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morgue-friends · 1 month ago

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"A Maiden's Token" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, count orlok is his own warning, blood kink, penis in vagina sex, sexual tension, creampie, oral (f receiving), death is mentioned, no aftercare, reader probably has stock-holm syndrome.

Fourteen days, that's how long you've been here. That's how long you've been left on your own every daybreak and then expected to entertain death itself every evening. As the sunset on the snowy horizon, you made your way back into the castle, dragging your tattered dress by what remained left of it through the snow. Upon entry, you were shocked to see that the fireplace was still lit. Occasionally, it would flicker out during sunset as if the castle consciously knew a force of darkness would be awakening.

With a sigh, you lifted your dress and dropped down by the fireplace suddenly out of breath. Maybe it was the consistent blood loss or the freezing temperatures of the European mountains that you were succumbing to. As far as you knew, he hadn't given you any reason to believe that you'd have an extended stay at the castle. At the end of the day, your chances of reaching the next morning relied solely on the temperament of a man. Your mother had taught you well enough about men to know that when they get bored, they tend to move on.

You felt the presence of tears threatening to depart from your eyes as you thought of your poor mother. She must be so worried and heartbroken. Ever since the two of you arrived in Europe after leaving America, her overprotectiveness of you has grown enormously. When you told her of a Count from a neighboring country requesting your services for painting a self-portrait of him within his own castle, she warned you against going and you decided to shelve away her concerns as mere fairytales. You gripped the silver locket necklace hanging around your neck for security and sighed. Your mother had gifted you this locket on your most recent birthday, and holding it helped you think of all your fondest memories with her.

Now, here you sit, sleep deprived and undernourished. He left you only bread, some grapes, wine, and a bucket of water. You were thankful for the water as you refused to be inebriated in your current situation. It was almost shocking to see he had the decency to have the water refilled each day, but you knew it was only because he'd hate to let his food source run dry.

Suddenly, you were startled when you heard the pouring of wine into a goblet behind you. You hadn't even heard him ascend up the stairs of the castle, and yet there he was in his full glory at the head of the dining table. Now, whether he did ascend the stairs and walk right past you or he simply just appeared at the table was something only god himself would know.

"You have been crying." The Count's thick accent hung heavy in the air, his voice sending a rippling wave of goosebumps over your skin. The tone of his voice was accusatory and not at all sympathetic. Even with English clearly not being his first language, you could hear his overwhelming disappointment. Over the two weeks he's kept you here his English had somewhat improved either by hearing you speak it whether you were asking to excuse yourself to find somewhere to use the bathroom in the empty bucket he gave you. Or from your begging and pleading for him to just let you go home.

Your cold hands desperately wiped the tears from your eyes, and you stood to your feet. He watched you approach the elegant dining table, and you took your seat as far as you could away from him. It was painfully obvious that this night would go just about the same as every other night. You two would intensely stare at eachother while you'd ate your bread for dinner, he'd make you get up and walk to the guest bedroom where he'd make you strip naked and feed from you and then you'd pass out from the pain and awake in the morning to the Count missing and nowhere to be found.

It wasn't even like he needed to feed from you. From your understanding, as he explained it, he'd go into the nearby village and 'have his fill' after he had siphoned a small amount from you. It made you feel like some kind of appetizer or twisted desert for him to be keeping you alive this long. Even with his figure shrouded in darkness, you could still tell by his posture that he was growing impatient with waiting for you to finish your 'dinner'. It was almost like the flickering flame of every candle avoided his very figure as if the fire itself was scared of this entity.

When you finally finished, you stood up from the table and waited till he rose from his seat before you allowed him to lead you to the guest room. You had gotten so used to his grotesque heavy breathing that when he suddenly stopped, the silence was deafening.

"You are crying again." At least when he said it this time, he sounded somewhat amused. It was like he knew that you've accepted your fate and that there wasn't anything you or god could do about it. The door to the guest room opened slowly without him having to touch the handle, and you stepped inside, fingers already loosening the ties of your corseted dress. "Forgive my tears, my Lord." You cringed at the title you gave him. Of course, an entity this dark would be so egotistical to have you address him as a Lordship. You had wondered if this kind of evil was something that would come from inside someone or from the beyond.

"Why would I need to forgive such fragility? You are a human girl. It is in your nature to be weak and fragile." A vein could have popped in your forehead, and you wouldn't have even known it. His words made you seethe and boil with anger, you had to bite your tongue so hard not to say anything that would get him to eviscerate you on the spot.

"Ah, there she is, my cochetă, my minx, be angry so that all your blood may flow freely." Your body winced at the nickname he gave you. He had called you it frequently rather than your real name. Even when you had unknowingly signed away yourself to him in a contract, he addressed you only by 'cochetă' which he explained was romanian for Minx since you weren't at all fluent with the language yet. You dropped your dress and undergarments off in a chair away from that bed so that you may spare it from any more trauma. After taking your seat on the bed, you draped the blood-stained blanket over your shoulders in an attempt at making you feel like you haven't soiled your modesty.

"I have seen all you have to offer. You will not hide from my eyes." With in an instant, you removed the blanket, not from your own will but because he compelled you to do so. Another tear fell down the side of your face, and this one he wiped away with the side of one of his long pointed nails. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and the Count leaned over you and dropped his face to below your exposed left breast. His breath against your skin felt like ice, and you shut your eyes in order to brace for the pain that never came.

Instead of the feeling of two fanged teeth penetrating your heart, you felt the knuckle of one of his fingers brush against your clit and your back arched. Your eyes widened, and you sat up to meet his stare. There he stood, completely unafflicted by your reaction. In fact, it was almost as if you were the one who did something wrong. Impulsively, a heat pooled in your lower abdomen, it's warmth radiating down your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut in hopes to catch your breath and calm yourself down. What he did to you was only causing a natural response from your body, and you had no control over such responses.

Nonetheless, you still felt the urge to mentally shame yourself for being a such sinful whore who's body responds like that to the touch of something - someone so heinous. It was almost as if the devil himself had cursed you with such blasphemy with the way your nipples hardened to a peak and your thighs squeezed together, trying to prevent you losing yourself to sin any further.

You didn't even open your eyes back up when you felt his cold hand grab a hold of one of your thighs, you were then pulled further down the mattress closer to the edge of the bed and to him. A hand that was so cold that it felt like it was devoid of any life and any warmth worked it way up your chest and grabbed one of your breasts. You bit your lip to hold back a gasp when the peak of your nipple was rubbed back and forth by his thumb. It wasn't until you felt the contact of his mouth around one of your nipples that your eyes shot wide open.

You looked down to see that he had your left breast peaked in his mouth while he suckled on your nipple. Your body betrayed you once again, and that heat you were feeling at your core seemed to grow much hotter. A swipe of his cold tongue against your nipple made you look down again, and you got a good look at the head of the man doing this to you. He had since discarded his hat in the dining room, and now you have a much closer look at the spirit you were dealing with. The back of his head was rotten and decayed even under the several thin tufts of brown hair on his head. It felt like you were looking at a corpse of a man that should have been locked far away in a coffin in the depths of hell.

You weren't even paying attention when a hand parted your thighs and brought attention back to your clit, he pulled back the hood and started rubbing slow deliberate circles around it, being mindful of his claws. He switched to your right breast, and at this point, there was no use controlling your gasps and whimpers anymore. He was so gentle with you. Maybe this was foreshadowing that tonight would be the night he'd finally get rid of you, and this was just him rubbing salt in the wounds and making the evening last as long as possible. He'd never touched your nether regions before, but when he fed from the blood of your heart, he'd often rub his hands around your waist as if he was mockingly consoling you the way a lover would.

