This last chapter has me feeling so raw and weepy 😭😭 the stargazing with the diaspora buddies felt sooo needed and I loved Chan being there as the head alpha and natural buffer to kind of smooth out the bristly feelings I’m sure both Lixie and Mc felt like ughhh
Also I loved the detail of the pack vacating the nest when Mc wasn’t there. It’s YOUR space!!!! Please!! See it!!!! Gah, my heart!💔
Also purely from a planning standpoint as a reader i actually really like that Uhyeok seems to have waited up to a point for the boys to integrate mc into their lives before steamrolling in and trying to take over the planning around the omega aspect. I could even see how, from a manager point of view, mc is just another Thing to manage/piece to move on the chessboard like she’s a makeup artist or PA or something. Him bulldozing through their whole conversations completely gave me the ick and made me instantly dislike him which(!!!!) is perfect.
I almost feel like that last conversation with Hanna’s and Mc like getting ready to take on internships and planning her graduation and stuff was the end of the first Big Villain era(Danny) and now we’re onto the next Big Villain (Uhyeok and the Contract Conundrum) with the Final Boss as yet unseen. Idk maybe I’ve been watching too much anime but I just really like the way these last few chapters have felt like a soft transition ✨
For my question, with Channie’s recent bubble messages gushing over Stays in hanboks, it got me thinking. 🤔 what would the pack’s reactions be to Mc in Hanbok/traditional clothes? 💕
Hi hi hiiiiii 🥰🥰🥰 I’m glad you liked it!!! Chan is really dreamy this chapter…. 💛
I really wanted to establish in Uhyeok’s pre-chapter 59 interactions with MC how little he really respects her or even considers her as a fellow human being, and I’m glad that disrespect comes through! I totally agree with you re: MC being just another thing to manage in his mind
Hahahaha this story doesn’t really have villains per se but I know what you mean! 😆 I’m curious to see how you’ll categorize the last part of our story 🫶
And omg Channie’s messages were soooo cute — and I'm excited for Lunar New Year anyway, so I wrote this? 😊💛
(about 2k words, either post or future-canon!)
“It won’t be a big deal,” Yuri had sworn to you the night before Seollal. “Just a cute outfit for the new year. We can get our makeup done, and our hair, and— Hey, where are you going? You know Soohyunnie won’t do this with me. C’mon, please? I’ll buy you a coffee!”
Really, it isn’t that it doesn’t sound fun; it does sound fun. You love a makeover. It’s only that you’d promised to go over to the house that night to see your boys, and an early morning of being inspected and prodded by strangers is going to sap an ungodly amount of energy better reserved for socializing.
But then Yuri had put her little sister on the phone, all her newfound teenage stubbornness melted away by the possibility of getting her makeup done: “C’mon, unnie— Please?”
And so here you are: primped and polished, hair curled and adorned, shiny things on your nails. Your makeup is girly and sparkly in a different way, your face painted ethereally soft by someone else’s hand.
And then, of course, there’s the hanbok.
It’s not like you’ve never worn it before. When you first got here, Soohyun practically bullied you into renting some while the two of you took in the sights, even as she stayed in her normal clothes. Yuri had similarly bullied you into one that she’d rented for herself for a cousin’s wedding, taking photos and cooing at you. And your mom had an old one you used to try on when you were younger: nearly fluorescent blue, in that hyper-short-jeogori, hyper-shiny-polyester style that had been so popular when she was young.
It is, though, the first time you’ve worn it in a while. Perched awkwardly on Yuri’s parents’ couch, you smooth your hands over your silk skirts, fluffy and gauzy and butter-soft.
You didn’t expect to see your boys on Seollal, just like you never expect to see them on any holiday, regardless of relationship status. But they have some kind of work obligation keeping them busy even on a national holiday, so they’re not leaving to see their families until tomorrow morning — and by the time they’re home, it will probably be time for you to leave Yuri’s family’s house anyway. You and Soohyun arrived awkwardly early after all, kneeling a polite distance away while the family did ancestor rites, resisting the urge to make stupid faces at or elbow each other.
At the time, it had seemed serendipitous — an opportunity to see your boys, before you spent more time apart. But now, fiddling with the sleeves of your jeogori, the dangling charm in your hair clinking next to your ear, something about it is kind of—
“Are you blushing?” Yuri’s little brother asks — Yoobin, the mole under his eye and his higher, louder voice distinguishing him from his twin even in the first second that he flops down next to you. “Noona, why are you blushing?”
He has all the tact you could expect from a nine year old. You wince, checking for a nearby Soohyun lying in wait to make fun of you as you grab a square of yaksik from the tray on your other side. “Here,” you say, handing it to him: a blatant bribe for a child who was just told ‘no more sweets before dinner.’ “Eat this.”
Soohyun did not, it seems, hear it — but she has plenty of opportunities to tease you anyway, because every time you think about seeing your boys like this, you do blush. You find yourself thinking, I could go home and change; this was last-minute anyway; they don’t even know. They’ve been too busy to get a hold of all day, after all; you’d even missed them during their brief lunch break, when you’d been just settling in to eat with Yuri’s family.
You smooth your hands over your skirts again as you say goodbye, bowing politely to Yuri’s parents and grandparents. The toes of your gomusin point up at you under the hem, embroidered with dainty little flowers.
Really, you think as you get into a cab, practically vibrating with nerves, fiddling with your hair and norigae and the ties of your jeogori, it’s not that you don’t want your boys to see you like this. It’s just— Something about it is just—
You’re still vibrating when you punch the key code into their front door. Chan is opening it before you can even touch the handle, his smile wide and bright. “Hey, welcome—”
He freezes, mid-sentence. His eyes widen as they glance over your outfit. His face colors, blood flooding his skin between one breath and the next. His lips pop open.
