Warning: light smut ahead
It starts with the socks.
Those frilly, pastel pink ones with the little lace around the ankle—his least favorite. You wear them anyway. Along with that oversized T-shirt that barely skims the tops of your thighs, knowing damn well what kind of mood it puts him in.
You follow him around the penthouse like a wind-up toy—clingy, bratty, sugar-sweet and loud. He's mid-count on a table full of cash and weapons when you whine for the fifth time.
"Daaaddy... I'm hunnngrryy. You forgot my snacks. Again."
He doesn't look up.
"Maybe I forgot on purpose."
You huff, crossing your arms, lip poked out dramatically. "You're bein' mean," you mumble, voice soft and laced with that babyish pout that usually gets you everything. "I just wanna cuddle..."
He drops the money.
Hands flat on the table, he turns to look at you slowly—like a predator giving its prey one last chance to run.
"You've been pushin' all goddamn day," he says low, stalking toward you. "Beggin'. Whining. Clingy like a damn leech."
You try to backpedal, but he's already there—grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you close.
"D-Daddy—"
"Nuh-uh. No more baby voice. You wanna act like a spoiled brat, I'll treat you like one."
The air shifts. Your thighs press together instinctively, breath catching when he spins you around and shoves you down onto the couch. His hand slides up your thigh, under that shirt, yanking your panties to the side roughly.
"You think bein' cute's enough to get away with anything?" he growls, breath hot against your ear. "Think I won't put you in your place just 'cause you wear bows and call me Daddy?"
You whimper, hips arching despite yourself. His fingers slide through your slick, slow and mocking.
"Pathetic," he mutters with a grin. "So needy. This what you needed to stop actin' out, huh? A reminder?"
"Yes, Daddy..." you whisper, already melting.
He lets out a low chuckle. "There she is. My good girl's in there somewhere..."
He teases you until you're shaking, until you're gasping his name and begging properly this time—no more whines, no more bratty pouts. Just raw, obedient need.
When he's finally done with you—lips bitten, thighs trembling, brain foggy—you're tucked against him like a dazed little doll.
"You gonna behave now?" he murmurs, brushing hair from your damp forehead.
You nod weakly, snuggling into his chest.
"Good. 'Cause Daddy doesn't mind breaking his toys... but he prefers to keep his favorites in one piece."
