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justaaveragereader · 7 months

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10.01 | Frankensteins Monster

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Monster Fucking, Stomach Bulge, Electrostimulation, Size Difference, Man Handling, Unprotected Sex (Wrap It Up), Nipple Play, Clothes Ripping, Oral (F Receiving), Soft Boy Monster Jongho, Spanking, If I Missed Anything Let Me Know 👀..

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT ~ MDNI🔞!!!

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want too, Jongho.” You whisper out as quietly as possible.

“Yes he does! I need to know if it is properly working. And what better way to find out then you my sweet.” Dr. Frankenstein says through a pout while squishing your cheeks.

You bat his hands away from your face, rubbing Jonghos shoulder, trying to give him as much comfort as possible. It was his first time having sex as well…a monster. Dr. Stein felt it was best to run a test on his own creation to see if it was possible. The test? Seeing if the penis he had attached to Jongho could function normally. Hell, it better had worked well, it’s not like Dr. Stein sent you to a cemetery to dig up endless male bodies to decipher which penis would work best.

Jongho was 7 feet tall, 250 pounds of lean muscle, with the most off white blue skin you had seen. Both eyes were two different shades of brown, border lining black, big metal bolts stuck out each side of his neck, he had stitches covering various parts of his body, as none of those pieces belonged to his original body. Visually a terrifying monster to most people, but to you he was the softest thing that rolled off a metal table. Despite not knowing his own strength you had grown to like Jongho. Wanting his monster to “adapt” to what it’s like to be a real human, he decided why not start with a penis. Why? Dr. Stein didn’t even brief you with an answer on it.

“I just want you to fill out this clipboard when you are finished y/n. Tell me how it goes.” Dr. Stein shoved a clipboard with various pages attached to it, some pages had his own scribbled notes on them.

“Wait! You want us to do it..here?” You whispered loudly to Dr. Stein, while Jongho couldn’t speak, a couple grunts here, a couple grunts there. He wasn’t very verbal. Dr. Stein was still in the process of trying to tweak his vocal chords. While he couldn’t speak he was very smart, whatever he lacked in vocals, he made up for it with knowledge, he was highly intelligent.

“This isn’t romantic sex Y/n. This is for science! I will give you both some privacy.” Dr. Stein wiggled his eyebrows at Jongho giving him a firm grasp on his shoulder. Leaving you down in his work area, with a clipboard in your sweaty palms. Your eyes are shooting everywhere, refusing to look at Jongho.

Letting out a small grunt, your eyes lift over to Jongho. Who is slightly smiling while looking at you, his hands flat against the metal slab, dwarfing the piece of metal. You walk closer to him, your hand gripping the clipboard for dear life. You stand between his giant legs. Fiddling with the pen located at the top of the clipboard. Jongho never intimidated you because while he was a monster, who truly didn’t know his own strength. He was always gentle with you, he made you feel like he couldn’t even harm a fly.

“We really don’t have to do this, Jongho. You get a choice too..” you whisper out quietly. Still avoiding eye contact. He slowly raises his hand, grabbing the clipboard out of your hands. Placing it down next to him. Standing up, his body easily towers over yours. Jongho could make anyone feel small. Letting out a small grunt, he places a cold finger under your chin, tilting your head up so you could look at him. Your body is littered with goosebumps. For a man of few words he definitely knew what he was doing, that part of his brain definitely was intact. Your hands are tight in fists, nerves wracking your whole body. You don’t know if you were excited or full of nervousness. You’d be lying though if you said that the height difference between you both didn’t make your lower stomach tight.

Flashing you his signature gummy smile he grabs one of your hands that is tightly wrapped in a fist, causing your body to immediately relax at his cold touch. He steps closer to you, cocking your head back as far as it could do, the look in his different colored eyes is telling another story. You feel his hard cock crush against your belly. While you dug up the bodies you didn’t help Dr. Stein pick out the body part. Too exhausted from the hard labor you had done but boy oh boy did Dr. Stein pick out a thick one. Why would you expect anything less though? Dr. Stein only strived for the best.

You let out a small gasp at feeling his hardened length against your stomach. His giant hand that dwarfed yours, moves your fist down to his cock, making you feel how hard he actually was. You relaxed your hand, letting your fingers dance along his length, by the first brush of your fingers he jerks his body back slightly. The feeling of your hand on him was enough to make him prematurely cum. Letting out a small breathy grunt, he grabs your hand signaling you to stop touching him. Placing one hand on your waist he turns you around, pushing you down so you’re sitting on the metal slab. Now that you are seated you finally take in the true size difference between the both of you. He was going to break you in half.

You lay back on your arms, parting your legs so Jongho can fit further between them. Taking the invite he stands between your legs, cold fingers running over the swell of your breasts. You shiver slightly at his cold hands. His other hand coming up under your shirt, cold fingertips brushing against your warm skin. Letting out a small groan at the warmth radiating from you. His lips part as his hands travel further and further up your shirt til they meet the bottom of your bra. What he thinks is a small tug on the bra results in him lifting you slightly off the metal slab, your head bumping into his stomach. Huffing and puffing at the contraption that’s holding your chest. Instead of helping him you are too dazed in the way he is manhandling your body.

Like you truly are nothing but a piece of paper to him. Gripping the neck line he rips your shirt right in half, causing you to let out a small chuckle, your hands coming up to run along the chiseled abs underneath his shirt that looks like it’s made out of rags. Your warm hands on his cool skin causes him to buck into you, a loud grunt slipping out his mouth, his hard cock pressed directly into your stomach. Grabbing both sides of your bra he rips it off of your body, your breast falling free. His hand immediately gripping one of your warm breasts causing you to let out a small yelp at the temperature difference. He was addicted to your heat like a moth to a flame.

“Please Jongho…” you whine. Your thighs are trying to rub together but his big body is in the way.

Running his hands through his dark brown locks on his head, his cold hand brushing against the bolt on the side of his neck. Bringing his hand down to brush over your other breast while he still has a grip on the other, his cool hand making your nipple pebble. As his other hand comes down to brush against your other nipple it sends a small shock to your nipple, causing you to let out a loud moan, your bud instantly perking up. Your body jerks slightly against him, making his hard cock dig further into your stomach. You feel it twitch, his cock surely worked.

“Again..” you whimper out pathetically. Jongho was far from dumb, he knew that brushing his hand against his bolt would send a current through him, as he was dead he couldn’t feel it. As to where a warm blooded, pumping heart body would feel the current. Bringing a finger up to his bolted neck he gives it a light tap before pinching your hardened nipple in between his giant fingers, another shock is sent to your nipple causing your back to arch off the cool metal slab once more.

“Jongho!” You yelp out, lifting his other hand off of you he touches the other bolt, bringing it down to your other nipple, sending it a small shock making it pebble up even harder. Your eyes rolling back at the spark. Your hand shoots out to grab his humongous thigh. Nails digging into the material of his pants. Your breathing becomes heavier, eyes growing hooded. With just a couple touches Jongho already has you wrapped around his thick fingers.

Letting out a sound that is very similar to a cocky laugh, he grunts, stepping back so he can pull off the pants you are wearing. You could help him take them off so he doesn’t rip them, but that would take the fun away. Wasting no time he grips the hem of your pants, ripping them clean off your body, his cold hands instantly finding your skin. Running his hands all over your lower body, finding home between the meat of your very warm thighs. Making both of your legs straighten against him, your feet weren’t even close to his head, they landed just under his pecs.

His cold finger runs along your clothed clit, oh he for sure was experienced. That part of his brain was clearly working. His cool finger pushing on the fabric causes it to sandwich between your wet lips, causing you to let out a small whimper. His eyes shooting up at you with the biggest shit eating grin you think you’ve ever seen. His hand brushes against the bolt, bringing his electric charged hand to your cunt. The shock causes your legs to buckle, yet due to his strong grip on your legs, they barely move an inch. Your wet panties cause the shock to be felt all over your wet cunt, the pulsing feeling making your head spin. His thumb brushes his bolt, placing the pad of it directly on your clothes clit, sending the small zap directly to your clit.

Your eyes instantly roll back, your mouth hangs open with no noise coming out. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Your skin is buzzing, your body hairs now standing, while your body is littered with goosebumps. Letting your legs go with his other hand, he slowly places them down so your small legs are hanging on each side of him, opening you up more to him, your body in a full spread eagle position. Gripping the crotch area of your panties he rips them off of your body. The cold air causes your goosebumps to stand even more.

Your wet pussy on full display for him, you looked like you walked off a magazine to him. His brain is short circuiting, you can tell from the sparks that are flying off of the bolts that are pierced on each side of his neck. His cock twitches as the fluorescent lights shine off of your slick that’s covering your cunt. Clearly in a daze, you run your foot under his rag like shirt, the warm sole of your foot on his cold chest, wakens him slightly. Spark from the bolts still flying rapidly but his eyes drift up to your face. A warm smile on your pretty face.

“Hey big boy…are you still with me?” You whisper, a warm smile that warms his cold dead body. Letting out a small grunt, he nods his head. Giant hand gripping his cock to relieve some of the pent up frustration he lets out a deep growl. A noise you’ve never heard him make, it sounds border lining primal. You can clearly see the wet patch from his cock, what exactly liquid that is? You aren’t too sure, yet you don’t seem to care. Licking your lips, you nudge Jongho with your foot.

“Come on Jjong…fuck me please.” You plead to him. The sparks now shoot farther from his body. That nickname always made him feel something. You were working him up on purpose. His hand fully grips the bolt on his neck, sticking out his tongue he touches it, sending an electric charge through it. Confused by his sudden movements, you sit up on your arms, watching him as he falls to his knees. Big shoulders cause your legs to spread even further. What was he..?

“Oh my fucking goddddd!” You instantly moan out, his electric charged tongue was pressed directly against your wet cunt. The shock goes instantly to your clit, but the waves of the current spread out to your whole cunt, making you clench around nothing. Your hands gripping the soft brown locks on his head. Touching his bolt again, he makes direct contact with your clit, the shock sending your head spiraling back, choking out a sob. Tears of pleasure fill your eyes, his other hand grips your breast, pinching your nipple. Between him constantly electric charging his tongue, and him flicking your hardened buds your body is feeling so many sensations at once. His cold tongue on your wet clit, with the shocks of electricity. The mini sparks flying off his neck, that are landing on your thighs.

He’s eating you out like he’s a starved man, he’s on a mission. Flat cold tongue against your warm heat, the temperature difference felt like it was tweaking your nerves. Your legs jerking with each flick of his big tongue, charging his tongue again, he places his whole mouth on your pussy, practically swallowing you whole. Sending a current charge to it all, your body jerking up, legs trying to close yet not being able to, while your toes instantly curl. The shocking feeling instantly sends you into a screaming orgasm. Your hands gripping his hair for dear life while tears pour down your face. Drinking down your essence, he lifts his soaking face off of your red, puffy cunt. Charging his finger one last time, he presses against your clit, giving it once more small shock causing your whole body to spasm, your juices leak out of you once more.

Your chest is heaving up and down, eyes shut tightly, trying to regain all the focus back on your mind. It feels like you are the one now short circuiting. You hear rustling, cracking your eyes open, you see Jongho shimmying out of his pants, trying your best to regain consciousness, you lock eyes with his lower half, wanting to see what is underneath the material of his pants. Just as he gets them low enough a pale blue cock springs out, with stitching similar to his skin running along his lengthened member. His cock, hard as a rock, with various colors on it, dripping a clear fluid? Wanting to make sure it wasn’t embalming fluid you sit up, running your fingers over his member, cock bobbing as you were giving it attention. You rub your thumb over the tip, bringing it up to your nose to smell it. It had no scent…did he fill his balls with water..?

Jongho getting impatient with your light touches trying to figure out what was taking you so long. He moves his hips forward, cock brushing against your bottom lip, licking your bottom lip trying to figure out the clear fluid, smacking your lips to get a taste. Bastard, he did fill Jongho with water. Smoothing your hands over his tight balls, you pump his enormous cock two times, before looking up at Jongho with a small pout on your face.

“Did he fill you with water Jjong? He prepared you just for me.” Jongho throws his head back, letting you pump his hard cock, your small hand not even coming close to fully wrapping around him. Grabbing your hand he pulls you off the metal table, holding you in his arms. He lays down, placing you on top of him. Seating you right below where is cock stands up fully erect, fully ready for attention.

“I’ve never had a cock this big before Jongho..” you whisper out, hands still rubbing alongside of him. A grin takes place once again on his face. Clearly proud that he will be your biggest. Gripping your hand he guides you to get on top, your drooling cunt wavering over his thick cock. Easing the tip into your body, you instantly moan at the pressure of just the tip barely brushing your walls. He’s thick, thick, thick. Your head instantly is thrown back, you ease down on Jongho slowly, thanks to him eating you out earlier it loosened you up perfectly. As your ass comes in contact with his cold legs. He charges his hand, touching the bulge in your lower belly, causing you to let out such a pathetic whimper it makes his cock jump inside you. Your hands tightly gripping his muscular thighs. The ridges from the stitching brushes your wet walls causing you to fall forward, your hands bracing themselves on his muscular chest.

“Oh my fucking god Jongho..” you breathe out. Chest heaving with pleasure, your cunt has his thick cock in a vice grip. His swollen head brushing against your spongy spot with each breath you take. He was wall to wall in your cunt, filling you up deliciously. If you had been looking at him you would’ve been he was holding back all restrain to not bounce you on his cock like you were some sort of fuck toy. He didn’t have hardly any feeling in his body due to no nervous system, but the way his cock could feel all of you was having him walk on a tightrope.

Giving your hips a wiggle, trying to get as comfy as possible you bring your hips up before slowly making your way down. Trying to get a small rhythm going before you lost your mind on his thick cock that was just splitting you open. Mouth hung open with each raise of your hips, throaty moans leave your mouth, your nails raking down Jonghos shirt. Jongho charges one of his hands, bringing it down to rub on your clit, the charge sending you into another dimension. Your body stutters on top of him, falling forward so your chest is against his upper stomach. You could feel the bulge in your stomach, causing you to moan even louder. The spacious area left no sound to the imagination.

“J..Jongho pl-please..” you grunt out with barely any breath. That grin reappearing he places both of his feet on the metal slab, hiking your body up. His hips immediately slamming up into you. Causing your body to jerk like you were a doll. One hand on your hip the other wrapping itself around your throat, keeping your body held up. His thrusts going at an inhumane pace, your eyes instantly fill with tears, your choked out screams are filling the room. Your pussy juices are coating your inner thighs, along with your ass, causing a wet slapping noise to fill the room. Echoing the space, you wouldn’t be shocked if even the outsiders who roam close could hear you. Charging his hand he slaps your ass, your back arching further into the air, the prickly feeling on your skin causes you to grip his wrist that is keeping you upright.

“Fuck..Fuck Jongho.” You stutter out with each slam of his thick cock that’s bullying its way into your warm wet walls, has you losing sanity. Charging his hand again, he slaps your ass once more, causing your body to litter once again with goose bumps, your nails digging into his wrist. Charging that same hand again, he slaps your ass even harder once more, causing a loud crackling noise that’s sparking from his bolts to be heard in the room. The feeling has tears pouring down your face, your body feels like it’s riding cloud nine. He has permanently ruined you for any other man or monster that comes after him. Charging his hand once more, he lets out a loud grunt, his hips hiking you up more, the way he’s bouncing you in the air like you weigh nothing has you practically catching air time. Touching his own cock filling it with electric current when your cunt slams down on him it sends a shock through your whole inner core, up to your brain. Your body instantly gets thrown into an orgasm, your back arching letting out a curdling scream of pleasure.

The electric current flowing from him, with your scream causes the lights to flicker, along with one of them busting, and shattering all over the floor. Jongho is still hammering away into your pulsing cunt, he’s jackhammering you up and down like you are a weightless rag doll that only he can use to get off. His grip on your throat tightens, charging his other hand once more he cups your cunt as he pulls out, shooting his clear cum fluid all over his hand that is cupping your oozing cunt. A loud grunt leaves his throat, causing another light bulb to shatter. The jolts of electricity cause you to succumb to the pleasure, ripping another forceful orgasm. Legs shaking, what’s left of the lights flickering, glass shattering orgasm. Your body instantly falls slack against Jongho, releasing your throat so you flop down on him like a wet doll. The buzzing noise of the currents of electricity in the room are all that’s heard besides your heavy breathing. Jonghos cool, clammy hands come up to cup your face to make sure you are okay.

Giving him a dopey smile, you give his cool lips a quick peck. Before laying your head back down on his chest. His cool fingers run up and down your backside. Eyes starting to get heavy, just as you are about to pass out from exhaustion, you hear a knocking coming from the lair door upstairs.

“The way I heard you screaming, I would say there are no complaints.” Dr. Stein says through a loud chuckle from the other side of the door.

Taglist: @sanhwalvr @abby-grace @petsuccube @maximofftrash @tunaasan @whatudowhennooneseesyou @kyeos4ng @seonghwasslytherin @pearltinyy @glintneon123 @bubblegumbird @araknoid @mingtina @oreoqueen @dani-is-tired @8tinytings @sunwoosbaby @mingiturnip @acetruepunk @alliecoady98 @s-unflowxr @rxnexxi @mixling-blog @staytinyinmybpack

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tainted-liquor · 8 months

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'La Princesa De Mi Corazon⋆˙⟡♡

E42!Miles Morales x Daddy's Girl!BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of smiles ! TWs: Cursing, realistic teenage dates (he didn't spend no 5k cmon now) W/C: 2.4k A/N: This can be read as an autistic reader if u squint rllly hard ! Another lovely request I got!! Enjoy luvs

For as long as you can remember, you've never actually been told the word "no" by your father. When your mother didn't wanna get something for you, you'd just ask your dad! Since you were the youngest and first daughter in your parent's long line of sons, with you having 4 older brothers, there were times when you didn't even have to ask, it was just yours before you could even think about it. Clothes, phones, shoes, makeup, perfume, all of it was yours. You were a daddy's money girl, with everything in the world right at your fingertips. So naturally, you tended to avoid serious relationships with boys due to your insanely high standards that had been curated since birth. Until you met him, Miles.

Miles was the complete opposite of you and your aesthetic. Where you were giddy and childish, he was serious and mature. You possessed everything under the sun in the shade of pink, where he barely had anything besides black and purples in his closet. Originally he didn't fuckin' like you, like, at all. He thought you were a 'spoiled air-headed dressed up money drowned bimbo' due to his experience in 'working' with rich people. They all seemed to act the same way and wanted the exact same thing, money or power.

But that view dropped immediately when he saw you interact with others. You weren't rude, you definitely weren't stupid, and you were the kindest most giving person he had ever seen before. People all in your circle constantly praised you for how sisterly you were, handing out gifts and words of wisdom like candy. Your only 'flaw' was your ignorance, living blind to the world around you due to being so heavily protected by your father. Sure, there was crime everywhere and New York was a walking murderhouse, but you didn't know that!

You were casually talking to one of your best friends Brenna when you bumped into someone, knocking you straight on your ass and causing him to stumble back a little. "I am so so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going!" you empathized as you picked yourself up and immediately offered to help the stranger. He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket as he spoke, his voice quiet and steady as he did. "Oh my bad, It's all good. Just be careful." You gave him a warm smile and a brief nod before setting off again, assuming that would be the last time you two spoke. And damn were you wrong.

The next time you'd see Miles, you were at the mall the following Saturday with a shit ton of bags in your hands. You practically skipped through the concourses of the mall, smiling and giggling with Brenna. You were in a brand new off-white dress and rounded the corner to see Miles waiting for a Cinnabon in line. As soon as you saw the blue and white logo of the bakery, and the smell of sweet sugar and baked goods kissed the tip of your nose, you stopped what you were doing and stood behind the familiar set of twin braids. "Hey, Miles!"

Miles looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening a fraction when he saw over 10 bags on each of your arms. "Yo…what's up with all your bags? You don't feel your circulation gettin' cut off?" he asked with a bewildered expression, "Damn, how much money you spent here?" he gawked. Truth is, you weren't sure. All your dad said was to have fun and he didn't necessarily…give you an amount to spend, he just handed you the card and told you the PIN. "I actually don't know. This has to be a minimum of 600 dollars, Daddy just kinda told me to have fun with it!" You shrugged like that was completely normal.

Miles stared for a minute, analyzing the 20 bags you had in total from various stores. he sighed with a small smirk, shaking his head in disbelief as you sort of merged with his spot in line. Neither of you realized, but you unknowingly recruited Miles in your shenanigans at the mall as soon as you both left the bakery with a series of sweets. You three set off to the nearby sneaker outlet, buying everyone a minimum of 4 pairs of sneakers to match every outfit they'd ever make. If Miles didn't know before, he knew now that you were the gift god when it came to generosity and Daddy's money.

His entire perspective of you changed that day, with you more actively talking his ear off and surprising him with random shit you got with your dad's credit card. He knew then and there that your standards were sky high and anyone who ever fell in love with you would be up for a bullfight ahead of them. He saw how your dad showered you with absolutely anything you asked for, with you even having a real-life princess crown from 2011 plated with morganite and rubies stationed in a plastic case on a high shelf in your room. But as he spent more time hanging out with you or spending time over at your house with your brothers, it hit him like a fucking truck. He knew whoever found themself head-over-heels for the pretty pink princess of her family would be in for a fucking hell of a time, he just never expected it to be HIM.

The day he realized he loved you was just like any other day, with you speeding up to him whenever you saw him. Your usual poofy dress skirt flows behind you like something out of a Disney animation. As soon as he knew to grab you so you didn't send the both of you falling to the ground, he felt a sudden warmth in his face. No, not you smushing your face against his as you gave him a spine-breaking hug, but a new kind of warmth that screamed danger. He suddenly became aware of your perfectly fitting style and the way each of the features on your face harmonized perfectly to create the perfection that is you.

Even though you came from completely different backgrounds, you never ONCE in your life dared say something about his situation. There were nights when he would just watch you as the prowler, skipping through his neighborhood like you didn't hear any of the gunshots, screams, explosions, or see anything wrong at all with where you currently were. It's not that you didn't notice, but you were completely aware that not everyone was as fortunate as you were, so you had no right to look at situations that weren't identical to yours any differently. And despite how "uppity" you looked on the surface, you truly thought of everyone as a new friend.

You, on the other hand, were crushing HARD. On some, you actively got quieter and sometimes just shut the fuck up entirely when Miles was nearby. You knew that you were probably making a mistake by genuinely loving someone so fully in this age of infidelity and communication issues, but you couldn't help it! He was just so pretty and listened to everything you had to say and he never once asked you for anything! Ever! You didn't know how Miles would behave in a relationship, but you damn sure weren't prepared for it.

When Miles asked you out on a date, you were a squealing mess. You threw on a pretty pink dress and quickly threw your goddess braids into a quick bun. When your dad watched as you eagerly checked your outfit in the mirror, he was a little taken aback when you told him that you were going on a date. He gave you a warm smile, telling you to be safe and if he tries anything that he'll blow his fuckin' top off. You laughed at him being so overprotective, calmly explaining to him that Miles wasn't like that at all.

