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thevirtualvalentine · 3 months

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PRETTY FACE, BAD HABITS.

ft: Atsumu Miya, Tōru Oikawa, Tobio Kageyama, Shōyō Hinata, & Kei Tsukishima.

warnings: smut, afab!reader, daddy kink (atsumu), spanking, fingering, praise kink (oikawa), degradation, alcohol consumption (shōyō), cunnilings, enemies to lovers, small mentions of squirting, they’re lowk a lil filthy and obsessed MUNCH!shōyō bc definitely learned things in Brazil, coffee shop trope.

note: rereading hq, I am incredibly unwell and the volleyball pixels won’t leave me alone. Divider by @grlselle !!!

Thinking about gorgeous boys with pretty faces to the media who are so sadistic behind closed doors.

It goes without saying that setters are the notorious kings of this trope. Given that their charming faces tend to hide a fundamental need to be in control, constantly calling the shots n’ all. The facade cracks behind closed doors.

ATSUMU MIYA ... 4/10, not that shocking. He’s the face of MSBY, the golden boy. He’s got far more acceptable social skills than his other teammates: Shōyō, Kiyoomi, and Kōtarō, he knows how to handle himself in an interview. Flashing a toothy smile here, winking in a fan photo there. He has the hottest face in volleyball.

However, you had to have known about his silver tongue. It’s how he coaxes round after sadistic round out of you.

His stamina is much better than yours and to that he takes full advantage, being a pro-athlete has its perks. The downside is, his pretty face betrays the filth that spews from his maw when you fuck. “Yeah baby, think this messy pussy can give daddy another?”

He’s deplorable — that’s exactly why you keep crawling under him — the vileness you can only find there. “Y-yes, please ‘tsumu!” but woefully, it just isn’t enough for him, ever. He takes care of your trivial needs while chasing his own blissful completion.

“Ah ah baby, it’s daddy when I’m fuckin’ this cunt. Just hear how wet it is for me, fuck angel.” It’s humiliating, hot tears spilling past your lashes as his muscular thighs ram him impossibly further in you. You’re certain he’s in your cervix now.

“Shit — tight n’ creamy too,” he moans, “Feels so good on my cock.” He’s focused, a thin layer of sweat making his platinum blond hair stick to his forehead, eyebrows drawn together in concentration trying to feel everything you can offer him.

It drives you insane how he spoils you with unforgiving pleasure, never shy of showing just how bad he wants you. “Be daddy’s good girl and jus’ take it for me, yeah?”

And with a slap of your ass, he’s back to full speed, fucking you right up the mattress.

TŌRU OIKAWA … 8/10, a sleeping giant, don’t poke the bear. He was your summer fling, making you bubble with excitement and frenzy. His gorgeous face and native tongue were foreign to you but you recognized him from high-level volleyball matches on the news now and then.

Tōru was distinctly filled with passion, in everything he did you could feel it. He was a proud man through and through with a lust for victory.

That’s why he’s such a sadistic fuck, he’s too proud to stop even after he’s came inside you thrice. “Go on princess tell me, whose fingers can make you cum like this?” It’s those hands, those damn fingers you melt on every time he’s knuckled deep inside your sopping heat.

“Yours Tōru, only yours!” He’s peeled back every last restraint on your sanity with his body, reducing you to a tearful sticky mess pooling in his lap.

“I know mami, I know. You have to prove it to me though, show me how much you love it,” he muses rhetorically. His chin rests on your shoulder to get the best view of his practiced digits disappearing in and out of your tight sex; just how you like, just how you need. Those seasoned setter hands are a blessing.

“Ah! oh god — I’m, m’cumming— Tōru,” your chest heaves in his strong arms as he holds you there, letting you freely use and cream on his hands. He’s just so proud that he can make you feel good, so he’ll keep doing it. Over and over again.

“Look at you, my little slut. Just can’t help yourself from cumming all over me, hm?” The squelch of his three thick fingers and your slick coats his hand and your thighs alike.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA … 7/10, delving deeper, it makes sense. On the surface and to your friends and family, Tobio was your good boy. A perfect husband who was very successful in his career, and able to provide for you. People would remark on how starkly different your personalities were, the tabloids even going as far as questioning his feelings towards you.