It’s such an immediately satisfying reaction that your nerves leave you, just like that. The urge to laugh strikes you, but you wrestle it down, tilting your head to the side, cocking a brow.
“Well?” you ask, not pulling off bratty as well as usual, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
Chan blinks at you. Stares another second. Nods about three times in quick succession, and wordlessly pulls the door open.
Seungmin is sitting on the couch, eyes already trained on you by the time you cross the threshold. “You’re late,” he complains — then chokes.
A fascinating pattern is building. Chan is one thing, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen Seungmin color so much, so quickly.
It is, you find, not limited to the two of them. Changbin freezes in place and points at you when he sees you, lips forming words that just won’t come out; Jisung stumbles over his feet and knocks into a wall. Jeongin won’t even go near you, flinching like a scared animal when you even glance at him; by contrast, Felix won’t leave you alone, fiddling with any loose dangly part of your outfit, fingers carding through your hair. You find Hyunjin in the yard on the phone with his parents, and he goes completely silent when he sees you, swaying in place like a strong breeze could knock him over. You find Minho in the kitchen, checking his messages and drinking a glass of water while a pot boils behind him; when he sees you, he drops the glass, uncharacteristically clumsy, his big bunny eyes blinking at you over and over even as you laugh and start reaching for the broom.
Your entourage intercepts before you can go anywhere near the glass, though. “I’ll get it,” Chan assures, finally touching you long enough to physically move you, his grip firm around your waist. “Go sit down, okay?”
He still can’t quite look at you. Maybe that’s why there’s a laugh in your voice when you say, “Hey, I can help.”
“Not looking like that you can’t,” Changbin mumbles, not quite looking at you either even as he takes your hand. “C’mon, hyung’s got it. Let’s leave him to it.”
You hadn’t realized how much they were looming over and trailing after you until you’re being pulled somewhere else, six bodies closing in like guards. Face warm, you glance over your shoulder to find Minho still frozen in place, his hand still posed like he’s holding his glass.
“Be careful, oppa,” you tell him. “Don’t move, okay?”
Instead of arguing or complaining, he just nods, dazed and obedient. You stifle another laugh before letting yourself be led away.
Hyunjin’s hair is still damp at the roots from the shower he’d taken before you got here. Still, when you perch on the couch, he doesn’t hesitate to set his chin sweetly on your leg, kneeling on the floor in front of you.
“Do you have to give it back?” he asks miserably, rubbing the top layer of your skirt between his fingers.
“It’s a rental,” you laugh, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “Of course I have to give it back.”
Felix plops down beside you, brushing your hair over your shoulder. “Can I just buy you some?”
You laugh again. “No!”
Jisung’s pout is audible. “Why not?”
They’re expensive, you start to say — but that one never works, not with this group. You pause, thinking, your dangly hair pieces clinking against each other some more as you tilt your head to the side.
“It’s supposed to be special,” you finally decide on.
“It would still be special,” Jeongin says, rebuttal bold even as he still can’t hold your gaze. “You wouldn’t be wearing it every day.”
“Unless you wanted to,” Hyunjin adds, dreamy.
Pretty as you feel at the moment, the thought makes you shudder. “God, no. It takes forever to get on.”
“You’d get used to it,” Seungmin says, impressively deadpan, his voice a little raspy.
“I could help,” Jeongin adds.
You stick your tongue out at him. Alarmingly, he just stares back at you, finally meeting your eye, deathly serious.
Sensing danger, you pivot, seeking out the current weakest link. “Bin-oppa,” you say, smiling when he jumps, “you’re so quiet. What are you thinking about?”
He’s seated on your other side, but unlike Felix, he isn’t pressing himself close to you, or even pulling you in like he usually might. There’s a small, nearly-polite distance between his thigh and yours, and when you cross it, bumping his leg with your knee, he squeaks. Squeaks.
Changbin stares at you, wide-eyed and pretty-pink. He glances at his packmates. He leans in.
“I know I call you this all the time,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, his breath on your ear making you shiver, “but you really… You really do look like a princess.”
It’s sweet. You ignore Hyunjin’s snicker at his packmate’s expense, leaning in to kiss Changbin’s cheek.
It leaves some glitter and gloss behind. You thumb at it guiltily, worried for his skin. Changbin just blinks at you, flushed and speechless, leaning his face instinctively into your palm.
Chan and Minho choose that moment to appear from around the corner. “There you are,” Chan says, seemingly having found his composure enough to meet your eye without exploding, so long as he keeps a safe five feet between you. Still, his smile is shy, skin pink, eyes darting away between every other word. “The glass didn’t get you, did it?”
You open your mouth to tell him no, it didn’t, and then maybe tease him some more. But before you have the opportunity, Minho is stepping boldly over and around Hyunjin, taking your face in his hands, and kissing you.
It’s a sweet, chaste, short kiss, shocking only for its suddenness. You haven’t heard Minho say a word all night but his mouth seems to work just fine now — and you gasp into it, smearing what’s left of your gloss onto him in the process.
It’s strawberry-flavored. Maybe that’s why Minho licks his lips right away when he pulls away, taking your hand, tugging you gently to your feet.
“I made tteokguk,” he says, voice hushed, ears red, eyes trained on you. “Let’s get older.”
You just blink at him, almost stepping on Hyunjin as you clamber to your feet. Minho grins, quiet and shy, and leads you away, his fingers laced with yours.
Seungmin takes the opportunity immediately to tease Chan about the big three-oh. Minho makes a joke you only half-hear about the mandu in the soup, elbowing Hyunjin. Felix ties your hair back with care, knuckles brushing the back of your neck.
The broth is hot in your mouth, with that super-savory marrow-sweetness to it; the tteok is just the right amount of soft and chew. The mandu wrappers dissolve at the edges, paper-thin, and you’re still studying them when you glance up to find that midnight has passed — the year changed, and all of you older, just like that.