You silently pondered where Miles was planning on taking you. You didn't want your first date to be all fancy, because that made them look like they were trying way too hard. But you also didn't wanna sit in some random diner, either…you didn't know what you wanted. All you did was hope that he paid attention to any of your conversations as you patiently waited on your velvety couch. You immediately perked up at the sound of the doorbell, flying to the door and waiting a couple of seconds before swinging it open.

"Mírate! La princesa de Nueva York! You love your dresses, huh?" He asked with a small smile, bracing himself as you dove straight into his arms. You giggled as you did a small little spin, showcasing the new silk dress. "I was debating on a different babydoll dress I have or this one. This one just felt more fitting!" you shrugged as you closed the front door behind the both of you. Miles had no idea what a babydoll dress was, but he made sure to let you know that you looked stunning in this seashell shade of pink. You follow closely behind Miles, loosely wrapping both of your arms around his left arm as you begin to break down the various types of dresses, and which one was your favorite.

"I didn't even know dresses had names…What's your favorite kind?" He asked with a small amused smile. Not only was this the first time someone had actively listened to you rant about your love of dresses, but he made an effort to even ask what your favorite one was? Lord, he was in for an earful. And he clung to every single word you said like it was the sweetest of melodies. When you finished your long-winded rant regarding pink flowy sundresses, he nodded with a bashful grin. "So a puff-sleeved peasant dress made of chiffon?"

You nodded eagerly as you realized he had been listening to you the entire time. "Yeah! I drew it in my sketchbook a little while back, I think I'll show you when we walk back." You chirped as you slowly began to approach what looked like the most gorgeous candy store of your life. It smelled like heaven and looked just like eye candy. You didn't even get the chance to point before Miles gently guided you through the frosted glass double doors. You beamed as you immediately set off (taking him with you) toward some of the pastries.

You filled up two mini bags with various types of candy, croissants, and two rock candies, one in purple and one in pink. "Miles, what's your favorite candy?" You asked as you scooped gummy sharks into your bag. "Uhh…those sour airhead stripes," he replied as he grabbed two near-frozen sodas from the wide commercial fridge. You got two packs of his favorite candy and slipped it into one of your candy bags, skipping over to him to pay for everything at the counter. You rummaged through your bag for your wallet, looking up to realize Miles already had planted his card in the reader.

"C'mon, this is like, so much stuff! Let me pay!" you insisted as you went to open your wallet. He gave you a firm glare, zipping your entire wallet closed and stuffing it back in your bag. "You good? I'm taking YOU on a date, not the other way around" he asked as you intertwined your hand with his, allowing him to lead you back out of the candy store. You played back his words in your mind, processing each syllable and just how much it meant to you. You giggled to yourself as Miles told you that you were gonna go rollerskating before he took you back home!

There was no actual problem, you loved the idea of going skating with Miles! The issue was…you couldn't skate. Miles laughed loudly as he watched you attempt to meet him on the rink, trying not to bust your ass on the soft and neon carpet. You froze in complete terror, holding both arms out and vaguely resembling a confused cat with its ears back. Miles glided over to you between a fit of giggles, holding out his hand for you to hold onto.

You firmly grasped his hand, holding on for dear life as he slowly guided you to the shiny hardwood floors of the rink. "Miles I'm gonna fucking cry," you state, wide-eyed and afraid as your legs seem to weaken as he gently pushes you forward. "Alright, hold on mama. I gotcha, just drag your legs forward," he instructs as he glides forward like clockwork. He takes both of your hands within his, laughing as you fight back the urge to scream as you look down at the ground. "And here I thought you loved skating!" he laughed.

"I do! I swear I do! But I can't…oh my god I'm gonna faint…" you sighed as you wrapped both arms firmly around his torso, squeezing him like your life depended on it. "Alright, c'mon. Te ayudaré." he shrugs as he propels the both of you forward as slow as he knows how to. It was amazing, and your face lit up when you realized how fun it was to 'rollerskate'. You hadn't realized when, but you naturally picked up the rhythm of Miles's legs, adapting his style of skating slowly but surely. And when you realized you weren't even holding on to him anymore, your face lit up brighter than any star in the world.

When you packed everything up and returned both of your skates, you were giggling like a child and buzzed off nothing but sugar. You wildly explained how much fun you had and how you felt like a flying fairy on the skating rink, thanking Miles over and over for being so fun. He dropped you off at your house, holding a brief conversation with your parents as you skipped upstairs to find your sketchbook. You eagerly showed him the plethora of dresses you had cooked up in your head, explaining every one of them.

"Damn, you really are a princess huh?" He chuckled as you flipped through the many beta designs of dresses comparable to that of Princess Diana's. "I'll just have to get you one of these next time then huh? Tú eres la Princesa de mi corazon." he chuckled as you waved goodbye. You didn't know what he was saying, but you couldn't help but beam at the affectionate energy radiating from his words. He gave a formal goodbye to your parents before disappearing as swiftly as he arrived.

"I like that kid. He's very proper." You heard your mother exclaim. "Will he be over more often?"

You nodded eagerly as you ran up to your room to scream more into your pillow.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x you

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parvulous-writings · 4 months

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no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes: if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

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reverphic · 1 month

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♡⠀⠀syn. in which your beloved spends his time pampering you in the boutique, in hopes of spending his time only for you. ♡⠀⠀cw. fic is sfw, overall pure fluff. wc 1.1k, fem!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

fluorescent lights radiate the room in a gentle ether, lucent dresses lavished every crevice of the boutique, rivulets of jewels dribble down the fabrics of gowns dangling down the clothes rack bathed under the cordial evening.

fontaine’s weather forecast was as precarious as ever, sporadic rainstorms enveloping the region in endless meadows of saturnine. today, though, was an exceptionally beautiful day, the sun rays gliding gently from one aperture to another. as evening drifts tranquilly, the citizens of fontaine cannot help but ponder,

what has made the hydro dragon so at ease after the endless downpour?

“neuvillette! take a look at this azure-colored gown!”

a succulent voice echoes through the wide blue yonder, lambent orbs admiring a certain gown.

the iudex of fontaine takes a step further to scrutinize the dress his lover has been eyeing on. the dress consists of an ocean-colored gradient, a scrupulous mixture of pearly white and azure, resembling the impeccable sight of a frothing ocean. jewels alike to hydro visions were wreathed around the waist sections of the gown framed with golden embroidery.

“would you like to buy this one, then?” he asks with benevolence.

beside him stood you, hands clutching on the silky skirt of the gown. stupefied upon his generous offer, you tilt your head faintly.

seldom it was to have your bien-aimé by your side striding around the court of fontaine, you insisted him to pay a visit to the well-known chioriya boutique. due to the case of clandestine felonies mounting the fortress of meropide and countless trials occurring, it was impossible for neuvillette to take a day off, even if it was just to see your face.

“you insist?” you questioned back, feeling a tad bit guilty.

neuvillette courses his nimble finger across your jawline, a loving smile graces his lips. “of course, i’d purchase the most lavish jewelries, or dresses if it’s for you, mon amour”

this. this was the reason why you fell for him. while he keeps dour exterior around people, he never forgets to dote on his dearest; simply, you. even melusines find you endearing, it is obvious that neuvillette loves you very much. he’d pamper you with all his wealth possible for the sake of your profuse luxury.

you pondered as you hum, tapping your chin comically, “very well, i’ll put this dress on my list first. i’m considering in ordering a custom selection anyway”

following your blithesome steps, neuvillette’s forehead creased, “oh? you should’ve told me sooner that you wanted a custom design”

“i can do it myself, so i don’t feel like being assisted” you simpered, pacing to a certain section where toques, bonnets, and various kinds of headpieces were displayed.

you inspected the hats before firmly grasping a cerulean berret, gently placing it on your head, “isn’t this perfect for outings? maybe lady furina will like the aegean shade pieces!”

“to be sincere, i’d rather see the berret being worn by you only. it feels imprecise to see something so apposite for you being worn by someone else” he says rather bluntly, extending his hand to primp on the lopsided berret.

“oh? well aren’t you selfish fellow” you shrugged, a flush creeping up your visage as you attempt to feign nonchalance.

dexterous with his words, neuvillette never fails to faze you with his silver tongue, spilling out words drenched with affection whilst plastering an indifferent guise. how can an individual act like that after speaking such utterance capable of thawing even the iciest depths of wintertide? nevertheless, you musn’t be swayed by those words, so you simply said,

“then i’d like to purchase this berret, monsieur neuvillette”

neuvillette’s lips twitched upwards, scoffing, “and what’s with the honorifics now?”

“and i would like two, one for me and one for lady furina” you added, raising your fingers as a gesture of the quantities you desire for the berrets.

“shouldn’t the aegean shade berret be for me instead, if you were to purchase two?” neuvillette winced.

“well i promised lady furina if i were to stop by i would buy her a hat”

“...do you not feel constrained by lady furina? you are aware that she can purchase it by herself, right?”

“good heavens neuvillette, have some empathy for once, would you?”

neuvillette suspires, ceasing his protests. to this extent he infers that you weren’t going to let up, not even once. his eyes, however, tells otherwise—twinkling with endearment. and as promised, he purchases the berrets for you, which costs around three thousand and five hundred mora each (quite pricey, but anything for you, he persists)

leaving the shop, the previously peach-colored dawn faded into a pink and purple hue, its previous orange luminescence turning more vibrant than its previous appearances during the day. with your cerulean berret placed on top of your head, and one tucked inside a shopping bag, you hummed in content; hands intertwined with neuvillette’s.

“so you are still going to give the hat to lady furina?” neuvillette exhorts, voice laced with envy.

“do i have to repeat what i said just a few seconds ago?” you muttered, shooting a glare.

“well if you insist,” neuvillette pauses, slipping his arm around your waist, a shade of crimson tinting his cheeks was omnipresent. “if i can’t have the berret, don’t i deserve a kiss instead?”

your body was jerked back within the tug of his hands towing you closer in his wake. and instead of leaning in for a kiss, you whispered to his ear, lips close to the shell of his ear, “out of all places, you ask this type of offer right here?!”

“i don’t see a hindrance to do so, or should i seduce you into doing so?”

you stammered, awning his lips with your hand, “t… that’s not what i’m referring to!”

“i see, i should do that then” he smiles coyly.

“h— hey!!!! neu. villette!!!” the second part of your reply was whispered in frenzied whispers as you struggled to extricate yourself from the iron grasp his foolish arm held.

with that kind of grip caging your body, you are no longer safe from his temptation.

#neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact #fanfic #fontaine #neuvillette x you #genshin x you #fem reader #yj⠀﹐⠀‹𝟹

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claracatlady · 9 months

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Since Lovely got some new Outfits it’s only fair if Freelancer gets some too

My Freelander really needed some new clothes so here are some ideas, again original + Pinterest brainrot. They have relaxed eternal summer vibes.

A (Character) design tip that no one asked for: when creating the wardrobe for a character it is helpful to not only keep their general aesthetic in mind but rather create a list of key themes that you stick to. For example a consistant colour palette, a reoccurring silhouette or fabric or pattern. As you can see my Freelancers colours are white, black, red and various shades of green toned blue and the reoccurring fabric in this case is Jeans, the consistent silhouette is exposed midriff and the consistent item are sneakers. So even though all the clothing pieces are very different they still feel connected and related to the character

Here’s the original design

#redacted asmr #redactedverse #redactedasmr #redacted fanart #redacted headcanons #redacted listener #redacted audio #redacted damn #redacted damn crew #redacted freelancer #redacted gavin #Clara’s Illustrations

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eiraeths · 4 months

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more assorted 141 headcanons

idk what really is considered a trigger warning or a content warning but there’s mentions of ocd tendencies and trauma responses. also the impending feeling of doom that comes with being a solider at war.

soap is a dirty charlatan. going back to my previous headcanon of him being a punk teenager he might of shoplifted from big companies and what not anyway since he’s an adult with responsibilities he doesn’t do that anymore. instead, it turned into making elaborate schemes whether it be a game of cards or pilfering random items from people only to give it back to them to see the shock or confusion on their face

ghost can pickpocket. him and soap once had a long game of who could steal the most stuff off of each other’s persons before the other notices. price had to put a stop to it after they got a little too over-zealous with it

ghost can sew and uses this skill for evil. he find out someone he doesn’t like is superstitious and he’s making a miniature effigy of them and terrorizing them with it. not in an explicit way either only implicit. probably makes it look just like them and leaves it where they can find it and its just mini them in a hazardous situation. no one but price knows it’s him.

gaz is super into formula one racing. he gets soap into it and tries to get price into it but price would rather watch football/soccer. price will still watch it with them but doesn’t understand a damn thing going on

soap is good with cars. bro is a full on mechanic. this may be because he wanted to see how many different ways he could turn a vehicle into a bomb and got really into the mechanical aspects instead. he still figured out the bomb stuff though

soap is very number oriented. counts ceiling tiles and passing cars religiously. may of stemmed from running out of bullets before. this could be seen as a trauma response compulsion or ocd compulsions tbh. feel like its not really an active thing he does but rather an action without conscious thought behind it

gaz once wore eyeliner and everyone short circuited because god DAYUM he’s hot. it was definitely lower lid heavy and pointed down or followed the tilt of his eyes

ghost is a bird freak and can mimic a lot of different bird calls. oh side snippet time y’all know that nursery rhyme about counting magpies? the one for sorrow two for joy? anyway thats very ghoap coded now i gotta write something with that. anyway ghost uses his powers of mimicry (its echolalia and we all know it is) to distract enemies in the field. like the assassins creed whistle except its just bird whistles. he definitely loves infodumping to the 141 when different birds cross their path. when soap learned about birds like great tits or blue tits he had a field day. ghost still hasn’t told him about other birds with vulgar sounding names for that very reason.

a nod back to my previous headcanon about soap collecting pretty rubble from explosions, the team adds onto this for him when they can. price finds him rubble with specific shapes (there was in fact a cock shaped one and price had an internal debate if he really wanted to give it to him knowing what it’d spark. never in his life had he heard so many dick jokes in such a short amount of time. he considered separating gaz and soap because of it. ghost ended up doing it for him by manhandling soap into a different seat and staring at him until he closed his mouth) gaz gets him rubble with specific patterns on them like mosaics and tile. ghost tries to find him specific colors whether it be one of each color of the rainbow or a single color with various shades and hues

ghost separates stuff by color. he mostly wears black but also has some clothes that are like dark blue or green. i don’t see him wearing warm colors at all no matter the shade

price once received a present of cigars from around the world and it’s one of his most prized possessions. even if he sticks to one brand (og price smoked villa claras so we’ll go with that)

gaz and soap make plans to build a race car despite knowing they’ll never get the time to do so. an entire journal of soap’s is dedicated to this car. its got blueprints of the body, motor, and electrical system.

ghost makes soap a quilt with the mactavish clan pattern (i forgot what the actual term is. tartan?) being the key focus and soap cries

all of them try to carry gum for soap (bro definitely got an oral fixation)

okay thats all for headcanons for now. any of y’all got headcanons for price or gaz i can steal and add onto cause its harder for me to come up with mundane things for them

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aerkame · 1 year

Note

I’m curious what the others finfolk forms look like, what kinda tails and colors do they have, markers, etc. I’m so excited for the au!

I am not feeling well enough to really draw so I will just give descriptions instead! I'll be sure to draw everyone at some point though, but if you want me to ping (or just message) you or anyone else just private message me or let me know in replies.

__________________________________________________________

For all neighbors minus Home:

Each and every neighbor will grow claws, teeth, increased height, increased strength, and webbed hands when fully transformed. As for clothes, they're designed to change with their form.

Wally Darling

Wally may still be the shortest of the neighbors, but he's still quite tall when compared to normal puppets (most finmen are huge regardless). When he comes off as a normal-looking puppet, he wears a blue glass colored (blue glass is a color, it is my favorite color-) clothing, or sometimes loose-fitting beach clothes if he feels like relaxing. He often keeps a red shell pendant around his neck area and a black single earring on his right ear.

When Wally is a finman however, his yellow felt turns to scales that range from yellows, purples, teals, and different shades of blue. His ears become thick and finned, each end going up into a small S-shaped curl. Underneath the clothing, his body is covered in soft red swirling and spiraling markings, something you can he on his cheeks. Unlike the finwomen, finmen don't turn into mermaids/mermen, so he does not have a tail at all and he instead grows various fins on his body, all very colorful. Oh, and don't forget the fangs and claws...those are pretty sharp.

Barnaby

Barnaby is one of the taller finmen, but not the tallest. You can usually find him wearing shorts, sandals, shell necklaces, and a sunhat. It's just so darn hot sometimes so don't expect to see him in a shirt really. If anything he'll probably be under a shady area or relaxing in some cool water.

While he does already have teeth and claws, they are pretty dull until he transforms, having his teeth become more shark-like and claws much sharper than anyone else's. However, Barnaby is the only one here who does not grow scales at all. Instead that blue felt skin will turn into something far more smoother and paler in color almost becoming grey but not quite grey. The spots all over his body stay of course, but they become darker and more larger, creating marbled patterns. Not only is Barnaby the only one without scales, but he is the only one to grow a tail and keep his legs. The once small fluffy tail turns into a strong shark-like one, being capable of causing someone a concussion or head trauma if he really swung hard enough with it.

Sometimes everyone suspects he isn't a finman, but even if Barnaby wasn't, everyone would still love the big guy.

Howdy

Being a fisherman has its perks. One being that it tends to be a good workout, another being that you can get all kinds of stuff from the ocean. That being said, Howdy is a giant when compared to the others. In his normal form, the fisherman has medium long blue hair that's often slicked back or just braided all under his hat. You'd think that running a shop and being a fisherman would leave little time for this man to tidy up his clothes but you'd be wrong. Everything remains completely clean no matter the weather, it's almost scary. Even the shell pendant he wears on his apron is constantly shining.

Obviously having double the legs and arms leaves him with double the amount of claws to tear someone up with. As a finman, Howdy's height becomes outright terrifying to anyone he meets. Forget the scary claws and fangs, his height alone is enough to scare the fear of God into anyone.

The colors of Howdy's scales match himself much like it does with Wally and the others. Green scales fade from blues to teals and tiger-like stripes decorate his body, leaving oval spirals on his cheeks.

Eddie

Probably the friendliest captain out there with the coat to match! Often times Eddie will be wearing his white captain's coat and hat, having a shell pendant pinned to the black suit he wears under. He always stays tidy, keeping his red hair slicked back under his hat.

As a finman, Eddie will also grow in size. This is when his usual friendly appearance turns more scary to some. Being large and having a giant captain's coat squaring your shoulders can look intimidating. Along that, Eddie's hair tends to get more rougher and slightly wavy, so he lets it down every once in a while.

Frank

Frank is the only one that wasn't a finman before moving in on the island, having been a normal puppet before. He still prefers to remain as his normal puppet self on most days unless it's rainy or stormy. Usually he is wearing vests, casual clothes, and colors that are muted in color, preferring to keep the shell pendant he has on a butterfly bow, keeping the bow as a reminder of his old life.

In the rare times that he decides to be more fin-like, the only things about Frank that change is that he grows teal, purple, and grey scales, square-ish finned ears, squared swirls, and fangs.

Julie

Being a finwoman (or mermaid) has it's perks.

Julie will on most days wear light colored fluffy dresses with thick high sandals, a large sunhat, and a shell necklace to match. If not a dress, then she'd be happy to wear anything good for the beach so she can go ahead and jump in the water at any time.

As a mermaid, Julie transforms her legs into a long and strong tail, being just as strong as finmen (no really, you do NOT want to get hit with her tail). Her scales often reflect the dresses she usually wears, which are deep shades of coral reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows. The fins at the end of her tail are wide and flowing, sometimes she'll even wrap herself up in them for fun.

The ears differ slightly from the others as they appear more softer and fluffy with light pink swirls and sparkles dusting her face.

Sally

Sally is sometimes nicknamed Sally Scarlet for several reasons. One reason being the clothing she wears. Everything is always extravagant or just screams passion, having everything in shades of red and black.

Sally is the only one who is almost always in her mermaid form. No really, she even has a part of her house with an indoor pool that leads to the ocean because she just doesn't feel like getting out of the water yet. Her tail is much longer than Julie's but more slim and much sharper, some scales being so sharp they can be flung or used as throwing knives. The weapon tail is made up of blood red scales with speckled black and gold scales scattered on her body.

She often wears a golden crown around her already existing crown (she's a star so duh) and dark makeup to compliment her scales. Of course, she painted her claws black to match. Dramatic...

Poppy

Poppy is probably the most colorful out of the neighbors, having literally every color in the rainbow on her. You can usually find her outside gardening with Julie, wearing nothing (because she has feathers) or just wearing a light colored shawl with a matching sunhat. She often carries her shell or clips it to a shawl.

However, Poppy is a little bit different like Barnaby when it comes to her original form, but no one questions it really. Like the other mermaids, Poppy will form a tail consisting of the rainbow, but the rest of her body becomes much larger and longer, resembling something closer to a serpent. The feathers soon turn into long spikes and sharp scales that could easily cut through steel. Her wings become giant fins and her beak grows a sharp curved end. She doesn't transform ever much like Frank due to her scaring herself and others sometimes.

Home

It is known that Home has a physical body, but no one other than Wally has talked to him. The only time anyone ever gets a glimpse of Home is when a shell is being given to a neighbor. Large clawed and black scaly hands reach out from the dark whirlpool to take the shell and imbued his magic into it before it's given back.

Sorry for any spelling errors, I'm a bit tired right now.

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theharrowing · 2 years

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 2: Be a good little wolf

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader

🗡️ word count: 7.4k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ warnings: mention of panic attack, talk of human ownership, use of the word “whore” derogatorily.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted may, 2022 | read on ao3

It is late when Yoongi returns.

You have showered in the bedroom ensuite and have finally had a chance to take everything in. To say you are overwhelmed and nervous is an understatement.

Everything in the room is dark wood with gold accents and colored in various shades of blue and black. Yoongi has a huge four-poster bed with black silk bedding and a black comforter with intricate gold embroideries, and sitting on it makes you feel small. There is a walk-in closet the size of your old bedroom, and everything appears pristine, organized, and expensive. The rug you were panicking on earlier is a faint blue, and it covers an expanse of floor to the side of the bed that you have decided to sit on since the bedside table that actually has items on it is on the other side, near the large window, suggesting Yoongi prefers to sleep over there.

After showering, you put your dress back on, not wanting to overstep any boundaries by taking any of Yoongi's clothing to wear, and when you finally feel tired enough to curl under the blanket and fall asleep, you keep the dress on.

The sound of Yoongi coming into the room wakes you. You had turned the lights to a dim setting, but the room is not pitch dark, and you are glad that he does not turn them on any brighter.

"Sorry," Yoongi whispers loudly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

You sit up slowly and regard Yoongi. All night your mind has been swimming with questions you want to ask him, but now that you are looking at him, everything is blank. Yoongi has removed his jacket, and he is walking to the giant closet while unbuttoning the cuffs of his leopard print shirt. His presence seemed to overtake the room before, but now, standing here quietly minding his own business, he just seems like a man.

From where you sit on the bed, the bathroom is in the far right corner, the door to the bedroom is straight ahead—you could look into the hallway if it were open—and the closet door is to the left of that. Yoongi enters the closet and closes the door behind him before switching on the light, and you sit and twiddle your thumbs while you wait for him, watching the glow of the light that sneaks out from beneath the door.

