abbiedail
20 years old
183 posts
Latest Posts by abbiedail
cw: dub-con
thinking about gynecologist! simon who is a pervert. you've always come to him with your mother, but this time, she couldn't, so you're alone here.
a pretty, sweet, polite, and innocent girl who's unaware and uneducated about sex.
as soon as he sees you alone, a huge smirk creeps its way up his face. it's his lucky day today.
"i see you're alone today, y/n" he asks, raising his eyebrows as he comes in, locking the door behind him. tightly.
"oh-uh, um, mr-dr. riley, yeah, i-my mom was busy so i had to come-come by myself"
"oh. don't worry. i'll take good care of you, y/n"
you smile, not knowing what exactly he means by taking good care
"okay-okay, dr.riley"
you sit on the chair across from him, and he fills out your details on the doctor's form. he can't contain his excitement, the nerves evident on his face, as well as between his legs, where he feels his cock thickening at the thought of your tight, virgin cunt.
and of course, you were a virgin.
"so, we'll begin by having you on the chair miss. y/n, please take off your clothes"
you gulped down, standing up and grabbing the hem of your shirt, pulling it off your head. he stood in front of you, licking his lips as you let go of the jeans, tight jeans you were wearing, and stood there in your white bra and panties.
"take off those too, please"
you took them off too, slowly, and threw them beside you, now fully naked and standing in front of him.
simon was breathless. he was having trouble containing himself, and he wanted to bend you over at some surface and have his way with you, push his fat cock in your tight, tight pussy, and fuck you bloody raw.
maybe he will.
. . .
you all can tell me if you like this one! i wanted to do a full-ass smut scene, but wanted to see if you all would like this first! reblog, please!
Do you like dragons?
Do you want to create your own?
Get you a guy with thighs bigger than yours.
- Warning: Gender-neutral reader.
- Characters: König.
- Summary: Thick thighs do not save lives.
- Note: This came about because I was just talking crazy in the dms with a mutual. I originally wasn't going to ever let this see the light of day, but then I decided, why the hell not? If I get smacked with delayed embarrassment, I'll just delete. Yeah, I know this isn't what I usually write and post, but oh well. Anyways, after this, we will be back to our regular scheduled content shortly. Oh, and sorry for minor mistakes, I wrote this like at midnight.
. . .
You decided to put a movie on. Just for a distraction. After about an hour into the movie, the leather couch got a bit uncomfortable since it stuck to your skin. So you slunk down to the floor, bringing a pillow or two down with you to use in case extra comfort was needed. The movie was beginning to lose your attention, but you still watched the screen attentively as if you were still focused on the film's plot.
What ended up catching your attention, was the slight shifting couch. Well, slight probably wasn't the correct word, as the movement was anything but light. It was safe to assume the shifting was from a guy who was well over 200 Ibs and a few inches short of 7 ft, although you didn't know the exact numbers because you never wanted to ask König outright.
It was easier to hear the movement, as the large figure scoot a few inches over. Instead of sitting beside you like he was a few seconds earlier, he had not so discreetly moved to take your vacant spot and sit directly behind you. He tried to stay quiet, he really did, but it wasn't so easy for him given his size. At the very least, he treaded carefully, not bumping your back once with his legs or accidentally knocking the back of your skull with his kneecaps.
You didn't move, but your eyes slowly glanced downward, where you could see the tip of his boots. Custom made, as most department stores didn't carry anything in his size. Most articles of clothing he had were custom-made or bought in special stores, save for that odd black diy mask he often wore over his head like a hood to hide himself from the world. Too afraid to lean back and accidentally make contact and disturb this fragile peace, you remain still despite the slight ache in your lower back that make you want to lean back and stretch. But you don't. All you could do was try to revert your attention back to the movie and not think any unholy thoughts, that is, until you heard more movement.
To not bump his knees against you, Konig spread his legs a bit and leaned down. The edges of his homemade cloth mask brushed against your back as you stiffened up, and you could make out the shape of his head beside yours as he whispered, "Do you, uh, want some...?"
Yes. "What???"
"Popcorn? Do you want some popcorn...??"
Oh.
After deciding whether or not you'd accept his offer, silence ensued, only fueled by the movie playing on the television. You weren't gonna lie, you have no idea what the hell was going on in the story anymore. A solid minute passed when he spoke again, sounding just as unsure as the first time. He spoke, as if whatever thoughts he had on his mind earlier where left to simmer for long enough.
"Scheiße. Sorry, should I have not moved here...? You can still lean back if you want?"
"Oh, okay... I, um, I'll do that."
Your back was starting to ache a little from sitting up without support, so, feeling just as awkward as he was feeling, you leaned your back against the couch. Instantly, as soon as you did that, your peripheral vision was covered by his knees and part of his legs. The movie was pretty much pointless now, as you were currently wondering whether you should thank whatever gods existed or curse them for the fact that König did not have shorts on. Even without shorts and with specially fitted cargo pants, they could not conceal the insane bulk of his legs. Especially his thighs. Good lord. The two pillows you brought down before from the couch were essentially useless now because on each side of your head were his limbs that rivaled the best of My Pillow.
Think of something else, anything else, is what you tried to tell yourself.
That idea would go out the window as soon as you felt something in your hair. Carefully twisting a few strands, you felt some thick and calloused fingers gently try and feel the texture of your hair. But it lasted only for a brief second, as he immediately pulled his hands away and murmured a tiny bit louder from his whisper earlier, "Ah, sorry, I should've asked first. I should not have done that. I am sorry––"
"It's okay, I... don't mind." You shrugged it off, and much to your surprise and contentment, he continued.
The first few seconds had a bit more hesitancy, but as time ticked by, seconds turned to minutes, his boldness increased. It started with his large hands carefully feeling the texture of your hair, then it became slow brush strokes as his thick fingers ever-so-carefully untangled knots in your stands of hair. Until eventually it escalated, and he gathered the courage to do something so bold as to scratch your skull. He could easily take your entire face in one hand and crush your skull, but he didn't. There was no sign of any such roughness. Instead, his fingers and nails continued to comb through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. At first when he did this, he paused, and waited for any objections or signals of a negative reaction, but after no such thing, he continued and seemed pleased.
