Pixie’s Place @pixie0627 - Tumblr Blog

May 17

chapter five.

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: this is the petplay chapter, so expect everything that entails. puppy play, dehumanisation, slight anal play (use of a tail plug), crawling, degradation, eating out of a dog bowl, psychological play, barking, brief mention of the um… practicalities of anal play (just aiming for realism here). mentioned/threatened whipping.

words: 10.2k

You wake around the same time the next morning, the city still quiet, the traffic and the distant noise of the city just beginning to swell beyond your window.

Your clothes are on the desk, as always—a top and panties and a skirt that’s most likely short enough to expose you when you bend over. You go to the bathroom first, then pull them on, glancing at your phone that you’d left charging next to them on the desk. There’s nothing new, really; just a few posts Maya’s sent you on Instagram.

You’re not particularly interested in what’s on your phone right now, you realise as you scroll through them. Everything you’re interested in is already in the house.

You huff slightly, softly, just enough to feel the cold air brush across your lips. You’re not sure what to do. You don’t hear any of them outside your room; no footsteps in the hall, no voices from downstairs—just silence. A thin silence, unsure, like it doesn’t know how to sit or what to do with itself.

Maybe you’ll go downstairs. Yeah, you could do that. You’ll go downstairs, maybe get a drink, and watch some TV until they come down.

You wrap a blanket around your shoulder, one a thin, loose knit that’s practically see-through You’re not trying to hide yourself, really; it’s just cold air and instinct that has you tugging it over your chest.

San is there on the couch when you shuffle into the living room, already dressed, reading something on his phone and looking up when you walk in. Something in his expression seems to spark and soften at the same time.

“Morning, pretty,” he smiles. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Did you?”

“I slept great,” he says. He pauses, hesitating for a moment. For a second, maybe two, he just looks at you; silent, a little scrutinising, like there’s something he’s trying to gauge. Something he’s trying to understand. Then his face evens out, calms, like a mess of laundry now folded into neat piles, and his smile widens. “You know, though,” he continues, and his voice is lower than before. “I was bouncing off the walls a little bit.”

“The walls?” You giggle. The look on his face—something like seriousness wrapped in intention, like there’s something you’re missing that he’s waiting for you to understand—wipes the smile off your face. You swallow. Suddenly nothing seems funny. “Why?”

“The same reason I’m wondering why you’re on your feet.”

You blink. “What?”

He stands up, not suddenly nor aggressively, but just the movement makes you cower like he’s all but run at you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes have sharpened, or how his voice dipped as he spoke—the next small indicators, now impossible to ignore, that the game has begun.

Or maybe you’re just on edge, because you know it has.

“What did we tell you you’d be doing today?” He asks, voice level, even, but not quite light. “What did we tell you you’d be today?”

Oh. The memory of last night—of their hands, their words, their promises—hits you like something solid. Your reply comes soft, shaking, face heating up already. “A—a puppy, sir.”

“Then get down.”

It feels odd to be doing it so early, in here yet with only one of them. You don’t even feel fully awake yet—but San has given you an order. That’s what matters. You’re on your knees before the words have even settled in the air.

“Good,” San says. He takes a step towards you, then another, until he’s close enough to take your chin in his hand. “That’s a good puppy.”

You keep your eyes down, fixed on the floor, and it’s as hard as it’s ever been—San sounds, feels, so confident and dominant and in control that you want nothing more than to look up at him, to see him. See the way he stares you down, eyes narrowed, like you’re nothing and everything all at once.

And today—like you’re a pet. A puppy.

You’ve definitely thought about pet play before; fantasised, and you’d taken a few tentative steps in that direction with Maya. But even those steps were barely so—certainly nothing like this. This is already much, much deeper.

“You look troubled, pup,” San says gently. “Something on your mind? You can speak. Tell me what’s going on in that head.”

“Nothing sir,” you say. “There’s nothing on my mind.”

He hums like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Eyes up.”

His face, you find, is the same as his tone—gentle, calm, but stern and very much owner. He slots a thumb past your lips and lets it sit inside your mouth. “You shouldn’t be thinking about anything,” he tells you, voice firmer now. “Nothing except being good and following directions. That’s all puppies should care about. Is that what you were thinking about?”

“Kind of, sir.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Kind of?” He repeats.

You nod. “I was thinking… I was thinking that I like this.”

“Being a puppy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well I suppose that’s good,” he smiles. “We want you to like it. I’d rather you weren’t thinking at all, but we’ll work on that. One day you’ll be able to switch your brain off on command.”

Your stomach swoops at the thought, the image, the fact that by now you have very little doubt that he’s telling the truth; your breath hitches, caught in your chest, and you see on his face him taking stock of each small response of your body to his words.

What you don’t do—pointedly so—is clench your thighs together. Because you’re not allowed to anymore. He notices, of course; he must see the way your thighs tense then start to move, like you’re about to press them together but stay stubbornly apart like you’re forcing yourself not to, and he makes a noise that sounds like satisfaction. “Good girl,” he praises. “There’s your control. You’re learning.”

You hear footsteps in the hall, getting closer, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of San. He doesn’t take his off of you, either. “Very good,” he says.

“I see we started early.”

Jongho. He sounds tired still, voice rough, but there’s a slight edge to it that betrays something else.

San chuckles and pulls his thumb halfway out of your mouth, far enough to smear your saliva over your bottom lip, tugging on it a little and seeming to enjoy the way your head moves with it without a choice. “I had to,” he says. “She came in looking like a lost puppy, poor little thing. She was practically begging someone to put her down.”

“And is she being good?”

“Wonderful,” San tells him. “Didn’t even hesitate when I told her to get down. I think we’re weeding that instinct out of her already. Starting to, at least.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Jongho emerges from behind you, coming to stand by San; he’s already dressed, too—comfy, casual, but still dressed. He frowns. His eyes narrow, honing in on your top half that’s still concealed by the blanket. “Is she covering herself?”

“Just a blanket,” San shrugs. “Harmless. You want it off her?”

“Is she cold?”

San looks at you expectantly. “Well, pup? Are you cold?”

“No sir,” you whisper.