But you know he loves you when he’s jackhammering your cunny like a rabbit. His brain only knows two things, volleyball and then all his other primal instincts. “Gonna fuck you till you’re sore, you hear me?”

He’s pushed your drooling face into the mattress to deepen your arch, greedy to feel more of your pussy suck him like candy. “You think I don’t see the way you watch me whore,” it’s like he’s punishing you with each grueling stroke of his thick cock inside you. “That’s exactly why you’re getting fucked like one. A dirty, cock-hungry, whore.”

That polite well-mannered man, a simple facade for something more sinister. They mistake his introversion for shyness when in reality he’s most likely self-censoring. He’s not much of a people person and lives a secluded life.

But all throughout his private practice today you plagued him with this singular thought: Kageyama craves it to no end, your utter and total obedience to him. He’s used to controlling his spikers, but you? You bring out an entirely new sadistic side of him. His one track mind learning every inch of your body fast.

“Stop! it’s t’much,” you cry into the sheets, overwhelmed by his sheer power. It feels like he’s deep in your guts with every strong piston of his hips against your ass. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your ears making your brain fuzzy.

“Maybe you should think about that next time you try and tease me,” he knows you want it exactly like this. You rile him up to get a rise out of him, pushing him to his limits and beyond. Exactly how he likes it.

He snakes a hand in between your warm connected bodies, pressing his palm over the outline of himself nestled in your tummy. “Remember how my dick feels inside you right now,” and he smirks feeling you tighten up around him.

You’re so incredibly plaint to a guy like him. His perfectly tuned toy.

With middle blockers, it’s different. They just want to watch you submit. Whether they’re reading the court, blocking, or killing the ball; it gives them an indistinguishable thrill to bring something to its knees deliberately.

SHŌYŌ HINATA … 11/10, virtually undetectable thus making him the most dangerous. When you met him, you found him to be a bit too big for his britches. He was such a sweet guy nonetheless, buying your drinks and slotting a friendly arm around your waist that night.

It felt good to have his attention, those dark brown eyes analyzing your every jiggle and jive. For some reason that night no one else seemed to approach you, perhaps it was due to the fact that #21 of Asas São Paulo had his eye on you.

“Do you wanna come home with me,” you ask him smooth as silk, carding your nails in his short ginger locks. He purs in response, groaning at the sensation and grinding himself against the thin cloth of your club dress.

He’s deceptive, but it’s not on purpose. “Please mami.” He just needs you to know how badly he wants you. Do you not realize he’s everything you need? No matter, he’ll show you.

“Mhhhm, more Shō,” you breathe life into his name like it’s a prayer, supple thighs caging his face to keep him planted there between them. It’s not like he’s going anywhere though, lips suckling on your sweetness as he lifts your ass off the bed to get a better taste.

His mouth does things you didn’t know it could do, massaging your pillowy folds before diving tongue first into your wet slit. It was making you feel hot watching him as he watched you, intent on making you buck against him for more.

He welcomes it, grinding his raging boner into the mattress and groaning into your pussy. “So fucking sexy when you do that baby, drives me crazy,” he says through kisses with your swollen clit.

That same sweet guy is nowhere to be found as there's an insatiable monster between your legs that you willingly invited into your home. “Keep goin’ love, wanna make this sweet pussy squirt.” You’re his, hook line, and sinker.

ps: don’t worry, after this, he’ll go three more rounds with just his cock alone and you better be able to handle it.

KEI TSUKISHIMA … 9/10, only triggered if you can get him to open his big mouth. He was a quiet man. Stoic as he sat in the same chair, in the same corner, at the same café, every day at exactly 6 am.

He may have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Well dressed with fair skin, golden eyes, and blond hair that made him stand out amongst the other patrons. Not to mention the fact he was ginormous, making the cafe chairs almost look like stools as he quietly checked his email. From over your shoulder, you watch him adjust his glasses, opting to look from afar but not touch.

It seems he doesn’t give you the chance though, approaching you as your heart beats loudly in your chest. He’s even more gorgeous as he grows close. His skin smooth like marble matches the stiffness of his face. “You seem to have a staring problem.”

At first, Kei thought you might have been a Frogs fan. That's the only possible excuse he could muster. Then he began to notice the lingering stares as well.