It was after about five-minutes and heavy mental debating in your mind that you decided to suck it up and go for it. What's the worst that could happen? Honestly, you didn't even expect to make it this far.
So, after taking in a breath, you let your head fall to the side. It wasn't like those romantic scenes where you watch the character lean their head against a love interest's shoulder. Oh no, you were skipping that part, your ear landed right on his thigh. Which was probably due to the cushion you placed underneath you on the floor that elevated you a few extra inches, or else you might've missed. In that moment, right as the side of your head landed on its intended target, you felt him freeze. His fingers stopping, nails still on your scalp. A second passed, then two, then three, like time froze.
You were almost tempted to pry yourself off and apologize, but you really didn't want to. But you had to ask. "Is this alright...?"
"J-Ja... I mean, yes..."
Your eyes widened, and you were sure you had on some goofy kinda grin but at least you weren't facing him so he couldn't tell. Once you heard his response, your shoulders slumped, relieved of tension you didn't even know you were carrying.
Even with your head against his thigh that wasn't plush but was still definitely comfortable, you realize you were no better than a man as you resisted the urge to just reach out and squeeze his other thigh that had gotten closer without you even realizing it. You had to dig your nails into your knee to prevent yourself from acting on impulse.
It was definitely almost pure muscle from what you could tell with your head on one of them. Firm but somehow still soft. Thick thighs, in fact, do not save lives, because these thighs have ended who knows how many between them in finishing moves on the battlefield. Lucky bastards. Trying your luck agian, you place a shaky hand on his other thigh, but he didn't react. A good sign? Possibly?
Forget goth gfs and thick plush thighs, apparently giant anxious austrian soldiers with thighs as thick as tree trunks and strong enough to obliterate skulls like melons were the new fad.
Movie totally forgotten, your vision was entirely covered when König leaned down a bit from his spot on the couch and you tilted your head to look up and meet his gaze. The masked man stared at you, his blue eyes peering down at you through the two small slits cut into his mask for his eyes to see. His mask partially dangled, but not fully, so not revealing himself to you. When your gaze traveled away, abruptly his thighs got closer, squishing your cheeks and the sides of your face but not enough to hurt. Just a bit of pressure to get you to look up again.
Oh god.
There was literally no space between your face and his legs anymore, and your arms instinctively went to the outer side of his thighs to try and pry them apart a bit. You didn't try much, maybe because you enjoyed it or because you didn't exactly have strength strong enough to rival his, so all you could do was clutch the pockets of his cargo pants that were just above his knees, your nails digging in softly just to get a quick feel.
Once he saw he had your attention again after he applied a bit of pressure, he cocked his head to the side and continued to look down at you through half-lidded eyes darkened by the shadow of his hood. Then he spoke, but this time with no apprehension in his quiet tone.
"You do know I've ruined others that were in a similar position to what you are in right now?"
Dark&Wild (4) When You Realized No One Was Coming To Save You
You are an interpreter for international idols, but you soon realized their lavish lifestyle came at a cost, and somehow you became the price. The man who came to collect had a special kind of vendetta, and you, so foolishly, sparked his interest.
Sorry for the delay, I was on my last edit and literally that night I tested positive for C0VlD :') but I'm back now and feeling a lot better
yandere loan shark!Yoongi x blind!reader x bodyguard!Jungkook x idol singer!Jimin x idol rapper!Namjoon x idol singer!Taehyung x detective!Hoseok x detective!Seokjin
TW: 18+ only, violence, guns, hostage, dubcon/noncon, reader manipulation, mind break, drugging, blowjob, reader is blinded before events that take place in the story, Jimin is an addict, Yoongi is a sadist
---
Namjoon laid sprawled out on his bed, a pen twirling between his fingers, as you listened to his unfinished songs. He was always impressed at how you could pick up even the slightest changes in the melody. Tonight was no different, Joon was working on a couple of different beats, rapping over the high and punchy part of the melody, his deep voice acting as such a unique contrast. He’s repeated the same bars so many times, you start to whisper the last word of each bar with him.
“Cute.”
“Hmm?”
“Last show is tomorrow,” he grunts, scribbling lyrics down in his notebook.
You hum, “What’s wrong? You don’t sound happy about it.”
“You know how everyone is so excited for tour to end, but I...” he pauses, “can’t help but start feeling sentimental. This show could be our last…ever.”
“Hmm, yeah, but I doubt it,” you laugh, “If that song is going to be your next release, you’re going to have another amazing tour to look forward to.”
“Thanks,” Namjoon hesitates. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” he asks accusingly.
You snort, “Nah. Whatever makes people stars, you’ve always had it. You’re that good, Joon,” you smile.
Namjoon closes his laptop, taking a seat next to you on his couch instead. He stretches out, arm lying over you. You lean into each other, not for anything other than comfort. It’s late, and you both should be tired, but jitters were always too high the night before a concert, and as neither of you liked using pharmaceutical or even herbal means to find respite, you relaxed with each other.
His finger ticks and touches your cheek, staying, arm pulling you in. “You’re being sweet,” Namjoon says, not fully convinced, “Jimin finally confess his undying feelings for you?”
You laugh, “Yeah right.” Jimin is probably holed up with a groupie as you speak. “I guess I am just feeling sentimental.” You tease, cuddling into his side.
Namjoon hums the melody in his head, fingers tapping on his cell, working through more lyrics. Having your warmth by his side relaxed him enough to work through the complicated rhyme schemes even on nights likes these. He would never admit it, but you were his muse.
“If that next tour does happen, I think…I’ll finally have enough,” you whisper, hopeful. Your quiet elation does not go unnoticed by Joon.
“I could write you a check for what you’re missing tonight, if you would just let me-”
“I want to earn the money on my own.”
“I want to earn the money on my own,” Joon teases at the same time, repeating the line you always say when he offers. You hit him playfully. “I know, but you’re so close! And then you’ll finally be able to see us perform!” Namjoon gets excited for you at the thought.
You laugh, leaning your chin on his chest. You wish you could see his face when you look up. “I would love that. But you also know I can’t do that.”
