#writing release

It had started innocently enough. You’d been around the office while Tenna had finally settled in to look over some of that important paperwork he’d been delegating, insisting on remaining at his side even though you were exhausted. You got the idea that he knew just how tired you were — his intuition was uncanny, to the point where you suspected those antennae picked up on things you had no idea of — but you didn't think much of it. All you needed was to survive another few hours of work before you could go home and collapse. 

You were supposed to be working, at least. It was hard enough keeping your eyes open, so reading through the chicken-scratch stage notes a Pippin had written out was going about as poorly as it could. The strokes were all blending together in a manner that made you wonder whether you were already dreaming. Some of the production decisions were weird enough for you to chalk it up to a dream, anyway.

“... Sweetheart, you having trouble?” He chuckles, and you snap your head up to him. He's smiling, of course, and though that makes your heart wobble, you can't give him reason to be concerned. Telling him outright that you were exhausted would make him drop everything, and he’d been pouting about his lack of productivity for the past few days.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, swallowing back a yawn. “I’m just… a bit tired. Still in working order, though, and I definitely don’t need you to chaperone me. This Pippin just has terrible handwriting, and it’s making my eyes wonky.”

“You don’t need supervision?” He replies, not bothering to look up from the paper on his desk. His tone is far more casual than it had been earlier when he was spitting to some network executive on the phone about his latest segment. “Big, independent worker, honey?”

“What? Yes. What kind of question is that?” You ask, eyebrows pinched as you turn your focus back to your own sheet of paper. “I’m a grown adult, Tenna. Don't be condescending—”

You cut yourself as you glance back to him. Not only is he significantly closer to you than he was moments ago, chair pulled all the way to your side of his desk, but he's grinning at you, fangs-out. It’s not sinister,  It takes you a second to realize your mistake: you’d admitted to being tired (and he could read exhaustion all over you) and now you were going to get coddled. Hard.

“What’s that, babydoll? Daddy didn't hear you right.”

You blink at him, and it feels like your brain’s just melted straight out of your head. The moment he gets the hint that you were in the right headspace to be manipulated, he reaches in and snatches all of those pesky thoughts away, just because he can. You didn't need to think when you had TV to tell you everything you needed. 

He’s leaning down over you before you have a chance to open your mouth again. All ten feet of him loom over you, topped off with the most smug grin on his monitor you've ever seen on man or monster. Verbal reduction was one thing, but the fact that he was over double your size without any of his so-called ‘movie magic’ had the terrible power of making you feel helpless in an instant.

“Someone’s grouchy tonight, folks!” Tenna grins, standing up from his desk and shoving all of those important papers into an off-center pile. “But who’s to blame ‘em? The littler they are, the bigger the attitude. It’s just about a fact of life: the smallest ones love to pretend like they aren't dependents. I’m sure all my caretakers out there in the audience know this story all too well.”

You gape at him as he looms over you, and soon find yourself being swallowed by his arms. You struggle for a moment, then sigh and let your body go lax; despite the fact that you'd like to cling to some semblance of dignity or independence, you're far too exhausted to struggle. He knows that, and he's abusing it. 

“I am not grouchy. I’m just exhausted, that's all.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart. You were a busy little bee today, weren'tcha? Makin’ Daddy so proud, pretending to be all big and brave and bossy,” he croons, lifting you a little higher so you're cradled right up against his monitor. “It’s so cute to see my baby act like they know what being a grown-up is all about.”

You blush and sputter, but he presses a massive finger to your lips to silence you. You lean your head back in an attempt to protest and begin to open your mouth, but any sound you want to make  is promptly stifled by an intrusive, clothed digit parting your lips. You can feel your entire body suddenly burning with shame, but shame will do nothing to stop Tenna from plopping down on the big leather couch at the side of his office and taking you down with him. 

“Shhh… That's more like it. Somebody’s all fussy! Let's get you settled, sugar,” Tenna says, settling you down in his lap as you're forced to nurse on one thick finger. “Daddy’s got you, pumpkin. You don't need to keep being so darn stubborn about everything! Don't you trust him?”

A brief silence passes between you, and you chew your lip. This whole submission thing had been hard for you to wrestle with, and it was even more difficult to admit how much you needed it… but you can feel the sparkle that would be there in his non-existent eyes. He'd thrown his work to the side to start fussing over you, so maybe playing along for a short while wouldn't hurt. 

It’s just for him, after all. It’s not like you need this like he does. You wriggle and manage to pull his finger out of your mouth, even if part of you wants to keep sucking on it.

“I trust you,” you mutter, and you can hear his cord-tail thump against the couch in a manner that reveals his delight. “I’m not being stubborn. I just wanted to get some work done to help you out.”

He makes a tsk sound and moves one hand up to cup your face — more like your entire head — in one of his hands, still wearing that ridiculous, heart-melting smile. “You trust me, huh?” He repeats, tilting his head. “If you trust little old me… You’ll say it for me, sweetcheeks. Just once for your dear ol’ Daddy? You always know what I want.”

You try to curl your face away to hide against his shoulder, but the hand on the side of your face is keeping you from moving away. You should've known he'd be blocking all of your exits; he knew exactly what buttons to push to get you to confront yourself and let all those walls down around him.

“... I trust you, Daddy…” 

“Hmmm? I didn't hear you.”

Frustration prickles at the back of your neck, but you're not going to cause more problems than need to happen. You know that once you force it out, you can finally move on. Damn this stupid old cathode.

“I trust Daddy,” you say, just a tad louder than last time, and the brightness on Tenna’s monitor kicks up a notch. He’s beaming at you now, both in terms of his brightness and his smile, and his grip around your waist tightens into a squeeze. 

“Oh, there’s my little darling,” he purrs. “See, that wasn't so bad at all! Just three words, and now the both of us remember who’s in charge. Now, as the one in charge — and as ‘the best daddy in the world,’ according to one very special sweetheart — Daddy thinks it’s time for you to get some shut-eye, lovely. What does our most favorite contestant say? Does someone wanna fall asleep in Daddy’s lap, hmm?”

It’s too late for you, you realize, because you’re growing drowsy in his lap without much encouragement. He was big and warm and your protector, and despite your resistance, your body knew who kept you safe. Who loved you. Who fussed over you, spoiled you, made your teeth rot with sweet pet names…

“... I’m sleepy, Daddy,” you murmur, and he squeezes you tighter. You feel his lips press against your head, and a steady, purr-like vibration kicking up in his chest as he holds you close. 

“I know, honey. I know. We’re going to get you nice and comfortable so you can take a commercial break.”