#A diddle daddy if you will

[chiwhorei]

hi I’m just a eenie meenie little stranger don’t mind me I’m just here to lick ur ,,, toes or smt also please talk about toji diddling his favorite kid prettYYY PLEASEEEE -not fairy

ʚ Dᴀᴅᴅʏ’s Fᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ɞ

Hmmmm not fairy, what an interesting name ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

╰┈➤ Tags: HCs, incest, noncon, ddlg, daddy!Toji x fem!reader

Icky Daddy!Toji who doesn’t like much about this filthy world. The only things he cares for are money, power, and his precious daughter.

Icky Daddy!Toji who legit goes psychotic whenever another man looks your way. He doesn’t let you bring boys home, not that you’d even think about it, of course.

Icky Daddy!Toji who makes it so easy to be Daddy’s little girl. As long as he’s in a good mood, you get whatever you want. If he’s in a bad mood, well, there’s hardly anything that your soft lips or sweet pussy can’t fix.

Icky Daddy!Toji who hands over his black card whenever you ask because he knows you’re coming home with pretty new Teddy’s and lingerie sets. You always do a little fashion show for him so daddy can see all of the pink lace and frills he bought you.

Icky Daddy!Toji who barely acknowledges his other kid; he’s only got time for you, his perfect little girl!

Icky Daddy!Toji who keeps you collared under his desk while he’s working. He’s a busy man and doesn’t need you wandering off. Not when you’re plenty content to hump his leg and warm his cock with your mouth- you’d stay between your daddy’s legs forever if you could.

Icky Daddy!Toji who let’s you sleep in his bed almost every night.

Icky Daddy!Toji who wakes you up with his tongue in your pussy almost every morning.

Icky Daddy!Toji who is relentless when he’s fucking you, ripping you into pieces and fucking those too. But it’s okay, he knows you can take it. You were made for his cock.

𓈒 ﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭𓈒 ﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ *

©️ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2023 - ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʀᴇ��ᴏsᴛ ᴏʀ sᴛᴇᴀʟ ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡)

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

The Fun Kind of Sparring

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Reader

Minors do ¡NOT! interact. This is not for you.

A/N: I haven’t seen the Boys and won’t BUTT that finale, amirite??? So in honor of the glorious return of Jensen Ackles, maybe the finest man who’s ever existed- seriously, when the aliens invade, show them him and they’ll be besotted by his beauty- I wrote this for all y’all SB lovers. Just note that I do not endorse any of this man’s actions, and if you do… the fuck?

I think it goes without saying but this is not my picture, it belongs to EW. (Too tired to make icons 💪)

Anyways, icons by me and all interaction-especially commentary- is appreciated!

Content/Content Warning: straight filth. The mouth on this man is crazy. Diddle that skittle.

****************************************************

It really had just been sparring. A little one on one, if you will. Me and Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy and me.

If it were anyone else, being pinned down to the ground would be the opposite of erotic. It would be annoying, and I’d be flailing around, trying to hit my partner in the balls.

But with Soldier Boy? We’d been skirting around each other since The Boys broke him out. Well, that’s a lie. I’ve been skirting around him, he’s made it more than a little obvious that he’s into me. I don’t know if it’s that he just wants a quick lay or what, but because I’m unfortunately attracted to him, I don’t really care.

Especially right now, when I’m pinned under him on the gym mat.

“Y’know, we shouldn’t do this,” I stall, no meaning behind my words.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he humors me. His lips are mere inches away from mine, his hair falling against my forehead. And I think I’m drunk on the scent of his pungent aftershave.

“I mean, you’re like, what, 103?” I ponder aloud, trying to distract myself from the fact that the Soldier Boy is rested over me in a plank, shirtless. That I can feel his warm breath on my face. That it smells like peppermints.

“104, actually, sweets,” he corrects. He’s had this shot-eating grin plastered on his face since he managed to wrestle me down, because like me, he knows exactly how this is going to end. But unlike me, he’s not remotely hesitant about showing it. And because he’s a jerk, he’s making me make the first move. But I’m not ready quite yet.

“104, right,” I mutter. “Older than my grandpa.”

“Smart girl,” he just goes along with everything I’m saying, letting me stall. The mischievous glint in his emerald colored eyes never ceases.

I nod slowly. “You are a very attractive grandpa,” I state, my tone far away as if I’m talking about him while he isn’t on top of me. Ohhh do I want him on top. You know what I mean.

“Thanks, sugar. But I think I’d prefer ‘Daddy’ if we’re going for the titles,” he says cheekily, still making no moves. I on the other hand am blushing the brightest red. Between the nicknames and Daddy, it’s too much to handle.

“O-oh,” I stutter, swallowing thickly. “Noted. But, uh, aren’t you more into… more mature women?”

“I believe all women are mature. I don’t discriminate, sweets,” he says, his shit-eating grin somehow eating more shit.

“Very feminist of you,” I say sarcastically.

“Damn straight,” he agrees.

I bite my lower lip. “You’re very experienced, right?”

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but yes, I’d say so,” I can tell that he can tell that I can tell that this is volatile, just moments from going somewhere.

“Okay, so I guess my last question is this: how would you go about it. Y’know? With someone that you hypothetically wouldn’t treat as someone you paid for? That you’re sort of friends with?” I have to know. I’m too nervous for him not to lay it out plain and simple for me, I need to mentally prepare myself.

“Well, firstly, I think I’d have to know my girl likes it,” he gives me a pointed look.

“Your hypothetical girl,” I correct.

“Sure, my hypothetical girl,” he agrees. How has he not broken a single sweat this entire time? He’s been in a plank over me for the last however long it’s been and it doesn’t even affect him??

Quit getting distracted.

“Maybe she likes it rough. She wants to feel it for a few days,” I suggest, feeling my stomach knot at the notion. I’d been consistently growing wetter since he put me under him, and my arousal shows no signs of stopping.

“Okay, so I’d give it to her rough. Work her up until she’s begging for it… maybe I’ll- I mean, I’d- use my mouth first, taste her pretty pussy before I get my dick wet.” It’s all I can do not to moan at the dirty words falling out of his plush lips. Not to mention his honeyed transatlantic 50s accent… I’m so fucked. In so many ways. “Probably get her to come at least once, cause I’m sure she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

“Uh huh,” I mumble, the sound coming out higher than it should as I look at him with wide, attentive eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, even before then I’d be marking her up and down. So that way everyone can see who made her feel so good, who got her walking so funny,” he backtracks. And again, the notion is far too good to be true. But the promise in his voice? It’s real. “I’d have to get her ready for my cock, stretch her out with my fingers. Start with one, but she’d be so wet that that wouldn’t even do anything. She’d be begging for more if I just did two, so I’ll give her three, make that needy cunt happy,” he muses. And it’s so, so erotic. And I’m ready to just lean up and kiss him, make him do all the things he says. But I’m captivated by his words, his narration- I think I could come from it alone. “I don’t know if I’d let her come again then. Because I think she’d be begging for my dick with how good my fingers feel stuffed in her tight pussy.”

Mother. Fucking. Hell. Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He shouldn’t be real. These words should be banned from his vocabulary, because I am on fire right now.

“Where do you think this hypothetical girl would want me to come?” he asks out of curiosity, smirking. Probably at the way I’m looking at him like a bitch in heat.

“In her,” I mumble.

“In her where?” he asks smugly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.

“Ben,” I whine in protest.

“Oh, c’mon, tell me,” he chides. “For the sake of the story.”

“In my-her-pussy,” I answer in a breathy whisper.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it’s all I can do not to keen. I have to be soaked through my shorts by now, there’s no way. “Well, what I’d do next… that’s simple. I’d fuck her until she cried, and then I’d keep going. And I’d keep going until the only thing she can remember is my name, until she’s gooey and clingy and a sweet little fucked out thing, all for me,” he finishes, his grin from before returning back to his face. I’m losing it. I can’t think straight. And yet- he’s still waiting for me to make the first move. Son of a bitch.

