thechaoticcherub - Tumblr blog

thechaoticcherub · 20 days ago

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In A Mood

Your old man fucks it outta you.

Tags - period sex, incest/dadcest, dubcon/light noncon, rough sex, finger fucking, forced orgasm, titty play, showering together, showing the dadbod some love, pms, dad!hopper, kinda dark. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS

A/N - enjoy, dadfuckers.

You’re pissed off as soon as you open your eyes, woken up by the TV in the living room. That awful, droning cheer, the sportscasters yapping away, and your dad clapping loudly. You were pissed off when you went to bed, too. Miserable, because you were hungry but nothing sounded good to eat, and it was fend for yourself night. Uncomfortable, because Dad still hasn’t replaced your mattress after breaking a few springs in yours. His bad, kiddo. He says you can just sleep in his bed.

You stretch before getting out of bed, frowning at the sight of your bloated tummy before heading out of your room. You’ll grab a quick snack and spend the rest of your day sleeping, but you’ll have to tack up some blankets over your window. Dad keeps saying he’ll put up your curtains but it’s been over a month since he finally remembered to pick up a rod and some screws from Menards, and only because you hounded him on the phone before he left work.

A part of you wishes he took you with. You miss being pushed around in those green carts, staring at your handsome old man as he walked you through the lighting sections. He’d flirt with the confused young women he’d find there, who were so charmed by him and you both. Him in those worn out flannels, you in your pigtails, sitting on his broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, your father. Jim fucking Hopper.

“There she is. Look who finally decided to show her face,” Dad drawls, craning his neck over his La-Z-Boy to get a look at you as you rifle through the refrigerator and ice box, frowning because your Eggo waffles are freezer burnt. “Was beginnin’ to forget what ya looked like. Good afternoon, sunshine.” Dad gets up from his chair and greets you with a hug and a kiss pressed against your temple, his graying beard scratching your face. You ignore him.

Jim cocks an eyebrow at your demeanor. So it’s gonna be that kind of day, huh? You must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Or maybe there’s more bullshit going on with those girls from work. Tracy…Jodie…Cindy…whatever their fuckin’ names are, he can never remember. He sets his coffee mug on the small countertop in front of his Mr. Coffee, then tops himself off. He loves this silly mug. You made it in your ceramics class sophomore year, and gave it to him for Christmas. Deny it all you like, but Jim thinks you love your daddy.

“What time’s your shift today, kid? Need a ride?”

You roll your eyes. You’ve told Dad a million and one fucking times that you’re off on Sundays. “Religious reasons” is what you told your manager. You’re a very devout…whatever it is you are.

Jim makes an exhausted face and sips on his coffee. Silent treatment again, he guesses. “What’m I in trouble for this time? Been actin’ on my best behavior.”

You look through the cabinets for a snack instead of answering, eyeing some Little Debbies that Dad absolutely should not be buying. You push a box to the side, eyeing a yellow one instead - Nutty Buddies, bingo. You gasp when you feel your father’s large palm on your ass, giving you a quick squeeze. “Hey. Asked ya somethin’.”

“I’m not in the mood, Dad.”

“Not in the mood for what? Talking? Acting like a human being?”

You turn your head and glare at your dad, threatening him with that same steely look he’s given to you all your life. And ironically, he’ll say you get that shit from your bitch of a mother. Nope. It’s all Jim Hopper, through and fucking through.

Jim thinks you’re at that special age all little girls go through where daddy becomes their least favorite person, their arch nemesis. Except, you’ve been at this age since about twelve or thirteen, so…quite a while now. And of course, he doesn’t help the matter much, what with his antagonism and brutish nature. But then, you don’t help much either. As much as you’d deny it, everything you are is everything he is, too. You’ve got a little too much of your daddy in you, sweet girl, and it gets you into trouble. There are times where you two can only stand to be in the same room together if you’re fucking, and that’s it.

When Jim sees you pull one of those Nutty Buddies out of the box, it all clicks, and he smiles in his crooked, knowing way,blue eyes sparkling. There’s a little spot of acne on your face, and your tits look a little fuller, a little heavier. And the irritability and the peanut butter cravings, well. Jim knows exactly what your deal is.

