i wanna be sleepy n curled up in bed or on the couch with a bunch of pillows and blankets while someone cuddles with me n presses little kisses to my face and neck while i cockwarm the toy they picked out for me. not even in a particularly sexual kinky way, i just want to feel all nice and comfy and soft and empty headed for a bit...
Oh darling, I know, I know you're shaking. But trust me, your body will feel much better if I make you cum again. I know you're sensitive, love. Look at how much of a mess you've made already. Don't you think I know your body? Mmmhm, just keep your legs spread and I'll help you feel good. Do you want to put your head on my chest, darling? That help you calm down while I've got my hand between your legs, huh?
!! synopsis:You're Soobin’s English tutor. The lessons keep getting derailed by him showing you memes on his phone when you scroll too far and see a photo that wasn't for your eyes or maybe it was.
!! warnings: smut (mdni), sub!Soobin, soft dom!reader, oral (f & m receiving), pet names (Baby, Good boy, Mommy, Slut) piv, sex kinda,(Wrap your willy don't be silly), Humiliation, Degradation Kink, Praise kink, Facesitting, nipple play.
a/n Guys I lost my nose ring and i thought it closed because i hadnt had it in for like 3 weeks but i did not so just know that i am very happy about that. Anyways to the fan fic.
a/n part 2: When every Reader is talking it is korean and if soobin is speaking in english its gonna put italics
You had been tutoring Soobin for 3 months and you could say he is one of your hardest students that you have ever had. You were hired to teach him since he wasn't doing good with the actual staff in the company. And you could understand why he wasn't so good. He would do anything besides what needed to be done and that made it harder.
"Soobin, are you paying attention?" You scold, looking over at him as you finish writing the pronunciation of the word candy.
"Yeh-yes." He mutters in Korean. You arch your eyebrow, his cheeks blush as he clears his throat. "Y-e-s?"
The deal was that you would speak in Korean and he would speak in English. It made it easier, and once he got better you would both speak in English, but until then this was the set up that you guys had. But that didn't stop him from getting distracted. You had set up lessons at your apartment with less distractions. "Yes." You repeat, "Open your mouth just a little bit more."
"Yes." He repeats as he nods to himself, a smile playing on his lips as he looks back over to his phone, his thumb brushing over the screen. That was how all the lessons went: about 20 minutes of the actual lesson and then 40 minutes of memes, ridiculous photos of him and the members, or him asking about your life.
"Phone." You hold your hand out. "Now, Soobin-ah."
He picks it up and leans over to you. "I w-w-want to show you this," He stops and thinks, muttering in Korean, "How do you say memes in English?"
"Memes." You say flatly.
"Memes. Yes." He turns his phone as he shows you one about how hard it was to learn English, and the next, and you don't stop him as he reads the words out to you. He was doing spectacularly well, kinda. You grab his phone as you look through all the memes he had there. There were probably over 50.
You look over at him, cheeks dusted with a light pink as he tries to reach for his phone. "Give me." He reaches for you again as you lift it higher.
"Why do you want it so bad? What are you hiding?" You look down at the phone and you see it. Soobin in a white sweater, boxers, a hard unmistakably big outline of his cock, his hand trailed down to his waistband. His lips parted in a silent moan. He looked— No.
You would be lying if you said there was nothing between you and Soobin. Sure, you saw the way he looked at you when you were talking, the way his eyes drifted to your lips. You had excused the behavior as trying to mimic the way your mouth moves. But then you couldn't defend him anymore: the way his hand finds your thigh under the table, the way he quietly whimpers when you scold him for focusing.
"Soobin-ah, what is this?"
He looks at you, not once with shame on his face. No, he looks like he wanted you to see the photo.
"I can explain," he says, but he doesn't make a move to do so.
"Is this what you do instead of studying?" You look back down at the photo, taken in his dorm where no one could catch him. Or maybe that was what he wanted.
"I try." He mutters before switching back to English. "I try hard, I get uh distracted."
You shake your head. "You knew I was gonna find this, didn't you?"
He nods as he looks down at his feet. You cup his chin and make him look at you. "Soobin, why are you wasting my time?"
His cheek blushes, as does the tip of his ear. "I- don't mean to, I just-"
"You just what," you huff as he shakes his head.
"I want your time all the time." He blushes as he looks at you through his lashes. "Mad are you?"
"Not mad. Disappointed in you." You say as you glance down at the phone. It wasn't the picture you were upset about—you had taken dozens of nudes in your lifetime—it was the fact that he could have sent them to someone, and that someone wasn't you. "Who did you send the picture to?"
