#HA I don't care if it's midnight imma post this NOW

[pocket-ozwynn]

Offline Valor: Chapter 3

[Borrower!AU]

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word Count: 3874

CW: blood, mentions of death, light adult language

Not two minutes after being called a ‘titan’ and Zelly had nearly fallen on her face. She’d been so caught up in trying to make it out into the hallway, that somehow she’d stumbled over her feet. She choked back a bark of profanity as she clutched the chilled can of Baja Blast and braced herself against the wall. At least she was out of sight from Rowan.

She felt the rising need to scream. This was insane.

She shook her leg until one sandal flew off, then did likewise with the other before hurrying off towards the opposite end of the house. Hopefully that would give her enough privacy to vent some of her anxiety without totally unnerving her diminutive guest. Her feet thumped across the cool hardwood as her mind swam with noncoherent thoughts…

Wonder and worry mingled caustically as Zelly hurried Rowan in. And while she couldn’t deny the quiet marveling she had carrying this finger-tall man in her hands, there was also a certain degree of horror and concern. He felt so frail. His breathing was shallow and his muscles faintly trembled as he spent the last of his energy just staying awake. And when he slipped into unconsciousness and nearly fell out of her hands, she was run through with a fresh spike of anxiety. She couldn’t ignore how delicate this life she held in her hands was—like flickering embers of a dying flame.

She made a mental checklist of what to do: first, she’d need to stop the bleeding; second, she’d need to get his core body temperature down; third, water. Rowan was bound to be dehydrated, so she’d need to make sure to get him a bottle cap full and make sure he sipped.

As she got the kitchen sink going, she noticed something. It was a little thing–literally–but she noticed his hand. The palm was upturned and the fingers were slightly curled…

His hand looked just like hers.

After staring for perhaps a beat too long, she shook herself from her stupor and gingerly laid the Borrower out on the countertop. Carefully pinching the front of Rowan’s shirt between her nails, she ripped it twain with an effortless tug. The sight of a red-slick chest was all too familiar to her as she peeled back the halves. With lips pursed, she tugged the ruined tunic and microfiber cloth-turned-cloak off and set them to the side before gathering him up once more to examine the man closer.

Zelly’s eyes widened slightly as she examined him. Not because of the blood, but rather because of how much more worn and strong his body was than she first thought. Rowan had been covered up before, but now she saw the pale scars marbled into surprisingly lean muscles.

And that burn. Not the sunburn (that thankfully was contained to everything above the neck), but rather the second degree scar tissue that went up from his waist to armpit—it covered a huge chunk of his right side. What had done something like that? If that was on someone her size, that would’ve been an utterly massive injury that would’ve called for immediate hospitalization. But for someone like Rowan, it could’ve been anything she might’ve considered mundane…a grill? A firework? Had it been an accident, or something more cruel? She couldn’t consider the possibilities—she had to focus.

Step one, stop the bleeding. She briefly tested the faucet’s flow before gently bringing his body over so the tap water would flow over him like a cool waterfall. Zelly examined Rowan as she carefully washed him, her eyes scanning every detail of his chest for any signs of injury. And as the light refracted off of the glistening skin as she cradled his body in her fingers, she couldn’t help but wonder what life was going to be like after she turned off the sink.

She found the source of the bleeding after getting him washed off. It was a diagonal cut roughly the size of Rowan’s hand that ran across his breast.

Thankfully, it was largely stitched up with the bleeding only coming from the sternum-ward side. It looked like a few stitches had popped. And while she couldn’t be sure what caused that in the first place (Chu Chu maybe?), her mind was caught up with who did the stitches in the first place. Rowan? Or someone else?

Thankfully the treatment was easy enough. His blood coagulated fairly quickly after she applied pressure on the wound with the tip of a clean kitchen towel for about five minutes. From there she applied some Vaseline, then—with the smallest band-aid she could find, which was still huge in comparison—she wrapped the band-aid as best as she could, then got him settled into a shot glass filled with cool water to get him started.

And yes, the shot glass was a stupid idea. But hey, it worked.

Wood turned to carpet as she reached the living room. She fumbled with the pull tab on her soda as her hands uncharacteristically shook. After a few moments of losing the fight to her Baja Blast, she finally cracked it open on the third anxious lap around her living room. She took a drawn out swig and savored the fizzing lime as she allowed the last ten minutes to sink in.

God, what the actual hell, Zell, she silently lamented. She still felt the imprint of Rowan—the sensation was burned into her memory: a full-grown man breathing shallow, ragged breaths as he lay unconscious in her pal-

“Okay, so tiny men just-” Zelly exhaled through her teeth. She tried violently shaking the feeling from her hand, as if it was covered in fire ants. “-EXIST now? Great, cool, good!!! Nothing insane about THAT, right?!”

With no one to respond to her exasperated query, she took another defeated swig. She silently wished for a stronger drink, but she knew better than to consider that when she was dealing with a patient. She chugged the rest of her drink, set it on the nightstand, then threw herself onto the couch. She buried her palms into her eyes as she just groaned.

