CYBERIA

You lay naked on the bed, legs spread, juices glistening off your folds while Simon hovers above you. His arms cage your head in as he kisses you rough, his tongue sliding over your soft lips, yours entering to explore the expanse of his mouth. He kisses the length of your jaw, down your neck where he licks the salty-sweet skin, bites just hard enough for you to writhe beneath him, and sucks until purple bruises are left to ache in the best way possible.

Before he can lower himself between your legs, you let your fingertips brush just under the waistband of his sweatpants, and his mouth stills against yours.

“Si… just let me try something tonight. I really want to,” you say breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss, gazing up at him with a look that is more of a beg than anything.

He kisses your forehead, moving his hand down to pull yours away, but before he can you reach in deeper, squeezing the base of him and earning a rumbling groan from him instead. His fingers wrap around your wrist, not moving you, just simply holding on like he has to steady himself.

“Lovie, please. Don’t embarrass me now,” he whispers, voice rough and low, wavering ever so slightly when your hand begins to trail further up his limp cock.

You don’t reply, but you do run your thumb against his tip, swiping the precum beading from his slit, evidence of his arousal despite him remaining soft. Lips meeting him again, he’s reluctant, but eventually he finds your rhythm.

Pushing his sweatpants down, you pull his cock out, stroking it gently and your warm, soft palm against him feels like you're touching his raw nerves. Even if he couldn’t get it up, it is still incredibly sensitive from months and months of pent-up need and no sex. Not that you hadn’t tried before, because you have, and every time he gets frustrated.

There’s not much you can say to convince him to try again on the same night.

Nonetheless, you focus on his tip, gliding your thumb under the ridge, rubbing against his slit, and you feel his cock twitch barely in your hand. You pull his body closer to yours, resting his cock on your folds, and he hisses from the sheer pleasure of that alone. Your body heat, your slick, the thought of him touching your aching clit like this has him beyond needy.

“Just slide against me. It’ll feel good, yeah,” you say, nodding your head slowly in encouragement.

His hips roll against you, his cock sliding underneath your palm and through your folds, and he bites back a whimper while shivers run down his spine. Simon can feel his cock hardening, just barely, just enough that he might actually be able to feel your walls wrap around him, so he wastes no time in finding out.

“Please, please,” he says under his breath, begging his body to let him pleasure you in ways he usually can’t, just for tonight if that’s what it takes.

He grabs the base of his cock, positioning at your entrance, and it takes a few tries but his semi-hard tip pushes through your entrance. You gasp softly, the feeling foreign and orgasmic, and your walls clench hard around him. A guttural groan rips from his chest when he begins to rock into you, his eyes meet yours, passion and desire swirling around as his pupils dilate from the sight of you taking him regardless of the conditions.

“You feel so good, Si,” you moan, lifting your hips to give him easier access, glancing down every few seconds to watch the way his impossibly large and yet still soft cock rubs through your walls.

“You feel like a dream,” is all he can get out before his eyes are shutting tight and his fingers are tangling in your hair.

Your body meets his, helping him through it, helping him get to where he needs to be so that just for tonight, he can feel man enough for you. And when he cums deep inside of you, his tip pulsing with long, thick ropes of warm cum, ‘thank you’s’ fall from him repeatedly before he kisses you with a newfound confidence.

“Again Si, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He stays rocking inside you, cumming again and again until his cock is too raw, until your pussy is full of his cum, and you feel every last bit of him. When he’s done, he lowers himself between your legs, cleaning his mess and sucking your clit, watching you cry from pleasure, watching you squirm away, but there is nothing he could give you that would ever come close to the feeling of showing him that he is enough for you.

│Masterlist│

It’s a rare occasion when Mr. Lineker hosts a soirée. Rarer still that his daughter is in attendance. His only biological child, from his first marriage, she rarely appeared in the public eye. The black sheep of the Lineker family already bearing the smudge of embarrassment even though she was the only of the heirs to bear the name. The only actual blood descendant.

And Simon was in love with her.

Or however close to love he could understand.

A kind young woman who always smiled when she greeted him, asked about his day, and only called him ‘Lt. Riley’. She only ever attended events when asked, chatted politely, then excused herself before the night got too late. Her rooms were never made up like when Mrs. Lineker’s niece or nephew come to visit. There’s no need to put fresh bouquets in the small room, left forgotten while she attended schooling, then university… and now that she's in the middle of some further schooling there is no attention given. (But the sheets still vaguely smell of her perfume, delicate floral notes strongest on the pillows as he held them to his nose, cock in hand.)

With Graves already in charge of everything, Si offers to pick her up, voice even, despite the quickening of his pulse, his heart starting to ebb up his throat. But the Texan shakes his head, already gave the job to the newbie, and his heart stops, seizes. 

He swallows it back down like a dog in a choke collar, knows it's not his place to step in.

It's not like he won't see her, he tells himself, after they're dimissed and he goes to lick his imaginary wounds.

He doesn't hate John MacTavish, but the younger man gets under his skin like a bad itch, when the flesh healed over but there was still the damage below that hadn't fully healed. Followed him like a stray looking for a home, talking off his ear.

The Scot was good at his job, he could admit, if a bit too damn chatty. From what Simon had been told, he'd been honorably discharged due to a wound, and had thought private security might be more up his alley. Probably didn't expect his jobs to be mostly parameter surveillance. But Linekar boarded on property and that sweet draw had been what got him, seems it had got the younger man too, as he continues to chatter.

And of course he asks about her.

It's an understandable curiosity, he reasons to himself. But still that has him feeling like he's raising his hackles. There's something about this sniffing that raises a warning bell in his brain. It's not because he's interested, Simon tries to reason, but even that thought does nothing to calm him.

The fact that he asks professionally about the woman, makes him dig his heels in more, curt answers given as there's no reason to expand on anything. There is no personal, he reminds himself. There is only a professional relationship, and this mutt, for all he may rile him, Simon knows that's all it is.

So of course the mutt has to shove his damn nose into a place it doesn’t belong. 

“What’re ya wearin’?” He cranes his neck to get a closer deep sniff of her neck, pawing at her waist to keep her still. And of course, she lets him, doesn't snap at him like Simon wants her to, despite the sudden closeness. Despite the straightening of her spine, a smile plays at the edge of her lips like he doesn't have his mitts on her.

He can feel his teeth grinding in his skull, jaw so tight he’s worried he’ll crack something.  That molar he'd gotten a crown on after his service, finally having the time for it.

With a soft laugh, she shuffles closer to him. She chose him. "Oh, it's just uh-"

"Thinkin' it'd make a grand gift fer my sister," MacTavish continues to chatter and the back of Si's neck tingles as he glowers at the daft mutt. He couldn't fathom interrupting her when he'd started the damn subject.

But her shoulders relax, her smile spreads as she names the scent, offering sites that she's found good discounts on, shops she'd been able to get it at for lower than the offical.

Simon doesn't feel anything.

The popping of his knuckles is just to keep the digits limber.

It's just a job.

He snaps at the pup to take her luggage inside, not seething, just his normal stoic self.

She laughs beside him, flashing a smile that he stores in his memory. "Looks like you've got your hands full, Lt. Riley," her clear amusement sends tingles low in his stomach.

"Not my fuckin' problem," he forces out, because his heart is beating fast, and he knows he has to say something.

And her smile dips, eyes on him so big, like the sweet lamb she is. If he could make himself say things normal-like he woulda by now.

She excuses herself with a soft laugh. It's not at him, but that might make things easier. Probably.

MacTavish finds him later, tail practically wagging between his legs as he crows that she's a peach.

He forces out an agreement.

The party is nothing that requires the security they offer, not really.

But they never are.

