konstanz-69

[konstanz-69]

Call me sappy but. Affirmations while he’s dicking you down. Him holding you softly, tenderly, while he whispers the reasons he loves you in your ears. Him telling you that he adores you, that he loves you, that there will be no one else for him. Him telling you that you’re so beautiful, you’re perfect, while his hands dig into your hips, pulling you back into each and every one of his thrusts. He fucks you deep and hard— like he’s trying to pound the very evidence of his devotion to you into your body, so you never doubt it again.

[konstanz-69]

that look-

[konstanz-69]

nothing is hotter than someone who's reallllyyy into eating pussy. licking and sucking and kissing because it turns them on to taste you and get you alllll over their face

[konstanz-69]

thinking about dry humping joel miller. the man loves feeling the way you sway your hips on his bulge, sometimes, you try to not make it obvious, just you cuddling on the couch, but there's nothing you can hide from him, he can feel your hips wiggling on him, the man lets you hop on his bulge, loves hearing the way you moan his name, and before you know it, he's the one guiding you, holding your hips, squeezing your ass, pushing it tighter to his bulge. and every time, you make him cream his boxers.

[konstanz-69]

PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos (2015-2017) 1.06 "Explosivos"

[konstanz-69]

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.

[konstanz-69]

Sad little wet stray puppy who needs to be taken in and cared for <3

[konstanz-69]

three scenes that changed my life.

[konstanz-69]

master of puppy dog eyes fr

[konstanz-69]

consensually roofieing roman

"You're a pervert," Roman says gently. He smirks at you, but it's a little looser than normal. That twinkle hasn't left his eyes yet, his crow's feet crinkling in the way they only do when he's truly enjoying something. "Deviant. Fuckin'... mmm. Rapist."

"You wish," you say tenderly, kissing the tip of his nose.

"Isn't that... it's - it's true," he insists, taking a breath to gather his thoughts through the incoming fog. He closes his eyes a moment before refocusing on you, his cock visibly pulsing under his slacks as you ease them slowly down, his underwear with them. He clumsily lifts his ass to help you pull the clothes down his slim, toned thighs. "Who knows what kind of depraved... fuckin'. Shit you're gunna do to me.

He's already losing it.

Soft, boneless, tired eyes only getting more tired. His cheeks are pink with whiskey, body slow and dreamlike with rohypnol.

"You're my good boy, Rome - you know that, right?"

"Ohh... mmmm... dunno." Roman smiles a little as he hums in the negative, losing himself little by little. He's so gorgeous all splayed out and helpless like this, his naked body, cock twitching into full mast as you gently fondle him. He hums and moans a little, but it sounds faraway. He mumbles a little something, consonants and vowels melting together into a soft, whiny sound that sets you on fire. "Mmmdon't... don't...."

"Sshhh, Roman. You're all mine, now. Can't say no - it's too late," you murmur, cunt pulsing in time with his cock. God, he's delicious. His eyelids flutter and he's breathing a little harder, like he's trying to muster words, but he can't quite make them come out the right way. A few small, sighing attempts, little moans and sounds that won't leave his throat. He's fading, but his dick doesn't. If anything, it's harder than you're used to. Twitching with each slow pump of his heart, his breaths coming a little more even the longer you stroke him. Pre-jack beads at the tip, and you tenderly lick his slit, moaning as you take him between your lips, tongue swirling around that warm, velvety flesh. Tasting him, savoring him. There's no pressure here at all - it's just you. Just you and his limp body, stroking his balls, gagging yourself on his cock just to feel yourself drool on it. Once you pull off, he's so shiny, so wet and flushed. Veins cord all that rippled flesh, so thick and inviting. It's hard to ignore your own needs, hard to stretch this out before stretching yourself out.

You pull your phone up, breath quickening as you reach down to idly rub at your clit, humming as the excitement starts making things ache. Camera app opened, focused on his lifeless-looking body, you snap some pictures of him, his soft belly, his dreamy, unconscious face. Those soft lips parted. The line between his brows is gone, smoothed out. You reach up and press a thumb along his bottom lip, sliding it between his teeth. He makes the softest little sound and stirs just so, and you take a picture of your thumb in his mouth, stroking his tongue.