Before stepping out of the kitchen, Zelly had left Rowan with a Gatorade cap filled with water. It had been comically large in comparison, but it was clean water that he could drink and that’s what mattered. Food would be next, despite his insistence. 

But what came after that? 

A familiar, useless feeling percolated at the corners of her heart, and she had to be careful not to let it overwhelm her again. But thinking realistically, she was just some idiot streamer right? What was she going to do to help this weathered warrior, aside from putting a band-aid on his chest and getting him a bowl of ramen? 

God, her eyes were just…Opened now, weren’t they? That terrified Zelly. As an EMT she saw a lot of gruesome things that she could never unsee, but she eventually grew desensitized to it. But Rowan and these Borrower (she still had no idea what that meant) had been living right under her nose this whole time…how many were there? Were there other things like fairies that were real too? And all of those scars on his body…were those by accident? Or did someone inflict those upon him?

“You’re spiraling, babe,” Zelly noted quietly to herself as she felt the anxiety rising. She needed something to keep her busy. And while she sorely doubted there was a WikiHow that would help her reconcile her new reality, she still wanted to give it a shot.

So she fished out her phone and frantically typed with it held above her face at arm’s length. First she searched for Borrowers—that’s what Rowan called himself after all, so it seemed appropriate to start there. Nothing came up, though she wasn’t really surprised. She screwed up her lips and tried Little Men next, but only an old-as-dirt book from the 1800’s that apparently was the sequel to Little Women. Interesting! But still useless.

No matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t find anything that matched Rowan’s description. She tried Googling fairies, leprechauns, Pikmin, tiny-little-elf-men…

Nothing.

And while she got close, everything she found missed the mark (though it didn’t help that she would find herself aimlessly scrolling through Instagram without realizing it at times). Her anxiety now mixed with frustration. Surely she couldn’t really be the first person to meet a Borrower before right? The weight of that implication was too much for her to really consider–she never asked for that burden of responsibility.

Zelly racked her brain for more possibilities. She hadn’t tried pixies yet, right? She was three letters in, and a migraine began to blossom right behind her eyes. A string of colorful swears tumbled past tired lips as she stopped typing. 

“This is pointless,” she murmured to herself. She kept her phone lifted as she closed her eyes to just try and focus on her breathing. She could hear the distant squawking of a mediocre marching band, the splashing of unseen cannonballs, and the laughter of children amidst the anxious yells of fretting parents.

Why did it have to be her?

Before Zelly could bemoan her fate further, her phone vibrated and slipped through her fingers. It dropped and smacked her square in the face—a nonsensical cocktail of profanity and anatomical slang was her only response after a brief yelp of surprise. She sat up with a humiliated huff before answering the phone.

“S-Sup?” Zelly ran her fingers through her hair and prayed she could keep the nervousness out of her voice. She hadn’t even checked who’d called her anyways…

//Hey babe!// It was Nikol. //Sup? You okay?//

“Yup,” Zelly lied with a smile. She knew she couldn’t be honest with how she was really feeling, but her reality was too insane to admit at the moment, “Toooooooooootally fine. What about you?"

There was a pause. //Oh, cool! I was worried. Are you still comin’? I thought we were grabbing Starbucks?//

Realization hit Zelly like a truck. Nikol was the whole reason she found Rowan in the first place—her silly little “mental illness Starbucks trip.” It was the reason why she was able to save him from the jaws of her neighbor’s cat.

“Oh shit, I-” Zelly gasped. “Dude, I TOTALLY spaced! I’m so sorry!”

She chewed her lip as she entertained the notion of telling Nikol.

On the one hand, Nikol was her best friend—Nikol knew EVERYTHING about Zelly. But on the other hand, she couldn’t violate Rowan’s privacy. That poor man had clearly been through a lot. And while she did trust Nikol to keep a secret, it didn’t feel right to talk about Rowan without his consent.

“Something came up,” Zelly replied as guilt gripped her gut. “S-Sorry baby girl. I hate to bail on you like this, I just…have to take care of something. Rain check?”

//For sure, no worries. Do what you gotta do. Just let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?//

Zelly licked her lips, her heart beat heavily in her throat. “Y-Yeah, for sure. Thanks dude. I’ll, um…I’ll text you when I can, alright?”

//Sounds good. Mwuah.//

Zelly echoed the affection before hanging up. She let the phone drop to the floor before ruffling her hair with a restrained groan.

Now what?

—

Zelly held her breath as she peered around the corner back into the kitchen. There was a 50% chance the guy just bolted while she was away (wouldn’t be the first time), but to her surprise Rowan hadn’t left.

Since she’d been gone, he’d climbed out of the shot glass and hung his boots to dry along the rim of the glass. Meanwhile, the man knelt quietly on the countertop with his head bowed and eyes closed. Unlike Zelly, Rowan was remarkably calm–which was shocking, given how much worse his day had been in comparison. Sunlight poured through the kitchen window and washed over him as he held his microfiber cloak reverently in his hands.