Excuse me— Did you just hear him correctly? You certainly didn’t mean him any harm, if anything it was a compliment. “And you seem to have an attitude problem, doesn’t seem like much can help that though. Goodbye,” you practically scoff before returning to your book and good coffee. What an arrogant fucking jerk.

Before he leaves, he drops a small piece of paper next to your cup. “Have a nice day, miss stalker,” you huff under your breath unfolding the small slip. ‘Maybe you can fix me. xxx-xxx-xxxx'

Since then, the only thing you two seem to do is argue. Especially when he’s stuffed eight inches deep in you from behind, “giving me so much attitude when you just needed a good fuck.” Him and that big fucking mouth, he must love hearing himself talk.

“if you wanted to get fucked like a slut then you could have just said so, brat.” He sneers, spanking you with considerable force behind his meaty palm. You’re Keis’ good girl, of course you can take it. He's trained you to do so.

“Sh-shut up and just fuck me Kei,” he loves when you talk to him like that, using his name like you own it. You’re wrapped around his finger as he bullies his girth into you.

“How can I when this greedy cunt’s not letting me go?” He’s right, within these four walls you’re his as you clench around him even tighter. “You can’t even fit all this,” he’s just inexplicably sexy, condescending yet so giving as he angles himself forward into the plush of your ass.

Pleasing you is an art to him, a deliberate one that he studies to get the best results. It’s brutal how fat his dick is, it matches his brash personality. “Go on, cum.” He says with sheer confidence.

Seconds later you’re unraveling before him as if it was pre-meditated. Like he instinctively knew when it was going to occur, permitting you before the act.

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perlelune · 10 months

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Birdsong fills your ears as you meticulously unearth the last few weeds in the soil. Careful to not damage the stems, you pull gently while barely disturbing the dirt. The last step is pruning. With ginger motions, you cut each crooked branch pointing in the wrong direction. Beads of sweat drip down from your forehead into the soil.

The heat from the sun is unforgiving today.

But you welcome the labor, even with the sweltering weather. Time flies when you spend it in the garden.

It’s a welcome distraction, the kind you’ve sorely craved as of late. Idleness does you no good. It often ends with you curled beneath your blankets, drowning in a puddle of your own tears.

Each day you wake up hoping none of it was real.

The harsh reality swiftly claims its right however.

It’s everywhere. All the painful little reminders.

The empty chair at the dinner table. All the spots he loved in the house, now desolate without him. His untouched room, lacking the messiness he usually favored.

And there’s all the times you turn, words tingling on your tongue, hoping he’ll be there to listen to you as always.

Then you remember.

Your brother can never listen to you again. And neither will you listen to him.

You’ll never hear his stupid laugh again or his crazy stories.

And your whole life you’ll turn, hoping to see him standing right there, beside you, but he will not be here.

Your grip on the shears loosen. They hit the vibrant green grass with a quiet thud.

You lift your eyes to admire your handiwork.

The garden looks nice; the flowers are thriving. The roses in particular.

They have bloomed wonderfully this year, having blushed to a gorgeous scarlet.

Your heart sinks.

If only Sejanus were here to see it. Your brother spent most of his life helping you tend to this garden. Whenever he wasn’t busy at the Academy or with the various tasks Strabo had for him, your brother was here, with you.

You both worked in silence, basking in the warmth of the sun and the pleasure of each other’s company.

The garden turns into a watercolor rainbow before you as your eyes well up with tears.

“We have company, sweetie.”

You swivel towards the familiar airy tone your mother often uses. She often emphasizes the importance of poise and decorum in every situation. Even in the current situation, your mother’s held her head high. Still, you don’t miss the subtle red rims around her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks.

Like you, she’s suffering. While you may not share blood with your family, having been adopted when you were three, your bond with your mother has always been as strong as if she gave birth to you.

Confusion has your brows collide into each other.

“Company? We weren’t expecting anyone.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, gripping your shoulders. Heartbreak flashes in her eyes, the same soulful ones as her departed son. “I’m hurting too, but you can’t hide forever.”

She cups your face and advises, “Go put on a nice dress, and wash up some. You have dirt on your face.” Disapproval pinches your mother’s features as she gauges your disheveled appearance. She sighs. "You know you don’t have to do that. This is what we have staff for."