The hairs of his thick mustache tickled your nipple and you weren't ready for when he dragged downward a long lick from your breast, to over your stomach and then finally stopping at the mound between your legs. You exhaled deeply when he resumed and dragged his blackened tongue down your slit, getting a taste of your wetness in his mouth. This wasn't something you should be enjoying, just the symphony of approving noises that left your lips made you feel appalled with yourself. It wasn't until you felt his lips lock around your clit that you became heavy lidded and utterly defeated.

You settled with the idea that he's being so cautious with you because he's going to make you reap what you sowed when it was time for him to experience his own pleasure. And regardless of how good he made you feel in this very moment, you still hated him. He tricked and imprisoned you in this hellish imitation of a castle. He left you alone and unattended during the day, allowing a pack of wolves to ensure you never take your leave. It was because of him that your mother was a several weeks journey away, worried sick about you, and you weren't even sure if you'd ever see her again.

You were on the verge of crying again until he rose to his feet, his figure demanding your full attention. His clawed hands fiddled with the buttons of his trousers, and your breath hitched. The hefty fur cape he wore would frequently would drape over his frame and seculde him in almost total darkness. You never knew what his daily wear looked like since he seemed content in hiding in the shadows of your vision only to reveal slightly more of himself to you when he fed from your body. What came to your vision when he glanced back at you was the erect bulbous head of his cock. It was engorged and jutted upward toward the ceiling as if it demanded your gaze on it.

He crept closer to you, staring intensely as if trying to gauge your state of mind, trying to see whether you were going to fight or flee. Instead, you just allowed your head to fall back onto the mattress. It was pointless to do either of those, and deep down in the darker realms of your subconscious, this behavior from him was welcomed. When the head of his thick member prodded at your entrance, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes tightly.

Instead of thrusting inside, he thrusted his shaft upward, dragging it along your slit to coat himself in your wetness. When the shaft slid up against your clit you couldn't help but mewl out, still feeling that knot in your lower belly that was just waiting to be undone. When he finally seized the moment to thrust inside you, your eyes shot open, burning and stinging with tears. The Count let out what sounded like an inhuman hiss as his length seeped into your heat, inch by inch. The stretch was almost unbearable. It felt like you were being split right down the middle into two halves of yourself, and you weren't sure what half you pitied more. Your mouth opened to make a noise, but nothing came out. Such an intrusion of this nature left your throat speechless and strained. He pulled his hips back, and a clawed hand shot up to your face and held you in place upon his re-entry.

Those pointed nails of his were so sharp it felt like you had needles digging into your skin. Beads of red came into your vision dripping down your face from how much pressure those thick claws of his put into your flesh. When you tried to snatch your face away from his hand, he only pulled out and thrust into you more harshly. The squelching noise your cunt made around his length felt nothing short of sinful. To your disbelief, you learned he still had more of his shaft left to give you when he pushed himself further inward to the hilt. The thick head of his cock struck your cervix like hammer and a painful cramping sensation followed behind it. He hummed a noise of satisfaction as if he was he was impressed you were able to take all of him to the hilt.

Your breasts bounced on your chest when he roughly pulled out entirely only to shove himself back in. You gave a whine in response, and it was only then that he had seemingly guaged a fine line of pleasure and pain for you. Adjusting himself, he started up a pace of feverent rutting that made your legs tremble pitifully around his waist. The pressure of his hand on your face left when he leaned over to get a taste of the clotted blood that dotted across your forehead. His body was so much larger than your own that he had to contort himself over you to be able to taste the crimson he created and be able to continue his rutting.

The frequent movement of your body from the impact of his hips against yours was beginning to loosen that knot you felt in your belly. Your moans grew louder, and so did the beating of your heart against your rib cage. Inducing this creature to feed from you because your heart enticed him was the last thing you needed right now. The pace of his thrusts harshened, and so did the primal look he had in his eyes. Having him over you and staring at you like this, as if he were a lion and you were a weak gazelle soon to be eaten. For such an entity of darkness, he had such expressive eyes, sometimes they were so black you could see your reflection. Sometimes, they were so white and cloudy, you'd wonder where he had come from, heaven, hell, or neither.

"Please..." You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, but in your heart, it felt like it was for release. Release from the built-up pressure in your belly, release from the castle, or even release from life itself. Your hand reached up, and you cupped the flesh of his face. His skin was so cold, so rotten, and yet there was a feeling of life as if there was perhaps a soul present, but you knew better. There wasn't any life within him, as he was death itself. There was no soul within him, as he claimed the souls of others.

The closer his body, his cock, brought you to this peak of of pleasure that you pleaded for, the wider the smile grew on your face. A smile that didn't go unnoticed as his lips claimed the skin of your neck in what felt like possessive kisses. Perhaps this union of flesh solidified the extent of your stay at the castle through your own submission and your yield to the power he had over you. Those kisses trailed up to your own lips, and you tasted death from his mouth to yours. You tasted your own blood from him, and you tasted his hatred and his darkness, and yet you no longer had fear for it. With a painful clench of your walls, you came undone, your release washing over you in thick waves.

The spasming, clenching, and squeezing of your canal made the already deep and ragged breaths he took erratic, as did his rutting a few quick snaps of his hips and you felt a spurt of cold fluid inside you. The chill of it rose up your spine as it felt as if death itself had released into you. A deep animalistic growl vibrated off of the stone walls around you and bounced around in your skull. When he removed himself from you, you felt the remainder of his spent coat your inner thighs.

You looked away as you sat up on your own elbows, trying to balance yourself, and when you looked up, expecting to meet the eyes of a starving beast, you were met with an empty room. He had left you, spared you even. You couldn't imagine the type of carnage and havoc he'd wreak upon those villagers tonight. Reaching up to clutch your necklace for security and your hands found nothing but skin. He was gone and had taken your necklace with him. He took it as if you had bestowed upon him the honor of having a maiden's token.

#horror x reader #monster x reader #nosferatu x reader #nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #bill skarsgård #vampire x reader #vampire x human

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spacelazarwolf · 4 months ago

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a year ago, i was celebrating simchat torah when my rabbi interrupted the services to let us know there had been an attack on israel. we didn’t know how bad yet, but we prayed everything would be alright. the rest of the service went on as planned, but there was a chill in the air, like we knew something had changed. something big. but we didn’t quite understand it yet.

a year ago, i watched people i’d followed for years celebrate a gruesome massacre of over a thousand human beings before we even really knew what had happened. i watched anons pour into my inbox, demanding i condemn israel even though israel hadn’t even retaliated yet.

a year ago, i talked to my nonna on facetime for her birthday. she was in her 90s and wasn’t as present anymore, and i could barely focus because my thoughts were thousands of miles away. i promised her i’d call her the next day but my next day became scrolling past horrific photos and videos i didn’t want to see, posts celebrating the attacks, posts telling people that if they didn’t celebrate the attacks that they were bad people. she died two weeks later and the same people sharing the posts celebrating the massacre sent me messages telling me it was good my nonna was dead, or extremely crude and disgusting messages about what they wanted to do to her dead body because she was “probably a zionist.”

a year ago, i worked at a synagogue that started getting dozens of calls and emails from people, across the spectrum from neo nazis to evangelical christians to radical leftists saying the most horrific things, telling us it was our fault, that we had to do something, that it was on us. we were responsible. an anon told me i was a zionist because i had a zionist language on my blog (hebrew) and worked at a zionist institution (synagogue).

a year ago, i started losing friends one by one after many of them started to share posts justifying or celebrating the massacre or memes created by neo nazis, some of which didn’t even bother to sub out “jews” for “zionists” but they shared them anyway. i was pushed out of an activist group after months of begging them to stop using antisemitic language because i had the audacity to tell a white gentile in the group not to say racist things about a black indigenous jew behind her back, and said gentile told me he didn’t have to listen to me and that he could “claim” the holocaust too because his ancestors were from eastern europe.