She caught herself staring again. 

Zelly tried to keep her approach deft as she crept into the kitchen, lest she startle him. She spied his ruined shirt and a teeny satchel over by the obnoxiously bright orange Gatorade cap she had filled with some water for him to drink while she was away.

The closer she got to him, the more she found herself marveling again. And she wasn’t sure why.

“H-Hey,” Zelly croaked as she finally got within arm’s reach. She jumped as Rowan scooted back with a start, his eyes snapped open with wild surprise—he dropped a hand and went for one of his thumb tack daggers. When he saw it was Zelly however, his demeanor shifted. He took the cloak in his lap and in a single, fluid motion threw it around his shoulders and wrapped it in such a way that it fell like an impromptu poncho to cover his scarred chest.

“S-Sorry!” Zelly took a step back in reply, her hands raised. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“N-No no,” Rowan murmured bashfully. “The apology is mine, I would have covered up had I known you were there. I was just, ah…”

His voice trailed off before he cleared his throat. “Never mind. Forgive me.”

“You’re fine dude,” Zelly chuckled softly. “It’s not like you’re the first guy I’ve seen shirtless, so…”

Rowan didn’t reply. She wasn’t quite sure if he was spacing out or still feeling the fatigue of the heat exhaustion, but he still didn’t look great. When was the last time he ate? Originally she came in ready to learn all about him and his world, but now…that didn’t seem nearly as important.

“How hungry are you?”

Rowan looked up with bleary eyes. “Sorry?”

“How hungry are you?” Zelly repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Rowan looked somewhere between confused and conflicted. After a pregnant moment of hesitation, he shook his head. “‘Twill be alright. I-“

“Yeah that’s bull,” she teased. She realized that might’ve come off a bit harshly, but she didn’t back down—she knew she was right. “Do you have any allergies?”

Rowan looked bewildered. “No, but I-“

That was all she needed. With a nod, Zelly grabbed her phone and pulled up GrubHub. She leaned up against the counter, but kept Rowan visible right in her periphery. “Swag, I’m ordering Greek then.”

“W-What do you...?” Exasperation crept into Rowan’s voice as he moved to stand. He couldn’t even finish his question, he seemed too tired to bother, “But please, Miss Zelly, you do not have to worry about me. If this is too much of a hassle, rest assured I am fi-“

“It’s not a hassle.” She flashed him a smile as she got their order put together: two Deluxe Gyros (one lamb, one falafel. She wasn’t sure if Rowan was a vegetarian or not), some fried pita served with a couple sides of tzatziki sauce, and some sweet potato fries. Most of this stuff would be MASSIVE compared to him, but she hoped it would be a nice spread of some mild food that Rowan could pick at while also making sure he didn’t eat himself sick.

“Besides—” Zelly dropped down slightly so she could be at eye-level with Rowan. He took an instinctual step back, but he didn’t seem overly surprised by the sudden motion. Then, with a dramatic flourish, she hit the order button, “—the order’s been placed, they’ll be on their way!”

“I…do not understand,” Rowan furrowed his brow, looking from her to her phone. Borrowers probably didn’t have phones, huh? Well, that was a question for another time.

“Look dude,” Zelly huffed after noticing his conflicted expression. “I’m starving. And if I’m starving that means you sure as hell are. You can try and be big, tough, macho-man or whatever, but there’ll be plenty for both of us. And I’ll feel a lot better when I know you’ve eaten, okay?”

Rowan seemed to sense that this wasn’t a fight he was going to win. “Thank you, Miss Zelly. I appreciate your generosity. Though I do feel guilty…”

Zelly put a hand up on the counter and grinned. “Well don’t then, that’s stupid. I’m offering you food.”

“You wanted answers, correct?” Rowan asked. “And I promised not to leave before I gave them, but I did not mean to impose and force you to provide food.”

“First of all, I wasn’t forced,” she pointed out. “Second, I mean…yeah. I do have questions. But they can wait.”

Zelly pursed her lips. She could spy the burned tissue peeking out from what his cloak couldn’t cover on his chest.

“You’ve been through a helluva lot,” she breathed, her gaze returning to Rowan’s. “And I want to help—even if it means getting us some takeout. So yeah, don’t worry–I can wait.”

Rowan’s expression was conflicted. There was frustration, but the exhaustion seemed to outweigh it…and even for the briefest of moments, he looked grateful. Zelly smiled.

This she could do.

…

…

Basil was disgustingly sober.

Were it not for his fast, he would’ve been nursing his brewing frustration with a frothy pint. The day was blistering, and the prospects of good work were few. Clip had gathered some scavenging listings from the Carvers League in town, and the rest of their crew had split off for the afternoon. 

Wanting to get out of the sun, the pair ducked into The Lively Priest. And though Basil quietly hoped he could relish in the second-hand revelry of others, he was met with the sleepy, boring atmosphere of a handful of farmers and travelers just looking to grab some shade and water. They’d grabbed a corner table and he’d been forced to settle on iced water while Clip barely touched his ale. 