Moments pass, and when Yoongi returns, he is in a thin black tee and black lounge pants, and he is holding a small pile of clothing that looks the same. Dressed down, Yoongi actually seems quite small, though his shoulders are broad, and his posture makes him seem larger than he is. Yoongi smiles softly, almost shyly, as he approaches the bed and sets the clothing down.

"I should have told you that you can wear my clothes until yours arrive. I'm sorry for that; it's been a hectic day."

You clear your throat, "Yeah. About that—"

"I know you have questions, but I need to shower; I'm exhausted. Change into these, and when I return, I'll try to answer some of them. Okay?"

You nod softly. There is something very commanding in the way Yoongi speaks to you, even when he is speaking softly. It makes you want to agree to what he says, which feels dangerous.

As soon as Yoongi is in the bathroom and you can hear the water running, you get out of bed and wiggle out of your dress, keeping your underwear but removing your bra, and change into the black tee and lounge pants that Yoongi left for you. They are clearly the same as the ones he wears, which is not surprising; most of the items in the closet seemed to be black attire and lots of repeats of the same items, with pops of colorful suits and dress shirts here and there.

The clothes are soft, and they smell faintly like the cologne Yoongi wears, which you find yourself slowly inhaling breaths of. His scent makes you think of a freshwater spring in the woods with trees shedding their yellow and red leaves. You wonder if you could get just as lost in Yoongi and his scent as you imagine you might get lost in the forest that it reminds you of.

You check your phone—which you are surprised he let you keep—and see a mess of missed messages from your ex. There have not been any other notifications of note, and you have not bothered trying to reach out to anyone yet. Aside from your boss, there is not really anyone else you can reach out to, and coincidentally, you are not scheduled to work tonight.

It is not as if you want to try to have someone come to rescue you; you have no idea where you are, there are armed men all over the property to make matters difficult even if you did know, and the only place you can return to is that shitty apartment. So why bother trying to escape until you suss out the situation? Earlier, you definitely wanted to leave once the panic set in, but as you sit calm, taking in the surroundings, you decide it will be more beneficial to just ask Yoongi what he wants of you.

Yoongi returns some time later, toweling his dark hair, and you cannot help but stare at his face, dewy from moisturizer and so pretty; so fair. Yoongi smiles when he notices you gawking openly and rounds the bed, approaching your side. He sits and turns his body to face you, crossing his legs and holding his towel in his lap.

"Hi," Yoongi mutters.

"Hey."

"I know you're probably confused and a little afraid. I'm sorry about that."

Your head spins from his nonchalance, and you are not sure what to say, so you say nothing. You do not want to admit to Yoongi that you had felt afraid—especially not that you had a panic attack—so you wait for him to continue. Yoongi looks down at his hands.

"Namjoon and Hoseok have brought everything from your apartment, and they are working on unpacking it and getting your room set up for you. You met them both already, but I'm sure you don't remember. Hoseok was our driver, and Namjoon was one of the men who escorted you to the car. Deep, kind voice. You will meet them again soon. For tonight, you can sleep in here, and if you are not comfortable with me sharing the bed with you, then I can go to one of the guest rooms."

"I could just take a guest room, too," you mutter. "I don't want to kick you from your own room."

Yoongi holds up a hand as if to wave you off, and your eyes follow the movement, noting how large his hand is. "Don't be ridiculous. Those rooms are cold and empty; you're far too special to be sent off to one of them. But I will have Namjoon and Hoseok set up the room closest to mine, in case you do wish for some space. It should be ready tomorrow."

This makes you pause, and perhaps your heart beats a little harder. "I f-figured you wanted me to stay in here with you. Permanently."

You are not sure why, but the admission makes your cheeks warm, and you look down at your hands. Yoongi chuckles softly, pulling your attention back to him as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Privacy is important. And I'm not going to earn your trust by keeping you locked in here like my pet. If you decide you want to come sleep beside me once you're settled in, I would enjoy your company, but I'm not forcing anything on you."

It is a bit disarming how comfortable Yoongi makes you feel; how safe he makes you believe you are. You wonder if this is all part of some game or if it really is genuine. Does Yoongi actually intend to earn your trust?

"Okay," you mutter and give Yoongi a soft smile to match his. "Thank you. I would like to sleep here tonight, and I'm okay if you do too, as long as you don't snore too loud."

Yoongi chuckles and tugs his bottom lip through his teeth, and you try not to stare at the movement, but you can't help it; Yoongi has plush, pretty lips that he seems to like to bite and suck on, which is doing wonders for your sleep-addled brain. "I don't think I do. I haven't been told I do."

He hasn't been told he does. You wonder how many others he has shared his bed with. Not that it's your business, anyway.

"So...why am I here, exactly?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light and calm. "You said you know who I am in the car. What did you mean?"

Yoongi's eyes flicker with something dark that you are unable to discern, then his gaze softens. "The reason I brought you here was already stated. That asshole owes me a great deal, and he's unable to pay, so I have taken from him the one thing that he has."

"I'm not a thing, Yoongi," you mutter sternly. "I'm a person."

"It's all semantics in my line of business, darling."

You sigh, trying not to show any emotion, but you can't help but feel a little disappointed. Although, really, what did you expect? Aside from being offered some level of freedom and privacy, you were brought here under those exact pretenses in the first place.

"So you don't plan to keep me in here. Why bother taking me from him if you're not trying to fuck me, or whatever."

Yoongi smirks. It is sharp and dangerous, and you do not miss how his eyes are suddenly filled with mirth. "Would you like it if I tried to fuck you?"

"Uh—I—"

"I can't imagine your ex made you cum, so if that's something you need, I can definitely be of service. But I'm not going to force you to fuck me. I may have the blood of hundreds of men on my hands, but I'm not a monster, darling."

"Only hundreds?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. You have no desire to respond to his snarky little proposition—you are not sure you could without your voice shaking. The way Yoongi's mood switches so drastically and effortlessly has a tingle of arousal swirling in your core that you would like to forget, for tonight.

Yoongi grins, then looks down and shakes his head. "Alright, well, I have a long day tomorrow, so I'm going to finish getting ready for bed. I'll introduce you around in the morning, and you can roam the grounds all you want."

"What about my job?" you ask, and Yoongi scoffs.

"I'll take care of it."

Suddenly you feel an overwhelming surge of worry and sadness hit your guts. "Wh-what? No, I can't—"

Yoongi waves you off and stands from the bed, squeezing his hair in the towel more as he regards you. "You are not going to be working in some shithole anymore; I can take care of everything you need."

"But I like it there."

Yoongi scoffs again, loudly, and it pisses you off—you take offense. "You like it there? It's a cesspool full of drunks. What is there to like?"

"I like the regulars. I like the human interactions and the quiet dawns when I clock out. I can't—" you feel your eyes well with tears, and you are no longer able to contain the anxiety that rises in you and causes your chest to heave. "I can't just disappear; they'll worry. I'll miss them."

"This house is full of humans you can interact with. You will be just fine."

You glare at Yoongi, annoyed with how flippantly he seems to regard your feelings, suddenly. Tears cloud your vision, but you do not let them fall. Instead, you mutter, "They're the only family I have."

Yoongi sighs and drops his arms, dangling the towel in his fingers. He studies you quietly. "Fine. You can go to work two nights a week, supervised. I'll call your boss tomorrow and iron out the details."

"Two nights? Yoongi—"

Yoongi looks at you firmly, holding himself in the posture that fills the whole room once more with his presence, and you find it stifling; you find it hard to breathe, so you suck in a sharp breath and hold it.

"Two nights a week. You can pick which two."

You nod softly, and Yoongi relaxes his posture, making you relax in turn.

"Fine," you mutter quietly.

"Okay," Yoongi sighs, turning away and walking toward the bathroom. "That's enough questions for tonight. I hope you sleep well."

Yoongi returns to the bathroom for a moment, then comes out empty-handed and climbs into bed on his side. You slide under the covers and lay on your back, staring at the ceiling and disregarding Yoongi for the rest of the night. At least he does not snore.

As soon as you wake up this morning, you find the room assigned to you—the first room to the right after you exit Yoongi's room—and you are shocked by how different it is from his. His men brought everything from your apartment, and you stare at your antique vanity and dresser, both of which are rich, light wood, and marvel at how your new bed seems to match them.

The bedding is all soft yellows and whites, and the hardwood floors have delicate white and yellow throw rugs. Lace curtains hang over a huge window at the end of the room, and although your walk-in closet pales in comparison to Yoongi's, it is too large to hold all of your things. Your room also has its own bathroom in the far left corner, with a clawfoot tub and shower head. On your bedside table, you find a short list of phone numbers and create a contact for Yoongi in your phone.

Although you still feel incredibly overwhelmed, seeing all of your things put away neatly helps to calm your nerves, and you pick out a modest sundress to wear—with sunflowers to match the yellows of your room—and apply some light makeup—which has all been neatly tucked away or organized atop your vanity. Whoever these Namjoon and Hoseok fellas are certainly have an eye for organization.

The number of men who seem to live and work on Yoongi's property is astounding. There seem to be more bedrooms on the second floor, and you assume some of them must live here, but you really have no idea. All of the employees wear black head-to-toe or white dress shirts with black suits. Men seem to be around day and night to guard the place, with men milling about in the lounge rooms and out in the pool. Some women are also poolside, but they all seem to be hanging on certain men and do not appear to be employees, only allowed outside. None of the women regard you, but all of the men turn their heads and eye you up.

As Yoongi walks you through the mansion, pointing out various rooms and listing off names that you cannot imagine you will remember any time soon, he has one hand gently resting on the small of your back, and the warmth that radiates from it makes it feel impossible to focus on anything else. He has thrown the words mafia, family, and gang around, and while you are not sure if he is serious, you are also inclined to believe he is, just judging by the mansion, alone.

Once you reach Yoongi's enormous kitchen—half of which looks like a professional kitchen with men in cook clothes working in—you hear a familiar name, and your eyes dart up.

"Hoseok," the man with the sunshine smile who drove you here yesterday says, holding out his hand. "Nice to formally meet you."

Hoseok is a beauty with wavy dark brown hair that falls just above his eyes, and long, dangling silver earrings. His features are sharp, and his lips are shaped like a heart, especially when he smiles, showing off his pearly whites. Hoseok is a bit taller than Yoongi, and although he is willowy and thin, he carries himself in a way that suggests he has a surprising amount of strength. Or maybe that is just the confident way with which all of Yoongi’s men carry themselves.

"Thanks for organizing my things," you say to Hoseok.

Hoseok's eyes sparkle at the praise, and he tightens his grip on your hand. "My pleasure, darling. I hope everything is to your taste. Namjoon and I will be going out later to buy you some more clothing; your closet is so barren." He pouts, and your heart melts.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," you mutter, but Hoseok shakes his head and gives your hand one last squeeze before letting it go.

"Our girls get taken care of," Hoseok says softly with a wink before moving to Yoongi, wrapping his arm around his back and whispering something into his ear. You continue to look around the kitchen, disregarding them; it s not as if you can hear them anyway. When Hoseok leaves, Yoongi turns to face you.

"I have to get to work, so you're free to roam," he says.

Today he wears a simple black satin button-up shirt tucked into black slacks, with his hair falling over his forehead parted in the center, and a gaze that is as piercing as always.

"Should you decide to go to the pool, take one of your assigned guards. They will probably have a lover's quarrel to determine who gets to accompany you, so if you would like to take them both, then take them both. I will be back for lunch, but if you wish to eat, you can either ask one of these men to make whatever you would like, or you can come to the pantry here and serve yourself. You are allowed to cook in the non-professional half of the kitchen; just stay out of the way of the men who are on shift."

You nod and smile. Although you enjoy cooking, the idea of doing so feels incredibly daunting, so you approach the pantry, grab a banana and choose to come back another time to actually look around. Yoongi escorts you back through the mansion and past the long hallway overlooking the pool, until you are at the foot of the stairwell. You make your way back up to your room and pause at the entrance to greet the two men sitting on a plush, deep red velvet bench outside your door.

"I'm so sorry," you mutter, "I've been told at least five thousand names since we met this morning."

The smaller, pretty one smiles and perks up, and when he says, "No problem, sweets! I'm Felix," you are stunned once more by his deep, rich voice and pretty accent. Felix looks like a woodland creature with light blond hair and striking yet soft features that are painted in freckles.

"Changbin," the beefier of the two says with a crooked smirk and a half-hearted but kind wave. Changbin has a more pointed face, and he always looks grumpy, which is a trait you appreciate. He balances Felix's bubbly personality well. His short dark hair falls just above his eyes, making his gaze somehow more piercing.

"Would you guys like to go to the pool later?" you ask.

Felix perks up, smiling widely, and Changbin shrugs with a faint smile; you take that as a yes.

"I'll let you know when I'm ready, then."

"We'll change and be right out," Felix responds.

Once in your room with the doors closed, you take a moment and sit on your bed, slowly peeling the banana and eating it. It is hard to keep yourself from losing focus and spacing out; everything is still so fucking overwhelming. Although you already feel welcomed and comfortable in the mansion, you continue to wonder what you are actually doing here, and the question bounces around your head, making you dizzy.

If Yoongi is not planning on using you for your body, then...what does he want? You feel silly considering the question at all; you should be glad that he does not want that, right? Perhaps you are a little disappointed that he is not being possessive, but you feel it is just a projection of how your last relationship felt and how, in recent years, your sex life has been less than exciting. You imagine sex with Yoongi would be exciting. Perhaps you miss the feeling of desire.

This train of thought immediately makes you think about your small but impressive bin of sex toys, and your cheeks instantly fill with warmth. Namjoon and Hoseok definitely saw that bin, and have placed it discretely beside your bedside table, hidden just under your bed.

Yoongi's pool is massive. It is deep on both ends, with diving boards on the left and two slides on the right. In the center are steps leading into a shallow section, and there are floaties and other pool toys as far as the eye can see, some stacked along the outer edge of the area near a tall wooden fence and others just floating in the water. To the left is a full-service bar, and across the pool are large wooden gazebos, keeping a section of sun beds in the shade. Music plays through speakers that line the entire area, and with the voices of the many guests, it is a raucous place. There are enough pool beds and umbrellas for everyone employed at the mansion to sit on, and off to the right is a rather large hot tub.

There are people everywhere, are you feel anxious as you find a spot on the far left side near the bar with three open lounge chairs. Now that you are not being escorted by Yoongi, some of the women are looking at you, and they do not seem too pleased with your presence, which you find ridiculous considering they are all hanging on the arms of other men.

"Don't let the girls intimidate you," Felix mutters as he leans in your direction from the bed next to yours, removing his shoes.

Changbin sits next to Felix, leaning back to face you. "They're just jealous. Everyone wants a piece of Min."

"Great," you respond with an eye roll, making both men chuckle.

A bartender brings you and your men flutes of champagne, and you thank him, despite not having ordered anything to drink. "

“They're ordered to serve you and anyone who accompanies you," Felix informs as he sips from his glass.

You are a little taken aback and drink some of the champagne before setting it on a nearby table. Once you have removed your sundress, leaving you in just a simple black two-piece bathing suit, you stare at the pool, deciding if you really want to go in or not.

"I'll join your first," Felix beams, which gives you the courage to go, so you nod softly and stand, following Felix's lead.

"Can you swim well? Or would you prefer the shallow end?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Both, I guess," you mutter.

"Alright, we'll take the stairs and get acclimated."

The pool is perfectly warm—because, of course it is—and there is no chlorine smell; it is salt water based, instead. As soon as you are in up to your shoulders, you feel relaxed, letting Felix swim around you like the giggling little fae he is, and you join him in a very intense handstand competition. Felix is great company; it is no wonder Changbin's eyes sparkle whenever they speak to one another.

Although you only drank half of your champagne, you feel a bit lightheaded, probably due to the fact that you only had a banana this morning. Everything is light and giggly, and you decide you may want to try a diving board or a slide. You turn to ask Felix which he would prefer when you hear a loud whistle that pulls Felix's attention, and before you can see what is happening, Felix is punching a large ball away from above you, and he appears quite tense.

"Oy, what gives?" Felix shouts, and you follow his eye line to see a woman with long brown hair in a tiny floral bikini standing poolside with her hands on her hips.

"I only wanted to play," she pouts.

"You don't play by chucking something that big at someone who isn't paying attention," Changbin responds, closing in on the woman.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "You boys are no fun."

"Who are you here with?" Changbin asks.

You are wholly invested in this drama and watch with wide, curious eyes. When the woman fails to respond and instead attempts to walk toward the jacuzzi, Changbin grabs her upper arm and yanks her toward an exit just past the bar. The woman makes a scene and begins to scream. You are unable to make out everything she says, but the words "Min's new whore" and “Shin family” are directed at you, and you gasp as she is escorted out.

"Sorry," Felix mutters. "Not everyone is like her, but it's hard to tell who is and who isn't until they act up."

"It's fine," you respond softly, though you do not feel fine. You feel shaken and tense. “What is the Shin family?”

Felix lets out a heavy sigh. “Yoongi’s ex. Her father wanted her to marry Yoongi and combine their reign over Seoul, but…it didn’t work out. It’s probably best if he tells you about it, though; I don’t want to cross any lines. Anyway, that girl must have been a friend of hers.”

“Oh,” is all you can say because, try as you might, you are unable to make much sense of the information, aside from the realization that someone Yoongi once dated must be pretty powerful.

After that little scene, you decide to exit the pool and go back to your pool bed. You hate to cut the fun short, especially since Felix was enjoying himself, but having something chucked at your head—even something as innocuous as an inflatable ball—has drained your energy.

It is not as if you can't defend yourself, either; you would happily get out of the pool and knock someone on their ass if they piss you off enough. But you are new here, and starting shit does not feel like the right move. Not until you figure out who is on your side and who may not be. If you are going to be spending time with supposed hardened criminals, you may as well try to think like one.

"Sorry about Yuna," Yoongi mutters, unbuttoning his cuffs. He looks exhausted and leans on the foot of his bed while you stand in his doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. It is nighttime now, and you have had all day to sip champagne feel annoyed.

"She called me your new whore."

Yoongi sighs. "And what did you say?"

"Wh—"

Yoongi hums before you can respond. He must have taken your incredulous look as response enough. "So, nothing? You're free to defend yourself, you know."

You narrow your eyes at Yoongi. "Why should I have to defend myself? I didn't choose to come here. Talk to your little harem and tell them to leave me the fuck alone."

Yoongi chuckles. "Ah, yes, send me in there to speak on your behalf and make you appear weaker than you already do. Come on, darling, even you have to admit that plan sucks."

"You are throwing me to the wolves and expecting me to defend myself."

"You are a wolf too, are you not? Or am I mistaken? Have I brought a lamb here to be slaughtered?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You chew on the inside of your lip. "I don't think it is wise for me to act like a wolf until I have established who has my back."

Yoongi's eyes brighten, and he smirks, sending a chill through you. He pats the mattress with his hand and says, "Come here, pretty," and you approach, arms still crossed, leaning against the bed but angled toward Yoongi.

Gently, Yoongi places his hands on your shoulders and turns you toward him, smiling sweetly as he towers over you. "So what if they call you my whore? You know who you are; ignore them. Or have them kicked out of the mansion; it's your right to do that, you know. You will get to know my men a little better and establish who is on your side quickly. Whether a wolf in sheep's clothing or not, it is okay to show your teeth a little."

"Fine," you respond softly, almost a whisper.

"Join me for a swim? The water is nice at night. I'll make everyone clear out, so it will be just you and me."

You nod and smile, and Yoongi pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you and engulfing you in his scent. "Meet me back here in five."

Yoongi releases the hug enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead, and the warmth of his lips sends a frenzied swarm of butterflies straight to your stomach. You had not realized you had closed your eyes and leaned into the feeling until Yoongi releases the hug, and you find yourself slightly fumbling, catching your balance. Once you get your bearings, you exit his room and return to yours, nodding at your sleepy bodyguards along the way.

Your black bathing suit is still wet, so you put on a floral two-piece, and, rather than wearing anything over it, you take a large white towel from your bathroom and wrap it around your hips. When you return to the hallway in time for Yoongi to be exiting his room, he does a double take, scanning your body with his eyes and pulling his lips into a sharp smile.

Yoongi has opted to also come out shirtless with a towel on his hips, and you are surprised by how muscular he is despite his smaller frame. Although, truth be told, you are not sure what to expect from a man like him. Scars litter Yoongi's torso, mostly along his ribs and stomach, but you tear your eyes away and focus on his face, smiling as he approaches.

"Sure you don't wanna be my new whore?" Yoongi asks in a deep, quiet voice that makes the air feel trapped in your lungs. You nudge Yoongi in the side with your elbow and roll your eyes, and he chuckles, then leads you down the stairs.

"Your lovebirds are in the room beside yours, by the way. If you need them in the night, there is a call button on your bedside table. Just buzz them, or call one of their cell phones and one or both of them will come to you."

It is quiet in the mansion save for Hoseok and several other men sitting on a large couch in the main hall, just past the staircases, overlooking some paperwork. They all turn to smile at you and Yoongi, and Hoseok waves, so you wave back.

Out on the pool deck, everyone is gone except for a bartender, and Yoongi motions for you to have a seat while he grabs drinks for the two of you.

"I drink whiskey," Yoongi calls over his shoulder. "Does that work for you?"

You nod and send Yoongi a thumbs up, making him smirk and turn away. Moments later, he returns with two glasses of neat whiskey, handing one to you. You take a tentative sip, expecting the bitter cheap shit by reflex, and are surprised by how smooth and delicate it is. Not that you should be surprised, considering the man who owns the whiskey also owns a massive property.

"Aside from the harem debacle, how do you feel about your first day?" Yoongi asks, sitting on a pool bed opposite you.

"Overwhelmed," you admit, taking another sip of your drink. It warms you from your tongue to your chest, and you feel yourself relax a little on your next exhale. You decide to leave out mention of the Shin family for now.

"That's fair. And your bodyguards? How do you like them?"

Thinking about Felix's pretty pointy smile and Changbin's gentle snarl tugs on your heartstrings. "They're great."

"Good."

Your gaze roves over the pool, which sways gently, making soft sloshing sounds against the concrete walls. It is calming despite its size. Or maybe because of its size. When you look back at Yoongi, he is watching you, and his face softens into a smile.

"I'm still not sure what I'm doing here," you mutter into your glass, taking more than a sip.

"What would you like to do here?"

"I d-don't—"

"Would you like to go to school? I'm sure it will get boring pretty fast here if you don't have some kind of schedule."

The mention of school makes your heart sink. "I can't—I mean—I never got good enough grades to go to college."

Yoongi waves you off. "Doesn't matter. Consider what you may like to study, and I will see to it that you are admitted. If you end up deciding it is not for you and you want to drop out, that is also fine; I will pull you out, no questions asked."

"You can just...do that?" you ask.

Yoongi smirks, eyes shining with mirth. "This is my city, darling; I can do anything I wish."

You do not understand the full gravity of what he is saying, unsure of the truth behind his words, and unable to comprehend them fully, so you gulp back the remainder of your whiskey and set your glass down, watching from the corner of your eye when he does the same. Yoongi stands and holds his hand out to you, and when you take his hand, he tugs you to stand with him.

"Wanna swim, pretty?"

The faint breeze must be carrying Yoongi's scent straight to you, and you wonder if it is the whiskey making you lightheaded or him. Probably a combination of the two. You nod in response after his question catches up to you.