a year ago, i watched in real time as the world i thought i knew, the world in which jews had a future and safety in the united states, crumbled day after day. people that previously went out of their way to take care of me and support me decided that because i didn’t feel comfortable marching alongside pictures of hitler i must be a zionist and therefore no longer belonged. the person processing my government aid didn’t want to approve me because i worked for a synagogue part time and argued that the synagogue should just pay me more because “they can afford it.” my synagogue, which has been involved in social justice since its founding several decades ago, along with its rabbis who have been just as involved, were abandoned by the communities they had put their blood, sweat, and tears into advocating for when they had the audacity to grieve for the dead of october 7th.

a year ago, i learned the hard way that we are not special in this time. antisemitism is a river that has ebbed and flowed for thousands of years, and i felt like a fool for thinking a dam could be built overnight.

a lot of people say that every day of this year for them has been october 7th, but for me every day has been october 8th. the day after the initial shock, when reality started to sink in. the realization that all the people who had shared “happy rosh hashanah” posts or complimented my kippah or pretended to care about harry potter goblins were quickly dropping the facade. that my token minority card had expired and now having a jew in their group didn’t look diverse, it looked “sympathetic toward israel.” every day has been a painful reminder that no one else is grieving like we are, and a large number of those people are angry that we are grieving. they don’t understand that we’re not just grieving the lives lost and the hostages. we’re grieving for the world we thought we knew, a world where we might have a chance to thrive like we did in the golden age of spain. but those golden years are ending. and that is one of the things we are grieving.

a lot of people also say that they wish they could go back to who they were on october 6th, but i don’t. i’m glad the illusion was shattered, that i can see more clearly who will stand with jews even if they face backlash, who will challenge their antisemitic biases and do the hard work to unlearn them, and who did not have to be asked twice to share literal nazi rhetoric if it meant feeling like a hero. i’m glad the masks are coming off because it means you can’t gaslight us anymore and tell us it’s all in our heads. we can see you for exactly who you are now. and we will not let you break us.

i don’t want to be living forever in october. i don’t want the blissful ignorance of october 6th, but i also don’t want the bitter anger of october 8th. i want to stand up for what i believe in, to celebrate my culture and my people, and no amount of intimidation or harassment will keep me from loving my jewishness. you have shown me i can no longer live in october 6th, but i refuse to let you keep me in october 8th.

#ip

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think-europe2014 · 8 months ago

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#employmentopportunity #workineurope #overseas recruitment agencies #think europe services #work in europe #abroad recruitment agency

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burningembers91 · 28 days ago

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A Voice Like Honey - Kang Dae-Ho x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Kang Dae-Ho doesn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. After running from the life his father had planned for him, he meets you. But he can’t seem to find the words to tell you how he feels

Kang Dae-Ho had always been more of a lover than a fighter. He’d never enjoyed playing Call of Duty or watching violent movies like his friends did. He always steered clear of the fights that broke out in school, or the rough games kids played in the schoolyard. He was scared of pretty much everything - the dark, snakes, spiders, the feeling of going upstairs and thinking someone or something is chasing after you. Dae-Ho would rather sit and daydream all day, and spent many a day dreaming about the life he’d lead one day. he was a talented musician, able to play any song after hearing it only once. His voice was like soft, warm caramel, and he was never short of girls hanging onto his every lyric.

But the life of an artist wasn’t the life his dad had in mind for him. He was a proud army veteran and had served his country for many years, just as his father had, and his father before him. Dae-Ho was the only son he had, and his father expected, or rather insisted that Dae-Ho follow in his father’s footsteps. A musician was no life for his son, and it would be the greatest dishonour to be made a fool of.

So Dae-Ho enlisted for his mandatory service in the military as soon as he left school. He thought that’s what his father wanted. He figured that after he’d served his duty to his country, he’d be free to pursue music. Dae-Ho hated his time in the military. The sound of gunfire terrified him, the late nights and early mornings, the extreme physical toughness almost broke him. But he father expected more, expected him to carry on once his mandatory service was over. Every day he would press leaflets and phone numbers into his son’s hands, send him advertisements for open days with the army and marines. Dae-Ho had never been able to stand up to his tyrant of a father, so he begrudgingly attended an interview with the marines. He was cleared for basic training, and his father was over the moon. But Dae-Ho couldn’t do it. The thought of returning to a place that still gave him nightmares was more than he could take. Instead of enlisting, Dae-Ho packed his bag and ran. He had money saved up, and he wanted to see the world.

He started in America, then moved to Europe, staying over in hostels and motels. He made lifelong friends, played his music in pubs and bars in tiny towns and villages. He grew his hair, tattooed his body, did everything he knew his father would disapprove of. When his money began to dwindle, he returned to Seoul, taking up a job in a bar that allowed him to sing a few nights a week. It didn’t make him much money, but it made him happy.

The bar was where he met you, another fellow songwriter with a voice like honey. He got lost in your words, your voice carrying him on a wave of emotion he’d never felt before. You sang together a few times, your voices in perfect harmony as your double act packed out the bar.

Dae-Ho had been with his fair share of women while travelling, but none of them made him feel like you did. He was like a nervous schoolboy around you, tripping over his words. But when the two of you sang, it was like you were made for each other. Each night, he tried to gather the courage to ask you out. He would walk you to your apartment, but could never seem to find the words to express his feelings.

You were perfect in every way, but Dae-Ho had always been a coward. He was too scared to tell his dad why he ran away, and he was too scared to tell you how he felt. He hadn’t spoken to his family in 18 months, too terrified to face them after disappointing them so badly. So he spent his nights at the bar, singing and serving drinks, and watching the woman with the voice of an angel, wondering when he’d be brave enough to bare his soul to her.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #Kang dae ho x you

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author-ssi · 5 months ago

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Daddy ~KNJ

➜Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

➜Genre: Smut, (Slight) Fluff (in the beginning), One-Shot

Warnings: MAJOR Daddy kink (in case, it wasn't clear already from the title), reader is basically drooling over DILF Namjoon, age gap (Namjoon in his 30s, reader in her 20s), breast play&fingering&praise (Namjoon is an absolute service dom - don't even try to change my mind!), vaginal sex (reader rides Namjoon) [18+ MDNI]

➜Word Count: 3.7k

➜Summary: Namjoon had been searching for someone to care for his son for months and months, to no avail. Until the moment he saw you crouched on the ground, helping his son tie his shoelaces with a smile so pretty on your face. That's when he knew you'd be perfect for him... and, for his son too.

"Seungmin-ah, it's time to go to bed! Come on, sweetie".

If you were keeping count -which you were- that'd be your 5th attempt to usher the cheeky three-year-old over to his room.

"But Koya doesn't want to sleep yet... Look, he is full of energy!".

Seungmin swings the plushie around, almost hitting you in the face with it. You let out a huffed chuckle glancing at the clock on the wall.

It's almost 9 o'clock and he's the one who's full of energy...

You'd expect that after running around and playing with him all afternoon long, by the time his bedtime came, he'd be sleeping like a log.

"I'll tell you and Koya a fairytale so you both can go to sleep".

You pick him up and sit on his bed, laying him down and pulling the blanket over him.

Thankfully, he settles down, cuddling his Koya, close to him.

Taking the book of fairytales from the bed table, you flip over to the page of his favourite, Kongjwi and Patjwi.

... Or as you prefer to call it Korean Cinderella with a twist.

Seungmin claps his little hands excitedly, burying himself further inside his blanket, focusing his attention solely on your words.

Reaching out to offer him an affectionate pat on the head, you begin to recite the fairytale, smiling fondly at the thought of how much your life has changed ever since you got the job of babysitting this adorable little toddler.

~Four Months Ago~

Judging from how hard it had been for you to get an apartment in NYC, you were already prepared to face the same difficulty in finding yourself a job.

Little did you know, it'd be as easy as taking a walk in the park.

Literally!