The Freewalker’s mind wandered as he tuned out the insistent rustling of leaflets as his companion did his research. He peered over the scrawny Borrower’s shoulder to see if he couldn’t find a little entertainment. There was a trio of merchants from the Cherrycliffs who had come in not too long ago who were just sitting at the counter silently signing to one another. Closer towards the entrance, the chef spoke with a baby faced courier who wore the colors of House Silver.

But what really caught his attention was the waitress.

She was a beautiful, ageless Faofolk with literal porcelain skin and curves chiseled in all the right places. She glided gracefully, her feet clinked against the wooden floor as she moved. She was a pretty little dancer, and Basil was confident he could get her spinning to his new tune.

The rustling stopped.

“No.”

Basil sneered, his eyes snapping back to Clip. His partner knew what was on his mind, and it made his blood boil. “Do your job.”

Clip sighed as he peeled back from his papers and splayed both hands. “I am–in fact, I believe I found myself doing BOTH of our jobs. Sometimes I feel like I should be in charge of the crew–you barely do jackdreg while I’m the one stuck doin’ all the REAL work.” 

Basil picked up his empty plastic mug and tipped it back. The teeny trickle of melted water did little to whet his appetite, so he took up a bit of ice and chewed it.

“Skies yer annoying,” was the best retort the giant of a Borrower could muster. “Just read the damn papers and get us somethin’ GOOD this time.”

“The last job was good,” Clip insisted with a pointed glare. “300 notes got us three meals, yeah?”

“The last job was sifting through bodies,” Basil’s lips curled back with a sneer. He leaned back till his chair groaned beneath him. His skin crawled as he remembered the stench of the dead and picking bloodsoaked pockets. “I want somethin’ with riches–not whatever skuggin’ cud Ash was suckin’ on.” 

“Careful for how you speak of the dead,” his companion warned him as he picked up his own mug for a careful sip–the ungrateful man didn’t even seem to enjoy his drink. “Clan Ash was snuffed out violently, I doubt their spirits are at peace…”

Basil ignored the superstitious warning. “Listen, I wanna snag a BIG job this time! I wanna rub shoulders with the ELITE like the Silvers and Blooms–not with the molderin’ dead and mumblin’ priests.”

He swirled around the crushed ice as he mused. “How ‘bout a job with arcana? Courtiers pay good for that junk, right?”

His companion’s expression turned grave. Clip took a longer sip on his spirits this time, “Nothing good ever comes from titanis arcana, boss–and you know it.”

Clip shot a careful glance at Basil’s empty mug of ice. “‘Sides, don’t your people have taboos on even touching it?”

Basil’s blood boiled as his stomach growled. He slammed the mug down–a faint crack spidered up the side. It caused enough noise to prompt the Faofolk waitress to jump and shoot him a glare. Despite his infatuation prior, the Freewalker now had little care for the brittle woman at the moment–Clip had poked the hornet’s nest.

“Like I care what the ‘Walkers think,” he spat. “Who cares about skuggin’ taboos when you could eat? Tell me bud, when was the last time you ate? Not crust, not rat–but ate REAL food?”

Clip hesitated.

“Exactly,” Basil replied with a huff, his syllables coated with crushed ice. “Harvests ain’t yieldin’ what the use’ta, and the Crown’s taxes are drainin’ us dry. …I say we go big. Just cuz arcana is a bitter dreg for some, don’t mean it hasta be for hardworkin’ guys like us–know what I’m sayin’? So how ‘bout we get on that cricket first, and snag a big payout while we can?”

The seconds ticked. Eventually, Clip sighed. “Well…there is one job we could try…” A crooked grin split across Basil’s face.

“Adda boy,” the Freewalker rumbled.

Clip carefully rummaged through the pile before drawing out a surprisingly clean piece of paper. He gave it a once over before pushing it towards Basil with his fingertips. It had pretty, useless filigree along the edges and a picture which Clip tapped.

It was an unremarkable piece of arcana: a thin, boring rectangle. And while the diagram indicated it had a sheath that could slide back to reveal yet another, smaller square hidden inside, he sneered at how shockingly simple Titans could be.

“‘S’all?” Basil demanded. “What the Sky’s shite is that suppose’ta be?”

“The Faofolk call it a Youesbee,” Clip shrugged. “Dunno much beyond that…only that some newly wedded noble wants one, and he is willin’ to pay a queen’s coffer for it.”

“How much we talkin’?” Basil huffed. “I know of some pretty poor queens…”

“Fifteen hundred notes.”

Basil balked. “Bullscrap.”

Clip shook his head. “Like I said…queen’s coffer. Dunno what is so important ‘bout it—but he wants one. Now the trick is finding one… ’s’not something you would find just anywhere.”

Basil tapped his finger against the mug. His mind swam with ideas of where to look, but one particularly colorful and bright domain stood out. He’d seen plenty of arcana there before…

“I think I know a place,” he smirked. “Get hungry, bud–we’re eatin’ good tonight.

