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Chapter Text

Song Mingi considered himself a man of many talents, not least of which being his ability to shove his foot into his big dumb mouth.

It wasn’t often, thank god, that his unfortunate habit of thinking before speaking got him into trouble. Mingi tried hard to be easy to live with. He was thoughtful and courteous and generally good spirited even when faced with some of his more gregarious bandmates’ less than tactful teasing. But the day had been particularly draining and irritating in a way that left him feeling like his skin was too tight against his frame, so his mood had been less than stellar when Hongjoong walked into the kitchen that afternoon.

On any other day, Mingi would’ve been pleased to get some alone time with the leader, appreciating the space to talk shop about their shared love of production and lyric writing. He wasn’t afraid to admit he looked up to the older rapper quite a lot, and he put a lot of stock into his stylistic feedback. But right now? All he could focus on was there being one other person in his space…and that was one too many.

He turned his earbuds up, hoping the sound would come through enough that Hongjoong would get the message Mingi wasn’t in much mood to talk and not, instead, scold him about the volume and launch into a lecture about the dangers of hearing loss. With their little band complete and on their way to debuting, Hongjoong had definitely taken on the role of the group's disciplinarian, even handing out summons to his room for “further discussions” at the drop of a hat. So far, Mingi had avoided any such summons, and he was not interested in receiving one today, thank you very much.

If only he could be so lucky.

Just as he took his ramen from the microwave, a hand tapped him on the shoulder, sending a shockwave of irritation prickling over his skin. Damn.

Mingi attempted to school his features as he gave the shorter man a quizzical side eye. Maybe Hongjoong would just point at what he wanted and Mingi could go. But, again, no such luck as Hongjoong pointed at his ears and mimed Mingi removing the buds. So he did. The faster he got through this the faster he could retreat before he got himself into real trouble.

“Yes, hyung?” It was measured. Overly polite. But if Hongjoong noticed he didn’t say anything.

“I tried to call you five times, Mingi-yah. Your headphones are too loud.” Hongjoong scolded.

Called it.

“Sorry hyung.” Mingi remained overly polite. “Won’t happen again.”
Hongjoong waved his hand dismissively,

“You’re alright, love.” The endearment made Mingi’s heart flutter a little, cutting through the surface of his irritation. Damn, he really was such a sucker for terms of endearment. “I was going to remind you that it’s your night to do the dishes.”

“Uggghhhh Hyung. Can I please do it tomorrow?” He begged petulantly, breaking the facade he’d been trying so hard to keep up. But he was so tired and if he had to deal with the dishes on top of everything else today he may just scream.

“No, Song Mingi. You cannot. Last time I let you get away with that shit you forgot the next day, too, and then Seonghwa nearly had a meltdown and did two days worth of dishes.”

It was true. That had happened. It didn’t make Mingi any less frustrated with the fact he’d still be doing the dishes tonight, grumbling under his breath as he began to stomp from the kitchen.

“Well if Seonghwa-hyung is going to be so anal about the dishes why doesn’t he just do them anyways?”

He didn’t realize the captain had heard him until he felt his bicep get snagged in a punishing grip, yanking him back around to face his now scowling leader.

“Don’t be disrespectful, brat.” The elder warned, “Do you want to come see me in my room later? I know some of your members have probably told you what happens there.”

And this was where Mingi’s foot went right into his mouth.

“You can’t.”

It was a statement of fact, cocksure and even a touch arrogant.

Hongjoong, to his credit, didn’t completely explode on his dongsaeng in the face of such dismissal. He instead gave Mingi a slow, pointed look over the top of his glasses, one eyebrow making its way towards his hairline.

“I can’t?” Something about the question made a part of Mingi’s brain–the logical, ass-saving part–blare alarm bells, wailing that maybe it would be wise to issue an apology here and retreat before the captain gave him more than a look. Unfortunately, that was not the part that was winning the war for control. Oh no, that role went to part of his brain that apparently lacked all filters or sense of self preservation, evidenced by his response.

“Of course not.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“And why is that?”

The alarm bells wailed again. Louder this time. But Mingi was already in too deep.

“Because I’m too big.”

Granted, it was flippant. Truly not the polite way he had been taught to speak to his elders, even if the divide was less than a year. But was his hyung dense? True, if the others were to be believed, Hongjoong was physically capable of wrangling his taller dongsaengs into position, but that was a difference of a mere inch or two. Mingi was a whopping 6’1”, second tallest of the members, and a full five inches taller than the captain at 5’8”. So he felt fairly confident that the captain's threat of bodily harm was just that—a threat.

Again, Hongjoong said nothing, the other eyebrow raising to join its twin. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, permeating the room with a tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Mingi felt his confidence wane in the face of it. He felt sort of like a rabbit hiding under a bush, waiting to see if the wolf sniffed him out or not. But Hongjoong still wasn’t doing anything! He was just staring at him! Maybe…maybe Mingi had been right and he really was too big for Hongjoong so the other was trying to intimidate him into surrendering? That had to be it right? Ever so slowly, Mingi began to back away.

