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mulloey · 3 days ago

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chapter two.

in full bloom.

dominant ateez x submissive reader

series warnings: heavy bdsm dynamics, subspace, rules and punishments, kink exploration, eventual romance, heavy/extreme kinks in later chapters. the characters engage in consensual controlling behaviour under the agreement of a 24/7 bdsm dynamic. this story does not represent ateez in any way; i merely use them as muses for my own characters. specific warnings will be in each chapter.

chapter warnings: discussion of rules and punishments, bdsm scene, use of ‘sir’, praise & degradation, pet play, impact play, light breath play, anal & vaginal fingering, overstimulation, denial etc.

words: 8.5k

disclaimer: this is an expanded rewrite of an old work of mine, ‘the new girl.’ if you feel like you’ve seen this fic before, you probably have. not all bdsm relationships involve sexual contact, however, this one does. please be safe.

The next few weeks seem to stretch impossibly. Like darkness in the dead of winter; long, never-ending, only anticipation to pull you through it. You didn’t get to see them again, after your first meeting; the guys left the country a few days afterwards, off on tour somewhere, leaving you here alone and waiting for them with a desperation you would never admit.

It’s a good test, though, Maya says; space and time away from them so you can sort through your thoughts and feelings without any undue influence. And you do—more than you should, perhaps.

In fact, you do nothing but think about them.

Any time you’re not replaying your meeting with them in your head, or thinking about them with a hand between your legs, or curled up in a ball stressing and worrying about every conceivable way this could all go horribly wrong—you’re watching them. You’re searching their names on social media, watching their music videos and staring at their pictures until your eyes hurt.

You can’t help it, really. Can’t even try to. They’re so hot—and you’re so eager.

That night at the bar, in fact, you’d barely managed to make it all the way home before sending the first text to Hongjoong, but if you came across as too keen, he didn’t mention it. Just a short I take it you’re home now, puppy?, and some small, infuriatingly procedural questions about how you felt the night had gone.

He’d even asked for permission to call you puppy. The care and caution in everything he does is equal parts maddening and delightful.

You text them a lot; every day, when there’s time. Surprisingly, to you at least, most of your conversations have nothing to do with your impending arrangement; just normal, casual things; irrelevant things that somehow, with them, feel invigorating.

It’s the way they speak to you, you think; controlled, commanding, nurturing. Oozing with authority and completely and entirely confident in it. It makes you want to kneel from five thousand miles away.

You don’t even think they do it on purpose; not all the time, anyway. It’s just who they are; how they are. They fall into it as naturally as you do into the inverse—into submission.

Your need for it has always been integral; as natural as breathing. It’s the achievement of it, or at least, the achievement of it in the vast and all-encompassing form you crave, that comes a little less easily. With them, though, you have some hope.

Your chat with Seonghwa sits at the top of your messages when you wake up; the little bunny emoji you’ve put next to his contact makes it just a little less intimidating to open, but your breath still hitches as it always does.

It’s a question you’re afraid to ask, let alone answer—why they already have such a hold over you. Why you’re already so affected by the mere idea of them.

good morning, puppy. call me when you’re up, if you can.

It takes you a little by surprise; you haven’t called any of them yet, whether because they’re too busy or for another reason you’re not sure. It makes you nervous, too, to be honest, the idea of phoning him.

But he asked you to do something and you’re eager to impress, so you bite the bullet and press call.

He picks up after a couple of rings. “Hi, baby.” You hear the smile in his voice; it makes you smile a little too, nerves cooling off some.

“Hi, Seonghwa.”

“Have you been thinking everything over like we asked?”

“Yeah,” you answer. He doesn’t reply, and you know what he’s waiting to hear. You swallow the lump that tries to form in your throat. “I really…I want to try this with you guys.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Is there anything you want to ask me about it?”

You hesitate, and though he says nothing you imagine he notices. He doesn’t rush you, though; just waits for you to find the words and make sense of them.

“The rules,” you say finally. “You said you guys are strict, so I wondered what some of the rules would be.”

“It depends on the submissive,” he replies after a moment. “Her needs, things she might want to improve on. But aside from obvious things like safety, we also have some core ones that stand for everyone we play with. Respect, permission, obedience.”

Respect, permission, obedience. You like those words; they make your head feel a little lighter and your stomach twist with want—want to fulfil them, and want to face the consequences when you don’t.

You’re good at those things, you know that. Good at submitting.

Usually. Sometimes, of course, you like to play.

“And if I break the rules?”

“Oh?” He laughs a little. “Are you planning on it?”

You hesitate, again, unsure how to answer; the truth, you know, is your only option, but suddenly it feels inadequate, your fear of annoying or disappointing them and being kicked to the curb now overarching.

This time, Seonghwa notices. “Hey,” he says. His voice has softened, but it’s still just as firm, just as resolute. “It’s important that you’re honest with us. You don’t need to hide anything from us, you know. Even the bratty side of you.”

You bite your lip, easing tension. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he says. “We love brats. They’re a lot of fun. But you’re not one, really, I think, not often. You just like to push back a little sometimes.”

“You think so?”

“I think sometimes you need a reminder of who’s in control. Sometimes you need to get rid of guilt, to feel like you’re being held accountable for your mistakes. Sometimes, maybe, you just want to be punished. You want to feel like a bad little girl and be put back in your place.”