Yoongi drops his towel from his hips onto his lounge chair, so you do the same. Simultaneously, your gazes fall to check the other out. Yoongi wears tight, short black shorts, and they highlight not only his thin yet muscular thighs but an impressive bulge. Goosebumps cover you, and you force yourself to look away, turning toward the pool; you do not want to see the look on Yoongi's face, especially if he has just watched you eye him up.

You make your way to the steps in the shallow section, and in the cooler night air, the water feels even warmer, so you let go of Yoongi's hand and dive from the steps into the water and swim out a few feet, allowing yourself to feel the quiet weightless of being submerged for as long as you can before your natural buoyancy has you returning to the surface.

When you open your eyes, you find Yoongi watching you with the familiar soft smile, with water dripping from his hair, which has been pushed from his face. Yoongi is ridiculously pretty, and it makes your heart pound heavy in your chest, so you turn away and start swimming to a section that is just deep enough for the water to be at your shoulders. Yoongi follows you. When you reach the wall at the far side, you turn and find Yoongi closing in and resting his elbow on the wall in front of you.

"You are taking all of this surprisingly well, darling," Yoongi says.

You hum, searching for the words. "I mean, it's not like I had anything before. Being here is a lot to wrap my head around, but it's nice, I guess?"

"You guess?"

Yoongi watches you as you gather your thoughts. You find it hard to hold his gaze; he is so patient yet so intense. "It's nice to feel cared about, even if it is by someone hired to do so."

"Felix and Changbin are only hired to care for you because they genuinely would, anyway."

"I still don't understand what you...do," you say, attempting to hold Yoongi's stare. He worries his lip with his teeth, then shrugs.

"I'm in charge of the largest mafia in the country, and I own this city. There are other families and gangs who try to rival mine, and I don’t have a stronghold on every district, but they pale in comparison to my reign."

You scoff and gaze incredulously, waiting for Yoongi to break character and tell you he is joking, but he does not. "Be serious," you mutter.

Yoongi steps closer, studying your face with a faint smirk. "I am being serious. You saw the way my men organized in broad daylight and escorted you away. Do you think just anyone could have done that?"

Between the whiskey, the sloshing of the pool, and Yoongi's proximity, everything is heavy and weightless at the same time, and you feel yourself grow dizzy. Nothing Yoongi says is sinking in, and there is a part of you that fears he may actually be serious.

"What do you mean you run this city?"

Yoongi steps closer and reaches out, gently grazing a thumb over your cheekbone. Your breath hitches and you feel your heart pound harder in your chest.

"Be a good little wolf, and maybe one day you'll find out."

Back in your room, you go to shower, and you are pleasantly surprised to find all of your toiletries on a little shelf beside the tub. You should not be surprised because you knew Namjoon and Hoseok brought your things to you, but there is just something about the sight of them that makes this place already feel like home.

Once you are washed and dried, you change into some cotton shorts and a t-shirt and climb into bed. Although the bed is comfortable, there is something about the dark quiet of the room that suddenly feels so lonely. You turn to your side and stare at your phone for a while, contemplating asking Yoongi if you can stay in his room, but close your eyes and attempt to sleep instead.

You tell yourself that you are probably overthinking things, that you should not depend on Yoongi's company too much because you are still unsure of his motives; you cannot allow yourself to fall victim to a pretty face. But the crushing weight of loneliness is starting to wear on you; you are used to sharing a bed with someone, even if it is someone you despise, and so you reach for your phone and hold it close, inspecting the black screen. It couldn't hurt to at least ask, right? He did say you were welcome to sleep beside him.

You: Hey, Yoongi

As soon as you hit send, you sigh heavily and roll onto your back, squeezing your eyes shut. It is not as if you two are dating; what if he thinks you are being clingy? You push your head back into the pillow and hope to melt into it, become one with the bed and disappear completely when your phone vibrates, causing your eyes to fly open.

Yoongi: Hey, darling. Can't sleep?

Me: No

Yoongi: Awe, what's the matter?

This is ridiculous, you tell yourself. This is ridiculous and embarrassing, and Yoongi is going to think you are weak. You do not want him to think you are weak. With a sigh, you type, anyway.

Me: It's embarrassing, but I'm so used to sleeping next to someone that being in a big dark room alone feels strangely suffocating.

Yoongi: No reason to be embarrassed, darling.

Me: Do you think I could sleep in your room tonight?

Yoongi: I already told you that it's fine if you'd like to sleep in my room, but I appreciate you asking. :]

Me: Thank you, Yoongi.

Yoongi: The door is open so head on in. I'm downstairs with my boys but I'll be up in a moment.

Me: Okay. :)

You slide out of bed, leaving the comforter untucked, and tiptoe to the door. When you open it, you notice a light coming from downstairs and hear faint voices, as if they are intentionally speaking in hushed tones. When you reach Yoongi's bedroom entrance, a soft, deep voice speaks up, stopping you in your tracks.

"But will she become your new whore?"

"Jimin, please," You hear Yoongi say with a sigh.

"Because if not, she can come be my new whore," the deep voice continues. "I always have a room open for someone that pretty. I have no doubt she can out-fuck our best."

"After what she has been through, I am not sending her to work in one of your brothels, for fucks sake," Yoongi responds.

"Alright," the deep voice says somewhat playfully, "just trying to help."

You are not terribly hurt by what the man said, but it bothers you to be discussed as a commodity once more, and the thought of working in a high-end brothel stirs up a lot of feelings, so, deciding you have heard enough, you turn back to enter Yoongi's room. You end up bumping into the open door and knocking your phone into it with a thunk. It is not a loud sound, but in a house this big and open, it is likely to carry, and you quickly make your way to the familiar side of the bed and set your phone face down on the bedside table. As soon as you climb between the sheets and pull the covers over your head, you can hear Yoongi running into the room.

Gently, Yoongi pulls the blanket down from your head, and you squeeze your eyes shut. If he is really the leader of a mafia, he probably will not be too pleased with you spying on what he and his friends are discussing, and you do not wish to look him in the eye.

"Hey," Yoongi says softly. "I'm sorry you overheard that. Please don't pay any mind to what Jimin said, okay? He's a crass little asshole sometimes, but he means no harm."

Perhaps it is the weight of everything that has happened today or Yoongi's kindness, but your eyes well up with tears, and you find yourself breathing quick, short breaths, unable to keep your emotions in check. Yoongi takes your face gently in two hands and rubs at the tears that have managed to sneak past your eyelids and run over your nose and down your temple.

"Hey, darling, it's okay. You don't need to cry. I will talk to Jimin."

You sniffle and open your eyes, blinking away the rest of your tears. Yoongi watches you with a fixed, concerned gaze, and you do your best to smile back.

"Sorry, it's fine," you mutter. "I'm not even that upset. I'm just…I don’t know. All of this is a lot."

"Do you want me to hold you until you fall asleep?"

The offer feels almost too intimate and personal, but you cannot deny how nice it would feel to be held, and you nod and smile, sniffling once more.

"Okay, give me just a moment."

Yoongi lets go of you and takes his phone from his pocket. He is already dressed for sleep, and his hair is fluffy and clean, making you want to run your fingers through it.

"Hey, we're done tonight," Yoongi says into his phone. "See you guys in the morning."

Yoongi closes his bedroom doors and rounds the bed. By the sound of it, you assume that he sets his phone onto its charger, and then he climbs under the blankets, scooting into the center.

"Come here," Yoongi pats the space between you, and you turn and scoot in, getting close.

Yoongi opens his arms and pulls you against his chest. You wrap your leg around both of his, and instinctively reach your hand up to twirl his hair between your fingers.

"Get some sleep, darling," Yoongi mutters, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

You breathe in Yoongi's scent, relax into his warmth and quickly feel yourself drift asleep.

Give me everything, trade you anything you want All this cash on me, all-all this cash on me

🎵 visit the playlist

I hope you enjoyed meeting some of the minor players. You’ll meet the major players soon. Are you feeling cozy in your new home? Would it be a shame if something happened to disrupt your acclimation? I hope you look forward to the next chapter!

Comments and likes/reblogs keep me happy! :)

Note: Now that I have an idea of what's happening here, expect violence, torture, abuse (of power, drugs, people, etc.) and lots more! I'll put warnings on chapters and will be adding to the tags on the main post as I go along, and as we meet more characters.

Tags: @btsiguess-kpop, @btsstan12, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @illnevertrustmyselfagain, @mwitsmejk, @svgahigh 💜 comment or dm to be added to the tag list!

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#btswritersclub #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi mafia #bts mafia #fic: collateral

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sinisterexaggerator · 2 days

Text

Hello there!

I am here to ease ya'll into my favorite ship:

Banaka (Cad Bane x Hondo Ohnaka)

Best in the Bunch.

I have so much planned for these two in a fanfic I am only just beginning to write (that spans Cad Bane's entire life), but conversations with @allsystemsblue led me to write this fluff scenario and I could not stop myself.

Pretend that what you are reading is based on an already well-established relationship. Bane shows affection by acts of service and gift giving, as his feelings are something he has trouble with expressing. The rest is self-indulgent garbage.

I should mention this is not how the rest of said fic will go. This is a one-off just for fun. You can expect angst, drama, hurt, comfort, toxic relationships, violence and smut in the future.

Credit goes to Teeth for the idea that Hondo, while not believing in the God Quay, still finds comfort in performing magicks for his own peace of mind.

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: None. Fluff, a kiss, and a lot of negativity on Bane's part.

He didn’t know a thing about them, flowers, only that they might come in useful for a certain predicament he had found himself in, as it seemed most sentient beings thought the seed-bearing parts of plants—consisting of its reproductive organs, mind you—were somehow beautiful.

He supposed he could see it, what with their bright-colored corollas, petals coming in all shapes and sizes, typically paired with a calyx as green as his own blood. That was only on some planets. On others, they were red, or blue. Purple. Indigo.

On Florrum, they came in various shades of orange, or yellow, a rarity after an even rarer desert downpour.

Fragile is what they were, and a waste of money. The resources used to farm them could be utilized in more efficient ways. Perhaps he would like the wild ones better, though to pull weeds as a manner of apology didn’t seem good enough. Didn’t seem thoughtful enough. He was sure the Weequay would run him out.

Then again, apologizing wasn’t something he often did, as Bane rarely meant not to do something he had set his mind to. Only this time, he had hurt Ohnaka’s feelings.

Feelings. Hondo had too many, and maybe Bane had too few. Callous one might call him, insensitive another. Cynical was more like it; tired; disillusioned. Yet rare was the man who could crack him open to show him what lay beneath; like a geode, Ohnaka exposed his insides, revealing to Bane all the pretty bits he never would have known existed.

And Bane did care, if only when it suited him. If only on his terms. But this time, he cared because Hondo did. It was partially anathema, this caring, yet he did it anyway, unable to coax his mind to let their little squabble go.

To the pirate, it had been more than that, Bane insulting his very heritage. He didn’t understand the tiny dolls he kept, the archaic sources of illumination that were made of wax and smelled like things Bane could not identify, nor the bits and scraps of flimsi that had been burned to cinders.

These things decorated a small table, resting atop an ornate cloth; Bane had touched it much to the pirate’s chagrin, then disrespected his arcane practice, ridiculing his efforts to appease some nonexistent deity in order to bring about Bane’s good luck.

His job was dangerous, but the hunter was unaware he was being prayed for behind closed doors. Somehow, that had irritated him, more so as he didn’t understand it, thinking Hondo must be attempting to commit himself to witchcraft like those little ladies that lived on Dathomir.

“What’s with dhis nonsense. Ain’t no use in doin’ dhat,” he remembered saying; a poor choice of words to one who meant no ill will.

He understood that now, if nothing else. So what if Hondo lit a candle for him. Who was he to say he hadn’t lived to hunt another day because of it? It was possible the only thing keeping Bane alive besides his street smarts and good aim was the Weequay’s magicks; Bane shuddered to think that was the case.

Even so, here he was, holding a bouquet tightly in one hand and his hat’s brim in the other, deigning to do what he felt might be ignored. This was nothing more than a gesture to barter passage into the pirate king’s good graces—an act of service on his part, the buying of them—for in the here and now, there was nothing more he wished to accomplish in this life. Had you told him he would be doing this a year ago, he would have laughed himself hoarse, or worse yet, right into an early grave.

Yes, flowers. Expensive, frail, and pointless. He had chosen the prettiest of those assembled according to his tastes, selecting a color he assumed was the dummy’s favorite: red.

Ladalums were scarce and imported from Alderaan, a fact he’d learned upon their purchase. They would only bloom if pollinated on their homeworld; these were fresh off the cargo freight, able to last months if given the right treatment.

That was one good thing about them—once out of his hands, the rest was up to the pirate to take care of. He was good at that, Bane mused—caring for things.

Eyes and heads—not dissimilar from all the others that populated this chamber of sorts—turned to look at this bounty hunter who relunctantly proceeded with his walk of shame. Bane would bite back all his nasty words, even as members of Hondo's gang jeered and snickered at his expense.

What he wouldn’t give to kill them on the spot. Somehow, he imagined, that would not do him any favors.

Seated on a low dais, in a throne fit for a king no less, his disgruntled paramour still fumed, swoop-goggles purposefully removed to rest upon the front of his worn helmet. Those expressive gray eyes were the Duros’ weakness, finding that he could not meet his narrowed gaze. Already oblique, Hondo’s stormy depths had gathered further into slits, leaving Bane to swallow down his spit.

Still, he approached, feeling naked and vulnerable as he stood there like a scolded child without his hat to shield him. He did his best, fathomless red ellipses meeting Hondo’s glare head-on, Bane saying the only thing he could think to say.

“Brought some flowers.”

Nothin'. There was no reaction, not even a change in his demeanor or a brightening of mood. Bane overtly frowned, taking a step back for his boots to echo lightly against the duracrete floor of Hondo’s beloved fortress home.

Supposin’ this didn’t work, Bane planned for his retreat, hoping to retain some dignity among those present. He lowered his head, his hat rightfully returned to where it belonged by a flat palm, Bane ready to drop the bouquet like so much trash at his feet; it was difficult to care when you didn’t know how to fix the wrong you’d done. Trying wasn’t as good as doing. Doing was the hard part.

“Are dose for me?”

Four little words that set Bane’s heart to thumping, the hunter wisely keeping his eyes averted as he saw the pirate stand out of his periphery. He would only nod, an infinitesimal movement of his head, up and down, affirming what Hondo already knew—those flowers were for him.

His spark descended, that charming scoundrel who kept him going on a dark night of the soul; he strode down the short flight of stairs that would bring him nearly to his level, Bane taller than Ohnaka, though the man was bigger in some ways; his heart for one, Bane thought.

“Dey are beautiful, my Moon,” his bit of sunshine said, Bane’s sorrowful eyes rising out from the shade of his bolero.

“Picked de best in de bunch,” he humbly offered, words bordering a whisper, eerily heard as the hall was quiet, grim faces and furrowed brows sparing him none of his embarrassment. "Same could be said, fer ye,” he added.

It was then the Weequay smiled, a dazzling thing, brighter than dual suns. Bane relaxed openly as he expelled a breath from between his teeth; it was a slow, heavy sigh of relief.

“Flatterer,” Hondo teased, his smile spreading wider, gold amidst pearl and oh-so satisfying to witness should Bane be the sole cause of it. “Dey need water, hm?”

The shuffling of a crimson coat and an idle toss of a braid signaled to Bane that Hondo would exit, the hunter grateful his gift had been accepted. However, the Weequay would pause, turning about face, reflecting on the shrinking Duros as he had been tempted to follow in his footsteps.

“Just… one more ting,” he announced, his expression hardening back to a look previously sported as his voice lowered an octave, Bane’s heart sinking toward his belly as he did not wish to incur any more reprimands.

Hondo took him by his coat’s lapel, jerking him forward. Bane held onto his hat as dusky lips brushed across his, pinpricks of electricity teeming along his scales like minuscule lightning bolts. The Duros would slump his shoulders to sink to Ohnaka’s height, a warm, black tongue invading his mouth to skirt one that was cool and pink.

This must be what it felt like to be forgiven, he assumed, some invisible weight lifting from off his conscience.

“Take it ye like flowers,” Bane remarked once free of his kiss, wanting to fill the now awkward silence with something to lighten whatever tension might be left between them.

For Hondo, there was none. He could just as easily forget as he could forgive. A rough thumb smoothed down the bit of Bane’s flesh left assailable, brazenly descending to aid in the tweaking of one sharp fang.

“Yes,” Hondo harmoniously agreed, “you might say dat.”

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pastriibunz · 1 day

Text

A GIRL, A GHOST, AND A GENERAL - EPISODE ONE: UNCLE MAC

The little Lady in Black finally gets a new playmate after years of waiting.

General John McNamara didn’t know what to do.

It was Black Friday, and one of the Lords in Black, Wiggog Y’rath, codename Wiggly, was causing mass hysteria in the US, concentrated mostly in the city of Hatchetfield. He was saving the US President, Howard Goodman, with a sacrifice of himself.

He knew his time was up. Nobody escaped the Black.

But he didn’t fade to dust.

Instead, he was being poked and prodded by slimy tentacles, studied by watchful, bright, glowing eyes.

“You’ll do just fine.” Wiggog’s voice boomed sinisterly.

McNamara felt himself being taken somewhere. Suddenly, he was in a girl’s bedroom, maybe even a nursery, with the way it was styled. His clothes were odd, now. No longer was he in his uniform, now in a short sleeve blouse, bow tie, cartoony gloves, and suspenders. He also wore an odd headband with antennae that ended with a fluffy puff ball, he presumed that they were there to look more like one of the other beings that resided in the Black and White, codename Sniggle.

“Hey, lovely little princess! Papa Wiggly has a surprise for you!” Wiggly coos. His voice is softer, less sinister, yet the weight it held stayed. When McNamara looked, the voice didn’t come from a monstrous eldritch being, but what looked like a human male, other than the various shades of green and the tentacles.

“What is it, Papa?” A girl’s voice comes. Higher pitched, yet posh and formal. Possibly pubescent, it was hard to tell.

“Well, you know how you said you were starting to get bored?”

“Yes, but I believe the term I used was ‘restless’.”

“Ah, yes, you did. Anywho, I have the solution! Meet your new toy! Be good to him now.” Wiggly says before leaving.

John didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid. Wiggog had a child? They didn’t know about that. How was he supposed to proceed? What-

“Hello!” He’s startled by a child. Bright, blue-teal hair, with 4 streaks of pink, yellow, green, and purple. Brown eyes, a toothy grin, pale skin, and a scar going along her cheek. She was dressed formally, yet childishly at the same time. If he had to place her age, maybe around 12-15.

He was painfully aware of the fact she was human.

“…Hello there.” John said curtly, stumbling a bit. It was hard to stand tall when you were half floating in the air.

The girl noticed. “Oh, yeah, the gravity here is wonky. You’ve sorta just gotta…trust that the floor is there. Believe that you’re standing on the ground. Here!”

She takes his hands in her smaller ones, shutting her eyes. “Close your eyes.”

He felt a need to oblige. She keeps going after a moment. “Know that the floor is there. Feel the ground beneath your feet. You’re standing on stable ground. Can’t you feel it?”

John did feel it. He felt the soles of his feet on a hard wooden floor, standing on stable ground. He opened his eyes and looked at the girl, who stared back at him with a smile. She was still floating in the air, and in the time he had closed his eyes, she had flipped herself upside down.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

She shrugged. “Eh, I enjoy floating. It’s very fun. I've done it for a majority of my life!”

“Youâ€¦have?” John questioned. Just who was she?

“Yes. For as long as I can remember.” She answered.

John couldn’t lie, he was intrigued. This girl, who they had no idea existed, who had apparently been living in the black and white for practically her entire life, this girl that affectionately referred to arguably the most terrifying of the Lords in Black as ‘Papa’, she was human. He had to know. How it happened, why it happened, who she was, and why she was still here.

“Who are you?” John said after a beat.

“You first!” She replied with a giggle.

John nodded and cleared his throat. He wasn’t going to deny this girl the information she wanted. Give some to get some.

“My name is General John McNamara of the United States Military, special unit PEIP. We call it Peep.” He spoke almost reflexively.

She ‘ooh’ed at the title, clapping for him as if he put on some performance.

“Wow…My name’s Kai Drew!” She grinned toothily.

“Nice to meet you, Kai.” He said, removing the odd headband. She gasped.

“It’s fake?! Huh?! Whu- you aren’t a sniggle?!” She shouted, going over to poke and prod him.

“I am not.” He said, pushing her away. “I’m a human.”

“That doesn’t exist, General! You’re making that up!” She said accusingly. That left him with more questions.

“You…you don’t think humans are real?” He asked slowly, with the cadence used to talk to elementary school students.

“Well…not really…I don’t think. Uncle Wiley says he used to be one, but he’s lying. My papas said so. All my papas say that they aren’t real, and that we can’t talk about them.” Kai said matter of factly.

Now this confused him. What was the goal of manipulating her into thinking humans weren’t real?

“Waaait…if you’re like Uncle Wiley, does that make you my uncle too?!” She asked, a wide smile on her face.

“I-” He started. He was quickly cut off.

“Are you my Uncle General?! Ewgh. Uncle General does not sound nice. You have a weird name, General.” She stated bluntly.

He knew now that this girl didn’t know anything about the world beyond the veil. “…General isn’t my name, it’s my title. My name’s just John. John McNamara.”

Kai makes an ‘o’ shape with her mouth. “So, are you my Uncle John? No. Uncle Johnny? Nah. Uncle Mac?”

Kai immediately brightens. “Uncle Mac! That’s it! You’re my Uncle Mac!”

John begins to refuse, but the girl launches onto him, hugging him tight. He recoils.

“We’re gonna be the bestest friends ever!” She said, clinging onto him.

John had no idea how true that was.

#kai drew #oc #tkwdlm #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #the kai who didn’t like musicals #hatchetfield #kai in hatchetfield #oc art #oc fanfiction #general mcnamara #wiggog y'wrath #wiggly #a girl a ghost and a general #sotbaw

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cellard0ors · 1 year

Text

Laura eyes each of the green cans of paint surrounding her. She then eyes each of the green marks she made on the white wall in front of her.

She compares the various greens. Which one looks better?

Galapagos Green or Ming Jade? Pale Clover or Mountain Mint? Her mouth swishes from side to side while she weighs the pros and cons of each shade.

She fiddles with the waist band of her leggings as she does so, annoyed yet again at the slightly uncomfortable feeling. She's not really showing yet, but she's certainly...thicker than she used to be.

So much so, that it's clear she's going to have to go clothes shopping soon and she's so lost in her thoughts and the variety of paint colors that she nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears, "What are you doing?"

Laura turns to see Travis standing in the doorway. He looks tired and mulish as always and she simply sighs, relaxing where she sits on the wooden floor of the work-in-progress nursery.

She has paint tarps and tape all readied along the wall she's currently studying and she waves to it, "Weighing my options."

"On?"

"Who's going to win the Super Bowl." Laura deadpans and he scowls at the smart ass remark even as she adds, "The color for the room, obviously."

Travis looks at the open cans and brushes, then to her with a frown, "Should you even be doing this in your, ah? Condition?"