"No one," he says. You arch your eyebrow. His Korean spills fast from his lips, "I didn't want to send it to anyone. I took it so that you could find it."
"What if I didn't want to see it?" You didn't know why you were asking such a rhetorical question, because of course you wanted to see it. Who wouldn't want to see it? "You wanted me to see you being a desperate slut."
He tilts his head to the side as he repeats the word in Korean. He did this when he wanted to hear a word in English as well. "Slut," you pronounce in English.
"I wanted to be a s-lut. Your slut." He says as his throat bobs. He knew what he was saying, but it seemed so innocent coming from his mouth, his face tickled by a light pink, and it was cute, making your resolve dissolve.
"Show me what you were doing in that picture. What you did after you turned off the camera."
He blushes as you lean back. "I touched myself to the thought of you," he says in Korean.
"English, Soobin-ah."
"I touched me thinking of you." He looks down, the embarrassment rushing to his face, his skin getting even brighter red, his breath coming out windy as his hands begin to shake.
"Show me, baby." You say softly.
He whines—actually whines—the sound sending a throbbing ache to your already pulsing pussy. He slowly undoes his pants, pulling them all the way down and putting them off to the side. You look over him and nod at his sweater. He takes that off quickly, throwing it so it meets his jeans. You lick your lips at the hard outline of Soobin's cock, a wet spot spreading.
"Go ahead, Soobin-ah. Get on your knees and be a good boy."
He looks at you as he gets on the floor in front of you. He slips his boxers off, his cock slapping his stomach, looking hard, flushed and dripping. Your mouth waters at the sheer size of his cock. You watch as the veins in it throb and it twitches under your gaze. Your eyes crawl up his body and find his eyes. "Touch yourself like the slut you are."
His hand slowly makes purchase on the base of his cock as he strokes all the way to the tip where the precum is gathering. He drags it back down, helping to slick his cock as he twists his wrist. He bites his bottom lip to stop a single sound from slipping, not sure if that would make you upset.
"Were you going that slow, Soobin?" you tease. "I doubt that. I said show me what you did when you touched yourself."
His wrist moves faster as his moans fall freely from his mouth, his hips snapping to chase his pleasure. "Mommy~" slips from his lips and you cock your head to the side.
"What did you say?"
"Mommy." He says again as his hair gets into his eyes. "D-did something wrong?"
You shake your head no as he continues to stroke himself, his hips stuttering, and you know he is getting close—the way his eyes glaze over and his head lolls back, how his chest falls rapidly, or even the way his hand forgets which way is up or down. You wanted to watch him. You really did.
"Stop," you say roughly, but he doesn't stop. Maybe he didn't hear you. You get down on your knees right in front of him. His eyes snap open as you yank his hand off his cock. It twitches a couple times before you narrow your eyes at him. "You listen to me when I say something. Do you understand, Soobin-ah?"
"Y-yes Mommy." He whimpers as you bring your hand to his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. You take his lips into yours and smile against his lips as you feel his body shudder. You pull back to get a good look at the mess that you made, a smile playing on your mouth again as you turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom.
"You coming?"
Soobin jumps up and walks over to your bedroom. You shut the door behind you and push him against your bed. His cock drips even more, his pupils dilated, his lips parted as he watches you like you are one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen.
"You were being a bad boy. Now you have to make up for it if you wanna cum." You tilt your head to the side.
"How?"
You push him down and grab him in your hand, stroking him a couple times as his hips buck up. You squeeze the base and he arches on the bed, moaning out your name. Just as he gets closer, you take your hand away and climb off the bed, stripping off your clothes.
He sits up. "Bea-beautiful." He whispers to himself, making sure he said it right, his eyes trailing over your whole body, memorizing it like it would be the last time, and for all he knew, it very well could be.
You push him back down and crawl up his body until your pussy is hovering over his face. "You gonna make me cum, and if you do it well, then you can cum, yeah?"
His tongue takes a long lick from your clit to your entrance. You moan as you feel Soobin's arms wrap around your waist and pull you down on his face, his nose nudging against your clit. You feel your legs begin to shake. Yeah, sure, you were teasing Soobin, but it was foreplay for you too. Him following your every word turned you on beyond belief. Praises fall from your lips without you even needing to think, and he loved every moment of it, his moans sending shocks through your spine.
You tangle your fingers into Soobin's hair as you grind against his face, your orgasm rushing toward you in rapid fire. "Don't you dare stop, baby." You moan as you clench around his tongue and begin convulsing. Soobin's arms wrap tighter as he eats you through your orgasm, and even after, as you try to pull away, he keeps you there, even as you try to push him away, having you moaning and whimpering on top of him.