It was the final mistake.

How the fuck was Hongjoong so fast? Before he had even completed his first step backwards, a small hand had his ear gripped in a painful pinch, dragging him down until he could look its owner in the eye.

“Too big, huh?” Hongjoong sneered. “We’ll see about that.”

Panic hit Mingi like a freight train as his hyung leveraged the cruel grip on Mingi’s ear to bend the taller man over their countertop. He knew what was likely coming next. Wooyoung, Jongho, and, shockingly, Yeosang had all received the dreaded summons to the captains quarters. Each had returned teary-eyed and tender, choosing to sleep the night on their stomachs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Hongjoong’s preferred method of discipline was. But Mingi had never been spanked before, not even by his own parents, so he was completely unprepared for the extreme burn of Hongjoong laying down rapid-fire swats on his ass. He had to be using something! He had to be! There was no way a hand could be doing this amount of damage over Mingi’s sweats.

“Hyuuuuuung!”

“Mmm? You have something you’d like to say, Mingi?”

Mingi had several things he would like to say, all of them immediately chased away by his hyung’s evil, vile, unfairly hard. Instead he settled on crying out a heart-felt,

“Please! I’m sorry! Please stop!”

“I don't know Mingi-yah. Hyung is pretty small. How am I supposed to know if this is really having an impact on you?” The pronounced pause did not bode well. “Ah! I know.”

Mingi could only squawk indignantly as he felt his pants get tugged down to the back of his knees. In his panic, he tried to lever himself off the counter, but a firm hand pressed down right between his shoulder blades, throwing him back off balance and sending his chest collapsing back into the countertop. And if that hadn’t been enough to knock the wind out of him, the smacks that rained down on the surprisingly sensitive crease between his butt and thighs would finish the job.

“I don’t remember telling you we were finished, Song Mingi. You still have a bit to answer hyung for.” Hongjoong sounded so…so…Mingi didn’t have a word for it. All he knew was that he felt all squirmy inside, like butterflies in his tummy but times a thousand and also in his brain and escaping out all over until his whole body felt covered in that soft, fluttery sensation.

The smacks resumed, now landing on his only boxer brief clad bottom. Steady and rhythmic, but with very little rhyme or reason in their placement. And god did they hurt! Mingi couldn’t help squirming over the counter, shifting from foot to foot to alleviate some of the sting. Anything he could do to prevent the tears in his eyes from escaping down his cheeks. Was he really going to cry from a spanking?

“Hold still, little boy. Hyung will not tell you again.” The command was strict, but not unkind. A warning given out of compassion, but still with the promise to deliver should it not be heeded. Without the distraction of movement to focus on, Mingi finally gave into his tears, bursting into loud sobs.

“Hyung!” Smack “Hyung I’m so-“ Smack “I’M SORRY! please I’m sorry!” Smack “I’ll never do it again.” Smack “I’m not too big!”

His hiccuping cries fell on deaf ears as Hongjoong continued the assault, covering every inch down to the tops of Mingi’s thighs and paying special attention to the stretch of skin just under the curve of his bottom. Oh how Mingi shrieked! He was shocked none of the other members had come rushing in to see if he was being murdered. Or maybe they had. It wasn’t like Mingi could tell, his tears making the kitchen swirly, as though it had one of those bad watercolor filters slapped over it. He had completely given up on trying to see the clock above the stove to tell how long his hyung had been going for. It had to be hours. Hours and hours of nothing but his hyung and his evil hand and his silent eternal presence and smacks.

Finally, the spanks began to taper off, Hongjoong taking breaks between each to rub gently at Mingi’s hot skin, until they finally stopped. Mingi whimpered into the white laminate, holding still in wait. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but he didn’t want to run the risk of earning more by moving before he was supposed to.

“Do you have something you want to say again to your hyung, Song Mingi?” Ah yes. Of course. Mingi tried to steady his voice as much as possible.

“I’m sorry, hyungie. For disrespecting you.”

“You’re forgiven. Come now, up with you.”

Hongjoong helped Mingi stand, placing a hand on the small of his back to help him stabilize against his wobbling. It didn’t stabilize his tears though, of which Mingi still had many. He ever so gently reached back, hand hovering above his sorest spots until he gathered the courage to lightly touch his fingers to the skin. It felt hot and smooth, the flickers of pain causing him to whimper and pout. He didn’t feel very in control of his own face right now, but he felt confident he was using what Yunho called his “princess eyes” against his hyung, trying to make the older feel bad for reducing him to such a sorrowful state. Hongjoong appeared to have no such misgivings.

“Ai, silly boy. I barely touched you.” This was barely touching!?!?!? Mingi was sure he’d look in the bathroom mirror tonight and he’d be so red and bruised and he would never sit down ever ever ever-

“Mingi-yah. You’ll be alright. You’re a little pink at most.” Hongjoong may have sounded like he was scolding, but Mingi could hear the tinges of his smirk around the edges of it. Annoying hyung, laughing at his misery. Mingi could only huff. Hongjoong chuckled outright at that, before clutching both of Mingi’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug, pants around knees notwithstanding.

