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zweiginator · 6 days ago

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that's kinda my very first request so I dunno how to be more specific but I'm seriously craving some dilf patrick

Divorced dilf!patrick with scruffy facial hair and he wears rugged outfits because he’s kind of given up on dating. He has the occasional hook-up; he’s a man with needs, after all. But it’s easier this way. He has a young daughter and he really doesn’t want to expose her to the trials and tribulations of a single yet dating father at such a young age, the constant coming and going of step-mother-like figures in her life.

Plus, Patrick’s ex wife made it clear that was unacceptable. She was willing to share equal custody if he agreed. Just keep it a secret—unless it’s serious.

Patrick is feeling lonely on an off weekend. His daughter is on a trip with her mother, and they had been traveling all day, so he never got his goodnight call. Maybe that made him sad and maybe that’s why he finds himself at a dingy dive bar full of girls in their twenties.

He is thirty-nine; not exceptionally old but he remembered the time where he would have been looped in with the younger crowd, on their side of the bar. Now, he’s in a weird middle zone—not old enough to sit with the grey-haired regulars, not young enough to feel at ease with the crowd not too far out of college.

So he sits by himself, the sleeves forest green flannel pushed up his strong forearms.

You gravitate towards men like him. When they hide their mouths with the rim of a beer glass. Sad eyes and emanating loneliness.

You tap on his shoulder. Patrick turns to face you and he immediately feels it—you are going to be trouble.

Tall boots and a tiny dress. It hugs your curves and your hair was just the right amount of messy. Glittery, youthful eyeshadow and pretty pink lip gloss. You asked to sit next to him. He answers by pulling the bar stool out for you, grabbing your hand to help you up.

The conversation flows easily; talks of your college education and your career plans. He remembers having that much ahead of him. The freedom before everything went to shit. He doesn’t regret having his daughter, but he feels sick with nostalgia talking to you, as if he knew you in a past life. Maybe you reminded him of someone.

You take him home.

“My roommates are asleep, so we’ll have to be quiet.” You warn, struggling to unzip your boots.

Patrick kneeldown and pulls the zipper down, helping you out of them. His touch is gentle, which is why it surprises you when you get to your bedroom and he’s burying your face into your pillow, yanking your panties to the side to slide his cock into you. Your dress is bunched around your waist and Patrick’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips before he’s pulling your ass back against him.

“Fuck me back.” He bends down, nibbling along your earlobe.

You grunt into your pillow, but that’s not good enough. He makes you look at him, before pushing his thumb into your mouth. You listen to him, rocking your hips back to fuck yourself on his cock.

The sound is lewd; his dick soaked with your arousal, the squeak of your cheap bed frame. Skin slapping against skin and the filthiest promises sworn into your ear as he flips you over.

His facial hair burns when he kisses you, his hand wrapped around your throat to keep you right where he wants you. He tastes like rum and coke and a tinge of beer. But somehow sweet, too. You wonder how often he does this when he sucks his fingers into his mouth and draws them down to your clit, rubbing you gently as he slows down his thrusts. The sharp staccato turns to languid movements, the feeling of every inch of him making you shudder, melting into him.

He says he’s going to cum, and that he wants to paint your face with it. You nod, but you feel sad and empathy when he pulls out. Maybe it’s against your better judgment, but you let him take a picture of your face, covered in his cum, his hand cupping your jaw.

He wants a memento of you. It seems inappropriate to ask for your phone number or to see you again. He feels like he ruins everything he touches and it seems unfair to be so reckless with such a pretty girl like you. So he’ll be selfish and keep your picture, nothing else.