God, you do want that. You want all of it. And you want to let go of your fear of disappointing them so you can enjoy it in its entirety.

Maybe with them, you’ll learn to.

“You’re right,” you mumble. “And…it wouldn’t bother you? If I acted out?”

He sounds genuinely surprised at the question. “Bother me?” He repeats. “Of course not. Misbehaving is a normal part of these relationships; testing the limits and so on. I’d be honoured if you felt safe and secure with us enough to do that with us. And I’d be just as honoured to put you back in your place, too.”

Your breath hitches a little; at the image in your head and the safety that surrounds it. “Really?”

“Really,” he echos. “We want you. We knew it just from talking to you that day in the bar; knew you’d be perfect for us too. We want to train you up and make you the perfect little pet for us, so long as that’s what you want too. And if you need a spanking every day to keep you that way, then that’s what you’ll get. It would be our privilege to give it to you. You don’t need to worry about disappointing or bothering us or any of that.”

“Oh.” The relief you feel is physical; like a load on your chest finally lifting. You breathe out a reply that sounds a little more emotional than you’d like to admit.

It’s a warm, cosy feeling, knowing you won’t have to hide from them. A safety you’ve been searching for for longer than you’d realised.

You find yourself blinking back tears before you can process it.

You missed this more than you were conscious of.

Seonghwa’s voice sounds almost impossibly gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“Don’t apologise for getting emotional,” he says, and his voice is suddenly sharper than you’ve heard it. “It’s good, actually, that you do. That’s what we want.”

“It is?”

“Yes. We’ve found a lot of people just view this stuff as a way to get off, but it’s about a lot more than that for us.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Trust,” he replies. “Connection. Surrender. Caring and being cared for. Release, too. But the more we get to know each other, the better answer I’ll have. Every submissive is different.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s the same to me. The importance. It’s reassuring, to know this is as important to you as it is to me.”

“It’s essential to my being,” Seonghwa responds. “Without it it feels like something’s missing.”

“Yeah.” It’s silent for a moment, like he’s silently gauging your response, as much as he can over the phone at least. “Would you like to try out a rule now?“

You inhale, sharp and sudden. You hear him laugh a little. “Please.”

“Good girl,” he hums. “Okay, here’s one. Every day, you’re going to send me a picture of you. It doesn't matter what you’re doing, or if you think you think you look good. You send one every day.”

“Oh.”

“What do you think?”

“I like that,” you breathe. “A lot.”

“Good. Do it now.”

You pause. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Okay,” you mutter. You pull the phone back, opening the camera to snap a pic and sending it before you can pick it apart like you usually do. The lighting is low, though, curtains still drawn and only the bedside lamp shining dimly from the other side of your bed, so there’s not much to pick apart anyway.

The message is read instantly. His voice comes low and affected through the phone.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “You look so tiny, baby. So fucking cute.”

“You think so?”

“You’re going to drive me fucking crazy,” he says. “All of us. I can’t wait for this tour to end. I need to get my hands on you.”

You can’t wait either.

“I have a question for you too, if that’s alright.”

You raise your eyebrows, curious. “What is it?”

“About our first scene together,” he says. “How do you imagine it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything you like, really. For example, do you want sexual contact? Do you want to get off? Or do you want it to be pure, high-protocol play?”

“I want to get off,” you say, maybe a little too quickly. “I just… it’s been so long since I did this, I’ve been waiting so long. So yeah, I want sexual contact, but I want the S/M stuff too. I want to see how it is you all are, when you’re doing a scene. What it’s like to submit to you.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He sounds affected. “We can do that. We can do all of that. Definitely.”

“Really?”

“Of course we can. We want our first scene together to be as you like. We didn’t want to be all whips and chains and bruises and psych you out straight away.”

“I mean,” you mumble. “I like whips and chains and bruises.”

“So do we,” he responds. “But it’s not appropriate for a first scene. It would be irresponsible of us to do that to you straight away, before you even know how we are as dominants and how you feel about it.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “Okay. So we’ll ease into everything, right?”

“Exactly. You’ll definitely get the whips and chains and bruises, I can promise you that. But you’ll get them when you’re ready. We’ll start you off with a shorter, more gentle scene; just a taster, okay?”

“Okay.”

You talk for a few more minutes, about random things; your work, their tour, and everything in between until he hangs up, suddenly called on by his manager, with a promise to text you later. You toss your phone to the side and curl back up inside your sheets. You’re alone in your room, barely any light, but the echo of his voice and the promise of their impending return makes you feel enveloped. Embraced.

By the time they’re back in the country you’re getting yourself off at least once a day just to quell the urges for them. You haven’t told them about it; not explicitly, at least, but there’s a small lilt in their voices when they talk to you sometimes that makes you think they already know. A little teasing, a little turned on.

“Been entertaining yourself?” Wooyoung asks you one day. “I’ll bet you have.”

Jongho manages to time a call just minutes after you finish; your face is still flushed and breathing still heavy when you pick up. “You look pretty,” he says. “I can make you even prettier soon.”

And Mingi—Mingi keeps it short. Your daily photos to Seonghwa have ended up extending to all of them. Feeling bold, you test the waters by sending one just after you finish; face red and sweaty, lips plush and glistening like you’ve been drooling. Mingi’s reply comes a few moments later.

You’d better have been thinking of us.

It’s a Thursday night a few days after their return, and you’re tucked up on the couch and just starting to doze off when your phone lights up with a call from a a familiar contact.