Mingi went stiff, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic display of affection. He went to push back, tell his hyung he would be okay and that he didn’t have to do this part if he didn’t want to, but Hongjoong just tightened his grip, using a hand on the back of his head to tuck Mingi further into him.

“If you’re not too big to be smacked, you’re not too big to be cuddled either.” Hongjoong assured him, combing his fingers through the strands at Mingi’s nape.

“But I thought you hated skin-“

“Mingi-yah? Shut up and hug your Hyung.”

Chapter Text

When he had first requested a tutor, Prince Wooyoung, the middle son of the royal family, wasn’t sure what he had expected. It certainly hadn’t been Choi San, revving up to their summer estate on a motorcycle. And it most certainly hadn’t been his perfect face and body, revealing itself to Wooyoung’s awe-struck gaze as the handsome stranger removed his riding gear. 

The young prince was lucky he hadn’t fainted on the spot. 

It didn’t help that San wasn’t just attractive. From their very first lesson San proved himself to be charismatic and engaging. He made Wooyoung want to succeed, especially since anytime Wooyoung got an answer right, San would flash him the most winning smile, like he’d just solved world hunger rather than recalled some historical fact he’d read in a book some time ago. 

It would be fair to say the young prince had developed an almost instant puppy crush, one he worked hard to curb. Despite the assumptions, Wooyoung considered very little more important than his studies. He desired to earn his place in the kingdom, even though it would not be him who inherited the throne. Chasing off a tutor with the highest recommendations because of inappropriate advances would not be ideal for either his learning or his reputation. Besides, San was seven years older than him, likely having many eligible women (or maybe even men!) his own age vying for his attention already. So, Wooyoung did what any intelligent 21 year old man would do when encountering an emotion they weren’t sure what to do with; he ignored it. Stamped it down until he had it almost completely smothered. Present, but no longer all consuming. 

Until he’d missed his first assignment.

He had been out late the night before, celebrating his dear friend Yeosang’s birthday. And they had well and truly celebrated, so much so that after Wooyoung had staggered home, he’d fallen into bed still wearing his sparkly club clothes and entirely forgetting about the essay questions still sitting unfinished in his messenger bag. 

When the alarm began to blare the next morning, Wooyoung had barely been able to get himself changed and hastily wipe off about half his makeup before he had to sprint his way to the upstairs office where his private lessons were held, and he still arrived two minutes late. He tried not to look his teacher in the eyes as San critically examined his pupil’s bedraggled state, but the other at least had the courtesy not to directly point it out.

It only got worse from there. 

First, he had nothing to write with and needed to ask San if he would lend him a pen. Then, when working through their weekly review, Wooyoung’s answers were slow to come, if they came at all, and he kept getting jumbled about what period they were talking about when. During the presentation of the week's material, San would carefully explain to Wooyoung the information on the slides, just for Wooyoung to ask about it again two minutes later. With each blunder, Wooyoung grew more and more flustered as he began to sense San’s normally eternal patience being pushed to its limits.

When the lesson was over, Wooyoung couldn’t get out of his chair quick enough. He hastily threw his books and materials into his messenger bag, half speed walking, half scrambling his way to the door to escape the tension and maybe find somewhere to drown himself after today’s embarrassing display. He was halfway through the door when San purposefully cleared his throat, freezing Wooyoung in place before he could even consider pretending he hadn’t heard him.

“Come back here, please.” San said mildly. “You’ve forgotten something important.”

Wooyoung, shame-faced, crept his way back to stand before his tutor, eyes respectfully lowered. He would never have described San as “intimidating”, but between his (deliciously) wide shoulders and the way his sharp features were currently painted with a mask of disapproval, Wooyoung did feel a bit meek. Maybe even appropriately cowed.

“Y-yes, seonsaengnim?” Wooyoung stuttered, still not able to look San in the eye as he was certain he was about to receive a thorough scolding for his performance.

“You had an assignment due today, Mr. Jung. I would like to have it please.” 

Wooyoung felt his heart launch into his throat, beating with such vigor he could feel it in his teeth. He didn’t even try to explain himself as he slowly, robotically, reached into his bag to present the incomplete document, praying to whoever could hear that San would just take the packet and let him go, not bothering to grade it until Wooyoung was long gone from his sight. But his prayers went unanswered as he watched the older man thumb through the pages, pausing at the last two where there were only empty lines and some brief planning notes scribbled in the margins. His eyes narrowed, glaring at Wooyoung from over the top of the sheets. 

“Go sit,” He ordered, pointing at the chair Wooyoung had just tried to flee. So Wooyoung, of course, went and sat. As he settled into the chair, San placed two palms on top of the desk between them and leaned over, caging Wooyoung in and causing the student’s cheeks to burn for an entirely new reason. 