Namjoon sighs, you were too prideful of a woman. He couldn’t help but be enamored, it was one attribute in long list of things about you that annoyed him and made him admire you. But Namjoon had some tricks up his sleeves, you deserved a couple of “bonuses,” especially after such a successful tour, and especially because Namjoon couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t use some of his newly acquired wealth at his disposal to help out a friend.
That is where your memory of that night ends, you fell asleep against him, lulled by his soft humming, feeling safe in his arms. But your dream kept going…
“Once you get your sight back, what did you want to see first?” Namjoon asks.
You think. “I want to call my little sister, see what she looks like now,” you smile sadly.
“It will happen,” Namjoon holds you tighter. You nod.
“Is it conceited that I want to see what I look like now too?” you laugh into his embrace. “Actually see how my makeup looks like…see how bad I’ve been doing it all these years,” you giggle.
“No. Y/n...you’re beautiful.”
You laugh again, softer this time in disbelief. “Okay, now you are trying to make me feel better.”
His other hand moves from the couch to your thigh, surprising you. Namjoon shifts himself against you, head moving closer until you feel something soft against your lips-
You flinch, awake.
Yoongi’s hand pulls away from your mouth. “Good morning, little mouse.”
Sixty-three meals you’ve eaten alone in this room.
That meant it was twenty-one days without anyone to talk to, without sunlight, without a proper bath...
“Mr. Min?”
WHEN YOU REALIZED NO ONE WAS COMING TO SAVE YOU
“He says he’s honored that you came on short notice, Thailand welcomes you.”
‘Who is this man who thinks he speaks for an entire country?’ you think, already annoyed. No matter how upset you are, you are a professional. You keep the emotion out of your voice, translating exactly what was being said.
Yoongi grunts, walking with you loosely holding his elbow. “You’re not going to say anything back?”
You’re met with silence.
‘Ugh,’ you suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Translating for Yoongi was worlds apart from the charismatic idols.
‘Whatever,’ this is not a broadcast appearance, you didn’t have to impress anyone, especially not Mr. Min and his accomplices.
You listen to the stranger speak about the expansion of his establishments, how grateful he is for Yoongi’s loan, and his plans to open more locations across Thailand. You translate with minimum enthusiasm, quite the contrast to this stranger’s cloying excitement.
“Each new location will meet your requirements for trade,” you say in a monotone voice, ready to get this over with.
You walk through another room and are immediately assaulted with the thick smell of smoke, you grip his arm tighter. “And the border issues?” Yoongi asks.
“It’s been taken care of. You have the support of-” you swallow, stuttering while translating the man’s words, “-the Prime Minister.”
You hear the scrape of chairs and Yoongi abandons you, pulling out his own chair and taking a seat. You reach out for him until your fingers graze the familiar material of his jacket, holding onto his shoulder. His hand lands on top of yours squeezing in Morse code. Not only does his hand never leave yours, he interlaces your digits together.
You hear glass clinking together, the pour of alcohol while the men drink. “A few of my men will stay here to make sure the operation goes smoothly during our transition.”
“Jeon?”
“Just translate, girl.”
Even if you were angry, hated him, wanted to grab whatever bottle was on the table and smash it across Yoongi’s head, you were always the professional. You repeat his words in Thai, waiting for the man’s response.
“He says of course, great idea,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Hold it.”
“I can’t-”
“You will regret it if you don’t shut up and just translate.”
The man looks between the both of you exchanging tense words, noticing Yoongi’s growing annoyance. “Is um everything okay?” he asks in Thai. “I have to go to the bathroom,” you answer him in Thai.
“What did you just tell him,” Yoongi’s tone changes only slightly, but enough for you to know he’s furious with you.
“Oh! Yes, my men can escort you there,” he stands up, snapping his fingers to hurry his men to move. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your own.
“He says his men can take me to the bathroom,” you translate, feeling triumphant. Just get away from him, if there is even a one percent chance of escape, take it, y/n! C’mon, Yoongi should have known, really, that you would never go along with his plans…
Yoongi has a choice to make and very little time. He could tell Jungkook to go with you, one of the few men Yoongi trusted would be able to handle you without causing a commotion, but Jungkook was also one of the few men Yoongi trusted with his life, Yoongi needs him by his side.
Yoongi’s paranoia, which only grew stronger and vindicated the more powerful he became, was not going to let his most loyal man follow after a belligerent blind girl.
And Yoongi’s reputation is on the line. If he loses his temper and starts fighting with you how would that look? Yoongi has to tread lightly, he has to remain in charge.
He looks over to Choi, a young and ambitious recruit looking to prove himself to the man in charge. All Yoongi has to do is tilt his head and the man rushes towards your side along with a hesitant bar employee.
This establishment was not only a popular tourist bar but provided an ideal cover for moving money in and out of the country, a way for some notable politicians to embezzle their finances into offshore accounts controlled by Yoongi’s company. If you had the connections like Yoongi, it all became a pretty efficient operation.
Yoongi was building an empire and a little blind mouse wasn’t going to scurry her way in the middle of it and scare away the elephants in the room.
“You have five minutes.”
You will regret this.
---
“What’s this place called?” you ask in Thai.
“Moonlight Blue.”
You feel something sharp against your side and a man speaking in Korean to keep quiet and keep moving. The bartender brings you to the bathroom, wearily offering you instructions, surprised when Yoongi’s man follows you inside. He could only assume they were being overprotective of you because you were a woman.
“Can I not get any privacy at all?” you hiss.
“Don’t act like you aren’t up to something.”
“What am I going to do, huh?” you wave your hands dramatically in front of your face.
You hear the cock of a gun. You’ve lost count at how many times you’ve heard it since being taken. “Use the bathroom or I will shoot a hole in your head.”
“Shoot me,” you reply, knowing him killing you would go directly against what Mr. Min wanted. “You think I want to be here translating? Do it, please, I rather die than have to deal with men like you-”
You’re pushed backward, hitting wall and porcelain. You try to reorient yourself too late, crashing onto the ground, and before you can stand back on your feet, Choi is doing it for you, hitting you hard in the stomach so you double forward, with another hard jab against your cheek.
