his dick. He gently rubs the sides of your thighs. “It’s not gonna bite you. You wanna touch it? Just to try?”
You look back up at his face. His brows are furrowed, a smile tugging at his mouth. You look back down. It’s.. kicking. You didn’t know it could do that.
“So.. just grab it,” you mumble, reaching out. You wrap an unsteady, nervous hand around him. Just the top, to see what it does. You can feel your heart beating hard in your chest.
But almost immediately, his lips part. His smile fades and he lets out a little sigh, suddenly a lot more breathy than usual. His head tips back against the headrest and he lets out a little ‘yeah’. That must be good.
You glide your hand down. It’s easy considering how wet he is all over. You glide your hand back up, back down. Patrick just grips your thighs tighter and groans a little louder. The sound makes you wanna hear more.
“Squeeze — squeeze me a little. Need pressure.” He mumbles, opening his eyes to look at you. He thinks you look incredibly pretty with his dick in your hand.
And you do as he says. You squeeze him a little, focus more on the top than anywhere else, since it seems like he enjoys that spot more.
“Fuck,” he whines. “That’s good. Yeah.”
In any other situation, with any other girl, Patrick might’ve fixed it. How bad your handjob is. He might’ve adjusted her grip or throw her off his lap and asked her why all the practice she’s had with other guys is fucking useless.
But he doesn’t. Because it’s so bad in a way that it’s good. That it’s hot. Because it’s you. Because you have never, in your entire life, have been this close to a cock and your inexperience is making his dick kick in your palm. The idea of ruining you, of this being the start of that, is making him so fucking hard.
You just focus on his face. The way his eyebrows are furrowed all pretty and he’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His chest is heaving and he’s making these little muffled sounds that you’ve never heard him make before, but they sound perfect.
You’ve never heard him before. Not like this. Nothing more than a little grunt or a sigh when you’re kissing. Not full on moans and whimpers. It’s nice.
It’s weird to think about how you shouldn’t be doing this. Because it makes you feel guilty, of course. You’re ruining yourself, making a mess of the church and God will have to forgive you for this. But, at the same time, you feel.. empowered. Like a child sneaking off with a stolen candy bar, or something. The giddiness of doing something so forbidden you get shamed to even think about. It’s making between your legs feel all warm and needy.
He’s got his eyes on yours. Watching the way you’re breathing through your mouth, too, and the way you blink at every new sound that slips out of him. Watching the way your eyes are all nice and wide and innocent like he’s god himself.
He reaches up, threads his fingers into your hair, and shoves your mouths together. He swallows down the surprised sound you make, kisses you until you melt into it, and pushes his hips up into your now paused hand. He groans softly into your mouth, licking into it and feeling you shiver like you always do. His hands slide up your back to feel the overheating skin. You feel him everywhere, all over — it’s overwhelming but at the same time, the best thing you think you’ve ever felt.
You break away to breathe, kissing down his jaw.
This is the farthest you’ve ever gone. I mean, you have his bare dick in your hands. That’s no light feat for you. He doesn’t want to let this moment go where you’re all needy and wanting and pliable — to go to waste? No. He can’t let that happen.
“Baby,” he huffs, rubbing your thighs now. You hum against his neck, shifting on his lap. “Do you want — do you want me to try..”
You glance up from where his shoulder and neck meet. He is horny. Obviously. And even with how bad he does want to be inside you right now — he also doesn’t wanna fuck this up forever. Who knows how you’ll react. Saying he wants to fuck you versus actually trying is much different. Catholic girls are unreliable, dodgy prudes, as we know.
“Do you want me to touch you? Too?” He mumbles, chest heaving. His dick still standing at attention as you slowly work him with your hand, but coming to a halt at his base as you work over that question in your mind.
“Okay,” you breathe before you can even think.
He reaches out slowly. He doesn’t go underneath any clothes yet, but cups your clothed pussy. It’s obscene to him how hot you are down here.
You let out a soft gasp, gently rutting your hips against his palm once with a shiver. It feels to him like you’re holding back, trying to contain yourself. He smiles a little and presses his palm onto your clit, smile growing at the soft whine you let out.
“You touched here before?” He mumbles, gently rocking his hand against you.
Does he have to say these things? Ugh. “..a few times,” you glance away.
He doesn’t wanna overwhelm you, of course not! But he can’t stand the idea of you not knowing how good he can make you feel. Or the idea of himself not fucking a Christian virgin. It would be a waste.
“C’mon,” he mumbles, sliding his hand up to the buttons of your jean shorts. “You’re all wet. Lemme take care of you.”
Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest like a cartoon. You catch his eyes. This isn’t really what the preacher said it would be like. It isn’t what you said it’d be like when you vowed to be abstinent until marriage. The preacher made it seem like it was disgusting and vile. Like lust was a deceiving, cunning, inhuman thing, or you should be ashamed for wanting something like that. Something gross and intimate and sexual — something you should only share with your future husband.
But it doesn’t feel like that to you. It feels natural.
When you kiss Patrick, it’s not like you have to tell yourself what to do. It doesn’t feel like the devil when you’re mouthing at his jaw and pretending to be shifting in his lap to hear that needy little moan he always lets slip. It feels almost like the opposite. Like God put you two on his earth together to make each other happy, to please each other. You like that thought.
You move around to peel them off until they’re laying on the floor somewhere.
God, you’re beautiful. You’re wearing these pretty white panties that have a little bow on the front. Patrick has to look away when he sees how fucking wet you are — your panties are soaked all the way through, just liked he’s imagined, see through so he can see your perfect pussy he’s been fantasizing about for months.