[oftenderweapons]

Stress Reliever  - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 3.9k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

Hello! As I mentioned in a previous post, I’ll be publishing longer scenarios which could actually be considered small one-shots. The first theme will be stress-relieving/angry sex (’cause let’s admit it, that’s one great way to blow off some steam and ease some tension) 

I’ll be following the official order, so I’ll start with Namu uwu. 

I don’t really think I need to say this is smut, and filth and an unedited mess. Let’s just move on to trigger warnings. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing; unprotected sex within an established relationship (wrap it before you tap it, and please get checked for STIs regularly) lingerie kink, DADDY kink (like, how could I not) plus Joon is fucking packed and we all fucking know it, dirty language, allusions to cheating (but like, not really, how could one possibly cheat on daddy big dick Joon? Ha, not me), spanking, ddlg/bdsm dynamics, brat!reader, oral (female receiving, mentions of male receiving), peaches and cream (don’t look at me like that, how could I NOT do this) marking, biting, overstimulation and ruined orgasm (listen, daddy makes the rules, it’s not my fault, next time be less of a brat), cumplay, mild angst (lack of attention, abandonement issues). RIP to y/n’s deceased La Perla set. I suppose this is all? This is quite pwp, but not really. About 3900 words.

Also, here you can find my masterlist. Enjoy!

Your day had been phenomenal, your boss had complimented you and assigned you a new office as you joined your new team. You had celebrated going out for lunch with your new colleagues, getting to understand the dynamics and roles within the groups. Since you were given a free afternoon to receive a general briefing and celebrate your promotion you went off work earlier than usual, deciding to get yourself a nice new dress and some celebratory lingerie, all Italian lace and silken bows.

But your mood was sour. Namjoon didn't even bother reading your text, ignoring you all day, which normally would not bother you, but considering how hard you had been working for that promotion and how tired you were, but most importantly considering he knew how much it mattered to you, it really upset you. And you were meaning to make him pay for it. 

As you arrived at home you started getting ready, you bathed and did a face mask, hair all pretty and soft, fixed your nails. You felt gorgeous. Gorgeous and furious. Which was normally a very entertaining combination when you added Namjoon, who was currently absent without justification. He should have arrived home twenty minutes ago. 

When he finally came through the front door, you were lounging annoyed on the sofa. 

"Hi." 

You did not answer. And he didn't even notice, nor look at you. 

He went straight to the bedroom, got rid of his clothes and wore something comfy, going straight to the kitchen. 

"No dinner?" He asked. 

"I'm going out." He looked up to where you were sitting, a little baffled. 

"And no dinner?" 

"I called at the Garden, booked a table for two at nine. You could get ready in fifteen. It's on me."

His forehead creased. "I'm a bit tired."

You raised a brow. "I'm going out anyway." 

He huffed out. "Okay. Let me wear something decent."

Five minutes later he headed out, in jeans and a white shirt. He looked completely insane, the sleeves slightly rolled up, his hair pushed back. "Am I okay?" 

"You look divine." You were too turned on to deny him a compliment. "I'm sorry I made you dress up. I really wanna destress." 

His half tired look in his eyes had disappeared, probably thank to the brief shower he had taken. "It's good, baby."

You headed to the restaurant, his hand perched on your knee during the drive, his head heavy on your shoulder. He still hadn't mentioned your promotion. 

A nice waiter welcomed the two of you, he must have been new, considering you had never seen him before and you and Joon were pretty much two regulars there. 

He accompanied the two of you to the table, your hand reaching for your man, while he looked absolutely lost, completely disconnected from you. Even at the table you tried to spark a conversation but he was entirely unresponsive, only mentioning that he had been working on his new collaboration and he had been late because he had to meet the singer. The fact that it was a woman low-key triggered you. It's not like you were jealous, or maybe you were, but jealousy was a feeling you had felt before and you had always had the self control not to act upon it. However, mixing that mild jealousy with the disappointment of him not acknowledging your promotion and your special effort for your looks, together with his detached demeanour had you starting something you never thought you would have the guts to do. 

You started being excessively polite -- borderline saccharine -- to the cute waiter, asking for his name and behaving in an almost too friendly way, offering him nice smiles and sugary 'thank you's. 

Not that Namjoon seemed to notice. 

You were getting half an idea to gently grab the waiter's wrist and write your phone number on his forearm just to see what your boyfriend would do. 

By the time you finished your main course and got ready to close your meal with dessert, you were so upset you gave up on your usual tiramisu, telling Geonwu -- the waiter -- to hand you the bill. Namjoon seemed to get out of his bubble for a second, as you turned down the dessert, suddenly triggered by your strange change of habit. He must have really upset you, he thought as you gave the waiter your card and waited for the payment to be processed. 

A few minutes later you entered your apartment, kicking your shoes and heading for the bedroom. You hoped he would trip over your discarded shoes. Damn him. 