Walking in the park, that one cloudy afternoon, was all it took for you to run into little Seungmin and his dad.

And oh, his dad...

Mr. Kim Namjoon.

A Korean-American.

CEO of a public education company.

Single father to Kim Seungmin, after his wife left him a year ago and ran off to Europe with another man.

Honestly, who in their right mind would even think about leaving this man for another?!

You still remember how in awe you were upon seeing him...

His tall frame towered over you and his son as he stood above you, clad in a black turtleneck that perfectly highlighted his muscled chest and wide shoulders.

His face bore youthful features and yet his eyes brought out a sense of wisdom and maturity.

The polite smile he wore, not only betrayed the dimple that appeared on his cheek but his refined manners too, as he offered you a hand to help you stand back up.

Looking up at his entrancing eyes, you accepted his hand and slowly rose to your feet.

"Daddy, look!".

The little toddler's voice finally enabled you to tear your gaze away from his father.

Seungmin pointed at his small feet, with a bright smile on his face.

His father furrowed his eyebrows puzzled, which rushed you to explain.

"His, uh, his shoelaces were untied and he was running around...

So I thought I'd tie them for him!

You know, so he wouldn't get hurt-"

"Thank you for doing that".

The man offered your hand a small squeeze in gratitude, before finally introducing himself.

You hadn't even noticed he was still holding your hand!

Hastily returning the handshake, you forced yourself to withdraw your hand introducing yourself as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kim".

It felt proper to address him like that, since he seemed to be quite older than you...

Mr Kim slightly cleared his throat and offered you a small nod before turning to his son.

"Why don't you tell the pretty lady who helped you, your name as well, hm?".

You sucked in a breath and bit your lip in a desperate attempt to hide how much that affected you; a man as handsome as him addressing you as pretty.

Thankfully, the cute toddler in front of you was the perfect way to get your mind off of it as he raised his hand towards you.

"Hi, I am Seungmin!".

You noticed he was offering his hand for you to shake, just like he had seen you do with his father.

"Hi, Seungmin!

It's nice to meet you, I'm Y/N".

You resisted the urge to swoon at the sight of his small hand enveloped in your own.

So cute!

"And what else do you need to say to Y/N?".

"Thank you".

You shook yourself insisting it was nothing and adjusted your back on your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself to bid farewell to the two of them.

"Let me buy you a drink, Y/N; as thanks for helping Seungmin".

Your eyes widened at Mr Kim's unexpected suggestion.

"Oh no, you don't need to do that-".

"I insist".

Well, how could you refuse when he looked at you like that?!

And so, you ended up playing with Seungmin at the playground, while Mr Kim went to get the both of you something to drink.

You were pushing Seungmin on the swings when Mr Kim returned with a hot latte in each hand, offering one for you to drink.

Next thing you knew, you were sitting on a bench with probably the most attractive man you'll ever get the chance to lay your eyes on, drinking your latte and watching over his son continuing to play at the playground.

"Thanks again for helping Seungmin out.

I was too busy talking on the phone...

I should have been keeping an eye on him but work is just-".

He groans in frustration, before letting out a long sigh and turning to you.

"Never mind that now, tell me about you".

You purse your lips in thought, rummaging through your brain in an attempt to find something about you that's interesting enough to share with someone like Mr Kim.

"I'm just a girl, trying to survive college while looking for a job".

You shrug before taking another sip of your latte.

Meanwhile, the moment those words left your mouth, Mr Kim turned to face you with a knowing smile.

"Well, that's a happy coincidence".

And that's when you were offered the job of babysitting Mr Kim's son. And even though, you truly loved looking after little Seungmin, you couldn't help being even more thrilled by the prospect of spending even just a little time around a man like Mr. Kim.

~Present Day~

"And so, the new Mayor married Kongjwi, the owner of the shoe.

Now, you'd think that they got to live happily ever after…

But that's not the end of this story!

Jealous of Kongjwi's happiness, her stepsister Patjwi drowns poor Kongjwi in the stream.

Patjwi then disguises herself as Kongjwi and starts living at the palace as the mayor’s wife.

However, one day Kongjwi appears in her husband's dream and tells him about her tragic fate.

The mayor is shocked to learn this and starts desperately searching for his wife's body.

After months and months of endlessly searching, he manages to discover Kongjwi's body in the stream.

He cries cradling his wife's body close to him before leaning over to offer her a kiss farewell.

Yet, with that kiss, Kongjwi is brought back to life.

Once they both return to the town, the Mayor puts Patjwi and her mother in a dark prison and that's when he and Kongjwi finally live...

Happily ever after!".

You huff merrily closing the book and putting it back to its place before turning to Seungmin.

Alas, the story didn't seem to bring the toddler the drowsiness you'd thought it would, so you decide to simply leave him to play around in his bed hoping that at some point he'll tire himself enough to sleep.

You take the baby monitor with you and walk out of the bedroom, trying hard not to laugh at the kid scolding his plushie for not going to sleep.

Heading over to the kitchen, you start making yourself a warm cup of tea.

After carefully, pouring yourself a cup, you settle on the living room's couch and check the baby monitor sighing in relief when you see that little Seungmin has finally fallen asleep.

As you take a sip of your tea, you open your phone to check your Instagram for any messages.

After replying to your bestie's "where are you?" with a simple "babysitting", you quickly engage in conversation with her since the both of you have nothing better to do right now.

Soon, her texting gives way to an incoming call, which you're more than happy to answer.

Time goes by without you taking notice until you realise that you've finished your tea.

Abandoning your snuggling on the couch, you walk back to the kitchen in order to wash the used kettle and mug, having put the phone on speaker and placed it on the table behind you so as not to get water spilt on it.

"So... Is the Daddy hot?".

You roll your eyes at her sudden, crude question with a slight scoff.

She was never the kind to hold back on those types of conversations and thirsty comments, yet this time you decide to humour her and just play along.

"Well...

Let's just say, I wouldn't mind calling him Daddy too".

You hum cheekily and your best friend gasps.

"That much huh?".

"Oh trust me... He's a Dilf ".

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed by yourself calling him that.

Your best friend lets out a hum and you're certain she also has a teasing smirk on her face.

"Hmm, no wonder you were so thrilled over a babysitting job".

You shake your head chuckling, as you stretch your body to put the kettle back in its place on the top shelf, before starting to wash your mug next.

"No no, I really love looking after his son. Seungmin's the sweetest!

Having Mr Kim around is just..."

"A bonus".

She finishes your sentence for you, giggling.

"But really, why don't you shoot your shot?

You know, flirt with him, show off your boobies".

Her saucy tone makes you roll your eyes.

"I'm not showing off my boobs to my boss!".

"You were the one who wanted him to be your Daddy...

Anyway, what I'm saying is-".

Waiting a moment or two for her to continue, you place the clean mug in its place.

When she doesn't, you assume that the signal must have been cut off so you wipe your wet hands on a towel before turning around to grab your phone and call her back.

Oh.My.God!

Your eyes almost pop out of your skull and your body freezes on the spot at the sight of none other than Mr. Kim himself leaning against the table where your phone is placed, his hand hovering over its screen.

"M-Mr. Kim! I-I didn't realise you were back home!".

You stumble over your words, feeling your cheeks burn red from the embarrassment.

The only thing that's left for you to do now is hope that he probably hasn't been home long enough to hear the entire conversation, or else you're most definitely fired.

Mr Kim smirks, the amusement clear on his face.

"I thought you'd prefer calling me Daddy".

You gasp, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow you whole right now.

He heard everything right from the start...

Well, there goes your job!

"I-I... It's not what I meant-! I was just, uh, joking! I-!"

You know your attempts at justifying yourself are futile.

You know that there's nothing redeemable you can say for yourself.

But you don't want to lose this job!

Yes, you need the money too but spending all that time with Mr Kim and Seungmin...