“Hi, honey,” Hongjoong greets. “Are you ready to start?”

The cafe you meet them in on Saturday is small and private; a little darker and more ambient than you’d expected, but it suits the purpose. They’re huddled into a booth in the far corner, waving you over when you spot you hovering nervously in the entrance.

Only four of them, you notice; not the eight you’d met the first time. They’re dressed down, clearly trying not to be recognised but they stand up and greet you with warm smiles that set your nerves a little more at ease.

Hongjoong is the first to speak; he often is, you’ve noticed. As much as they’re all equals, they seem to defer to him almost as a default, as much off camera as on. “Where would you like to sit?”

“Here is fine.” You gesture towards the empty space on the edge of the booth, next to Yeosang; you’re not scared of them or worried about today, far from it actually, but you know it’ll help you feel more at-ease, knowing there’s an easy out even if you never take it.

Jongho is next to him; opposite, Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Their gazes are fixed on you and just as heavy and intense as you remember them.

“Uh…” you start. “Where are the others?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flicker to the man next to him, then back. “We thought it’d be better if less of us came this time. To make it less overwhelming for you.”

“It’s something we should have considered last time,” Seonghwa adds. “We apologise that we didn’t.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s fine,” you say. You're glad to have met them all that first day; you won’t lie, though, and say you’re not a little relieved to not be facing down quite so many people today.

“It’s not,” Jongho says. “We should have asked about what you’d be comfortable with, at least. We won’t make that mistake again. Did you bring everything we asked you to?”

Oh, right. The list.

Hongjoong had asked you, on Thursday night on the phone, how you wanted to do this; if you wanted to take it slow, with more meetings and more time to think before doing anything, or if you wanted to “dive in,” as he put it. You’d chosen the latter with a lot more confidence than you’d anticipated.

You really have been needing this.

The list you pull from your pocket was texted to you by Hongjoong later; everything you’d need to bring today for the first few days of your new arrangement. “I think so,” you nod. Your eyes move down the list, checking off each item in your head. “Yes, I think I remembered it all.”

“We’ll see later,” Seonghwa smiles. “It’s not a problem if you didn’t, though. You tried your best and you’re new to this.”

The others hum in agreement and you smile, a little nervously. This was your first big ‘task’ from them, after all. You wanted to do it right. Show them you’re capable and worthy of their efforts. God, you hope you are—

Jongho’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts right on time; as if he somehow knew you were about to plunge in too deep. “You even wrote it all out, didn’t you?” He smiles, gesturing to the list in your hands. “Good girl.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Would you like me to explain the plan for this week?” Hongjoong asks gently.

You nod, suddenly anxious, and your gaze falls downwards to your lap where your hands are fiddling with the hem of your dress. A larger hand comes to rest atop them, holding them still and you look up to meet Yeosang’s firm gaze on you. His voice is gentle, calm, but the authority is unmistakable. “Look at him and answer him properly, sweetheart.”

Hongjoong is staring expectantly at you, when you finally meet his eyes. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything from him that felt like sternness. “Yes please,” you say.

He eases up, smiling again and you feel like a weight’s been lifted. God, you’re so receptive to them. So sensitive and eager to please.

“Good girl,” he says.

You bow your head again, embarrassed and Yeosang clicks his tongue, wordlessly chastising. You mutter an apology and force your eyes upwards again. “There we go,” Hongjoong praises. “Think of it as a trial run, yeah? We want you, we know that, but we need to see how it will work. What kind of arrangement will suit you best.”

“Okay,” you say. Yeosang releases your hands from his grip but you grab his arm as he starts to move away, needing someone to hold onto while you digest it all. He smiles, taking your hand back in his and squeezing it gently. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

“Are you with us so far?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he nods. “So for this week, we’ll all be getting to know each other better and getting used to our new dynamic. We’ll start figuring out the kind of submissive you are and the kind of training you’ll need. That make sense to you?”

You barely manage to get a response out this time, already feeling dazed. None of these words are new to you, exactly, not even in this context, but they’ve never felt so real before. So dark and forbidden and thrilling—to be spoken about like a pet, a submissive in need of training.

It’s a lot. It might even be everything.

Silence stretches, not uncomfortably, until you break it meekly, nervously. Yeosang squeezes your hand again, encouraging. “And the end of the week?” You ask. “What happens then?”

They share a look that you can’t quite decipher. They seem to have those a lot; the small, silent conversations that lie just out of your reach, but where you thought you’d feel excluded or out of the loop, you instead feel…secure. Cared for. Like everything, including yourself, is out of your hands and off of your shoulders.

Hongjoong looks like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. “It’ll be up to you,” he tells you. “If you’re happy and you want to commit, you can stay with us. We’ll get you moved in and your room set up how you like. You’ll keep your own place, of course, but we’ll make our house your main residence.”

“But if you want to take it slower,” Jongho continues, “which is always an option, I might add, then we’ll take you home and continue getting to know you more casually, just like how you would in a normal relationship.”

“And of course, ending our arrangement entirely is an option too,” Yeosang adds. “At any time.”

The others voice their agreement and you smile gratefully. “Thank you,” you say. “I’ll remember that.”

“Any more questions?” Jongho asks.

Your answer comes blurted before you can really think on it. “I get my own room?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You need your own space. We all do.”

“Right,” you nod.