“O-okay,” I clear my throat, unable to find my senses. “And if that hypothetical girl was me?” We both know it’s me, I just need to hear it.

“Well in that case I think I’d be the luckiest bastard who ever lived,” he says sincerely, looking at me with a gaze that can only be described as pure adoration and lust. Yep. That’s it for me. I lean up and kiss him with as much force as I can muster.

****************************************************

In the meantime… want more Soldier Boy?? Try Taming The Supe <3

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Hii! Could you possible write something more with Emily and her partner self harming? You write it so incredibly well and I find so much comfort in it, it’s insane. Maybe Emily finding out for the very first time when her partner is actively doing it? <333

Hi, anon! I'm always happy to write hurt/comfort about self-harm. :) It's my genuine hope that it brings people comfort and helps them feel less alone. Much love to you! –illdowhatiwantthanks

Doxxed

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: BIG self-harm warning!!!, cutting, blood, mentions of past familial abuse, homophobia, bigotry, use of slurs, explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.2k

Summary: After you leave a comment in support of a Pride post, the conservative fanbase of the organization comes after you in full force. You can take a lot, but it's more than you can handle. And you're tempted to resort to old, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

One comment. One stupid, stupid comment. That’s all it had taken.

Don’t listen to the haters! Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈 Thanks for the support!

You’d left it thoughtlessly, carelessly even, on the Washington Nationals Instagram post for Pride. Frustrated by all the hate and homophobia in the comments, you’d left one of support. You wanted the other queer fans to know they weren’t alone, and for the social media team to know that their post meant something.

You hadn’t expected it to blow up. You hadn’t expected to be the sole target of the Nationals’ conservative fan base. The first few comments, you’d ignored:

WTH is a they?

bro, what is “they” 🙏💀😭

your an npc you cannot be talking

not a fan

I think you mean IT

the Support your dad never gave you huh?

you need to read your bible

by haters you mean 95% of the population?

So, they’d found your profile. They’d seen your pronouns listed as she/they. Your page was private, they shouldn’t have access to anything else. You took deep breaths, turning off your Instagram notifications, trying your best to ignore the red notification alerts climbing into the hundreds, then the thousands.

But the first phone call? That had taken you off guard. It was an unknown number. You shouldn’t even have picked up.

“Hello?” you’d said, so innocent, so unprepared.

“Is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, this is she…”

“Do you mean they!? You fucking dyke. Bet your daddy diddled you when you were little, huh? That’s why you’re so fucked up now!? I could fix that real quick. You just need a real dick shoved in you. Where do you live, baby? We can arrange that! You’re disgusting. You need some real cock in your life.”

It was so aggressive, so vulgar, so quick and angry. You couldn’t have gotten a word in if you’d tried. You hung up, shocked, silent. You were used to homophobia. You were used to hate and bigotry. You’d grown up in a place where people had called you a dyke on the streets, where churchgoers pulled you aside in the grocery store to pray over your “lifestyle.” Your parents had hated you long before you came out of the closet, so their revulsion wasn’t a surprise and it didn’t hurt, not any more than they’d already hurt you.

But you were so far away from where you’d come from, and you were so used to feeling safe here. You had Emily and you had the BAU and you were, generally speaking, free to walk around and live your life as your full, truest self without fear. The fact that this phone call, the hatred that came with it, had invaded your home, your safe space–it shook you. You were physically shaken.

But the calls kept coming. Again and again. Nonstop. So many they overlapped one another. So many that your voicemail box was full. And then the emails started. You knew you shouldn’t read them, shouldn’t listen to the voicemails, shouldn’t open up Instagram and scroll through the hateful comments. But you couldn’t stop yourself. And everything you read made you feel lower. You could handle a lot of hate, but this was past your threshold. It was the comments about your family that got to you the most. How did they know!? How did they know where to hit you the hardest? Where you were already weak and wounded and it wouldn’t take much to break you?

Emily was away on a case with the BAU. You wished she was here. You’d feel better if she was with you. More solid, less affected. Somehow, the bigotry never got to Emily, not like it got to you. You knew if she was here, she’d hold you, she’d set up some sort of fancy FBI phone trace and figure out who was calling you, she’d shut down your Instagram or take your phone from you so that you wouldn't be able to read the comments. She’d tell you she loved you, that you were beautiful, perfect, exceptional. She’d tell you that what these people said about you, how they made you feel, was not real, was not who you were. She’d remind you that who your dad thought you were, how he’d treated you, what he’d done to you–that wasn’t you either. That you were hers and you were your own. You were brave and strong and beautiful. But she wasn’t here to tell you any of that, and somehow telling yourself those things didn’t carry the same weight. By the time you fell asleep that night, you were in a spiral of such self-hatred, such hopelessness, such unending anxiety at each buzz of your phone–you hadn’t felt this low since college.

When you woke up the next morning–a Saturday–you turned off your phone, determined not to let the haters get to you, to take control of the day, of your emotions. You meditated. You listened to your favorite music. You made yourself some breakfast.

You stepped outside to go on a walk, knowing that fresh air and movement would do you good, keep you from spiraling further. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you turned to shut the door behind you. Spray-painted in angry red over the door frame of your townhouse was FAGS BURN IN HELL.

You went back inside and slammed the door behind you, trying not to cry. Too much. It was all too much. They had your socials. They had your email. They had your phone number. And now they knew where you lived. Every bit of safety and security you’d worked so hard to build here seemed to be crumbling around you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

And you knew then, like you were watching a film of yourself, watching something that had already happened, that you would go to the bathroom. You would take out a fresh razor blade, and you would drag it across the skin of your forearm. That you would bleed, and the blood would be the tears you didn’t let yourself cry. Just like it had been all those years ago, when you hid from your dad in the bathroom. Like it was in college when you figured out you were gay and hated yourself for it. Like it had been when your dad had died and you’d gone to his funeral and you’d lied and told Emily the wounds were from the barn cat scratching you.

It was magnetic, inevitable almost. The more you fought, the more you hated yourself for not being able to resist, which only made you crave the sharpness more. You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror and wondered at how easy it was for everything to fall apart around you. The self-confidence, the security, the life you’d spent years, decades even, building, it all seemed to be crumbling. From one stupid comment.

You held the blade to your arm, a little shaky, knowing that once you did it, you wouldn’t be able to take it back. The line of blood was familiar, almost a relief, the pain an old friend, one that you’d kept away for so, so long. You hated yourself for doing it. You hated yourself for enjoying it. But you enjoyed the hating, too.

So focused were you on the lines, the series of parallels and perpendiculars you were carving lightly into yourself, that you didn’t hear the front door open, didn’t hear Emily call your name, voice dripping with concern having seen the angry message. You didn’t notice her at all until she was at the bathroom door, eyes wide and panicked, frozen. Before you could react, she’d lunged forward, grabbed your hand, and squeezed, forcing you to drop the razor blade. Her voice came to you as if through water, blurry and hazed and distant, as she wrapped your bloody arm in a towel.

“Honey, stop, stop!!” she called, frantic and shaky. “What are you doing!?”

The moment you made eye contact with her–and saw how scared you’d made her–you broke. Tears streamed down your face and you choked back sobs, sinking to the bathroom floor. Emily lowered herself with you, making sure to keep your arm tightly wrapped, caressing your face with her free hand.

“Hey,” she cooed. “It’s okay. What’s going on? Can you tell me? Please talk to me, baby. Please.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t seem to catch your breath or find your voice. You simply buried your head in the crook of her neck, trying to regain some semblance of security.