You inhale sharply, your lungs burning as you suck in air. You must be in a one of the stalls, the way the walls feel like they are closing in on you, the way Yoongi’s man shoves you into a corner, his hand squeezing your wind pipe.
He lets go, stepping away to close the stall door on you as you gather your bearings, coughing out blood.
“There’s your privacy, Princess.”
You take a shaky step backwards, sitting on the toilet, trying to think, trying not to cry.
As you unzipped your pants, wincing as you touch your stomach, you ask yourself once again, how are you going to get away now?
And you have no answers...
...but you do know the words for taken and person and help in Thai.
...and there was blood dripping from your lip.
You open the door, holding onto the handle for support, covering your name and those three words behind your back.
---
“Is she okay?”
-
You were part of the entourage that moved with JTJ through airports, you remember the dangerous trek through the public to your cars. During their rise to fame and before the company had created a solid security protocol, you would experience what it was like to be overrun by zealous fans, the way they would push and shove you to get to the idols. It’s bad enough for everyone to try to navigate with lights flashing in their faces, but you, walking through unknown and unseen territory, all your other senses overwhelmed by screaming and pulling and shoving, it was terrifying.
The worst that has ever happened to you while working was pulled hair, the uncomfortable feeling of being pressed together like sardines, tripping and shoes crushing your fingers.
The first time it ever happened to you, you went through a full blown panic attack. But back then, you had Namjoon who gave you some water, let you curl up on the floor of their van, rubbed your back and told you to breathe. He apologized for his own fans, told you not to worry, that they’ve all experienced the overwhelming anxiety that comes with stardom. That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to you on the job until-
-
“I tripped, my apologies,” you speak in Thai, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and licking off the blood from the cut where Choi’s knuckles hit.
You stood behind Yoongi again, translating in Korean what was asked and your response to Yoongi.
-
After about the fifth interview in a long shooting day with JTJ, you would start to run on autopilot. Translating took all your energy, and if you didn’t solely focus on each word, you would easily get lost. It happened once during a television interview...
You turned your head to the spot where Namjoon sat beside you and started talking in Tagalog instead of Korean. Due to the hosts and the idols speaking a mixture of English, Korean, and Tagalog, you were interpreting all three and made a silly mistake. You played it off with an apologetic giggle and head scratch and the audience laughed, the idols made fun of you, and you corrected yourself promptly. It became a cute viral moment, and that was that.
You got better at quick translations, it became easier to detach yourself and become like a machine, a well oiled part in the cogs that helped push the idols toward successful endeavor after successful endeavor. You knew how to ‘turn’ yourself off and on when you needed to-
-
“Eighteen mil baht projected,” you repeat in Korean.
“It should triple easily once the other locations are operational.” Yoongi responds and you repeat the phrase in Thai.
You try not to wince as you shift your weight, coughing to hide the pain. You hear happy murmurs, the man rattles on shameless compliments which you translate, remaining stoic, keeping your emotions off, on autopilot. You’ll worry about escape later, right now, you just wish to leave this situation, feeling as suffocated as you were in those crowds, as scared.
---
There is still a metallic taste in your mouth and a throbbing sensation at your temple as you find an empty seat in Yoongi’s plane.
The plane is still escalating when someone unbuckles your seatbelt, pulling you gently to your feet. You can’t help but grimace in pain. It must be the cabin pressure, sitting for so long and having to stretch your muscles as you stand again, you wobble as you’re pulled to the back of the plane.
Jungkook helps you sit down, and when you’re finally settled, you shove his hands away, pushing him in the chest away from you, tired of being manhandled everywhere you go.
Jungkook stumbles back, his eyes going wide, disbelief and anger flashing through his otherwise collected features as he looks to you and then his boss. Yoongi clenches his teeth, holding up his hand for Jungkook to just let it go for now.
You hug your body reflexively, waiting.
“How did you get that cut on your lip?” Yoongi’s deep voice asks.
“I tripped,” you say, repeating what you said before.
Of course Yoongi knows you’re lying. Choi had told him everything without hesitation. He will deal with him for touching you without Yoongi’s permission, just like how he’ll deal with you for trying to challenge him during a deal. But why are you lying?
“Why are you protecting someone who hurt you-”
“I’m not protecting him,” you huff. You just did not want any attention being brought to that bathroom, at least not until someone can find your message, and hopefully contact the authorities. “What do you want me to say?”
Yoongi catches himself before he starts screaming. “You are a good translator, the deal went smoothly, you’re lucky.”
“Great,” you say mockingly.
There is it, Yoongi thinks. “Things would go so much better for you if you would just listen to me.”
You stay stubbornly quiet. Yoongi sighs, “Is that so hard?”
“Yes,” you grit out.
Yoongi steps in front of you, standing over you. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head upward, studying your bruised face. “Choi shouldn’t have touched you without my permission.”
You stay quiet, wincing when his thumb goes over the cut on your lip.
“You belong to me, y/n. Every drop of blood in your body. Every drop.” The way he whispers his last words sends a chill down your spine. Did he…
Did he know?! “You should rest, we’ll be in Korea soon.”
---
Shoes click on tile flooring, you’re not in the airplane anymore, you’re not anywhere near it. You wake up so tired you can’t lift your head. You realize not only are you being carried, but you can’t move your arms or legs. You grunt, too tired to speak.
The water you drank on the plane right before falling asleep, is that why you can’t move?
You murmur a barely audible no, unable to clench your fist when hands drop your body down. A pillow is put underneath your head, your chin is moved to the side by a light and feathery touch. You fall back asleep despite your overwhelming desire to escape.
-
“You drugged me,” you croak out, voice hoarse from sleeping all day. Is this how it’s going to be now? Are they going to carry you around like a pet that knows one really good party trick?
Yoongi ignores your accusation. “I’m going to be gone for awhile. You’re going to stay here. Plus, I think some time alone might help you adjust to how things will be from now on.”
Your muscles still feel heavy. “You’re going to lock me up like a criminal?”
“You did stab one of my men,” he jabs.