He hums. “Well, if you’re ready, love,” he says, “there are four people at home who are waiting very patiently for your arrival.”

Their house is large, in a quieter area of the city but still central. Nothing to disturb you here, you think—and nothing to be disturbed by you.

Jongho takes your bag from the trunk without much effort; you try to help him, reaching to take it from his hands but he fixes you with a look so stern it almost sends a shiver down your spine. You back away, apologising, and he eases up again. “Good girl,” he says. “Go inside, I’ve got it.”

Seonghwa calls your name and holds his hand out for you to take. You’re halfway towards the door when it swings open suddenly; San is grinning at you, and it feels a little like a wolf baring its teeth.

“Hi, baby,” he beams.

“Were you watching from the window?” Seonghwa asks. San nods, unashamed, and the elder mumbles something under his breath that goes unacknowledged.

San is far too hungry to care—you see it on his face. Burning behind his eyes and practically emanating from his entire body. “I’ll take her in,” he tells Seonghwa. “Alright?”

“It’s her choice,” Seonghwa replies coolly. He smiles down at you. “She can make her own decisions for now.”

For now. The words, the implication, feel like fire on your skin. The way San’s eyes darken a little is impossible to ignore. The younger stretches his hand out, an offering, and you take it. “Are you coming too?” You ask Seonghwa.

“No,” he smiles. “You go on, we’re gonna get your room set up for you first. San’ll take care of you.”

You don’t doubt it; you nod, sure but still a little apprehensive and allow San to lead you inside and into the living room.

The set-up is…interesting, you think. A massive TV, large dark couches and armchairs set up in a crescent shape, and the coffee table shoved to the side. Like they were making room for something—something to be displayed.

You have little doubt as to what—who—that something will be. And you’ve never felt more like prey than you do at the mere sight of it.

The way Wooyoung’s smile widens when he spots you makes you even more certain as he stands up to greet you from where he’d been stretched out on the couch, intentions written on his face.

The dynamic of this house is clear just from the way he looks at you; the tension, thick, air getting hotter by the second, cementing what you already knew.

You’re theirs now. Theirs to do as they like with.

And that’s exactly how you want it.

Wooyoung’s voice comes deep, a little hoarse—affected. “There she is,” he grins. “Hi, doll.”

You wave shyly, throat suddenly too dry to do anything else, and his eyes flash. “Cute,” he mutters. “Bring her over here, Sannie.”

A strong arm snakes around your waist, pulling you over to the couch with just a little force; you go willingly, of course, but between the nerves and everything going on in your head right now, it’s taking a moment for your mind to catch up.

You’re in the middle of the two, now, pressed between them with nowhere to go. Close enough to see the tiny details of their skin. “Can I touch you?” Wooyoung asks.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He starts small, gentle; a hand pressed against your cheek. Explorative, tender; strength restrained. You keen into it, without realising, almost instinctual and he coos, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Sensitive puppy, aren’t you?”

Maybe, if you’d found the confidence to meet his gaze, you’d have seen the dark, predatory look in his eyes. Like he’s about to sink his teeth into you and is simply waiting for an opening. You whine his name, embarrassed, turning your face towards him to hide in his hand. They just laugh, shifting closer.

“She’s going under already,” San murmurs. “Such a natural, aren’t you baby?”

Another voice—cooler, distant—cuts in. “Already toying with her, are we?”

Yunho is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, faintly amused but otherwise expressionless. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

“I can’t help it,” Wooyoung replies. “She’s so pliant.”

Yunho’s eyebrow lifts, interested, and he takes a few steps towards you that feel a little like a predator closing in. “Is she?”

“Just so easy,” San affirms. “So small and sweet for it.”

“Control yourselves,” Yunho says, but the sternness in his voice is half-hearted. The sensations of the men beside you make you moan; the soft, hungry touches on your skin. God, San’s right. You go under so fast…

“Do you think she’s ready?”

You blink, Yunho’s words pulling you from the haze you’d started to slip away into. “Ready for what?”

They don’t answer; just smile gently at you then look back at each other. “I think so,” Wooyoung says. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

“Here.” Hongjoong emerges from another doorway, eyes finding you instantly. “Hi, bunny.”

You like that name; you feel your face heat up a little, enough to make the corners of his lips quirk in amusement. “Hi,” you squeak.

“What did you want me for?” He asks the others.

“We wondered if you think she’s ready yet,” Wooyoung replies.

Hongjoong is silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression before he speaks. “If Seonghwa thinks so,” he says, “then so do I.”

“I still don’t get it,” you mutter to no one in particular. Wooyoung pinches your cheek.

“Not very patient, are you?” He teases. “We’ll have to work on that.”

You flush in embarrassment, feeling a little chided and they look at you like they’ve never seen something so cute—or delectable.

When Yunho speaks again, his voice is rough and hoarse and almost shaking with desire. “Let’s get the others,” he says. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens around you like he’s holding you in place. You watch as Hongjoong disappears through the door again, off to find the others to do…whatever they’re planning, and this is the realest it’s ever felt. You’ve been waiting for weeks and now you’re finally on the cusp of it.

Your nerves are standing on their ends, silence stretching outwards. It’s tense and terrifying and everything you’ve been needing.

The sound of the others approaching sends you hurtling back down to the ground.

This is real. You have no idea what to expect—or what they expect.

What if you don’t measure up?