“Ahh, I get it. Boutta be that time of the month, huh,” Jim murmurs sympathetically, grabbing your snack and opening it up for you. He knows better than to steal one from you, even though the pack has two. “Daddy can help ya get it started. We could go take care of it real quick. Hm? My bed?”

You take your snack back from Dad, scowling at him and oh, if looks could fucking kill. “Ew. No, dad. That’s gross.” You shove past him and head right back to your bedroom.

Jim raises his eyebrows, takes another sip of his coffee, then sets the mug on the counter in a less than gentle way, sloshing coffee out of the sides. He spins around and walks to your door, then knocks against the wood a few times. “Open up,” he says. “I wasn’t askin’, kid.”

He’s never been the softest parent to you. Jim’s not big on three strikes or second chances. He raised you with his firm fucking hand spanking your backside, holding your jaw between your fingers as he lectured you about back talking, his breath hot on your face. And you can bitch and moan all you want, but Dad knows you’re better for it. Tough love and all that other shit, it rounds a person out.

Jim twists the door handle, but you’ve already locked it. He heads for his room and opens his sock drawer, grabs the key that opens your door. He twirls it around his finger as he knocks again. “No, Dad. Stop. I’m really not in the mood,” you argue, sighing as you hear Dad twist the key into your lock. He doesn’t give a shit.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Nobody’s in the mood. We’re getting it out of your system before we have a repeat of last month, huh?” He knows that if he doesn’t deal with this and fuck it out of your system, you’ll be a fucking peach. It’s halftime, and Dad’s not letting you ruin this game. He’s been looking forward to this one. Put a little money on it, too. And who knows, maybe if he wins something, he’ll take you out. Buy you those jeans you’ve been wanting.

The lock unclicks and Dad opens your door. He sees you pouting on your bed, arms crossed. He crosses his arms too, biceps bulging in his t-shirt. “Your choice. Wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?”

You bite your inner cheek and look out the window, staring at the overcast sky as you contemplate. No, you really don’t want to do this the hard way. You know if you split, Dad won’t hesitate to fuck you right where he catches you, whether people can see or not. Just like he never hesitated to pull your pants down and spank your ass when you’d act out, at a restaurant, or at the park behind a tree, where you’d return to your little friends with your face covered in tears because your daddy put you in your place.

“C’mon,” he says, shutting your door. “Clothes off. Let’s make it a good day, alright?”

“Okay,” you mumble, slowly taking off your shirt. Dad takes his off next, then unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans. The hair on his chest and thick belly has been getting grayer, you notice. It matches the hair on his head. What’s left of it, at least. You smile to yourself, but you know better than to make that joke right now.

Jim sighs in irritation at the way you hardly move. “Enough dawdling. Let’s go,” he says, tugging your shirt off the rest of the way, then reaching for your sleep shorts. He unties them and yanks them down your legs, tossing them into your overfilled basket of dirty laundry. “Yeah, there’s my pretty girl. Lie back, let me see.”

You lie down on your uncomfortable, squeaky old mattress, covering those most private parts of yourself. Dad pulls your hands away and promises that it’s okay, he’s seen it all before. He sucks on his middle finger, just the one, then brings it to your center. He hovers over you, his hand by your head, and draws that thick finger up and down your pretty, slippery folds. He circles it around the sensitive bud of your clit a couple of times, then gently pushes it into your wet hole, then pulls back. In and out, in and out. He’s gentle as he does it, working into a steadier, firmer pace. Jim sucks on his ring finger next, then inserts both into you, burying them down to the knuckle. “Doin’ good, kiddo?”

You shrug, stubborn as ever. Jim can only laugh, because if he doesn’t, he’ll fucking throttle you. He curls those fingers up toward your belly button, hitting that special spot only he can reach, and wouldja look at that - you’re moaning your daddy’s name, unable to help yourself as he makes you see stars on just his fingers. The same fingers that would comb through your hair and tie them into pigtails, until you decided you were old enough to do it yourself. Fingers that would double-knot the shoe laces of those pink Nike sneakers you begged Dad for in the fourth grade. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Daddy,” is all you can whimper. Jim doesn’t get to hear daddy much anymore. It’s always ‘Dad’ or ‘Daaaad’ or ‘old man’. Probably ‘asshole’ when he’s got his back turned, you fuckin’ punk. And he can only blame himself.

