Dont Ever Write A Cypher About Me, Ill Cry.

“Don’t ever write a cypher about me, I’ll cry.”

yoongi x reader (oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 3.6K

a/n: Hi lovelies! Here’s part 2 to “I’m not walking out on you” in which Yoongi and reader/Kid get into a pretty major fight. This takes place that same night and the next day. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)) 

Sleep doesn’t come too easy for those with the weight of two aching hearts inside their chest. The throbbing of your own heart, you could handle. But knowing you were the cause of your lover’s pain sat heavy in your mind. The look of regret, hurt, defeat that was etched across Yoongi’s features was impossible to shake, hovering over you like a sleep paralysis demon of your own creation.

Your tears had stopped since you shut yourself away in your bedroom, but the regret was all the more deep and unsettling. At the sound of the washing machine beeping on the other side of the door, you rolled onto your side, facing the wooden barrier that kept you from Yoongi. You were so sick of walls, but it was all that you knew.

Lifting yourself from the mattress, you began tiptoeing across the room to move the bedding to the dryer. You couldn’t sleep anyway. However, when you carefully pulled the door open, not wanting to alert your boyfriend of your activity, you were stopped in your tracks, the air leaving your lungs as you remained completely still. Peeking through the slightly ajar door, you watched as Yoongi transferred the sheets from the washing machine to the dryer.

He didn’t hear the door open, appearing oblivious to your presence. And perhaps that was why he wasn’t more careful in concealing the sniffle that sounded in the hallway, the small fragile sound stabbing your heart. When he raised his arm to his face, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe across his cheek, there was no mistaking the emotional state of the man. Yoongi was crying, and it was your fault.

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i was wondering how bad influence! jk and oc started interacting? like what made them start talking

[ ! ] this dabble is a prequel to “bad influence”

— words; 1.6k

~

Your professor was looking at you with expectation, the small piece of paper hanging between his fingers like the sword of Damocles over your head. You were staring at him in silence for a few seconds now, and the whole situation was starting to get awkward. 

“So,” he pressed on, dangling the paper in front of your eyes. On it, the name and phone number of one of your classmates. “What do you say?” 

When he asked you to stay after class, you expected it would be something related to tutoring. Your professor had mentioned it in passing a few times before, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when he told you he had found you someone who really needed your assistance. You were beaming with joy for precisely a minute and twenty one seconds until he revealed the name of your student. 

Jeon Jungkook. 

Before you had any chance to muster an excuse for why you couldn’t — under any circumstance — get close to someone like that, even less tutor him, your professor already had his card up his sleeve. “It’ll be good for your curriculum.” 

And you said yes in a heartbeat. 

~

Jungkook was predictable. You knew that he would be late (after all, his cringy bad boy persona would never allow him to follow one single rule in his life), you just didn’t know it would be almost two-hours-late. By the point that you saw that hurricane in human form walking into the library, you had already finished your homework for the entire week. 

He had the nerve to smirk at you, and you swore an oath to yourself that you wouldn’t present him with the irritation he was expecting. And you didn’t — with all the patience and kind-heartedness that your parents had pushed down your throat your entire life, you put on your best commercial smile and greeted him like he was just in time. 

“Well, now that you’re here, let’s start with the basics and go over some defense cells.” You tugged the heavy Immunology book towards you, quickly flipping the pages towards the chapter that you had chosen for that first session. Jungkook had already taken his typical slouched position on the chair next to you, looking like he was about to slide down to the carpeted floor. “I’d like to know how familiar you are with it, though. Can you start by telling me about the types of lymphocytes?” 

He chuckled, running one hand through his hair. “I have no idea what that shit is.”

You took a deep breath and ignored the irritation that was building up on your stomach. You didn’t know how someone could be so indifferent about everything. “Well... that’s why I’m here,” you managed to keep your voice cheerful. 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re here because you wanna get paid, princess. No need to play the Good Samaritan.”

You thought about telling him that you weren’t getting paid, but the idea wasn’t the best one. He’d probably mock you even more for wasting your Friday afternoon tutoring in the name of your curriculum. Not that he knew the importance of that, anyways. 