Stripping takes next to no time - and you want it completely bare. No clothes at all between you and his beautiful body. When you straddle his hips, you fit his cock between the plush lips of your cunt just to rock against it a bit, just a little. You're embarrassingly wet. If Roman were awake, he wouldn't let you take control like this, wouldn't let you be slow. He'd reach down and feel how fucking slippery you are, dripping for it, and mock you, make fun of you, shove his fingers into you til you were grabbing at him and making those choked sounds in your throat.

But not now.

You lift your hips and steady yourself with a hand on his chest, lining his cock up to your slit. You give yourself a few teasing strokes, rubbing his thick, plush cockhead against you until you can hear how wet your body is, sliding him over your clit, circling it until your arms are shaking. Again you grab your phone and take a picture of his cock resting against your folds. Changing to video, you aim it at the way you slowly sink down his length, til you're sitting pretty and flush against his body, capturing the long, hitching moan as you fully seat him within you. Tossing the phone aside, you enjoy the slow build - rocking with his cock buried deep inside, grinding down to feel him, feel his sparse pubic hair, rolling your hips to rub your clit against his body.

You take his limp hand, pulling it to you to press it against your body. You force his hand up to your tits, cupping his fingers around that soft flesh there, kneading them with his touch, and your hips start to pick up as you ride him. You trace that hand you love so much down your body, down your belly and over your thigh, taking his other hand and holding them against your hips. His name is on your lips as you moan and ride. He looks dreamlike. At peace, mind finally quiet. That's the thing about Roman Roy - he's never quiet. He's always thinking too much, talking too much, moving too much, always so On. Suggesting the drug wasn't only for weird sexy fun - it was Roman's way of asking to shut completely off for a while. Use me, he'd said, eyes shining when he'd mustered the courage to meet your gaze. Please just... fucking - take over.

And how could you deny him? How could you deny the tingling, growing warmth in your gut at the thought of laying this gorgeous man down and taking it from him? Roman, reduced to some kind of fucked-up sleeping beauty. You lean forward, feeling so filled up by him as you press your body against his. You pepper kisses over his chest, his nipples, lean up to press your tits against his skin and taste his throat. His pulse beats steadily under your lips, your tongue as you leave marks on him. He's not going to love that. But you do it, anyway, sucking little purpling love-bites along his collarbone, his chest. Your lean over to leave one on his bicep. Roman, his soft, milky body, all yours. You snake a hand down to your clit, rub quick, tight little circle around it, trembling as you lick at him. He smells so fucking good; you kiss his lifeless lips and they're so fucking soft. It makes you clench around him, rocking your hips faster, clumsier as that coil of spark and heat builds inside of you where you grind his cock up against your cervix. Deep as you can get him, aching. Needing.

Your breaths come in sweet, desperate little gasps and moans as it approaches, that glittering, bright road to orgasm. Your lips against Roman's, against the bridge of his beautiful nose, the curve of his cheekbone. It catches you by surprise when it happens - one moment you're whining, brushing against those soft, yielding lips, and the next thing you know it's crashing through your body. A debilitating wave of hot clench and release, pulsing down on his cock. You pull your slippery fingers away to buck your hips on him, riding out those intense waves of sensation. All yours. All fucking yours, the sight of his body underneath you, the gentle bounce of the mattress, his body moving in tandem with yours in its own way. You dig your nails into his ribs, steadying yourself, and even in his unconscious state, you can feel him engorge. His thick, generous length, twitching and filling you, and there it is - he cums inside of you.

All. Yours.

It's too easy to milk him, to make sure you empty his balls into you. Every last drop deep inside, safe - right where it belongs. It's only when he starts to soften that you gently pull off, quick to find your panties and pull them back up - there's no way you're going to let a drop of him out if you can help it.

Roman's shiny, soft cock has you taking a deep breath, already wanting more of it - maybe later. Maybe you'll give it time and try again. Why not? He's going to be out a while... might as well see how many times you can milk him. You lean down between his thighs, where he smells like his own musky, private scent, but also like you. You kiss him tenderly there, on his inner thigh, the plush pink head, his balls. Maybe you'll suck him off later.

For now, you slide next to his form on the bed and tuck yourself into the nook of his shoulder, reaching over to snap a quick picture of you curled up beside him before settling in for a little nap.

[konstanz-69]

the pussy got me confused as fuck wandering into the darkness with a waning candle like HELLO? HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE? HELLO?