You can't bear the thought of never getting to see them again!

"Y/N..."

Your staggered breath catches in your throat once you realise how close to you Mr Kim has gotten.

He has placed his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, trapping you between them.

"Mr Kim-".

You look up at him in question, only to get lost in his eyes.

His large palm comes to caress your cheek, his thumb slightly stroking the soft skin.

"Mr Kim".

A low groan rumbles in his throat as he presses his mouth against yours, more fiercely.

You utter again, before his lips suddenly connect with your own and your mind goes blank.

"Do you know how much I had to hold myself back whenever you called me that?".

You let out a small gasp when you feel his other hand start to fondle your breast.

A wanton cry slips past your lips when his fingers brush over your pebbled nipple.

"Do you know how many times I wished you showed these off to me, and me only?".

His words barely register, you mind still remaining blank from the unforeseen pleasure.

You latch your hands onto his wide shoulders as he lifts you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist and having you sit on the kitchen counter.

"Do you know how long I wanted to hear you call me Daddy?".

His hand pushes your hair back, revealing your neck for him to bury his face into, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your warm skin.

You slightly throw your head back, your mouth parting in pleasure, while your hands run through his dark hair.

Both of his hands slowly start kneading your breasts as he lifts his lips from your neck, drawing them close to your ear.

"Go on baby, say it...

Let me hear that pretty voice of yours call me Daddy".

Your brain short-circuits at his words.

You honestly can't fully process what's happening right now.

Yet the words leave your mouth with no hesitation.

"Daddy".

It's as if a switch flipped in Namjoon's mind.

"Oh yes, that's it, baby".

He growls, quickly discarding your blouse and bra off of your body before leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

You mewl as he starts to suck on it and your legs press against his hips, urging him to touch you where you need him most.

"Daddy, please".

He lets your nipple out of his mouth with a 'pop' and he stands up straight, slightly towering over you.

His hand disappears inside your pants, touching you over your panties as he looks down at you, his eyes clouded with desire.

"Is that what you want Daddy to do, baby?

Rub your pussy for you".

You pant closing your eyes as you nod at him urgently.

"Words, baby... I need to hear you say it".

"Yes, Daddy please rub my pussy".

And that's exactly what he does...

And he does it so well...

"Eyes on me, baby".

His deep voice coaxes you to open your eyes and gaze upon him.

Namjoon marvels at the sight of you, panting and trembling in pleasure but it's not nearly enough to satisfy his need for you.

He needs to see you come undone now, just by his fingers.

Gingerly pushing your panties to the side, he licks his lips before he inserts two of his long fingers inside you.

"Oh, D-Daddy!".

You let out a gasp, feeling yourself already full with just two of his fingers.

The thought of what it would feel like to have his cock enter you next, sends shivers down your spine.

His other hand rests on your hip and when he begins to move his fingers slowly in and out of your wet slit, Namjoon holds your body still as you can't help but squirm from the building pleasure.

"Now baby, I want you to focus on my voice".

You don't get the chance to respond to his words.

A breathy moan rips past your lips, your nails desperately digging into his back when you feel him curling his fingers inside you.

Namjoon lets out a pleased hum before he leans over to huskily whisper in your ear.

"I'll start counting and once I reach seven, you're going to let go and cum for your Daddy, like the good little girl you are".

"One...".

His fingers start to pick up speed, while he continues to move them in and out of you.

"Two...".

His other hand starts roughly groping your breast again, making you whine softly.

"Three... Four...".

His fingers curl intensely inside you, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your whole body.

"Five... Six"

"Daddy, I'm going to-!"

"...Seven".

You let go.

A sweet, little cry resonates in the kitchen when you cum on his fingers, but Namjoon keeps moving them, steadily letting you ride out your orgasm.

Once your body relaxes, you let yourself lean towards him resting your head on his chest with a small hum.

Embarrassment threatens to creep up on you as the gravity of the situation comes down on you.

And yet, when your mind runs back to Namjoon's previous words and touches, you instantly admit to yourself that there's no going back for you now.

You want him.

Namjoon grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at him.

He relishes your blissed-out expression and smirks when he detects the insatiable desire still reflected in your eyes.

"Tell me what you want, baby".

His deep voice tears up all your remaining inhibitions.

"You, I want you inside me Daddy".

You run your palm through his clothed chest before starting to unbutton his shirt.

Namjoon lets out a low chuckle, shrugging his suit jacket off of his shoulders.

"Such a good girl, using her words for me".

He swiftly lifts your body off of the kitchen counter and carries you over to the living room.

Your legs stay wrapped around his waist as you finally remove his shirt off of him.

Having his strong arms hold you like this, your sole focus remains on discarding his clothes.

Licking your lips at the sight of his well-built body, you let your hands wander all over it, mapping out his chest, his waist and his shoulders.

Namjoon sighs in satisfaction, before carefully placing you back on the ground, leaving you to stand in front of him topless.

He slowly takes a sit at the edge of the couch behind him and his hands reach out, pulling down your pants and undergarments for you.

Soft moans release from your lips, as he starts to ravish every part of your body with wet kisses and sensual touches.

"Daddy".

You whine, your knees slightly quivering from his heated affection.

"I know baby, Daddy will give you what you want...

Just wanted to take a moment and cherish that beautiful body of yours".

He mutters glancing up at you with lust-filled eyes.

He raises his hips slightly, taking off both of his pants and boxers with one swift movement before leaning back on the couch, resting his arms on the back of it.

One of his fingers points to his lap and your gaze zeroes in on his erected length.

"Go ahead baby, I'm all yours".

You gulp, hesitating for a mere moment before your neediness overcomes you, urging your body to move on top of him.

His hands immediately find their way to your hips, holding onto them firmly to help guide you, as you slowly sink yourself down to his cock.

"Don't rush, we've got all the time in the world".

Namjoon's hushed whisper is soothing and it momentarily distracts you from the slightly painful stretch of his cock.

But the moment you bottom out, a pleasurable heat spreads through your entire body.

Your hips slightly stagger as you itch to start moving them against him but Namjoon's hands keep them still.

His face draws close to yours, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his hot breath mingling with your own.

When he pulls away, his forehead touches yours as he looks deep in your eyes.

"Now, give Daddy a good ride".

Your back arches when his hands roll your hips setting up a steady pace for you to follow.

Once he's made sure you're able to keep up on your own, his hands wrap around your waist hugging your body close to him.

The way he holds you is so erotic; it makes you melt in his arms, hugging him back and letting him relish your unrestrained moans while you ride him.

Namjoon lets you chase your orgasm, simply enjoying the feeling of having you so intimately close to him.

His fingers run down your spine eager to watch goosebumps appear all over your skin.

Yet what takes him by surprise is your walls fluttering around his cock as well.

Namjoon groans throwing his head back, pleasure painting over his expression.

The sight of him losing his composure because of you urges you to pick up the pace, bucking your hips faster against his.

"Oh baby, you make Daddy feel so good...

Come on, won't you cum again around Daddy's cock, like the good girl you are?".

"Ah y-yes Daddy, I-I'm gonna cum!".

His half-lidded eyes are focused on you and you only.

The intensity of his gaze is enough to send you over the edge.

You bite your lip, in an attempt to muffle the shriek that leaves your mouth before your orgasm finally washes over you.

The pleasure your second orgasm brings you is even more intense than your previous one...

So much so, that when the afterglow settles in, you can't help but let your body slump on top of Namjoon's.

Snuggling against his slightly heaving chest, you gather up the courage to look up at him bashfully.

"Um... Mr. Kim-".

Your call for him gets interrupted by his mouth claiming yours in yet another passionate kiss.

Kissing you roughly and deeply, he doesn't draw back until he leaves you breathless.

His fingers brush through your hair tenderly but the look in his eyes is strict and his tone is absolute when he whispers to you.