She shrugs, "Everything I read online says it should be okay. Just have to make sure there's a lot of ventilation, I take adequate breaks - things like that. Not all that different from doing the job in a non-pregnant capacity."

"Okay." He says it, but he still sounds disapproving. Annoyed, but trying to stay positive, Laura gets to her feet and taps the wall near one color, "This is called Ming Jade."

"Uh huh." Travis returns as if it's the most boring thing he's ever heard. She scowls, but continues, "And this is Pale Clover."

"Alright."

... she's going to strangle him.

It must show on her face, because he scoffs, "What?"

"What? What do you mean 'what'? I'm asking you what you think! Which shade you like! We agreed on green, yeah?"

"Yes, but-!"

"We also agreed we didn't want to know the sex of the baby until they're born and we agreed pink and blue have been done to death anyway, so I got some paint and I put it up and I'm trying to get your opinion and you're just standing there looking as deadass as you did when you had me behind bars and-!"

"I do not!"

He is ignored as she charges on, "-this is just as much your decision as it is mine! Just as this baby is just as much yours as it is-!"

"I KNOW THAT!" Travis thunders and Laura grows quiet. She's still angry, but his snapping at her so loudly cuts her words short and she just glares at him, nostrils flaring.

Travis breathes in deep and holds out a steadying hand, voice dipping to a lower volume, "...I...I know that, Laura, I'm just-?"

He chews on his bottom lip and he suddenly looks so... awkward, so shy, that she feels an odd pang of sympathy for him.

It only grows worse when he adds, "I... don't know a lot about this."

"And I do?" She scoffs but he simply shrugs, "You've always come across as very capable to me. More capable than I am."

"True." Comes from her easily and it's clear he wants to scowl, but can't because he is, after all, the one to have said it. Her reaction isn't uncalled for. In fact, he probably should have anticipated it.

Still, "My point is, while you've been...kind enough to allow me decisions in this, I'm... hesitant to make them. That's all."

Laura's lips twitch, "I'm not being 'kind'. I'm being logical, stupid."

She's sure the look he levels at her is supposed to come across as deadly, but it only makes her smile, "Travis, this is our baby's nursery. We should choose the color together. We agreed on green, but now we need to agree on which green."

Travis looks adorably ruffled at the idea, "...how many greens are there?"

This gets a laugh from her, "Hundreds. I've just managed to narrow it down to these four."

"These four, huh?" He seems...softer now. Humbled somewhat and he walks farther into the room. He stands right next to her and she finds his proximity... intriguing.

Laura resolves to blame it on the hormones.

Same for her suddenly noticing how much taller he is than her. Much taller than her previous boyfriends and how that causes a flutter in her chest and he is not her boyfriend and heat is radiating off of him in delicious waves and-!

... hormones! Definitely the hormones!

Travis looks at each of the greens and then stops to tap a finger next to one, "This one."

"That one?" Laura asks, but he merely repeats himself, sounding sure, "This one."

Laura narrows her eyes at it critically and then starts bobbing her head, "Okay. Yeah...this one."

"Which shade is this?"

"Mountain Mint."

"Mountain Mint," he shakes his head, a very minute smile on his face, "What will they think of next."

"Soooooo..." Laura drags out as she eyes him from one side, "Why this one?"

Travis turns to her, face serious even as he murmers, "Because of this..."

He then proceeds to lightly brush the back of his hand along her right cheek.

Laura startles at the touch. He's been oh-so-careful not to touch her since this all began. The last time she can even truly recall him touching her was when they'd hurriedly come together after that night at the quarry.

The morning light streaming in through thin curtains as he took her on a short bookshelf in the lodge's library...

It's a shiny, odd marble of memory she rolls over and over in her mind now again, her brain trying to decipher it, trying to figure out why exactly it happened.

She's sure it was because of all the trauma and the grief and the guilt and the anger...

But either way, whatever it was or whatever sparked it, it led to their child's conception and it can't be changed or challenged. It was a catalyst that brought them to this house and this room and to this moment where he's... touching her again.

But the touch is brief and over before it's even really begun and Travis looks apologetic and sheepish as if he didn't even know he would do that as he wipes at his own cheek, "You've got some, um-?"

Laura touches her now burning cheek and, sure enough, she feels a patch of dry, flaky film that is no doubt a smudge of paint. The very paint he points to again, "Seems like it chose you, so...I'm just agreeing with it "

"I...I see." She breathes and she does, but she doesn't, and their eyes lock something seems to pass between them unspoken.

Suddenly Laura feels a little light-headed and she wonders if it's the paint or him or both when he sighs and looks down, looks away, as if he's ashamed of himself, "Anyway...if it looks good on you, I have no doubt it'll look good on the walls too."

Travis then turns and leaves. Leaves Laura to stand there and absorb two things. One, that after all this time he touched her again and, two, that he just gave her a compliment.

And, honestly?

She doesn't know what to do with either. Not at all.

#hackearney #travis x laura #unexpected gifts

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lovelessthan · 4 months

Text

After our little Tavastia adventure, I ventured northwards towards Rovaniemi on an 11 hour bus ride. Yes that’s right, 11 hours. And every minute of it was beautiful, except that I came woefully underprepared under the assumption that the driver would make occasional stops and let us off to top up on food and water.

I survived, anyhow, and so we move forward with The Finland Chronicles Part 2: Lapland

(Disclaimer: anyone on here who also has me on socials knows how much I loved this place and posted about it, so I promise this is the last you’ll hear of it from me…at least for a couple months)

So I arrived at around 7 in the evening, and the city is surprisingly quite walkable (barring the moments you're wheeling around a suitcase in the snow). This was a little plaza right around the corner from my guesthouse and I fell in love right away. Look how cute it is!

My first full day in Rovaniemi was a bit slower because there was laundry to be done and very few machines to go around between the guests, so I did set off a bit late. Mind you, at that point in January the sun would rise close to 11 am and set close to 2 pm so we'd get 2.5 hours of sunlight MAX. The above image is the neighborhood around my guesthouse close to 4 pm. Night. Nevertheless, I made the most of it and visited the Arktikum Museum, which is beautiful architecturally but also provides the public with interesting exhibits on the history, culture, flora and fauna of Finnish Lapland, as well as the impacts of climate change on the region. I didn't get any particularly noteworthy pictures except for one of a giant amethyst (Does anyone else think Abigail from Stardew Valley would've loved this place?) and a modern twist on the traditional clothing of the Sámi, the indigenous people of Lapland.

Afterwards, I caught a bus to the Santa Claus Village, which yes, is quite the tourist trap, but is so completely and utterly cute, and if I had to live somewhere that looked this magical (preferably sans tourists) I would not complain. A lot of shops, restaurants, and activity points in the village close quite early, so I didn't get to partake in activities like petting Santa's reindeer, but I enjoyed browsing the remaining open shops, having a quick dinner and visiting the spot in the village that marks the point of entry into the Arctic Circle.

The next day was my last full day in Rovaniemi, so to start I went on a tour I'd booked to visit Korouoma Nature Reserve, which is over an hour and half's drive away from Rovaniemi. Walking through this place filled me with a sense of happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time, it was like I'd suddenly found myself in Narnia. I feel like experiencing the rugged yet ethereal beauty of the nature firsthand also really helped me understand the mindset a lot of my favorite Scandinavian/Nordic artists, so I edited some snippets of our hike to the opening notes of "Crown" by Danish artist Myrkur.

And yeah, here's me posing on a little bridge (sidenote: those snow pants are not the most aesthetic, but when I tell you that winter gear is EXPENSIVE...these guys were so reasonably priced and they did their job well in the near -30 temps we were experiencing every day, so for that I salute them).

There are many beautiful frozen waterfalls as well as stalactities all around the reserve, but the most famous one is Charlie Brown, which preserves the beautiful blue shade of the water in the dead of winter. Having seen the main points of interest, our guide led us to a campsite, where he provided us with some tea and ginger biscuits, and grilled some sausages over a fire. I can't remember the last time I'd ever been so content.

Later that evening I set out for the last activity of my brief visit to Lapland: Aurora Hunting. The guides drove the various groups some distance outside of Rovaniemi to a spot with minimal light pollution and clearer skies, and proceeded to prepare us a meal of (yet again) grilled sausage, but also salmon and potato soup, and hot blueberry juice (which I loved). Upon realizing that the first spot would not render us any results in our hunt, they drove us to a second location, near a frozen lake, where several more groups had gathered.

I was about to give up hope, and my guide had come to call me back to the car, but luckily I had run into my guide from the hike earlier in the day (who also does Aurora tours) and he pointed out a glimmer in the sky off in the distance. So I snapped this picture. Something I learned on this tour is that oftentimes you do not see the Aurora Borealis the way your camera does, and while it is possible to get crazy lightshows, those usually happen further north of places like Rovaniemi, where the magnetic field is even stronger. So it's not my best picture, and I didn't really have time to mount my phone on my little tripod (I also could have brought a better camera, tbf) but I'm glad to have had the opportunity nevertheless, and hopefully this is not the last time Miss Aurora and I meet!

Another thing to note is that Aurora tours have become very popular, and because all these different companies try to maximize how many people they bring along with them, it can feel like a very impersonal, crowded and rushed experience. I'm sure there are private tours you can take, where you can take your time scouting different spots and taking photos, but they very likely cost a pretty penny. Nevertheless, I'm once again glad I had the opportunity and here's to next time.

And just like that it was time to leave. I was sad, but my eyelashes certainly weren't. I hopped on a bus back to Helsinki, this time better prepared for the journey ahead, but with an ache in my heart for what I was leaving behind. Lapland, I will return. Who knows, perhaps in summer.

And to conclude this chapter, here’s a little Rovaniemi haul (does not include the Reindeer chips and Reindeer jerky that I consumed on the spot after purchasing).

Until next time!

#finland #rovaniemi #lapland #scandinavia #nordic #winter #travel #photography #korouoma #waterfall #nature #aurora borealis #northern lights

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inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 · 1 year

Text

1. The chosen one (Dark! Nicasia x reader)

*I am sorry for the inappropriate use that this text can present in English, I have translated it on google.

TW: Kidnapping, obssesive tendences.

Strange was the first word you thought of when you woke up in a cozy hammock of grass and things that only a qualified florist could determine. You didn't remember drinking or going to a party with friends. What's more, due to the sudden move to America, your number of acquaintances had gone down unbelievably.

You sat on the soft cloth body trying to re-create how you ended up there.

But nothing.

You felt your throat tighten from the fear that was beginning to rise deep in your chest. You waved your hands anxiously and focused on the sound of a waterfall in the distance, water trickling peacefully as travel magazines used to describe.

You didn't want to have a panic attack right now.

“You've awakened.”

You shook your head quickly.

In front of you was the most beautiful maiden you had ever seen. She had a well-kept braid, shiny, long and decorated with pearls, however, the most surprising thing was her blue hair. Her hair looked as if it had been treated in the best salons in New York, only for movie stars and celebrities.

“Yes?” You said numbly, the shock of seeing her took your breath away without knowing it.

She liked that reaction.

“My dear, you are with me now.”

Her tone didn't give you confidence.

“Who are you? Where I am? Because I am here? Are you from the mob?” Fear spread like fire with sticks.

"Calm down, little lily." Her voice was captivating, your muscles relaxed and your expression stopped being aggressive.

The mysterious lady approached you with steps similar to what she would take an angel, you hardly heard any noise and she had the poise of a model. Seeing her come towards you allowed you to observe her clothing, it seemed from those fantasy novels that you vaguely heard from your university classmates.

“You're mine.”

You stood up immediately.

"I don't even know who the hell you are!"

"Don't talk to me like that." To your surprise, your mouth closed as if by magic. “Little human, if you'd let me explain...” She didn't even bother to see your vague attempts to speak, “everything would be easier.”

"Well... talk to me," you said with great force, for some reason you couldn't insult her or raise your voice.

Her dark blue lips distracted you, but your willpower brought you back to reality.

“I am Nicasia, little lily, I am not a mortal like you. I'm not human and this is your new home.”

You took a few steps back, alarmed. It must have been some crazy, raving actress!

“Home? What are you talking about? Is it some kind of joke?”

"I can't joke…" she murmured vaguely before turning her attention to you. “I have chosen you as my consort, sweet lily. You should be proud.”

“What are you?”

The fear had escalated to the point that it was reflected in your voice. You thought about some kind of scandal related to kidnappings, any rumors to clear everything up and not have a panic attack right then and there.

"I'm a fairy, what's more," she proudly raised her chest, "I am the crown princess of the kingdom of waters and tides."

The expression on your face made Nicasia smile.

You were a limnologist, your passion had made you interact with the aborigines who lived near rivers in various parts of the Strait of California and the Mississippi. You heard legends of fantastic beings, of seductive women with long hair in shades similar to blue and green who used to take unsuspecting people to the depths.

"You're kidding," was the only thing you could manage. There was a strange tightening in your throat when you wanted to say "crazy".

You took a quick look around the place, noticing the magical landscape that surrounded you. The floor was made of sea stone that was curiously warm despite your worn boots, the walls themselves seemed to be made of flower buds, and a lot of precious objects further embellished the room.

"You'll have a hard time accepting it, but I'll show you."

To your surprise, a large amount of water came out of the large pink shell that served as a sink. Nicasia delicately moved her wrist and turned it into a gigantic drop.

That was enough to understand how screwed you were.

“I don't want any of this, really. Choose someone else, I… I'm not the one.”

The princess looked at you as if you had said something ridiculous. She shook her head and got as close to you as possible, leaving you between her and the hammock.

"Aren't you the one? I have not met any mortal more valuable than you. When my mother told me that she could start looking for a partner, I thought it was the most tedious thing in the world. I talked to almost every damn thing here looking for someone worthy to be my mate and found no one. Had it not been for my good friend Cardan, I would never have dared to go to the human world.”

She gave a dramatic pause and continued.

“Your world is chaotic, weird and uncomfortable, but I steeled myself and went on my way looking for someone special. I was persecuted by unworthy servants, naive stalkers...” Her gaze turned dark on hers. “human beings who seemed to be important because they were followed by devices called cameras. I was bored and decided to take a dip in an almost unknown river, no one would bother me there, the mud people know not to go near that area and that's when I saw you. You had a notebook and a pen in your ear, distracted you looked at the tides in the distance and you didn't notice my presence. You never did, that's what interested me. You weren't annoying like the others, you were smart…, generous and charming…” The crazy gleam in her eyes startled you. “I accompanied you both on your outings in the woods and around your beloved mortal school. A few moons passed and I realized that you were perfect. You are perfect to be a queen by my side.”

She took your hands without realizing the fear that invaded you.

"Please," you begged, holding back tears.

“Please what? sweet pearl.” Unaware of your fear, she stroked your chin. “You will remain with me forever, you will have power and riches, you will be my beloved companion forever. I will not let anyone hurt you, I will destroy all those who want to separate you from my side or seek to destroy you. No, I'm not going to allow even an unseemly look. You belong to me, lily, from the moment I saw you.”

"Leave me alone, I beg you."

The anxious pressure in your throat can no longer be ignored. It's too much information for your anxious mind.

“Why?” The tone of annoyance is not lost on you. “You should be thankful that he chose you! You were nobody out there and now you will be my wife! Isn't that a cause for joy, mortal?”

"I don't want to be your wife." You try to scream, but you can't. “I don't want to be anything of yours, put me back where I belong.”

“The only place you belong is next to me, is it so hard to understand?”

The roar it releases surprises you, your kidnapper is as precious as it is deadly.

“But don't worry” her look at you becomes more tender, “you just have to listen to my words...”

@nicasiaoftheundersea @nicasiaas @yandere-stan @yandere-daydreams @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @darkcharacters @thecruelprincess @thecruelcardan

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yamayuandadu · 7 months

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other than inanna which mesopotamian deity was depicted with red skin? and what did depicting deities with that colour symbolize?

I do not know what you are referencing. Either you are misunderstanding references to Inanna wearing carnelian jewelry or astral titles (Ninsianna could function as a title of Inanna and does mean "red lady of heaven" but this is purely astronomical) or this is about the Zimri-Lim mural, where her skin is pretty clearly meant to be a shade of brown, same as everyone else's:

Most preserved images of Mesopotamian deities lack color altogether either due to medium (cylinder seals, jewelry, unpainted clay, etc) or state of preservation and the ones which do not seem to generally go for fairly realistic skin tones, as seen above. We know apotropaic figurines of lahmu, door guardian gods, etc were painted with various pigments, with darker shades typically reserved for the (clothing of the) fully divine (ex. Sebitti in red garments, Narundi with a red cap) and brighter for mythical creatures, but that's irrelevant to Inanna. There are reconstructions of the queen of the night relief which do go for an intense red shade but that's also not a depiction of Inanna. To my best knowledge, the main departure from the assumption most deities looked about the same as the average person in Mesopotamia (except grander, luminous etc) are the uncommon references to deities such as Tishpak and Ninazu being green and scaly, which simply reflects the fact they were snake gods. You can find pretty frequent comparisons of hair and beards to lapis lazuli in poetry though in this context this term could simply refer to black hair, even though the stone is obviously bright blue.

#mesopotamian miscellanea

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rottendollface · 1 year

Text

Like Home.

Character: Strade.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+; female student reader is a naive person with unnamed mental distress, reader is collecting books, OOC, my own headcanons, panic attacks, stressful itching, family abuse, stalking, strong language, killer in love, femininity sexualization, misogyny, sexual violence, CNC, humiliation, eating from a dog bowl, physical violence (including various tortures), description of vomiting, psychological abuse > physical abuse, kidnapping, romanticization, keeping hostage, unprotected sex, painful virginity loss, oral sex (reader giving and receiving), rimming (reader receiving), 69 pose, blood drinking; mentions of: red rooms, cannibalism, necrophilia; Neon Demon spoilers; reader is the first victim kept alive, and Ren doesn't exist here; Easter egg with Celia (The Price of Flesh).

Word count: ~17,500.

A/N: I don't speak German, but I used plenty of words from it here. If you find any mistakes, feel free to correct me ♡.

Strade was watching you through the window of his car: how you looked around before you went down the stairs, then put earphones on your head to muffle the noise of the streets and searched for a needed playlist, while keeping your free hand on your bag, which you had put over your shoulder, as usual. After you found a song, you hid your phone in a pocket before going to the bus stop: looking straight on the ground, you didn't care what was happening around, as you were immersed in your thoughts and worries. It was windy and cloudy, almost raining today, and you hugged yourself, when another cold breeze had blown over you; wind ruffled your hair, so you checked on a green butterfly pin, afraid that it could fall from your head, then you moved your hand to a cheap heart locket, before hugging yourself again; knitted black blouse with long sleeves and low neckline, light green midi skirt with flower print of darker shade and classic black Mary Jane shoes (his mother (or grandma even) would like this style) weren't suitable for a weather like this. For Strade it was amusing to see a young college student dressing up in such outmoded style, but he was honest with himself — your fashion made him notice you. At first he didn't plan anything serious on you and just chuckled to himself: a girl in old-fashioned clothes and with a haunted look in her beautiful, pleading eyes — probably another victim of bullying. Something made him give a better look at you, and he found you attractive, magnetic even, which made his interest light up.

It wasn't in Strade's style to stalk someone, but with you he couldn't suppress such a strange whim of his. You weren't a sociable person: Strade could hardly remember you talking to someone more than a couple of minutes outside your college. During the conversation you were touching your locket constantly: twisting it in your fingers, or adjusting it on your neck. After a few days of observing you, he could tell that you were a neurotic with no social life. You lived in a small rented apartment in a bad neighborhood, which meant that you didn't have a lot of money and that your parents (if you had them) didn't care about you — no parent in their right mind would let their daughter live in the neighborhood with three most disgusting bars in the area. Creeps of all sorts were coming here at night, and who knows what could happen to an elegant girl who lived here all alone. At least you were smart enough not to show up on the streets after dark.

Your flat was small and resembled a doghouse, not a normal apartment. It was easy for Strade to get inside while you were in college. When Strade came in, he bumped into a stack of books that were staying near the front door's wall. Dozens of books fell on the floor, showing him a collection in art, astrology and alchemy, magic and history. Strade looked over your room and found many more stacks of the same type; another noticeable detail was a bright poster in blue tones of the Neon Demon movie. He cursed softly, mostly from surprise. Strade put all the fallen books back in their place and went to look at other stacks to understand what genres you were collecting so obsessively. He had seen you coming into a bookstore a couple of times, but he didn't expect you to be a pack rat, who was spending all her money on her addiction. The flat was clean and left the smell of your perfume — as it should be in all the women's apartments, Strade believed. It was poorly furnished: you didn't even have a table or a bookcase; a small wardrobe was full of clothes: dresses, blouses, skirts, two pairs of jeans. Strade couldn't fight a sudden desire to sniff your clothes. He chose a blouse that you were wearing yesterday and buried his nose in it, inhaling perfume and the sweetness of your sweat.

The bathroom was so confined it was hard to breathe in here; the air was damp and still hot and scented after your morning shower; it smelled with lemon and basil and turned out to be your shower gel. He gave a careful look at the products you were using: rather expensive, not suitable for an apartment like this. You had plenty of body creams and oils, all of them with floral fragrance. Strade also found four bottles of perfume, again, indecently pricey for a crumbling apartment you were renting. Those mismatches and the quirk of yours made him interested in your persona even more — he wanted to know everything about you until the smallest details.

Mulberry, bergamot, bitter almond and blackberry — it was the fragrance you cared on your body today. Strade wished to feel it on your skin mixed with your natural smell. He didn't have fun for a while, so Strade made big plans for you. Hunting you down this way had its pros: he became better in stalking and picking locks; your plainess and restlessness amused him too — every time someone started talking to you, your first reaction was fear: you gained some self control, but his allerted eyes could easily see how you were losing your composure with your eyes round and brows curved, corners of your lips looking down. Strade laughed every time he saw you having a conversation with some poor soul: you were nodding slowly, imitating interest, but your eyes were looking sideways and you were pursing your lips, chewing on them, then letting them free, only to repeat this ritual later — if it was Strade talking to you, he would certainly give you a nice punch in your face for such an inappropriate behavior.

Your naivety was outstanding: you didn't even notice the same car was following your route for a few days straight. Maybe if you had more interest in what was happening right under your nose you wouldn't be stuck in a situation like this. Strade could bet you didn't notice that someone had visited your apartment. He was alien to this small world of perfection and neatness, even his own smell was too strong, too outstanding from the sweet mix. Before leaving your home, Strade looked at the books again: all of them were in a good state, which meant you weren't using them. Textbooks about chemistry, one about physics and math; medicine, geography and taxidermy — he tried to find some logic in your collection, but failed: Strade was gaining information on you to find the right topics that would make your tongue loosen, but he certainly didn't want to talk about science. He also noticed black digital radio box on your bed and a pair of on-ear headphones near it, which made him think you were collecting audio books as well.