In the week since her arrival he'd been unable to stop himself from putting his foot in his mouth at every opportunity when he could even get a word out.

It's idling securely, while people with more money than sense rub elbows, chat happily while they scan the wealth of the others, their worth, and compare it to their own.

It's just work.

That she stays in his eyesight at all time is just part of his job. Hair done up

And MacTavish glues himself to his side, eyes wondering the scenery, despite the fact that he shifts his weight like a dog that's been kept in a kennel too long.

She drifts closer, as the night goes on, same flute of champagne so tenderly nursed. He could count each sip.

"So what do ya do?" MacTavish's voice makes her start, appearing so suddenly near her when Simon had done everything in his power to stay as still as he could, so she wouldn't notice. So close he could almost touch her.

"I, uh- I was doing NGO work but I'll be starting at a clinic in little under a month." There was already a smile playing at the edge of her mouth as she spoke, relaxing so easily while the mutt nodded along.

Simon could feel his jaw tighten, throat constricting. She was smiling at him. "Bit o' a fuckin' waste innit?"

If he could eat his own words out of the air, he would, from the way her eyes drop, throat tightens, before she nodded stiffly, a sound leaving her before she turned to MacTavish. "Well, I'll let you be, sorry for interrupting."

They stand in silence as she weaves her way through people, polite smile on her face.

He can feel the mutts eyes on him, jaw setting as he watches her move.

Fucked up again.

When he turns to snap at him, Simon's almost surprised by the blue eyes staring into him. Quizzical, but… a mirror.

A smile ticks up on MacTavish's lips before he nods as well. "Got this, L.T., just needs a bit o' time reckon."

Before he can ask, the mutt continues his perimeter walk, whistling softly to himself.

That should have been it.

Of course, Simon knows he should try to say something that doesn't make her freeze like a deer in the headlights, but she never stuck around long after her father's events.

Again MacTavish is assigned to drive her back to the station, grunt work for the newest grunt, and he doesn't make a move to intervene, still mentally licking his wounds. It's not like he doesn't notice how more at ease she is with the Scot.

But the man approaches him, mumbling about a mistakenly picked location, requesting him for backup, with the weather bound to change and a cabin already reserved for their return.

Only the weather had been worse than predicted. She agrees readily to simply turn in for the night and figure out a ticket the next day, insisting that getting on a train isn't worth any possible accident, despite MacTavish's offer.

It would have been a squeeze just the two of them, but the sleeping quarters made it obvious that it was a more normal rental for a family with children.

They're…bulky in comparison to her, it makes sense for them to share the larger bed, and she beelines for the smaller mattress, already checking her phone, likely to see when the next available ticket would be. He should say something. Something normal that'd make her smile, and look at him again. Instead of Johnny.

He should make her laugh.

His trigger finger taps against his thigh as his tongue ties in his mouth.

It's a bit of a surprise when she agrees to drinking as they play cards.

Of course the mutt liked Scotch. Packed it with, as well as a bottle of burbon.

Her laughter rings in his ears, eyes darting to her, and he knows he stares but god he wishes he could reach out and touch her. A tingle in his neck has his eyes on MacTavish, blue eyes so… clear that Simon finds himself swallowing. It was strange, how there seemed to be an understanding, though they never discussed it.

When his eyes fall on her again, she's looking at him, smile playing at the edge of her lips.

Another round before she mumbles about sleeping. They exhange some words, Simon can't quite hear, before MacTavish passes her something.

He waits till after she'd bid them goodnight, brushed her teeth.

Only then does he raise a brow at MacTavish.

The mutt's grinning like a wolf. "Don't worry your pretty little head off, L.T., 's a surprise."

A niggling part of his brain tells him to ask.

Instead, he sets his glass down to a refill as he shuffles the cards for their next round.

He wakes with a start, squinting at MacTavish's beaming face before his lagging, potentially hungover brain can even think to check the time. "Johnny, w-"

"Surprise, c'mon."

The questions stop in his brain as he throws the covers off to follow the younger man.

His breath catches in his throat, when he walks into the other room. Her chest rising and falling in sleep.

And he knows he shouldn't be there.

"C'mon, she's wanted you, just makes it easy."

Easy right.

Just make it easy.

She's soft. He'd always figured, in the back of his mind, but to the touch, he couldn't even believe it. So warm and soft.

Simon parts her puffy pussy lips with his thumb and pointer finger.

Presses his tongue flat against her folds as he laps his way up, savoring every moment.

Fu-ck." He grumbles to himself as he shucks his briefs down, giving himself a good tug so he could make this moment worth it. Easy, like he said.

It's like sliding home as he eases himself into her.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny hisses behind him, reminding Simon of his presence to his utter annoyance, as something that should be between the two of them is shared. “Should see her poor kitty, stuffed to the brim.”

The most he can exert to the Scot is a grumble, but even that's cut off, turned into a soft pant as he bottoms out, forehead resting against her collarbone.

It was… Euphoric.

Easy to get lost in the motions, as he bore down, in, through.

Before he's even realized, he's cumming, pressing his face against her neck, almost dizzy with the closeness of her.

Lips finding his have him kiss back instinctively.

Opening his eyes to the blue ones of Johnny. And part of him panics, fully comprehends everything going on, before he tilts his head, as the Scot presses closer.

The twinge of his cock, pulls a moan from him.

"Go on, L.T."

Yeah.

He could do this again, shifting his hips.

All Simon can hear is the plap-plap-plap of his fucking into her pussy, each kiss of his pelvis to the fat of her thighs leaving a wet smear of mess on his heavy balls. Cum making a creamy ring around the base of his cock. She’s so hot, it’s like she broke his brain. And she had, had distracted him from living his quiet life, from his job, smiling at Johnny like she’d wanted the young pup. When he’d been right there. Always had been.

His heart was on his throat as he leans down to press his lips against hers, soft sighs of moans in her sleep sending lightning down his back.

When he pulls back, he's careful, raising his weight to his knees, and-

He's pulled into another kiss by the Scot, his own sigh broken as he tangles his fingers through his mullet, tugging him even closer before he breaks away. "In this together, eh? Your turn then, Johnny."

And it's almost like he can see his tail wagging, as he pulls his pants back on to let him take his place. Their place.

If Johnny minds having his cock covered in his cum, he doesn’t let on to it. He kisses across his their girl, her tits, her neck, her lips, as he ruts into her, unable to hold back his moans.

Despite himself, despite that this would be the third for him, Simon palms himself idly, as he watches. For the first time in his life, he wonders at how they look. It was nothing like the porn he'd watched.

It was better.

He let himself feel the tingling in his thighs as his cock twitched with interest. The heat low in his belly.

Their soft moans.

Simon cums again with a shudder, as he watches Johnny lean down to kiss her.

Again, he pulls him in for a kiss after. Leans down to press a kiss against the edge of her lips.

At breakfast, he nurses his tea while he watches MacTavish's back as the Scot whistles to himself, making breakfast.

She enters the room with a yawn, asking how they'd slept. "Lt. Riley, you look rested, that's a nice surprise."

You didn’t text or call after breakfast, or your usual lunch time, but he was too bogged down with work to get off base to physically check in, lay eyes on you, make sure you’re alright. If you’re distracted enough you forgot to text, he’s worried it means you’ve lost track of the day completely, forgotten to eat or drink something other than coffee. Your little blue icon on the map tells him you’re definitely at work, but that’s all he has until he’s able to get away. 

When he does, and he slips through the back door of the bakery into the kitchen, he finds a scene he did not expect- 

and immediately knows the rules you broke today won’t result in a punishment. 

At least, not tonight. 