#patrick zweig smut

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zweiginator · 6 days ago

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just wanted to let you know how glad I am that you're back!! I love reading through your blog ♡

Love you this makes me so happy & makes me excited to write for you guys🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷👩🏻‍💻

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zweiginator · 6 days ago

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I’m getting my first Pap smear tomorrow pls tell me it’s going to be ok and it’s not a big deal I actually freak out about any and all doctors appointments

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zweiginator · 6 days ago

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First day of school tomorrow im fucking livid

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zweiginator · 7 days ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/zweiginator/791909706043179008/okay-bear-with-me-because-i-fucking-suck-at

i need to kiss you and this anon wth BLESS YOU GUYS I LOVE YOU

That anon went crazy like they need to come back expeditiously

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zweiginator · 7 days ago

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My eyes are bursting out of my head and my tongue just rolled out of my mouth like a cartoon character

HEAR ME OUT!

okay but… HEAR ME OUT.

it’s church camp. you’re a counselor. patrick is also a counselor. the week is full of tension—he’s quiet and broody (you’ve caught him smoking cigarettes on the crack of dawn like he’s allowed to), you’re too sunshiney for your own good, and you keep catching each other looking.

you two giving your campers a talk about purity, temptation, abstinence being the greatest gift. they’re all nodding. taking notes.

and then?

that night?

he knocks on your cabin door. you let him in.

and you end up fucking like the devil’s watching.

like “I shouldn’t be doing this” while he’s sliding your purity ring down your finger.

you just slip out an “oh my god— jesus—“ and he goes “say my name, not His” as he pushes deeper.

just… unholy, sweaty, shameful. 🙂‍↕️

I started moaning and whimpering and shaking… it’s so serious

anyways. TW for blasphemy, religious corruption, mild coercion, etc.

He just thinks you look so sweet in your knee length jean skirt and a white polo embroidered with the camp logo. A gold cross around your neck, nothing but a sheer top coat on your short nails, so the eye is immediately drawn to the golden purity ring nestled beneath the knuckle of your ring finger.

You’ve been a counselor for a few years now, which is why you’re partnered with Patrick. He was recommended by Mrs. Donaldson, the sweetest old lady in your church's congregation, or, at least, he claimed to have been. With her seal of approval, no one really thought to question Patrick’s devotion. Sometimes it seemed like he was just mouthing along to whatever prayer or song you were all singing. He never wanted to give the campers his testimony, and would just tack on a weak, ‘yeah, what she said’ to any of your discussions with the campers. Maybe he was shy, maybe he was nervous.

You feel his eyes on you as you talk about the dire importance of abstinence. Your body is god’s temple, your body is made to share only with the person you marry, practicing self control is another way to show your faith and trust in god’s plan… He wondered if you really believed all of that. When you look back at him and bite your lip at the tiniest grin he shoots your way, he knows you don’t, at least, not that much.

When you open the door to your cabin that night, you’re wearing a thin little nightgown and your jewelry. It’s a little adorable that you wear your cross and purity ring to sleep, like it's there to ward off those sinful feelings that you surely get when you're all alone in bed. He smells like cigarettes and cologne, and he’s holding a copy of the Bible in his hands.

“Bible study?” He asks, as casually as anything. As if he wouldn’t burst into flames the very second he tried to read one line of scripture. But you don’t know that, or you don’t want to confront it, at the very least.

You shouldn’t invite him in, especially when he sits on your bed and his thigh presses against yours. It's a shamefully tiny amount of time before the bible is forgotten, thrown aside to nestle in your blankets as he leans in to kiss over the pretty gold chain around your throat.

When you squirm, he rubs your thigh, fingers dipping beneath your little nightgown. “It’s fine,” he insists. “God’s got more important things to worry about right now.”

You stammer as he sucks on your throat. You’d have to wear your collar popped like a total idiot to cover any marks tomorrow. “God c-cares about all of us,” you insist. You try to scan your mind for a bible verse to ward him off, to ward these desires off… but you come up blank. “No sin is worse than another."

"You don't believe that, do you?" He asks. The question is punctuated with a nip to your earlobe that makes you shiver and gasp.

No. You don't believe that. Did you ever? There's war, and disease, and corruption, and murder, and God's going to hate you forever because you let a boy touch you? That didn't seem fair at all.

So you shake your head, just a little, but it's enough to give him the all-clear. His large hand moves up your thigh, and you moan soft and low as his finger traces the seam of your cunt through the cotton.

"Holy shit, you're already wet, huh?" He murmurs into your throat. Heat floods your cheek. He says it like praise, but it feels like condemnation. His thumb presses against your clit and rubs, and those thoughts of wrongness flutter right out of your head. "What happened to waiting? God's plan?"