“Wooyoung.” San began, voice low and serious. “We haven’t had a very good day have we?”

Wooyoung shook his head, face reddened with shame and something else he didn’t want to think about right now.

“No, seonsaengnim. Forgive me, sir, I am so so sorry for my behavior today. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

He immediately stood back up to give his senior a low bow, but he did so with such vigor he knocked the chair behind him over, sending it clattering to the ground and causing him to squeal in fright. 

Forget having a crush, Wooyoung wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to face San ever again after today. He had to wonder if this was some sort of cosmic punishment for challenging Seonghwa into going shot for shot with him last night, knowing his hyung was a terrible light weight. Thankfully they had his personal escort Hongjoong on speed dial.

San sighed as he examined the scene in front of him. And while he still looked a bit put out, there was something softer to his expression, too. Indulgence? Endearment, even? Wooyoung didn’t have time to dwell on it since San had already set the chair back to rights and was now leading Wooyoung back towards it with a gentle grip on his wrist. 

“I appreciate your humility and kindness, Wooyoung. But for both our sake, please sit down.”

Wooyoung, again, sat. 

“I think you think you’re in trouble because you had a bad day today.” San began, his cat-like eyes locked with Wooyoung’s. “But Wooyoung, bad days happen to everyone. I’m disappointed that you didn’t take care of yourself and showed up today at all.”

That…wasn’t what he expected. His confusion must have been clear on his face (Wooyoung had never been good at poker), because San’s soft expression returned, giving the young prince a small smile.  Endearment, Wooyoung decided. That look was definitely endearment. 

Choi San finds us endearing!!! His inner voice squealed.

What are we, ten? Get it together. 

“You don’t have to come to every single lesson. If you aren’t feeling good, or you’ve had a long night, you can just tell me. I was your age too, ya know? Honestly, not even that long ago. You’re allowed to be young and have fun. But do you really feel that today was somehow more productive than if you had just stayed in bed?” 

The answer was instant. 

“No, seonsaengnim.”

“Exactly. So Wooyoung? Next time save yourself the literal headache and me the metaphorical one and just stay home if you're hungover, okay? You like you needed an Advil and a gatorade like…two hours ago.”

The gentle jab makes his cheeks flush even more, something he wasn’t sure was even possible at this point, but it helps break the tension and Wooyoung gives a shy grin despite himself. 

“Now about the assignment,” San’s voice took on an edge again, “you had a week to do that.”

Wooyoung flinched. Yeah, he had put this one off. 

“I don’t deny you probably intended to finish it this morning, and since you’re normally very on time with your work, I’m willing to overlook it just this once. However, if this happens again, we’ll be having a much different conversation. Am I understood?”

There it was again. That little spark in Wooyoung’s brain that lit up everytime San started in with that tone of his. 

“Yes.” It slips out before Wooyoung even realizes he’s intentionally neglected the formal address, a morbid curiosity to see what would happen

San’s eyes flicker, clearly taken aback by his students' informality in the middle of his chastisement. The spark flashes again, egging Wooyoung on to leave it, push San further and see what he will do. But Wooyoung does, in fact, still have a nasty headache, so his logical side wrestles control and he’s immediately spitting out his apologies.

“Oh uh I mean yes, seonsaengnim. I am so sorry again and yes, your meaning is perfectly understood. It will never happen again.”

Now back in his tutor’s good graces, San dismisses him for the day. Wooyoung is far more careful as he bows this time before scurrying out the door.

As he lays in bed that night, tossing and turning to the memory of being scolded by his tutor, Wooyoung could feel his crush returning with a vengeance. Except now, it was laced with a need he couldn’t quite yet name. All he knew was he needed to hear San like that again. 

His first toe in the water was showing up late four days in a row. The first time, San hadn’t even bothered to address it, just given Wooyoung the same warm greeting he always did before launching into the review. The next day, he still didn’t mention it, but his smile didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes anymore. Day three got a blank stare, with a long pause before beginning his lesson as though he was waiting for an explanation. Day four, it seemed, was San’s breaking point.

“Is something amiss with your alarm, Wooyoung?”

“No sir.” Wooyoung replied innocently, dropping into his chair.

“Having a few too many late nights then?”

“No sir.” 

“A change to your usual route, perhaps?”

“No sir.”

“So why,” There it was. That tone that left Wooyoung shivering in delight. “Have you been fifteen minutes late to our lessons for, by my count, the last four days? Am I no longer exciting enough for you to grace with your presence at our designated meeting time?”

Need filled for the moment, Wooyoung had assured his tutor that he was still deeply devoted to his studies as always, making up some thin excuse about feeling a bit slow these past few days and not realizing how late he had been showing up and he was very sorry, seonsaengnim, it won’t happen again. 

“Thank you, Wooyoung. See that it doesn’t.”