You’re standing at your work table, the rectangular butcher’s block that nearly stretches the span of the room, hands covering your face, hyperventilating. You’re covered in flour and there’s dried batter on your elbows, your neck, your clothes, a chaotic mess strewn across the tabletop.  

He calls your name softly and you turn with wide, wet eyes, a trembling lower lip. 

“What-” you nearly trip over yourself to get to him, falling into his arms, your tear stained face pressing against his chest, your own heaving. “Shhh, you’re okay, you're okay.” The front door swings open and Mara is there, pointing at the table, you, before making a motion with her hand like she’s cutting air in front of neck with a grim expression. Whatever it was, or is, it’s derailed the day completely, left you in tatters. He wishes you would have just called him, followed your rules so he could have helped, been here for you, with you, supported you. He nods at her, and cups your face, tries to tilt it up into his as you sob. "Okay, shhh, I've got you, I'm here. Let me look at you baby, let me see your eyes." They're laden with tears, broken with stress and anxiety, everything in you shaking and sparking like a live wire.

“I b-b-broke the ov-oven this morning,” you cry, clinging to his shirt, “I tried to- t-tried to fix it but... and I broke m-my rules..” His heart chips a little bit at the raw distress in your voice, the way your chest heaves like you’ve just run a marathon. He has to fix it, soothe it, bring you back and take care of you, of everything, properly.

“Okay sweetheart, you're alright,” Your face turns, ear pressing over where his heart thumps in his chest, and he automatically covers the other one with his palm, blocking out the world around you but continuing to murmur softly so you can feel the vibration of his words as he rubs your back. “You’re alright baby, everything’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, m-my rules-"  

“We’re not going to worry about the rules or what happened with them right now. We're going to get you home and taken care of, and we’ll talk about the rules when you’re feeling better. Do you understand?” You shake your head, still struggling to take a deep breath. “What is your number one rule baby, tell me.” 

“Listen to daddy.” 

“Good girl. I will tell you when it’s time to think about what happened today with your rules. Do you understand me?” You sniffle, but nod. 

“Yes daddy.” 

“Left arm.” One of the reasons he bought this house over the other ones is the tub. It’s massive, jacuzzi style with jets, perfect for a soak, or a scrub, which is what’s happening now. He turns your fingers up, runs the washcloth across them until the flour beneath is gone, soaping you all the way up to your shoulders, your collarbone that’s half hidden by bubbles. 

“Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you for letting me take care of you, sleepy girl.” Once he got you out of your dirty clothes and into the bath you calmed considerably, exhaustion quickly setting in once you hit the hot water. 

“You’re welcome daddy.” A small mischievous smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and he chuckles. Sass.

He trails the washcloth across your chest and you arch your back a little bit, turning into the fabric as it brushes your nipples. 

“Alright?” This is not the moment to push you. Emotionally off balance and vulnerable, it would do more harm than good to test your limits. 

“Yeah,” your teeth find your bottom lip, and he moves downward, across your belly to your mons. You moan, hips flexing, looking for more between your legs and he rubs your cheek. 

“Do you want daddy to make you feel good sweet girl?” 

“Yes please.” He lets the washcloth sink to the bottom of the tub. 

“Open your knees f’me, like that, good girl.” He takes it slow. He’d ask you to get out if he thought you’d be comfortable, but he doesn’t want to move you, disturb how relaxed you are. When he slides down your pussy to your hole, he’s relieved to find you’re very wet, and there will be enough to last until the water in the tub starts to dissolve it, though he’ll have to be quick. You whine, wiggling as he thumbs your clit, middle finger of the same hand carefully pressing inside you to the first knuckle, the surprised gasp on your lips swallowed by his own. You’re already clenching down around him, trying to bring his finger deeper. So bloody tight.

“Ah-” He works up to his second knuckle, watching your expression, the crease of your eyebrows, the flutter of your lashes. Your grip tightens to the side of the tub, walls squeezing him as he slides all the way, circling your clit and angling upward inside you, dragging along your walls like he’s motioning for you to come here, all of his touch flexing in tandem. Your face is twisting, almost like you’re trying to resist, mentally digging your heels in. You’re getting in your own head, trying to shove your orgasm away, running from it. Punishing yourself.

He knows what you need.

“You had such a hard day didn’t you baby,” you whimper, "you worked so hard today, and daddy’s girl deserves to feel good after having such a bad day.” He passes over your clit in a faster rhythm, again and again as he strokes in and out of your pussy, bringing you to the edge. 

 “I-” 

“It’s okay sweetheart, you can come. Show daddy how good you are and come on my hand.” A lever is pulled, a dam released.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” your feet kick, water sloshes, and your face is like heaven, expressive and euphoric, just for him. “I’m coming, I’m…” your muscles tense and he stays with you, wringing every drop of your pleasure free until you go limp, chest heaving. 

After a while, he finds the washcloth. He methodically picks up where he left off, starting between your thighs, and then soaping the rest of you, making sure he gets all the remnants of the day cleaned off.  You smile, a little loopy, eyelids heavy. Time to get out. “No sleeping in the tub, c’mon.” 

“But-” 

“No buts. Up.” You pout. It’s adorable, and he’s a sucker, but the risk of you falling asleep is too great. “I’ll let you stay in until you’re all wrinkled next time, but you can barely hold your head up right now. Come on.”

He gets you dried off and into some clothes, pajama bottoms and one of his t-shirts before settling you in bed with a cup of tea, bare feet sticking out from the blankets so he can rub them, trying to knead away some of the tension in your arches. 

“You need better shoes.” 

“Mmmh, I know.” You had turned your switch on, but it sits abandoned now as you drain your chamomile just before snuggling down into the pillows, slowly losing your battle to sleep. “Daddy...” 

“”I’m here baby.” You sigh and reach blindly, looking for him with closed eyes. 

“Can you hold me?” It’s not even a question, you own him.

“Of course.” He slides in behind you and you turn, nestling your nose against his neck. A whole world, right here. An entire life, his, curled up in his arms, the safest place you'll ever be.

“Night.” Half yawn, half sigh, completely exhausted. He brushes his lips across your forehead. 

You ran hot and cold all night and into the morning, sweating and shivering until the sun came up, pushed him away when your skin was slick with sweat, pulled him back when your fingers turned to ice. 

His poor baby girl. He did everything he could to ease you, settle you, keep you comfortable. You were barely conscious when he gave you water and more meds, hardly aware as he stripped you bare and wrapped you in your duvet, giving up on keeping your shirt dry and clean. 

Dawn came, and he called you out of work for the rest of the week, assured Mara you were fine, promised you’d text her when you were feeling up to it. You need a break, he explained, and she agreed, said she’d handle it. 

He’d take care of the rest. 

Your feet slap against the hard wood floor towards the living room where he’s settled on your couch, laptop open, last email responded to, headache blooming behind his eyes. John mentioned there was a lot of admin work when it came to being a captain, but he undersold it. By a lot. 

Doesn’t matter right now, he has more important things to focus on. “Hi sweet girl.” 

“I- you’re- did you… did you call me out of work?” Your color is healthy, along with your voice, and overall you look a lot better, back to normal, even with your shoulders high and tight, coiled with anxiety. 

“You’re not going back until Monday.” A string is pulled, releasing the tension of your uncertainty, confidence in his decisions, in him, growing a bit more day by day. “Come here baby.” You settle between some cushions and his side, but before you can lay your head on his arm, he shifts to face you. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better.” You’re still only in a shirt and panties, legs exposed from where you slump into the couch. “Thank you,” you whisper, giving him your eyes, a long look, dripping with trust, “for being here… for taking care of me.” He cups your cheek.