“Happy New Year,” Jeongin says, holding your hands entreatingly. “We played yutnori for hours today on set. Channie-hyung panic-bought it just in case you wanted to play, but please say you don’t.”
You played for about ten minutes with Yuri’s siblings today, and that was more than enough. You open your mouth to say so, only to be interrupted by Seungmin, leaning his head lightly on yours.
“Please come see my family tomorrow,” he mumbles, soft and shy. “My house isn’t far.”
Before you’re forced to come up with a reply to that, Jisung steals one of your hands from Jeongin, lowering his head to stare up at you with big, shiny eyes.
“Please don’t return the hanbok,” he says.
You kick him. He yelps. You blame everyone else at the table, and he either buys it or plays along, squeezing your fingers every now and then just to feel you squeeze back.
Inso darling that minsung x mc Drabble was soooo good 💕💕
Also with the last ask the thought of Innie using Channie’s room and then slinking out before he gets home gave me such distinct Fox-like mental imagery I am cracking upppp🤭🤭
And I’m not sure if I like the thought of Innie sneaking out of Channie’s room carrying a wobbly-legged Mc out or leaving her there, ruined and panting, covered in Innie’s scent in Chris’s bed like a gift more 🥰 how could his hyung be annoyed when she looks so sated 🥰🥰 so cute all flushed and marked 💕💕💕💕
Can you tell I’m excited for tomorrow’s update? 🫠🫠
(Referencing this and this!)
It’s probably because I’ve had the chapter prepped and formatted since last week but I forgot tomorrow is chapter day until I read this 😭 One of these days I’m going to forget to hit post on a day where I’m too busy to check Tumblr and then I’ll really be in trouble hahahaha
Anyway: I also like this concept! About this much!:
Tags/notes: no actual smut but very NSFW, vaguely post-canon, talk of/allusions to rough sex, fantasies with somno, ~1.8k
The house smells like you and Jeongin and sex even when Chan first steps through the threshold, which isn’t surprising in it of itself. You two had the place to yourselves this afternoon, after all, and he’d seen the way you’d been eyeing Jeongin this morning: smiling and simpering and teasing, sliding your foot up the inside of his thigh at the breakfast table like you didn’t care who else noticed, all the while Jeongin flushed and sweated under the attention.
Still, it doesn’t smell like either of you have hung out downstairs in a minute; he doesn’t smell you near the stairs leading down, either, which eliminates the nest. There’s a bit of Jeongin here, but him alone — and it’s a clean smell, pleased and freshly showered.
But Chan is tired, so he isn’t thinking about it too hard. He only has a few hours here, after all, before he’s off on his next schedule, so he’ll just crash into his bed, take a devastatingly satisfying nap, then—
He goes upstairs, and freezes in place.
Your scent is stronger. His door is cracked open.
Even before he pushes his way inside, he already knows what to expect.
Jeongin hadn’t even bothered to cover you before he left, it seems — or maybe you’d just kicked the covers off, given the way they’re tangled around your leg, spilling down to the floor. He just washed that, he finds himself thinking, focusing on that instead of the rest of it: the scent, the sound of you breathing, the sight of you spread out naked and ruined on his bed.
Chan doesn’t realize he’s approaching until he’s already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down. He wouldn’t have guessed it by the dormouse act this morning — but Jeongin really did a number on you today. There’s a dark hickey over your mating gland, a line of slightly lighter marks dotting your collarbones; a red line circles your wrists, teeth marks stamped into your thighs and breasts. When Chan looks harder, he can see evidence of fingers pressed too hard into your hips, and there’s even a small scratch on the back of your thumb, trailing up your hand, like it had caught teeth.
And you’re covered in come: yours, Jeongin’s, spilling out between your legs, rubbed possessively into your skin. Chan’s breath catches, hands twitching on his thighs, a shudder ripping through him as he fights the urge to touch you.
Maybe he moved more than he thought he did; maybe he forgot to get his scent under control. Whatever the reason, your eyes flutter open, focusing on him slow, without a scrap of urgency. Your voice creaks, like you’ve been screaming for hours. “Channie?”
When Chan reaches for you, he has to remind himself to be sweet: to relax his fingers, to not pull at you, to not take too much. “Hi, baby,” he says, voice rough but touch gentle, skimming the curve of your cheek. “Did you have fun?”
You blink at him, then glance around, trying to roll up on an elbow. “Oh… Sorry, I forgot— I’ll move.”
Before he even has time to answer, you slip on the loose, untucked sheets, falling back onto the bed. Chan laughs loosely, flopping on top of you, rubbing his face into your neck. “It’s fine; you’re fine. You can sleep here as long as you want.”
“Shouldn’t,” you object, swallowing a yawn. “You seem like you wanted to nap.” Another yawn, unsuppressed this time. “Sorry. I’ll get up.”
Even if you did, there’s no way he’d be able to sleep here, in the dirty sheets covered in come and sex pheromones. Actually, even laying on top of you like this means he needs to take a shower before he has any hope of being courteous in a professional space in a few hours.
He doesn’t tell you that, though. “If you’re getting up anyway,” he says instead, pulling himself up and you along with him, pretending his cock doesn’t jolt when you whine a complaint, “want to come shower with me?”
When you shake your head, your lips brush his scent gland, making him shiver. “Too tired. I’ll just fall asleep again.”
“I know,” he says, kissing your hair. “I’ll help.”
There’s no point to covering you right now, pressed warm to his body with no one else home; Chan swings a hoodie from his drawers over you anyway. True to your word, you fall asleep again almost immediately once he has you cradled in his arms; even when he bumps your calf into the doorframe by accident, you don’t wake up.