“God.” He groans, raw, rough. It takes him a few seconds to focus back on you again. He slowly reaches out, lets his fingers glide against your damp panties, feeling the overwhelming heat coming from you.
You let out a little gasp, brows furrowing slightly. This feels much different when the hard seam of your jeans digs into you on a bumpy road. That feels good, too, but this definitely feels better. A lot better.
You’d only touched yourself purposefully a handful of times but tried to stay away from that. No matter how good it felt. You knew it was a sin, a horrible one at that, to surrender to your flesh’s wants instead of obeying God’s word. So why aren’t you pulling away now?
“Holy shit,” he whispers, gently finding your clit through the fabric and rubbing small, soft circles.
You let out a breath, chest heaving. You find you want more. A lot more. Your hips roll forward, into his hand, and he applies more pressure happily.
You know you shouldn’t be doing this. At all. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your hands leaving Patrick’s forgotten cock to grip onto his shoulders instead, using him as leverage to get off easier.
Patrick is in fucking heaven. He’d dreamt of this for a very, very, very long time (only a couple months, actually, but that’s an eternity with his sex drive). His mouth is open, huffing and studying your face with his eyes to make sure you’re still enjoying what he’s doing. This is great. But his real heaven would maybe be having your pretty mouth on his dick, watching your beautiful eyes water and you gag around his fat cock, having never done that before.
Shit. Maybe he’ll get you to do that next time. On the knees you’ve only ever prayed to your God on before.
“Hold on,” he hums softly, putting his freehand on your hips to stall you. You groan softly, hips slowing gradually and he smiles a little at your reluctance. “We can — we could do it at the same time.”
You nod and reach down to his dick again, but he laughs, shakes his head, and grabs your hand gently. “No, baby, I mean..” He takes your hips in both his hands, lowering you down til you’re sitting on his dick, perched between his thighs.
You can feel his rock hard outline underneath you, pushing apart your pussy lips through your soaked panties and nestling deeper inside you, where it’s more sensitive. You gasp softly, hips already rocking to their own accord.
He swallows and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding. “Yeah.. and jus’ move.”
So you do. You can feel every ridge on him, every vein pulsating with need underneath you. His voice is low like you’ve never heard it before. “There you go, baby. Yeah. That’s good.”
You catch his eyes. Locked onto your face, like they have been all this time, rolling your needy sexes against each other in a way other teenagers your age wouldn’t blink twice for. But it’s different for you, much different. He knows that. He can see the sparkling cross hanging above your shirt right now, actually.
You don’t stop him as he pushes up your shirt, over your bra, and traces your torso with his big, rough hands. He’s all over, unlike in a way you’ve ever had him, overwhelming and hot and humid.
“So pretty, baby. D’you feel good?” He huffs, brows furrowing as you keep moving over his dick. Patrick actually doesn’t enjoy dry humping that much, it usually gives him some awful sensitivity on his dick and he enjoys the real thing much more. But this is you. You’re all wet and warm and slippery wearing your cute panties, and he’ll take what he can get. He won’t say it doesn’t feel good. It feels great with you. Maybe he just wasn’t into those other girls all that much.
It’s only now you notice the small sounds you keep making, rolling your hips all the way back to grind his length along your swollen clit — breath hitching when his tip catches between you. “Yeah.” You breathe, nodding intensely.
“Fuck.” He whines, grabbing at the your tits through your bra. He’d love to take it off.. but he won’t let himself ruin all of you in one night.
Sparks of heat flood your lower body, pussy throbbing with need as you try to push yourself lower, harder against him. His head tips back and hits the glass behind him with a soft thud. He just lets you rut against him, using his dick to get yourself off. His hands fall to your hips, just letting you take the reins.
Pressure is building quickly in your core. You’re louder, now, and so is he, groaning into the hot air like you’re both in heat. You move your hips faster, chasing that sweet release you’ve never felt before, letting it overwhelm your body and senses. Letting your hands dig into his shoulder, rutting against him like an animal.
You can tell it’s happening for him, too. His fingers jabbing into your sides and hips and ass to keep you moving. His hips beginning to thrust up below you as his breath quickens, whispering soft little praises meant just for you into the air that make you throb. “That’s so fucking good,” He mumbles, breathy, eyes locked on your soaked panties. His eyelids are heavy like he’s struggling to stay awake. “Keep going baby. Gonna make me come.”
His words make your stomach flip. It’s a little bit crazy to you (and him) how fast you went from this innocent, cross necklace wearing, Bible thumping prude to… whatever this is. Humping his dick to get off like a fucking dog. He likes the fact he can make you do that. Make you wanna take off your long skirt and dresses so he can get his hands all over where you haven’t even touched before.
It happens suddenly, when you’re focused on his face, and itching up on something you can’t name but feels fucking amazing. Your hips still and then jerk, him bumping into your puffy clit as you come. It washes over like a wave, intense explosive pleasure that washes over your whole body and leaves your pussy throbbing with need after.
He seems to do it too at the same time because he lets out this amazing sound almost right after you, cursing your name and shoving his hips up into your sticky panties.
You stay like that for a moment, a little startled by the sudden cum all over you, but overall relaxed. You let your hands drop from his shoulders and rest your head against his chest. His hands slip underneath your shirt on your back, feeling the overheated skin there. His breath is hot against your shoulder as he catches his breath.
That’s all I’m writing I’m done bro.