Jim pulls his fingers out of you and flips you on your stomach, then hikes your hips up. As you lie there, chest on the bed with your ass in the air, feeling that cool air against your pussy, Jim pulls his cock out of his jeans. He pushes the denim and his underwear down his thighs, then kicks them off to the side.

You look over your shoulder to watch as Dad spits into his hand and gives his length a few strokes, the blushed tip all sticky with his prejack. Jim takes your hips and maneuvers you a bit, spreads your legs a little wider. He drags his tip up and down through your wet, slick folds, then notches himself at your entrance, pushing into you with a deep, guttural groan. You squeak when he bottoms out and gives you a moment to get used to him, and he runs his hand through his hair, then through yours.

Jim pulls his hips back, then slides back into you, this time a little faster and a little harder. He repeats this until he’s built a steady pace, and even then he pushes you past your limit. He runs his warm, large hand over your side, then reaches for one of your swollen tits and gives it a firm squeeze. Poor thing. He can feel how fucking sore and stiff you are. “You’re really hurtin, huh?” he pants, snapping his hips against yours.

“Yeah, but - but you’re doing it too hard, Dad. I need you–”

“No can do, sweet pea. I gotta do it hard. Buck up, alright? You’re a tough girl.”

Jim moves you both until he’s got you almost prone on the bed, pressing his whole weight into you, his soft belly against your back. He cages you in with those big arms of his and fucks you hard and deep, grunting in your ear with one goal in mind. He knows you’re uncomfortable and tired and aching, but he’ll fix it, because that’s what dads do, right? He’ll get that bleed started, get you all sorted out, even if you cry a little when he ruts the head of his thick cock right up against your sore cervix. You gotta feel bad sometimes to feel good. It’s part of life, kid.

Jim pulls back and fucks into you with a few more deep, punishing thrusts, watching his cock leave your aching pussy each time, looking to see if it’s coated in blood yet. He thrusts into you a few more times, hushing your whines, and there it finally is. “Yeah, there we go. Attagirl.” Jim presses a kiss against your cheek and fucks you a little more gently now, rolling his hips in a kinder way.

“My sheets are gonna stain,” you whine. “You - fuck - you forgot a towel, Dad.”

“We have a washer, don’t we? Hey - don’t we?”

“Y-yes.”

“Exactly. So ease up.” Jim reaches under your body and finds your swollen clit, then begins rubbing it with his fingertips. “Why don’t you cum for me, hon.”

You shake your head. “Not in the mood,” you tell him. You don’t really want to give your dad the satisfaction right now. Or maybe…whatever. You don’t know. You’re in a funk, and that’s all there is to it. You’ll take it out on Dad like he takes it out on you. It’s all you’ve ever known, after all.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Enough with that mood shit.” Jim fucks you at a slightly different angle, making sure to hit your g-spot with every pass. He pulls the hood of your clit back and rubs you where it’s the most sensitive, bringing you closer to your release. He can fucking feel it, too. Obviously he can, you’re his daughter. He knows you like the back of his hand. And he knows exactly what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull - you’re going on strike, just as you’ve always done. Fucking brat.

But you know what? It’s gonna backfire. Just like when you went on your little hunger strike, refusing to swallow the peas that you thought were mushy and gross. Jim held your nose until you swallowed.

“I’ll keep you like this all fuckin’ day, kid. Let go and cum,” he says, spanking your ass cheek. “Now.”

Jim pulls out of you and quickly switches spots with you, then swings one of your legs over his torso. He guides his cock to your entrance and pulls you down forcefully, situating his fingertips right at your clit. And all he has to do is keep them there as he pounds into you from below. The momentum is enough.

There it fucking is. That’s the spot, what has you gasping as pleasure builds deep inside you, despite all of your efforts against it. You whimper and moan for Dad as it builds and builds and builds, eventually crashing over you as muscles contract and expand, your warm, wet pussy pulsating around your father’s thick cock. You couldn’t fake it if you tried, could you? And that’s exactly why Jim knows he never has to worry about you sneaking some punk-ass kid home. He’d never do it like your daddy does it.