His soap is in the basement, so he just grabs yours from your room and heads down, balancing the bottles in your lap. Your skin is sticky everywhere he touches, and he just tries not to think about it: tries not to think about how easy it would be to slip his fingers inside you like this, to finger Jeongin’s come out of you, to replace it with his own.
And really, Chan knows you: you wouldn’t mind. You’d be into it, even, waking up with a gasp to feel him already buried inside you, eyes glassy and fingers too weak to cling; and whether he made you come or didn’t, whether he overstimulated you until you passed out again or left you wanting, you’d glow for hours like you got exactly what you wanted. You always do.
He thinks about it, as he sets you down on the shower seat against the wall and fiddles with the water temperature, just as hard and hungry as he’d been the moment he opened his bedroom door. His mind strays to his later schedule. He gets the water just right, and wakes you again with another brush of fingers to your cheek.
“Close your eyes,” he says quietly. You blink at him, disoriented and doe-eyed, but follow the instruction like it’s instinct, curling in towards his touch.
It’s easier to keep you awake with the water on, but not very. Chan keeps your face up as best he’s able, his hand wrapped loose under your chin, pinkie skimming your throat. There’s another dark hickey hidden under your hair, he realizes, on another mating gland. A bite graces your shoulder, bruising and painful-looking, nearly breaking skin, like Jeongin had clamped down there when he came, when he was too overcome to control it.
He wonders if you’d cried out. If you’d come. If you were pinned down, flat on your stomach, or if he’d had you more upright: kneeling, leaning back into his chest. If he knotted you then.
Chan’s cock twitches again, hard and bare and impossible to hide, if you were awake enough to look. He decides again to ignore it, a thrill racing through him.
He needs a distraction.
“Innie shouldn’t have left you like this,” he says softly, rinsing your conditioner out, one careful hand keeping the water from streaming into your face. “I’ll talk to him.”
You were only barely drifting, so you come back fast, blinking up at him, water sticking to your lashes. They nearly look like tears. His cock twitches again.
“No, don’t,” you complain, pouting, weakly pawing at his wrist. “He stayed a long time. Offered to help me shower. I didn’t want to.”
Jeongin’s freshly-made assignment to solo dishwashing duty is temporarily waylaid. “No?”
Shaking your head, you lean back against Chan, nuzzling your face against his stomach, giving his cock indirect friction in the process. The back of his head goes numb, even that much touch almost overwhelming when he’s already decided he isn’t going to have any — so much so that he almost misses it when you mumble, “Wanted to wait for you.”
Chan freezes, spinning the thought around in his head: you wanted to wait for him. All messy and messed up, tired, vulnerable, barely there — and he finishes rinsing the both of you off, reaching for a towel before the water is even off, careful to keep you warm enough. Did you want him to fuck you after all, or was it something else? A plain desire to see him? He rubs lotion into your skin, watching your face when you giggle every time he tickles you, then slips clean clothes — his — over you. Or did you just want him to take care of you, just like this?
He could ask you, he knows; you’re almost painfully honest about things like this. He could ask if you were thinking of him, even, when Jeongin was fucking you — in his room, in his bed, covered in his things and his scent, all clinging and cloying just the same way that Chan is when he holds you down. Had you thought about the rope in his drawers? The sheets you’d lovingly repaired after ripping them with your nails? Or the leather belt he never got rid of, made unwearable with sharp imprints of his teeth after you’d shoved it in his mouth and rode him until he cried for mercy?
He’s so turned on it makes him dizzy. He takes a quick breather against the wall, worried less about himself and more about the possibility of dropping you, before pushing your bedroom door open.
Your bed is still made up neatly from this morning — one of those mental health homework assignments Seungmin gives you that you always complain about but do anyway. There are two cups of tea on your nightstand, long-cold and half-drunk. Your vanity chair is pulled out, that Maniac hoodie you’ve worn so much it’s hard to even remember it was once Felix’s draped over; sitting politely on the vanity itself is the big teddy bear Changbin got you, temporarily displaced from its usual throne. Evidence of them in your life, even aside from where you are, from the scents on your skin or the marks on your body; evidence that they linger even in a space that is truly, exclusively yours.
And Chan lingers, too, even after setting you down in bed, even though he knows he shouldn’t. There’s still too much to do: the bathroom to clean, and his bed to be stripped, and the linens to wash. Maybe he could nap on the couch, waiting for the washer to finish. But—
“Channie,” you mumble, half-asleep, wrapping your hand loosely around his wrist, “where are you?”
But it wouldn’t hurt, he guesses, to nap somewhere else. And anyway, shouldn’t Jeongin be the one to clean up after himself?
“Right here, baby,” he whispers, slipping in beside you, jolting and burning and aching when your bare leg crosses over his, when your breath brushes his neck in a content sigh. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Gender play Innie and Pavlov’s dog Innie??? Daddy Chan?👀👀 Inso darling you’re hiding gold in the tags I fear
Do you want to seeeeeeee 🤭
Daddy Channie:
Chan laughs like he can read the thoughts straight from your head. “C’mon,” he breathes, “you know what to call me, baby. You’ve said it before.”
And you don’t know what it says about you — but you know exactly what he means. [...]
“Daddy,” you breathe, lilted up at the end like a question.
“Good girl,” Chan says before bending down to kiss you.
Genderplay Innie:
Jeongin doesn’t want to wear a wig; that’s the first condition he sets. So his hair is the first thing you mess with, when you get him in your vanity chair some days later: blowdryer, curling iron, hair spray that makes him sneeze. His black hair grows just slightly long down his neck, the top teased into something angular and quirky-feminine, an Alice Cullen pixie cut that barely moves when you poke it.