You must make a noise or some sign of distress; something to alert them of it, because suddenly there’s a hand in your hair, holding it gently then pulling hard enough to sting. It wakes you up from yourself and you grunt, meeting San’s eyes. They’re gentle; no hunger, no desire. Just care and concern and a softness you could get used to. “Hey,” he whispers. “No more thinking, puppy.”

“I…”

Wooyoung shushes you lowly, gently but with a firmness that’s unmistakable. “Pets don’t worry, baby. Everything will be fine. No expectations. You just follow our lead, we’re in control now.”

You say nothing, but the tension fades; fear subsiding enough to breathe. “That’s it,” San coos. “Good baby. Don’t think. Just obey.”

Then you’re on your feet, pulled up by the two men without a word. You notice, now, that everyone’s here. The living room is spacious enough that you don’t feel too crowded—but damn if you don’t feel surrounded. Like a prey among predators.

Hongjoong beckons you towards him with two fingers. He’s smiling, as he was before, but there’s something different to it now, something that wasn’t there before; an intention, a desire. A hunger that chills you to the core.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And you’ve willingly put yourself in his hands, all their hands, and you’re desperate to see what they do with it.

You approach him with small, hesitant steps. He doesn’t rush you; just waits for you to come then points to the floor in front of him. “Here,” he says firmly. “On your knees.”

You obey, eager for his approval but he doesn’t speak even once you’re in position. He just watches you—they all do. The silence rests heavy on you. Hongjoong breaks it softly, quietly, like pebbles in water.

“When did we meet you?” He asks. “For the first time. How long ago was it?”

The question takes you aback; it feels random, without reason and…obvious? You don’t know. “Um.” You frown. “Maybe three weeks.”

You’re not sure why he’s asking that so suddenly, but you decide to just go with it. They have a plan, clearly; perhaps you don’t need to know it.

“Three weeks,” Hongjoong repeats. “Yes, that sounds about right. And we’ve talked to you, during that time. Talked a lot about this dynamic we’re building together. What it would look like. Correct?”

You nod. He taps your cheek just hard enough to make you wince. “Words.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Yes, we talked about it a lot.”

“Which means you’re familiar with our expectations,” he says. “You’ve no excuse tonight, then, do you?”

Oh. Your stomach twists at the thought; at the finality and warning in his tone. At the haze of submission approaching on the horizon.

“No,” you reply.

“Then we’re clear.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hand grips your jaw without pressure or force, but the control and authority in his touch is such that you doubt you could break free of it if you wanted to. He doesn’t move or speak; just watches you for a moment, like he’s admiring his prize. “Perfect,” he gruffs. “Perfect, pretty thing.”

“Joong,” you whimper.

His grip tightens a little. “Sir,” he corrects. “Watch your manners.”

“Sorry, sir.”

He hums; it’s silent for a moment, his eyes flicking across your face and body like a silent inspection. He tilts your chin upwards a little more.

“You know well by now what we like,” he says. He thumbs at your bottom lip, not quite pushing into your mouth. “We like obedience. Control. Submission. You’ll learn to please us properly, learn the choices that make us happy. You’ll learn to surrender.”

You say nothing, not making a sound even as his thumb presses past your lips. He raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting to see what you do, but you do nothing. Just let his thumb press in further, and let it sit.

The right choice, apparently. “Good girl,” he mutters.

“Look at that.” Yeosang’s voice is low, distant, a little awed. “So obedient already. Fingers in her mouth but she’s still not sucking them without permission.”

Hongjoong hums, appreciative and taps your cheek with his other hand. “You’re naturally good, aren’t you?” He smiles. “Just untrained. You’ll be a lot of fun.”

“I hope so, sir.”

He nods. His voice dips slightly. “The rules for tonight,” he says. “Verbal answers, unless we tell you not to speak. You obey without hesitation. You call us sir. You ask for permission. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

He tugs at your chin, harsh enough to make you hiss in pain. “Louder, girl.”

“Yes sir,” you repeat. He nods, satisfied, and pats your hair.

“On your feet,” he says. Your legs wobble a little as you stand up, already unsteady from the short time you’d spent on your knees; he’s quick to take hold of you, steadying you until he’s certain you’re stable then letting go. “Good.” He points to the middle of the room, where the coffee table would have been. “Over there.”

Seonghwa is next to speak; his voice is softer and gentler than Hongjoong’s but the air of authority is just as firm. “We’d like to give you a little test,” he says. “It’s not a test you can fail, and it’s not to see if we want you—for this week, at least, you’re already ours. It’s to see how much you can take, what kind of training you‘ll need. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he says. “Undress and put your clothes on the chair over there, then come back. You can leave your panties on. Do it now.”

Your response is shuddered, quiet, but you do as he commands. Your hands shake a little as you reach to unbutton your shirt, but you manage to get it done; your skirt is next, then your bra until all that’s left are your tiny white panties clinging to your hips.

You feel their eyes on you as you take your clothes over to the table; following you like stalked prey. You feel—you are—exposed and vulnerable like this, practically nude and surrounded by eight fully clothed men, but you don’t mind it.

You like it, actually. There’s something thrilling to it; something forbidden. It makes your body pulse in delightful submission.

“Very good,” Hongjoong says, tone approving. His gaze finds your chest, running across the bare skin without hint of subtlety. Instinctively your hands reach to cover yourself, but you think better of it—in the nick of time, it seems, if the anger that flares briefly in their eyes is anything to go by.