Help. You suppose your mother refers to the Avoxes who tend to the yard sometimes. The sight of them fills you with rage and disgust.

Just one of the Capitol’s many crimes against its own people. Who would even clip someone’s tongue as punishment, then have them serve their tormentors?

It’s beyond vile and sadistic. But what else to expect from a place that openly sponsors child murder?

At times, you feel as if you’re living amongst beasts masquerading as human beings.

Still, you feign nonchalance. Some opinions cannot be voiced aloud, even to your parents. Especially to your parents.

"It calms me down," you explain, shedding your gloves and removing your wide-brimmed hat.

“Sweetie…”

She gives you yet another lecture on proper ladylike behavior. As usual, you only listen with half an ear, checking out about five minutes into her querulous spiel.

You’ve heard it at least a million times before. Still, you indulge her like the dutiful daughter you are.

She then reminds you to get dressed. You don’t have to be told twice.

You head to the back door connecting the garden to your room.

While you do as you’ve been instructed, inquiries crowd your mind. Your parents haven’t been too fond of visitors lately. Besides, what kind of company requires you to dress up?

As you head to your massive closet, you wonder who’d visit your family at such a time.

Your mother’s refrained from entertaining altogether and your father’s poured all his energy in his business, turning down most social calls.

You randomly pick a dress, a pale blue one with a sweetheart neckline, before making your way downstairs.

Faint chatter echoes from the sunroom near your father’s office. You follow the hushed voices.

Astonishment rushes through you when you realize who’s having tea with your father.

You haven’t seen him since reaping day.

“Coriolanus?” you gasp.

He stands to his full height at the sound of you calling his name. Your surprise multiplies.

He seems so…different, yet you can’t pinpoint what exactly about him elicits that impression within you. After all, he's still the same tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, dashing young man you knew before.

But something has changed. You can feel it.

Even the air around him moves in a different way, it seems.

He makes his way to you, surprising you further by grabbing your hand and brushing his lips over the back of it.

“You look lovely,” he mumbles, cobalt eyes finding yours.

Warmth rushes to your cheeks. You don’t remember Coriolanus ever being so…chivalrous.

“T-Thank you,” you stammer.

“I’ll let you two kids catch up,” your father states, nodding at the blond before taking his leave.

“How are you holding up?” the young man asks, escorting you to a nearby bench.

It occurs to you that he’s still holding your hand, his long slender fingers curled around yours. Cheeks aflame once again, you draw it back and tuck it in your lap.

Coriolanus’ brow twitches at your tiny gesture.

“I…Dad said you were the one who brought the box with his things. That was so thoughtful of you.”

A subtle smile spreads on his lips.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it means a lot,” you insist, shaking your head. “Any part of him it’s…it’s important to keep it.”

You fidget as he studies you, his crystalline gaze unreadable.

“But you have the most important part with you all the time. In the end it’s all we have, right? Our memories.”

Your heart swells with warmth. He’s right, you surmise. After all, every memory of your brother is yours. Forever. They will never be taken away.

You’re a little taken aback though. Who knew Coriolanus Snow to be so sentimental?

“Thanks, Coryo.”

His mouth tenses at the nickname but his tight-lipped smile expands. You used to call him that when you were little, having witnessed Tigris do it. It stuck and he never corrected you.

“I missed you. I think the last time you came to our house you were like seven or eight, right?” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Janus had to drag you there. He kept asking and you always said no.”

He shrugs.

“All the other kids were picking on him. I didn’t want to make it worse for him.”

Your voice softens. “But you never did. Pick on him I mean.” They may not have been the closest but you remembered how much it meant to Sejanus at the time, that at least one kid in his class wasn’t harassing him for being from a district. While some thought he was merely upholding the grace befitting his name and status, you believed otherwise. You’ve always been convinced that beneath the sturdy layer of indifference he drapes over himself, Coriolanus is kinder than he seems. He was kind to you after all.

He spoke to you many times, even playing with you when many other children wouldn’t. Over the years, you grew a bit apart but he’s always been sweet whenever you ran into each other.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asks, changing the subject.

You sigh. “Not much,” you admit. “Gardening, reading, going to class. The preparations for the wedding take up most of my time anyway.”