He tugs your panties to the side and touches you properly, and you feel certain that this is God's plan. His touch feels like worship, like his true religion is found between your legs. One thick finger teases over your slick entrance, tracing the quivering muscles there.

He looks at you and grins as he slowly sinks his finger in, swearing under his breath at the way your walls squeeze around him. "You ever done this before?" Before you can even manage a shake of your head, he grins and answers his own question. "No, of course you haven't. You're really fucking tight. My finger feels so big inside your tight little pussy, doesn't it?"

Heat floods your cheeks at his casual obscenity, something you hadn’t heard from him before. He’d been doing such a good job of playing his role— well, not necessarily a good job, but a passably believable one. He crooks his finger and rubs hard against a soft, gummy spot and it makes a desperate little whine fall past your lips.

“You ever do this yourself?” He asks, the words mumbled against the soft slope of your throat. You shake your head quickly, as if the very idea that you might touch yourself is a sin. “No? You really are god’s favorite little angel, huh?” Heat blooms in your stomach as he rubs over your clit again, right as he presses a second fingertip to your tight entrance. The sting of that initial stretch makes a well of tears spring in your eyes, glistening like silver on your bottom lashes.

He goes slow, stretching you for him, giving you time to accommodate him. When, finally, he's able to fit two fingers in up to his knuckles, he gives you a smile that makes your heart pound. A flash of dimples, a smugness that makes your body flip between arousal and embarrassment. "Atta girl."

He works you open on his fingers, until each pump of his fingers deeper, harder makes your cunt squelch obscenely. He's slick down to his wrist, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, and he has to hold his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans and cries as you squeeze around his fingers. Your eyes flutter, rolling back to show the whites of them as he works you through it.

He sucks the taste of you off of his fingers, and you feel so warm all over that you can't hardly stand it. Your core still throbs with aftershocks, and a shocking amount of need that you'd never felt before. A dull, present ache of wanting more, of feeling empty.

"C'mon," Patrick goads. "Ask for it."

Your throat bobs as you meet his gaze. He takes your hand and moves it into his lap. Your breath catches as you feel the hard length of him, straining against his jeans. He groans when your hand presses against him, and bucks into your touch.

"Will it hurt?" You whisper, meeting his eyes. "When... In movies and stuff it usually hurts, right?"

His brows pinch together as he guides your hand to slowly stroke him through the denim. "No, you'll be fine," he insists. "You're soaked, angel. It'll feel just as good as my fingers did. Just a little stretch, just like before."

Just a little stretch. You chew on your lip, feeling the size of him beneath your palm. Even through his clothes, you know he'll be big. With his hand over yours, you know two of his fingers isn't quite the same.

But you also know you can't exactly resist.

"Okay," you whisper. "I want it."

"It?" He asks, the words mumbled against your jaw.

You swallow, cheeks burning. "Sex," you murmur, and the word itself feels sinful on your tongue.

It doesn't take long for him to strip you of your nightgown. He palms at your exposed breasts, kissing over soft, virgin skin. You lay back on your tiny twin sized bed and watch him strip out of his clothes, marveling at each new piece of his body revealed— a toned stomach dusted in hair, his strong legs corded with muscle, the trail of dark hair dipping beneath his boxers. And then he's naked, and you're faced with the thick, throbbing length of him as he pumps himself in his hands.

He seems to revel in your attention, slowing down each stroke so you catch every single movement. "I'll make it good for you," he insists. "Just gotta relax for me." He reaches down and spreads your thighs apart to accommodate his body.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he begins to push in. Just a little stretch was a mild way of putting it. You whimper as his cock sinks in, stretching and forcing its way past your tight entrance. He groans as your walls grip around him, making it hard for him to move.

But he manages it— sinking deeper into your soaking pussy, fighting the urge to just drive in and in and in. When he's finally sheathed within you he's flushed and panting with restraint.

"Gonna move," he says, a quick warning. It's the best he can do when you're squeezing him so tight.

It doesn't hurt. You figured it would be painful and bad, like it was god's punishment for being so lustful. It feels strange, then it feels good. You gasp with each drag of his cock against your walls, moaning softly as the coarse hair at the base of him rubs against your clit.