“Off then,” Jongho says bluntly. You shrug the blanket off; it falls from around your shoulders, sliding down your back and landing on the floor around you. He tilts an eyebrow, expectant; warning. “Are you going to leave it there?” He asks, sharper now. “On the floor? You’re going to make a mess in our house?”

You falter, hesitating. He cuts you off before you can speak. “Pick it up,” he instructs, voice hardened at the edges. “You don’t make messes here.”

“Yes sir,” you mumble. You move to obey, reaching for it, but Jongho stops you before you can.

“Do dogs use their hands?” He asks.

You pause, turning to him, then shake your head. “No sir.”

“Then neither do you. Pick it up. Use your mouth.”

Your heart is pounding, heat blooming in your chest and neck as you lean down for it; you take the fabric between your teeth, biting down, then look back up at him like you’re silently asking for instruction. “You know what to do,” he says. “Dogs don’t walk, either, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You whine before you can help it; you half expect him to scold you for it, but he just breathes out a low laugh and nods towards the coffee table. “Go.”

So you go—you crawl, just as you’ve done before, under those same stern, watchful gazes, pulling the blanket between your teeth along the floor next to you, then pull it up onto the coffee table and drop it there.

“Good,” San says. “Turn around. Let’s have a look at you.”

They’re smiling now, you see when you obey, turning around on your hands and knees until you’re facing them; small, soft smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. San clicks his fingers then points down to the floor in front of him. “Here. Come. I have something for you, my girl.”

You perk up, intrigued; if you really did have a tail you’re certain it would be wagging now. They watch, silent, smiling slightly, as you crawl towards them and settle on your knees with your back straight.

“Good posture,” Jongho murmurs.

“Good puppy,” San says. There’s another, newer quality to his voice now, and you know what it is. The same thing that, for you, is making everything seem fuzzy and warm and thrilling.

“Chin up,” San orders. He grasps it in his hand, held between his finger and his thumb, then tilts your head upwards a little more. “There’s my puppy,” he breathes. “Keep your head like this, sweetheart, don’t move it. Stay docile.”

He crouches down so he’s at your level and runs his finger lightly across your neck. Gentle, without pressure, from one side to the other, like he’s tracing the outline of where a collar would be.

Then he reaches into his pocket and actually does pull out a collar.

It’s white, leather, a few centimetres thick, with a small metal ring hanging from the front. You stare at it for a moment, unsure what to say—your face, though, seems to say everything. San’s lips twitch; a small, knowing smirk. “You like it?”

You nod. “Yes sir.”

“Good,” he says. “This is just a play collar, for when you’re a puppy and we need something to tug you around with. Once you’re officially ours you’ll get a real collar; something you can wear all the time. Something formal, a little more subtle so you can wear it out. But this is sweet too, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir. Can I wear it now?”

“Yes you can. Stay still, honey, I’ll get it on you.”

He fastens it around your neck, slotting two fingers between your skin and the leather while he tightens it. “You need room to breathe,” he tells you before you can ask. “If you wanna try breath play, that’s a conversation to have when you’re in your right mind. For now you’re breathing freely. How’s that feel, baby?”

“Feels good, sir.”

“Not too tight or too loose?”

“No sir.”

“Good girl. And how do you feel?”

You pause, still for a moment, trying to find the words—to know what they’d be if you could. It feels rather like they’re running away from you right now.

You feel… “Floaty,” you settle on. “And… and light.”

“There’s your subspace,” he smiles. “You love it there, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“We love you there, too. So sweet and obedient. God, even looking at you like this it feels like you were meant to be a puppy. How’d you survive so long without an owner, baby? Without someone to look after you?”

Your face is burning, you feel it; flames twist in your gut and scorch you in just the way you need it. Your breathing stutters, catching in your throat. “Not— not easily, sir,” you whisper.

“I bet,” he hums. “Poor baby. It’s okay. We’re here now. We’re gonna do everything for you.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” Jongho says a moment later. “No more talking, That’s not puppy-like, is it, baby? You need to get used to being a pup, keeping quiet. Alright?”

You open your mouth to reply, purely instinctual, but stop yourself just in time. Jongho nods, satisfied. “That’s it.”

“Oh my.”

Seonghwa’s voice, soft but sudden, cutting through the silence unexpectedly, almost has you turning towards it. You stop yourself just in time, just as your head starts to move; San makes a noise of satisfaction that has something warm and comfortable swelling in your chest.

You feel Seonghwa’s presence behind you, approaching from the doorway; slow, relaxed footsteps, a soft sound against the floor. You want to look. You want to see him. Fuck, you want…

“I didn’t realise we’d have a puppy already,” he says. God, he’s right there, you feel it— “She’s a pretty one. Where’d you find her?”

He takes another step; then, finally, his hand comes to rest on your head, flat against your hair. It takes everything in you not to keen into his touch.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Jongho says to him, but he’s still looking at you. “Seems like a show pup to me, all perfect and pretty. I hope she has the temperament to match.”

“She’s been very obedient so far,” San says. “But I think she needs more training. Her previous owners seem to have been a little hands off.”

“Well we can’t have that.” You hear the smile in Seonghwa’s voice; the laughter he’s barely holding back. Everything about this is over the top, is ridiculous—should be ridiculous, and yet it doesn’t feel ridiculous at all. It feels the opposite, actually—it feels right. Natural. Needed. You feel yourself sinking into it like quicksand you don’t want to free yourself from. “We’ll have to train her up, if her previous owners didn’t. A pretty thing like her deserves nothing less.”

His hand moves forwards, tracing the path of the collar on your neck then grabbing your chin. He doesn’t move you; he just holds it there. He pushes his thumb past your lips and lets it sit there, too.

You want to suck it, badly. Maybe chew on it. But you don’t.

“She’s trying so hard to be good right now,” San clicks his tongue. “Look at her. Poor little thing. Bet she wishes she could tell us how bad she needs it.”

“Shame puppies can’t talk,” Jongho says. “She’ll just have to bark and whine and whimper if she wants something, I guess.”

“You’re doing well,” Seonghwa says; you can tell just from the tone, even before the words sink in, that this is meant for you now. His voice has dipped some, quieter than before, lower; like a secret the two of you share. “You can suck, sweetheart.”