You made him take his shirt off before you started your work, and Jeongin seems acutely aware of that as you move your focus down to his face: eyes shifting away, crossed arms covering his chest. But you aren’t even looking at his body, not this time: too focused on softening his jaw, the angular planes of his face that you love so much turned suddenly and fiercely into your enemy. He keeps nervous-smiling, too, so you’re constantly working with a creased canvas: chiding him, tapping him with the back of your brush: “Innie, just relax. I’m not going to bite.”
The clothes are easier. You even put him in his own shirt, because you’re nice like that: loose and soft, the neckline scooped wide-open. And you’d collected a couple half-skirts from their shows that roughly go together, too, yanking them up from hip to waist-height and layering them over-top each other until they give the illusion of one complete miniskirt, brushing dangerously high up his thighs.
All the while, Innie is laughing: breathy, nervous, flushed to the ears. He keeps instinctively trying to cover parts of his body but he’s fully covered now, really, so there’s nothing to be done: just fluttering hands and an over-awareness, watching you wide-eyed while you circle him.
The discomfort is cute, exciting, just verging on the point of fear, and you want to press him wide-open like a seam, poke and prod him and examine the way he reacts. It’s something you didn’t get when you did this before: Hyunjin was so eager, and Minho just isn’t this openly reactive. But Innie’s hands clench and unclench, and there’s sweat on the back of his neck, and his scent burns and sparks eagerly even as he jumps every time you touch him — and you want to push him until he breaks.
The necklace you string around his neck is long enough to sit in the center of his chest, pushing the loose shirt down, giving an illusion of more fullness. Then you layer another: a choker, wrapped neatly around his throat.
Then you go rifling in your drawer, staring down at your own panties.
“In-ah,” you call without turning around, running your hand across them, wondering which you’re least attached to, which you think would fit him best, “you know, you still haven’t called me unnie.”
Silence. You bite down a laugh, settle on a pink pair, and pull it from the drawer.
When you turn, your prize held behind your back, Jeongin is staring at you like you have two heads. Unnie, his mouth rounds out, voiceless and dumbstruck. Unnie. Unnie?
You’re not going to give him any time to adjust, though.
“Unnie has a gift for you,” you say, showing your hand, dangling the pretty lace panties in front of his face. “Be a good girl and take your underwear off. Okay?”
Pavlov's Innie:
Jeongin would never admit it under pain of death — but maybe you’re right, that he’s been eating you out too much lately.
It’s not that he doesn’t like it — very much the opposite, really. You complain about him going through phases the same way you complain about everything in bed: disingenuously, all playful and teasing, resisting just to provoke him to pin you down. You’d complained about when he realized how easy it was to make you squirt, too, or when he realized that, if he angled you just right, he could see himself bulging through your tummy when he was inside you.
And right now he loves eating you out: loves, specifically, when your hands are tied up and you can’t grab his hair, can’t grab anything, can’t get any sort of handhold or sense of stability. He loves eating you from behind because you’re so embarrassed, and you kick if he doesn’t force you down; his fingers are now neatly imprinted all down your legs in light, pretty bruises.
And he loves the taste. He’ll keep going until his tongue feels numb, until 3racha has to chew him out for not being able to record well. He’ll keep going until you cry, until you pass out, until you wake up. You like when he takes, and he loves to take you. There’s no problem.
The only thing is — lately, every time you walk into the room, Jeongin starts salivating.
Inso darling I had a little thought occur from thinking about skzoos 💭
You’ve said that (far far farrrrr) in the future, Stays will know about mc.
Do stays assign a skzoo/or animal to mc (like how Chan is spiritually a kangaroo or Lixie is a cat, Han is a squirrel, etc)?
I just got a mental image of a stay giving mc a cat plush saying it’s her and 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
Idk just happy lil thoughts before we go into the angst mines 💕💕
Stopppp this is so cute 😭😭😭
I will always pick a kitty for her!!! 🐈⬛ But I think if they wanted to pick an animal that doesn’t usually get associated with any of skz.. hm… Maybe a deer? 😊
The mental image of MC with a plushie of herself would not leave me so here (~600 words, post-canon but no real spoilers):
You don’t say anything at first, when someone holds out the plushie to you. You’re already rushing to keep up with your boys ahead of you, and you can feel Chan’s eyes boring into your back, the rush and hubbub of the airport putting him more on edge than usual — so when a young girl, maybe even still a teenager, sidles up beside you and holds a vaguely cat-shaped blob in your direction, you just blink at her, startled.
You’re so caught off-guard by the interaction that you don’t even notice several bodies immediately converging to hover around you. Your first thought, nonsensically, is that she wants you to hold it for her, and, reshuffling your bag on your shoulder, you wrap your hands around hers without thinking.
Her face colors; she withdraws. When she ducks a bow and practically runs away, almost barreling into the security guard who’d had their hand on her shoulder, you feel like you did something wrong.
“Wait,” you call helplessly, raising your accidental prize like baby Simba, “you left your—”
“It’s for you, unnie!” she calls back, still running.
At your side, Jeongin laughs, grabbing you by the waist to pull you towards him. His cheek presses into your hair as he peers at the plushie in your hands, steps infuriatingly long while you fight to keep up.
“I feel like the fan-made ones are always massive,” he observes, poking the thing’s tummy. “Do you think we have a FoxI.Ny this big?”
Following the motion, you study the plushie for the first time, still feeling off-kilter. It’s in the style of the SKZOO plushes you’ve seen, but bigger, like Jeongin said — a little black cat, whiskers embroidered right on, one paw tipped in white. Dressed in a cute little outfit, it’s more stylish than the t-shirt and hoodie-clad SKZOOs you’ve gathered at home — and there’s a letter tucked under its arm, and a tag sewn in with a nyaong-ified version of your name.
You startle, almost tripping over your feet. “Is this… me?”
“It looks like you,” Jeongin teases, having too much fun, “doesn’t it?”