Emily rubbed your back, resting her chin on your head. “Is it about the writing on the door?”

You nodded, sucking in a shaky breath.

“I’ll get someone to take care of it, okay? But… honey, why did that make you… why did you want to… hurt yourself?”

“It’s not just the door,” you confided, sniffling. “It’s the phone calls and the emails and the fucking Instagram comments.”

“Wh–?” Emily sounded deeply confused, even as she ran her fingers through your hair, placed kisses at the top of your head.

“I left one comment, Em, on some stupid fucking baseball Pride post to say, like, Happy Pride! Thanks for not being bigots! And all the fucking bigots in DC came out of the woodwork to dox me.”

Emily exhaled, mind racing. First, she had to keep you safe from yourself. Then she needed to keep you and her and your home physically safe. Then she needed to get your digital safety under control. Emily was a fixer at heart. And she was determined to make you feel safe again.

“And why the fuck do they keep bringing up my dad!?” You choked out another sob.

Understanding flooded through Emily, and she held you a little tighter, a little closer. It was your dad. That’s what had really triggered you. You were used to homophobia. But you hated being reminded of your dad. Emily rubbed her thumb along the bloodied towel around your forearm, a realization sinking in, one that broke her heart.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve hurt yourself,” she whispered, more to herself than to you. It devastated her. How could she protect you from yourself? From your past? She couldn’t go back and change it, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

You could hear the heartbreak in her voice, and guilt flooded into all the hurt places inside you, all the places the blood had left empty. You buried your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry, Em,” you cried, shrinking into yourself. “I’m so sorry.”

But the more you tried to squirm away, the harder she held you. “Hey,” she soothed. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve been through things that make you want to hurt yourself.”

Her voice broke, and you wrapped your arms around her waist, your instinct to comfort her kicking in. She was shaking, you realized. She was scared.

“But, baby, please don’t shut me out,” she continued. “I’ll do whatever it takes, okay? Just… I don’t… I don’t know how to protect you from you.”

You sat up and looked at Emily, her eyes now swimming with tears. “Emily,” you said softly, wiping her eyes with your thumbs. “That’s not your job.”

“It is my job,” she insisted. “It’s always my job to keep you safe.”

You exhaled shakily, lifting your arm to wet a rag at the sink, and handing it to Emily, uncovering the angry red cuts on your arm. You pulled gauze and medical tape out of the bottom cabinet drawer and set those next to you.

“Here,” you said, extending your arm, knowing that Emily would feel better with something tangible to do to help you.

She dabbed at your arm with the rag, her fingers gentle and cool against your skin.

“It’s not something you can fix, Em,” you told her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she focused on your wounds, eyes swimming. “I need to go back to therapy.”

She nodded, deep in thought, smoothing the gauze over your wound, and carefully taping it in place.

“But you could get Penelope to shut down the internet trolls?” you suggested, venturing a smile. Your heart wasn’t in it yet, but you knew that with Emily here, it would be soon.

Emily ran her fingers over your arm, placing a small kiss on the bandages. She smiled at you, sad and determined and angry and scared, and squeezed your hand. “Oh, I will fucking end the trolls. Starting with the asshole who fucked up our door. Bet that idiot’s not expecting the FBI to come knocking.”

You giggled, and she pressed her forehead to yours and, for just a moment, everything was okay.

You knew that Emily couldn’t make you better. She wasn’t magic. And even the best relationships couldn’t take away all the hurt of the past. But Emily made it easier for you to make yourself better. She made you want to do the work. And, for that–and for so many other reasons–you’d love her forever.

[fixated-on-something]

I think about the magicians too much so here are some of my favourite quotes

Silly ones

Julia and Quentin: DO WE NOT AMUUUUUSE?

Julia: We made up that dance and it was TERRIBLE!

Quentin: oh god

Julia: It was so.. white.. and BAD.

Penny: I like your sweater

Quentin: Are you saying that to be cruel?

Penny: No. I like your sweater, I saw no reason not to share

Quentin: Well then, shall we go fuck some shit up?

Penny: Yes.

Margo: Yes.

Eliot: Yes definitely. Definitely yes.

Penny: Agreed. Feelings are bullshit.

Alice: Is that a traveller thing?

Penny: It’s a hearing voices thing

Alice: Well at least it beats whatever you were snorting

Penny: Marginally.

Kady: Ok, Mindslut?

Quentin: I don’t know you EITHER, except that we just summoned a killer MOTHMAN from another WORLD!

Marina: Did you figure you wanted to learn magic at your blow dry last week?

Penny: You’re welcome. (Blows kiss)

Quentin: What does that mean????

Quentin: you really don’t have to try to make me feel better we basically just met

Eliot: Well, I bond fast. Time is an illusion…

Eliot: How about I find you, and I don’t say magic is real, but I do seduce you and so lift your spirits that life retains its sparkle for decades…

Quentin: …yeah that sounds nice thank you

Dream Alice: If you would shut up for 2 seconds this sex dream could pass the Bechtel test, Quentin

Eliot: Once one of them offered to blow me for a spell. It was barely worth it.

Quentin: Is someone being creepy on purpose?

Margo: that is…. Not super consistent with the books

Quentin (genuinely very distressed): no!!! It’s not!!!! And I find that devastating!!! ☹️

Quentin: You can’t possibly want to be a dick more than you want to live!

Eliot: Oh yes very pristine, it’s been taken over by a kiddy diddling mutant.

Penny: The hell are you drinking?

Alice: I don’t know- triple sec?

Penny: What did Quentin do.

Margo: So we are fucked without grease

Quentin: Sounds like us

Eliot: Must be a Monday. Onward to glory.

Penny: Whoa WHOA WE ARE NOT. NOT. Killing a U.S. senator. But we will commit a felony… almost as stupid.

Eliot: IHEREBYDECREE! Rulers… done gonna rumble.

Margo: Ps we still hate you, but it’s the 21st century it shouldn’t be this hard for a girl to get an evil demigod abortion.

Niffin Alice: what’s this bitch doing in my room?

Margo: By agreeing to marry a stranger on the spot?

Eliot: I did it!

Margo: That was different.

Eliot: You’re right. This would only really be equivalent if Ess was a girl, and you found pussy you know, interesting in a ‘sometimes you like Thai food’ kinda way and now it’s all Thai food forever TILL YOU DIE.

Eliot: Hooolyyy shit the walking plot twist returns

Penny: Hi I need something

Eliot: Shocker. Hey Fen look it’s Uncy Penny! That’s right, I knocked her up. No big deal.

Penny: Uh- congratulations?

Eliot: like I needed more people calling me daddy but yes, thanks, we’re… thrilled.

Eliot: I am in way over my head. I’m not even in control of which of my bodies is awake and my sexually aggressive wife- she could wake me up at any moment in Fillory and-

Fogg: There are certain student teacher boundaries which I prefer not to cross.

Penny: “Let’s go hunt the white lady?” People like me get SHOT for saying shit like that.

NOW THE HEART SHATTERING ONES

Eliot: Do you think it’s real?

Quentin: Some of the good parts have to be. At least I hope so.

Eliot: Things aren’t usually worth caring about

Margo: Eliot he’s gone. why are your torturing yourself?

Eliot: Because he’s gone. And it’s my fault. And of all the people in the world who don’t understand, somehow you top the list.

Quentin: Every book every movie… is about one special guy. The chosen. You know in real life, for every one guy there are a billion people who aren’t.

Margo: I'm a king. Not a goddamn princess. A king.

Julia: I think it’s because it happened. And there’s nothing… magic about it anymore.

Emily: I don’t blame myself. Except for when I first wake up… and when I go to bed, and all the time in between.