He pushes his thumb in further, down to the knuckle, and you suckle at it; tentatively, at first, then more keenly. It’s strangely relaxing; a little instinctual. He hums. “Eager. I like it.”

“Where’re the others?” Jongho asks. He hides it well, but you still hear the faint impatience in his voice. The excitement.

Seonghwa laughs. “Excited, huh? They’ll be along. For now, why don’t we get some breakfast?”

The way Jongho smiles makes you think it’s probably not pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen. Seonghwa pulls his hand from your lips then taps your jaw with two fingers. You manage not to whine at the loss in your mouth.

“Stay still,” Seonghwa murmurs. “Eyes down. Keep them there. No matter what we do.”

He’s pulled away completely now, no longer touching you; you don’t like it, really, you want him to touch you again, but what you want even more than that is to please him. To hear him call you a good puppy. Maybe you’ll even find out what their version of a treat will be.

So your eyes stay on the ground, firmly, almost stubbornly, as San steps forward then clips a leash to the ring on your collar.

Oh fuck. You’re not surprised, exactly, but shit. They genuinely have you on a fucking leash.

“Come on,” San says, then tugs at it just firmly enough to make you whimper. He heads towards the kitchen, Seonghwa and Jongho in tow, and you follow on all fours. The only sound is their footsteps, your hands and knees padding against the floor, and the sound of your heartbeat pounding between your ears.

They don’t point it out to you. They let you spot it on your own—the little pink bowl on the floor by the table.

It’s not meant for people. The word puppy in bold blue letters on the front only affirms it.

San nudes you forward with his foot where you’ve frozen mid-crawl. “Go on,” he croons. “Breakfast.”

It’s full, you realise as you approach it. It looks like—

“It’s cereal,” Seonghwa tells you. “We’re not giving you dog food.” There’s a layer of amusement in his voice.

“I’m sure we don’t have to tell you not to use your hands,” Jongho says.

No, you think. He doesn’t.

“If you do feel tempted, though,” San adds, “you should remember what happens to puppies who don’t behave. A rolled up newspaper should remind you of your role today. If it doesn’t, a few lashes of your leash against your thighs definitely will.”

You can’t help but wince at the thought, and he laughs. “Eat up. Good puppies obey the first time.”

You don’t think you’ve ever found the act of lowering your head down and taking a bite to be quite so daunting. It’s a little awkward like this, hard to hold yourself, but you manage.

They pay you no attention—none. They just… go about their morning. Sitting at the table. Talking in low voices you can’t quite make out. Then, when you finish, Jongho beckons you over with two fingers and a “here, girl.”

You crawl over to him—not far, but your bare shins on the cold tiles makes it feel a lot further—and settle on your knees. He scratches the back of your head, between your ears, and hums.

“Good girl,” he grunts. “I’m gonna finish my breakfast. Why don’t you curl up at my feet til I’m done, hm?”

He pushes you down, gently, a hand on the back of your neck nudging you towards the floor. “Down you go,” he murmurs.

Time, you realise, passes strangely at Jongho’s feet. You’re not sure how much elapses like that—curled up, your head resting on his slippers, cold tile pressed against your bare skin, eyes half closed. But it’s peaceful. You’re not too cold, either, despite your near nudity; maybe they’ve turned the heating up a little bit, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re already feeling, well, hot.

It might well be both.

Every now and then Jongho reaches down to pat your hair, or nudges you gently with his foot, like a little silent assurance that you aren’t forgotten. It’s nice—knowing that even when you’re being ignored, they’re still paying attention.

You get so comfy like that, so far away in your own head, that you don’t realise they’re done until you’re being pulled back up onto your knees by the leash.

“All fours,” he orders, and you obey without thinking. “Good.”

He tugs at the leash again, already walking away and you pad through to the living room by his side, Seonghwa and San following closely behind.

Your face heats up a little, being so exposed, feeling their eyes on you, but you hardly register it. All you register—all you have the capacity to register like this—are the individual steps you’re taking and your desperation to do a good job of it.

Wooyoung arrives in the living room just as you do, shuffling in from upstairs. Your head is bowed still, eyes cast downwards like a good puppy; you dare to raise them for a moment, just a moment, but it’s long enough to catch his reaction; he pauses briefly, eyes widening for a moment, lips parting in surprise then curling into something more intentional. Something sly.

You force your eyes back down as soon as he meets them. For a moment you worry that’s not enough—that you shouldn’t have dared to raise them in the first place, even subtly—but no one moves to correct you on it.

Perhaps you get a little leeway like this. You dare to hope so.

“Well, well,” Wooyoung says. “I wasn’t expecting the puppy this early.”

“She was desperate for it,” San says mildly. He nudges you with his foot, a soft kick to the back of your thigh. “Sit, pup.”

You obey easily, settling on your knees, staring resolutely at Wooyoung’s feet, snug inside dark slippers partially concealed by the hems of his black pyjama pants. You want to look at him, of course, see the approval you hope you’d find on his face, but you know better. You’ve chanced it enough already.

He rests his hand atop your head, ruffling your hair gently; this time you can’t help but keen into his touch. He laughs. “So cute,” he coos. “Little pup can’t help herself, huh? Needs to be touched. Eyes up.”

He looks soft. That’s your first, immediate thought; hair unstyled, a little messy, face bare, eyes gentle if still holding a little of the sharpness they always seem to with you.

“You’re a little lax today,” he hums, but he doesn’t sound scolding—just observational. “Looking up when you shouldn’t be. Chasing my touch, but that’s okay. Puppies get more leeway than regular subs, ‘cause they’re cute and they don’t know how to talk back. You go deeper into your subspace as a puppy, so you can’t think as clearly, can’t catch yourself like you usually would. You get the leniency to reflect that.”

He’s stroking you as he talks, soft, circular motions, just enough pressure to feel grounding; it makes it hard to digest his words as he speaks, but you manage to when you concentrate. He smiles—a kind, smug, knowing smile like he’s reading your mind exactly.

“You’re a good girl,” he murmurs. “Pretty. We’ll show you how to be a good puppy, too. Come.”