You get chewed out about ten times for taking the plush at all, and it feels like everyone else gets chewed out twenty times after that. But even Chan admits, once he’s patted your hair down anxiously for the billionth time, that the plushie is pretty cute.
Chan doesn’t want to test your omega instincts by having the kitty thrown away, but still, it has to get checked for cameras and other miscellaneous items you would never even consider being in a plushie before you’re able to hold onto it; you don’t even get to read the letter right away. You hand it over to staff easily enough, already cowed by how much trouble you’d inadvertently caused — but your arms feel empty the whole flight.
Later on, Felix shows you all the unofficial memes and messages of your stumbled-upon furrsona, as well as a post by the girl who’d given it to you, apologizing profusely for the trouble. There’s a mischievous glee to him, though he holds you suspiciously tight, and kisses you suspiciously long, and even though you’re both exhausted, he seems to have more than enough energy to bite the hell out of your thighs before passing out in your hotel room, still on top of you.
You look it up yourself, while he’s asleep — and find memes about you touching the girl’s hands, cheesy romcom music playing, hearts flying across the screen.
Inso darling, I have just been made aware of the clip of Chan shoving his hand under ✨adjusting✨Felix’s shirt and wrapping his his hand around his throat ✨🫶🏽gently embracing him 🫶🏽✨
And I just need to know if you know and if so, are you well? 💕Cuz I’m not 💕🫠🫠🫠
I DO, AND I AM NOT!!!!
Tags/notes: D/S elements, being dressed by your partner in revealing clothes/candaulism, use of ‘slut’ and thinking of clothes as slutty, rough sex, breathplay, salirophilia, mention of hair pulling and spanking, ~1k words
Maybe Seungmin and Jeongin’s habit of dressing you up has gone a little too far, even if it’s only been at home — because when you’d ventured into the other parts of the house today, still wobbling in your stupid precarious platform heels, still yanking your belt of a skirt down your ass, still dressed like a slut, you’d taken one look at Chan and just known you were in trouble.
Still, it had the intended effect, all of your other boys either laid low or driven into a frenzy as Seungmin and Jeongin took turns leading you from place to place with their hand on your waist. Hyunjin slipped on the stairs, catching himself through a comical series of kicks; Jisung blinked and blinked and fell to his knees; Minho tried out increasingly demeaning comments just to watch the flush spread down your mostly-exposed chest. Changbin yelled — literally yelled — when he turned a corner to see you, and Felix followed you around, offering you his hoodie three distinct times, his eyes the size of dinner plates.
Comparatively, Chan had a very mild reaction: standing in the kitchen, finger tapping on his water bottle as he held it still to his smiling mouth. His eyes slid slow down your body, taking in the exposed skin, the way Seungmin’s fingers dug into your hip. Then back up to your face, eyebrow cocking. Really?
It embarrassed you — more than the outfit, more than the display, more even than Minho’s gleeful teasing as he not-so-subtly follows you around. You find yourself thinking about it, gnawing at your cherry lipgloss, thinking about the set of Chan’s jaw and the way he’d held onto his bottle until the plastic creaked, thinking it over and over: you’re in trouble.
Maybe that’s why you’re not even surprised when you finally slither away to the bathroom only for the door to open behind you before you can lock it. Chan appears like you summoned him with that same expression — smiling meanly, jaw tight — and you gasp, stumbling backwards into the sink.
If Chan is offended at all by the alarm, it doesn’t show; if anything, his eyes only brighten. “You’re not in a rush,” he says lightly, locking the door behind him, “are you?”
Which finds you here — bent over the sink, toddling on the toes of your heels, teary and unsteady as Chan bullies himself inside you. You were fucked just earlier today and it’s still a stretch without any prep, and your head drops as you fall forward on your elbows, grasping for stability and gasping for breath.
Chan doesn’t give you the chance, though. He pauses, only halfway in, before snaking his hand under your cropped, flimsy shirt and wrapping his hand around your throat. You hiccup another pull of breath, obligingly straightening out again until your back arches and you can feel his chest against your shoulder blades, minding the way he presses lightly on either side of your neck in warning.
Your eyes stay closed, though, until Chan breathes, “Fuck, baby— Look at you.”
You recognize the command for what it is, and your brattiness got lost about two spanks and three hair-pulls ago. Obligingly, you open your eyes — and gasp.
Jeongin had been sure to give you a very thorough rundown of your outfit before dragging you out of the room; you’re familiar with it. A ponytail to show off your neck; over-the-top glittery makeup and a tight long sleeve top that would have been more at home at a rave than anywhere else. A microskirt, barely covering your ass, with fishnets underneath; platform heels with straps wrapping up your ankles. No bra, no panties.
It was weirdly stylish, because Jeongin was the one who put it together — and since no one clawed at you under their two youngests’ dutiful supervision, it had actually stayed relatively intact. You were beginning to almost get used to it, so much as anyone can when people won’t stop staring and making comments and literally drooling, their voices squeaking off into nothing whenever they speak to you.
Of course, you’re more than being clawed at now — and it shocks you, seeing yourself like this in the mirror: fishnets ripped, skirt pushed up to your waist, sunk back on Chan’s cock with his arm snaked up the front of your top, pulling at it until your tits are at risk of falling out, his hand covering your choker. Your hair is messed up, bangs falling into your eyes, ponytail crooked; your lipgloss is smudged and your mascara is running. You look like a mess — and you see your own lip tremble, breath hiccuping in embarrassment as you drop your head again, legs trying aimlessly to close.
But Chan just kicks them open, because of course he does, sending you scrambling in your too-tall heels. It makes you clench down around him and he groans, low and filthy, grinding slow into you, forcing in another inch — which makes you remember that you’ve only taken half, which makes you tighten again, another hysterical breath leaving you as you clutch at the sink.