When he finally lets you up, he looks like he has seen heaven, his face coated in your cum, and he loved it. You lean down to kiss him as you straddle his hips. Your kiss gets sloppy as you tangle your fingers into his hair and pull him closer to you.
"You ready, baby?" You look down as you line him up to your aching entrance.
"Yes."
You sink down on him slowly, both of your eyes rolling back at the delicious stretch of his cock in your pussy, you feeling every vein and throb, and him feeling how tight and warm you are. Once he is all the way in, you begin bouncing on his cock. Your nails scratch at his chest as you move faster.
Soobin watches half-lidded as he whimpers out a slew of words both in English and Korean, not caring to fix his words. He couldn't think straight as you picked up the pace and kept eye contact with him the whole time. You feel him twitch in you as you flick his nipple. You lean down and take it in your mouth.
"Please Mommy, I'm close, I'm so close~" He moans as his hips begin chasing yours.
His hips snap up, hitting the spot that makes you see stars. You kiss his throat and suck hickeys into it and moan. "Cum for me, baby."
He cums with a cry and you follow shortly after, riding him through both his and your orgasm.
Once you finally come down, you are panting hard, and so is he. Well, he is crying, actually. "You okay, Soobin-ah?"
He nods, sniffling. "Yes. I feel so good," he says in Korean, and you don't even correct him. You stay on top of him with him inside of you, listening to his heartbeat, and you try to think if you would be able to ever go back to just being his tutor.
Daydreaming about dominating a girl who hates how into me she is. A girl who wants it, desperately, but really really wishes she didn't. Soft, gentle, fully consensual, and she hates that she can't even pretend otherwise, hates that she couldn't make herself say no, hates that I didn't have to force her at all, hates that when I check in she says to keep going, hates hates HATES that every time this happens she swears it'll be the last and every time she comes crawling back begging for more.
(this is my first time trying to write valveplug on here! hope you like it! feedback is appreciated! no ai was used in any part of this writing!)
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Your optics flutter open on their own, but it takes a klik or two to get your visual processing fully online. When your vision is focused enough to be useful, you look around and find you're in an enclosed space, a square room with odd red-goldish lighting. You're sat on a bench, but you don't remember how you got there. As your processor slowly reboots and you come to, a dull ache presents itself in your left stabilizer, near the knee joint. So the blaster shot hit home. Damn it all. You attempt to stretch out your stabilizers and find you can't; your wrists are cuffed behind your back and your pedic units are cuffed to the bench. It settles in that you're living in the worst-case scenario: you've been captured. Oh Primus, Megatron is going to eat you alive. How could you have been so stupid? It's all a blur, it happened so fast... the shooting, the falling, the blaster to the stabilizer, then you blacked out... did you lose the battle?
"Hello?" you shout. Your voice is unharmed, luckily.
In response, the magnetic door slides open and you see two mechs walk through. One of them is large and shapely built, a distinctive crest upon his admittedly handsome faceplate. You can see the markings of what humans call a "police cruiser" along his stabilizers and what little of his back is visible. A quick shock of fear runs through you before you swallow it back. You never ran into Prowl in the field. You never had to; the Seekers were keen to talk with anyone who'd listen about what a cunning tactician he was, how ruthless he could be when it was demanded of him. Strange as it seems, a part of you admires him. You wish he'd see sense and join the Cause instead of wasting his talents on this bunch of pansy afts.
The other mech seems to have similar colors but a far different shape, and this one you know very well. Jazz has been a source of endless frustration for you and your teams. Seemingly endlessly adaptable, it's almost impossible to truly catch him off guard. Soundwave, when he condescends to the level of caring about anything, has a particular strut to pick with him about his music tastes. You couldn't care less. The only command your processor is accepting is "get out of here and away from the obviously armed enemy mechs".
"Good. You're awake." Prowl's voice states in the small room. His blue optics are hard as they stare into you. You feel your spark spin faster in your chassis and you want to shrink away, but somehow he's got you pinned. You test the tensile strength of your wristcuffs, but it's no good, they're not budging.
"Get away from me!" you yell, glaring as hard as you can. You weren't prepared for a pair of 'Bots to actually be scary. You're sure it's just the circumstances; they wouldn't stand a chance if you were free and armed. You're positive.
"Hey, hey, easy. Slow it on down there," Jazz says softly, holding up his servos in a gesture that says to calm down. You do not want to calm down. You want out. Now.