You follow him to the couch; the leash is gone, you realise, unclipped some time after they’d tugged you into the kitchen, but you must have missed it in the haze of your headspace. Still, you crawl obediently by Wooyoung’s feet as if you were still attached to it, until he sits himself down on the couch and points at the floor between his parted legs. “You can kneel here,” he says. “No pets on the furniture.”

The other three are already seated, following you with their eyes; San reaches across Wooyoung’s lap to ruffle your hair. “Good puppy,” he smiles, eyes in crescents. “You just sit there.”

Wooyoung’s legs are pressing against you, not tight, no pressure, just holding you where you are and keeping you straight. You could lean against him if you get tired, you think, without breaking position. You don’t want to break position. So that’s good.

Wooyoung runs a long finger over your head, following the parting of your hair, and hums. “Didn’t we get her some ears?” He asks. “Poor little pup doesn’t have any.”

“We did,” Jongho replies. He looks up from his phone, brows furrowing a little, then looks back down again. “We got her everything she needs.”

“Well, she needs ears,” Wooyoung says. “What kind of puppy doesn’t have ears? Or even a tail? Was it docked off at the breeder or something?”

San snorts. “As if we’d let them do that to her.”

“The stuff is in Seonghwa’s room,” Jongho adds.

Wooyoung hums. “Well, go and get it.”

“You go and get it.”

Wooyoung reaches around you to grab your chin, fingers digging into your cheeks, and yanks your head around to face Jongho. You squeak, half in surprise and half in pain; they ignore you. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Wooyoung snaps. “I have a puppy to train. You go and get it.”

“I’ll go,” Seonghwa says. “You two, stop acting like children. We’ve our own little girl now.”

He leaves before the words can really settle, but your reaction is instant, instinctive. A sharp intake of breath, catching in your chest; a shudder that makes your whole body quake.

Jongho laughs lowly, knowingly. Wooyoung, his grip on your face released now, tugs on your hair hard enough to make your eyes water.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” San’s smile has stretched into a grin now, all teeth. “She wants to be our little girl, doesn’t she?”

“Seems that way,” Jongho says. “She’d be a cute one, wouldn’t she?”

“She would,” Wooyoung hums. “All tiny and bratty and clingy. Suits her.”

“Maybe we’ll try it some time,” San says.

You’re only half following; your eyes are fixed on the empty doorway Seonghwa left through, the small expanse of hallway you can see through the opening. For a moment you heard his footsteps as he retreated, getting quieter and further away until they were gone too; you’re frowning, lips pushed out into a pout, you realise when San laughs, nudging your thigh with his foot. “Hwa will be back soon, puppy. Poor thing, you didn’t want him to leave, huh?”

You shake your head; just as you do, as if summoned by magic, Seonghwa appears again, and you straighten up instinctively, lifting your head, back arching some like you’re trying to show him how poised and proper and good you can be. He smiles, coming to stand in front of you and patting your head. “Here we go,” he says.

He’s holding a couple of things. First, a pair of floppy white ears, attached to a headband that he crouches down to clip into place in your hair. “Don’t want you losing ‘em,” he smiles.

The other is a pair of what looks like mittens, in the same colour as the ears. “Paw,” Seonghwa says. It takes you a moment to realise what he means; you hold out your hands, one at a time, and watch silently as he fastens the mittens around your hands and ties them at the wrists. “Puppies don’t use their hands,” he tells you. “This way you won’t have to remember not to.”

The last thing in his hands is a box. It’s small-ish, nondescript, and you can’t tell what’s in it; you look up at Seonghwa with pleading eyes, hoping it’ll sway him into telling you, but he just laughs. “That’s not gonna work today I’m afraid,” he says. “This is for later, if you’re good and if you want it. We’ve already given you, what, three gifts today? If I give you this now you’re gonna end up spoiled.”

“She’s gonna end up spoiled anyways, just look at her,” Wooyoung says. “The sweetest little puppy. I already want to give her whatever she wants.”

“It’s hard to resist,” San says. He’s standing now, next to Seonghwa, eyes raking over your bare, kneeling form, taking in the sight of you. He looks pleased. “Jongho, bring her bed over here.”

The words take a moment to settle; from the corner of your eye you watch as Jongho rises, walking across the room and picking up— oh. Of course.

That’s why they’d been so insistent that the thing you’d been lying on last night wasn’t a dog bed—because they were about to give you something that actually was.

Jongho puts it down in front of the couch, near to where you’d been kneeling. It’s a dark brown, soft looking, big enough to hold you if you curl up. Seonghwa nudges your attention back towards him with a hand on your chin. “Okay,” he says softly. “We’ve let you be curious for a bit. Let you get a good look at what’s going on. Now you listen. Eyes down.”

Your gaze falls, just as instructed; Seonghwa makes a noise of satisfaction that sits warm in your belly. “Good,” he says. “You remember. There’ll be no more wandering eyes today. We’ll keep you on track. Show me your panties.” He nudges your knees, pressed together, with his foot, humming when you realise what he wants you to do and part your legs accordingly. He crouches down for a better view of them, the black cotton and lace snug against your cunt. His hand wraps around your thigh and nudges your leg open a little bit further.

It doesn’t improve his view, already unimpeded; you think he just wanted to feel your body obeying him.

“Cute,” he smiles. “Are you wet? Nod or shake your head.”

Tentatively, you nod, though you’re all but certain. There’s no way you couldn’t be wet now, right?

“I’d like to check myself. Nod or shake your head.”

You nod again. Seonghwa exhales. His hand moves up your thigh, then two fingers press against your clothed cunt. You inhale, a sharp, sudden breath, and bite down a whimper.

Seonghwa’s touch feels like static, reaching you in every corner of your body; finds you in the smallest, darkest corners and crevices. You can tell he knows it. He presses down a little harder, the corners of his lips quirking in amusement, then pulls away, standing back up again. He lifts the two fingers that were pressed against your cunt and shows them to San.

“Look at that,” Seonghwa says. “Sheen. All the way through her panties. Leaking like a little faucet.”

“Good call having her wear panties, then,” San laughs. “She’d be dripping all over our floors.”

“You like it this much?” Wooyoung asks. His voice comes from behind you, landing on the back of your neck like a cold breath. “Being a pet. You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you?”