His next stunt had been easy to achieve by texting his group chat with Mingi, Yeosang, and Seonghwa just before his lesson, deliberately choosing to follow up on Mingi’s supposedly “secret” crush on his riding instructor, Yunho, by quoting the words Mingi had slurred out in drunken haze during the night of Yeosang’s party.

|So Mingi, how are things? Any update on Yunho tacking you up and taking a riding crop to your ass yet?|

That riled the other three up to have his phone blowing up instantly. Switching his notifications from silent to vibrate, he sets his phone screen down on the wooden desk, pretending to take no notice of the way the wood surface rumbles almost constantly. He stares at San intently, instead, watching the way the teacher's face twists every time he’s interrupted by the pervasive rumbling. He’ll occasionally glance down at where Wooyoung's phone sits, debating with himself whether he should say anything about it since Wooyoung clearly isn’t paying it any attention. They finally make it through review, the buzz dying down as it appears his friends have run out of steam. San takes a sigh of relief as the room falls silent, turning towards his laptop to set up a video, giving Wooyoung a perfect opportunity. 

He picks up his phone to read through the chat, eyes lighting up to see he has 100+ messages waiting for him. Damn, Seonghwa and Yeosang really had shown no mercy. Yeosang, in his creative genius, even made a few memes to go along with it. Mingi is fighting for his life in between, trying to explain himself but really just digging a deeper hole that he can’t climb out of. Eventually, Wooyoung reaches the bottom of the thread, reading the text that managed to shut everyone else up. 

|WHY ARE WE ALL GANGING UP ON ME? WHY NOT ASK SEONGHWA-HYUNG  ABOUT HIS TOTALLY PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS PERSONAL ESCORT??? OR WOOYOUNG ABOUT HIS LITTLE SCHOOLBOY FANTASY WITH HIS HOT TUTOR???|

His phone was snatched from his hands.

“Wooyoung.” 

San is glaring at him from where he looms above his students desk, now holding the phone high out of Wooyoung’s reach. He blinks at his tutor like a startled fawn, feeling very much like one too. San has him fully boxed in at the desk, once again forcing Wooyoung to reconcile with his tutor's clear physical advantage. One wrong move, and San could snap him in half like a twig.

Wooyoung sort of wishes he would. 

“I-” he starts in, trying to figure out what to say while his tongue lays thick in his mouth. He’s so caught up in how close San is, the way his starched white dress shirt stretches taught over his muscles. He briefly fantasizes about clutching the cotton in his fists, pressing his face into San’s impressive chest, and begging him for mercy.

“Oh please sir, I’ll be sooo good! Please don’t punish me, I’ll do anything I promise!”

Caught up in his daydream, he must take too long to find an answer, leading San to prompt him. 

“What do we say when we’ve done something wrong, Wooyoung?”

The tone is so condescending that if it were anyone else Wooyoung probably would’ve started hissing rather than feel he might melt into a puddle at any moment. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry. And you’ll…”

“Not do it again.”

“Very good. Now this,” he dangles Woouyoung’s phone between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it like he’s trying to lure Wooyoung into snatching it back, “is mine until the end of class.” 

It was a dangerous game he was playing, striking a delicate balance between pushing San’s buttons but not so severely to really piss San off. Plus, he didn’t want to risk San catching onto the fact that Wooyoung was deliberately pushing those buttons.

Hey may have finally tipped the scale too far. Two days after the phone incident, he conveniently “forgot” his homework again. But before San could lay into him for it, the older man receives a call, an urgent one judging by how quickly he rushes to take it. As quickly as he leaves, he returns in a whirlwind, grabbing his effects in order to get back out the door. But before he goes, he places Wooyoung in front of the office's white board, dropping a dry erase marker into his hand.

“I want you to write ‘I will not forget my assignments’ on this board fifty times. Don’t even try to think of leaving before you're done, Wooyoung. I will be here bright and early! Counting! Fifty!” 

The door slams behind San, echoing around the now silent office. The marker is uncapped, trembling in Wooyoung’s hand with indecision. Is he really going to sit here and write fifty lines unsupervised like a small child because his hot tutor told him too? Is he that desperate for approval?

I’m really kinda pathetic, he thinks to himself as he starts to write, red lines squeaking as they appear across the blank surface. 

He’s at line eighteen when a glint on the desk catches his attention. A set of keys, with a little purple cat charm dangling off the end. The keys to his motorcycle, Wooyoung’s brain supplies, drawing on a memory of one of their first meetings where San professed his love of his motorbike. 

I call her Sandeoki. She’s my baby. 

It’s a dumb idea. A really, really dumb idea. But an effective one. If he wants San’s attention, this is how he’s gonna get it.

If he had any true interest in actually riding a motorcycle, those aspirations were well and truly crushed as he attempted to maneuver around the courtyards. The ride is awkward and scary, and if Wooyoung was any less determined he would’ve given up after almost crashing into a shrub for the second time. He reasons that he doesn’t actually need to ride the bike the whole time, he just needs San to think he does, so he spends the majority of his “joy ride” just walking Sandeoki up and down the paths, waiting twenty minutes before bringing it around to the front of the estate and hopping back on. This way, he only has to go in a 50 meter straight line.