In front of the mirror in your ensuite, you started taking off your makeup, slowly undoing your hair. You hated him. 

He reached the bedroom too, standing in the door between your room and the bathroom, looking at you through the mirror. 

"I know what you were trying to do at dinner." He crossed his arms. "I don't like it at all." 

"I wouldn't have done it if you had payed attention to me." You took off your earrings and your watch. The necklace he had given you for your first anniversary. "But you were… Busy."

"So you wanted me to pay attention." He came up behind you, pressing himself against your backside. "Sorry thing I already knew you would land that promotion." He kissed your neck, slowly starting to unbutton the mother pearl buttons on your silk camisole. "So I thought I could keep you on edge and make you snap at me, make you so angry you would finally take all that tension off on me."

You held your breath as he nibbled at your neck. "And I know you were trying to rile me up and make me jealous just to get me to fuck you like crazy, uh?" 

He finished with the buttons and untucked your shirt, discovering the black lace corset underneath. 

"Was this part of the plan, little vixen?" He toyed with the strings of the undergarment, his sex now hard against your back. 

You nodded eagerly. 

"Then bend the fuck over cause Imma teach you a lesson." He lifted up your pencil skirt. "These are new, aren't they?" He said teasing the fabric. 

"Yes, daddy. I bought them for you." You just wanted him to snap, hoping that your submission would spark up his dominance. 

You saw a shiver ran down his spine. "So kind, but you didn't bend over yet. And this won't save you from your punishment." He said, pressing a heavy hand between your wing blades and pushing you down. "You know daddy likes giving you attention, so why didn't you ask?" 

"I didn't want to bother you, daddy." You already felt a whine in your voice, a petulant, bratty tone emerging. 

“I still don't get whether I should treat you like the brat you are or like the good girl you’re desperately trying to be.” Suddenly you felt the heavy smack of him delivering the first hit. You moaned out in relief and arousal. “You better keep quiet. You kept quiet while you should have told me you wanted me, so now that you wanna talk you’d better keep it down, brat.” he delivered another spank, making his point clear. “Understood?”

“Yes, daddy.” You lifted your head, your eyes rolling up from under your lashes.

He licked his lips and used his spare hand to hold your chin up high, so to maintain eye-contact. “Good girl.” He caressed your bum delicately. “Shall we say that you received your promotion at nine a.m., and now it's almost midnight. That makes it fifteen hours of you keeping it from me. Considering that you’re always so eager when I spank you I won’t include the first two blows I already gave you. Now hold tight because dirty girls like you don’t learn their lessons from soft punishments.”

By the thirteenth blow you were gripping the sink, knuckles white, face blushed with effort, a coat of arousal and sweat slickening your thighs. Namjoon’s tempo had slightly slowed down in order to softly brush your sensitive skin between a spank and another. “Come on, two more, ____. Enjoy them.”

He hit you with full force. Considering that you’d got used to the pain, your tolerance adjusting to his attack, he must have really put some fury in the last two. 

Now finally done with your punishment, he moved you slightly to the side, so to use the sink to cool down his palms. “Next time I should use a paddle. No use hurting my hands for punishing a spoiled brat.” Some part of you already felt a dark craving, moaning at the thought. He snickered at how hungry you always were for him.

He passed the cool skin of his hands on your glutes, offering you a small reprieve, taking care of you without giving any explicit sign of your punishment being over. You knew it wasn’t, and it didn’t surprise you when he hooked his fingers in your panties and dragged them down your legs, kneeling to unhook them from your feet. “Those don’t deserve to be ripped.” Now at perfect eye level with your slit, he couldn’t help but give in to the smell and taste of you, licking up your soaked thighs, nuzzling his lips against your sex, delivering one sweet kiss. “Can you take it like a girl good and make daddy happy or do you wanna slow down?”

He probably knew how exhausted your muscles must have been from the position you were into. However, you wanted it your way. “Make daddy happy.” You murmured.

He smiled like a madman, still between your thighs, biting one of the few spots that weren’t bright red on your behind. He raised to his feet, towering over your bent shape, his nimble finger undoing his belt and jeans, gripping his hard on and using the tip to tease your entrance. “Baby, you got me so hard, watching you take your spanks so well, your ass so soft, quivering like jelly. You should see yourself right now, baby. Looking like a wet dream.” 

He caressed down your shoulders, using his free hand to hold your waist. You knew he wouldn’t bend down to kiss you, that would be so out of character. And considering he hadn’t stretched you out, you also knew it would hurt. 

“Ready?”

You nodded. “Yes, daddy.” He offered you his hand in your own and you gripped it hard as he slowly sinked in. It took him half a minute to bottom out. A deep groan followed. “So good, babe.” 