Not consciously, you think. But you’re taken aback by how natural this feels. You make to respond, mouth opening; you catch yourself just in time, and a soft, throaty whine slips out from where you’d held the words back. Wooyoung coos.

“Eyes up.” Seonghwa’s hand is on your chin now, gripping it between two fingers, forcing your attention onto him where it had started to drift away. “Good puppy. Now. I’m going to give you some instructions, and you’re going to listen very, very carefully. Yeah?”

You nod, straightening up a little; Seonghwa smiles. “Good,” he says. “You’re going to curl up in your little dog bed here. You won’t speak, unless it’s to call a safeword. You’re going to be a good puppy. You won’t bother us. You’ll wait for us to put you to use, and you’ll be grateful for what you get. Go on now. Crawl.”

He smacks your ass as you start to obey, on the patch of skin where your skirt’s ridden up; you don’t react, determined to show them you can control yourself and focused on your mission of getting to the bed.

It’s soft, more padded than you thought it would be. You take a second to get yourself comfortable, finding a position that works and allows the bed to hold you in your entirety, then let your head rest on the raised side. When you look up, you can see Wooyoung and San, but they’re not looking at you. No one is looking at you.

You sigh softly, turning your head back to where it was lying comfortable before, facing outwards; you yawn, humming slightly, and without really thinking, you push two fingers past your lips and into your mouth.

You’re not even conscious of it until someone laughs.

“Is that her version of a chew toy?” You’re not sure where Hongjoong’s voice is coming from, and by now you’re too comfy to lift your head to look, but you hear the slight sleepiness, the soft amusement in his tone. “Her own fingers?”

Seonghwa is in front of you a second later, crouching down by your bed and yanking your fingers out of your mouth. He smacks your cheek, not too hard but certainly not gentle, clicking his tongue. “Bad dog,” he says. “You don’t decide what goes in your mouth. We do. Understand?”

You nod. Seonghwa smiles gently. “Good girl.”

He reaches to pat your head, ruffling your hair slightly, and then he’s gone.

You hear them telling; at some point, the voices of the others come into the mix, but you don’t fully digest what they’re saying. It’s not about you, though, you know that; while Yeosang gives a short, fond laugh when he walks in and sees you there before turning the conversation to something else, Yunho and Mingi say nothing at all. From this angle, you can’t be certain they even looked at you.

It’s surprisingly easy to just lie there, doing nothing, even with your subspace making you so needy for them; the same subspace that makes you hot and desperate, like this, is making you calm. Floaty. Fuzzy. You’re happy just lying curled up in the warmth of your little bed and think of nothing but obeying them.

You do wonder what their intention here is, though. You know the purpose, of course, to show you what it’s like to be a puppy, but you’re not certain why. Everything they do with you seems to have a reason—that first day, when they took you apart, it was to set the tone and the expectations for this relationship; the second day, when you were wrapped up in rope and spanked into total and complete submission, it was to teach you to surrender. To show you the freedom of losing control. Yesterday, when they had you strung out and denied all day, it was to teach you control itself. To teach you to obey.

You’re not sure what it is today.

They turn on the TV, a variety show none of them seem to be watching, but with nothing else to do you start to follow along. They’re speaking quickly, the hosts, a little faster than you’re used to or comfortable with in your second language, but it’s not too hard to keep up.

They’re playing a game; the group, rookies you haven’t heard of, are split into two and playing some odd sort of playground game. It’s neck and neck. The tiebreaker round is next.

Just as it’s about to start, the channel changes. Your head lifts off of the bed, only slightly, and a confused sound escapes your throat before you can help it.

A hand fists into your hair and pulls you upwards, far enough that you’re on your knees and staring right into San’s face.

He doesn’t look annoyed. He looks amused. “Were you watching that?” He asks.

You keep your mouth shut. The corner of his lips quirks on one side. “Poor thing,” he says. “You haven’t quite learned yet, have you? Puppies don’t know how to think. That’s why they need their owners to do it for them. But I think you were thinking, weren’t you, pup?”

Your gaze drops, cheeks flushing pink, a small measure of shame breaking through the haze. San laughs. “Don’t worry, baby,” he coos, “I know it’s hard. You’ve spent so long trying to be a person, haven’t you? It must be hard to turn it off. We’ll help you.”

He lets go of your hair and you fall back down, not expecting to suddenly be unsupported; you’re kneeling with your ass against your shins now, staring up at San with an empty expression.

Help you. What does that mean?

“We need to dumb her down a little,” San says. “A bone, how about that?”

“Do we have a bone?” Mingi asks.

“I think we do,” Seonghwa says. “More of a chew toy. We never got around to using it, when we had— yeah, I know where it is.”

“And the other thing?” Wooyoung asks.

“Later,” Seonghwa says. “She hasn’t earned it.”

You wonder what it is you haven’t earned yet, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it now, because Seonghwa is walking out of the room to go and get you a bone, a chew toy, and the thought fills you with excitement and curiosity. You wonder if it really will make you go down; make the thoughts and the coherence and all the human stuff happening in your head just turn off. If the act itself doesn’t, the praise you hope they’ll give you for chewing on it so nicely surely will.

Seonghwa returns with it in hand, still wrapped up in plastic; he pulls it out, discarding the wrapping on the table, then walks over to you. “Kneel,” he says. “Eyes up. Open your mouth.”

Your lips part obediently; Seonghwa shakes his head. “Wider.”

Once it’s wide enough, so wide that it’s starting to hurt your jaw, he slides the toy in and rests it on your bottom row of teeth. “Bite down,” he says. “Carefully, I don’t want your slobber on me. If your mouth touches my hand I’ll beat you.”

You close your mouth slowly, carefully; when you’re biting down hard enough he pulls his hand away, ruffling your hair a little. “Good girl,” he smiles. “Lie back down. We have some things to talk about today—no, not with you, don’t worry—so you’re going to lie there and be good while we do it. Just chew on your toy and entertain yourself.”

You sigh, curling up in your bed again, this time with the toy between your teeth. You start to bite down on it, hesitant, still getting used to the feel of it in your mouth and— oh. It squeaks.

