#little things
Impermanent. It’s a theme that’s been on my mind a lot recently. I used to collect a lot of feathers after breeding season. I would go out on walks specifically with that goal in mind. It’s something I haven’t been able to do for a few years. I left these ones where they fell, fighting the urge to take them home and dry them out.
{please don’t remove my words}
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Every time I wear my beanie, I always feel more masculine. It’s the one thing, despite my whole day, that I can find, put on, and feel very male. Even if everything else is off about me, I can always feel confident with my hat on.
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Little haul!
Did it hurt?
Did it hurt when you realized that the things you love the most are the things that others see as ordinary, not because you’ve learnt to see the beauty in the little things, but because they’re the things that no one will take away from you? Stars, the Moon, flowers, bees, puddles in the street… That you’re so broken that it’s the only thing you can truly, unadulteratedly love because everything else you’ve ever cherished has been cruelly ripped from your grasp?
Because it didhurtme.
A non-exhaustive list of reasons your caretaker or teammate could participate in this wonderful trope.
- dragging whumpee back to their feet to keep walking, just a little longer
- hauling whumpee out of a self-sacrificial dash towards the enemy
- several pairs of arms catching whumpee when they stumble because everyone’s ready for it
- a group of friends holding whumpee down so they can get painful medical aid
- carrying a fainted whumpee
- pushing the whumpee down so they can’t hurt themselves in a panic
- lifting a whumpee up into an escape route
- grabbing whumpee for a rushed rescue, bundling them away before they can make a sound
- shoving a whumpee out of the sight of patrolling guards during an escape
- restraining a whumpee who resists rescue and is trying to call for help
- forcing a whumpee back down onto a bed to rest
- a hug that restrains flailing panic or lashing-out anger
I’m not even much of a fan of coughing but when someone goes straight from a sneeze into cough it sounds so sick & it makes my heart feel like someone tried to squeeze all the juice out of it. Please Let Me Take Care Of You.
YES. Nothing says “really sick” like a sneeze dragging out some coughs in it’s wake. Simply lovely!!
I had this once…many years ago now. Funny how we don’t appreciate these little things as much until we’re older.
So thoughtful, so generous with gestures; I miss that kind of love.
More DD/LG naughtiness on DaddysDLG.Tumblr.com
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((So I wrote this little story about what a typical night is like for Daddy and me…so…I hope you like it because I love it ^_^ I mean, it’s not particularly well written or anything, but I love it because it’s our life and it makes me happy. Enjoy!))
The clicking and thudding sound of the door draws her from her lounging position on the couch, sitting bolt straight up even before she hears his voice.
“Princess, Daddy’s home…”
With a delighted squeal, she nearly topples over the back of the couch to greet him.
“Daddy!” She extends her arms, fingers flexing and making grabby-hands. Quickly he wraps an arm around her waist as she all but flings hers around his neck. “Careful, pumpkin. Don’t fall. Don’t sit on the back of the couch like that, you could get hurt.” He carefully helps her to the ground.
She bounces on her heels slightly as he goes about taking off his coat and hanging it up. Patience is not a virtue that she has quite gotten the hang of.
“Daddy, Daddy!”
“Yes, Princess?” His voice is calm.
She tugs on his shirt sleeve “Daddy!”
He laughs as he takes his shoes off by the front door. “Yes?”
“Nothiiiiing,” She giggles a little. “I’m just so happy to see you!”
“I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He kisses the top of her head and she whines, wrapping her arms back around his middle. “Let daddy get settled, alright?”
Begrudgingly she lets go with a slight pout of her lips. He looks her up and down for a moment, since she’s finally standing (mostly) still. “Still in your big girl clothes, I see..”
She nods, pulling at the offending professional attire that she is forced to wear as part of The Real World. This, thankfully, is no longer the real world. This is her world. Her’s and Daddy’s.
Daddy has moved on to the bedroom and is changing into more comfortable clothes, sweats and a t-shirt. He motions with one finger for her to come to him and she complies.
He kisses her nose. “Arms up.” She lifts her arms and he removes her work top, then unbuttons her pants. She wiggles and they fall to the ground leaving her in a tank top and pink and white striped panties.