Then obviously any quite related to 3x05 and pretty much the entirety of The Mountain Of Ghosts

I missed a bunch and these are mostly season 1-2 because that’s when I was taking notes during my rewatch

[age-of-play-i-say]

Morning Glory

"G'mornin dada!" I present myself, in all my bed-headed glory, shifting obviously from foot to foot.

Daddy looks up and grins. He takes it all in, Mr. Hops in one hand, his old t-shirt stopping just above my still crinkly diaper.

"Good morning, little one!" Daddy puts down his coffee and kindle and opens his arms to me. He tucks his legs up onto the recliner with him, spreading his knees to open up a spot on his lap.

"C'mon, sweetie, I can hear your diapee is still dry enough to crinkle, and you know what that means!" He pats his thighs where he intends me to sit my diapered butt.

My face lights up before one hand shoots between my legs, desperately trying not to let go too early. I almost blush at my desperation, but Daddy redirects my anxiety back to the present moment expertly.

"Leak all you want, little one, you already succeeded at your goal! You stayed dry all night! Let go and come to Daddy for your reward, sweetie." He beckons me.

Despite my burning cheeks, my nipples grow hard and I shiver, letting a little spurt escape as I do. I nod shyly and scramble up the chair, plopping my almost-dry diapered butt on Daddy's lap.

He groans and I feel him move, pressing his big thingie against my crinkly tush. 

"Dada, your thingie mm . . . already hard?"

He chuckles and kisses the top of my head, running his big warm hands down my arms and over my chest, bringing his fingers to circle my nipples and make me whimper and then squeak. Clenching around nothing squeezed my overfill bladder enough to leak a little. Again.

"It is! I love our weekend morning routine, baby. A nice wakeup piddle and diddle sesh with Daddy."  He sighs and I feel his smile against my hair and his thingie growing to bump up against my hole outside my padding.

His hands slide down my sides to my hips, hooking a finger in both diaper tabs before forcefully popping them open. I gasp, but automatically spread my legs, dangling them over the side of the arms of the recliner. The diaper flattens a bit between the force of both our legs. I feel his thingie twitch, trapped under the diapey, pressed against his thigh under my tush.

Panting, Daddy, hovers his hand above my exposed little parts, flexing his fingers in anticipation.

"Are you ready to show Daddy just how good you are? How much piddle you held inside?" His two middle fingers make the light of contact with my outer lips, circling where my tdick is peeping out between them.

I nod eagerly against his chest, unable to stop myself from humping the air and whining. He groans, beyond teasing as I bounce on his big dada stiffie over and over.

He dips both fingers to my dripping lil baby bulge and gasps at how hard I am for him.

Suddenly his lips are at my ear, his legs bracketing mine. He's curled forward and he cups his hand to loosely cover all my privates.

"Piddles first, honey, Daddy won't risk hurting your little bladder. You did so good holding all that inside you. Make your piddles in Daddy's hand, please."

He won't have to ask again. My walls clench and burst, peeing right into his cupped hand. He'a moaning and grinding, mesmerized as my piddles drip off his hand into the rapidly-soaked diaper below.

His moans start getting louder and his hips are stuttering when he can't take it anymore and starts firmly jerking at my swollen lil stiffie even though I'm nowhere near finished going. I squeak and then gasp with mixed pleasure.

"Just keep spraying your diapey, little one, I want us to come together, mm. But I can't hold off anymore!" He jerks me faster with his soaked hand and goes quiet, focusing on my double release.

My stream picks back up, the motion of his hand making me spray into my padding like a rotating sprinkler.

I close my eyes and relax into Daddy's touch, my orgasm rolling up my spine and cresting over right as Daddy curls up and shouts. I white-out with pleasure and relief, still emptying the last of my bedtime piddles into the open diaper beneath me.

I come to with Daddy circling my now-soft peepee, coaxing it slowly to attention for one more release before we began our lovely weekend together.

[blitzbuckz]

℧ :: @grim-the-embodiment-of-death / con'd

【𐂃】 ❝ Thanks. I.M.P wouldn't be standing if my team and I weren't up for the task. We have a reputation to preserve here. ❞

Now that's enough about him, ❝ What about you- what are you in here for ? Someone diddled you wrong ? Sugar daddy issues ? ❞ He'd jest, swerving his chair side to side as he patiently waited for the hooded man's response.

[sunsetofdoom]

@man--eater went ahead and tagged me in WIP Wednesday again, and since I do officially have the first chapter of the Fingersmith AU ready to go I figured I'd drop something actually plot-important

“I got word on a serious take.” Striker diddled the chess piece between his fingers- a rook. “Say there’s a high-ranking demon. A king. Does nothing but sit in a library, runnin’ his fingers over his rare books. Prized, precious collection. Wants some of it copied out, or framed. And I do his work.” “Generous of you, donating your time to the fucking poor.” “Shut the fuck up. Now, the guy has a dozen kids. Different wives. Different ranks. Goetia politics, complex stuff. Most of ‘em have their own palaces, own hobbies. But one,” Striker slapped down the playing card- the nine of spades, a thick creased line through the center where it’d been stepped on- like he was making a point. “One, he keeps close. A prince, trained up like a fuckin’ librarian.” Blitzo finally shut his notebook, willing to admit he was listening. Just to make it clear he was still skeptical, he folded his arms. “The boy’s engaged. Has been for years. But-” Striker set down the marble, spinning it gently so it shone blue and green and red. “He has an inheritance waiting... if he marries low. His fiancee’s another Goetia, more money on her name even than he’s got; if they get hitched, they can stay in Daddy’s house, play Happy Families the rest of their days. But if he marries below his station... he could get money from a trust. His mama, a wise woman by my reckoning, left everything she had in a vault for him before she died, just in case whoever his daddy picked out was a cunt.” Nodding along, Blitzo stopped the spinning marble with one finger. “And is she?” “Boy howdy, she is,” Striker smiled, wolfish. “And the boy is just about eatin’ outta my hand. I got him in painting lessons. He’s awful. Innocent. Clueless. And I was just about to propose an elopement, when...” He moved his hand, knocking over the rook. “The chaperone lost his place. It was his dresser, a valet, nobody special; but the father won’t risk nobody contaminating his bloodline. No chaperone, no painting lessons. No elopement.” “No money,” Blitzo mumbled, spinning the marble himself. “How much are we talking, here?” “Twenty thousand in ready,” Striker said, folding and unfolding the nine of spades. “Plus a steady flow- a thousand a month, on a stipend, for the rest of his life or until the money runs out.” “And my cut?” “Five thousand.” “Seven. And at least a couple of the stipend payments.” Blitzo wasn’t an idiot. The real prize was the steady drip of free money. “Six, and one per year.” “Six and every six months. And for doing what?” Striker smiled slowly, nodding in approval. They’d come to an agreement. “You take the job as his dresser. You talk me up, push him into my arms, spin him a shit-eating idiot love story; the boy’s never done anything in his life but read books, he’ll eat it up. And you help him outta the house for the elopement.” “And afterwards?” The smile got wider, and Striker’s tail started to rattle in anticipation. “Afterwards? When all the papers is signed, and I got the bank statements in my name. I go have a little talk with some friends of mine in Sloth, who run the rolls for a fancy-ass mental hospital. They fudge the books, we spread some rumors. And spoiled Prince Stolas spends the rest of his life locked in a little white room, while we use that inheritance money for people like us.”

Tagging @nyxofdemons (HI) @cringefailvox and @onswifterwings,

[xfangheartx]

Summary: Blitzø goes to see Stolas on the Full Moon, and things do happen.

Preview:

  Blitzø slowly opened his eyes to the sound of his upstairs neighbors having a shouting match and slamming the mattress so hard that the ceiling rattled above him… and of course, there was that little voice in the back of his head that he heard, every single morning.