You released a heavy breath, squeezing you inner muscles lightly. “Woah baby, fuck.” He swore viciously, carefully beginning to roll his hips, both his hands on your waist, one of yours joining there, reaching for his fingers, craving for a small sign of affection while he was being careful not to hurt the bruises already forming on you ass. His thrusts were slow and deliberate, looking for the smallest sign of discomfort on your face and posture. Once adjusted, you arched further, allowing him a shift in angle that had him hissing and throwing his head back. His beautiful, dark hair followed, catching your attention in the mirror. His chest, still covered in the shirt, inflated, straining the buttons on his sternum. You would have done anything in that moment to kiss the small triangle of skin appearing at the base of his neck. 

Now newly focused, his eyes opened and fixed on you, while one of his hands moved to your breast, still covered in the corset, toying with your nipple, then gripping the flesh with his big palm.

“Joonie,” you dared murmur as his pace intensified. 

“You good baby?” He slowed down again, in fear he was hurting you. 

“So good, Joonie, I just—” You shut up a second, needing to focus before you continued your sentence. “I wanna cum, daddy.”

“It’s okay baby, let me take you there.” He made you turn your face and caressed your cheek tenderly, using his other hand to reach between your thighs, drawing taunting, tight circles on your clit, with just the right pace and pressure. God only knew how he did that. 

“Keep squeezing me baby, so close.” He gripped the back of your neck for leverage and his thrusts got stronger and faster, you completely losing it over the way his hips stayed closer to yours and pushed harder, pulling out just an inch before plunging in again. 

Your orgasm washed over you with sweet relief and you were sure it would have gone on for a bit less than a minute hadn’t Joon pulled out of you, his hand still toying with your clit, his vicious fingers way too skilled not to know how much he was affecting you -- and how wrong it all felt. “Joon, inside!” You cried out, barely coherent, only now noticing in the reflection that his arm was moving aggressively, his lower lip caught between his teeth before it slipped out, his jaw angrily clenching in a way that made you want to turn around and suck him into oblivion. 

“This ass still needs something.” He spat out through gritted teeth. 

Your mouth opened in wonder as you felt him press his tip to your skin, his hot flesh turning even hotter when he groaned out almost desperately, one hand still on his shaft, milking out his cum. 

“Do you like that, daddy?” You teased, wanting nothing but his fucked out babbling to praise you. 

“Love it, vixen, you nasty little fucker. I’ll put a damn ring on your dirty finger someday.” He muttered, his high almost over, the hand on your mound parting your labia before he slipped in sloppily, some drops of his orgasm ending inside you, while the rest made a sticky mess between the two of you.

He crumbled forward, mouth at your neck, his spine arching up away from you as he kept pushing his hips against yours, chest deflating with heavy breaths. One of your hands removed the fingers still massaging your sex into overstimulation. You were both a sweaty bundle of limbs, exhausted and brainless. 

“I’m so in love with you, ____.” He whispered in your ear. “My perfect baby.” The hand under you slipped to your chest, helping you handle the weight of your upper body. “Can you wait like this a couple seconds? I need to clean you up before we make a mess.”

You nodded sleepily while he stretched towards the closest towel, wetting the cloth under the tap and placing it against your skin as he slipped out. The arm under you helped you rise up, his mouth immediately kissing your cheek. 

“Did I go too hard?” He asked, his free hand touching you in tenderness and devotion, stroking your heated skin. He used a clean corner of the towel to swipe the dirty spots on your behind, then cleaning himself roughly.

“It was amazing.” Your head propped on his shoulder, your neck stressed because of your previous position. 

“Let me take you to the bathtub and ease out the knots on your muscles, yes?” He discarded the cloth and turned you around, kissing you softly and fondly. “I’m so proud of you.” He kissed you again. “You’re amazing.” He pressed his mouth to your forehead, “and now I wanna take care of you.”

He took off your corset with care, knowing how sensitive you were, but also how tired your body was, incapable of handling any violent push and pull to undo the garment. 

“Tell me you didn’t ruin it.” You said, voice imploring. 

“No. I was careful. I still regret ruining that La Perla I got you for your birthday. The colour looked so good on you.” He blushed, completely oblivious that two minutes ago he had been an unbelievably sexy, self-confident man spanking you and ruining your orgasm without the smallest hesitation. 

“I feel so spoiled, I took a bath this afternoon.” You murmured, thinking of all the wasted water. 

“Would you prefer a shower?” He asked, already closing the tap.

You nodded. Your muscles were sore but your conscience was still awake.

Opening the enormous shower he loved so much, he helped you sit down on the wide seat on the wall, flinching as the cold marble made contact with your bruising skin. 

Namjoon looked at you with wide eyes, feeling sorry for the pain you were feeling because of his selfishness. 

“Can I make it better?” He asked, caressing your face gently before pushing your hair back. His concerned tone made your insides melt. 

“I think that having a proper orgasm with your tongue between my legs would help.”

“You’re a spoiled brat. Never gonna learn.” He tried sounding angry, but the smile on his face told you otherwise. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You opened your legs wide as he kneeled before you. “You mentioned putting a ring on it, Joonie.” You teased, the inside joke between the two of you now sounding way too serious after he said it in that context, with that voice just an orgasm ago. 