Usually Strade hated to build up plans and strategies: Strade was proud of his charisma and ability to improvise easily in dialogue. He didn't need any special preparations to find his victims, but not in your case — he couldn't let you go so easily, but he couldn't get you as well, and it was pissing him off. Strade was simple in his actions and met plenty of his victims in bars and nightclubs, but you were avoiding all of his favorite places like a plague. You weren't his type, however you became his obsession — unreachable and so desired. He wanted to force you to open this sweet mouth of yours and scream for him, plead for him. Strade was sure you wouldn't last for long, probably you wouldn't survive even the first round: girls like you had a very weak heart and died from fright mostly, just like canaries. It would be… such a waste. Strade was surprised at his own regret, tried to chase you away from his thoughts, but you were staying here with him, making him see your silhouette in a dance of cigarette's smoke. He couldn't forget your face: charming and always sad, with unspoken grief, that gave you an air of a heroine of a tragic novel. It would be nice to see you smiling at least once.

You reminded him of a mermaid: your always glistening eyes, delicate blush on your cheeks and vibrant pink lips, the rare, divine charm. Your steps were fast, but careful, as if you were walking on the sharpest of knives. The beauty of your face and loveliness of your pose were bewitching Strade, leaving him fantasizing about you and dying in anger from the impossibility to touch you, feel the warmth of your body against his.

The next morning Strade was following your route again, but today he left his car not far away from your house and was ready to ride the bus with you. Suddenly you walked past the bus stop and headed straight to the subway. You were in a hurry and kept looking around sharply. It made Strade think you finally noticed that something wasn't right, but your unexpected move made him nervous as well. He was waiting for this day to become closer to you, and now you trampled on his plans roughly — you would pay for it later. Strade almost managed to elbow his way into a full subway car; his wandering gaze found you in a crowd, and he made an effort to reach you. Finally he was staying not far away from you and could see your worried face. With every stop new people came into the subway, leaving less space in the train. You clawed into a handhold in front of you, your knuckles turned white from the tension and power you had put in your grip.

The air in the train was stale. Sweaty bodies were pressing him and you from everywhere, making it harder to breathe and restraining any moves — it was rush hour, everyone was coming home after a long working day and no one cared about someone else's comfort. Strade noticed changes in your emotions: you were breathing hard, stared at the floor without blinking. Tears stored in the corners of your eyes. He could understand your feelings, but it all was your fault: you made him suffer this hell on the earth, and you won't get away with it.

You were smothered in awful smells of cheap perfume, bad breath, sweat and dust; dozens of irritating sounds were buzzing in your ears, and the man's body behind you, pressing on yours with heavy weight, was driving you crazy slowly. Your knees were shaking but you kept staying, leaning on your tired hand. You were praying for this to end, but couldn't hear the names of stations as you were concentrating on your physical senses.

You didn't sleep well for the whole week and had no stress relief, which led to overeating and itch in your limbs. Right after you remembered about it, you felt your forearms itching. Fresh cuts from your nails were burning from your own sweat. You needed to scratch it — your hand shuddered, then started shaking from annoying tingling.

You started feeling nauseous and dizzy. You were afraid to come back home on your normal route: someone got into your apartment but didn't take anything from here. Not a thing was touched, as if your apartment was a museum someone decided to visit out of boredom. You didn't have any proof of it, but you could feel something was wrong when you entered your flat. You just knew something wasn't right — but you weren't sure of the reality of your guess. Your parents told you many times that you got a good imagination for your own bad: it wasn't the first time you felt like someone had visited your apartment while you were out. It was the reason you were changing apartments a lot. At first you ran away from your family house, then you changed five flats in different parts of the city. It was your sixth apartment, and you already were thinking about leaving it.

You knew something was wrong with you, but you couldn't help it. It started not so long ago but already turned you into an antisocial shadow of yourself. You were missing the old you, the one who liked to chat with people and walk in the park, who didn't skip meetings in her club of interest, and could visit her friends freely, without a fear that something would happen.

You weren't a fatalist and didn't believe in signs of destiny, but you were sure that something was about to happen with you. It was haunting you for a year already, turning your life into a nightmare: every time you came home you locked the door on all the locks, then checked on it for the rest of the day and before going to sleep; you could come back from the college just because you forgot to check if you closed a bathroom faucet. You had to write all your check ups down in your notes and reread it during the day, but you didn't trust it — you were always thinking you forgot about something. You didn't know exactly what would happen to you. Maybe it would be something good or neutral. You made yourself nervous by causing depressive thoughts, and you knew you were wrong, but you couldn't stop the process.

Book collecting was your stress relief method. The amount of money you had spent on your strange hobby was enough to rent the best apartment for the whole year, but you were ready to live in the worst neighborhood until the rent was low and you had free money on the books. You wanted to store the human's knowledge and wisdom and spent all your free time hunting for another book. You hadn't read even a half of your collection, but you couldn't stop yourself from getting a new copy. It was some sort of a mania of yours, maybe a disorder even.

Now, staying in a subway, full of people, you were about to pass out. You had already regretted your decision to deceive the fictitious stalker with an unplanned change of your way home, and you were fed up with yourself as well. All your life was torture, and it couldn't go like this any longer or you would lose your sanity. You were choking from the lack of air slowly and turned your head back to the open doors. You tried to leave but couldn't squeeze through a crowd until someone caught you by your hand and helped you to get out. You felt them pulling you to the exit and didn't resist. You gasped for fresh cold air, leaning to the nearest wall in an attempt to calm down and catch your breath. A drop of rain fell on your face from heavy black clouds, and you hurried to wipe it.

'Hey, are you okay?' The person asked anxiously. You looked at the man and smiled at him, but your smile was twisted and pitiful.

'I feel much better now. I could swear, I thought I would suffocate in this cursed subway. I don't even know how to thank you enough for your help,' You didn't want to say all of this, but suddenly the words were coming up your throat and you couldn't stop yourself from speaking. The man in front of you looked fine and kind, and he seemed to worry about you sincerely. Something about him made you feel strange: he was just a normal, inconspicuous man, rather handsome than ugly, as his face had no outstanding or especially beautiful features that could fascinate a woman. Massive thick eyebrows with sharp ends, big round eyes with a frisky sparkle, high cheekbones, somewhat heavy lower jaw and nice thin lips.

'No need to be so formal,' he smiled and then laughed: he closed his eyes and his shoulders twitched, as he let out a soft chuckle. His laughter was warm and friendly, caring even. All his posture was relaxed and confident. 'My name is Strade.'

He was speaking with an accent, pronouncing "r" as a roaring throat sound and replacing the "d" at the end of the words on a "t". You told him your name and he made a compliment to it. This small conversation helped you feel better almost immediately — it even gave you hope that your paranoia was disappearing.

'You want to thank me right? Then what about us going to a bar tomorrow, how do you like that?' Strade gave you a big friendly smile and stared at you, waiting for your answer. His accent became stronger, and you understood that he was speaking in a German manner. You wanted to decline the invitation, but agreed, as you were embarrassed by his stare and his self confidence.

You had to ask Strade for help one more time, as you looked around and realized that you didn't know where you were. You weren't familiar with the city despite moving around regularly, so you had no idea how to get back home. The situation worsened with a falling dark — during night hours you were as helpless as blind kitten. Strade gladly agreed to walk you to your neighborhood and didn't stop chatting with you for a minute. You had to admit that you felt safe with him, so you were chattering willingly, without any dredging thoughts crippling into your head. Strade picked up the place and time for your next meeting, and as you headed home you didn't forget to wave your hand to him as a goodbye.

Strade's smile disappeared right after he left your area. The day was stressful and brought him painful arousal mixed with excitement and a sheer impossibility of your abduction right away, in this God-forsaken part of the city, where you and him only got off. You turned out to be a horrible chatterbox: you were talking so much he got a headache from your ringing voice. You fell for his fake compassion and told about your worries — Strade had always used this trick and it always worked. You were the type of person who liked to share their problems with unknown people, as you wanted to be heard and didn't need actual help.

When Strade showed up in a bar you were already here, staying alone in a corner, far from everyone, and waiting for him nervously, like a dog that didn't meet its owner for a good time. You were holding your drink, but didn't make a sip of it even. This place wasn't for you as well as its visitors — men in their thirties and forties, bikers mostly. Rough, drunk and noisy, they were scaring you.

'Hey there,' Strade got himself a beer and stopped next to you. You trembled, as you didn't notice him, but smiled immediately after it. You looked a little different today: green blouse with plunging neck and long sleeves, short black skirt that was fitting your round thighs, transparent black tight, leg warmers on your calves at the same color as your blouse, and Mary Jane shoes again. You were wearing pretty makeup with dark eyeshadow and painted your lips with a dark red lipstick. Strade couldn't help but smile: you wanted to look more attractive for him, dressed in an innocent but seductive manner. 'The weather is awful, I hope you didn't get cold. I wanted to buy you a drink, but I can see you are enjoying this evening already.'

'No, it's just soda. I don't drink alcohol.' You said in an embarrassed tone. 'My friends made fun of me because of this. Is it raining again?'

'Hell yes!' Strade ruffled his wet hair. 'Where are your friends now?' He asked, sipping his beer.

'I lost contact with them. When all of this started I isolated myself from everyone. They tried to take me out, but gave up. I concentrated on my college and other stuff, trying to suppress my strange condition. I'm talking about myself only, I'm sorry.'

It was the first time you went to hang out, so you felt a little nervous and wanted to scratch your forearm. Today you weren't very brave and the conversation was dull. You tried to come up with some catchy topic, but you couldn't.

'My hobby? Huh, good question!' Strade was taken aback when you switched the dialogue on him. 'I like mastering things and mechanisms.'

'Wow…' his answer fascinated you. You knew almost nothing about this field and it seemed like pure witchcraft to you. 'It may sound silly, but I hope to see some of your creations one day.'

You smiled at Strade and gave him an innocent look, as you were speaking from your heart and was honest in your little wish. Cute dimples on your cheeks, the way you squint your glistening eyes and arched your brows just a little in a kind way melted his heart, causing him to bite on his lip not to guffaw at this picture in front of him. Strade was happy that he found you — he would have so much fun with you. You wished to see some of his creations — Strade appreciated it, so you would have an opportunity to test the best of his collection on yourself.

You couldn't even guess what was waiting for you at the end of the evening, and this mischievous trick gave Strade motivation for courting you more. Your cheeks were flushing pink as he was telling you the best of his compliments; you covered your mouth with your palm while laughing at his jokes and wiped tears of joy from your eyes with the knuckle of your index finger carefully so as not to ruin your makeup. Strade was telling you funny stories from his younger years and you found many moments that were similar with your experience, so you replied lively, happily even, as you found someone, who was understanding you easily.

'Oh, I should go home already!' You exclaimed after dropping a look at the clock in your phone. 'It's almost midnight… Thank you for your company, Strade. I really appreciate it. Would you like to meet up again tomorrow?'

'Of course, Fröschli,' He was looking at you through half lowered eyelids and smiling cunningly, as if he was knowing something you didn't even suspect about. 'You will see me a lot.'

(Froggy)

You were confused by his reaction, but didn't show it. Instead, you scratched the back of your head and giggled. 'I should take some lessons in German to understand you better.' You remarked. You probably looked like an idiot, but you preferred this over awkward silence.

'I'll give you a ride back home.' Strade placed his hand over your shoulder and you yelped, never expecting him to do this. 'Is something wrong?'

'I just…' You looked sideways at his hand, then back at Strade, and found him staring at you with an attentive piercing gaze. You wanted to reply, but suddenly all the words were gone from your mouth and you were just staring back at him, batting your eyes. 'It is the first time a man is… uhm…' you swallowed nervously, not sure if you should tell such an information to the male you had known for two days.

He hummed at your words. 'Use your tongue, Fröschli. The first time a man?..' Strade repeated your sentences for you.

'... is touching me.' Your cheeks turned pink from embarrassment and you looked away, not being able to handle Strade's gaze anymore.

Instinctively you reached your hand to your neck to touch your locket, but found nothing. You remembered that today you decided not to put it on, however Strade had already noticed you started acting nervous.

'But what about your boyfriend, Fröschli? I won't believe you don't have one.' Strade was grinning mockingly, his hand on your shoulder felt heavy.

'It's a long story,' you made a nervous chuckle. 'Not all girls are noticed by guys.' You didn't have an idea of how to explain Strade the phenomenon of your loneliness and you didn't want him to ask about it. You were beautiful and interesting as a person, but all the boys around you had seen you as their little sister. Even the one, that you fell in love with — you shared the same company and were studying together with him, so you were sure he would notice you. Unfortunately he was already taken, but wasn't happy, because his girlfriend wasn't interested in him, dating him only because he was cool and handsome. You were the one to whom he was usually complaining about another fight or disinterest from her side. He had never noticed the way you looked at him, never cared about your feelings, used you like a plush toy to calm himself, then went away, leaving you broken. He was your first love and you wanted him to be your first in everything, you still believed that things would work for you two. When you caught your paranoid distress, all your friends and he abandoned you as you became grumpy and depressed: you were annoying them with your constant bad mood, didn't want to take care of them and entertain them. They were talking with you in the college, more from obligation than from a personal interest.

'We should be leaving already,' Strade stated off the topic, ignoring everything you just said. 'Have you kissed at least?' He asked inappropriately, but you shook your head in dissent. 'So sweet. Well, it's not such a big deal, right?' Strade's tone was cheerful and cooing again. 'Get up, Fröschli.'

You were following Strade in a haste, as he was walking faster than you, and covering your head with your palms from rain. Despite the bad weather, you didn't expect the rain to start today's evening, so you left your umbrella at home. Strade didn't seem to be bothered by it, too. The chilly night air made your body cover in shivers, and you hugged yourself to save some warmth. You were surprised when you saw Strade's car: you didn't expect him to own a family style car of a new model. You expected to see something eye-catching, sporty even, the type of car that cool guys from your college were driving, but Strade's car was simple, average even. He opened the door to a front passenger seat for you, and you climbed inside. You were putting a seat belt on when your eyes suddenly fixed on the door and you noticed that it didn't have a handle, making it impossible to get out of the car from inside. You froze with a seat belt in your hands as you were slowly processing everything.

'What's wrong?' You heard Strade's husky voice near your ear and shuddered. Your heart was beating like crazy, causing pain in your ribs, and your hands started itching badly, begging to be scratched. Strade was burning your nape with his gaze, his always friendly smile now was sinister and creepy: he was waiting for your reaction, as he had already known you realized that you wouldn't go home today.

'Everything is okay, Strade!' You turned your head to him and smiled. 'Can you fix it for me, please?' you waved your head at the seat belt. 'I can't pull it out for some reason. I don't want to mess it up accidentally.' You made a sad face, looking at him with puppy eyes.

Strade cackled, then burst into laughter. You could use this moment to punch him, but you were sitting still and playing dumb. You were nothing against him, only one slap of his big palm on your face would be enough to knock you out. Adrenaline was rushing through your blood, distracting you from real understanding of the whole situation you ended up into. It was funny to you how you felt so composed while you should be panicking and screaming for help, but you knew one thing for sure: you wanted to survive. And for this, you believed, you had to behave respectfully and submissive.

'I adore little idiots like you, Fröschli,' Strade took the belt out of your hands and put it in its place instead of fastening it. He rubbed your cheek with his fingers gently to see the hope in your watering eyes. In a second Strade grabbed your face hard and pressed his fingers on your cheeks, squeezing them roughly. 'Let me do something more for you.'

You missed the moment his hand clutched in your forehead and he bashed your head in a tinted window. You let out a shriek, then a low groan escaped your lips, as you were blacking out slowly. Your whole body felt numb and you went limp on the seat, leaving a bloody stain on the window.

Strade chuckled at how easy he broke the skin on your nape, wondering if you got a concussion. He started the engine and remembered about your phone. Strade had to look for it, as he forgot that you had put it on your knees, when you got into the car. It fell off your body and was laying under your legs. He got a paper towel from the glove box and took your phone with it. The street was empty, so Strade threw your phone on the ground and then crushed it with his boots.

You woke up in the dark and cold room. You were lucky enough not to feel pain in your head; it seemed like you escaped the brain trauma as well. You tried to move your limbs: your arms were first and you found them tied behind your back and a steel pole. The wave of panic covered you, left you trembling, as you understood the whole horror of your situation. Your life couldn't end like this — you didn't deserve such an end. It wasn't fair.

'Strade!' You started screaming his name because of feebleness. You had no one but him now, and you still were hoping that he would take pity on you. 'Strade!' You cried for him again, your high pitched and lingering plea filled the whole space of the basement and was noticed upstairs.

You heard his steps above yourself, then he came to the basement door, letting the light from the house into it.

'My-my, rise and shine, baby girl!' Strade looked at you with clear amusement. 'To tell the truth, I expected you to wake up in three hours at least, but you made it out in forty minutes! Going for a world record, huh?'

Strade was mocking you with his usual smile, that was glued to his face, you thought. His perky tone and his always happy personality insulted you, which was clearly shown on your face by the way you curled your lips and arched your brows, like a child. You were about to burst into hysterical tears, and your chest was already rising slowly.

'Oh, meine Süße,' Strade cooed, giving you disturbed look. 'You don't like when I'm making fun of you? I didn't even say anything! But I remember you told me about your problem with controlling emotions.'

(My sweetie)

'What do you want from me?' You were stuttering as tears and fear were filling up your chest with a heavy and cold feeling of waiting: waiting for something gruesome coming for you. 'I'll do anything, just please don't…' you couldn't finish your sentence — you were afraid that your words would provoke him into doing the opposite things instead.

'Hm? Don't do what?' Strade was staring at you, waiting for your response. Instead of answering you lowered your head, looking on a dusty ground with dull brownish stains from blood that soaked it a long time ago.

Strade squatted and frowned at you. His fingers tugged in your hair, and he lifted your head, making you look at him. 'Lost your tongue, Fröschli?'

You shook your head. You tried to suppress fear or come up with anything else but this cursed plea of saving your life. Your sudden silence pissed Strade off. He cupped your cheek; his thumb was caressing your skin, smearing black trails of your tears. For a moment you even decided that he was trying to calm you, but when his palm left your face, Strade gave you a slap that would make you fall if you weren't tied to a pole.

'Please, don't kill me!' You screamed, breaking your voice.

Strade stood up and came to the counter, started searching for something. 'I like your enthusiasm, meine Süße!' He picked up his favorite knife and returned to you. 'I did nothing, but you are already screaming your lungs out. Save your breath, okay?' He laughed at the way your eyes widened at the sight of the knife. 'Would you like to eat or drink something maybe? Just before we start. You have one chance.'

You shook your head, shuddering and sobbing.

'Well, no means no!' Strade giggled and squatted again to untie your hands. 'Someone told me she would do anything, am I right?'

'Yes…' You pressed your hands to your chest immediately after they were set free. Your wrists were burning, but you didn't care — your whole attention was concentrated on the knife. You weren't afraid of cuts or stubs — you were terrified at the thought that he could cut off your breasts or clit, stab your genitals until the bloody unrecognizable mess, or cut out your lips and eyes. You didn't know what to expect from him, how much pain he would cause to you happily.

'Take off your clothes.' Strade's voice became serious. You started undressing yourself without delay. Was he going to rape you then set you free? You couldn't hope that everything would end so easily for you — you weren't a lucky one. You took off your blouse and put it next to you; your shaking fingers touched a bra hook, and you heard Strade chuckling. 'Wow, wow, lady! Aren't you a little too eager for me? I feel like I'm the one being kidnapped!'

Your cheeks turned red immediately, and he started guffawing with a loud and deep voice at his own witty remark and this stupid face expression of yours. New tears formed on your eyes, but you swallowed them, kept undressing, until you were sitting on the cold floor in your black lingerie only and covering your body with your hands from embarrassment.

Strade gave you a slow appraising glance. You looked like an expensive porcelain doll, and his followers would certainly love you. The stream with your participation would gain a lot of money: messy hair and ruined makeup made the noble features of your face even prettier, your lovely lips looked more plumpy with smudged lipstick; fleshy body with delicious curves tempted Strade to lay his hand on it. He kept in mind that you didn't date anyone, so probably you were a virgin — his fans would bathe him in donations for deflowering on air, and he couldn't stop imagining the moment his length would pierce your tight unprepared cunt; probably you wouldn't be able to take all of him in one go, and this libidinous fantasy kept him enthralled. Strade felt his own body becoming hot: all of the thoughts about raping you on camera for other people to watch were enough to make him fully hard in his pants.

'Hey, Fröschli,' Strade gave you an intimidating look and pressed the end of the knife under your chin, forcing you to lift your head. 'Eyes on me.' Then he passed the knife to you. 'Cut yourself.'

You took the knife, confused with his words, and pressed it on your forearm. Strade focused his eyes on the red scratches with a thin layer of dried blood that were covering both of your hands. 'I can see you had some fun before me, huh? Böses Mädchen.'

(Bad girl)

You swallowed nervously and drew the blade over your arm. The knife turned out to be unexpectedly sharp and the cut was deeper than you expected. A thick stream of blood started trickling from the wound, some of it was dropping on your thigh and other part was dripping up to your elbow. Strade's breathing became hard, his eyes were half lidded and his gaze was clouded with lubricious pleasure.

'More,' Strade ordered with a husky voice, and you hesitated, searching for a better place on your body. You tried to be careful with the knife, but you weren't skillful at using it, so it was easy for you to put more force in your movements than you planned. You placed the blade on your thigh and left a cut, again, it was deeper than you expected it to be. You were whimpering silently, groans of pain left your lips rarely, as the pain you were causing to yourself didn't feel so striking.

'More.' Strade repeated, his erection was pleading to be touched, as he was watching you, enchanted by how obedient you were. Strade decided to keep such a treasure for himself — he was a possessive and jealous person, so he didn't want to share this picture perfect sight with anybody else. You tried to leave another wound, but couldn't. Leftovers of your sanity were screaming for you to stop, or you would bleed out — you noticed that blood didn't stop leaking out fresh cuts.

'I… I'm sorry I can't!' you shook your head helplessly, and gave the knife back to Strade. You started shivering uncontrollably again, realizing what had you just done.

'It's okay,' Strade caressed your skin with the flat side of the knife, then stubbed it into the soft flesh of your thigh, making you scream. His neck turned red from arousal, your heartbreaking shriek was the best aphrodisiac to him. 'I'll help you.'

Your vision blurred from tears and pain, you felt every move of the blade, that was tearing your fragile skin apart, and hot blood was scorching wounds like fire. From your thighs Strade moved to your torso, cutting obscure superficial ornaments on your tummy and under your chest. You were twitching unwittingly, making the process more painful and harmful. Your throat was sore already, but it was impossible not to howl and cry.

'That's it, meine Liebe. Louder,' Strade put his knife out and pressed his hands on your thighs, groping the supple and slippery meat. He was smearing your blood on your skin and tracing holes of your wounds slowly, in a sexual manner, and penetrating them with his fingers lightly, getting physical satisfaction from it. While you tried to come round, you didn't notice how he pressed himself to your body, one of his hands was resting on your waist, caressing tender skin. Strade was sniffing your hair — it smelled sweet with a mix of perfume and shampoo, as always.

(My dear)

Strade knew he should patch you up before continuing this pleasant torture, but it was hard to keep himself cool while looking at your pathetic, frightened essence. He could kill you right now: stab you to death, or break your head on the floor, crash your neck, or burn you alive — you gave him the sense of unlimited power over you, but at the same time you also gave him your gratitude for keeping you alive for another minute. And he loved it. Strade liked obedience and politeness. He believed that the modern world lacked these two traits and he could rarely find someone, who would combine both of these in their character.