   ‘Stupid piece of shit.’

  With a sigh, Blitzø sat up and looked up at the calendar: October 29th and the date was circled. The Full Moon was tonight… and that meant he had to return the Grimoire to Stolas. What was going to happen when he saw him was anyone’s guess.

  Shit, he didn’t think the week would go by so fast.

   ‘You know that Stolas is just putting up a front, right? Because he’s a prince and you’re a lowly little imp. You’re just his little toy and now, he’s tired of you, you stupid little shitty imp.’

  Blitzø groaned before getting up and getting dressed, then he took a deep breath as he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled… albeit forcefully.

  “It’s fine…” he said. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. We’ll just meet up during the Full Moon and he’ll give me whatever he is he wants and maybe we can have ourselves a little diddle in the sheets.”

   ‘Oh, yeah! Fuck him! That’ll fix things! That’s always the first thing you do, isn’t it? Fuck first, ask questions later, or not even at all. You’re such a stupid fucking horndog. No wonder Stolas stopped having sex with you.’

  Blitzø groaned again as he rubbed his face. “Fuck…”

  “Dad?”

  “Huh?” Blitzø asked as he turned to see Buffy sticking her head in the bathroom.

  “Is everything okay?” Buffy asked.

  “Um… yeah,” Blitzø replied.

   ‘No, you’re not, asshole.’

  “Are you sure?” Buffy asked, seeming uncertain.

  “Sweetie, I promise, I’m fine, okay?” Blitzø reassured. “I mean… I might be just a little nervous about seeing Stolas, tonight.”

  “Daddy, don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” asked Buffy. “I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”

  Blitzø sighed before he scratched at the back of his head and bit his lip, causing Buffy to smile before she walked up and hugged him, gently nuzzling her furry cheek against the imp’s, which caused him to smile at her.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Blitzø replied.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

barty is inherently predatory to me. he wants to call himself daddy, and sit evan on his lap under the guise of helping him study, and make evan feel confused & embarrassed over the ways his body reacts when barty plays with him, then act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. ("hold still, bunny. let me touch you in that place that makes you feel funny…

I’m gonna say this in the nicest way possible but coming in here and saying your Barty is inherently predatory when another (I’m assuming) person who is also in here yapping about the same dynamic just called Evan a child,,,, it’s not a good look I fear

Also you’re just,, wasting your time typing this out I’m afraid cause I don’t care about uwu innocent Evan who only bottoms and he’s short and childlike and frail and Barty is this big tall predatory freak who wants to corrupt and diddle him. Just,,, save your time honestly

[gumballavocadoharry]

Daddy's boy; Jack Chambers

*Jack's father (or any other character beside the cast) is NOT in the don't worry darling movie franchise at all! This is a made up character to add to the plot and I don't want anything to be confused or taken out of context! Also small menton of daddy issues.* *Also extreme FLUFF!!!*

There he was. The cloying baby boy that had been awaiting them for months, was now in Alice's arms while her and her husband stared down at their bundle. Despite the baby now being visible to them, he always was in their hearts as they anxiously waited for him. His soft dark brown rich locks, and his opulent, elysian emerald, shamrock colored eyes that resembled glint diamonds.

He had watermelon blush lips, that curved into a small heart figure. The name chosen for this beautiful doll baby was, Roger. Roger Chester Chambers. His appearance was no accident despite his scarce features. Roger took after his father, Jack who had the same alluring green eyes and lavish brown hair was rather dapper himself.

The deep pumpkin dimples that indented the lad's cheeks were identical to his son's. But despite the sentimental feelings that decorated the room from the outside, it was incomparable to the caprizant feelings of cherishment, besotted lovesick the couple felt for their new baby. Jack especially locked eyes with his mini twin; watching the baby take soft yawns and smacks with his toothless mouth and twitch his pocket sized nose.

Love at first sight was just a euphemism for the rationale of Jack's very being of existence euphoria he felt that night once he held his son for the first time. It was surreal, yet a reverie of what was happening. Holding Roger close enough to hear his heartbeat was captivating to say the least, but it wasn't until he booped his nose with his, that sealed in their lifelong bond.

"I'm your daddy, little guy. You're so special and we're so proud of you," Jack continued, "I love you." He said softly, holding Roger close to him and savoring every moment of his purity pouring onto his son.

Fast forward to a few months......the newborn was now 4 months old, bouncing away in his crib, animatedly waiting for his bedtime story. Jack came into the sapphire colored bedroom with a pep in his step and heart eyes. His heart ruptured with love, upon seeing Roger's hands reaching towards his father to pick him up and hold him.

Roger looked with effervescent eyes upon seeing Jack's big hands reach for him under his arms gently and pick him up above his crib. Jack's unapologetic deep cooing accompanied by precious smacks of kisses to his chubby bubble cheeks. Jack sat down in the custom made seafoam green rocking chair and grabbed one of Roger's favorite books from the shelf.

He gently rocked along rythmatical, as he flipped through the pages of 'Hey diddle, diddle' reading with a slightly cartoonish voice much to Roger's amusement. "Okay little guy, the story's over so that means bedtime now," Roger gave way to a little whine, that moved Jack's heartstrings a little. "I know my little baby bear, but you need your rest so you can grow big and strong...like me." Jack was proud of himself for such a charming metaphorical use of an example.

He set the book aside and carefully picked Roger up and flew him over his crib. "Super baby is ready for a landing!" Jack's voice sounded of a radio announcer. Jack 'landed' Roger into his crib and looked in awe at the copy cat of him, squirming and gurgling.

"You really are something special Roger......and I know me and you are going to be best friends. And we'll tell stories and play together....and we'll be able to tell each other everything." Jack said the last line with feathered buoyancy. He looked into Roger's eyes; starry sparkles sparking in his eyes mixed with abyssal pride and intimate affection. Such contentment in this moment, is what sent Jack's finger into Roger's little hand. Roger played around with the large finger, sucking on it and squeezing it, sending a rippling effect of adoration through him.

It wasn't until Jack pulled his finger away, that he leaned his face in closer, lips puckering, inching closer to the baby's rosette cheek that he pressed a soundly, loud kissie onto. "Muah!" He pulled back to see Roger looking up at Jack, wondering what it was his father had just done. "Kissie kisses for my little bear." He said, in that pommy twang of his. "Goodnight....I love you. Very, very much." Jack's voice turned into a whisper towards the end his goodnight.

He casted a small gentle smile with a cheek pinch before walking out of Roger's bedroom for the night.

Fast forward a few years later.....now that baby boy, is an ornery but compassionate little boy. At 8 years old, Roger made his autonomy well known around the house. Jack, Alice and Susan all had the bear the brunt of Roger's echoing of him being 'Mr self-sufficient'. But of course no one really took it serious of Roger being mature, because he contradicted himself with his pranks and schemes.

And for awhile, it didn't really mean anything to Roger because...well...as promised he grew close with Jack. Jack never minded his barmy pranks as long as they weren't blatant foolish or insensitive. Roger loved crawling on Jack's lap and listening to his stories, or his head or foot rubs because of a 'headache' or 'sore foot'. Roger was still little enough to be held in Jack and Alice's arms and on occasion.........Susan. Something to his dismay.

But whether Roger liked to admit it or not, he loved when Jack held him in his arms and would carry him to bed and gently lay him down and tuck him in. Something Jack cherished as well with both his children.

After all, he was there for the first steps, first word, first boo-boo, first failed test, first nightmare and so on. Even Roger couldn't deny he was a daddy's boy, while Jack would twist it to daddy's 'little' boy. His reasoning was it was engraved on one of Roger's bibs as a baby.