“Smart girl,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’ll learn not to hide yourself. Not from us. You don’t have the right to anymore.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Right then.” Seonghwa claps his hands, sound cutting through the silence and making you jump in surprise. You hear laughter, soft; if your eyes weren’t cast downwards still you’d see their eyes flash, too, at the small flicker of fright evident in your posture. “We’ll start with some commands, alright? We’ll see which ones you know already, and we’ll teach you the ones you don’t.”

“Yes sir.”

“Look at me.”

You obey, lifting your gaze into his and he nods, satisfied. He clicks his fingers. “Down.”

It takes a second to register, your head a little floaty and by the time it does it’s clearly too late; Seonghwa sighs, seeming disappointed and nods to a man behind you. Then there’s a looming presence and five painful slaps against the practically bare skin of your ass. You yelp, trying to escape but the man snakes his other arm around your waist, pulling you backwards to hold your body taut against his.

“Disobeying already,” he breathes. You recognise Wooyoung’s voice, but the playfulness, even the teasing it normally has is gone. You whimper involuntarily and he slaps you again; this time it lands on the front of your thigh, heavy and stinging. “Don’t whine,” he orders.

“Sorry sir,” you breathe. He hums, rubbing the blooming pink mark on your thigh with a momentary tenderness. “No more talking, I think,” he says. “I’m in the mood for a nice, quiet puppy now.”

Jongho comes to stand in front of you; he tilts your jaw upwards with one hand, peering down at you expressionlessly. Wooyoung keeps his firm grip on your waist, holding you in place and stopping you from squirming away from their attention as you’re sometimes wont to do.

“This is your first lesson,” Jongho says. “When we say down, you get on your knees. Instantly and without question. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. So let’s try that again. Down.”

The second Wooyoung lets go, you fall to your knees, desperate to please now—to show them that you can and want to obey them. Jongho smiles, pressing a hand to your cheek and letting you nuzzle briefly against it. ”Good dog,” he praises. “Up.”

You’ve sprung to your feet before your mind has caught up; the pleased looks on their faces is as satisfying as any reward. “Clever girl,” San praises.

Jongho steps away, back towards the others surrounding you; you do your best to stay still, quiet—you figure that’s the best way to avoid Wooyoung’s heavy hand for now.

“Come,” Yeosang calls. He stops you with a raised hand before you can take the first step. “I don’t think so. Crawl.”

Oh. His voice drops deliciously on the final word and it hits you in the deepest parts of your body. You try to keep a semblance of grace as you lower yourself to your knees but you feel your entire body shaking with excitement; with the thrill of being spoken to and treated like this after so long.

It’s only a few feet on carpeted floor, but the weight of their stares on you makes it feel like miles, knees rubbed raw. Yeosang watches you approach like you’re a tiny mouse he’s lured into a trap.

“Sit,” he orders. You shuffle back up onto your knees and he rests a gentle hand on your hair. “She’s learning fast.”

The others hum in agreement. “She’s clever,” Mingi says, sounding proud.

“She is,” Yeosang says. “Alright, pet. The next ones are easy. Eyes up.”

This time they give you a second to figure it out; you don’t need it, really, feeling in the swing of it by now, but you’ll take what little leeway you can get. You meet Yeosang’s gaze with hopeful eyes and he nods. “Eyes down.” That one’s easier; you drop your gaze back down, contrite and obedient and perfect, if you say so yourself.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Isn’t she good, guys?”

“The best,” Yunho purrs. You’re so wrapped up in Yeosang’s attention that you hardly register the large, looming presence behind you until two big hands come to rest on your throat. There’s no pressure in his touch, no force—just surety. Surety that you’re his, theirs, because you want to be. That you’ll accept their touches and attentions and take everything they give you because you want it.

“I reckon she’s earned a reward,” Yunho says. “Being such a good puppy for us.”

You hear low, approving voices, chiming their agreement; Hongjoong’s voice comes like honey in your ears. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come here, pup.”

You crawl a little faster now, more confident; he crouches down to your level and holds his arms out for you to crawl into. He lets you snuggle into his chest for a moment, a brief reward, then pulls back. He cradles your face in his hands, keeping your eyes on him.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmurs. “How do you want to be rewarded?”

“Fuck me.” It comes out before you can think on it, your body speaking for itself without your mind’s assent; at his raised eyebrows you tack on a whined “please, sir.”

His thumb presses against your lip again and pushes in. “Suck,” he says. You do; he looks enamoured by the sight. “You’re not ready for dick, precious,” he says. “Just a puppy still.”

“No, I’m ready,” you insist, nodding fervently.

Wrong move.

You see his gaze harden into iron from inches away, grip tightening on your face. Silence stretches. His hand collides with your cheek before you even see him raise it.

The hit is quick, wordless; casual, like this is a normal way for him to express his displeasure. Maybe it is. You whine, wincing away from him and he snarls, hitting you again. “Don’t you run from us,” he grunts. “And don’t ever challenge our authority. What you think doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not ready.”

“Sorry, sir,” you gasp. Your head is spinning a little, cheek throbbing from the force of his slap. “I’m not ready.”

“That’s right,” he purrs. “See. You can obey.”

“Yes sir.”

He hums. “You’ll learn to turn that brain off for us. Soon enough you won’t even remember how to talk back. Turn around and show me your ass.”