Strade buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural scent and it drove him crazy. You shivered as his hot breath tickled your skin, gasped when you felt his tongue licking your neck. He was stained in your blood; his shirt stuck to his chest from the amount of soaked blood in it. Strade didn't wait any longer and pulled your panties down, enjoying your surprised shout. You didn't even think about resisting him — you were preparing yourself for an upcoming pain, crying again. Strade spread your legs and placed his hands under your buttocks, holding you in a comfortable position for him to thrust, after he unzipped his pants, freeing the hardly erect member. You tried not to look at his dick, closed your eyes from embarrassment when you felt how Strade was trailing natural curls of your pubic hair and spreading your cunt with his thick fingers. He plunged them inside without warning, but with a great effort, and you screamed from acute pain in your lower stomach.

'Look at yourself, meine Süße,' Strade laughed slowly, moving his fingers inside and spreading them to stretch your walls. Despite the tightness of your core, it was easy for him to slide inside. 'Secretly enjoying everything I do to you?' He pulled out and you had seen his fingers, fully covered in your viscous slick. 'Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?'

(Feels good, doesn't it?)

Grudge and bitterness were tearing your heart apart, but you just closed your eyes to suppress them. At least you managed to get wet somehow, which meant you would bear the whole process better. Strade pressed his fingers on your clit, stimulating it with circling motions, nevertheless it didn't help — all you felt was just irritating pressure. A punch in your nose perked you up. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to recover, but Strade tugged in your hair and shook your head, until you looked at him.

'Eyes on me. Did you forget our small rule?' He grinned at you, and you nodded, fixing your eyes on him. A thin stream of blood had trickled out of your nose, falling on your lips. 'Das ist so geil…' He pressed his dick to your entrance, and you held your breath when you felt him plunging it in with one fast thrust. You screamed and arched your back, started bustling around to get out of his grip, but Strade just pressed you harder on his dick, pushing it deeper. This pain was even worse than the one from the knife, it felt like he was tearing you apart from inside, bruising every part of your body.

(This is so hot)

You were drowning in cries and tears, your wounds still were bleeding, staining everything around you. Coldness of the basement's floor, smell of the blood, emotional breakdown, tiredness and blood loss made your head feel dizzy — you were about to pass out in every second. Rhythmic poundings in your abused tired cunt made it even worse, so you didn't notice how you blacked out.

You woke up from your disturbing slumber because of the sound of Strade's footsteps. You slowly opened your eyes. Your whole body was aching, blood crusts were covering you and you felt cold slick under your buttocks and thighs, probably, it was your urine. You looked down and noticed that all your wounds were sewn up with rough stitches that would leave scars after healing.

'Morning, sleeping beauty.' Strade was looking at you with a satisfied smile. Instead of you, he probably had a lot of fun yesterday.

'Fucker…' you thought, staring at him from under your brows. Strade burst out laughing.

'It's not my fault that you pissed yourself, okay? I almost had time to put it out before your attack!' He kept giggling. 'Need something? Or can we continue our rendezvous?'

'I want to bathe,' you wheezed. All you wanted was to get rid of this stench that was coming from you and from all this blood that was covering your body.

'Bathe?' Strade asked in surprise. 'Bathe… Well, that's possible.'

You closed your eyes to take a breath. Strade was walking somewhere away from you, then he came back and you had seen a hosepipe in his hand.

'Here's your bath, Schatz!' Strade opened the handle and a powerful spurt of ice water hit you right in your chest, causing you to scream. 'Oops, wrong pressure!' He changed the pressure and started pouring you from head to toes, like a fanciful plant. Now you were cold and wet. 'Wow! Look at this little swamp I made. All for you, Fröschli! How do you feel, though?'

(Lovely)

The water and your blood made dirt on a dusty concrete floor.

'Great!' You snapped. It was unusual for you to answer with such a tone, but you couldn't help it. You noticed that Strade's facial expression had changed and hurried to make up for your sudden outbreak of anger. 'Strade, please… Can you give me something to eat and drink? It would be very nice to have something. I… feel very dizzy. Please…' talking to him with a dying voice you were looking at Strade with puppy eyes, begging him to feed you.

'So polite, I like it.' Strade patted your head in reward. He came to the fridge and opened it, tapped his chin, deciding what you deserved to eat. 'You had a fever for a couple of hours after passing out, so you can have a sandwich. We want you to have enough power for our next game, right?'

'R-right!' You gave him a wry smile. You wanted to take the sandwich from Strade's hand, but remembered that you were tied. 'Will you feed me?'

'Sure! Be a nice girl and say a-am!'

Strade took the food out of its container and held it to your lips. You did like he said, as you didn't want him to punch you. 'Here you go. Don't hurry, we have enough time.'

At least he was nice while feeding you, you decided. Your hungry stomach twitched in pain as you made the first bite. It was a simple product store chicken sandwich, terrible while cold and a little better while being warmed up. It seemed like Strade wasn't caring about what to eat and didn't bother himself with cooking. You finished it quickly and Strade opened a bottle of water for you. This simple action marveled you enough: you expected him to put the hose pipe in your mouth and turn it on high pressure.

'Thank you, Strade.' You felt much better now. You could never think that you had so much health and stamina to be able to talk and think straight after everything he had done to you. Maybe you still were under the effect of adrenaline, maybe Strade had given you some drugs while you were blacked out — it didn't matter. You had to survive one more day in his company, and you were sure that today would be much more cruel than yesterday.

'No need, meine Süße, you make a cute face while eating,' Strade patted your head one more time, like you were a dog. 'You told me in the bar that you want to see my creations.'

You broke a cold sweat and you felt weakness in the pit of your stomach. Strade placed a black box in front of you. It was closed and looked like a tool box, but after Strade opened it, you had seen a phone handset inside and strange details.

'That's a field telephone, Schatz. It was developed in the United States, then it was spread worldwide, and used in both World Wars, and many others. This model I made myself. Look here,' Strade pointed his finger at a small lever on the external part of the box. 'It's a dynamo, it creates electricity. And this,' he pointed at a prominent case inside the telephone, 'This is flame resistant. It is made of paper impregnated with a plasticized phenol formaldehyde resin. Did you understand at least a half of what I had said, Schatz?'

Strade gave you an indulgent gaze and smiled, as if he was talking to a kid, while you were praying to be wrong at guessing the reason he decided to show you this cursed phone.

'Yes! It was very interesting to hear. Can you tell me more, please? How is it used without cables?' You stammered, feeling tremor in your hands.

'I'll tell you later, Schatz. Now it's time for my reward. Don't be so egoistic.' Strade cut off the ropes. He took one of your hands and stretched it, then started to put wires on your fingers. 'We are gonna play a very interesting game! A guy who I was working with long ago had taught me this. Are you excited?' Strade waited for your nod. 'Great, Schatz. The rules are simple: I ask you questions, you answer them correctly. If not — I press the dynamo. Hast du kapiert?'

(Do you understand?)

You nodded. It was easy to predict the rules of his game, but Strade kept explaining it to you.

'So, the first question. What is the biggest island in the world?'

You were expecting to hear everything, but not this. You were confused and chuckled at this stupid question. Your laughter made Strade smile too, and you, tricked by a false tenderness, didn't notice how he pulled on the dynamo. In the next second your muscles contracted, piercing you with so much pain that you couldn't imagine even in your bravest thoughts.

'I don't like to repeat myself, so you better remember what I asked you if you can, of course.' Now Strade was the one to laugh. You were laying on the floor with your eyes wide open and trying to catch your breath.

'Greenland…' you whispered, still shocked.

'Yes, correct! Well, I guess I shouldn't ask such questions to a girl who trashed her whole apartment with books.'

You almost jumped at his words, the puzzle in your head made a whole picture. All this time you weren't crazy. Your foreboding was right.

'Let's ask you something personal then. Why did you leave your parents?' It was clear that for Strade the game wasn't funny at all: he didn't care about you, he enjoyed only pulling on the trigger. He didn't want to kill you yet, so he had to give you chances on saving yourself from another jolt by giving honest and correct answers.

'Because of my paranoia. I was afraid to stay with them.' It wasn't the complete truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Despite it sounding so well and smooth from your mouth, Strade felt that you were hiding something. His hunter's instinct sensed clearly the little shaking of your voice and caught the moment you lowered your gaze to the floor.

'So you left the warm and caring family house and started living in a shitty flats where murderings were committed, right? You think I'm an idiot, Schatz?' Strade pressed on the dynamo, laughing wickedly at your convulsions. 'You are kinda calm here. Not like others. They were screaming and shouting "Oh Strade please let me go! i won't tell anyone! please put your knife back"' And when they finally realized that I won't let them go, all of them started to curse me. While you are just waiting silently for me to return, not a noise coming from you while I'm gone. Sometimes I even think that you died here without me! Feels like home, Schatz?'

You pursed your lips and looked away. It wasn't fair. He couldn't dare to open your old psychological wounds that you managed to heal with a great effort, but Strade was staring at you, his light brown eyes were burning you with an intent, waiting gaze. Strade's smile, that once made you feel better, now was making you feel nauseous.

'My mother abandoned me when I told her that I don't want to be a financial expert and won't send my documents to the college she had picked for me…' You bit on your lower lip. 'She is very strict and unforgiving. She forgot about me so fast, like I had never existed. I didn't want to move out, but she told me to. Thank God I had money saved on my account, and my grandpa gives me some every month. With a bursary from my college I had… I have enough to live.'

'Poor baby,' Strade cooed and cupped your cheek, rubbing on your skin with his calloused thumb. 'I bet you wish she could see you right now. See everything you have to come through and regret what she has done to you. Want her to suffer, hate herself for cutting you off from your family, owe you care and love for the rest of her life.'

'Why…' Your eyes widened at his words. 'Why would I?..'

'Because I know you well enough to understand it.'

Strade smiled his satisfaction: it was amusing to see you doubting your own feelings. It was so easy to trick you. He loved your face at the moments like this: fine eyebrows raised, your doe-like eyes shining with a clear bewilderment, and your mouth slightly opened, as if you wanted to object, but didn't dare to.

'You should be thankful you have me, Schatz. I will always be here for you to solve your problems.'

You didn't believe your ears and gave Strade a confused, stupid look from your eyes. It couldn't be true. You probably were delirious.

'I am, Strade.' You forced a smile on your bloodless lips.

'Gutes Mädchen!' Strade was pleased enough with your answer and gave you another head pat. It was time for him to leave, but he didn't want to — his emotions about you were so complicated he chased them away, knowing perfectly one day he would have to live through them. You were his obsession — and he didn't want to admit it. Admit that he was bewitched by his own captive, admit that he was addicted to you and that his mood depended heavily on yours. Something beyond his understanding, something supernatural had linked you to him, caged Strade in a cage of his desires. You were the number one to him, you were the top priority, despite everything he was doing to humiliate and destroy you in a futile attempt to stifle his feelings.

(Good girl! (for animals))

Maybe it wasn't too bad to fall in love with someone? The unique experience he had brought you through made you two really close by now, but could Strade trust you? It was a good question, and Strade needed to test you before actually letting you live with him. He left you without tying you back to the pole and didn't lock the basement's door. You were free to walk here and touch everything you wanted: you could even take his tools and have a fight with him! Strade was ready for your every move, but you were silent as usual, not a rustle even could be heard from the basement. He was expecting you to come out at night, but you didn't do it as well.

You were waiting for Strade to come back nervously. It was obvious that he was testing you, so you did your best to behave. You had water and food there, but you didn't touch anything without his permission: you were afraid he would get mad at you. This irrational fear chained you to your place and didn't let you breathe freely, while he was gone. You were starving, your aching wounds needed painkillers and care, but you kept enduring the discomfort. You wanted to survive — and the thought of a reward for this test was giving you power and determination.

Maybe Strade wasn't bad at all, you thought and got terrified from it. He was a sadist and a maniac, and you could only imagine how many people he had slaughtered before you, as well as how many would come to this damned basement after. Strade was a monster and a psychopath you should be aware of. He was a little more patient with you, but it didn't mean anything good for you — he would offset later, you were sure. There was a saw in the basement, nothing would stop him from sawing you in half, or decapitating you while being alive. You had too many fears: they were driving you crazy even worse than Strade. You were expecting everything from him: starting from pulling out your nails and peeling your skin and ending with bludgeoning you to death, until the unrecognizable meat blob. What if he would cut off the parts of your body and make you eat it? You shook your head, trying to free yourself from thoughts like this. You were behaving well and pleasing him enough. You would do even more for him if he let you go upstairs. You would never escape or say a bad word to him, would be obedient until he would decide to let you go by himself.

And then… you weren't sure what you would do after, but you were sure you wouldn't go to the police. You believed Strade wouldn't be arrested, and you didn't need his revenge. It was better to befriend a monster like him.

Strade came back to check on you the other day. He was pleasantly surprised to find you sleeping; he examined all his stuff to find out if you had stolen something, but nothing was touched. You either were fooling him or you were a real idiot. Strade wouldn't believe you didn't want to eat or drink, but the fridge was full of beer and various food. Were you waiting for him to hear his permission to eat? — it was outstanding. He had never met someone like you before.

'I guess I should thank your parents, Schatz. For raising a stupid and obedient doll like you,' Strade whispered at your sleeping face. He took a knife from the ceiling and slightly pressed its end right under your eye and let it slide down, carefully, not to cut you but to leave a small red stripe that looked like a bloody tear. Your face was the most loveliest one he had ever seen, and he didn't want to leave scars on it — such a perfection of Nature should be delighting him in its original state.

You woke up, but didn't shift — your inner senses had saved you. Terrified, you felt tears dropping from your eyes, the one repeated the way of Strade's knife, causing you pain.

'Hey girl,' Strade pressed his knife between your brows. 'You are very, very stupid. I know all your little manipulations. You're not the first to suck up to me.'

You lowered your face in shame, standing the ruin of your plan. Of course you knew that someone had certainly tried this way to survive before you, but you thought that you would do it better. Somehow you would make everything perfect and he would trust you. You were lost — you didn't even know were your emotions real or fake. In both ways you were shocked with yourself, at how calm you were despite everything that was happening. Maybe it was something wrong with you?

'Where is your smile now, Schatz?' Strade grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look at him. 'This martyrdom face of yours makes me sick.' He narrowed his eyes, their gaze showed clear disdain. Strade showed the tip of the knife to your lips, forcing you to open them, then pressed it to the corner of your mouth. 'Smile, or I will have to teach you how to do it.'

You smiled, smiled until the pain in your cheeks, while tears were streaming down your face. You were looking at Strade in panic, trying to catch every single change in his pose and emotions, mentally preparing yourself for stinging pain and blood loss. You were breathing rapidly, gasping for air deliberately and carefully not to move the blade accidentally. You were scared to death that Strade would execute his plan and tear the half of your face.

'That's much better.' Strade became jolly, no sign of a sudden outbreak of anger and grumbling. You exhaled loudly when he put the knife out of your mouth, but your arms were still trembling. 'Poor baby. Suffering here and all because of me,' he started talking in a caring voice, then it became mocking. 'Say something already.'

'I have nothing to add.' You barely spoke, as you suddenly felt exhausted. Your eyes were closing, but you tried to keep them open. Your whole body was numb and sore, all the pain was withdrawn into the background and seemed alien to you. 'I'm sorry.'

You closed your eyes and fell asleep immediately. When you woke up, you were alone. You heeded, listening for Strade's steps, and heard nothing. Your stomach hurt with hunger, your limbs were stiff and your whole body felt cold — you didn't want to do anything with it; you were too tired to move, even breathing was hard for you. You heard a noise of falling drops of water, and its monotonous sound started to irritate you immediately, but you managed to come back to sleep, falling into the deep dreamless slumber that felt like suspended animation.

You didn't know how many days had left since you were captured in Strade's basement, but you were sure that your friends and teachers from the college had noticed your sudden disappearance. You were a good student and didn't skip even a day of lessons, so it was obvious that something had happened to you. Probably they had already visited the police and now the story about you was in the news report. You were steadfast in your statement, and it warmed your heart. You were sure you would be saved soon.

You woke up because of a spurt of cold water that was splashed in your face. You sat immediately and started coughing, but it was impossible due to the stream that was hitting you right in your face and filling your nostrils and mouth. You tried to protect your face with arms, but they were tied to the pole; you tried to dodge, but the stream was following your moves. When Strade decided that he had enough with you, he closed the handle and you got an opportunity to breathe and cough.

'Good way to know that you are still alive, Schatz.' He giggled at uncontrollable shaking of your body and your barking cough. 'You slept for two days straight, my dear! Didn't even wake up when I decided to play with you.'

You immediately started to look at your body to find the traces of his 'games', and you found them — small white dots of burned skin with a vivid pink edge, the one that appeared after a cigarette burn, were located on your shoulder. Then you felt that something was leaking out from your core, and you shuddered in disgust. How sick he was to use you while you were unconscious?

'When was the last time you ate?' Strade dropped the hose pipe carelessly and came to you to untie your hands. You let out a groan when you finally moved them, and heard an obnoxious crack of numb limbs. You looked at your wrists with two stripes of rope burns on each hand, bright red and aching.

'When you fed me…' you tried to get up, stretch your body, but fell on your trembling knees and put your hands in front of you not to hurt your face, but they gave way under your body and you plopped on the ground. Both of your palms and knees were scratched and started itching badly, as well as rope burns and other wounds.

'How pathetic. Was it worth it? I mean starving yourself to this state.' Strade clicked his tongue and leaned on the counter, watching your attempts to get up on your own. 'You know, you can always ask for help. Why do I have to remind you of such simple things? Vollidiot.'

(Idiot)

'Don't insult me, please, I want to do it myself.' You made another attempt, this time you were doing everything slowly, without putting too much effort not to open the old wounds and not to hurt the new one. You managed to rise on your legs and leaned to the pole, using it as a help. This simple action took all of your power, and you heard noise inside your head.

'No need for pole dancing, Schatz, feel sorry for me.' Strade giggled at his joke and a sigh you made.

'It's not funny.'

'No, it is!' In proof of his words he guffawed. 'You are very talkative today. Asked the Wizard of Oz for a bravery potion?'

Your body gave up much faster than you expected and you slowly sat on the floor, breathing rapidly and shaking both from cold and tiredness. Until now you didn't understand how dangerously cold your body was: your limbs could hardly move, and every manipulation you tried to perform was clumsy and slack. Your throat spasmed in a coughing fit; you started coughing with a loud dry cough that became worse instead of giving you a sort of relief. All the air in your lungs had ended fast enough to make you choke, forcing you to get on your hands and knees to ease the torturing cough. You inhaled sharply with a whistle, gulping your cough, then froze before another coughing fit broke you. Saliva was running down your lower lip and chin, dripping on the floor, but you ignored it, as your throat felt raw and sore.

'Don't you dare die like this, Hure.' Strade was watching you carefully, with a certain irritation. 'If you are acting like this to make me take you upstairs you will regret it. Why are you always bringing me troubles?'

(Whore)

You were lying on your stomach silently, waiting for Strade's final decision. You couldn't think: your head was empty, you felt fever slowly taking over you and muffling every other sound with a noise in your ears. Strade came to you and kicked you in the ribs with the toe of his boot to turn you over on your back.

'I guess I don't have a choice. I'll get you some medicine. For now, you can go upstairs, Schatz. See you here.' Strade smiled and left the basement, but didn't close the door. The light from the house was lighting up the dusty floor. It felt like a mock: he knew you wouldn't be able to go upstairs by yourself, still he left you.

You started crawling to the stairs, ignoring muscle pain and the fact that you were dragging your hardly healed wounds on the sharp floor. You would do anything to escape the basement and stay another night upstairs, in warmth and comfort. Step after step you were slowly climbing up the stairs; your teeth were clenched, your bloodless lips stuck to each other. If Strade wanted you to die he would have just tortured you to death, but he wanted you alive — he gave you enough opportunities to recover after his visits. You just needed to hold out a little longer, and everything would end.

It smelled nicely with food and your stomach made a loud rumbling, you felt it twisted from hunger. You heard music playing from the other room: calm and slow, with a man's vocal and pleasant melody. Surprisingly, the music made you feel better. Everything seemed to be alive and normal.

'Here you are, Schatz! Go find a bathroom before going to the kitchen. I won't let you join the table while you look like a pig.' Strade stooped and patted your head. 'You will have to clean the mess you made later.'

'Yes, Strade…' you whispered, then you felt him picking you up on your legs suddenly. Your vision blurred and you immediately felt dizzy, leaned to the nearest wall, trying not to fall down again.

'Save at least a little human dignity, Schatz, don't crawl here like some disgusting insect.' Strade grinned.

Strade didn't stay for long: he told you how to find the bathroom and left. Taking a hot shower felt like a blessing, despite another wave of pain that you felt from water and shower gel. While showering you were heeding to hear the music again, to catch at least some noise. You didn't miss a chance to wash your underwear — you weren't sure if Strade had any lingerie.

'I forgot to give you something, Schatz!' Right after you were thinking about him, Strade showed up in the bathroom without knocking or any warning. 'No need to cover up, I've already seen everything and even more.'

Out of instinct you covered your private parts with your hands, and his caustic remark made you feel sick. Strade gave a look at your body, rating his own work. To your own surprise you had found wounds you didn't know existed before — it seemed he had enough fun while you were blacked out. Scraped knees, deep blue bruises with purple droplets on your thighs and waist, small bruises in a form of his fingers on the inner part of your thighs, almost healed stubs and cuts (still with stitches) on the different parts of your body, cigarette and rope burns on your arms, small cut under your eye — another person wouldn't be able to look at you without tears, but you could swear Strade clicked his tongue in a criticizing manner — he, for sure, needed more to be pleased enough.

'Good, but not perfect,' he shook his head, and you sucked the air sharply at his words. You didn't want to he perfect, not for him.

'I need to dress up.' You looked away to escape his stare.

'So what? Go ahead.' Strade arched his brows. 'Oh, I guess the problem. You want some privacy, Schatz?'

You nodded carefully. 'If that's possible.'

'No, it's not!' Strade chuckled. 'I spoiled you, Schatz. You really need a behavior lesson. Why are you caring about privacy so much? Don't you like my company?'

'No! It's not what I meant!' You exclaimed and hurried to get out of the shower and start drying yourself. 'Can I use the towel?'

'Sure.'

Strade kept staring at you, watching your every move carefully. You tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that it was okay, but your heart was pounding heavily and your hands started shaking. You dried yourself and dressed up in a black longsleeve and simple domestic shorts. The clothes were bigger your size and obviously belonged to Strade — it still had the scent of his deodorant.

Your stomach had twisted in pain again and you felt the new wave of fatigue. All these events made you feel a little better but the effect was short and made you feel even worse than before. You covered your mouth with your palm, then yawned, both from sleepiness and lack of fresh cold air.

'Go to the kitchen, Schatz.' Strade smiled slyly. His face was strangely satisfied and a little smile never left his lips. You tensed up, praying for him not to scald or burn you in the kitchen.

You came to the kitchen on your tiptoes (you were afraid to step on the floor with your whole feet as if the sound of your steps could probably piss Strade off), and had seen the table with a plate of soup. Strade passed by you and took a seat, chuckled at your confused look.

'Come here, Schatz. I want a little company for lunch.' Strade pointed his arm on the dog bowl that was staying near his chair. You missed it when you were looking around.