"What... what do you want?" you ask quietly. Your training didn't really prepare you for this, and seeing as you come from Decepticon teachings of how to handle prisoners, your expectations are... not high.
"Oh, I'm thinkin' you know," Jazz says, placing his hands on his hips. Your glare sharpens, until Prowl cuts through the silence.
"My intel informs me that the Decepticons' plans for their aerial division were encoded in the processors of several high-ranking officers, and moreover, that you're one of them," Prowl states, arms crossed. From your position in the chair, he towers over you. You suppress a shiver.
"So y'see, you're here 'cuz you know a thing or two about somethin' we wanna know about." Jazz finishes for Prowl, and you have no idea how he can maintain that easygoing persona when the atmosphere is this tense and cold.
"Well, even if that's true, no way in the Pit would I tell you! I would never betray Lord Megatron!" You shout through gritted denta, trying to convince yourself of it more than them.
"See, I knew this wasn't gonna be easy..." Jazz murmurs, inclining his helm sideways at Prowl. Prowl just grimaces in return.
"If you will not willingly volunteer that information, then believe me when I say we will force it out of you." Prowl says, his voice hard as the steel of his plating. Your hands ball into fists behind the back of the chair. Yep, that's it, you're gonna get tortured. You know it, all that slag you've seen Megatron pull with uncooperative 'Bots is aimed at you this time, so you'd better just--
"Prowl!" Jazz exclaims, as if he's said something wrong. Prowl's face shows confusion, then realization, then frustration. Jazz drags him off to the corner, presumably to talk. You try to listen in, but they speak in whispers.
"Honey, you can't, Prime'll kill you! It's against the Autobot Code!"
"Jazz, we have to get that intel, I don't much care how." You see Jazz place his hands on Prowl's chassis, as if to calm him.
"I know, baby, I do. But really, there's gotta be a better way..."
The conversation continues, but you're struck dumb. Since when did he... were they... have they been? On-the-job relationships are frowned upon where you come from, you just thought that the Autobots would have similar rules. But apparently not! Apparently Jazz just gets to call their Intelligence Officer "baby" and it's all fine. You're not sure why considering you never wanted a partner like that, but you feel a bit envious. Shaking your helm to focus, you try again to hear what they're saying, but most of it is just too low a volume.
"Intel... methods... a loophole... you in?"
"Primus, that's... don't tell... you sure?"
Jazz fixes Prowl with a stern look, and somehow it's Prowl who softens in the face of it, taking Jazz's hands in his own to kiss his knuckles. You can't tell what they're thinking, but Prowl has evidently convinced Jazz of whatever he has planned. You feel a pit of dread in your fuel tank, your processor drawn to images of torture racks and split plating, the images so intense that you barely notice when they actually walk back up and speak to you again.
"Listen here, lieutenant," Prowl says, "we're not going to fragging torture you. It's against the Autobot Code anyway."
"But! My baby here figures he's got a workaround. Somethin' with a better success rate."
"What are... what are you going to--"
You're cut off by a pair of soft lip plates pressing against yours, curved in a slight smile. You're surprised, caught off guard. You almost forget where you are. Jazz's lip plates are so full and warm that your frame reacts on instinct, kissing him back before your mind can catch up. You wish more than anything that your hands weren't cuffed, so you could properly touch his chassis. A bolt of shame races through you as he pulls back and you're reminded of who you're dealing with. You're supposed to be above them, all of them. So how can he...?
Prowl walks around behind you and lifts your arms up until he's caught your wrists in one hand above your helm.
"Stand up," Prowl orders, and you do, feeling the magnetically locked cuffs strain against your pedic units. The cuffs force you to keep your legs spread. That shame from earlier feels as though it's doubled in a klik. Jazz saunters up to you like you're a cube of freshly distilled engex, hands poised at the latch of your chestplate. Prowl gets a grip on your waist, a hard grip, enough to leave a mark. Jazz's dexterous hands undo your armor like it's nothing, caressing your bare plating wherever he can reach.
"A-Ah! Prowl!" You shout, startled as you feel denta on the plating of your neck. They're sharp, or at the very least precise; you can feel the care he takes not to nick a fuel line. They scrape at your plating and it makes you want to scream.
"Shhh, shhh... just look at me, okay?" Jazz whispers gently, his hands sweet and soft as they wander your bare chassis. "There we go," he hums softly, kissing you again as his right hand slips between your legs and unlatches your modesty plating. You don't have your seal, of course, but you wouldn't dream of letting an Autobot touch anything down there under normal circumstances. These, however, are not normal circumstances. Jazz wraps a hand around your spike and slowly moves it up and down, stroking you sensually. You feel Prowl smile over your shoulder.