It’s a quiet sound the first time you hear it, your bite weak enough to only just make it go off; you try again, biting down a little harder, and it comes louder now. Oh, that’s fun. You bite down faster this time, two bites in quick succession, and the squeaks are faster and shorter in tandem. You smile around the toy, biting down again; it’s wet now, drool beginning to soak into the plastic and drip down onto your bed, but you hardly notice. You’re having fun. Someone reaches down to scratch your head, gentle, and you keen into the touch a little bit. You don’t know how long they stay like that for, and it doesn’t even dawn on you to look up to see who it is. You’re focused on your toy. On the squeaks. On the oddly soothing feeling of soft plastic between your teeth.

You hear them speaking; hear their voices, low and serious, talking about work from the few words you care to make out—practice, stage, choreography. You hold the toy between your two mitten-clad hands, keeping it steady as you bite down harder. You wonder if the plastic would rip, if you did it hard enough. You wonder how tough it is—would it still squeak if it was ripped open? Maybe it would squeak even louder, actually, if it didn’t have the plastic muffling it.

That’s something to do.

You bite down as hard as you can, dragging your teeth across the plastic, trying to tear a hole somewhere. You manage to make one near the middle, where the plastic is thinner, and the squeak is louder, just like you’d thought.

“What are you doing?” You pause, looking up; Hongjoong is standing over you, peering down with an eyebrow raised. “Get up,” he says. “On your knees.”

You pull yourself up into position, staring up at him with the toy still held between your teeth. Hongjoong holds his hand out in front of your face. “Drop it.”

You do; it lands in his hand and he lifts it, moving it so the end is held between two fingers. “Covered in slobber,” he says. “Embarrassing. Is that a hole you’ve made in it?”

“A hole?” Yeosang appears suddenly by Hongjoong’s side, a slight smile catching on his lips. “She made a hole in it?”

“Right here,” Hongjoong says, pointing to it. “I think that was on purpose, don’t you? I don’t think a little puppy could do that by accident.”

“Definitely not,” Yeosang agrees. “I think the dog—” He pauses for a second, gaze flickering down towards you then back up, “—has some lessons to learn about respect.”

“She’s just a pup,” Wooyoung says from behind you. “It’s normal for them to break things. You were just playing, weren’t you honey?” He leans down, nuzzling his face into your hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“She still needs to learn,” Hongjoong says, voice firm. “Look at me, dog. Eyes up.”

He doesn’t look angry, of course; just stern. His voice is quiet and firm and final.

“You do not break things. You do not tear holes in things. When we’re nice enough to give you something, you treat it with respect. Do you understand me?”

You nod. He doesn’t look impressed. “No,” he says, “we let you be a quiet little lap dog because we thought you could behave like one. But if you want to chew holes in things, you can act like the untrained stray you seem to think you are. So now, if we ask you a question, you’re going to bark. Understood?”

Jesus Christ. Your breath hitches, catching in your throat; Hongjoong is staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to respond, and you force out a quiet little yip that might be the most pathetic sound you’ve ever made.

Hongjoong looks delighted.

“Good dog,” he grins. “You’ve lost the privilege to play with toys, I’m afraid, so you’re going to come and sit with me. Any more misbehaviour and you’ll be whipped, understood?”

You bark again, a little louder this time; Hongjoong clicks his fingers, pointing to the floor next to him. “Come, girl.”

You crawl by his side as he returns to his seat on the other couch, next to Jongho; you feel Yeosang following behind you, hear his quiet footsteps against the floor, and when you settle kneeling by Hongjoong’s feet Yeosang sits down on the other side. Hongjoong puts the toy away somewhere out of your sight, then parts his legs. “Kneel in between them,” he says, pointing to the floor. “You’re going to learn to be respectful of your things. So instead of a chew toy, you’re going to keep my fingers in your mouth; maybe that’ll make you more considerate. I understand puppies can’t think as clearly as humans, but you knew better. You made a conscious choice to destroy that toy, so now you’re going to learn not to.”

He pushes two fingers into your mouth once you’re in position, pushing right to the back of your throat; you gag around them, but it’s more out of surprise at the intrusion than an actual inability to breathe, and when he pulls them out far enough to sit comfortably on your tongue you settle down. He pushes the side of your head gently with his hand, guiding it to rest against his thigh. “Good puppy,” he coos. “Suck on my fingers, sweetheart. We still have a few more things to discuss.”

His other hand is a firm presence on the back of your neck as the conversation starts up again, keeping you still, the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin pushing you deeper into the haze. His grip is so firm, so assured; his control of you, of your body, so palpable you feel like you could reach out and touch it.

You can’t believe how easy it is with them. How little it takes to put you into subspace; to push you further into it and keep you there. How they can do it with barely more than a glance.

You float there for a while, content, until someone speaks.

“Are you enjoying this?”

You look up, blinking, meeting Hongjoong’s blank gaze. Um.

“I think you are,” he says. Let’s see how wet you are.”

He lays you flat over his lap, your ass in the air, like Wooyoung had done yesterday with your legs spread and your toes grazing against the floor. He runs two fingers up your inner thigh, slowly, steadily, easing closer and closer to your cunt. His touch is feather-light, a tickle that makes it hard to stay still and quiet.

“Such a good dog,” he murmurs. “I can see how hard you’re trying to stay still. Sensitive, hm?”

Finally he reaches your cunt; his fingers push through your folds, grazing across your hole and your clit, gathering your wetness in his hand. He hums. “Soaking,” he says. “Wet cunt on a wet dog. She just has no shame at all.”

“She can’t help it.” Another hand, a little larger, fingers thicker and rougher, settles on the back of your thigh, pressing slightly into the skin. Jongho. “She’s gone all the way down now, I think. Exactly how we wanted her.”

“I think she’s earned her reward,” Hongjoong says.

“I agree.”

You’re moved then; lifted from Hongjoong’s lap and placed back down on the floor, on your knees the way you’d been before. Hongjoong grabs your jaw, pushing his thumb into your mouth and using it to ease it open. “Show me your tongue,” he says. “And your throat. Gotta make sure.”

You must look confused, because Jongho, sat next to Hongjoong and peering down at you with equal intensity, huffs out a low laugh. “Sweet girl doesn’t get it, do you? Puppies need to be inspected all over. That includes the mouth. Anywhere that can take a finger or a dick needs to be checked.”