“This is some bullshit.” Jungkook rested his head on his crossed arms, lying over the table, pushing away your pens and notebooks as he did so. His black hair fell over his features as he grouchily mumbled out, “I don’t even know why I chose this class, it has nothing to do with my major.”

You were surprised that he was even majoring in something, instead of just frequenting the campus as an excuse to meet girls. “Well, I can't answer that for you, can I?” You asked, tapping on his book’s hardcover. That little antibody drawing was staring at you in a silent mockery, wondering if you’d be able to make him study — or even care about anything. “But I can help you with the rest. Now, come on. Types of lymphocytes.”

His eyebrows came down to form a confused frown. Jungkook would’ve probably given you the same reaction if you had just called his mother all the filthy names you could think of. “You’re really trying to teach me?” He asked. “Like, for real?” 

You sighed. The time you taught your little cousin how to read was less frustrating than that. “It’s kind of my job as a tutor, you know.”

Jungkook rose from his position and leaned back against the chair, his arms crossing before his chest. Beneath them, his strong pecs stressed against the fabric of his white shirt, but you refused to look. “You know that you can just pretend to teach me, I can pretend to learn, and you’re gonna get your credits anyways, right?” He asked as if you were the stupidest person he had ever met. “You don’t need to actually put in the effort, princess. Especially since I don’t give any fucks about immunology.” 

If he called you that stupid pet name one more time, you swore you were going to knock him out. “Well, I’m already here, I’d rather do things right.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. “God, you’re so booooring,” he groaned. “Don't you have some charity work to do or something?” 

“I’m doing it right now.” You smiled. “I can see that you’re really trying to fail this class, don’t get me wrong. But I’m just trying to do my job—“

“Boooooring,” he sang, louder than the librarian would ever allow if she was close enough to hear him. Jungkook looked back at you, his eyes narrowed. You couldn’t really tell if he was disgusted or just annoyed. “Why do you even care? It’s just some stupid class, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll tell the professor you taught me everything and we can both go home.” 

“I can’t do that,” you said, firm. 

“Why not?” 

“First of all, because that’s wrong,” you told him. Just as you were about to say that, also, his unavoidable horrible grades would make clear that he hadn’t learned shit (which would make you look like a clown instead of a tutor), his laugh ruptured your sentence. 

“Oh, come on. You’re kidding me.” He smiled brightly — not a tender one, of course, but one full of perverse mockery. You had never met someone as condescending as Jungkook, and he was managing to push every single button inside you. “That’s wrong? What are you, six?” 

You frowned. “You’re the child here, just trying to find a easy way out instead of putting in the eff—“ 

“What are your dreams, princess?” He interrupted again, leaning his head to the side. You really, really, really hated him. “Wait, no, let me guess. A family, a suburban house, and a dog? A nine to five? Something like that? Having your husband cheat with the babysitter before you’re forty?”

Some part of you knew that he was just trying to make you so angry that you would give up on tutoring him. Jungkook didn’t know that you wouldn’t throw away your obligations so quickly, but he was able to make you mad enough to get an answer. “What are yours?” you spat, kindness long forgotten. “Remaining unemployed, talentless, mentally trapped in your twenties, and fucking desperate milfs for money until you die from an early overdose?” 

If your priest had heard you talk like that, he would most surely faint. 

Jungkook, however, didn’t seem so horrified. In fact, his disgusted smile quickly morphed into a diverted one, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Uh,” he mumbled. “Interesting.”

The shame from your previous outburst was starting to weigh down on you, but you managed to keep it undercover. “What?” 

“Didn’t know you had a mouth on you,” he said, clearly entertained. In a way, you were glad that he hadn’t taken your words to heart, because he could probably snap you in half if he was feeling like it. “You’re always so shy and shit. I thought you were going to cry.” 

“I’m not shy,” you spoke, defensive. You had gotten close to shedding a couple tears, but he didn’t need to know that. You hated confrontation. “I just don’t wanna talk to people like you unless I’m obligated to.” 