“Careful or I’ll wife you.” He kissed your inner thigh, biting playfully. “Fill you up with babies.” He bit the other side. “Have you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.”

“Please do, kind sir.” You begged, laughter spilling from your mouth.

He positively laughed at that, his fit of giggles tickling your skin. You were overflowing with love for him.

“Sounds shady coming from a lady who was flirting with the waiter at dinner just tonight.” He started sucking at your skin, the tissue bruising easily after his harsh treatment. “Do you think I forgot?”

Here he was again: gone Joonie, welcome daddy. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed sarcastically against your other thigh, now just a couple centimetres away from your heat. “Do you think he could have done you like that?” His hand grasped your breast, squeezing it viciously. “Like I did tonight?”

“No, daddy.” Your mouth opened as he started rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Do you think he could discipline you?” He asked, his voice matching the love bite on the soft skin of your crotch where your thigh met your pelvis. 

“Of course no, daddy.” You repeated, shifting delicately in your seat to accommodate his mouth.

“Good.” He perched your legs on his shoulders, then his tongue licked your labia forcefully, your flesh and his adhering perfectly, the bridge of his nose rubbing your clit deliciously. 

The angle was difficult, and if it hadn’t been for the whole sink ordeal, you would have probably balanced yourself on your arms and used your hips to fuck his face midair, but from the way he was looking at you, you could tell Namjoon knew he couldn’t trust your body like that tonight, the risk of you slipping because of a lousy grip or tired muscles too high. 

Much to your dismay, he parted his mouth from your cunt, meeting your gaze. You loved seeing how blissful he got when he was using his mouth between your legs, his brain too focused to think of anything else. It was his go-to stress reliever.

“Hold tight. Be careful.” He said with intention, as he moved an arm behind your back and brought you closer to his face, making you plant your feet on the ground as he laid down on the empty floor. With some attentive adjustments, following his lead, you ended up straddling his face, his head luckily away from the stream of water falling from the shower head. 

“I need you to ride daddy’s face, little vixen. Show me how much you wanna belong to me.” He teased with a dark growl. 

“That sounds so good daddy!” You squealed enthusiastically. “I’m going to make you so proud.” You promised, smiling at him before his mouth latched on you, his arms snaking around your waist and dragging you down. 

“I’m so happy when you lick me, daddy.” You said, voice mischievous, while he enthusiastically picked up his pace.

“I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” His tongue lashed on your clit mercilessly as he kept pumping your most sensitive part with the muscles of his cheeks, hollowing them with the force of his movement. 

“I’ll learn...” Your breath caught in your lungs. “I’ll be so good to you.” 

His hands helped you balance yourself attentively, chasing your high, until you felt your eyes closing, the room spinning around you and your hips moving on their own command, your climax already possessing you. 

“Daddy, please, that’s...” The breathiest moan exited your mouth, your arms collapsing, Namjoon’s hands on your hips the only thing keeping you from smashing face first against the tiles. He moved his head with wide sweeps upwards, accompanying you through your high. In the meantime you managed to readjust, your weight now again in control, you eased Namjoon’s arms, thinking of how tired he must be. 

You lifted yourself up, sliding away from his face, down to his lap. 

He was incredibly hard, once more, quite unusually. “Please, let me ride you, daddy.” You tried to persuade him. “I’ll do all the work.” You were literally batting your eyelashes at him. 

He laughed breathlessly. “How can I tell you no, baby, when you sound so nice?”

“Can I?” You pouted. 

“Yes, baby.” He groaned.

You were on him in two seconds, grabbing him, squeezing him gently in your palm -- at which he shut his eyes tight -- and holding his tip towards your entrance, sliding on it flawlessly. 

“You feel amazing, ____.” He breathed from his spot on the floor, still in the same position as you’d left him after your mind-blowing climax.

You moaned out at the sound of your name, going already pretty fast to make sure that you both came as soon as possible. Namjoon’s hands led your vicious pace while your hand, already toying with your core, made sure that you could come to the edge of your third high within a few minutes. “Joonie, tell me you’re close.”

“Keep going, baby, almost there. Use your-- oh that!” His mouth opened, eyes scrunched. “There!” 

You smirked naughtily as you worked him with your kegels, hips gyrating on him.

“Joonie, help.” You called out, noticing that his arms were going slack. 

Exhaustion was getting to the both of you, but as he pushed up, chasing his sensations, you felt the change of angle and in a couple seconds you felt his hot cum fill your every crevice, your own orgasm mixing with his as your upper body collapsed, mouth searching for his neck. “Joonie.”

“Here.” His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as your legs started shaking and giving out. “I’ve got you, ____ baby.”

Your nose brushing against the side of his jaw, teeth scraping gently against the vein on his neck, you let your body be lulled by his breathing. 

“Love, let’s finish this shower and head to bed, yes?” He caressed your hair back, lovingly.

You have little memory of what happened afterwards, except his weight beside you on the mattress, the lights switching off his heartbeat calling you to sleep.