“I’m always going to take care of you, sweetheart. I’m always going to be here.” Building the belief you can depend on him or anything, go to him for everything, takes time. Just because he tells you, doesn’t mean it’s automatically instinctive, but the other side of the coin needs to be addressed. “We need to discuss a few things.” You watch him apprehensively.  

“Okay.” 

“You had multiple opportunities to tell you weren’t feeling well on Tuesday, but chose not to. Do you want to tell me why?” Your breath catches, stutters your diaphragm in quick succession. 

“I didn’t want to bother you. I thought… I figured I’d just go home and sleep it off and then I’d feel fine and there’d be no reason to even give it a second thought, I didn't... I wasn't sure if you were busy at work and I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, I-” His hand curves around your skull, fingers at your nape, thumb pressed to your lips, stopping the stream of worry before it builds into a rollercoaster.

“You’re not an inconvenience, you’re mine. You’re mine to take care of, and you don’t make the decisions about what’s bothersome to me. There isn’t a single thing about you that could ever bother me. Do you understand?” You nod, lips warm beneath the pad of his thumb. “Words, baby girl.” 

“Yes daddy, I understand.” 

“I know this is a big transition and a lot to learn, you’re going to make mistakes, and so will I. I’ve already made one by not introducing your rules sooner, and we’re going to fix that now.” A rod of steel supports his words, and you straighten. His little solider at attention.

“Rules…” you trail off, a little perplexed, a little curious, too fucking cute. 

“Rules. You’re my priority, and it’s important you’re safe, happy, and healthy. The rules are easy to follow, but if they’re broken, there will be consequences. Are you ready to hear them?” You nod nervously, and he takes your hand, squeezes it. “You’ll always listen to daddy. You’ll be in bed, at bedtime, unless you’re told otherwise. You’ll eat three meals a day, which includes an actual breakfast and instead of your usual half gallon of coffee, you'll drink water instead.” 

“B-but-” He raises an eyebrow, and you press your lips together. “Sorry daddy.” 

“That’s okay, but you’re just listening now, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Good girl. You can have two cups, but no more. When you’re at work, you’ll check in after each meal, even if you don’t get a response. I don't always have my phone, but the rules still apply. If I’m away,” it's acid in his throat, squeezing his windpipe, trying to choke him, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, “you’ll still send your messages. You will always consider your safety before doing anything, like walking ten blocks home with a fever.” Your face twists up with guilt. “You’ll tell me whenever you're scared, or anxious, or overwhelmed, whether it’s face to face, or through a text or phone call." He gives you a second, waits and watches, analyzes all the flickers and flutters in your expression. The moment it hits, your relief, your realization, a weight lifts from his shoulders. "That’s all we have for now, sweet girl. We're starting pretty basic and will adjust as things change. I’ll write them down so it’s easier to keep track of, but these are your rules, and I’m very serious about them, because I’m very serious about you.” He pulls you into his arms, settles you against his chest and rubs your back. Now for the hard part. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"And if you had known them, would you have walked home on Tuesday?"

"No, I wouldn't have."

“It’s okay baby,” he skims his nose across the top of your head, dots a kiss at your hairline. “You didn’t know, but we’re going to use it as a learning opportunity.” 

“We are?” He tightens his hold. 

“I’m going to give you a punishment, so you have an idea what to expect for the future. Stand up.” You untangle yourself from his arms, rising in front of him, trembling. You're standing on the edge of a cliff, the roof of a building, and the only thing below is him, waiting to catch you. It's a test of trust, of progress, one he believes you won't fail. “It’s okay to be nervous. New things can be scary and there will a lot of them. D'you trust me to take care of you?” 

“Yes daddy.” It eases an ache in his heart, the one that hates seeing you unsettled, and he shifts his legs into a ninety degree angle, patting his thigh. “What… what are we doing?” 

“Daddy’s going to spank you.” Your eyes go wider than saucers. 

“Y-you’re going to spank me?” You squeak, taking a half step away towards the coffee table as he pulls your wrists together and then holds them with one hand, pushing you down over his knees. 

“You’re only getting five spanks, and if you’re very good, you’ll get a reward.” 

“I d-don’t know, can’t I um…” Your shirt comes up over your bottom, but he leaves your underwear in place. “I c-can do something else. Maybe… make my bed? Or do the dishes?” He laughs, enjoying the way you shiver as he rubs his palm over your cheeks, warming the flesh. 

“You’re getting a spanking, little girl. I want you to count after each one, and when we get to five, we’ll stop. Ready?” Five. It's nothing, but not to you. It's alien, it's scary, it's an unknown world you're brand new to.

This place was made for you, this home he built in his heart, this world he crafted with his bare hands, all of it, is for you. Only for you, forever.

But it's still new.

He gives you some time, your needed space, and when your lungs expand with a deep breath, he draws back- 

And swings. 

The sound of his palm making contact with your flesh is music, your little shocked howl combined with the ripple of your cheek, all of it coming together in perfect harmony-

but something is missing. "Are you going to count, or do I need to start over?"

"O-one," you warble, sucking in a big breath.

"Good girl." The second is the same and you clench, even though these are the softest slaps he’s ever dealt. “Relax your bottom baby girl, that’s it.” You groan out your third with your feet kicking, pant your fourth, and on the fifth, you shiver and shriek. 

But you don’t cry. You don’t break.

He didn’t think you would. You have a soft strength to you, one that comes from navigating a world that doesn't understand you.

He kisses your trembling lower lip as he hauls you up, evaluates your expression, checking for true fear, panic, satisfied when he doesn’t find it. 

“My brave girl, I'm so proud of you.” he murmurs, urging you onto your back beside him on the couch, thighs slung over his. You grunt at the contact, raw ass meeting the cushion, but don’t complain. “You took that so well.” 

“I d-did?” 

“You did.” He’s good at this now, giving enough but not too much, honoring your need for slower steps. They’re the only way the mission will result in success. He rubs your feet, presses his thumbs into an arch as you whimper. You’re still slightly tense so he keeps going until you turn boneless, limp, taking his time, indulging in the quiet passing of time, a long moment spent with you. “Feel good?” 

“Mmm, yeah…” 

“Do you remember when I said you’d get a reward?” He keeps going, up your calves to your knees, working slow patterns around to the backside of your thighs before revisiting your feet, up and down, again and again until your relaxation starts to become something else, something that has you squirming. 

“Y-yeah,” your exhale is shaky. You’re so responsive, already on edge just by some simple pressure, a light massage, and there’s a wet spot darkening your light blue panties. 

“Are you a little sensitive?” He skates up toward your hip and across, dragging his fingertips under your shirt across your belly. You giggle. “Ticklish?” 

“Um, y-yes.” He keeps going, squeezing, stroking your skin, dipping below the hem of your underwear carefully, testing your resistance. When there’s none, he goes further, and you buck into his touch, inadvertently sliding his fingers down to your pussy. “Oh.” Slick is seeping out between your folds, sticking to your underwear. You’re not just wet, you’re soaked, to the point where if he spanked your little cunt it’d splash. 

“Oh baby, you’ve made a mess,” he grazes your seam and you grab his wrist, holding on tight, mouth moving with no sound coming out. He wants to see, wants to inspect, wants to memorize every inch of you, but he’s not sure if you’re ready, and you’ve never said it outright, but he knows you’re self conscious. 

Still- 

He splays his hand across your stomach. “Daddy wants to see your pussy sweet girl, can I look?” You shift nervously, but stare up into his eyes with so much trust it nearly kills him, finally nodding with your fingers gripping the couch cushions. “Words, sweetheart.” 

“Yes daddy.” 