San is standing on the front steps when he gets there, face going positively thunderous as Wooyoung brings the bike to a screeching halt and barely avoids tossing himself down to the gravel.

“You left these upstairs by the way!” Wooyoung giggles, throwing caution to the wind and seeing how riled up he can make San get. He dangles the nicked keys with pride, shaking them with a triumphant jingle. “Thanks for the ride though! She really is a dream.” 

Something in San snaps. The speed he approaches the younger man feels almost inhuman, and before Wooyoung can really decide if he wants to run or not the older man is upon him. San’s hands are not big, but they are clearly practiced as one clamps down tightly around Wooyoung’s nape, holding him by the scruff like a newborn kitten as he guides him back through the main doors. Even once they get back inside, he refuses to let go, either not noticing or not caring about the way the other staff watches them warily. San just guides Wooyoung up the stairs, all the way to the young prince's bedroom. Perhaps he should protest the man inviting himself into his private space without permission, but he senses that argument will likely not stand at this moment. 

“What did you think you were doing?” 

Wooyoung bites his lip, the sharp sting of his canines distracting him from the desire to smirk. Instead, he stares up at his tutor with bright eyes, looking terribly sweet and apologetic and maybe just a little cheeky.

“Don’t play with me right now, little boy.” Little boy? Does San not know he’s crazy? “I asked you a question. What. Did you think. You were doing?” 

“I just…wanted to try to ride the bike…and you left the key.” It’s not an explanation. Not a real one anyways. He knows it, and he’s pretty sure San knows it, too, if his response is anything to go by.

“You just wanted to ride the bike.” He mutters under his breath, chuckling like he can’t actually believe what he’s hearing. For a moment, nothing happens. San is just starting out the window, face screwed up in thought as he appears to deliberate on some internal matter. Wooyoung waits, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation, although he can’t quite conceptualise what he anticipates. So he stands still and quiet, trying not to fuss as he waits for San to do…something. He knows the older reached a decision on what that something is when his eyes lock in on him, laser focused and shrewd. 

“You know what? I’m done with this game. On the bed, princeling.” The tutor’s tone brooked no argument. “Hands and knees, chest to the mattress.” 

Wooyoung gulped, glancing uncertainly at the rumpled linens he had left this morning. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of corporal punishment. Wooyoung had been a precocious young prince, who’s high-spirits had landed him over a tutor or personal servant’s knee a time or two. Was it really so different now that it was San doing the punishing?

Yes. Yes it was. 

And it’s what you’ve been after the whole time, a giddy voice whispered from within. 

He felt like he was caught in a trance as he smoothed out the sheets and got into the required position. 

“Mmm. That’s a good boy.”

Wooyoung felt his insides quiver. He’s San’s good boy

“But you weren’t good today, were you?” San’s voice had sharpened, carrying with it an edge of steel that held Wooyoung in a vice, as though he had been bound in his position rather than presenting himself for correction of his own free will. He couldn’t even speak, only whimpering in the face of the other’s overwhelming dominance. 

“Noooo, you weren’t very good today at all. Come to think of it, you haven’t been very good for quite a while. So out of character for my bright little student who always seemed to want to please.” San chuckled darkly. “Were you misbehaving on purpose, little boy? You’re like a naughty little kitten. Knocking glasses off the table until you get someone to chase you. Well, I’ve caught you now. By the time I'm done, you’ll learn to keep your paws to your own things.” 

A loud smack echoed through the space, 

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh my god. 

It didn’t stop there. San spanked him earnestly, with deadly precision. With his face buried in the sheets, he can’t see anything coming, and he’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse because now all he can do is feel. Feel and cry. And he is crying. He can tell, even through the haze that currently clouds his senses. It’s because it hurts. There’s no confusion on that part. San is strong. His hand is hard. This hurts. It hurts so bad, so why does he feel like he’s floating?

It’s a strange haze that comes down over him. The burning is only getting more intense as San continues on, following a predictable pattern that leaves Wooyoung knowing where the next spank will fall and yet still being powerless to move away when it lands, blooming red hot and spiraling him higher and higher. Since his only stability comes from his legs, he can’t kick or squirm really, limited to little shifts of hips that he’ll swear are not meant to be enticing but probably appear to be so anyways. What he does have is his voice, which he uses liberally. He cries, whines, whimpers, even shrieks when a particularly wicked spank falls. 

“Sir. Sir please. Please, it hurts.” He doesn’t actually want San to stop, the pleading just feels right. Necessary even. Like he’s taking part in a ritual and this is simply one of the steps he must follow. 

“Does it, little boy?” San says with faux pity and he lands several more swats quickly back to back. “Good.”