He raised his eyebrows — a silent threat. “People like me?”

There was a second of hesitation from your part that Jungkook didn’t miss. “Yes.” You couldn’t hold his piercing gaze. As much as Jungkook was annoying the shit out of you, you didn’t actually want to have a full-blown argument with him. Especially on university grounds. “People who can’t even tell me about lymphocytes. Now, are you done with your victimization session? Can we start, or do you wanna tell me more about how you’re burning college money and you are so superior because of it?” 

He chuckled and looked you up and down — actually looked at you. Weirdly enough, it felt like the first time that Jungkook was actually seeing you, and not the empty shell of a stereotype that he had built for you in his peanut-sized brain. “You’re really trying here, aren’t you?” He asked. 

You didn’t know if he was talking about the tutoring session anymore, but you decided not to bite. “Is that a sin now?” And, before he could say anything else, you added, “Page 124. Come on. Unlike you, I don’t have all day to sit around doing nothing.” 

He smirked. “You’re more fun than you look, princess.” 

And, for the first time, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t predictable — he actually opened the book on the page you told him to. 

~

One hour later, he was already dozing off, a small puddle of saliva accumulating on top of his chaotic notes. Still, you counted that as a victory. 

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

Strawberries

Summary: Your stepbrother, Taehyung, feeds you strawberries to test if they’ll make your pussy taste sweeter.

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Yandere Kim Taehyung

Warnings: dub con/non con (reader is drunk), mentions of somnophilia, pseudo incest, corruption kink, manipulation, innocent oc, dom taehyung, explicit smut (oral sex - female receiving, fingering, squirting, throatpie, spanking), yandere behaviour 

Word Count: 7K 

A/N: thank you to this incredible anon for the idea and thank you to 🍓-anon for supplying all the strawberries used in this fic! :’) this is in the AU of my fic Honey and Milk but can be read as a standalone and is for the most part, filth. 

The scent of vanilla flowers and almonds lingered on your exposed skin. Soft and warm to the touch after the shower you had taken, you were curled up on the couch as you watched the television. 

Wide-eyed and curious, the moving colours of the screen flickered across your features, oblivious to where the hem of your dress rested. Fingers caressed the crease of your thigh and your legs opened up for the calloused hands that wandered in between them without question.

He played with the pink bow at the front before slipping his hand into your frilly panties. They were white and fluttered like angel wings with every step you took. The stubble above your pussy pricked the pads of his fingers. You felt the body lotion which coated his fingers, cold and smooth like butter as they teased your clit with every stroke. 

They slid lower and dipped inside your heat.

You clenched. Your pussy clenched right around his fingertips but not enough for his fingers to cease pushing inside you. You were tight, unable to even accept two of his digits, but Taehyung was impatient.

A whine fell from your lips. Your gaze was unfocused, no longer absorbed in the movie but his touch instead.

Your stepbrother slapped a hand over your mouth whilst the other rubbed your clit in dizzying, circular motions inside your underwear. His fingers were firm, and quick, focused on the slick which began to soak through your panties. All protests were silenced, the brush of your lips against his palm only fuelled him, and made the sound of your mother’s footsteps in the kitchen even more apparent.

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“Then - then you had to let me feel this—” His grip on your hips glides your bareness across slick, hot flesh, and you gasp-moan-whimper at the feeling. “—and how can I resist you now? How am I supposed to be the perfect gentleman when you’re so soft, and your pretty little pussy is all dripping and hot for the taking?”

in which you allow bucky to feel the aftermath of your brazilian wax. (includes dirty talk, praise kink, grinding, voyeurism and exhibitionism, mild cockwarming, mild voyeur!steve.)

do not repost.

—

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

To your pleasant surprise, James Barnes finds you through a sea of music and dancing bodies. His stature stands strong in front of your booth, situated in the back so you can enjoy the mixes playing from the speakers and halfheartedly nurse a drink, but his chiseled features are pulled in concern.