“Such a good girl.” He rolls your underwear down to mid-thigh, mouth watering when dewy drops of slick web from the your lips to the cotton, curly hair soaking wet. Christ. Like this, he can’t spread you open, but just the smell of you alone has him leaking in his pants. “You’re so pretty baby, what a perfect, precious pussy.” He could tell you all the things you have to look forward to right now, break your brain a bit if he wanted. How he’s going to inspect you, train you, shave you, stretch you out, fill you up, plug you up, teach you about toys and edging and forced orgasms. Show you how perfect, how beautiful you are every single day, make sure you know it, all the way to your soul. 

He can’t do any of that now, but he needs to go farther, a fiend for a fix. You’re already half laid over his lap, so it’s easy to grab your calves. “I’m going to fold your legs up a bit. Be still for me, there we go,” he bends you at the waist, flexing your knees outward to expose you, your hole, your bottom, cheeks glossy all the way to the couch. “Doin’ so well. Do you touch yourself?” 

“Sometimes b-but I can’t always… finish.” Poor baby. He’s sure you get caught up in your head over it, trip yourself into losing the edge. 

“That’s okay, daddy’s going to make sure you have plenty of orgasms from now on. Can you clench for me? Show daddy what your little hole looks like when it squeezes?” You choke on a breath but your pussy pulses. You’re tight enough he could hurt you, and even with all the prep, he knows the first time won’t be easy. “Has anyone ever been inside you?” 

“Fingers. I’ve h-had two boyfriends, and they’ve… fingered me. And gone down but I didn’t really like it.” You whisper, and the possessive, obsessed monster in his heart comes alive. Fuck. You lock up. “Is that… is that bad?” 

“No, baby, no.” He let the silence linger for too long and it ate at you, twisted your thoughts until they turned sour. His mistake. “I’m just thinking about how my cock is going to be the first one you ever take, and that makes daddy really happy.” First… and last. You suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh.” If he doesn’t put a pin in this immediately, he’s going to end up fucking you right here on the couch, far before you’re ready for him. 

“You’ve been so good for me, are you ready for your reward?” You nod enthusiastically. So fucking cute. “That sounds good, doesn’t it?” He drags your panties back up to your hips and then sits you up as you blink, confused. 

“What-” 

“It’s okay, c’mere.” He leads you over his thigh, planting your knees on either side, encouraging you down until you’re sitting directly on his leg, vibrating. His little leaf in the wind. 

“I d-don’t know… what to do.” He gently places his hands on your hips. 

“I know, but you don’t have to worry, I'm going to teach you. I’m going to take away all that stuff in your head that makes it hard for you to orgasm sometimes.” You jerk, eyes rivaling a full moon, lips parted and panting already. “You’re wet, which means,” he slides you forward and you moan, “your little clit is swollen, your pussy wants to come.” You twitch in his hold, seeking friction. “When you touch yourself at home, do you feel how hard it is?” You nod, sinking down, looking for the relief. “That’s your clit poking its head out from its hood, looking for something to touch it, rub it, but you don’t always have to use your hands.” He leads you into a rhythm, grazing your neck with his teeth at the same time. “All you need to do is ride.” You follow his guidance, gliding against his jeans, wide eyes turning half lidded, picking up speed as sparks fly between your legs. You’re a drug, you’re his drug, a precious, rare, one in a million thing he’d burn the earth for. “Good girl, look at you, rubbing your pussy all over daddy’s thigh. Does it feel good?” 

“Yes- ah,” you whimper, and he shakes his head. 

“Yes who, baby.” 

“Yes d-daddy, it feels so good, fu-” you bump the wide crown of his cock, hard and leaking down his pant leg, and screech to a stop. “I-is that…” He can’t resist taking your hand and spreading your palm over the length, soaking up your shocked expression. 

“Yeah sweet girl. That’s daddy’s cock.” You’re still his little fawn, exploring on trembling legs, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, and he chuckles as he sticks his thumb in it. “Don’t worry. We’ll build up to it.” He pulls out of your mouth and slips his hand under your shirt, pinching your nipple. You hiss. 

“Ow-” Leaning back with an arm behind his head, leg shoving upward, throwing you off balance just enough you have to hold onto his shoulders. 

“Want me to show you what it’ll be like when I bounce you on my cock?” 

“Um, uh... I’ll... I'll fall?” your brow furrows as you try to find a rhythm again.

“I’d never let you fall baby, I promise.” It’s a solemn vow. Wouldn’t let you fall here, or anywhere, ever, something you’ll learn in time. 

He stabilizes you, hands back on your hips, and then picks up a steady pace, your fingernails digging into his forearms, clinging to him for dear life. 

Just the way he likes it. 

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to glaze over, the effort of frantically trying to keep up with being bounced on his leg slowly turning into clumsy, desperate movements, shoving yourself down against him again and again, trying to find that sweet spot, the release you need. 

The only correction you need is when your lashes flutter. “Keep your eyes open when you come for me. Always on me.” You nod, looking up at the last second as you go rigid, thighs trying to snap shut around his, and he keeps you in place as chase your orgasm. “There it is, what a good girl, coming on daddy,” your breath hitches, half moan, half twisted scream and he pets you soothingly, “That's it, ride it baby, ride it out for me.” You do until you’re in tatters, shuddering in his hold, wet cheeks pressed to his neck as he rocks you. “My perfect, sweet girl.” He lays you down, kisses the inside of your wrist when you refuse to let go. Tears are still flowing down your temples and into your hair, but he shoves away the side of him that wants to spread you wide and fuck you until there’s more. 

You need something else now. He suspects this is the first time you've experienced something like this, an emotional release after an orgasm, emotions, tension, all of those things in your head, cut free and running rampant, spilling out of you to him, and it's his job to take them, carry them, life them from your shoulders.

He never gave aftercare a second thought when he was younger. Fuck and leave, that’s all it ever was until he realized how fulfilling it was to take something apart and put it back together, to give someone everything they need, control every aspect to ensure they were safe and happy and warm, comfortable all the way to their bones. He’s glad he discovered it before, all the trial and error long over, a methodical approach and understanding left in its place, just so he can give it all to you. 

There’s a wet spot on his jeans from where you soaked all the way through, and he grabs a blanket over the back of the couch, tucking it in around your sides. When he tries to stand, you track him without breaking focus, still clinging to his shirt. "Shhh, easy. You're alright." he curls around you, blocks out the light, holds you tight to him and murmurs in your ear gently. "My sweet little berry girl, daddy's got you. I'm here."

You settle after a while, your cheeks drying, muscles relaxing, and he's finally able pull away. "I’m going to get you some water, and then when you’re ready, we’ll go get you in a bath and into some clean clothes.” He kisses your temple, breathing in the sex and sweat, tasting your tears. “Stay still, I'll be right back.” You nod sleepily. He’ll need to feed you too, and get some cream on your ass, but it’s one step at a time right now. 

You whimper, your body collapsing on top of his. He quickly scoops you up, one hand holding the back of your head, the other resting on your lower back, ensuring you're properly seated on his thighs.

“I... I feel weird,” you pant, clutching the front of his shirt. “I'm dizzy, and my body is hot all over. My...” you swallow down your embarrassment, “my pussy feels empty... Caleb, can't you help me? Please?”

Almost imperceptibly, his grip on you tightens by a fraction. He sighs, angling your head to make you look at him in the eye. Perhaps it's the trick of the light, but Caleb's face is a flustered pink. “I can't do that. You're going to regret it when you turn back to normal and get all weird about it.” He glances at the chocolates you ate on the table, brows furrowed. “Aphrodisiac chocolate... I should've known. Then you wouldn't have become like this...”