He kisses her lips and playfully pats her on the bottom. “Go sit on the couch and watch Ponies. Daddy’ll run the bath.”
Her eyes widen with unbridled joy. “Bubble Baths!” She’s resumed her bouncing.
He chuckles and nods “Yes, bubble bath. Go sit.”
A few short minutes later he returns to the living room to see her laid across the couch, thumb in her mouth, avidly watching an episode of My Little Pony that she’s seen at least twenty times but is no less mesmerized by it.
“Bath time.” He tells her. She makes some dismissive noise, but doesn’t budge nor look away from the TV. He frowns. “Princess, bath time. Now, young lady.”
“Ponies.” Is what he thinks she says around her thumb.
“Ponies will be there after bath time. Now, or I’ll just carry you.” His voice is stern and she sighs dramatically before getting up. Her socked feet slide across the tiled floor as she attempts to pass him, but he knows her tricks and his reflexes are faster. He grabs her wrist and delivers one harsh slap to her backside.
“When daddy says now, you listen.” He tells her softly. She grumbles a response. “Excuse me?” His eyebrow goes up.
“Yes Daddy.” She says, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes. He smiles and gives her butt a squeeze. “Good girl.” He leads her into the bathroom.
My Little Pony is long forgotten once there’s a sea of fluffy white bubbles in sight and her happy dance begins.
He laughs “Excited, wiggle butt?”
She nods, eyes glued to the tub even as he pulls her shirt over her head, and when she leans against him for balance as he pulls her panties down and she steps out of them and her socks.
“Okay baby. careful getting in the tub,” There’s a slight air of concern. She can be overly excited in this headspace and forget about safety.
“I can do it.”
“Hold onto Daddy so you don’t slip…”
He holds her arm until she’s settled down, sitting cross legged in the warm water. Once she’s there, she lets out a high pitched giggle and gathers as much of the bubbles closed to her as she can.
He laughs “Uh oh, where did my Princess go? She’s disappeared in all the bubbles!”
She giggles some more “I’m right here, daddy!” she splashes around a little, sending water flying.
“Careful, love. We want to keep the water in the tub, remember?” He reaches for the washcloth and soap. “Hmmm….what do we wash first?” She’s watching him with anticipation, dancing slightly and making waves. “How about your little princess arms!”
She lifts the right arm out of the water and he starts to wash her, starting at the shoulder, down to the elbow and ending at her finger tips. Then gentle underneath. “Gotta get those pesky underside, right Princess?”
She just giggles and nods in response. He gives the left arm the same treatment. Then both legs and feet, tickling her toes.
“And now your pretty little princess boobies, right?” He brings the cloth to her chest and massages her perky breasts, lathering them with soap. For all her innocent, childlike behavior she is still a beautiful adult woman that he loves and adores. This is the part of bath time that he particularly favors. “Good girl,” his voice has dropped slightly. No longer sing-songish, but slightly husky. “Now, up on your knees so daddy can wash your kitty, alright?”
The warm water and lavender bubbles have done their job in calming her toddler-like energy and she obeys without a fuss, rising out of the water on her knees and spreading her legs. He gently washes her inner thighs, moving between her legs, and then back between her cheeks. She makes soft sighs and other content noises as he rubs the sensitive areas. “That’s a good girl.” He praises her. Once that’s done, he does a quick wash of her hair with shampoo and conditioner and then lets her lie back and relax. This part never takes long, as the heat has gone to her head and made her a little dizzy.
She reaches for him “Dada…out…”
He helps her stand and wraps her in a pink fuzzy towel before draining the tub.
Back in the bedroom, once she’s been dried off, he lays the towel on the floor and she lies on her back on top of it. Powdered, diapered and now clothed in her pretty princess pajamas, she seems much more at ease. He helped her up.
“Say ‘ah’,”
“Ah!”
He pops her binky into her mouth and hands her her favorite, much loved stuffed Doggy.
There’s more cartoons to be watched and juice to be had out of her pink princess sippy cup. He makes dinner, which she insists she can eat on her own only to end up with a lap full of mac and cheese before he pulls her into his lap and takes matters, and her fork, into his own hands.