Oh, right. You let your mouth open a little more, jaw falling slack, something warm pulsing in your chest at the satisfied sound Hongjoong makes in response. He looks focused, brows furrowed slightly, finger pressing down on your tongue, then pushing to the back of your throat, then running across your bottom lip. “Very good,” he says. “Seonghwa, come here. Bring her tail.”

A tail. You perk up, back straightening some, and something tightens in your gut at the thought. Hongjoong smiles. “Eager, huh?” He says. “The tail matches your ears.” He reaches to tug at one of the ears gently, the clips it’s fastened to tugging at your hair slightly. “It’s fixed to a plug. Can you take a plug right now?”

You nod, barking quietly. You can definitely take a plug now; you haven’t eaten much, and you cleaned yourself out this morning as you always do. Hongjoong nods. “Good,” he says. “Lean over, then. Ass up.”

You feel the presence behind you, then your ass grazing against someone’s crotch. His hands comes to rest on your hips, steadying you, then push your skirt the rest of the way over your ass where it has already started to fall. “Easy,” comes a low murmur. Seonghwa’s hand moves down, the other locked in place to hold you still, and slowly starts to tug down your panties. They’re pulled to your mid-thigh, far enough down to expose you but high enough that the fabric keeps your legs pressed together somewhat. The sound of a cap being undone, then liquid squeezed out, makes your breath catch in your throat.

You exhale, steadying yourself. It’s just a plug. You’ve taken things in your ass before.

It’s cold, both the lube and the what feels like steel of the plug; you gasp, flinching ever so slightly, but you manage not to react too much. Seonghwa’s hand stays firm on your hip while the other pushes the plug in past your rim; it’s a full feeling, intrusive, but not quite a stretch.

“There we go,” he hums, pushing it the rest of the way inside until your rim is curled around the base of it. He pats your ass, not quite a smack, but there’s a slight sting to it that makes you wonder if there’s still a sensitivity there from the spanking you took a couple of days ago. “Now she’s a puppy,” Seonghwa says. “Isn’t she cute?”

“Adorable,” San says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Looks natural, doesn’t it? I wonder how it feels.”

“Full, probably,” Jongho says. “Kneel, puppy.”

You feel their eyes on you as you push yourself up onto your knees; your panties are still bunched around your thighs, the fabric slightly tangled, damp and sticky at the crotch, but you don’t try to move them. You know better than that.

You wonder what their plans are for you; if they have any at all, or if they just want to have you like this. Hongjoong sighs, adjusting himself, hips pushing outwards slightly, then points downwards. “Here, girl.”

You crawl over to him as gracefully as you can, settling on your knees by his side; he rests a hand on your head and runs his thumb over your scalp. “Eyes up,” he orders. “Good girl, you’re a natural. And so pretty with your little tail, aren’t you?”

His hand moves down to grip your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, then pulls away. You hear the smack before you feel it; the loud, sharp sound that rings out on its own for a few seconds before the pain hits.

It’s not overly hard. It doesn’t knock the wind out of you. But the sound and the sting and the way his expression doesn’t change—still cool, still passive, as though nothing had happened at all—makes something in your stomach swoop and your vision blur at the edges. You bite back a whine, afraid it will come out louder than you can get away with, but something in your face must betray you, because Hongjoong breathes out a laugh then hits you again. “Pathetic,” he says, but the softness of his tone makes the word land like praise. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes.”

“She probably feels a little lost right now,” Jongho says. “All floaty and fuzzy and hardly being touched. Wondering if we’re gonna put her to use or just string her out.”

“Must be hard not knowing,” Hongjoong says. “Colour, puppy? You can speak.”

“Green.” The word feels oddly unfamiliar on your tongue; the sound of your voice, small and soft, strangely foreign. You’ve already gotten accustomed to being quiet. To barking and whining and whimpering. Speaking feels… wrong.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong replies. “Then I’ll put you out of your misery. You’re not getting off today. Clear?”

You nod. You’d sort of figured.

“Good,” he says. “Then you can get your bed and bring it over here. Save the floor digging into your poor little knees. Go on.”

You nod, turning away from him; he sends you off with a smack to your ass as you start to crawl away. It makes the plug shift inside you, reminding you of the presence that had already started to slip your mind, and you whimper.

You feel them watching you as you move. When you reach the bed, for just a moment, you hesitate.

You can’t use your hands; they’re still snug in those soft mittens, and you doubt you’d be allowed to anyway. So how…?

“Teeth,” someone says. “Come on. You’ve seen puppies pick things up, haven’t you?”

You have. It’s not as easy to pick up as your bone was, of course (rest in peace to that poor piece of plastic), but you manage to tug it along the floor as you crawl back over to Hongjoong. He takes it from you once you’re within reach, putting it down between where he and Jongho are seated, then taps it with his foot. “Down,” he says. “On your knees. Face Jongho.”

Jongho slips his fingers past your mouth just as Hongjoong had done, pulling your head to rest against his thigh; his fingers are splayed across the back of your head and neck, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin, and you can’t help but sigh contentedly.

You’re so comfy. This is so easy. You’re right where you want to be.

Nothing much happens for the next while. You stay there, still and silent, as they go about their day; people come and go, to their rooms, Hongjoong and Mingi leaving for a while to get a hook recorded before they forget it, but you don’t move. Nor does Jongho. He takes his hand away from your head after a while, but his fingers stay in your mouth, resting atop your tongue.

You’re not really thinking about much. Time seems to slip by separate from you; independently, like you’re floating somewhere it can’t quite reach. You don’t fall asleep—but you’re not exactly awake, either. You’re just… there.

They feed you your lunch by hand, sandwiches cut up into small bites, then hold a bottle of water to your lips until you’ve downed at least half of it. Your plug comes out a little while later; you don’t want it to, of course, enjoying the feeling of fullness and the softness of your tale against your legs, but Yunho’s narrowed eyes and the threat of a whipping stops your whining before it can really start.

“You’ve had it in long enough,” he says. “I can easily go and get your leash. Do you need some lashes on your thighs with it to help the point sink in?”

You shake your head quickly, biting down on your lip as if to physically trap your protests in your throat. Yunho nods, humming, a noise halfway between amusement and satisfaction sounding out in the silence as he slowly eases the plug out of you.