Your mind is in a daze. Your body feels unusually heavy, but your head feels like it's floating. Most of what he said is lost on you, and at this moment, the only thing you can focus on is that Caleb is looking at something else. You grab both of his cheeks, forcibly turning his attention to you. “Please help me, Caleb...” Clumsily, you lift up your hips, pressing your cunt against the tent in his pants. It glistens with your wetness, and Caleb can't help but groan when you rub the tip with your thumb. “It hurts... I need this inside me...”

Caleb has always adhered to your whims, but even he has his limits. He pinches your cheek, “I can't put it inside, idiot, I don't have a condom. I just have to make you cum, right?” He gestures for you to pick up the hem of your skirt, sucking in a breath when he sees how soaked you are. “Fuck....”

The entire crotch area is damp, and if he looks carefully, he can even see the faint shape of your clit. Curiously, he draws circles on it, breathing heavily when a fresh glob of slick stains your underwear. “That's hot...”

He pulls down his zipper, releasing his cock from his boxers. You gasp softly at the sight. He's long and thick, arching to a beautiful curve, colored almost red from the strain of holding back. He gives himself a few experimental pumps, moans coming from his mouth as he masturbates at the sight of you, holding up your own skirt to give him a perfect view of your wet panties, an innocent, frilly pair he can't wait to ruin.

He positions his cock to your folds, aiming at the spot your hole should be if not covered by your underwear. You both groan at the first slide, his pre-cum further soaking the fabric of your ruined panties. He wraps himself in his fist, teasing your clit as he pumps into his hand. More pearls of white spurt out of his tip. “Ah, fuck, that's good... so good...”

“Ah, ah, Caleb!”

You move your hips, moaning while he rubs himself against your cunt. The warmth of his cock is driving you crazy, and the added friction of Caleb rubbing your nipple through your clothes makes you even wetter than you already are. He's biting his lip, dazed eyes staring at your body appreciatively. “I'm taking this off, baby.”

He impatiently runs his hand through the buttons of your clothes, some of them popping off to clatter on the floor. “H-hey, I liked this shirt— haa...!”

“I'll buy you a new one,” he grunts, mouthing at one of your tits, sucking as if anything would come out. He unclasps your bra one-handed, throwing it over your shoulder. “These things are fucking annoying...”

Finally, he gets tired of rubbing you over your clothes. He lifts the side of your panties, sliding his cock inside to directly grind against your pussy. “Shit, that's more like it,” he moans loudly, your wetness gliding down his balls. “You feel so good.”

“Caleb, put it inside already,” you whine, scrunching up the fabric of your skirt in your fists. “This isn't enough for you either, hnn, right...? Give me your cock, please...”

Caleb grits his teeth, holding your hips to stop you from dropping on his dick. “Didn't I tell you I don't have a condom?”

“I don't care!” you struggle in his hold. “Fuck me, c'mon... it hurts...! If you don't...”

You pant against his ear, knowing exactly what you're getting into, drugged or not, “...I'll ask Zayne to fuck me instead.”

The effect is instantaneous. He pulls out, replacing his cock with two fingers plunging inside you at once, hitting deep all the way inside. You choke, gasping out for breath as his hand doesn't stop, slick jetting out of your cunt with every push of his fingers. His clothes are getting soaked, but Caleb doesn't care about them at all, coldly glaring at your face twisted in pleasure.

“So you're telling me you'd be fine with just anyone?” He's chuckling, but he doesn't sound like he's happy. “Fuck. I should've just done this from the start, then.”

He grabs two of the chocolates, popping one in his mouth. When he finishes swallowing, he places the other one in his mouth again, but then he suddenly grabs your jaw. “Open your mouth, slut.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, mouths locking together. The chocolate melts from the heat, his tongue licking at yours as he's forcing you to swallow. He doesn't let you go until he's sure you've eaten all of it, drool dripping from the corner of your lips.

“We're not stopping until you learn I'm the only one who gets to see you like this,” he grunts, taking out his fingers and slathering your slick on his cock to make it wet. “I'm the only one who gets to call you mine.”

“Haa... haa...”

Clothes are strewn messily on Caleb's bedroom floor, the mattress squeaking with each thrust of his hips. You're on your back, one leg hooked over Caleb's shoulder, staring into space as you're fucked absolutely stupid.

“Fuck, I can't stop my hips....” Caleb's still fucking into you, hasn't stopped for the past hour. The effects of the aphrodisiac have probably passed after the first two rounds, but his cock shows no signs of softening after release. He cums another load into you, overflowing from your pussy to spread into his sheets. “Ah, hng, shit... Hey, I told you not to waste it.”

He pulls out, pressing his fingers inside your loose hole to fuck his cum back in. You make a sound of protest, already feeling full.

“Are you starting to regret what you said now?” He grabs the back of your thighs, pressing your legs next to your ears. “Too late for that, though.”

Caleb groans, sloshing his cum inside your cunt with his dick. You helplessly grab at the sheets, moaning brokenly. His pelvis rubs against your engorged clit on every snap of his hips, driving you to squirt on his abs again, his torso glistening with your mess.

“You're squirting again? How many times have you cum?” Caleb laughs meanly, sucking another possessive mark among the smattering of hickeys he's already left along your collarbones. “Nasty girl...”

He leans back, getting a better view of your body. There are traces of him everywhere, from the hickeys on your neck, his cum on your chest because you couldn't swallow everything he poured in your mouth, and the faint bite marks on your inner thighs when he paid the favor and ate you out.

He presses a kiss on your chest, staring at you with dark eyes. “If you didn't say that, I would've been patient with you. Fingered you loose before putting my cock inside, making sure you're comfortable... I would've helped you ride out the effects of the aphrodisiac and never speak of it again. After all, to you, I'm just family.” He nuzzles against your cheek, his voice taking on a darker tone. “But you just had to call out another guy's name, didn't you... Would've fucked him if it was him here, not me...”

Caleb thrusts back inside you roughly, fucking your cervix. “You can't do that, you know? You've always belonged to me. Every part of you is mine, so no one else can touch you.” He cups your cheek, devouring your cries of pleasure with his mouth. “Just me... it's only me, right? I'm the person most important to you, right? You said so... So why are you bringing up another guy?”

He's asking questions, but he doesn't let you answer any of them, kissing you so much you almost can't breathe.

“Even though I'm in front of you...” Kiss. “Even when I'm the only one who loves you this much...” Kiss, kiss. “You're still thinking of another person...” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “That's hardly fair when you're all I think about everyday.” Another sloppy kiss.

You weakly push his chest, breaking away from the kiss. “Wait, Caleb—”

He pins your wrist to the bed. “I'm not stopping.”

“I'm not telling you to stop, I'm telling you to liste— ahh, haa, hnn!” The cock still ramming up your walls makes it much more difficult to speak, hammering against the sweet spot that makes your toes curl. “Fuck, ah— Caleb, listen to me!”

He hums as he sucks another hickey on your skin. “I am.”

You don't have it in you to argue even when he clearly isn't, trembling at the pleasure. The hand holding your wrist travels upwards to intertwine your fingers together, grounding you back to reality.

“Caleb, I was just— I didn't mean what I said...” you stammer, trying your best to speak without getting distracted. “I, mmh....! W-wouldn't do this with anyone else... haa... I just said that so you'd fuck me— ah, ah!”

He scoffs, slowing his pace when he sees you being overwhelmed. “You're just making excuses to get me to stop.”

“I'm not, you dummy! I...” your brows pinch together, embarrassed to say it but you continue anyway, “Caleb, you're the one I think of when I touch myself... nn... And I know it's wrong, and you only think of me as someone you should take care of, but, I, haah, I like it when you kiss me, or when you hug me, and I— gh! I like it when you fuck me hard, too, just like this...”