"Oh, god—" you gasp as he grinds deeper, rutting against a sweet spot inside of you that makes heat bloom in your tummy. Patrick grins and moves his fingers between your thighs, rubbing at your clit to provide direct friction. “Oh, Jesus—“

He clicks his tongue and grins. “Not my name.” He takes your left hand in his, bringing your fingers to his lips. He sucks your ring finger into his mouth and eases the ring off with his tongue. When he looks down at you, holding the ring between his teeth, it sends you right over the edge.

It’s too much for him— he’s fucked virgins before, or, at least, they had said they were, but none of them were as tight as you were. Squeezing around him, walls fluttering as you come. He pulls out and paints your cunt with ropes of come, panting and groaning.

When he finally collapses on top of you, smearing both of your fluids between your thighs, he spits the ring onto the pillow. “See? That was good, right?”

You nod, reaching over to palm the weight of the silver pendant hanging onto your chest. A furrow forms in your brows as you trace the shape. You’d been expecting a cross not…

“Is that a Star of David?” You question, eyes narrowed. “I thought you were just blasphemous, but you’re not even a Christian?”

Patrick shrugs, glancing down at the pendant hanging between you. “It’s the same god, technically. It’s fine.“

#CAT OMGGGGHGG

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zweiginator · 8 days ago

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What about patrick watching reader use a toy on her clit, watching the rabbit ears slide along the sides of her hood and labia, her pussy glistening with thick slick hes trying so desperately to not sink his fingers into, its calling to him

Thinking about patrick massaging and teasing and keeping all his attention on her sweet little clit...sliding his fingers up and down the sides of her lips.. maybe using a toy occasionally for fun.. just working on her for hours

having a lil bet to see how long you can go without touching each other. and first it was easy; the stakes were low. it was just doe eyes and shorter skirts, patrick shirtless more often then he usually would be.

but now, it was too much for either of you to handle; you are both competitive and stubborn and three weeks is a really long time for this to go on.

you’ve watched each other change, and neither of you budged. then patrick took a shower while you got ready to go out with your friends, his eyes not leaving yours as he stroked his cock, steam billowing out from the gaps in the glass door.

you just huffed and looked away—out of sight, out of mind. there were so many times your lips almost brushed and you both called it a tie but now it’s been too long and someone needs to win. you might as well.

he was out for a long time, drinking with his friends. so maybe you’d accidentally be caught using your vibrator when he got home.

you practically bolt to get it out of your bedside table as he comes home, pulling his T-shirt over your head and pulling your panties to the side.

you started out slow, fixing your eyes on the door. You heard him stumbling towards it. and he may have been tipsy, but fuck—the sight of you made him sober up.

“oh fuck you.” Patrick sets his beer down on your dresser, watching how you tease your clit with the little rabbit vibrator he bought for you.

“fuck,” you throw your head back, wanting to clasp your legs together as your orgasm gets closer, but you keep them open, letting your boyfriend see how wet you are, how your arousal seeps through your shared sheets.

he all but dives for you.

“you know I hate losing.”

“I just wanna feel you—fuck—your fingers, anything.” you do your best to give him your best doe eyes, along with a wobbly lip.

he wants to suck your nipple into his mouth, he wants to lick your pussy he wants to sink inside of you and never leave.

“come and get it, sweetheart.” Patrick steps out of his jeans; his briefs are tight, cock almost spilling out of the heather grey fabric.

you are devious by shaking your head and turning the vibrator up.

“n-no way. come here. just want to feel your hands on me. that will make me cum.”

Patrick pulls his cock out, letting a fat glob of his spit drop into his palm before he coats himself in it, sliding his hand up and down his shaft.

you whimper. you’re about to cum.

and then Patrick is close to you; he watches how your cunt convulses around nothing, and he comes up with a solution, taking the vibrator from your hand and using the toy on you. he moves it in soft circles, leaning over your body to watch how you writhe beneath him, pathetically.

and as you cum, your hips buck up, and you pull on Patrick’s shirt collar to kiss him.

He smiles against your mouth. “so I win.”

#patrick zweig smut

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