[konstanz-69]

i had fully lost it at this point

[konstanz-69]

[konstanz-69]

The sex should be as disrespectful as possible and the aftercare as soft and gentle as possible. Fuck her like a whore and hold her like a princess after

[konstanz-69]

📷 Brandon Davis

[konstanz-69]

summary: you teach joel how to choke you

|| smut MDNI 18+, horny musings, not much plot, choking, pinv, dirty talk (god I love nasty joel! what can I say he gets the mouth of a sailor when he’s turned on), bicep choking!!!!!!!, daddy kink, praise kink, little bit of pussy pronouns, anxious!joel, nervous!joel, sweet!reader, established relationship, jackson!joel, mentions of big scary joel bark bark bark, but actually I just love him so there's also tender fluff in here too. I can't make smut without making it abundantly clear im helplessly in love w him || a/n: oh yeah so I was on vacay this whole week and this was all I thought about. okay maybe one more thing you might see from this week of inspiration but plz enjoy!!! a/n II: thinking about joel's anxiety makes me sad but I feel like it's not written about enough plz don't make me cry anymore wc: 2.2k short and sweet 4 u

You knew your best chance was when he was at his most…pliable.

That slow-breathing, skin-sticky softness that only came in the after. When both of your bodies were loose and lazy with release— oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin still thick in the bloodstream. Joel’s soft hazel eyes were warm and drowsy, blinking slowly beneath the fall of his thick lashes. How unfair, you always thought, that he got to have such astonishingly beautiful lashes. Men often did, didn’t they? His cheeks were still flushed pink, his chest rising steady beside yours. You watched the corner of his mouth lift into a crooked smile as he burrowed into the pillow, a bullish breath releasing from his lungs.

Your hand found his hair, dark and streaked with silver, damp at the nape. You pushed your fingers through it, nails scraping gently as he purred beneath your touch.

He pulled you in, tucking your body against the broad wall of his chest. His chin came to rest at your shoulder, and you felt his breath as it moved across your skin—slow, heavy, hot. You let out a small sigh and traced the length of his arm, following it down to where his fingers splayed wide over your hip. He was still inside out from it all. Both of you warm and bare, still slick with the sheen of sweat and the fading intensity of the post-coitus high. 

You brought his hand up in front of your face, holding it in both of yours like something precious. You traced the creases in his palm, the coarse curls of hair on the back of it. He was such a big man, all of him thick and solid and heavy. You loved it so deeply about him. How he could be so big and scary and yet so tender all at once.

That was the thing about Joel Miller. He was the most dangerous man you'd ever met. But in your home, in your bed, in these quiet moments, he was gentle. So, so gentle.

You made your move.

Guiding his hand slowly, you carefully set it down to your neck. You knew he was watching out of one squinting, peering eye. Always watchful, always aware of your movements.

“What’re you doin’, young lady?” he asked, voice like honey and gravel on asphalt.

You settled his palm against the sensitive flesh of your throat, pulling his thumb to one side and resting his fingers on the other. Just gently letting the broad stretch of his hand rest under your jaw.

God, he was so warm.

And even though his expression had softened in this post coitus high, even though his breath moved gently against your skin, this kind of calm didn’t come easy to him. When he was like this—sated, warm, still wrapped around you—all you could do was hope he’d stay there in it. You hoped he wasn’t going to bark or bristle or retreat behind that rough voice he used when his chest got too tight.

Because Joel’s anxiety didn’t come in skittishness or shaky hands. It was silence, stillness. It was the way he watched everything, how fast he could go from soft to sharp, always ready to protect. Even when there wasn’t a threat. Even when he thought the threat was himself.

You felt him stiffen as he realized what you were doing. 

He tried to pull his hand away, and you let him—again, not wanting to spook the big, terrifying, yet sweet and sorrowful creature you’d come to love. 

“How would you feel if I asked you to choke me?” you asked, voice calm, your tone low and careful. Coaxing the beast within.

His answer came quickly and without hesitation: “Ain’t happenin’.”

Whatever softness had still lingered in him was gone now. His voice was flat, and his whole body had gone still beside you, his heart hammering through his chest and against your skin.

“Joel, baby, I’m sorry—” you whispered, reaching for the calm you’d just shared, trying to soothe what you’d stirred.

“There ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, and his tone wasn’t cruel, but it was set. Final. He wasn’t angry, he was afraid, you knew that. Knew him. “I just ain’t doin’ that.”