"See? Told you they'd like it. Look at how hard they are," he says like this is amusing to him. You want to yell in his face, you want to fight him, but while Jazz is busy with your spike, Prowl slips two digits in your valve and your vision nearly whites out. You knew you were wet down there, but you're shocked at how easily Prowl just fit them in there. His digits are long and able, and he moves them in and out of you at the same pace Jazz works your spike.
It's all so much at once. You think you could handle this if it were just one or the other, you could play coy or you could kick and scratch or whatever, but... not like this. Not both of them at once, not Prowl's almost-too-rough grip and Jazz's honeyed voice in your audials, what sane Cybertronian could survive that? It's so much... but it's never quite enough. Prowl is a goddamn tease, keeping his digits still every time your valve seizes particularly tight around them. Jazz is even worse, never keeping a steady speed with your spike, moving from respectably fast to torturously slow at once. You can't take this.
"Aw, baby, I think we're bein' a lil' mean at this point." Jazz coos over your shoulder. Prowl sighs softly.
"Are you ready?"
He's not asking you, oh no, he's asking Jazz. You can only assume one of them is going to spike you. You feel a dewy wetness gathering in your valve at the mere thought.
"Sure am, baby. C'mon, open up here," Jazz says to you, parting the lips of your valve with two digits. You hear and feel Prowl's spike pressurize behind you, and it feels like no time passes at all before he just jams the whole thing in there at once. You scream, and you're not ashamed to say it. Prowl is well-endowed and you haven't gotten any in a while, and it's so sudden, you can't help the animal keen of pleasure-pain that tears out of your vocalizer. At least he has the courtesy not to move.
"Oh... Damn, Jazz, this is... mm, you should feel how tight this valve is."
"Tighter than mine?" Jazz answers playfully. Prowl leans over and pulls him into a deep kiss over your shoulder, the change in weight shifting his spike inside you and making you squirm.
"Of course it isn't. But it's close," Prowl supplies against Jazz's mouth. "You know I've wanted to do this for a while..." he whispers, finally moving his hips on purpose. He has the decency to start slow, so there's that. You gasp as his spike brushes your anterior node, your vocalizer glitching from the overwhelm. You feel like crying.
"Think they have too, look, they like it!" Jazz says in a tone that feels encouraging, but really shouldn't be. It seems like even he's surprised.
There's no other way to say it; Prowl frags you like it's the end of the world. His stocky build gives him force and momentum, which he uses to drive himself into you like it'll save his spark. He keeps one hand on your hip to keep you steady, and he uses the other one to reach around you and pleasure Jazz's spike. You're not ashamed to say you scream into the air above you... or you would if Jazz wasn't there to keep you quiet with kisses on your mouth and soft, grasping hands. He pulls himself closer to you so he can hold Prowl's hand, using the other to cradle your helm in his chassis as you arch your hips back to match Prowl's rhythm, making sure he can catch your anterior node every thrust. And when Jazz isn't kissing you, he's kissing Prowl next to you or slightly above you, smiling at him like he's all that matters.
A part of you wishes it could last forever. A part of you that doesn't care about the Decepticon Cause or Megatron's leadership or your rank or anything, deep down in your spark where you haven't gone looking in vorns, wishes you could just stay here until a ceasefire. But though the spirit is willing, the frame is weak. You barely have any warning before Prowl grunts low in his intake and jams his spike in your valve as far as he can, spilling transfluid inside you in a sticky, white-hot gush. The sensation is so overwhelming that you overload at the same time, sticky slick coating Prowl's spike and dripping between your legs onto the metal floor. Jazz overloads only a few moments later, aiming up to cover your chassis in his transfluid. You wish you could say you hated the feeling, but... you can't bring yourself to.
Prowl finally lets your wrists go and you fall back into the chair, your stabilizers unwilling to hold you up. Your array is soaked and sticky, and you can feel the transfluid cooling on your plating. Your processor feels completely shorted out, and more than anything, you feel satisfied. Jazz's hand reaches over to caress your faceplate, a silent "good job". You just moan wordlessly in response. Jazz leans down to kiss your cheek and whisper in your audial.
"Mm... now where are those aerial squadrons headin' next?"
Too fucked out to remember what was so important about it, you let it slip.
"Nnh... Niagara Falls, then Lake Superior..."
"Good bot." Jazz says sweetly, rewarding you with a proper kiss on the intake. You moan softly into it, your vision going fuzzy as your helm falls forward and your processor offlines, not even bothering to say "thank you".