Did he want you to eat from the bowl? By the joyful expression of his face you understood — yes, he did. Tears filled your eyes, but you did as he told you to: sat on your knees and leaned to the bowl. It was filled with a simple chicken soup and smelled nice, making your stomach grumble loud enough for Strade to hear.

'Thank you…' You appreciated this act of care from his side, but tears dropped from your eyes into the soup.

'Enjoy your food!' His tone was happy.

Despite the humiliation and bitter anger in your heart, you started eating, lubberly licking the soup and catching meat and vegetables with your teeth. As a generous master, Strade tossed you a slice of bread, and his jest made you cry silently. It was disgusting, but you swallowed your resentment because you were terrified at the possible punishment for your protest.

You ate everything that was in your bowl, finally warmed up from inside. The result of a good lunch was clear: your body stopped shaking and your face got its delicate blush back. You were looking more vital, almost healthy.

Strade came from his seat and sat down on his knees in front of you. He touched your face, then wiped your mouth with a napkin.

'Gutes Mädchen. Healthy appetite is the key for a fast recovery.' Strade gave you another head pat, ruffling your dump hair. Confused, you freezed at his touch. It was… different. It wasn't a powerful, painful grip, it wasn't a domineering touch, it was something more intimate and gentle, appreciating. You were so thirsty and damaged, you couldn't help but lean to his hand, pressing your head to his palm and closing your eyes to catch this feeling fully. 'You like it when I'm touching you, Schatz, aren't you?'

'Yes.' You opened your eyes and found him grinning eerily.

It was the second part of the day, around two in the afternoon, you guessed. The weather was windy and rainy: the light from the window was cold and gray, putting the room into the dark. The sky was covered in heavy leaden clouds that were so thick they took the whole space, leaving a small expanse between the neighborhood and the sky. In this atmosphere Strade's smile had a special, terrifying meaning.

Strade gave you short instructions on what to do next, and you obeyed, immediately did his will. He wanted you to go to his room and rest: you found the master's bedroom easily and came inside, closing the door behind yourself. You hesitated for a moment, not sure if you should lay on the bed, but your tired body decided for you: joint pain, ache of your disturbed wounds and new wave of fever forced you to lay and cover up with the blanket. You didn't even give a quick look at the view in the window to get a better understanding of where you were staying. All the resources of your body were exhausted, and you fell asleep immediately on the soft mattress.

Strade found you sleeping and rolled his eyes in irritation — every time he was leaving you, you fell asleep the moment after. He was patient with this ability of yours only because of your current sickness and the fact that your body probably was fighting an infection by sending you to sleep. Despite the obvious cons, this method had its pros: at least you weren't annoying him with festering wounds and he didn't have to clean it, then cut off contaminated parts of your body after infection progressing, and the smell from you was way better than from others; you didn't die from blood loss or some heart issue, more to say, you were pretty strong and ready to endure everything he would put you through just to prolong your miserable life. What a praiseworthy enthusiasm! Also Strade wasn't as terrible as his victims portrayed him before their death. He was much more patient and merciful than his 'colleagues' and he kept his business clean: Strade had never promised things he wouldn't do, he gave all his victims a recovery period and hospitably fed everyone. He rarely got angry with anyone and had never touched youngsters and animals, had never blackmailed his victims' families with body parts or snuff videos of their darlings, no! Strade was a gentleman, as he used to call himself.

Strade opened the window to let the cold air inside the room, as he preferred chilly temperature inside his house. The moment after he went to bed he felt you pressing your body to his to find more warmth. It was already hot under the blanket, so Strade had just tugged you in it and hugged you with his arm, laughing to himself. You turned out to be a very affectionate and clingy person — and it added special fun to the game. Strade could easily tell that it wouldn't take too long from you to fall in love with him, especially while he would be staying in a good mood.

His unusual behavior that day was motivated by a new good deal with his old acquaintance, a business woman with plenty of rivals she wanted to get rid off. Her requests were an extra side job for Strade. She had never disappointed him: she gave him interesting cases of any complexity and paid well. Sometimes she even asked to make a certain person a new guest in his show for her to enjoy, and Strade couldn't resist her little wish. It wasn't hard for him to torture people for her, so the lady could sleep well for the rest of the next month or two. She was quarrelsome and somewhat hysterical, but it didn't bother Strade at all — he respected her as she did a great job to find him and convince him to work with her. Unlike others, she was an iron lady with a strong character and had enough contacts at the police and the local government to protect her own and Strade's reputation. Strade didn't need her protection, as he had his own connections saved from his previous job, but it was better for him to meet with new people not to make waves on their territory accidentally.

The world was a cruel place and you, little idiot, should be more grateful to him, Strade thought, looking at your calm sleepy face. You were a perfect type of victim: lone, timid, abandoned by her own family, and lived in the bad neighborhood and tended to rent cheap flats with an interesting background. For the landlords you were a dream came true: not a person with stable finances would ever rent a flat in which a murder or a robbery was done. Strade was surprised at how many apartments with a terrible backstory the city had — you were collecting them, Strade guessed. You were lucky to attract the attention of Strade: in your area there was another killer, who was more perverted (even Strade considered him sick) and plus to him, enough kidnappers and murderers were passing through the city in their cars, perfectly equipped for caring a body and getting rid of it somewhere in the woods or on a waste ground. Someone like you could never imagine how deep the web of crime was here: for you, as for every normal citizen, the city seemed to be peaceful, because police didn't know about the biggest part of disappearances.

You shifted in your dream, dropping off the blanket, and Strade felt the hectic warmth radiating from your body. Your breath became heavy and came in broken gasps, your cheeks reddened in an unhealthy way. You were in a fever, and Strade couldn't resist the desire to touch your skin, hot and sweaty. Despite the inner hotness, you were trembling from cold, and your nipples hardened from the temperature difference. It was easily seen through the longsleeve texture, seducing Strade. He could bet, you felt sort of neverending strange agony now, drowned in your torturing delusional slumber with psychedelic dreams worsened by aching pain in your joints, that made you tossing on the bed, trying to find the right position to ease your state. Using you and stuffing you full with his cum would be beyond cruel, and it aroused Strade even more. You looked vulnerable, even inviting, so Strade put your shorts off with a one motion and pulled his half erected cock out. Just pressing the tip against your soft smaller lips felt insanely good and Strade couldn't resist but thrust inside your cunt, bucking his hips into yours. You were too hot inside, almost scorched Strade with this unbearable warmth, like you were in heat actually. It was painful, but amazing, and in this both sadistic and masochistic pleasure Strade wasn't holding back, snapping up into you. Your face twitched in pain, but in this damned ill slumber you couldn't even realize what was real and what was fake. Strade pressed his fingers on the skin of your waist hard, squeezing it until a groan from your lips. You were suffering: he reduced you to nothing but an aching junk, the shell of a human — and it was just the beginning.

You opened your eyes; your vision blurred, but a figure of Strade pounding into you could be guessed easily. You tried to shift, tensed your lower muscles, but made him feel better than before accidentally, as your spasming cunt hugged his dick tightly, sucking it deeper. Strade let out a moan, wicked smile showed on his lips. You blacked out, encouraging him to go rougher on you. Continuing in a brutal pace, Strade didn't care that you wouldn't be able to walk and sit for a few days after. He released himself inside your body with a low grunt, filling your still untrained cunt to the brim. Strade took out his now softening cock and put your shorts back, then covered you with a blanket again.

Day after day you were recovering slowly, and by the end of the week you finally were alright. You didn't have many things to do, so you were cleaning the house as best as you could in your state. Fortunately Strade liked to turn on the TV and leave for his duties, so you were always listening to a soft noise of it, never really caring about the shows that were running at the moment. You didn't need to understand what was on air — you needed only a background noise that was calming you and making you feel less lonely here.

The neighborhood was fancy but deserted. It seemed that the biggest half of it just moved out, or, maybe, all of these rich men were having a nice vacation somewhere else. Strade didn't make an impression of someone, who could live in a neighborhood with such an expensive houses, but his house was nice (maybe less pretentious than the others on the street but still very well furnished and comfortable to be inside), making you wonder from where did he get so much money to buy it. You were free to walk everywhere inside, despite just the one room that was constantly locked by the key, which Strade was keeping with himself. You didn't need any adventures, so you weren't showing near it.

Strade became a little nicer with you — he behaved more tender and didn't torture you for a while. You even started to forget how it feels to be restricted and cut, until you understood that Strade was planning something else for you — he was working at a body shop for the whole day and left it deep at night, ate the dinner made by you and went to sleep. You tried your best to behave, and Strade seemed to be pleased enough: he gave you head pats regularly, could even hug you, when he was in a good mood or had drunk three bottles of cheap beer. You decided to use it to your advantage and asked him to bring you the digital radio and some books from your apartment. Surprisingly, Strade agreed, and the first thing you got was your radio with headphones.

Later he invited you to go downstairs with him. Laughing at tears in your eyes and at your trembling legs, he was following you to the basement, blocking you the way out. Right after you stepped into the basement, Strade locked the heavy door after you and shouted that he would come later. Panicking, you started bumping at the door and pleading Strade to get you out, but he was gone already.

In between hysterical tapping of your fists at the door you heard a noise downstairs. The noise was similar to a sigh, that changed to scream in a second. It belonged to a young woman — a terrifying shriek that made your heart slow down, before continuing in broken fast pace. You turned your head to her slowly, ignoring all the pleas for help. With your left eye twitching, you looked at her, but it was too dark for you to see and you only recognized the silhouette of her shaking body.

You came down as a shadow, settled in the nearest corner and sat on the floor, pressing your arms to your head. The girl didn't stop screaming, making it hard to ignore her. You wanted to help, you actually wanted to give this idea a try at least, but you knew Strade would come here soon and he would brutally punish you for what you did, so you chose to stay indifferent. You pressed your face to your knees, curling like an upset kid, and hugged your head as if you were protecting yourself.

Finally the girl got tired from screaming and the basement went into silence. You didn't know how much time left before you heard Strade's steps above you, then the door cracked. You knew he needed to make ten heavy, leisure steps to come down. By habit you were counting them, and finally Strade turned the light on.

'Doing yoga, buddy?' Strade giggled at your pose, his voice was sounding muffled, so you opened your eyes to see the reason for it. You froze in bewilderment when you noticed a professional camera on a tripod, a laptop on a table, and a tablet. By a miracle, you didn't get stuck in it in the dark, but it wasn't important for you. The most important things were a black mask with a print of the lower part of a human skull and the fact that the girl in front of you had the same type of appearance as you — from head to toes she looked just like you: being rather a sketch of yours, she remembered you as a whole, but after giving her a better look, the difference was clear. As if the whole situation was a homage to your first night with Strade, she was wearing black lingerie of the similar cut as you did. 'Well, sorry for interrupting you, but I need your assistance.'

'What is it?' You pointed on a tripod. 'What's going on?'

'That's a tripod, idiot. Never seen it? 'kay, it's a thing that holds the camera still at a needed level.' Strade turned the laptop on and started to set something up. 'You should stay behind the camera, buddy, and do what I said without delay. Understood?' Strade looked at you, and you nodded. The girl was watching you both with terrified eyes.

'Strade, what are we going to do?..' Your scare was growing with every second. You almost shouted your words at him.

'Some kind of dirty job that gives me money to keep you, wastrel.'

You felt uneasy in your stomach. It was obvious now that Strade's job was hosting red rooms for perverts. You were close to fainting; you actually wanted to faint — just to escape this cruel reality you were forced to stay in.

'Why are you so gloomy, Schatz?' Strade came to you and lowered the mask to his chin. 'You are a big fan of the Neon Demon, I know. Probably, the bitch like you enjoys the scene in the morgue a lot. Wanna repeat it in real life after I finish the show?' Strade caught your chin and squeezed it with his thumb and index finger. 'I would like to see some girl on girl with you.' He put his tongue out and licked your lips, enjoying the way they turned pale from fear. Tracing your lower lip with the tip of his tongue, Strade forcefully pulled your chin down, opening your lips, and spat into your mouth. He whispered: 'Then you can eat her raw and bathe in her blood.'

The girl wanted to cry out, but she only broke into tears. You felt disgusting, so disgusting you wanted to kill yourself right now, disfigure your whole body to something gruesome and ugly like everything around you. Without any other preparations, the stream started.

It was going for thirty minutes already, and she didn't stop screaming even for a second. You didn't ask for more — just a fucking second of silence, without guttural screeching that was similar to the one that came from a slaughtered pigs on a butchery. Everything you could see was blood, so much blood you couldn't even imagine how you would clean it after. You were sitting on a chair in some kind of delusion. Every Strade's action you felt on yourself. Every shriek of this poor girl was yours, every knife, nail, chisel and blade she got, you took with her.

'Hey, buddy,' Strade held out his hand, waiting for a new tool. 'Choose something for me. I trust your taste.'

You looked at all the tools in front of you and started shaking, feeling an urge to throw up. You just ran away as fast as you could without looking back. You barely made it to the toilet and almost had time to fall on your knees, before puking everything you ate. The red mash that still resembled human features was in your mind, torturing you worse than anything else.

Choose something for me…

You hardly stopped yourself from coughing, but Strade's words in your mind made you puke again and again, until there was only saliva and bile left in the vomit. Your forearms and thighs were itching badly, but you were breathless and tried to gasp for fresh air — the smell of the cleaning agent from the toilet was irritating your nostrils, making you feel nauseous again. He wanted you to kill her. He wanted you to participate in his vile plan but you escaped. Maybe you would better take something deadly to end her suffering… You finally touched your limbs with nails and started scratching it until blood, then moved to your face.

You needed to distract yourself, had to do something to forget about it, so you washed your mouth then started cleaning the toilet, but it wasn't enough. You were cleaning everything that was caught by your eyes. You needed a noise, something to talk in the background. You turned on the TV, found your radio, turned it on too and put earphones on your head, and continued what you were doing. Your hands were burning from chemicals, the skin became red and you felt as if it was melting — you didn't bother putting on a pair of protective gloves.

'You are so fucking pathetic.'

You jumped from the surprise when your earphones had fallen down by a punch of Strade's palm, and his voice roared behind your back. When you wanted to turn around, you got punched in your face. You fell on the floor, pressing your arms to your bleeding nose. Strade kept beating you. His fists were tight and strong. Covering your body with blue bruises, he was punishing you for cowardice and disobedience.

'When I give you an order,' Strade squatted and grabbed you by your hair. 'You behave.' He shook your head forcefully. 'Have problems with making a choice, buddy? I'll show you how you make it.'

Strade kept his fist tugged in your hair and dragged you on the floor back to the basement. You were screaming and shouting, trying to break out his iron grip: for the first time ever scratching his hand with your nails, grabbing the edges of furniture to slow him down. After he pushed you through the stairs you got on your knees and jostled him to make it upstairs. Strade kicked your ankle making you fall on your knees and left a smack on your cheek. The dead girl was lying here, so you grabbed him by his waist, piled on him with your weight to make Strade go down to your level. Your gaze caught what was left from the girl: her head was deformed, there were her teeth and fragments of her skull bones laying on the ground; one of her eyes was leaking, her throat was sliced wide open. You were terrified that the same fate was waiting for you.

He wanted to press his boot to your head, but you managed to dodge it. Drove by adrenaline, you attempted to hit him in his face, but Strade caught your hand and wrung it behind your back so hard your bones cracked. The brawl had ended. Strade started laughing manic and mocking; a kick under your knees, and you fell down. He made you turn on your back and sat on your hips. You pressed your damaged hand to your chest, your face twisted in pain. You were whimpering. You opened your eyes to see him; Strade was looking right in your face, greening wide. He spat in your face, giggling at your humiliated state.

'Someone likes to play dangerous games,' Strade pressed the knife to your neck. 'Hey, Schatz. Look at your colleague. She was beautiful, wasn't she? My followers had so much fun with her today. Wanna take her place next time? Buddies are dying to see me destroying the holes of some bitch before pulling her guts out.'

You kept silent.

'I'm sorry…' it was all you could say. You felt indifferent. Maybe it was some kind of psychological protection, but suddenly all your feelings had disappeared. There was only pain left.

'No, you aren't.' From Strade's lips it sounded like a sentence. 'What's wrong with you today? I don't even want to punish you physically when you are so fucking lifeless.'

Strade was upset with you, but there was something tricky in the intonation of his voice. 'Get up, Schatz. Go and do whatever you were doing.'

The flame of hope lit on your face and Strade had roughly broken it by stabbing your shoulder. For the next hour or two he was forcing you to choose the tool he would torment you with. The dead girl was watching everything with her open dry eyes, and at the end of the lesson Strade had left you with her in the basement for the night.

A week after Strade got your books. With it, he brought your cosmetic bag and your lotions. Strade told you he liked you better with black eyeshadow on your eyes and reddish lips, so you had to put makeup on every morning and keep it until night. Every time you opened your bag, Strade appeared near you and watched your every move, observing how your face was changing depending on the shape of eyeshadow and depths of the color. Right after you put your lipstick on, Strade took your face by your chin and lifted it, making you look in his eyes. Usually, you were sitting on a chair, and he was standing above you, biting his own lip. The deep red color on your mouth looked like blood and kept Strade excited. He pressed his thumb to your lower lip, pulling it down and revealing your teeth, then showed it into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and encouraging you to show it. Starting from sucking on his fingers, you were preparing yourself for another blow job that would leave your throat aching and bruised. Strade didn't like to be teased, and it killed all the intimate moods that you got sometimes. Instead of slow and sensual foreplay he preferred rough and fast, almost animalistic fucking without any care for your pleasure. You didn't even need to try to imitate interest in the process: Strade just grabbed your hair and started pounding inside your mouth, pulling his dick down your throat until your nose met the bush of his hard pubic hair. He let you go right after he came and seemed to forget easily about what had just happened.

It was a miracle to catch him in a mood for non violent sex. It turned out he had a normal sexual interest in women in addition to his routine fetishes, and he could offer you almost a healthy experience. You hated yourself in moments like this: you were clinging to him like a dog, asking for attention and caress, and he gave you them before turning back into a monster.

You hated yourself for screaming from pleasure and squirming for him, when Strade's tongue slid inside your cunt, while he was eating you out from behind, just to come even further and tickle your virgin asshole. Strade got even harder himself when he was pressing his lips to your other hole in a lewd kiss, and your tight muscles clenched around the tip of his tongue. Vibrations of your voice and trembling in your lips and jaws around his length sent him shivers — sixty-nine was Strade's favorite pose in sex, because it let the both of you be busy with working for each other's pleasure at the same time. Before sucking him fully, you traced your tongue along his length, giving more attention to the tip, kissing it and sucking on it in a teasing manner with your rapid and heated breaths, wetness and softness of your mouth sliding around his dick gradually and sucking in extra foreskin, while pumping him with your warm palm. After sixty-nine followed missionary: nothing busted Strade's lecherous nature more, than your submission. Strade felt unlimited power and control over your body, eagerly letting you cum if you begged him enough. It felt so strange to release from his cock thrusting into you brutally, your soft flesh took him too well for you to be ashamed of. Your body needed him more than your soul, the sexual tension between the both of you was too strong to resist. Even when he was raping you, you managed to find the way to enjoy yourself.

For a while, everything was peaceful. Strade and you became closer: you spent most of the day chatting, he seemed to be more affectionate and gentle, but with it he started to take his anger out on you easily, could throw something in you — you had already got a cup, a magazine and pliers in your head. It was funny for him to cut you with a knife out of blue just to see your scared face. Your body got numerous scars; every time you looked at it in the mirror, you started crying.

Strade liked to tell you stories. He told you he was working as a security chief in a mental hospital, but was fired for abuse of authority. He told you, how this hospital was performing experiment on patients, how staff was raping them and how them were raping, murdering and fighting each other. How innocent people were sent here and had never come back, how many powerful connections all the directors had. Strade told you how many criminals were sent here, how they shared with him their dirty thoughts and deeds, how much they enjoyed everything they had done. Strade told you about all the forums where disgusting videos of humiliation, cannibalism, murdering, sexual violence, drugs and weapon making were posted. Strade showed you all the information about you on the internet that you didn't even know existed, and it made you terrified at the thought that someone could actually stalk you through it. Strade loved telling you about freaks who were seeking for their victims online and how they made their way from searching for information to actually killing the person — and he enjoyed combining it with pounding into your cunt, as it tightened around him painfully every time he started this topic.

Strade trained you to be grateful. He made you think that he was the only one who could protect you, that without him someone would assault you immediately, because for perverts and madmen you were a tidbit. By some subtle process he managed to imbue you the idea of your exclusivity. Everyone would want to own you, that's why you should be extra careful. Strade shared with you how other kidnappers were treating their victims, and you actually believed that Strade was the best.

Whenever Strade didn't talk to you, you were listening to the radio. It was much easier to cope with your thoughts and compulsions while listening to the calming voice of a narrator or to music. You were falling in love with him, and you didn't like it. It was hard to fight your own feelings: you wanted to hug him, kiss him every second of your miserable life. The fact that your existence depended on his mercy started to thrill you in a good way: he had everything he wanted because there were no rules and no morals for him.

With the leftovers of your sanity, you tried to find the reason why no one was searching for you. Strade liked to watch news reports every evening while seeping a beer, and you were watching it with him, dreaming of seeing your face on a channel, but it was never shown. Your sudden disappearance wasn't a surprise for your circle, as you didn't have anyone who really cared about you. Everyone you had known was expecting you to disappear one day because of your mental distress, and they were sure you would show up later, so they didn't bother themselves with your problems. Everyone around you was so busy with themselves that they even ignored the fact that everything you had left in the rented apartment was sold and that you were dismissed from the college for absenteeism.

You didn't notice how you explained everything to Strade about the conflict in your family. You opened your heart for him: you told him that your mother mistreated you since childhood and made up for her attitude with money. She had a habit of giving inappropriate reactions to the simplest things: today she reacted to it calmly, but the week after the same situation made her furious. You had to be grateful to have clothes, food, water, and a roof above your head. You needed to be quiet, and she raised you as an obedient girl: she hated you for bringing her troubles of any sort, so since childhood, you had to solve everything yourself. When you became older, she was jealous of you to your father: she had seen you as a harlot and thought that you were seducing her husband. She was just seeking a reason to kick you out of the house — and she found it. As for your father, he was henpecked, so he didn't really care about what was happening. You told Strade how you were bouncing from one messed-up apartment to another, about your disappointing first love, your unhealthy obsession with book collecting, and everything else. You even shared with him how badly your heart ached because no one was searching for you, your disappearance went unnoticed by everyone, even the renter didn't do at least something to know what had happened to you. And Strade was the first one to comfort you.

How wrong it felt to get compassion from your tormentor, but you took it gladly and with gratitude. Even if it was fake, you were ready to believe his lie until he was treating you as his best victim. He was the only one who really cared about you. You liked to be unique for him: when he was hammering a nail in your arm, stabbing you with a screwdriver, burning a cigarette off of your skin, or breaking your legs, you felt loved. When Strade made a deep cut on your shoulder and pressed his lips to it, sucking your blood from a fresh wound, circling its edges and penetrating it with his tongue, you felt appreciated. When he locked the shock collar on your neck and pressed the button every time you misbehaved, you felt cherished. With your forearms looking like raw meat because of all the cuts you left while itching, you experienced a blessing.

In this house, you felt like home.

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