"I thought we'd already established that from now on, you're only addressing me as Daddy".

#bts #bts x reader #kim namjoon #rm #bts smut #bts namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x y/n #daddy k!nk #babysitter au

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avelera · 1 year ago

Text

Thinking about Hob Gadling in 1589, or rather in the decades leading up to 1589 when we see him as Sir Robert Gadlen

Thinking about how he went north, twice, to come back as his own son, presumably to build the myth of the Gadlen family. Before that, as a soldier, a brigand, and a tradesman in printing, he probably didn't have enough money to need to "leave it" to a son, because he'd had no real assets. No houses, no businesses, nothing besides his weapons and armor, the proverbial clothes on his back, and what spoils of war could be carried with him.

But to make money you have to spend it, you have to have it, you have to invest it. 1389, the year of Hob gaining immortality, corresponds to the birth year of Cosimo de' Medici, the man who would establish the great banking dynasty of Florence, Italy. I note this because this transformation in Europe corresponds with Hob's progress through immortality and rather roughly corresponds to when, as I see it, he would have moved from an individual soldier of fortune to make his living to needing some sort of continuity of identity if he was going to move beyond that.

In this instance, pretending to be his own son (or relative) would be a necessity to inherit his own wealth so he could carry it forward for the next 10-30 years, before he'd have to reinvent himself again. The money to buy a knighthood would be the work of generations.

I'm thinking about Hob building himself up from being a printer's apprentice (because printing was so new a trade that it was probably one of the few where he could get in as a man perpetually in his 30s, most apprenticeships would require you to begin as a child) to gaining his knighthood. By his own admission of faking his death twice by 1589, he'd be Robert Gadlen the Third, possibly the Fourth (not that this was a naming convention back then for commoners, but more to illustrate where 1589 Hob stood in the line of his own fictional family inheritance).

The first half of the 1500s in England under Henry VIII still saw a predominance of nobility holding the lion's share of power, but it did see something of a shift where you had noteworthy men rise to great heights from common origin, like Thomas Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell (yes, I'm rewatching Wolf Hall, why do you ask?).

But now to the point that got me thinking about this: imagine Hob in the 1500s. At the beginning of the century he is the first of his name, building his fortune. Robert Gadlen, who made his money in the printing business then invested it, through a great stroke of luck in to the powers-that-would-be that century: the Tudor shipyards. Hob building himself from very nearly nothing, peasant stock, nothing more than a soldier and a brigand before that. It's still grubby to build oneself up from trade, better to have been born to wealth of course, this isn't American Yankeedom and we're before the Puritans, where showing one's hard work was a virtue rather than an ugly necessity of the common people. But Hob still did it, with his own hands.

Imagining Robert Gadlen II, and Robert Gadlen III, the "scion" of a family on the rise, sniffing around the edges of the Tudor court, eventually finding his way in, having enough gold to buy himself a knighthood.

Imagining Robert Gadlen, meeting one of those common men in the service of Henry VIII, noting with chagrin their own common birth, the sons of blacksmiths and butchers, unlike Sir Robert, whose father was a man of means who left a growing fortune to his son.

And I can't help but imagine Hob smiling, a little slyly because he did it, he slipped passed the censors, no one knows of the fact he was born to peasant stock almost 200 years ago, and no one ever will. As far as anyone knows, he was born wealthy, a gentleman in the rising social consciousness that all it takes to be a gentleman is to have the money to act as one.

But I can't help but wonder if that smile would be just a little uncomfortable, too. Because no one will ever know. No one will ever know that Sir Robert Gadlen didn't inherit his money, that he's not some child of nepotism and generational wealth who has never worked and never starved. He is the founder of his own family, he built it himself and with each generation that goes by he has to leave more and more of that story behind him. Except with Dream.

#the sandman #sandman meta #hob gadling

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helen-with-an-a · 16 days ago

Note

hey i know that this is a senstive topic but i was wondering if you could write a barca x reader, where reader take transit from her home to the training grounds even tho multiple teammates have told her they will drive her but she doesn't want to be a burden. when on the bus or train she gets off at a stop and is walking home when she hears a guy behind her, this guy pulls her into an area (bushes, alley way) and r*pe's her. after the next day at training she really quiet and people notice she has disengaged and ask her about it until she breaks down about how embrassed she is because she think this guy has taken her virginity until someone like alexia explains that she hasn't and says she will stay with her and she will take her too and from training..

I know it is a senstive topic and if you don't wan to write it I totally understand <3

Hi - so this is a very deep topic that I have no experience with but I did change it to something that I have some experience with. Please read this with your own safety and well-being in mind - if this is something you feel like you cannot read, please do not do so. If this is happening, or if anything similar is happening please contact someone.

UK Rape and Sexual Abuse Hotline: 0808 500 2222 or their website

USA National Victims Hotline: phone or text 1-855-4VICTIM (855-484-2846) or their website

Australia Sexual Assault Crisis Line: 1800 806 292 or their website

Spain Delegación del Gobierno contra la Violencia de Género: 016 or their website

France Victimes Plus Jamais Sueles: +33 (0)1 45 88 19 00; 0884284637 or their website

Germany: 0049 30 32299500; or their website

Here is a list of other hotlines for countries across Europe and the World

Withdrawn

Barça Femeni x Reader (mainly Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Description: R comes back after the Winter break a lot more withdrawn

Word Count: 4.1k

TW: Somewhat described SA (coercion and r*pe); Mental Health; Attempted forced sex (nothing actually happens a boy just tries to demand sex); Mentions of repressed sexuality due to religion (Catholicism)

You had known for quite a while that you weren't straight. It wasn't a sudden revelation or a fleeting thought; it was something that had always known. From the moment you caught yourself staring just that little bit too long at one of the girls at Sunday School, her wavy hair tied back in a nice, neat braid, her white dress standing out against her tanned skin. You knew you shouldn't but you couldn't help the blush that bloomed on your cheeks when she complimented your knowledge of the story of Joseph in Egypt.

But you weren’t allowed to be anything other than straight. The idea of being anything else was unthinkable, an option that simply did not exist in your world. Your family’s strict Catholic beliefs dictated every aspect of life, from the prayers said before meals to the unwavering attendance at church multiple times a week. You were expected to follow the path laid out for you, one that led to a conventional life with a husband and children.

You even had a boyfriend, the perfect outward proof that you were living the perfect life. On the surface, everything seemed right – everything appeared as it should be.

He was nice enough – he ticked all the boxes that would make your family proud. He went to church regularly, sitting beside you in the pews, nodding in all the right places during Mass. He smiled at you warmly, his hand finding yours as he guided you over to the Priest after the service was finished. He played the role of the ideal boyfriend with ease, taking you out for meals at family-friendly restaurants, making sure to always choose a place your parents would approve of. On weekends, he’d take you down to the beach after watching your matches, where you’d walk along the shore, hand in hand, just like a picture-perfect couple.

From the outside, everything about your relationship seemed flawless. People would comment on how lucky you were, how well you two fit together, and how you were on the right track for a happy, conventional future. His kindness was genuine, you think; he treated you well, and in many ways, he was everything you were supposed to want. Yet, you just ... couldn't. You knew what you were, who you were. And yet, you just couldn't.

He was the one to suggest it – heading up to the bedroom during a birthday party. You could tell by the way he leaned in close, his voice low and teasing, that he was testing the waters. “Everyone’s doing it,” he whispered with a playful wink, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair off your forehead. There was a casual confidence in his tone like this was just the next step, something as natural as breathing. It was an unspoken rule among your friends, a rite of passage that no one questioned.

It hurt – that's the thing you remember most. The discomfort, the sharp sting that made you wince, the feeling of his nails scratching as he fumbled around, the burn as he pushed himself inside. You definitely weren’t wet enough, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

He had kissed you for maybe all of five minutes beforehand, it was messy and too wet, his tongue leaving a trail of spit in its wake. His hands bunched up your skirt without much warning. His calloused hand scratched against your soft skin as he parted your thighs.