“For how long?” Yoongi stays silent. You swallow, blinking away tears. You push yourself up, sitting. “W-Where are my clothes?!”
“You’re wearing clothes.”
“T-This is nothing!” you pull the sheet over your body higher, realizing you were only wearing underwear and a bra.
“We had to make sure your bruises weren’t serious. You’re not going to be leaving this room, you don’t need anything else. This is your punishment. I did tell you not to try anything earlier, didn’t I?”
You try to control your escalating breathing, unable to comprehend what’s happening. “Mr. Min,” you swallow, “Please-”
“Take this time while I’m away to reflect on how you want to live when you’re in my company,” he says apathetically.
How could he be so cruel? So inhumane?! “Give me clothes, j-just give me clothes.”
Yoongi exhales. “I am being so nice to you, y/n. Do you know what Choi lost because of what he did?” Yoongi yanks your hand away from you, pulling the digits out, his fingers gripping your pinky. He holds it still to emphasize his point while you begin to cry. “So you’re going to sit here like a good little mouse, for however long it takes, in whatever I decide to let you wear, until you can learn to behave,” he hisses.
You inhale one shuddering breath after the other, feeling disgusted by his hold on you. “P-Please don’t do this, p-please give me my clothes, m-my things, you said y-you would if I translated for you!”
He lets you go with a shove. You’re left shaking, listening, hoping for Yoongi to change his mind. “Please!” you cry out.
Yoongi sighs at your crying. “If you want to use that pretty mouth to beg me, I don’t want it in words.”
“What?”
“Don’t act stupid.” He waits. “Goodbye then.”
His foot steps move across the carpet and you fumble out of bed, sheets pulled tight to your body.
Yoongi clears his throat and you orient yourself to face him.
“What do you want me to do?” You shiver, barely holding yourself together, already expecting the worst kind of answer.
Yoongi steps forward slowly, you feel his hand graze your cheek, wiping away your tears, only causing more to fall. His hands land on your shoulders…
Pushing down…
You hold in a sob, shaking even harder as your knees hit soft carpet.
You wanted to tell him wait, slow down, to stop, to scream, but how could you when it was taking all your energy to keep from falling apart, holding down cries threatening to spill out of you.
You wince listening to the rigid clicking of metal as Yoongi undoes his belt buckles.
His fingers touch underneath your chin and you fall backwards, shutting your eyes out of reflex.
Yoongi laughs dryly. “Well I guess Tae was right, those three never touched you, did they?” He crouches down, “Did you want them to?” Yoongi tuts, “Blind girls not their thing, I guess.”
You bite your tongue, resisting the urge to defend yourself, taking in his digs instead, his patronizing tone, shaking even more, not out of fear, but anger.
“You want clothes? Your things from your apartment? Better start answering when I speak to you.”
“Please Mr. Min, give me my things.” You let out shakily, managing to barely hide your detest behind your words.
“Did you want them to?” he repeats
You breathe through your nose. “...n-no.”
“See, how can I trust you if you still won’t be honest with me...or are you just not being honest with yourself?”
Finally having enough, “Taehyung was wrong.” You say, raising your eyebrow, voice low and condescending matching Yoongi’s haughty demeanor.
Yoongi inhales sharply. Interesting. He knew Tae was full of shit.
“They fucked you? Did they pass you around? Or did they stuff you full all at once?”
You clench your jaw at Yoongi’s crude line of questioning, holding the sheet around you tighter. “It was a long time ago,” you whisper.
“Stand up.” You stand up on shaky legs. Yoongi smirks. “Y/n, your life doesn’t have to change, you could be traveling with me, the same as you did before. You just have to let me take care of you. When you listen to me, you get rewarded.”
“Or I could strip you of everything,” he snaps, yanking you forward by your bra.
“O-Okay...okay.” you swallow, putting your hand on his chest to feel his steady heartbeat and give yourself some space.
If that is what it takes to make all this a little less miserable…
Your foreheads touch as you shake against him.
Until you can escape…
You softly touch his lips.
He doesn't kiss you back. Yoongi watches your blank stare when you quickly pull away, studying your features with doubt, you are being surprisingly compliant. Let’s see how far he can push you before your compliance breaks…
He places his hand over yours, lowering it down his body slowly, until it rests on his opened belt buckle.
You fumble with his button and zipper while Yoongi drops his head, lips against your neck, he nudges you with his mouth to test your reaction, his actions so teasingly slow compared to your frantic movements.
You yank his belt swiftly out of his pants loops as he pulls on the sheet between you letting it drop at your feet. Goosebumps bloom against his lips and under his fingertips as he runs his hands down your arms.
Don’t think of his lips on your shoulder, his tongue dragging across your skin, his hands groping your ass…just get this over with, you think, pulling out his hardening cock.
He yanks you closer, strong hands gripping you in a way that is so possessive and passionate your body can’t help but react. His deep grunts pierce through you, shaking the foundations of your steadfast mind, crumbling your thoughts away.
You move to rest on your knees, wanting to stop his unforgiving mouth on your neck, but his arms snake around your waist, holding you up still, moving you backward to press you against the room’s wall while he unclasps your bra away.
Yoongi holds your chin in between his fingers. “Open your mouth for me,” he says, hot and heavy, voice dripping with desire, dominating.
His fingers press down on your tongue to open wider.
“Get on your knees.” he pushes you down as he says it, giving you no other option than to obey.
Replacing his thumb with the tip of his cock on your tongue, he pushes in, your head stuck against the wall and between his hard frame.
Yoongi closes his eyes, leaning his head back, enjoying your warm open mouth. His jaw goes slack as he slowly pulls himself out and back in until you choke, your nails digging into his thighs as he sets a slow steady pace. He grins, looking back down at your compliant body as he thrusts his cock down your throat, your mouth getting more and more sloppy as he forces you to take the full length of him over and over again.
You catch your breath in those small moments he is pulling away from you, concentrating on those opportunities, until he gets closer to his release, his movements sporadic and rougher, filling your throat deeper with short thrusts that leave no room for breathes and scare you, and even when you kick out, and try to pull free, he holds your skull, nails digging into your hair, with no way to move backward or away.