Fear pulses briefly and pleasantly as you turn, facing down the others who are watching you with what feels like something between fascination and scrutiny. Following your every move and ready to strike if it’s the wrong one. You’re ready for the slap, anticipating it; you’ve spoken out of turn, after all—you’ve displeased him. His hands aren’t the largest but you know they’re plenty large and strong enough to leave a mark. You felt it in the slaps he’d delivered to your face—the restraint held firm but fraying at the edges.

Hongjoong can make it hurt. They all can.

But right now, he doesn’t.

He runs a slender finger down your back like he’s savouring the skin, down across your ass and grazing over your pussy. It makes you squirm; a jolt of electricity down your spine at the sensation. He hums, not sounding affected but rather interested; clinical, almost. Like he’s inspecting you.

Two fingers slide under your panties and push them to the side then press slowly into your heat. It’s a stretch, only just noticeable above the haze, and he shushes your soft whimper with a tenderness you can hardly rectify with that dark, predatory look in his eyes; in their eyes.

You’re realising now just how much sharpness and softness go hand in hand with them.

Seonghwa’s voice comes distantly, faintly; like you’re floating in a bubble and he’s peering in from outside of it. “How does she feel, Joong?”

“She’s perfect,” Hongjoong says from behind you. “Tight and warm like we thought she’d be.”

God, the way they talk about you… it’s degrading and objectifying in the best way—everything about this is hotter than you imagined, their touches like fire on your skin and they know it.

He curls his finger, just a little but it sends a shockwave through you; you jolt forwards, unable to control yourself and he wraps a strong arm around your neck to pull you backwards into him. “Easy, girl,” he whispers. “Easy.”

“So squirmy,” Mingi coos. “She’ll need a firm hand.”

“She’ll learn to stay still.” You hear the grin in Hongjoong’s voice as he pushes in deeper, slipping a third finger past your folds and making you squeal. “Won’t you, pretty?”

“Ye-ah, yes sir,” you gasp.

They’re inching towards you now, closing in on you until you’re completely trapped. Their expressions differ slightly, some enamoured, some hungry, some clouded with pure lust—but they’re all completely, entirely focused on you. On the way Hongjoong pulls you apart like he’s done it a thousand times before.

The arm on your throat moves away and you fall back onto all fours; Seonghwa crouches down to catch your face in his hands, rubbing your flushed, wet cheeks.

Fuck, when did you start crying? How out of it are you?

Mingi and San disappear in your peripherals, then there’s more hands on your ass, running over the soft skin with heavy, lingering touches.

Hongjoong spreads his fingers, opening your hole up for them to see and you feel the shift in energy behind you as they take you in. “Fuck,” Mingi grunts. “The prettiest little pussy.”

“So cute and puffy,” San croons. He runs a finger—you think it’s his, anyway—through your wet folds then eases one past Hongjoong’s and into your hole.

San’s fingers are thicker than Hongjoong’s; a little longer, and when he puts in a second and the older man pulls his hand away you feel just as full as before. Mingi’s just watching; on his feet again and towering over you. If you tilted your head back just a little bit you’d see it; the look on his face that says he’s about to demolish you.

The others are watching—just watching—as San works you open and Seonghwa slips two long fingers into your mouth. “Suckle, baby,” he murmurs. “Show me how you use your mouth.”

He doesn’t give you much of a chance, in reality; his movements are fast, fingers pushing in and out at his own pace. It’s hard to take, it’s been a while since you’ve had your mouth used like this after all, but you do your best; he rewards your efforts with whispered praises barely audible above the sounds of wet, of the men playing with your holes and your body’s response to it.

“Gonna have to train your throat,” Seonghwa says. “Learn to take us all the way.”

Your eyes are watery again, brimming with fresh tears every time he forces his fingers to the back and chokes you on them. It clouds your head and blurs your vision until you can scarcely make out the scene in front of you; can scarcely tell the men apart as they watch you come undone.

Yeosang’s voice, though, is unmistakable; smooth velvet above the haze. “Harder, Seonghwa,” he says. “I wanna see her drooling.”

“Hear that?” Seonghwa chuckles. “You gonna drool for us, puppy? Get your slobber all over the carpet like a good little girl?”

Your response, muffled by his fingers, seems to be good enough; he presses a kiss to your forehead that’s so tender you barely notice his hand closing around your neck. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours and his voice comes low. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Stop breathing for me. Let sir do it for a while.”

The pressure is pleasant, building slowly; you feel the precision and care in the way he holds you, the way he pulls you over the line in just the right way. Strength on the sides of your neck and tenderness atop your throat; careful not to push too far in the wrong direction. At this point you’re not sure which feeling, which hole to focus on.

The feeling of a finger circling your rim makes it an easier decision; this, you can’t ignore. You’ve never done this before; never explored that side of things. But one of them, apparently, has decided you will.

Mingi’s other hand comes to rest on your hip as he speaks. “Good girl. Ease up for me, let me in. You’ll get used to it.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Yunho adds. “Jongho’s favourite hole, isn’t it?”

You don’t know where Jongho is, can’t quite figure out where any of them are at this point; but the sound of his breath hitching tells you he’s dangerously close. “Yeah,” he gruffs. “It is.”