Then, without much warning, he slid his fingers inside you, and that’s when the pain started. It was clumsy and awkward; his fingers poked and prodded until he finally found what he was looking for. You tried to focus on the fact that at least he had done that, at least he fingered you. You told yourself that it was a kindness, that it could have been worse, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it was supposed to feel.

He had lasted 78 seconds – longer than you’d honestly expected. The whole experience was surreal like you were watching it happen to someone else. When it was over, you lay there, trying to make sense of what had just happened, the seconds ticking away in the silence that followed. You felt like crying, but nothing happened – you just lay there as he pulled out and slumped down next to you.

It wasn’t until after that you fully realised he hadn’t used a condom. You had asked him to, your voice far weaker than you ever wanted. Instead, he had smirked, a self-assured, almost arrogant expression crossing his face. “Who are we to stand in the way of God’s will?” he said as he slipped his boxers off. His words hung in the air, shame swirling around you as he settled himself on top of you.

The team could tell something was wrong the moment they saw you. It was the first day back after the winter break, a time when everyone was usually buzzing with energy. You stood, silent and withdrawn, as the team huddled together in the gym, hugging each other and swapping holiday stories.

You weren't laughing, and you definitely weren't smiling, two things that came naturally to you, especially when you were with the team. Normally, you'd be right in the thick of it, cracking jokes and teasing your friends. But today, you just stood there, your arms wrapped around yourself as if to ward off a cold only you could feel, your eyes fixed on the edge of the mat.

It was as if the world around you had faded away. Pere was explaining the drills for the day, but his words seemed distant, muffled, like they were coming from underwater. You didn't hear a thing he said, didn't register the plans for practice, or the way he glanced at you, concern flickering in his eyes.

You weren’t even thinking, there was nothing in your mind. Just a static hum. A silent scream, begging for someone to hear it.

Alexia’s eyes followed you wearily, her gaze filled with a concern she couldn’t quite mask, as you moved with a mechanical stiffness toward where your parents were standing. It was as if someone had dimmed the light that normally shone from within you, leaving behind only a shadow of the person Alexia knew.

Your parents stood nearby, waiting for you with warm smiles. She liked your parents, the whole team did. They were supportive in a way that wasn’t overbearing, always ready with a kind word or a hug after a tough match. They treated you well, and it was clear how much they cared about you. They were proud of you, and that pride shone through in everything they did, from the way they cheered in the stands to the thoughtful little gestures they made to show their love.

You boyfriend was the same. He kissed you gently, pulling you into a hug afterwards and smiling widely. He was a nice enough boy, the kind that anyone would consider a good match. Polite and respectful, he always knew the right thing to say, the right way to act in any situation. He seemed to be hardworking, dedicated to whatever he set his mind to, whether it was his studies, his own sports, or supporting you. He always had your name emblazoned across his back, your Barça shirt pulled proudly over his jumper.

“What are you staring at?” Patri asked as she came over to see what was taking so long. She followed Alexia's gaze, trying to see what had caught her attention so completely.

“Nena,” Alexia replied softly, nodding in your direction. Her eyes were fixed on you, her brow furrowed with concern. You were only a few feet away, but you seemed distant as if you were somewhere else entirely. Your mother was speaking rapidly, her hands moving in animated gestures as she tried to make a point, her usual lively energy on full display. But you ... you weren’t responding.

You were staring over your mum’s shoulder, your eyes unfocused, a blank expression on your face. It was as if the words and movements were passing right through you, not registering at all. There was an emptiness in your gaze that made Alexia’s heart ache.

Patri glanced at you and then back at Alexia, sensing the tension in the air. “Is she okay?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with concern. It was clear to both of them that something was off. You weren’t yourself. Something had changed, something had happened to you.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. She kept her eyes on you, trying to read the expression that flickered across your face for just a moment before the blankness returned as your boyfriend leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was like watching a ghost of you, a version of you that had somehow lost its spark. She could tell you were going through the motions, nodding occasionally, but your heart wasn’t in it. You weren’t really there.

“I don’t know,” Alexia finally murmured, her voice heavy with worry.

You had never been more grateful for that day. The day Alexia finally figured it all out. It had been a couple of weeks since the game, and your withdrawal had only got worse. You had been distant, more so than ever, drifting further into your thoughts, away from everything and everyone.

It was a family and friends event. It was done every year, a chance for the team and staff to show off where the players spent far too many hours. You had brought your boyfriend along, his hand clasped tightly in yours as you stared vacantly out the window, your mind elsewhere.

“Mija, what is wrong with Nena?” Eli asked, her voice hushed. She was watching you for a little while, her maternal instincts immediately picking up that something wasn’t right.

“I’m not sure, Mamí,” Alexia sighed, her gaze following her mother’s to where you stood. "She’s been off for a while now. Something happened over the winter break, but I can’t get her to open up. I think she’s spoken maybe ten words since we came back. She's playing ok, but it's like she's a shell or something.”

Alexia’s eyes lingered on you, her heart aching at the sight of your blank expression, the light that usually danced in your eyes completely gone. Your boyfriend, standing next to you, was chatting happily with Frido and her partner, seemingly unaware (or uncaring) of whatever was going on with you.

Eli’s brow furrowed, her frown deepening as she observed the boy you had brought along. “I do not like that boy,” she muttered, her voice low but firm in a way that only mothers can manage.

Alexia turned to her mother, surprised. “What? Mamí, you haven’t even spoken to him. He’s actually quite nice. Honestly, he's at every match, he takes her out for dinners and walks along the beach.”

But Eli wasn’t convinced. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as they stayed locked on him. “Something is off about him,” she insisted, her voice resolute. "And he has something to do with why she’s like this. I know it."

Alexia shook her head slightly but couldn’t shake the seed of doubt her mother had planted.

She hadn’t meant to follow you, but something about the way he leaned in and whispered in your ear set off alarm bells. Eli had nudged Alexia, nodding as they saw the way your body stiffened, the flash of terror that crossed your face, and before she could even blink, he was pulling you toward the door, a tight grip on your wrist.

“I’ll be right back, Mamí,” Alexia said quickly, placing a swift kiss on her mother’s cheek. Her eyes never left the door as she followed you out into the corridor, her heart racing.

“No, please. Not here,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, but the fear was unmistakable.

“C’mon, you always do this. Loosen up a little.” His voice was laced with impatience and disdain.

“Please, I could get in serious trouble, please,” you begged again, your voice shaking.

“You’ll only get in trouble if we get caught,” he snapped. “And we won’t. And the good Lord himself knows you aren’t loud enough for anyone to hear. You're mute whenever we do anything.”

Alexia’s heart dropped at his words. What did he mean by that? Her pace quickened as she neared the corner, desperate to understand what was happening.

“N-no, I don’t want to,” you said again, but this time your voice was quieter, weaker, as if the fight in you was slowly crumbling.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered angrily. “I’m not asking for much.”

Alexia’s fists clenched at his tone, her pulse pounding in her ears. She rounded the corner just as you spoke again.

“I’m not having sex at my place of work,” you said, your voice trembling.

“We are having sex if I say we’re having sex,” he growled, his voice low and threatening. “Now, tell me where the bathrooms are.”

Alexia froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as she realised the full extent of what was happening. She could hear your sharp intake of breath, the panic rising within you. Without thinking, Alexia stepped forward.

“She said no.”

The air in the corridor seemed to freeze the moment Alexia’s voice sliced through the thick tension. You and your boyfriend both whipped around to face her, but the reactions couldn't have been more different. Your eyes, wide with shock, held a flicker of hope, you looked terrified. His face, however, twisted into something much darker – his initial surprise quickly morphing into a simmering anger. He wasn’t used to being challenged.