You turned towards him, wrapping your arms around him, nuzzling your nose into the thick, wiry hair of his chest. You waited as his heart settled, kissing his chest, interlaching your fingers behind his back, tracing gentle circles into his damp skin.

And maybe it was because you knew him. Knew how to coax that big, nervous animal in him into gentleness, into calm. Knew how to read the quiet tension in his body, how to recognize the moments when he pulled away. Because he was never angry at you, that you’d come to realize long ago. He was afraid. Full of gut churning fear and worry. He was just a man who had seen too much, done too much, and lost even more. And now, he was trying, so hard, to be good. 

That’s why, when you answered, you didn’t push. You pursed your lips against his thick chest of hair and said, “Okay.”

“I promise you won’t hurt me, baby,” you told him softly, your voice slow with wine and warmth as you laid back on the bedspread, still smelling like smoke and sugar from the community bonfire. You’d been out with Tommy and Maria, drinking too much under the string lights, and Joel had come home handsier than usual—emboldened by the night, maybe, or just finally brave enough to give you the thing you’d been asking for.

He was already hard and thick and stretching you open, your body split in two around his cock, your hips cradling his breadth of a body. Your thighs hooked tight around his waist as you tried to pull him in even deeper, closer than skin would ever allow as his hand rested against your throat.

“Don’t you think it makes a pretty necklace?” you teased, breathless already. Just the weight of his hand there was enough to have your hips rolling up in search of more, desperate for that aching stretch and the sweet pressure you craved.

He hesitated, voice thick and low. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

But you reached up, took the hand at your throat into both of yours, and guided him to press his digits to your skin. Just his thumb, just the fingers on the other side of your throat.

“Right there, daddy,” you whispered, eyes fluttering. “Just pinch. Don’t push.”

His brow was furrowed, his hazel eyes swallowed up by the black of his arousal. You circled his thick wrist with your nimble fingers, grounding him, showing him how safe he was here. He was always so god damn warm, your personal furnace, all heat and weight and steady flame. The fire in the hearth of your chest, your soul, your heart. His chest pressed down against yours, his cock buried so deep you could feel him in your ribs, your arousal slick and messy, dripping down his shaft and onto the bed beneath you.

You whimpered, high and needy.

“Please, Joel,” you whispered. “I trust you.”

That seemed to loosen the shackles he kept tight around himself. The ones forged in fear, in longing, with a want too big and too dangerous to trust within himself. He exhaled, sharp and tight, and gave the faintest, featherlight squeeze. Not even enough for your head to go light, but enough for your cunt to flutter helplessly around him. He sucked in a tight hiss, the sound breaking in his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” 

His eyes squeezed shut, then opened again, blown black and flicking from his hand on your throat to your face and back. Your mouth was slack, your head tilted back, eyes rolling in ecstasy. Your pussy clenched hard around him again and he groaned.

“Again, again, again,” you pleaded, rocking up into him, your hands urging his wrist to hold you tighter.

He did it again.

And your walls seized around him.

“Christ, baby—Jesus fuck,” he choked out. “You’re—she’s— grippin’ me—chokin’ my cock while I hold your pretty little neck—”

And thus, it was the start of something wholly beautiful and euphoric and filthy. 

He had you prone on the bed, your legs spread wide and stretched beneath him, back arched, ass pressing and pushing back greedily into every stroke. His weight draped heavy over your spine, chest slick with sweat as it laid across your back. The room was thick with the sound of skin, the slap of his hips meeting the swell of your ass, again and again and again.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, his voice rough with breath and effort. Every word was broken by a grunt, by the slap of his pelvis slamming into you.

You moaned helplessly, drool slipping from your parted lips, soaking into the thick muscle of his arm where it curved around your throat. Your chin was tucked to his elbow, held snug in the crook of it, his bicep pulsing as he held you close. His forearm pinned you in place, tight and possessive. Your anchor, just how you’d begged for it.

“Got you all cock drunk now, huh?” he muttered, low and smug, the bastard, dragging the words across your skin like velvet. You could hear the grin in it, even feel the curl of his mouth as he pressed a kiss into your ear, “Can’t even talk while I’m fuckin’ you, baby?”

You mewled in response, the only sound you could manage as his thick cock punched into you, each thrust stealing another breath, another thought. He was deep, impossibly deep, stretching you to the edge of your limit and keeping you right there, stuffed full and shaking.