“Oppa,” you gasp, “I don’t think—”
When Chan’s hand tightens on your throat, it’s a slow, intimate thing, his fingers tensing beforehand like a warning before they gently, gently press down. It’s just the sides, and too light to do anything at first; then just a little more, a little harder, held in place like that until you feel the flow of oxygen to your lungs slowing down. It’s not enough to do much physically but it’s enough to get you to a floaty state, eyes fluttering, senses going fuzzy — and Chan lets you sink a long few seconds, his mouth at your ear, before his grip lets up.
The first unrestricted breath of air is so sweet it feels like sugar poured on your tongue. But Chan doesn’t give you time to revel in that either, fingers of one hand tightening on your neck again and the other just below your waist, pushing harder into you until your hipbones knock painfully into the sink, until he forces another inch inside.
By contrast, his voice is strangely casual, though that steel-sharp edge still lingers — that look in the kitchen, and the thought: I’m in trouble.
“Sure you can,” he breathes, pressing down on the sides of your neck again, watching your lips fall open and your lashes flutter. “Take a deep breath, baby.”
Inso darling the other day I had a Thought 🫦 about collars and bells
And your comment about Mc waking up with a collar on just made it resurface 🫣
Who among the boys is most susceptible to being trained (whether accidentally or on purpose 👀) to the sound of bells if mc wears a collar with bells 🤭
I just had this vision of Hannie or Felix whining in the gc about hearing a stylist’s bracelets jingle in a particular way and getting a boner and the rest of the pack just teasing the life out of them 🥰🥰🥰🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽
Or Innie crossing his legs in transit to a schedule when the driver’s keys jingle at *just* the right pitch
Or hell, even Binnie or Channie mixing a track and a sound effect chime gets them both inexplicably hard and suddenly they’re both thinking about a certain girl in pretty cat ears and neither of them can stay on task 💕💕💕
Idk just spitballing but I entertained myself with the thought so I thought I’d share 🫶🏽🙆🏽♀️💕🥰
Oh my god this is so fun and funny, I love all of these concepts— I had so much trouble picking who to write for this, and then I remembered that we previously crowned Hannie the boner king on this blog so here we are 😆 Boner Fic 2: The Squeakquel
Tags/notes: light sacrilegious/irreverent elements, switchy vibes, light degradation, references to pet play, set ambiguously somewhere in the future, briefly references this though it’s not at all required reading, ~1.3k words
Jisung is no stranger to inappropriate and ill-timed boners; you still won’t let him live down that time in the convenience store, starting in on the ribbing the moment you’d gained back enough of your faculties.
Still — this might be a new low, even for him.
This music video has another traditional concept — a reconstructed historical village, dancers and silks, all their tents and equipment looking terribly out of place among the tile and stone. And that’s well and good; Jisung likes the concept. He likes the site, even, though it’s just a little too cold outside, and he has to stick close to the heater to keep from shivering.
But maybe it would be better for him to go stand in the cold for a while — because those goddamned bells are killing him.
If he had a little more courage and a little less sense, Jisung would blame Minho — because really, who else? Jisung doesn’t know what you did or if there was even a reason, but Minho hogged you for his two days off — keeping you on all fours, mostly on the floor, your chin on his knee or head in his lap, wearing little more than cat ears and a little belled collar. Jisung had still had schedules, so he’s sure he missed a lot — but he never even got to see Minho fuck you like that. He kept coming in to say hi, sitting on the floor with you, fretting over your knees, pulling his hoodie over your head, joking about it all being a little too mean — all the while obsessed with the marks on your skin, the dazed look in your eye, the way you smelled so heavily of Minho that Jisung knew it would take ages to overwrite or scrub out.
It’s distracting; it was always going to be distracting. But that bell on your collar — ringing every time you lifted your head when he came in, every time you shifted in his arms, every time he thought he could hear Minho fucking you from the other room — might have ruined him.
Because today — there are traditional shamanistic bells on set. Ritual bells; religious bells — not remotely sexual, maybe the farthest thing from sexy that he could imagine. They’re not everywhere but they’re around, held in the hands of actors and dancers, even hooked hanging from Chan’s belt.
And every time he hears them — especially Chan’s; it’s just the right pitch — he just thinks about you. Bruised knees, Minho’s fingers stamped onto your hips, your lips parted and expression open and innocent and vulnerable as you set your chin on Jisung’s knee. Your collar — pretty, delicate, like it would break if he pulled on it — chiming softly with every movement while he swallowed too hard and laughed too loud and tried to keep his hands to himself.
At least the layers of robes help hide his boner. He buries his face in his hands, groaning.
Then, against his better judgment — he takes out his phone.
Jisung (14:36): Hi baby, what are you up to?
You (14:36): Sungie! Are you done shooting already??
You (14:36): I’m not really doing anything, Yuri just dropped me off at home. Why?
Jisung (14:36): No, not yet. Probably have a few more hours, actually
Jisung (14:36): Just thinking about you
You (14:36): …Thinking about me how?
Fuck, you’re too good.
Jisung (14:36): You sound suspicious of me???
You (14:37): I am suspicious! What is that ‘thinking about you’ text!!
Jisung (14:37): Wow… I can’t even think about my own girlfriend…
You (14:37): Oh please, don’t play innocent
You (14:37): Are you hard?
A staff member billows in, explaining that Seungmin’s scene is taking longer than expected, apologizing for the wait. Jisung is forced to extract his brain from his dick long enough to keep a straight face and thank her for the update before stumbling to his feet, away from the tent.
The cold air doesn’t do much to cool him down, though; if anything, he only feels hotter in relation to it. If he could see himself right now, he thinks as he tucks himself between two buildings, he’s sure his cheeks would be bright red.
You (14:38): Oh? No answer?