Mingi’s finger slips in slowly, teasingly; careful and steady enough to almost feel pleasant. You look up with pleading eyes—though for what exactly you’re not so sure—and find Yunho looming above the eldest member with an iron gaze. You whine around Seonghwa’s fingers, gagging a little and you feel the drool running down your chin and to the floor. Yunho’s jaw ticks. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns. “I’ll ruin you.”

You just whine again, almost petulant this time. Yunho’s eyebrow lifts. “Jongho,” he grits. “Put a finger in.”

Jongho doesn’t hesitate; doesn’t even pretend to. He pushes his finger in next to Mingi and matches his pace in a way that’s dizzying. Your whimpers have turned to sobs to full on cries, but Yunho seems unmoved. Satisfied, even.

“Naughty puppies get stretched,” he says simply. “Without prep, without pleasure. Remember that.”

You’re not certain how, even in a million years, you could ever be supposed to forget now.

It’s a punishment, you know that; a direct consequence for and lesson against getting too bold with them. But the pain and stretch you know is meant to teach you, to humiliate you, burns deliciously in your gut and you don’t want it to stop.

Maybe it’s the newness of it all, physically and mentally; the resistance your tight hole puts up against them. Or maybe it is the humiliation; the degradation of knowing every one of your holes is open for and owned by these men—and that you, sick little thing that you are, enjoy it.

You’ve never felt this before, though; you know that. You know it in every single way it’s possible to know something.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never even dreamed of it.

Seonghwa’s voice cuts suddenly through the fog. “Think you can come soon?” He asks.

You nod, desperate, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. You realise at some point that the others have retreated; only Seonghwa, Jongho and Mingi remain, the others back on the couches but still watching you just as intently. And the layout of the room means that they’re still surrounding you, still caging you in against the wall like perfect prey.

You feel…displayed.

You feel like a toy.

“San,” Seonghwa calls. “Come here and work on her pussy. She hasn’t learned to come from her ass yet.”

Yet. Seonghwa must catch the way your eyes widen some, pupils dilating; his focused expression twists into a small, knowing smile. His voice is crooning, patronising, like he knows exactly what’s happening in your head and loves it.

“That’s right,” he says. “We’re gonna train you to come just from having your ass full. You’re gonna learn to come every time we tell you to.”

Your body burns with need; with the waves and fires of climax approaching in the distance. Another hand comes to rest on your hips and you hear San’s low, calm voice as he pushes his fingers into you again.

You can’t quite make out the words but oh, the way he says them; so tender and so sadistic at the same time. Minimising your suffering as much as possible but enjoying the pieces of it that remain.

You feel the pressure mounting in your belly; your walls clenching around him, each movement felt more deeply and completely than the last. You know what this means; the mounting sensitivity, body reacting to every small movement—you’re close. But you won’t cross the line without their permission.

You want to be good for them. You’re going to be perfect.

“She’s breaking,” San says. His voice is distant, like you’re underwater. You gurgle around Seonghwa’s fingers when he forces them to the back of your throat again. “I can feel it. Tightening around me.”

The fingers in your ass are pulled out and you cry out in shock; your awareness of them had slipped as San worked you apart, but the emptiness without them is profound. Mingi coos and runs a finger across your flushed skin. “Shh,” he soothes. “Greedy baby. Let San break you, honey. Gonna feel so good.”

A strong arm tucks under your thighs and forces them together, tugging them towards him; with your legs clenched and immobilised everything is heightened, everything is too much but at the same time it’s not enough, it could never be enough, you’re going to—

“Come,” Seonghwa orders.

And you do. Your entire body convulses as your climax rips through you like a blast of hot air. You scream, still gagged by Seonghwa’s fingers as he coaxes you through it; your legs tense as you spill out all over San and then collapse forwards, caught in Seonghwa’s arms before you can hit the floor. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on your tear-stained cheeks. He’s speaking to you, they both are, but you can’t pull the words apart into something coherent.

You can’t really do anything right now. You feel like…like…

Like you. You feel like you in a way that you haven’t in years.

And you know, in that moment, that you’re going to stay with them. You’re going to sign that contract—you’d sign seven hundred thousand of them if it meant you could feel like this again.

The last thing you’re conscious of is the feeling of your soaked panties being pulled back into place before your eyes close and you drift away, fucked out and exhausted in their arms.

Seonghwa lifts you up and into San’s lap, manoeuvring your limbs like a fragile doll. “Careful,” he mutters. “Gentle with her now.”

“Of course,” San mumbles. He presses a kiss to your sweat-soaked forehead as he settles your sleeping body in his hold. “She did so well,” he says. “I’ll take her to bed now. She earned it.”

“She did,” Seonghwa smiles. “This is going to be so much fun.”

chapter two!!! because this was a short, introductory session for her, i wasn’t able to keep focus on all the members, however they will all be playing main roles in this work and so will all have at least one scene focused on them each. i plan on writing various scenes with different pairings, smaller groups and individuals. you’re welcome to let me know anything/anyone you’d like to see in particular!

taglist (comment on the masterpost to be tagged!): @pixie0627 @pinuspot @sitycc @m00njinnie @tunafishyfishylike @0mrrp @calilovesdilfs @happymochiland @nijisanjigenshin @diekleinesuesse @honghwalvr @paramedicnerd004 @luvlyfandoms @heeheehahahoohoo @herpoetryprincess @d3kstar

reblogs, comments and feedback are very appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #choi san smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut #mulloey writes #series: in full bloom

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