This was what Wooyoung was after. This feeling of helplessness and slight humiliation, knowing his tutor was in total control. It felt strangely safe here, like being wrapped in an almost too tight hug, keeping him still and steady even as everything fades around him. 

He doesn’t realize how under he is until San’s voice is cutting through the mist, no longer condescending but rather the sweet, gentle tone he uses whenever he feels Wooyoung has been struggling and he’s finally reached the correct conclusion. 

“Wooyoung-ie? Sweetheart, can you hear hyung?”

He whimpers, tongue thick in his mouth. Words feel far away, but the least he can do is nod. 

“I need you to come up for a minute, love. Can you do that for me?”

It’s a hard ask, but he still tries. The urge to be a brat is gone, sated since San threw him down onto the bed however long ago. The burning desire to listen and be good has taken its place, and it motivates him back up enough where he can concentrate a little better. 

“I know what you’ve been up to, little one.” San begins, and Woooung tenses as actual shame creeps in. He honestly wished San would just think he was a spoiled brat than know of his desperate plot to earn the elder’s attention. He probably knew about his crush too, then. San must think him so…so pathetic and immature. 

“Shhhh. None of that now.” His honeyed words cut through again, clearing out the self-deprecation and soothing their target back down to a compliant state. “If I wasn’t okay with it I would’ve stopped you, but I’m sorry for leading you on as much as I did. I wanted to make certain this was really what you wanted. Plus, you’re a very cute brat, and I enjoy how squirmy you get when you’re in trouble. But this one was actually dangerous, Wooyoung. Bikes like that aren’t a toy. If you had fallen, the damage it could’ve done would’ve been life altering. I want you to promise me you won’t ever touch it without my permission. You can get up to whatever other naughty shenanigans you’d like, but I take safety very seriously. You do not want to test me on that, am I understood?” 

“Yes sir.” He sounds so small, even to himself. 

“Thank you, little one. Now, let’s address the rest of your transgressions, shall we?”

He walks Wooyoung through each misdemeanor one by one, scolding and swatting all the while. He milks an apology out for each one, and by the end Wooyoung feels much the same as a wet rag; wrung out and floppy. But it’s finally over, he thinks, since San has gone still behind him, rubbing at the tender skin. Considering how sore he is, he’s surprised by how pleasurable it feels to have strong hands stroking over the redness. He could almost purr, and he actually might be when San’s voice returns, bursting his comfortable little bubble. 

“Flip over, princeling.”

Wooyoung can’t imagine what he means. 

“I-sir?”

“Shhh, little one. Nearly done. Let’s dissuade any future attempts at riding things we shouldn’t be.” And with that, Sam took a hold on his hips and flipped him onto his back, before grabbing both ankles in one hand and pulling them upward towards his chest. The humiliation of the position was one thing, but the stretch of his burning skin and the ways his most sensitive areas are so horribly exposed makes him mewl.

“Sir. Sir please.”

He’s not sure if he wants to beg for it to be over or beg to stay here. The fog that clouds his head is a maddening mix of overwhelming and blissful. 

The first strike lands, right at the crease of where his butt meets his thighs. In this position, it hits with deadly accuracy, the sting spreading in shockwaves up his spine and he gasps. The worst, absolute worst, thing about this position is he now has no choice but to watch as San works. The older man spanks him the way he imagines he tunes up his beloved motorcycle; with extraordinary care, memorizing what places make which sounds so once he finishes taking his project apart he can put it back together with ease. He’s breathtaking, brows knit in intense concentration as he assesses his handiwork so far. Through chance, and the help of the position, their eyes catch, and a grin cracks the calculating facade. With nowhere else to go and little else to look at, Wooyoung brings his fists up to hide his face with a groan of protest. 

“You’ll be a bit sore tomorrow, sweet thing.” A single finger tickles along his sit spots, the area prickling like a live wire. “You already have the start of a few bruises. I’ll tell you what, you’ve taken your spanking so nicely I’ll cut it short. Just ten more for me, okay? I’ll even count them for you. Ready?”

Even knowing it’s coming, Wooyoung still shrieks and flutters his legs as the hardest smacks yet make contact.

“That’s one.”

When the tenth falls, Wooyoung is a shivery mess of tears, completely wilted against the bed and out of it. San cradles him close, pulling him onto his lap as though he weighs nothing at all and tucking his head to his chest as Wooyoung cries and cries as sweet nothings dance in his ear. 

“Alright, baby boy. All over now. Oh sweet thing you were so brave. Good job little one.” 

They stay that way a while, San whispering and rubbing his back until Wooyoung’s tears dry up, and he’s just giving little hiccups and whimpers between each accidental brush to his burning backside. He pulls back to look San in the face for the first time since they started. It feels lighter now, easier, like he was always meant to be this close. 

“You knew?” Is all he can ask, and San smiles at him so wide his eyes disappear.

“I did. You’re not very subtle, sweetheart.” 