“So pretty like this,” he groaned, voice pitching low in his throat. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so good, princess. So fuckin’ good.”

You tried to answer, tried to give him something back, but what came out was a garbled, wet sound as your tongue dipped out to collect the spit dribbling out on your slack lips. You were trembling beneath him, wrecked and ruined and still asking for more.

“You know,” he rasped, his breath warm against your ear, “I’ve killed men by doin’ this. You know that, right?”

Your eyes rolled back. Your walls fluttered around him, involuntary and tight.

“Oh, yeah, she loves that. Killed ’em easy, baby, just my arm to their neck. Watched their lights go out. That turn you on?” His voice was rougher now, throatier, but still careful, still asking. Still watching you.

You pushed your ass back into him with a sob, wordless, every nerve in your body crying yes.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmured, thrusts slowing in their tempo. “Tell me. Use your big girl words.”

“I love it,” you cried, the words torn from your throat. “I love it, I love it, I love it—” You were close, almost there, your voice climbing higher with every breath, every roll of his hips, every squeeze of his arm.

“I know, sweet angel,” he groaned, his cock twitching inside you as your walls clenched tighter. “My nasty girl loves when daddy chokes her, huh?”

You could barely nod, could barely think. He just kept fucking into you, the drag of his cock thick and slow, then sharp and deep, until your body curled and tightened beneath him. He was everywhere—his chest on your back, his balls slapping your clit, the heat of his breath against your cheek, your pussy leaking down his shaft and onto the sheets in creamy slick. His weight pressed you into the mattress like he could mold you there and never let you go.

“But I love my girl,” he said, softer now, almost like a confession. Maybe to remind you, to remind himself. “Love her so much. I’d never hurt her, you know that, right?”

You nodded, jaw slack, lips kissing the sweaty skin of his arm as you forced your mind to work, for your tongue to follow orders, “I know d-d-daddy, I know—I love—oh fuck—I love you too…oh oh, ah!…hmmmppphhh—”

“Oh, good girl, that was hard, I know. That’s alright. That’s it. Right there,” he growled, hips snapping harder now, erratic, desperate. “I feel her chokin’ daddy’s cock back. Feel how much she loves it. C’mon, baby girl. Come for me. That’s it. Fuck—”

Your body seized beneath him, a full-body tremor that started at your core and rippled outward, your vision going white as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. You sobbed through it, breath stuttering, your cunt fluttering around him in tight, wet pulses that had him growling through his teeth.

“Good girl,” he grunted, barely hanging on. “That’s my goooood fuckin’ girl.”

He followed you down a moment later, groaning raggedly against your shoulder, his cock twitching deep inside as he spilled into you, thick and hot, his weight sinking heavy over your back. You breathed there together for a long moment, lost in that same fuzzy cotton haze.

And then his arm loosened around your throat, sliding down to your sternum to shift the both of you. His cock slipped out of you with a wet drag, still heavy and shining, your slick clinging to him as your body clenched around the sudden emptiness. The loss made your limbs tremble, thighs twitching where they rested against his. He moved you onto your side, then onto your back and settled beneath you, his own back pressed to the sheets, your spine stretched along his chest.

He sighed in relief before shifting slightly, just enough to reach and press his lips against your temple.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse, still catching on the edges of his breath.

You nodded, face softening as you tilted your head toward him. He reached down and kissed you, slow and warm, and you hummed against his mouth.

“Perfect,” you whispered.

You both sighed then, content and drowsy, riding the soft haze of afterglow. The hormones still moved thick through your bodies, warmth blooming in your limbs as you looked up at him. Your fingers slipped into his hair and you held him close.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For trusting me.”

“Don’t need thankin’, honey,” he said, his voice low, eyes soft and steady on yours. “If anything, it’s me who oughta thank you—for keepin’ me here. For trustin’ me.”

“I do trust you. With everything,” you said. “And I love you.”

He kissed you again, and you kept your eyes open, watching the furrow of his brow, watching his mind whirr with the thoughts and big feelings he once was so afraid to say.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered when he finally released your mouth, voice rough at the edges. “So much.”

“To touch is to be touched” —Hélène Cixous

[konstanz-69]

watching joel jerk himself off as he manspreads with flushed cheeks while groaning like the pathetic old man that he is