You move your hand to cup Caleb's jaw, admiring his awestruck expression. He looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

“I'm not telling you to stop,” you repeat yourself firmly. “I just wanted to say I didn't mean that thing I said earlier, and if it's you, you can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you just like how you love me, Caleb.”

His hips come to a complete stop. “Say that again.”

“I love you, Caleb.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“Okay, you're really pushing it, it's embarrassing to sa— aah!”

He grabs your hip, pulling you back to his cock. He fucks you frantically, harsh groans leaving his lips, your name like a prayer. “Fuck... you love me? You love... me?” The words seem unfamiliar on his tongue, heartbreakingly quiet. You squeeze your connected hands.

“I love you, Caleb. I really, really love you, I've loved you a long time ago...” you tilt his chin, making him meet your gaze. “Now say it back.”

“I love you,” he says with certainty, as if it's a fact of the universe. “I love you so much.” He buries his head into your neck, sucking new marks. “I love you... fuck... I love you so badly, it hurts...”

His cock drives deeper, the wet slaps of skin deafening in the room. Cum dribbles out of your hole with his thrusts, and he swipes it up to smear it on your engorged clit. Rub, rub. Rub, rub.

“Shit, Caleb!” You wail, rutting to his finger. “Everything feels so good, ah, ah!”

“You feel so good, too, aw, fuuuck...” he's melting inside you, your warm walls clenching around him so tight, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. “Your pussy keeps sucking me back in...!” 

“Ah, hnahh, ngh, yes, like that, ah! I'm cumming, cumming!”

His balls draw tight, his cock about to burst. “Fuck, shit!” he fucks in, in, in, until he's filled every space in your cunt, thumb frantically rubbing at your clit. Clear liquid soaks his cock, wetting his pelvis, and he follows you in your release, shooting ropes of milky cum deep inside your pussy. “Fuck, ah, take my cock, take my fucking cum all the way in, ohh— take it deep in your womb—”

He keeps cumming, and cumming, and cumming. “It won't stop,” he moans against your ear, watching your hole overflowing with his semen. “Your pussy feels too good, it's sucking me dry...”

“Caleb, shit, how are you still— ohh, fuuck...” you whine as the last spurts of semen hit your torso, Caleb having pulled out and pumping his dick to cover you in his cum.

Finally emptied, Caleb collapses on the spot beside you, running a hand through his hair. “I need a shower,” he mutters, feeling the stickiness on his body.

“We need a shower,” you correct him. “I probably won't be able to walk for the next few days, all thanks to you, so you better take responsibility and carry me everywhere.”

In your own little world, you stand at the long wooden table, fingers moving across the trackpad of a laptop, a pair of too big glasses sliding down your nose. The left lens is smudged, the smear only getting worse every time you push them up with the back of your hand. There’s a whirlwind of stuff around you, bowls and bags and measuring cups, cracked egg shells and sprinkles scattered across the wood, multi colored icing separated into different containers, and you're so into your work you don't even realize he's in the doorway. 

He almost feels bad for scaring you when he clears his throat. Almost. 

“Oh my god,” you whirl, hand pressed to your chest, half ready to bolt. “S-sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t know you were there.” 

Is that anyway to say hi to your daddy sweetheart?

“Good morning.” He eyes the twenty four ounce mason jar to your left. It’s one quarter full, coffee and cream swirling to the bottom. Too much caffeine. 

“Good morning, hi.” You smile, sweet and shy but more emboldened. It’s been a few days since he fed you bites of lemon meringue pie, a few days since he went home and stroked his cock to the memory of your mouth parting for him, eyes half lidded looking up through your lashes. 

Since then, you’ve a bit more brave, encouraged by his careful coaxing, text messages at night and throughout the day to check in, visits in the morning as he heads to base. 

He’s leading his little lamb right into her shepherd’s arms. 

“What’re you working on?” 

“Funfetti birthday cake.” You slide your glasses back up your face. They’re a mess and he can’t resist fixing it, pulling them off, wiping the lenses with bottom of his shirt. You freeze. Little deer in his headlights. 

“Didn’t know you wore glasses.” He places them back where they belong, righting them when they slip, and confirming what he already knew. They’re too big. You need new ones. 

“Th-thank you. I do for reading. And… er, screens. Reading on screens, mostly, though I need them for books too so I guess just… reading in general.” He understands the pause now, the moments when you’ve become self conscious, embarrassed, or you’re looking for the words you need, anxiously trying to piece it all together, step into a skin that doesn't quite fit. 

A rhythm the world doesn't understand. Too cruel, impatient, cold, it has no care for fragile things, too easily reflecting a mirror of his former self. 

He files the bit about you needing to wear glasses when you read, another notation in the long list he’s already memorized, organized, and moves onto his next inquiry. “Who’s the birthday cake for?” 

“Mara. It’s her birthday. They’re…” you make a face like you’ve sniffed spoiled milk, “we’re going out to a pub to celebrate.” He stiffens. On one hand, he’s proud of you. On the other, the idea of you in a pub raises the hair on the back of his neck, has him a bit out of his mind. 

He’s not interested in clipping your wings, but going out to a pub with no one to watch over you? Not bloody likely. “Tonight?” 

“Mhm.” You’re rubbing a stick of butter in a round pan. “Funfetti is the classic birthday cake. You know, the vanilla cake with the sprinkles?” He shakes his head. “Oh. Well, um, it is. It's mostly a kid thing now, but I think it's the ultimate birthday cake. Birthdays are supposed to be fun but you know... they kind of suck when you're an adult. Anyway... funfetti is fun so, that's why...” 

“Maybe you can save me a slice. Where are you going?” 

“Save you…" your brows crease as you try to process what he's said. "Doc’s.” You’ve dropped the stick of butter abruptly, greasy fingers gripping the edge of the pan. Doc’s. It’s a younger crowd, a bit posh, but still a bit dark. Has a bit of an edge. 

It’s been a few weeks since he’s gotten a pint with Kyle and Johnny anyway. 

He smiles, strokes the backs of his knuckles down your cheek, satisfied when you lean in for more, disappointed the few minutes he had to drop in are now over. “I’ve gotta go baby, be good for me.” Your mouth drops open so wide he thinks he might be able to fit his cock in it. 

“Oh, okay. I- I will.” 

What did you forget?

Daddy. I will, daddy.

“That ‘er?” Kyle motions with his beer bottle towards the table where you stand nervously at the edge, floral flecked dress swaying just above your knees. You've looped a white ribbon through your hair, the beacon of a gentle soul that seems to be calling out to every muppet in the building, every wandering eye fueling a fire burning in his blood. 

“Yeah.” His stomach is sour. Even a neat pour of whiskey and pint didn’t settle him. 

You’re trying so hard. Smiling and nodding and listening to everyone, clutching your drink like it’s a lifeline. Mara seems to understand the grace you need, but no one else in the group gets it, and some of them give you weird looks, or worse, look at each other when you’re not paying attention in annoyance. Your only friend at the table catches a few of them and shoots stern glares as she shakes her head, but it doesn’t change much. 

“She looks uncomfortable,” Johnny grunts, his scrupulous eye never missing a thing. Someone asks you a question, and you stumble over your answer, looking away to the wall when a girl to your left blatantly smirks, and then sneers directly in your face. Simon’s blood boils. 

“She’s different from them, it’s hard for her.” It's the easiest way to explain it. You’re one in a million. His one in a million. 

The table laughs at something, and you frantically flick over each person’s face, trying to pick up on a joke you clearly did not understand. Eventually, you just settle for another smile, resigned to watch it all from the outside as conversation flows from person to person, but never towards you. 