This was something Jack never had as a child. His father was more of a tough, never had time for much fun type parent. His standard was a mangled, degenerate zealotry of what men should be like in his eyes. Jack could count on his fingers the time his father gave him compliments, he never received hugs or kisses from him; badgered about little incompetent things that were deemed 'feminine' gnawed at his father's pride.

It was his mother that showered him with the affection and softness. Jack always appreciated that, but still had a narrow tender gap in his heart that was for his father. He could be cold an though never violent or physical, and his advice at times was solid, his confined emotion didn't vapor into Jack's hypersensitive, empath persona. Like gasoline and water.

But Jack had made a promise to himself after one particular argument with his father, that he would be totally different. He would show his children love and affection, especially his son. To Jack, tears weren't just reserved for the girls, sobs weren't for the weak, and love was never a read between the lines....it was evident and it was gonna be there for his children to see......and believe.

So, when the bond that he formed with Roger at birth happened, he coddled it and nurtured it like he did with Susan as a baby. He played with Roger, fed him, changed him, kissed him, hugged him, tended to every boo-boo or tummy ache, rocked him to sleep in his arms and told him he loved his boy.

Even Roger could sense the feeling of love, shimmering down his spine whenever Jack would smile at him or share a laugh together.

But at school, Roger wanted things different. Roger wanted a straightforward handshake or pat on the shoulder. But today, things went a little sour. Brian and Max, the most popular boys in school had set their attention on Roger because of a prank he needed them for. A water balloon catapult. But Jack's cosmic love, reared itself when Roger accidently left his lunch in Jack's car.

"Roger!" Roger turned around to see his father running to him olympic style. "Baby bear, you forgot your lunch." Roger could sense his cheeks stinging the minute his father's presence entered the school yard. "Baby bear?" Max chuckled. Roger's face grew a darker shade of pink. Jack's gentle papa bear smile wasn't budging, despite Roger's manifested body language that wanted Jack to leave.

"Now, am I forgetting something?" He said with honeysuckle in his voice. "I don't think so, bye da-,"

"Your kiss!" Jack was trying to be jokester, but this situation was anything BUT funny to Roger. Jack cupped Roger's little face into his hands and kissed his forehead with sound. Pulling away, Roger had modest frown on his face, hearing the rippling effects of laughter being shared with Brian and Max before they walked away with a haughty patronizing tone.

"Daddy's boy!" Brian laughed, "His little baby bear couldn't survive without his lunch!"

Max joined in with kiss noises. "Is he gonna bring you your bottle and diaper? Daddy's baby needs his kissys, ha!" Roger's face became a raspberry color as he walked away from the two boys, completely side swiping the prank. Roger was sour the entire rest of day, and became sorer at Jack, for treating him ignominious in the company of his fellow peers. The chasten feeling that stained Roger once Jack had left and his 'friends' had mocked him ferociously was inordinate.

The entire school had eventually found out about Roger's run in with his 'daddy' and so that left everyone, with the partial exception of Susan to tease and mock him. "Daddy's boy," was a newfound nickname, everyone seemed to enjoy calling the boy.

It was like a giant D and B were ironed onto his shirt. "Don't focus on them Roger," Susan tried to comfort her brother. "They're probably just jealous." Roger kept his head down the entire day. His catastrophizing thoughts are what imagined him in a bonnet, pacifier and bib. He was in crowded assembly and everyone was laughing their heads off. The final nightmare was Jack swooping in, and kissing his face all over for the entire school to see. "My little baby." He cooed.

A scream erupted from Roger, in absolute terror of being undignified in public. "Mr. Chambers?" Roger shot his head up to reveal the concerned teacher standing above him. "Can you tell us what the answer to question 5 is?" Roger scanned the chalkboard, desperately ignoring his trepidation.

"Uh, 8?" To his surprise, he was correct. "Very good,"The teacher wrote the answer on the chalkboard. Roger thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn't have to suffer ant detentions due to the offence of not paying attention.

Once school was out, the fireworks started up again. Jack was standing right there, waiting for his kids to come scampering down the concrete hill, so he could squish them in paps bear hugs. Susan trotted down with ease, falling into her father's arms after the long rugged day at school.

Roger came in second, mind ruminating over other things, that he didn't feel the firm shove of Max, who had pushed him down the hill, tumbling as he went. As if his face wasn't already blushed from the prickly day at school, this last straw is what drew his sensitive side out.

This is what made Roger stream torrents of tears. He raced past his father and sister, hoping to make it home before he would just push himself down on the ground and cry like a fussy one year old. "Roger?" Distress took over Jack's voice as he looked to Susan for an explanation. The sun beat down on Roger's eyes, making the way home seem like a journey through the desert. Sniffles and spare tears ran through his cheeks, heading off on his chin as his tears dripped on the dry sidewalk.

The domestic green bel air pulled up beside Roger, slowly matching his walking speed. "Roger, what's wrong? I know you fell down.....but....why are you so sad?" Jack's baby voice protruded a little on the last ink of the sentence.

"Everyone was maki-" "Susan honey, let Roger tell it okay?" Jack gently reminded his earlier child. "Everyone was making fun of me...."

"Why?" Roger shrugged. Susan bit her lip to keep from spilling the beans. But it was Roger who looked to his sister for help. "Because....well....all the kids were calling him a daddy's boy," Jack's head shot back over to his sullen son.

The embarrassment took over Roger, which sent him running home at top speed. He ran upstairs to his bedroom, dashing so fast, that he couldn't even hear Alice greet him. She suspected something once she didn't see Susan or Jack follow in behind him, only a couple minutes later.

"Hey hon," Jack kissed Alice. "Hey mom," Alice kissed Susan. "Hey,......what's up with Roger?" Jack glanced towards upstairs, "That's what I'm trying to figure out." Jack followed pursuit on Roger's trail to his bedroom.

"Roger?" Jack's knock alerted the boy. "Can I come in?" Noise of sniffles came closer and closer until the door opened and Roger was standing behind it. "It's allergies," But Jack knew better. He escorted Roger to his bed after closing the bedroom door.

"What's up bud? Tell me," Jack smushed Roger's cheeks with his hands. "When.....you kissed me after bring me my lunch today at school, a bunch of kids started teasing me and calling me a daddy's boy. "Oh Roger....I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get teased." Roger put his head in Jack's lap.

"I am a daddy's boy aren't I?" Jack giggled. "Well, we do have a special bond!" Jack rubbed Roger's head softly. "I remember, when you were just a baby....that little nose.....little chin.....but these vivid green eyes that were just so alert to everything because it was all so new...." Jack went into a nostalgic sentimental daze.

"And I made my goal with both of you kids that I would always be open with my love. I didn't have a father who would tell me 'I love you' or give me hugs or kisses....or foot rubs," Jack said with giggle and tickle to Roger's midriff, making him cough out a laugh.

Jack wrapped his arm around Roger. "I promised myself I wouldn't be like that. When you and Susan were born, it was the happiest day of my life. You both were pink and perfect, you smelled brand new....and that's when I knew I had this one shot to be one the most important people in your life to show you what unconditional love truly meant.....but I didn't mean to embarrasses you Roger. I respect that at your age, you want to have a certain image.....so.....if you want....I won't kiss you in public anymore."

Roger's stomach did cartwheels, not knowing whether this feeling was satisfaction of being treated like an adult, or unanticipated deflation of racked compunctious that kept him from enjoying his victory. He was now faced with a decision that he wouldn't be able to complain about with whatever pill he swallowed.

"I don't mind dad.....after all, it's not a huge deal." Jack's face brightened at the fingers crossed answer. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Roger. I love you so much and I want to clobber you to death in my sappy, mushy love.... Jack's thoughts ringed.

