Hey guys, don't worry, I'm working on No, this just sort of popped up and I wanted to share it. Let me know what you think. This is all Emma's POV.

I don't own anything to do with OUAT.

It's 9:34 am, I wipe the sleep from my eyes and realize that, yet again, I am in no mood.

I was in no mood yesterday. In fact, I have been in no mood for a few days.

What mood? Any pleasant mood. Any mood that isn't mean and abrasive. I don't know why, and I don't care. I know you will fix it because you have already let this go beyond your usual immunity to bullshit.

I know that when I round the corner from the hallway into the living room, you will be sitting in the middle of the black leather couch, your arms stretched out and resting on the back of it. Your hair will frame your pretty face just so. Your legs will be crossed at the knee. Your short, manicured nails will tap out a subtle, slightly impatient rhythm as you watch me evenly, your features soft, save for the one eyebrow you raise in response to misbehavior.

I have been in no mood. Now you are in no mood, and I am the one who will pay. It's not undeserved.

I know how this goes, but it never gets any easier. Mechanically, it's decently similar to when we play and I am left breathless and satisfied. It's similar to when he and I do the same thing. He is rougher, more animalistic by nature, and I love that. You are so controlled and composed, it's intimidating.

The difference here is, we will not be playing. I am not in charge of any of this. You have known since we met that I need this sometimes. That ninety-five percent of the time, I am all about pleasure and fun. Five percent of the time, I need discipline. You don't threaten. You don't speak about it at length. You make these quiet decisions and I bend to you because you leave no other choice on the table... Because I deserve it. Even if it hurts, and it always will, I will walk to you and stand before your disapproval, barely able to make eye contact.

The last time I tried to change your mind, it was harsher than ever. You have a high tolerance for my nonsense, but the line is there, I know. When the line has been crossed, you don't appreciate an argument in the least.

And so here I stand, silent, in nothing but a long tee and panties, waiting because I can never bring myself to make the first move when it comes to this. I already feel a bit remorseful for my foul mood, mainly because I didn't want to do this today, and secondarily, if I'm honest, because I don't like to upset you or hurt your feelings or anything.

"I just-" I start, cutting myself off when I see that eyebrow going. At some point, your hand found its way into mine and you are pulling me to you. I know better than to resist, but being passive is almost harder than presenting myself. My cheek is pressed against the cool leather of the couch. My upper body is supported by the cushion. I fold my arms and bury my face in them, waiting again and wincing silently as I feel my shirt come up, and my panties come down to the back of my knees.

There is the familiar sensation of your arm wrapping around my waist. In a way, it's comforting, though I know that's not why you do it. You do it because these are the moments between us where very little warm up exists and you, kind as you are, like to make sure I don't miss a second of any of it by escaping. I take a deep breath and hold it in when your other hand leaves me, another strange habit I have when awaiting its forceful return.

I can feel the heat from your hand as it hovers far closer than I expect in this situation. What are you-

Suddenly, your fingers are inside me. I didn't realize until then that I was already wet. Probably because it's sexy the way you give me what I need, even when it's not what I want. Probably because you're just sexy, period. Probably because being near you has that effect on me.

Probably because a hundred times and more, you have teased overpowering waves of pleasure from my body, even when I didn't feel like I was worth anyone's time or attention.

You have a fistful of my hair in your hand. You pull my head back and push into me roughly at the same time, enjoying my wetness and the sound it makes around your fingers. It has always riled you up to hear the evidence of my desire for you when you touch me. I don't last long when you start to rub the sensitive spot with your thumb. I come fast and hard, with your left hand around my throat and your name on my lips.

I know you're smiling for the moment and I am, too, but I feel your left arm slide around my waist again and I look over my left shoulder at you, where you are looking right back into my eyes, your hand in the air, palm flattened. I realize now that the exchange we just had wasn't clemency. That was you staking your claim. This would be you making your distaste for my bad behavior a bit clearer.

"Are you still..." I ask, unable to get it all out.

"You knew this was coming." You reply simply, as usual, taking what is yours and giving me what I need.