Sweet girl. He wants to take you home where you’re safe and happy and carefree, where you can be yourself and not have to worry about trying to keep up or facing everyone’s judgement. Where he can hold your perfect and precious heart in his hand and protect it. Where he can fuck the memory of this night right out of you, bounce you on his cock until the only thing you know how to do is come for him, over and over again. 

He misses the exact moment the cake appears among the stacks of shot glasses. Your anxiety ramps up as everyone starts to eat their slices, shoulders high beneath your ears, fingers knotted together too tight. It’s an eternity before the first person looks at you, mouth half full and thrilled, their enthusiasm alleviating some of the weight that's been sitting on his chest, and yours. Whatever they say seems to lessen the weight because you’re smiling again, excited, and as more people turn your way, the smile turns to a full on beam, your words from the other night echoing in his ears. 

I like feeding people. 

Another hour passes before he decides to call it, the group now spread across the pub, scattered around different tables, at the bar, outside smoking. You’re in a corner with your back to the room talking to Mara, and when he appears in her line of sight, she spots him immediately, grabbing your arm, mouthing something he doesn’t catch. 

You turn- 

And light up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

“Captain Riley!” The alcohol has made you bold, slow synapses firing less rapidly, providing a longer lead time, somewhat preventing you from second guessing or withholding yourself. 

“Hi baby.”

“I’m just gonna…” Mara tries to move away but you reach for her. 

“Happy Birthday Mar. Thanks for inviting,” you hiccup, “me.” She gives you a squeeze. 

“Thanks for coming, and for the cake, it was amazing. Made me feel like I was kid, ya know? When birthdays really mattered.” Sadness flickers in her eyes, and then disappears in a glaze of intoxication. “Anyway, see you Monday?” 

“Yep.” She gives you one more hug before slipping away, and you sigh. 

“She loved her cake.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You’ve got this dreamy look on your face, sleepy and sweet, a little kitten who’s ready to curl up for a nap. 

Cast a line. See if you’re biting. 

“How’re you gettin’ home?” 

“An uber?” You lick your lips. “Or… uh. A Lyft?” You lurch to the side and he darts forward to steady you, movement too fast for you to track, all of it ending up as a surprise, like you weren’t even in your body for a moment. “Th-thanks.” You study his hand, where it sits on your arm. “You know you’re so big?” His lips twitch to the side of his mouth. 

“Yeah sweetheart. I’m big.” You’re still staring at his hand. “D’you need a ride home?” 

“Huh?” He's held this in the back of his mind all night as a possibility, built a tentative plan for this opportunity too golden to pass up. No fucking way are you going home in a rideshare or with anyone else. 

“I’m taking you home.” You shrug at the declaration with little trepidation and take his hand. 

So sweet and full of trust. 

He never specified which home. 

When the gravel of his driveway crunches under the truck’s tires, you don’t stir, and you don’t wake up when he turns it off or opens the passenger side door, your head lolling against your shoulder. 

“Sweetheart,” He keeps his voice low, reaching across your lap to unbuckle your seatbelt, brushing against your breasts, soft exhales puffing little clouds across his skin. “We’re here.” 

“Hmm?” you crack an eye open and then shake your head, “no ‘m sleeping.” Your cheek is warm in his palm, and he kisses it, trying to rouse you, gauge your reaction. Your awareness. Your nose wrinkles. “Stop.” 

“C’mon, you'll be more comfortable inside.” You whimper when he jostles you, pinning a palm to your temple. 

“My head hurts.” Poor baby. 

“I know,” he pulls you up out of the seat and into his chest, carefully supporting your balance. He’s taking liberties now, wrapping an arm around your waist, curling his fingers along the nape of your neck, brushing his lips across your forehead when you whine, high pitched and crackled, broken under the weight of too much alcohol and need for more sleep. “I know baby, Let’s get you into bed.” You lay your cheek on his chest and sigh. 

“Okay.” 

“Spit.” He holds the cup under your lips and you do as he asks diligently, bubbly white toothpaste getting caught on the corner of your mouth. 

Getting you upstairs and into his room went just as he anticipated. A little anxiety, a little uncertainty, all of it gently soothed until you were sitting on his bed and he was taking off your shoes, reassuring you, promising everything was okay and you were right where you belonged. 

“You’re safe with me sweetheart. I’m going to take care of you.” 

Now, you’re perched on the closed toilet lid in his bathroom as he finishes brushing your teeth, sleepy and serene, naked thighs peeking out from beneath the hem of his t-shirt. 

You’re completely unguarded, vulnerable, another layer peeled back, another piece he lays claim to. 

His sweet little fawn. 

He knew all along this was underneath the weight you carried. That when you finally felt safe and cherished and cared for, you’d bloom, be yourself without the pressure of everything else. Deep down, beneath the expectations of how everyone thinks you should talk, or act, or behave, behind all the coping mechanisms you’ve taught yourself, buried under mountains of complexity, is his precious little girl who needs her hand held and her tears wiped. Who’s brilliant and beautiful and different, and has never had the space to just be. 

Now, you'll be able to do just that while he takes care of the rest. He'll decide. You’ll have boundaries. You’ll have rules. You’ll have daddy and he’ll take away the endless pressure that closes in on you from all sides, he'll ensure you get what you need. There will be less worry, less fear and unlimited opportunities to be. 

“My face.” You tilt your chin back with your eyes closed, and he chuckles. 

“What about it?” 

“My,” hiccup, “makeup.” He turns the tap on warm, testing the temp until he’s satisfied, and soaks a washcloth. 

“Keep your eyes closed.” You sit still as he works, dabbing away everything on your eyelids and lashes, wiping underneath to catch anything he missed. “There we go.” You sway in his grip and slur.

“Bed now?” 

“Last thing.” There’s a glass of water and naproxen on the counter, and you swallow them without question. He hides his grimace. That will need to be addressed in the morning. When you try to put the glass back on the counter, he shakes his head. “All of it,” you manage to get the rest of the water down, and he squeezes your hip. “That’s my girl.” 

“You’re warm.” Your arm is slung over his middle, a cold foot tucked between his knees, mouth half open on his pillow. Completely uninhibited, nearly asleep. 

His cock is hard against his stomach beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, aching with a fullness he can’t relieve. He’s been hard since he undressed you, peeled your bra off and held you to his chest as he unhooked it, felt your perfect, pretty breasts and nipples against him as he tugged his shirt over your head. You were bashful, buried your face into his neck with a trembling giggle, but refused to let go, sunk your fingernails into his biceps as your hands shook. His sweet, shy girl. 

He rubs your back, works his fingers in the knots between your shoulders, watching your lashes flutter as you try to fight sleep.  

“Tomorrow…” There’s a last minute flash of uncertainty, and he presses his lips to your forehead. 

“It’s okay, we’ll talk at breakfast sweetheart. It’s time for bed.” Tomorrow. You'll be fighting a battle tomorrow, a hangover, anxiety, an endless spiral of confusion and doubt, but he'll be here to guide you through it. 

The only way out is through. 

It will be a lot easier on both of you if you're able to get some sleep. 

“Yeah, ’s past my bedtime.” You whisper with a hazy, playful smile on the wisp of a giggle. "We should have pancakes for breakfast." Your easy, peaceful state encourages him to go a step further. Cast a line, see if you’re biting. 

"If you close your eyes and go to sleep, Daddy will make you pancakes in the morning." You nod with a yawn, tucking your face between the pillow and his shoulder. 

"Mmkay then. Night." It's not a protest, it's not a flinch, it's not a moment of disgust, and satisfaction roars, rips through him like bullet, this instinct and desire long honed finally settling in the place where it belongs. In you. 

"Goodnight baby." He stares at the ceiling as you disappear into dreams and plans his mission. Plots his checkpoints, sets his objectives. Lead, decide, control.