But instead, he expressed his gratitude in a papa bear hug that lasted for a long time. "I love you my bunny," Jack cooed, "I love you too daddy." Roger's heart fluttered at being a subject to Jack's closness.

It wasn't as smothering as he thought, it was still the same old warm blanket on a cold winter's day and breeze of cool air on hot summer day. Everything Roger needed.

To Jack, he would still always be that baby boy Jack met in the hospital one summer night, that changed his life forever.

And that baby boy.....didn't mind it so much like he thought he would.

[spod3]

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS:

it's like say don't go !!! i will listen to them together. i like it. he runs because he loves her !!! the layers. no one gets her like me.

DOWN BAD:

don't cry at the gym. get out of the 1950's gymnasium !!!

i think i found kaylor in this song. she mentions twins, which could be karlie. but she and joe also looked the same............. and then she mentions that she was left safe and [something] so that might reference karlie leaving her after lover [aka the fort she built them] gahhh idk. i'm sure someone can make a lovely theory out of this one.

SO LONG, LONDON:

goodness gracious ! my soul hath left my body !

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM:

mmm. i'm having this baby? no i'm not but you should've seen your faces? mmm.

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER:

if she went to prison and i went to prison we would meet and be friends :P

FLORIDA:

oh ! oh !! oh !!! they smell like little babies !!!! florence just started singing. my heart is beating so so fast.

GUILTY AS SIN:

upper thigh........ tasty, you sly fox. fatal fantasies? do you guys think she's referencing final fantasy and how sexy cloud is? i bet she is. who's name is she screaming !!! this woman. mmm. she made a lil bible reference. mmm. anyway. quite nice.

WHO'S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME:

vigilante shit 2.0

I CAN FIX HIM [NO REALLY I CAN]:

tasty has a mommy kink, i just know it.

LOML:

the start is reminiscent of the alcott. i am eating diddle daddle ! hurrah !

I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART:

my lips are sealed. i'm lumping it in with bejeweled.

THE SMALLEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED:

diddle daddle is so gooddd.

THE ALCHEMY:

i don't like travis kelce. nothing personal. i just feel like he'd be mean to me in school and he's dating our woman.

CLARA BOW:

i'm just enjoying my purple powerade and thinking about listening to florida again.

[doloresliddell]

I was already getting diddled fresh out of the womb. I never nymphetposted wishing an older daddy boyfriend, because I was fucking my dad since always. And my uncle. And cousin. And grandfather figure. Sometimes mom when she got drunk and violent.

You are weak and will not survive the winter.

[shellyvaleras]

Did you like it when daddy touched your nono area? *Doodles a pic of ur child self getting diddled by ddaddy* . Don't get upset it's just fiction uwu. If you get upset your a puritan.

You people are so predictable. Come on. Say it outside of anonymous. I'm not scared to say it. Y'all are unhinged.

Did you know it's no longer fiction if you include people from reality? What you are talking about is actual CSEM.

But on a more serious note. I dare you. Come on. You can't get me with your childish bs. Bring it. Commit a crime by drawing my child self getting railed. Sorry. "Diddled" y'all are so dumb.

I'll be waiting.

[age-of-play-i-say]

“Little one? I’m about to go on my break, are you ready?” Daddy calls down the hall from his office door, alerting me early that I have a choice to make soon.

My body perks up before I even register he's talking to me, my overstimulated baby parts already beginning to tingle and swell in response.

Daddy will let me (and even help sometimes) make my humpies on his lap during work breaks, having set a limitation on me handling my own tingly parts during the daytime, when he can take care of it for me. Daddy's made good on all his promises, making his lap available to relieve myself of big kid tingles several times a day. 

But after three days of humping out the stickies as much as I need, my lil winkie aches with overuse. But I still stiffen up and pulse when he calls for me. I want him all the time, and my winkie gets all stiff when he calls me to his lap. 

Whenever my cheeks burn and I feel ashamed of my tingles, Daddy tells me how much he likes my humpies, how he's so proud of me and happy about my progress.

I just have to decide if I want it.

If I nod yes, Daddy will haul me into his lap in the daybed of the living room, straddle my legs over his lap or thighs, and start whispering and cooing in my ear while I rock forward and find my release noisily.

"Little one!~" Daddy sings down the hall at the top of his afternoon break.

Keep reading

I spread my legs and whine a bit from the bed in my room, my lil winkie being too sensitive to even hump comfortably. I can trust him with this problem, he'll know exactly what to do.

Daddy peers his head around the corner of my doorway.

"There you are, sweetie! What'll it be this time? Are you feeling up to making your stickies on Daddy's thigh?" He grins and then peers into my almost-distressed face, brow furrowing, "oh no, sweetie! Daddy hasn't seen that face in a few days; can you tell your Daddy what's wrong?"

Daddy joins me on the bed, where my coloring is still spread out from before my hole started getting puffy at the sound of his voice.

"I came to give my happy little one a bouncy ride, but I don't see my happy little one anywhere!"

I whine louder, working up the nerve to respond. I waggle my hips open more so Daddy can see my undies stretched over my growing parts from his vantage point sitting behind me. He groans lightly and his hand grazes up my thigh. 

He gently grabs a handful of my tush and spreads my thighs even more to inspect closely.

"Baby . . .are you . . .are you soaking through your panties just at the sound of Daddy's voice?" he stage-whispers with obvious delight. Without hesitation, he presses a blunt thumb against the wet spot over my hole. I gasp and shudder, and he smiles and rubs a little circle over my twitching, shivering boycunt.

His smile disappears when I yelp and grab for his finger with a grimace.

"Little one!" Daddy pulls his hand away from my stiff parts, "what is it, should I stop touching? What do you need?" He sounds controlled, but I can hear a note of panic in his voice, never wanting his baby to be in true distress, only teases and soft playtime for his special baby. 

He says I need a soft protector to collapse into and he wants to be that safe space for me. He loves me more than anything and he wants me to feel so good.

I find my voice, feeling so little now, and safe as can be.

"Dada?" I begin, bringing a thumb up to my lips.

"Yes? My good, sweet, little one?"

"Feel sore from all da humpies, winkie hurrrrts when make humpies! or touchies!"

"Oh no! Poor baby, getting too much attention paid to your willy and parts, huh?” Daddy looks relieved that he hasn’t overstepped, and sits back, thinking. “Well I could stop letting you grind on me so much, but you're too little to make humpies unsupervised, so that would mean no relief for my horny little one until after work when Daddy has time for finger diddling his helpless baby."

I blush at his description of me, not wanting to argue with Daddy when I was so needy. I press my hips into the mattress, not caring that Daddy can see my parts twitching through the soaked undies.

"Dada, do want winkie 'ttencion, only-- want kissies on mi winkie." I squirm from how blushy my request makes me feel, lil stiffie encouraging me to rut my hips down the mattress, somewhere in the direction of Daddy's mouth.

The effect my little declaration has on Daddy is obvious. His eyes darken and he grins down at me, leaning down from sitting on the bed to kiss at my ruined undies over my baby winkie and hole.

"F-french kissies, pwease!" I add in a squeak while he lifts my hips to sweep my ruined undies off of me and onto the floor.

Daddy doesn’t miss a single beat, getting settled on his back with my now-bare tush over his chest, knees on either side of his head, with me clutching the headboard, clenching and unclenching as Daddy breathed onto my little baby winkie. He runs his hands down my big hips and shuffles his body down a few inches to line up my tdick with his mouth.

“One messy blowjob for my little sweetie, coming right up,” he says from between my boycunt lips. Wasting no time and hearing no complaints from me, Daddy closes his lips around my sensitive, twitching stiff winkie and I forget to breathe.

The suckling alone is good, but the firm pace set by his hands at my hips have me driving into his waiting mouth, fucking his face, and trying not the scream.