He pulls out completely, leaving you gasping for air. You rest against the wall defeatedly, waiting until he bursts, his cum landing on your face and chest. Yoongi leans his head against the wall, catching his breath. Yet you still feel suffocated by him, his frame still over you as he comes down from release.
You cover your breasts, clenching your jaw tight, so you won’t cry. You feel sticky and dirty and disgusting. “My clothes, my things,” you grunt, voice raspy from his deep thrusts.
Yoongi looks down at your ruined appearance, a sick sense of satisfaction creeping inside him now that he was back to his senses. Momentarily giving into his urges was fun, but you at his feet covered in his cum had been a better outcome than he could have imagined. The things you would do to get what you wanted.
He moves to the door, unlocking it with a key. “You’ll get some of your things.”
When he leaves, you bang your fist into the wall, finally allowing yourself to lose composure. Angry, sad, hurt, alone.
---
Braille books. You smile passing over the ones Namjoon bought you. Your withering plants. You use sink water in your bathroom to rehydrate them. Your albums, you check each raised label you added to the sleeves to make sure every single one was there, but you can’t find your player. Your clothes aren’t here, your jewelry isn’t here. There are your old stuffed animals, some from fans, some from friends. What’s this? You forgot you owned this, a braille typewriter that must have been in the back of your closet. No paper, you frown.
“I want my clothes,” you say when the door opens. There is soft clanging as a tray is deposited and the door shuts quickly before you can say anything else.
Fifteen meals, almost a week here, by yourself, no one to talk to. You were given dresses that weren’t your own. The thin fabric and shortness of them left little to the imagination, especially with your bra gone now too.
Twenty-seven more meals. It’s two weeks. With no contact. You can’t take it. You missed everyone so much it felt like you were being split apart through the center of your chest, torn from the inside out. Every day passed meant less of a chance that people were looking for you. Did anyone give a shit about you anymore?
Pacing around the room, you knew every inch of it now. There was no window, only a toilet and a sink, a bed and a table. You’re tired of reading your books and you can’t listen to your records, you can’t type, every request you ask falls on deaf ears, a door shut in your face no matter what you say or do.
You had nothing to do but slowly lose your mind.
You thought about your life and all the things you took for granted, all the chores you hated to do that you missed now. You thought about friends, you thought about Namjoon and Jimin and Taehyung and what they were doing now. But most of all you thought about killing yourself and all the ways you could accomplish that. But the thing that kept you from falling off the brink of insanity was the thought of killing Yoongi with your bare hands.
---
Every morning you are greeted with bread and water and a different kind of fruit. But this morning, instead of one knock on the door and then a breakfast tray, the door swung open quietly as you slept.
“Good morning, little mouse.”
“Mr. Min?”
His voice was the first voice you heard in twenty-one days. The elation you felt was twisting, turning in the pit of your stomach knowing it was Yoongi who was the cause.
“What are you wearing?”
“The ‘clothes’ you gave me.” You were wearing the rags he called dresses. All of them. One you used as a skirt, and you fashioned three into a top.
“Get up.”
“Why?” you ask, still pulling your feet from under the covers.
“You’re accompanying me to an event. But first, a shower.”
A proper shower? Not cleaning yourself in that bathroom sink…
You hold your hand out.
-
You could stay under the showerhead all day, it feels so good. This bathroom was three times the size as yours, warm, inviting. The steam hugged your body, the cascading water washed away your tears, the dirtiness you still felt inside you that couldn’t be scrubbed away.
When you were finally clean and dry, you allowed yourself to smile, hugging the warm plush robe to your body, a far cry from the small worn towels given to you before.
Yoongi gives you your dress for the night, the tiny bag you had left in your hotel that held your makeup, and sits you down in front of the table of food he has been eating while waiting for you.
There’s so much of it, and all so good tasting, you don’t know what to eat first, picking food up with your fingers.
“You can’t act like that when we’re out in public.”
“Yeah, okay,” you dismiss, food still in your mouth. You have the urge to throw the rest at him.
“If you can prove yourself tonight, you can stay in this room instead-” He drinks chilled whisky. “-with me,” he finishes.
You slow down, reaching for only one roll instead of two. “Okay,” you nod, head down. You refused to go back into that room.
---
“You know clothes are supposed to ‘cover’ your body?”
There were so many people around you. Laughing dinner guests, music playing, waiters stopping you every so often, offering you drinks, a party for important people.
“They cover what’s important to me,” he says dismissively. The dress you wore was cut low, very low, showing off your back. At least the train was long, but difficult to walk in…difficult to escape in…
You held onto Yoongi’s arm as he spoke to people. They all spoke Korean, there was nothing for you to really do except be annoyed, listening to small talk that meant nothing to you.
“What are we doing here?”
“Enjoying the night.”
You repress the urge to scoff. Being locked alone in silence for so long to this…dealing with the background chatter all around you was not easy, and was not fun. Your head hurt from the noise, your feet hurt from wearing heels you were not used to. The thing that surprisingly did not hurt right now was your heart, what hurt you the most when you were locked in, thinking of all your loved ones.
You were too preoccupied now, curiously listening to every conversation in the vicinity. It was mostly dumb shallow small talk, but it was infinitely more entertaining than talking to yourself.
Yoongi’s arm snakes around your waist.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
“Kiss me.”
“What?!”
“Kiss me now, if don’t want to end up back in that room for another month…and make it convincing,” he whispers.
What is this? Is he trying to piss off an ex? This is so ridiculous, this is what he wanted you for? To pretend to be his girlfriend at a party? How pathetic. But the thought of being locked up again-
You put your arms around his neck, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek.
“That’s not-”
“You said make it convincing,” you whisper, hand moving to his other cheek, tilting his head towards yours. You press your lips against his softly, then more forcefully until he’s moving his mouth against yours, mirroring your actions.
You fake a smile. “Happy?” you whisper in a biting tone, breaking the spell.
But Yoongi’s not ready to end the act, pulling you back in with his hand against your neck, giving you one last shameless kiss, drawn out, with tongue, turning your legs to jello.