Jisung (14:39): No no no no— I’m sorry, I’ll answer
Jisung (14:39): Staff just had to tell me something. Shoot starts again soon
Jisung (14:39): But yes angel you’re right, you’re always right, I’m so hard
Jisung (14:39): I can’t stop thinking about you
You (14:39): Awwww
You (14:39): You’re at work, baby. You really can’t control yourself?
His heart is beating so hard it vibrates his ribs, making his breath unsteady on the next inhale.
Jisung (14:39): I didn’t mean to…
You (14:40): I know, I know. You’re just too needy, right? Desperate. Everything turns you on
You (14:40): You must look like such a perv right now, Sungie. Aren’t you embarrassed?
You (14:40): I’m embarrassed for you.
Jisung’s cock twitches; he holds in a whine by the skin of his teeth. You’re too hot; you’re perfect; you always know just what he needs. And he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but—
Jisung (14:40): Angel please, please, please
You (14:40): You’re so cute. My pretty boy
You (14:40): But you need to calm down for now
You (14:41): You’re still out, Sungie. Calm down, okay?
You (14:41): You’re a good boy. You can do it
If it was someone else, he’d complain about you riling him up just to shut him down.
But you’re not someone else.
Jisung (14:41): 🥺😔
Jisung (14:41): Want you
You (14:41): I can tell!
You (14:41): You said a few more hours, right? Then the drive back?
Jisung (14:41): It’s tooooo longggggggg 🥺
You (14:41): It is!
You (14:41): But when you get home, you can have me all to yourself. Okay?
Jisung’s mouth goes dry. He stares at his phone for a second, pretending he isn’t getting harder, pretending he isn’t already picturing what that could mean— Are you planning something? Or not planning — are you giving him free rein? Or—
You (14:42): Oh, actually — are you guys going to want dinner? I could cook. Or we could order something…?
You (14:42): Are you craving anything? You’re all working hard, we should have something nice 🤔
Jisung (14:42): Baby I really cannot think about food right now
Jisung (14:42): Just you and me, right? You promise?
You (14:42): For dinner??
You’re so spacey; Jisung swallows a laugh. It’s cute — and more pressingly, it makes him think about you with your head on Minho’s lap again, dazed and brainless, not a single word on your tongue.
Jisung isn’t as interested in the props or set dressing, but fucking you dumb is one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe he does know what he wants when he gets home.
A short distance away, someone is calling for him. Jisung rolls his shoulders, bites his lip, and texts you back.
Jisung (14:43): No, not for dinner.
You (14:43): ?
Jisung (14:43): I think they need me again on set, so I’ve gotta go. Why don’t you pick?
Jisung (14:43): But maybe order something. Save your strength
Jisung (14:43): Love you, talk to you later! Bye bye!
You (14:43): ???
Jisung feels very cool and refreshed for approximately two steps. Then he remembers he’s still hard.
“You okay?” Chan asks, suddenly appearing in front of him. When he pats Jisung’s shoulder, those goddamned bells on his belt jingle.
“Fine,” Jisung croaks, forcing an image of every unsexy thing he can think of into his mind.
Darling inso… That clip of smiley Binnie switching to intense stare clocked on his target Binnie 🫠🫠🫠
I’m having Thoughts about that moment when things go from playful 🥰 to playful 😈 with RONpack and Mc and absolutely none of them are safe for work 🫣🤭💕
Please share, I want to hearrrrr 🥺🥺🥺 But also:
Binnie is soft: his lips, his heart, his attitude. So he’s a little hard to rile up, just as likely to wave you off or pout back as he is to fight. It’s rare, really, to shiver when he looks at you.
Today you’ve been doing one of your favorite moves — Felix calls it the dine-and-dash, though it’s mostly dashing, really. Running up to Changbin, holding his hands, touching his chest, kissing his neck — then laughing, pulling away, giving someone else your attention. Feeling his own attention drift after you, distracted as he is by whatever other task is occupying his mind.
Really, there was no reason for you to come to the interview. You’d been promised a meal, but your real motivation had been the spark of something that flashed across Changbin’s eyes when you’d followed after a full day's worth of teasing. That same spark flashes now, as you come in close, offering to hold his jacket with a sweet smile.
You squeeze his arm when you take it — innocent, really. Or it would be, if you hadn’t been doing it all day.
And close as you are, you see the switch flip as the two of you linger there, the other guys already seated in their chairs. Behind Changbin’s back, Minho laughs, leaning over to whisper to Chan, pointing at the two of you.
Changbin doesn’t notice that, though. His smile drops; his head tilts to the side. He stares at you a long moment, assessing.
When he leans forward, you get hit with his scent first: thick enough to be intentional, forceful and cloying. “Thanks, lovely,” he says lowly, the words sweet and innocuous, the feeling anything but. “We’ll hang out once I finish up here, okay?”
And when he pulls back, the expression on his face — it makes you shiver.
“Changbin-ssi,” someone calls out, "we're ready for you.”
Changbin kisses you once, his lips soft.
“Coming!” he says, turning to head to his seat. You stare after him, his jacket in your arms, his scent in your hair.
We’ve had a couple of recent releases for music with Innie’s Little Things, Seungminnie’s new Song By cover, Hyune’s Lover, and STAY! Do you have a favorite? Which would ronMC gravitate to?
Also the little mental fanfic of Jinnie writing this song about mc definitely didn’t hurt my own feelings 🥲 nope 💕
Nooo it’s not spam!! Spam makes it sound like a bad thing!!!! You know I love to gab!!!!
Mmm my favorite is probably Little Things, but I think MC’s would be Lover? 🤔 Which is funny considering what you said just below hahahaha 💛 In RONverse I feel like there are probably many miserable break up songs composed during this period of time
Thanks for the ask! I’m always happy to get more! 🙇