When he adds his tongue, the tip languidly circling the tender underside of the head, I shiver and gasp, exalting a very breathy “Daddy, DADDY! Oohhh-!!!!!”. I cannot stop my thrusting into his velvet mouth over and over, my anticipation dripping down his neck and chest.

He pulls off my pulsating stiffie for a moment, soothing my hips with little circles while he tilts his head back to ask a question:

“Fingers and touching hurting you inside too, little one? Or just the rubbing and humping you’ve been doing all over Daddy’s good jeans make your outside baby parts so raw? He leans up to kiss my winkie lightning fast and wait on my answer, but I struggle not to explode on the spot, overcome with his love and care for me.

He comes up for air one last time.

“No, dada!” I shake my head and grind my hips down to his lips again, canting my hips back to slide my stiffie up and down Daddy’s lips, and he groans. “Diddles from dada fingies feels s’ good, dada diddles are perfect” I smile all dopey when Daddy opens his mouth to draw me back inside it, before snaking one arm under my tush and pressing two fingers to my dripping hole.

Daddy presses inside easily, riding a gush of pleasure I can’t suppress. My face is beet red with embarrassment, both at the squirting and at my extra-babyish title for Daddy, which absolutely did not go unnoticed.

“Come on sweetie, time to make your cummies on your Dada before he gets back to work! Bounce those hips, there we go. Let your Dada do the hard work, put that stiff winkie in Dada’s mouth. Since you’re such a baby today, you may have forgotten: if it feels like you’re about to make pee pee, let go, that means you’re about to feel so good in your special parts, okay, Dada’s baby?”

I’m already coming from his filthy words by the time he gets my stiffie back between his lips, clenching, and moaning and whimpering and squirting around his crooked fingers. When I’m spent, he flips me over to swiftly grind against my tush until he grunts and stiffens up, coming in his dada boxers.

He gives me a wet, lingering kiss, and tucks me carefully into my bed for a post-fuck nap before dashing down the hall, settling in for a half-hour Zoom meeting with my release still coating his grinning face, his own spend in his boxers. He doesn’t hear a word, floating on cloud 9 now that his baby is little enough to be calling him “Dada” and trusting him to take care of their needs with no trepidation.

[serenaatlas]

Currently considering marching dca so I can make friends up here 😭😭

[iloveart06]

Delicious Frosting  Ransom Drysdale x Male Reader

Gif not mine

Warmings: Smut, cum playing, food playing, Oral sex

The kitchen smelled of sugar and honey. There stood the young male, humming a Christmas tone as his hand moved to mix the batter. Christmas was one of the best holidays of the year although not all thought the same. His playboy boyfriend came strolling in the kitchen, grumpy and mean. “It smells disgusting in here M/N.” Ransom said, going to sit in the counter table, watching M/N. Rolling his eyes he couldn’t care else what Ransom said. “Too bad Ranny, if you like sticking that dick of yours up my ass, you gotta deal with what I like too. And that is Christmas baking” 

The playboy grunts in annoyance at M/N’s words. “Besides what’s the hate behind Christmas?” M/N questions, looking towards the playboy. “Many reasons actually, my annoying family, their annoying servants and it reminds me when I was a kid when my mother would force me to wear a suit and drag me to church.” “Well, I’m sorry for your shitty life. Now come and help me out.” Grabbing him by his arm, M/N pulls Ransom out of his seat and drags him up. 

“M/N I really don’t w-” Shoving a cookie into his mouth was the only way to shut him off. “Eat it.” Demanded M/N. The playboy frowns as he chewed the cookie in. “Don’t do that again. I don’t want crumbs on my sweater.” “And if I do. What will you do?” 

Ransom does his sassy smirk before saying, “That depends dear.” Now with an idea, M/N gets a cupcake from the counter before Ransom grabs his wrist, before he could do anything. “Don’t” His jaw clenches. M/N smirks, “Who said it was for you.” He pushes away the playboy’s grip and licks at the top of the white frosting. Ransom eyes light up a bit, slowly turning his killing face into a smug fuckboy grin. “Dear are we going to start something new. Perhaps messy?” “If that’s what you want Ranny.” 

They look at one another intensely. The atmosphere around them began turning hot with arousal. The playboy curses under his breath, getting the cupcake out of M/N’s hand, taking a lick out of the frosting before leaning in and slowly presses his lips to the stunned boy. Pushing his mouth gently, allows the frosting M/N assumed Ransom swallowed slip into his mouth. A gently whimper flourishes from his lips at the sudden act before quickly swallowing as Ransom deepened the kiss.

Slowly pushing away from the kiss, they stare at each other will full lust written on their eyes. “There is more to this sweetheart.” The playboy voice was deep yet husky. It sent shivers down M/N’s spine. Ransom brings his right thumb and slides it across M/N’s lips where some of the frosting was at place. Then he brings his hand up to the boy’s face, roots his cheek, his sweet soft thump tracing the outline of his lips before pushing between them and into his mouth. M/Ns moans softly around Ransom’s thumb as he sucked on it, tongue swirling to collect every bit of sweetness in his skin. 

The playboy whines as he watches M/N, pupils wide blown with dark eyes. Sucking harder, M/N bite his thumb, smirking as Ransom eyelids fall halfway as he’d tug his thumb away from his boy’s teeth, out of his mouth and diddling out his bottom lip. Then trailing some salvia covered on his thumb over M/N’s chin and down his neck. “Fuck” Ransom manages to breathe out. Getting on his knees, M/N nuzzles his face into Ransoms soft knitted sweater, but slowly went down to rub his right cheek right against the huge bulge. “May I?” He asks nicely with an innocent smile on his face. 

“Of course, dear.” Chuckled Ransom, ruffling his boy’s hair. M/N licks his lips as he unbuckled the belt and let the pants fall down total. The warmness of hard fat girth in his hand made him shiver when he took it into his hands. With just the tip, M/N suckled it until Ransom clutched his hair. Without a warning the playboy thrusted hard into his boy’s willing wet mouth. “There we go, kee-” M/N gagged.” Hey, hey don’t get stupid on me dear. Relax...there we go, good boy. So good for daddy.” Ransom praised. M/N moaned as the playboy’s cock hit the back of his throat. He wasn’t being merciful at this rate. 

His thrusts got faster and nastier as salvia was dripping down M/N’s chin. The muscles of his throat vibrated as the Ransom’s balls hit him repeatedly on the chin. “Fuck Baby love, so...so fucking wet. That tongue of yours...Fuck” Ransom voice cracked. Everything was so hazy, drunklike. Tears began forming, blurring his vision as his mouth was getting abused. All M/N could make of was those bitchy moans the playboy let out. 

Ransom threw his head up, gripping tighter at the backside side of M/N’s hair.  That familiar feeling rises in his stomach and M/N feels it. “Fucking Christ M/N. I-I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck” Pulling away, the playboy starts jacking off to M/N’s face. Through his eyelashes, he watches as Ransom ruthlessly fist fucks himself down before grunting, releasing his climax. Ransom shoots his load all over M/N’s face with some spurting down. His mouth was open, catching as much as he can as the playboy kept Cumming.

 Breathlessly gasping, he finishes only to let out a raspy chuckle upon realizing M/N’s upper body was covered with his milk. M/N plays around with it, sucking and licking his fingers, covered with the sweet, delicious milk. Ransom amusingly admires his dear boy as he cleans himself up. Grinning up at him, the playboy motions his index finger for M/N to come closer and kisses him all messy, sloppy mouth. Ransom moans at the taste of himself on M/N lips. 

“Did you like your milk darling?”

“God Ranny...Happy Holidays.” 

“Happy Holidays Dear...”