“Alexia, uh… Ms. Putellas, h-how are you?” he stammered, forcing a false smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice was dripping with fake politeness, but the way his hand clenched even tighter around your wrist betrayed his frustration. You gasped at the pain.

Alexia’s gaze locked on that grip, her expression hardening with every passing second. “Get your hands off her.” Her voice sharp as steel.

For a moment, he didn’t move, as if contemplating whether or not to challenge her, but Alexia’s posture, her deadly calm, told him she wasn’t bluffing. She would not let this go. He shifted his weight uncomfortably but tried to keep his facade intact.

“She just said she wasn’t feeling great,” he replied, his voice now oozing with a sickly sweetness that made both your stomachs churn. “I was just trying to help her, but she can’t seem to remember where the bathrooms are.” He forced a chuckle.

Alexia’s eyes narrowed, her anger intensifying. She could see right through him. The tension in the air thickened, and you stood frozen between them, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Let her go. Now,” Alexia repeated, her voice dropping dangerously low. Her eyes blazed with fury, daring him to defy her. You had never seen Alexia like this before.

He hesitated, glancing between you and Alexia. His expression flickered for just a moment – fear, perhaps? But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating demeanour he wore like armour.

“She’s fine,” he snapped, the fake calm slipping from his voice as irritation began to creep in. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to get involved in this. It’s just a little misunderstanding. You know how she gets sometimes.”

“She said no,” Alexia said, voice cutting like a blade. “I heard everything.” Her words were a warning.

His jaw tightened, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. For a moment, it seemed like he might push back further, but something in Alexia’s stare made him falter. With a frustrated grunt, he finally released your wrist, shoving your arm away as if you were burning him.

“There. Happy now?” he sneered.

Alexia stepped forward, placing herself between you and him, her protective presence like a barrier you hadn’t realised you desperately needed. “Leave,” she ordered, her voice low and firm.

He glared at her for a long, tense moment. He spat a curse under his breath and turned on his heel, storming down the corridor. His footsteps echoed as he disappeared from sight, leaving a thick silence behind.

Your knees buckled. Alexia caught you instantly, wrapping her arms around you as you trembled, barely able to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly, her voice gentle now, all the sharp edges from before melted away. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

You clung to her, the sobs you had been holding back finally escaping as you buried your face in her shoulder. Alexia held you tighter, her strong arms wrapped around you, her hand moving in slow, soothing circles on your back. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel everything – the fear, the exhaustion, the relief.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you choked out, your voice muffled against her.

“Shhhhh,” she cooed, her voice soft, far gentler than you had ever heard it. Alexia wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t the person who handled emotions – she was the tough-love captain, the one who pushed everyone to be stronger, to keep going no matter what. If anyone needed comfort, they usually turned to Irene or Marta. But here she was, holding you as you broke down in her arms, her strong body a lifeline you clung to with all your might,

Alexia glanced down at you, finally taking in the full extent of your state. Her heart clenched as she really looked at you. Your body, normally so full of energy and strength, felt fragile in her arms, your bones too close to the surface for her liking.

Your eyes, once bright with life and determination, were now sunken and dark, the glow that used to radiate from your skin dulled. The light that she had always associated with you had faded, and it was only now that she realised how far you had fallen. Guilt gnawed at her – how had she not seen it sooner?

“You’re too thin,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to you, her brow furrowing with concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shook your head, pulling back just enough to look up at her, your face streaked with tears. “I didn’t want to burden anyone,” you whispered, your voice so small, as if you were ashamed of needing help. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Alexia repeated, her voice cracking ever so slightly. The idea that you thought you were a burden shook her to the core. “You could never bother me; do you understand that?” Her tone was firmer now, but still gentle. She cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You’re not alone in this. You’re never alone. You are so loved, so wanted. We've got you ... I've got always”

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unteriors · 4 months ago

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Since you're Australian, why are so many of the posts from the US? Did you start with Australia and then move onto other countries once you'd felt like you exhausted it? Or is the US particularly interesting for your purposes?

A big part of the reason is the enormous difference in scale. Australia has about 25 million people, versus 300 or so million in the US. Each of the 50 states has at least one or two major cities, most have many more than that. In addition to the volume of real estate imagery produced by this market, there are a few things about the US in this context which draw me in from an Australian perspective. One is how real estate listings weirdly embody how much more visually apparent the harmful economic forces of the past 50 years are in American society than they are here or elsewhere. Australia's welfare state was developed roughly during the same time as in the US, and has similarly been cut back since the 1970s. But it was always much weaker in the US than in Australia or Western Europe, and correspondingly the effects of its deterioration - along with other economic trends - have been much more visible than they are here. The way this is played out in terms of localised funding for public services means that many American cities have pockets (of varying sizes) where poverty and other forms of systemic oppression are concentrated and left open to the elements. The sort of stuff Jacob Holdt documented in his photos in the 70s, or that you see in a lot crime films and thrillers with location shooting. Gentrification and other forces since then have pushed these pockets into other areas and made some places seem less grim, but from what I've heard it seems like it would be hard for the average person in the US to ignore that these large, systemic problems exist. Conversely, in Australia, this kind of intense poverty has been pushed into the margins of society during the same time period - to remote communities (where people suffer from chronic diseases that have been eradicated in most other wealthy countries), country towns with shrinking economies, or to the fringes of larger cities (where people sleep in their cars in parking lots, or multiple families form sharehouses to afford $400-500+ pw rents). Though as things have gotten worse, particularly since COVID, it's getting harder to ignore. But still there's a substantial part of the population here who have grown up in ignorance of any of the larger, percolating structural problems in Australian society, and who proactively retain that ignorance into adulthood.

I think you can see these different perspectives play in out in real estate listings. In most American states, even in most of the towns I've looked at, you can see a broad spectrum of living conditions (and commercial interpretations of ideal living conditions) - from burnt out trailers, to overpriced renovated shitty older houses with cheap grey vinyl flooring and white walls, to clearly lived-in time capsules to McMansions to actual mansions. Some photographs are clearly shot by owners, others by real estate agents with a great variety of care and attention to detail (from elaborate staging to crime scenes). Rightly or wrongly, I feel like I get a broader, more honest (or at least more direct) feel for the housing crisis. It's a more honest horror film.

Australian listings, I think in part due to concentrations in corporate power in the real estate industry (similar to other monopolies that have formed in our economy), tend to more heavily adhere to the visual language of advertising and are more heavily regulated by agencies. The problems still exist, the housing market here is among the worst in the world and little effort is being made to address the underlying structural issues, but you can see the lack of will to acknowledge these issues in the level of gloss that's applied. You can look at a listing of an older house in Western Australia, for instance, and know for a fact that it's riddled with asbestos and probably has several other structural issues, but most likely enough time and effort will have been spent on staging and lighting and maybe surface-level renovations that it will seem otherwise fine. Lots of turds that have been polished successfully enough that you need insider knowledge to properly identify them as dogshit. Incidentally, I spent part of my childhood in a house built in the 1960s that had asbestos in the walls and ceiling.

I'm still interested in images from Australian listings (and other sources) though, I just look for other things that are interesting. Anything that runs contrary to the artificially positive, limited world view that advertising promotes. Even if its a poorly-lit time capsule that is directly aesthetically opposite to the ideal of house-beauty at the moment, or an obviously run-down house that has had every realtor photography trick in the playbook thrown at it until it becomes deeply uncanny. And it's always interesting to see what other people find interesting; I genuinely think the housing crisis underwrites every other political issue we have to contend with, its tendrils extend in many different directions, and I think this also means imagery like this can reach people in a diversity of ways. Aesthetically, nostalgically, inspiring fear and self-loathing and horror. All good sources of inspiration for creativity.

#anon feedback #Australia #enormous self-indulgent essay answers #that don't really address the point

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