He moves you through the party again, disappearing into the crowd. “See, she’s fine, I guess,” Taehyung says, watching as you move further away, sipping on his drink to lessen the shock.
Namjoon downs the rest of his champagne. “She’s not fine,” he whispers. There’s too many people around them, all itching to be the next to speak to the trio. Jimin is taking pictures, already buzzed on alcohol, laughing too loudly at his own jokes, not a care in the world, especially not about the girl who sacrificed her life for his. ‘Can he not be a fucking self-centered ass for one night?’ Namjoon thinks. “I’m going to talk to her-”
Taehyung pulls Namjoon back. “Are you crazy? He could ruin all our careers-”
“Mr. Kim?” Both Namjoon and Taehyung turn to the excited industry professional speaking. “Oh, Mr. Kim Namjoon, I wanted to introduce myself, I’m-” Taehyung pats Namjoon on the back, giving him a look that says, ‘See? You’ll never get to them without causing a scene.’
You rest your head on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Tired? I thought you would be excited to get out for the night?”
“I’m fine,” you offer him a fake smile, lying.
“Mr. Min, this is for you,” a man speaks to him, handing him a large purse. Yoongi nods, putting it on your shoulder, the bag is so heavy the strap digs into your shoulder. He pulls off his jacket, putting it around your shoulders to further conceal the bag, but not before adjusting your dress, hands raking over your exposed cleavage.
“What’s in the bag?” you mumble, your body heating up.
He holds you close, lips against your cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Wait, did you just turn me into a drug mule?” You hold onto his forearms, nails tightly pressed into his skin. He matches your aggressiveness, twisting your arm and pulling you close so no one notices. “You want me to be honest with you? Then you be honest with me,” you argue.
“It’s not drugs. Did you forget who I am? My business?”
“Money-”
“Not money, not really. Hard drives.”
“Hard drives?” you stutter.
“Yes.”
“What’s on them?”
Yoongi sighs, letting you go. “A few digital wallets, some videos. Sometimes, secrets make the best collateral.”
What kind of secrets could be worth so much? “Secrets…like a dating scandal?” you think out loud.
“Clever little mouse. Not this time, no. You know there are certain establishments men sometimes like to…indulge in? Parlors? We have one bugged.”
“So these are bad men...”
Yoongi smirks, finding your righteousness amusing. “Yes, they are.”
You nod in understanding, gripping the purse strap. Yoongi lays his hands on your hips. It’s like he always has to touch you, feel you, make sure you’re there with him, even though he is the one who can see you and you can’t.
He’s always touching, like now, running his hands across your curves, thumb under the fabric of your dress to caress your skin, holding you like a lover would, and you can’t push away, tell him no, and worst of all, you’re body is becoming accustomed to his hands, used to his touches. It should revolt you…he should…but he doesn’t, and that makes you feel disgusted with yourself.
You’re in a room full of people, and Yoongi is the only person you know. It is an ironic cruelty to feel safer in his arms here.
You lean against him, unable to concentrate on anything else other than his hands. You should scream, you should kick him and run away. But how many secrets of yours did he hold? What would his hands do to you, if you tried to escape?
You can’t stand it, the way he makes you feel. “H-How much longer?”
“Do you want to go home?”
More than anything, that’s what you want, but the home you are thinking of is not where he is referring. You nod against his chest.
“Y/n!”
You lift your head abruptly. Did someone call your name?
Yoongi drapes his arm around you, leading you away.
You heard it again! Your name spoken so clearly through the chatter of people. You try to slow your pace, but Yoongi’s hold on you is too strong. Your heartbeat pounds through your chest as you try to hear it again, just to be certain. But you never heard it, the ghost crying out to you, Namjoon might as well have been a figment of your imagination.
“What’s wrong?”
You wait for valet to bring Yoongi’s car. Your heart rate won’t go down, you felt rattled still, sure you heard your name. “What was the reason for that celebration?”
“A slew of rich people with too much time on their hands, they come up with a different reason every weekend to hold one of those things. Today it’s a charity so they can use their philanthropy to make themselves feel better than the rest of us, tomorrow it’s a premier party of some sort. Why?”
“Curious, I guess-”
“Yoongi!”
“We were just leaving. Right, y/n?”
“A quick smoke then?” Taehyung holds out a cigarette for Yoongi, hoping to entice him. Yoongi nods, taking it.
Taehyung just wanted to make sure you were okay, see you up close so he could convince Namjoon to cool it, the rapper was going to send himself into an early grave if he did not stop blaming himself for what happened to you. But one look at your wide shell-shocked eyes, the fear and hope and pain he saw etched across your features, and Taehyung knew he had made a terrible mistake. He could lie to Namjoon and Jimin, but he couldn’t lie to himself.
“T-Tae?” you whisper in disbelief, holding out your hand, which Yoongi grabbed promptly, shutting down any physical touch from the idol singer.
Taehyung swallowed, saying your name so softly you wanted to burst into tears, if Yoongi’s hand denting into your wrist did not remind you of the snake wrapped around you, ready to strike if you did something wrong.
“A-Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, knowing deep down you weren’t but hoping desperately you would prove him wrong.
“She’s fine,” Yoongi answers for you, taking a long inhale of his cigarette, his other arm still draped around you, holding you firmly. “Didn’t she look like she was having a good time?”
Taehyung nods stiffly. You say his name again, your voice breaking, so tiny and full of emotion Taehyung feels his chest clench and his stomach turn.
“I’ll check in on you again, to make sure you’re okay, so don’t worry,” Taehyung whispers hurriedly, noticing Yoongi’s vehicle approaching.
“Oh Tae, you don’t need to act like the good guy in front of her, she already knows,” Yoongi says dryly, flicking his cigarette butt on the ground.
Taehyung looks to the ground, unable to meet Yoongi’s eyes for too long, scared of the loan shark. Yoongi pulls your stiff body away, into the back seat of his car with him.
Taehyung watches as his driver pulls away. Taehyung pulls out another cigarette to calm his nerves. Why would you kiss Yoongi like that, hold him like that, and act so terrified now?! Whatever Yoongi was doing, was much more calculated than Taehyung ever thought possible. But Taehyung knew for certain, that there would be no convincing Namjoon now.