You fall forward, your chest pressed against dad’s bare chest as he fucks you through it, Jim rubbing your back as you gush all over him. It’ll be fine. He’s used to the messes.

“You feel better?” he pants, still stroking your back as he rocks his hips. “Feel good?”

Your nod is enough of an answer for him. You wrap your arms around Jim’s neck as he pounds himself into you, groaning your name as he chases his orgasm, holding you flush against him. And that delicious pressure builds in his balls and his cock twitches and stiffens inside you, when his orgasm finally frees him. He rocks you through it, until the last of his cum is painting your insides. And it should be fine, honestly, but if it’s not…whatever. He can shell out the cash for a quick trip to Planned Parenthood.

“Fuck, sweetheart. C’mere.” Dad pulls you close and kisses your cheeks a couple of times, satisfied with how limp and relaxed you are. He’ll never be able to fuck the attitude out of you entirely, but he can get close. And this is good enough for him. “Let’s go hose off, alright? C’mon.”

Jim pats your ass and sends you off to the bathroom. He strips your bed and tosses the dirtied sheets and blankets into the wash, then joins you in the bathroom, where you’ve got the water running way too hot. He twists the shower knob and makes it a little cooler.

Jim reaches past you for a bar of soap, then wets it and lathers it between his hands. He turns you around and washes you behind the ears, then your neck and shoulders and back, then turns you around again to wash your torso. He washes you between your thighs, where your blood pools into his fingertips.

“Don’t look,” you mumble, embarrassed.

Jim laughs and rolls his eyes. “Are you shitting me? Your diapers were worse than this.”

“Dad, seriously. You’re so gross.”

“Uh huh.” Jim pulls washes you the rest of the way, then rinses you off. He quickly cleans himself next, then steps out of the shower and dries off, and he wraps a towel around his waist, belly bulging over the edge.

He opens the bathroom vanity and looks for a box of pads or tampons or something, but can’t find them. “Aw, shit. Are you out?” he yells over the running water.

“Uhh…yeah, I think so.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that when I went to the store? For fuck’s sake - okay, just stay there,” he says, leaving the bathroom. “Damn water bill isn’t high enough,” he adds under his breath. He’s gonna miss the second-half kickoff, too.

Jim dresses himself quickly and gets into his Chevy Blazer, then heads down the road for a Dollar General. He picks the first box of pads he sees, cigarettes for himself, and a nice big bag of Reese’s Pieces for you.

When Jim comes home, he tosses your pads into the bathroom, as well as some panties and one of his old t-shirts, softened by years of washing. After combing your wet hair back, you join Jim outside in the living room to complain. “You bought the wrong shit,” you grumble, holding up the box of shitty, off-brand, wingless pads.

“Mm. Can’t do anything right, can I?”

“Nope.”

You’re about to go back into your room when you hear Dad crinkling a bag. “Alright then. Guess I’ll eat these Reese’s Pieces all alone out here. Gonna get fat,” he says. “Fatter.”

You lean over Dad’s rocking chair and try to grab the candy, but he keeps it out of reach. “Nuh uh. Come sit down and pretend you love your old man f’ya want ‘em.”

“For how long.”

Oh, you. His fucking girl. “An hour,” he shoots back. “Can you give me one goddamn hour where you act like you like me?”

You can do an hour. You round the chair and sit on Dad’s lap, snuggling him close as you snack on candy with him, watching the Bears and Packers play, your head resting against his.

During the next commercial break, he asks who loves you. “Hm? Who loves ya?”

“Nobody.”

“Liar. Say it. I wanna hear you say it,” Jim teases, poking you, tickling you.

You concede with a begrudging smile on your face, “You do.”

“Mhm. S’right,” he says with a satisfied hum. “You gonna say it back?”

“Nope.”

And that’s fine, you don’t have to. He knows you do anyway.

If you enjoyed, please reblog/send an ask/tell me something good. Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write.

#tbr #jim hopper #fic rec

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