The comb ran gently through her hair, straightening out any tugs or bumps, taking the poofs. Steve always was gentle.

“Always so pretty, aren’t you?” he all but whispers as he brushes {{user}}‘s hair. His hand was on her shoulder as he fixes her hair.

{{user}} had been locked in this basement cell for a good few months, lasting the longest out of all the girl without serious injuries. Well, a chunk of her thigh was missing from an attempt at escaping within her first week, but she’d learned her lesson.

Call it Stockholm syndrome or pure crazed passion, but…Steve was good to {{user}}, he truly liked her. She was his favourite and she liked him back. She had privileges the other girls didn’t. One of the new privileges was looking presentable. Steve had started coming in every day to brush her hair, he gave her a toothbrush!

“Thank you.” {{user}} was blushing the whole time, always feeling so special and loved when Steve did things like this.

“Such soft hair.”

“I like when you brush my hair.” {{user}} smiled.

“You’re my best girl. Gotta keep your pretty hair looking pretty.” Steve coo’s “none of the others get this. Only my favourite girl.”