After dinner is cleaned up, he asks “Are you sleepy?”
“Nooooo…” She manages around her binky.
“Do you want to watch Tangled?”
Her eyes light up “Yes! Tangled!”
It’s a trick of course. She can’t make it through tangled without dozing off. The movie starts and she and her stuffed dog have made their way back into Daddy’s lap.
They watch in silence until Daddy asks “Is Princess wet?”
She wiggles a little in his lap, which does something pleasant that he may need to deal with later. “Noooo…”
“Does daddy have to check?”
“Nooo….” but she doesn’t seem sure. He gently grabs her padded bottom. Dry.
“No potty?” He asks and she shakes her head “Nuh uh.” then puts her head back on his chest.
The movie barely makes it halfway through before he’s sure she’s sleeping.
“Want to go lie down, pumpkin?”
He gets only a halfhearted mumble in reply.
He smiles fondly “Sleepy time.”
She’s tucked into bed and the lights go off before he slides under the covers beside her. “Is there anything you want to tell daddy before night night kisses?”
Sometimes there is. Sometimes she tells stories about her day or confides in him with some anxiety or another she’s been having. But mostly she shakes her head. “Daddy talk.” she insists as her fingers curl against his chest.
“Night Night kisses first.” He says, plucking the pacifier from her lips before kissing her mouth, then her nose and then her forehead. He replaces the pacifier “Binky kisses.” he kisses the plastic that now covers her lips and she giggles sleepily. Then he talks to her softly. Saying things like “Daddy’s favorite girl.” and “Beautiful Princess.” “I love you so much.” “So cute.” “The way your little butt wiggles when you’re happy…” And eventually she’s asleep.
“Night night, Princess.”
Pretty adorbs…Sophie, you have a really sweet and patient Daddy. Super lucky, girl ❤️
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I want them all!
~G
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Just because he took care of her didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of him. There was room in their dynamic for a bit of back and forth. They were actually rather a fan of it.
He’d fuck her till they were both sore, and she was speaking in tongues. The kind of religious experience that would make a priest blush, but something he would struggle not to admit that perhaps yes, it was indeed spiritual. He’d call her dirty names. He’d dictate exactly what she wore, and, more importantly, when. He’d discipline her when she got out of line, and she’d love every second of it, feeling herself becoming more than she was.
And she’d take care of the smaller, day to day things. Tying his tie. Shaving him in the mornings. Making the coffee, on the days that he didn’t get up before her. There were little things that he allowed her to do, too, things that would’ve been easier to do himself. Often she’d like to sink onto her knees at his feet, plant a quick kiss on the toe of his shoe before tying the laces. There was something about that action, of covering him up to go face the world, that she found solace in.
There were a dozen miniature kisses that accompanied such activities. When the razor blade revealed his cheek, clean of shaving cream for her to plant her lips against. Buttoning up his shirt all the way before leading her hands ever upwards, and finding them cupping his face. She’d kiss him then, too. And he’d do some kissing of his own.
It was something almost devoid of sex. Except, of course, everything they did was sex, even when it wasn’t. It was those little moments that drove him, the fuel that kept him patient when he was making her come over and over again. It was the adoration in those moments that made her want to gag on him, to feel her throat try to cling around the width of him.
They lived a holistic life.
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Whumper claps Whumpee on the shoulder in approval, and leaves the hand there. Just a little too heavy, just a little too tight.
(Bonus points if Whumpee has prior issues with that shoulder that cause them pain, and Whumper absolutely knows that)
faint bruises, odd pale colors from being mostly healed. scrapes from catching themself when knocked down. dirt smudged on the knees of their pants and the ends of their sleeves. eye contact avoided, answers muttered, usual passions and tasks left forgotten because recent violence is on their mind.
back of hand to forehead, then to cheek, then shifting their hand so that their palm gently cups the other’s cheek
Okay.
But that knuckle crack™ a Whumper does after rolling up their sleeves is basically the moment where the dread sinks into Whumpee and they realize how screwed they are.