“Good puppy,” he murmurs. “You’re going to start to come up now. Slowly. You’ve been down for a while, haven’t you?”

True to his words, you come down steadily, at your own pace. They don’t rush you; Jongho’s other hand returns to rest against your head where it had been before, caressing you slowly, his touch just heavy enough to feel grounding and stabilising as you come back to earth.

The paws are the first to come off, untied and pulled off of your hands so quietly you don’t even notice. Your ears are next. Your collar comes off only once you’ve been lifted off of your bed and settled by Jongho’s side.

“There we go,” he says. “Coming up, huh? In your own time, baby. You can speak whenever you want to.”

“Sir.” The word is quiet, mumbled, your face pressed into Jongho’s side, eyes half closed.

“I’m here,” he assures you. “You did well.”

His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, you realise, hand rubbing up and down your back. He’s slid it under your shirt so his skin is pressed directly against yours, and his hand is warm, the skin soft.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” he tells you. “Do you think you can eat?”

“Wanna stay here,” you respond. “Comfy.”

“You can eat here,” he says. “We’ll bring the food through, just this once.”

“Once?”

“Not really,” he says. “Usually we eat at the table. But I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind you eating in here when you want to. Especially when you’ve just been so good and sweet for us.”

Another hand, larger, comes to rest on your thigh, following the curve of it where it’s angled towards Jongho. “How’s the pup?” Mingi asks, his voice a low drawl.

“Still coming up, I think,” Jongho answers. “Not sure you still calling her pup is gonna help the process though.”

Mingi huff, snorting slightly. “That has nothing to do with the scene,” he says. “She looks like a little puppy all the time to me. Tiny and naughty and eager to please.”

“I suppose she does.”

“How’s your hole, honey?” It takes a second for you to register that Mingi is talking to you.

“Fine,” you respond. “Empty.”

He laughs. “I’ll bet. You take a plug well, don’t you? Good at having your ass full. You like it?”

“Like it,” you repeat. “Comfy.”

“I’m sure it is.”

They feed you your dinner, too, noodles in a light soup that Jongho balances in your lap while he feeds you small mouthfuls of it, praising you with each one. You’ve never been praised for something so unremarkable before.

You don’t do any more scenes that day, but the small, lingering pieces of the high and the peace and the calm fuzziness stay with you until nightfall.

San comes to check on you when you’re tucked in, just before you turn off the light. He’s in his pyjamas too, soft looking blue checkered ones, his glasses sitting on his nose and his feet snug in his navy blue slippers. He looks homely. Cozy. Like something you could hide away in.

He runs his hand up your body where it’s tucked beneath the blanket, from the bottom of your legs to your cheek; his hand lingers there for a second, cupping your face, and there’s nothing but softness in his eyes. “You did well today,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.”

He leans into you slightly, just a little, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you; where his lips would land is another question, of course, but something in his expression seems to speak to an intention along those lines.

But then he hesitates. Stops. Moves back again. The smile on his face is no less genuine even as he retreats.

He’s just starting to turn for the door when you speak, the words slipping past your lips before you can consider them.

“San,” you call quietly. “Stay?”

He pauses, smile fading and for one moment, ice cold, you think he’s going to say no and the illusion of care and fondness they’ve created for you over these past few days will shatter into tiny pathetic pieces. But then the smile comes back softer, gentler, and he nods, climbing into bed with you and pulling you into his arms. “Course,” he murmurs. “C’mere, puppy.”

His hold is strong and firm but not hard; it yields and gives where you want it to and holds you tight where you don’t. He, they, seem to do much the same.

“Why do you do this?” You ask, out of the blue. Sleepiness has always loosened your tongue a little. “Like, have a sub all together.”

“As opposed to what?” He asks.

You shrug. It feels like a trick question somehow, but he’s looking at you with nothing but patience. “One sub each, or hookups, or…girlfriends or something.”

He’s quiet for a moment; thoughtful. “Think of it like this,” he starts. “Everyone needs connection, right? And release. With our jobs we aren’t really able to meet those needs in a meaningful way; too busy for girlfriends, of course, and it can get messy as idols anyway. We had hookups, as well, but it didn’t do it for us.”

“Why not?”

“Because release on its own does nothing for us. It has to be both. There has to be connection, deep connection. We couldn’t get that from just sex. We were all feeling it but we weren’t sure what else to do other than, like, fuck each other, which, no.”

He makes a face, exaggerated and you giggle softly. He glances down at you with a small smile and adjusts you in his hold a little; now, held against his chest, you feel the low, calm vibrations of his voice as he speaks to you. “Then I just… started thinking about it. Saw someone online talking about their sub and it made me think. Not just about having a sub but about sharing with the others, too. We’d all tended to take dominant roles in sex, and when we were doing hookups we’d sometimes share a girl together, in twos or threes usually. Turns out we all wanted something deeper too, and we all get a lot of fulfilment from being in control. From taking care of someone, taking charge of them. Which led us here.”

“That makes sense,” you hum. “Do you think…do you still feel lacking anything, like you did before?”

He takes a second to think. “No,” he answers. “This feels right. In a job like ours your whole life is controlled; everything is decided for you. But with you, with this, we can have control. We can have responsibility and bear it. And by having it together we find our own bond with each other deepens. Hey, look at me.”

He suddenly shifts you, tilting your head upwards by the chin to meet his eyes. “Whatever happens, we’ll never take for granted this gift you’ve given us,” he says. “I want you to know that.”

“Gift?” You repeat. “What gift?”

“Your submission,” he responds. “Your surrender. Letting us have control when we usually have none. It’s not a small thing to us. Never would be.”

“Thank you.” It slips out without any thought; instinct rather than reply. It feels a little strange, to say it, not really certain what you’re thanking him for, but he hums like he knows exactly what you mean and pulls you closer.

You fall asleep that way, in his arms, wrapped in the shared silence.

told you it was coming back! thank you so much for waiting. i hadn’t anticipated how crazy this school year was going to be but im so glad to finally be able to continue this. i promise i will not make u wait that long again!!!

your comments and thoughts are SO appreciated and make me more motivated to continue my work on this. love🖤🖤🖤