One foot shifts his weight awkwardly while he scratches the back of his neck. Even in the dim lighting of a Friday night party, the depth of his blue eyes are unmistakable. “I mean, you’ve been distant lately. You’ve been skipping training, and I don’t know why. Did I do something—”

Your creased brows at the implication of an issue lift in realization. “Bucky, no,” you immediately dispel, shaking your head at the notion he could ever upset you. “You didn’t do anything. I - I got a lil’ something done, nothing serious—cosmetic, and there’s a recovery period, so to speak. I meant to tell you.”

You aren’t the cryptic type; you are of the oversharing variety. In this case, however, you’re reluctant to be so explicit. The two of you are close friends, borderline best if you’re honest, and he’s a proper gentleman so it’s not that you can’t tell him—it’s more like he’s a sweetheart, a little shy being old school and all that, and you don’t want to offset him.

Regardless of your attempt to preserve his innocence, he frowns and his brows pinch in an effort to discern what cosmetic might be referring to. Confusion and intrigue tilts his head, forming a subconscious pout that convinces you there’s no harm in elaborating.

Resisting a full-blown smile at such a cute expression, you reach for his wrist and scoot over in a silent direction to sit next to you. “A wax,” you tell him when he does, brushing your shoulder against his. The mention has a bodily effect, emphasizing the sensitivity below, and your hips draw backward to spread your thighs for better comfort on the leather cushion. “It was a Brazilian, and it’s still tender.”

Given he’s a hundred years old but not present for most of it, and the technique wasn’t invented until the late eighties, you still assume he’s caught up enough on pop culture to understand the reference.

“Brazilian,” he mouths, repeating in a louder voice, “A Brazilian—oh, oh!” You can see the gears turning and can’t withhold a giggle as he fully realizes, “That’s… that’s when everything is hairless, right?”

When they say everything, they mean everything; not your first experience but it has been awhile. A thorough waxer and a twenty-five minute appointment later, your lower region has been stripped of hair. While leaving freakishly smooth skin, it also leaves a numblike sensation and mercurial tenderness.

“Yes. I used to get them done when I was a lifeguard some time ago but I stopped,” you explain breezily, “so my recovery time is longer than usual which is, give or take, a few days. Once the soreness completely dissipates, I will be back in training and kicking your ass.”

He laughs a little but it fades into an uncharacteristic quietness. A far away look peaks your curiosity but before you need to ask, he’s suddenly leaning in. After a furtive glance around the other laughing and drinking off-duty agents confirming their attention elsewhere, he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and asks shyly, “Could I… could I see?”

Your jaw just about drops. “You—what?”

What a sight it is to see a deadly assassin—albeit formerly and not at all willingly—blush. His high cheekbones twinge with red. “It’s just, you know, the women in my time, they were all natural—which was, and is, totally fine,” he rambles. “I don’t have a preference either way but I’ve never encountered a—er, uh—”

“Yes. Of course,” you put him out of his misery, an amused smile playing on your lips, which has him sighing in relief. There’s no explanation, reasoning or justification necessary, though you found the display adorable. Your eyes dart around the room as an idea strikes you. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll let you feel it, Sergeant Barnes.”

His eyes widen in shock but darken with excitement. “Are you…?” He nods his head subtly in a gesture between joking and serious.

Rather than respond verbally, you grab his hand and link your fingers outside of his. Your gaze remains on him, peripheral acute on others’ potential wandering eyes. With that mild regard to your surroundings, you guide him underneath the table and your dress; right between your thighs where you’ve forgone panties.

Like that, his rough pads are skating across freshly exfoliated and moisturized skin, soft and vulnerable to the touch. The second contact is made, you watch color reach his hairline; his lips parts, lashes blinking to the fullest extent. “O - oh,” he whispers, tentativeness solidifying into full-blown fascination as his hand moves of his own accord, a single palm cupping the entirety of your mound. “Oh, my God?”

“Right?” you say in the exhale after a laugh, expecting him to relinquish once his curiosity is sated—but he doesn’t.

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pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

–

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

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kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga​​ ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

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