---
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter: New Life (Update Goal: 250 notes)
Regarding the update goal, I am just trying something different to help engagement, I was hoping it would encourage reblogs lol but I love your comments as well, very cute. Yay and thank you to my readers! Boo to those who like and then unlike once I update, that's a good way to get blocked, a warning.
“That was fucking terrifying! Holy shit!”
pierro as a husband gives me such hades vibes. like yes he is terrifying and powerful and would kill you with no hesitation, but he loves his wife 🥺
Neon Pink Shoelaces $12.00
For you, Mr. President.
Laces are 58 inches long. 85% polyester and 15% cotton.
G-dragon fluff Drabble pleaseeee + no specification
a/n: god i forgot how much i love writing for jiyong PLS - ruby
✵ gn!reader, baking together, established relationship, winter vibes but no holiday specified!
Jiyong’s lips catch yours the moment you turn from the counter, tasting like chocolate chips from stolen bites of cookie dough. Your flour-caked hands leave palm prints on his dark shirt, but he merely pulls you closer with a grin, chest expanding beneath your touch with a stifled laugh.
“You--…” He tries to silence you with a kiss, but you persist. “Need to stop… Eating.. The cookie… dough.” The words come out in a staccato between pecks, your mouth curling into a knowing smirk when he huffs in response. “Or else I won’t be able to make these cookies you said you’d die without.”
When he pulls away to reply with a snarky retort, you take the opportunity to snake your way out of his grip, barely escaping his sticky, sugary fingers as they attempt to latch onto the tie of your apron. The neatly tucked bow unravels, but you sacrifice the fabric and reach for the bowl of cookie dough while Jiyong growls playfully behind you.
“Baby…” He whines, as you hold the bowl above your head with both hands. “Hand it over!”
You giggle before clearing your throat, forcing your expression into feigned determination. “Over my dead body,” you state, raising your chin. The kitchen sits in silence for a moment, two, and then Jiyong has that look; eyes thinned, dark pupils sparkling.
You’ve been chased by him enough to recognize his familiar stance, and you barely take off before he does, the sound of his socks sliding against the tile filling your ears seconds later.
-
❅ snowy sunday drabbles ❅
you'd think that demons would have a lot more sympathy for the virgin sacrifices and a lot less for the guy holding both of them captive against their will
wait are there really new people joining this site. i thought it was a hoax.
scrolling through the dash when the mutuals are in a new ugly guy phase
Ao3 writers are the strongest Avengers
reblog to make someone bisexual
I desperately need help to pay my rent/account!!
**URGENT: PLEASE READ/SIGNAL BOOST**
Friday, February 25th: Hi everyone, I’m Gemma, a bi, mentally ill disaster, who is in desperate need of help as I'm really struggling to pay my overdrawn account and to pay my rent this month!!
As most of you are already aware from my previous posts, I have been struggling financially these past few months due to my welfare benefit (Universal Credit) being under a review, which is due to my worsening mental/physical health and the UK’s controversial changes to how benefits are assessed and assigned. And at the moment, I'm currently struggling to get by, as my application for Disability (PIP) was declined despite recently being diagnosed with PCOS. And due to Covid, I have been waiting for a DWP health assessment, which is to assess my ability to work, and due to this, my debt from overdue bills is piling up which has caused my account to be overdrawn.
I know this is a huge ask, and I'm completely heartbroken to be asking for help again, but I still desperately need some as I don't have anyone else to turn to, and I'm not due to receive my welfare until the end of the month. Which will be taken by this overdue balance if I can't pay it off!! (My rent is £280 + £176.93)
If anyone could spare any amount to help me, even if it’s just £1/$1/€1, it would literally save my life, and sharing definitely helps just as much as donations. Nobody is obligated in any way to donate if they can’t or don’t want to, I know we’re all struggling right now.
£0/£456.93!!
I miss tumblr's Reblog Balls
Rip to Scaramouche simps we now canonically know that he doesn't have a dick
Some of y'all don't use the "mark for later" button on Archive of Our Own to save your fanfics. And it shows. It shows badly with how many tabs you have open instead.
Me
the best character in pokémon is the klefki from the detective pikachu game who willingly traded government secrets for a juice box
Look at these birbs
what the hell is this in the soda section of walmart
i do not identify as a boy or girl, i identify as a nuisance. an irritant. a fool and a problem
PLEASE DON’T SCROLL
even if you only reblog, that’s enough
1st of February, 2021
i was debating on whether or not i should post this on tumblr but seeing as there haven’t been posts about this yet, here it is. i’m exposing my real location and nationality but it doesn’t matter.
if you have been active on twitter, you may already know #savemyanmar is trending. long story short, there has been a military coup. several nations have released statements but i want to share insight on what’s happening in the country.
memes about a coup have been circulating around for a couple days and when i slept at 2 am last night, we were still under the rule of the National League for Democracy (NLD). while they are not technically democratic, they are the closest we’ve got. when my mother woke up at 6 this morning, she was notified that the country was now under the rule of the military.
banks services are no longer available. wifi was cut at around 7-8. some people got wifi again earlier but many got it barely thirty minutes ago. this is bad for businesses especially ones that require international communications. additionally, international students like myself are experiencing anxiety; how do we pay for and attend classes if we’re not sure wifi is a given?
myanmar has a long, complicated history with military governments. the last time the military went into rule was in 1962 and only stopped in 2011, following the 2010 elections. there was a huge protest in 1988 lead by students that resulted in lots of death. during the military junta, resources like rice, water, oil, were scarce. the gist is military rule is bad for us.
all of my followers are not myanmar citizens, i’m sure but as part of the international community, please help us. here is a petition that you can sign (although i’m not sure if that can do much). there may be protests in front of myanmar embassies so look out for those. most of all, please help spread awareness.
the people here are coping with dark humor, primarily in the form of memes but we don’t know how long this rule will last, even though the official statement said only a year. here’s something that pretty much sums up our coping mechanism:
again, even a reblog helps
update :: all telecommunication means will be cut off at 12 am MMT