“I-“ Wooyoung flounder for a moment, not sure how or if he should explain. Part of him thought to apologize, but was he really sorry? He was sorry for having frustrated San if he had, especially since it had only been a means to an end. He definitely didn’t know how to say that this was the end he had been angling for the whole time, considering he hadn’t even been totally conscious of what he was after. Sure, he’d known intrinsically what he had been after, but the actual details of it had been a bit vague, even in his fantasies. He thinks and questions and wonders until his head begins to spin a little and he wonders if he’ll start crying again. 

Luckily, San knows what he needs, tucking Wooyoung’s head back underneath his chin. 

“Don’t worry now, kitten.” He purrs in his ear with glittering eyes, sending Wooyoung back into that fuzzy headspace with a delighted shiver down his spine. “Tutor promises to be much more attentive from here on out.”

Chapter Text

“Hyungie! Hyungie please!”

“Yes Yeosang? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Hongjoong can’t help grinning as his omega squirms over his knee, whimpering as he tosses his head about to catch sight of any onlookers to his vulnerable position. The park they’re at is mostly deserted at this time of day, and Hongjoong has taken care to choose a bench that’s mostly hidden out of view, but Yeosang has never been spanked in public before, so it’s understandable he might be a bit twitchy about the whole thing.

“Do you-do you have to? What if someone sees?”

“Oh, that’ll be quite alright, pup.” Hongjoong gently pats Yeosang’s bottom, the fair skin calling to him like a blank canvas to an artist. “They’ll just see what happens when naughty omega pups wander off from their alphas. Even after they were told to stay right where they were because Alpha was coming right back.”

He’s fortunate Yeosang isn’t as bratty as some of the other pups, although that can be cute in its own way. Instead, he sweetly accepts what he’s earned with minimal fuss, melting in acquiesce into Hongjoong’s lap, squeezing the alpha’s trousers in his fists to ground himself for what knows is coming.

“You ready, angel?”

“Yes.” Yeosang grumbles, giving a yelp when Hongjoong lands a warning smack. “I mean, yes, alpha.”

Hongjoong doesn’t plan to give the omega a very long spanking, just a reminder. Yeosang can be flighty and prone to wandering, but he’s never malicious in his misbehavior. Such was the case today, where he just got so caught up in what he wanted to do and where he wanted to go that he a) completely forgot Hongjoong’s instructions to stay put or b) never even heard them in the first place.

Fortunately, he hadn’t gone very far and Hongjoong had been able to sniff him out very quickly.

The smacks aren’t about half of what the alpha is capable of, and Yeosang knows that. The public part of his speaking is really the bigger punishment for him. He still gets all squirmy and shy when he’s been naughty enough to be spanked on the living room couch instead of his bedroom, and the pack’s been going strong for seven years. He can’t help but visualize what he must look like now, over his alpha’s lap at a park bench with his panties clearly visible and bottom growing rosy under his alpha’s keen attention .

Hongjoong clearly isn’t affected by such things as he layers spank after spank across his bottom and thighs. Yeosang suspects he’s intentionally leaving long pauses between each impact to force him to reckon with his situation and drag it out as long as possible without over-punishing him.

Evil, evil, wicked head alpha.

He’s barely pink when Hongjoong sits him upright in his lap again. Yeosang’s eyes are glassy, but still quite clear, but he still pouts like he's been spanked for hours and hours. It’s a unique quality possessed by all his omega pups; dramatics.

But like with all his pups, a forehead kiss is a good start to soothing lingering upset. Hongjoong brushes his fingers through Yeosang’s dark locks, secretly delighted with how long his hair has gotten recently. The fingers travel down, stroking sensitive skin lightly as they go and making Yeosang feel hazy and shivery in the process. He stares up at his alpha with sparkly adoration as those strict, gentle fingers trace his ear, his cheekbones, before coming to rest with a gentle grip on his chin.

“Are you going to stay where you’re put next time, little omega?” Hongjoong asks him with a knowing grin. The younger boy gives his alpha a rapid nod to the affirmative. Is Hongjoong daft? He is never repeating this again. His response must be somewhat overblown by alpha standards, because Hongjoong chuckles in that way he does whenever he finds any of his pack members' antics particularly endearing or silly.

“Good, because next time you wander away, we’re doing this right where I find you. Even if you’re wearing those little puppy panties you think no one knows about.”

Yeosang’s indignant gasp is swallowed up by a pair of soft lips meeting his in a gentle kiss, melting him down to a boneless state. The alpha may not be the most physically affectionate of his mates, but his kisses border on magical, erasing the woes and ache of any spanking, no matter how public or severe.

“Would you like to go home, or go back to shopping.” Hongjoong asks when Yeosang’s finally lets him pull away. “Maybe let alpha buy you a treat, hmm?”

“I can have a little treat?” The last of Yeosang’s indignation over the whole affair is chased away. Kisses and a treat? Christmas must’ve come early this year.

“Yes baby. You can.”

They walk hand in hand towards the bakery on the street where Yeosang had first slipped away, but this time, he stays firmly planted to is alpha’s side.