His jaw ticks as a slight crease appears on his forehead.

“A wedding? Are you helping someone plan their wedding?”

“No…It’s for my wedding actually.”

Your engagement ring glimmers, catching the sunlight as you show it to him.

Coriolanus’ frown deepens.

“You’re engaged? I didn’t realize.”

Enthusiastic, you nod. “Yeah, he’s amazing. We met at Uni. Dad doesn’t like him too much though.”

This seems to catch his interest, his head leaning sideways.

“Is that so?”

“His family’s from the districts…and Dad said his breeding will drag down to our name.”

Just saying it boils your blood. How hypocritical of your father when the Plinth house had its roots in District 2. Sometimes, it stuns you how far your father’s strayed from the plight of his own people, going as far as sponsoring and financing the barbaric practice the Hunger Games are.

Sejanus never stood for it, rightfully so.

It’s one of the many reasons you miss him. He never embraced the horrors of Panem, fighting against your father’s plans for him at every turn. In the end, it even got him killed.

“He just wants what’s best for you." He pauses, plucking your hand from your lap. His long fingers twine with yours. His tone dips, oozing concern. "I do too. You deserve the best. I hope you know that.”

A wave of emotions engulfs you. You don’t notice you’ve begun shedding tears until he reaches up to your face, using his thumbs to collect them.

You give a watery smile.

“Thank you. For everything. For the box. For coming.”

He traces your tear-stained cheek with his finger.

“I should have reached out more," he says, glistening blue eyes locking with yours.

Your hands cover his. You never expected in a million to hear such words leaving Coriolanus’ mouth. He’s always been so…aloof.

This is the kind of change you can only welcome. You often hoped Coriolanus would open himself more to others.

“It’s okay. We can catch up now. Make up for lost time," you chime.

His lips twist upward. "Right. We have all the time in the world."

Struck with the abrupt realization of your closeness, the way he cups your face being easy to misconstrue for an onlooker, you scoot backwards and clear your throat.

Flames tickle your cheeks.

You’d be lying if you said you never harbored a little crush on the handsome heir of House Snow growing up. He on the other end, never seemed to notice you, his attention always on girls like Clemmie or Arachne. It makes sense, you suppose. They are, after all, cut from the same cloth. Bonded by generations upon generations of hoarded wealth and an elusive code of rules and conduct you never fully grasped.

The mere way you hold a cup of tea gives you away.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re older now and about to get married. You can’t wander the wistful lands of childhood fantasies anymore.

So while keeping a careful distance, you offer solemnly, “I… Dad is attending this fundraiser tonight…to funnel the promotion funds for the next Hunger Games." Your brow furrows as disdain coats your tone. You can’t believe plans to repeat this ghastly tradition are being set in motion. "I didn’t want to go but he wants the family to present a strong front."

You pointedly omit to speak of your father’s blackmail and all he threatened to take from you if you didn’t show up, starting with the roof over your head.

See how well you fare as district trash, how long it takes you to crawl back home and beg for scraps.

You discard Strabo’s harsh warning to the deepest recesses of your mind. While you know he loves you, he also doesn’t tolerate any misstep from you. They took you in after all, saved you from a life of misery. Otherwise you’d have grown up an orphan. Instead, you get to live a lavish, easy existence in the lap of luxury, now the heir apparent to the Plinth fortune since Janus has passed.

You’re grateful, of course, for all they gave you. You just hate having to forsake your origins and partake passively in the slaughter of innocent children. Once you’re at the helm of the company, you’ll do everything in your power to stir up change. Every tidal wave begins with a small ripple. Perhaps one day all those tiny ripples will come together and form a tsunami, one that’ll wash away the sins of the Capitol and too many years of injustice.

"You should come. I could introduce you to my fiancé,” you offer.

Hopefully seeing both of them in one place will cement which one of them is your past and which one is your present. You don’t like the way a single touch from him flustered you so easily.

While you’re thrilled to resume your friendship with him, you and Coriolanus can never be more than that.

Besides the obvious matter of your impending nuptials, the two of you are so different. There has to be someone out there for him, some lucky girl that’ll make him so happy. And you bet he’ll make her happy too.

One thing's for sure however. That girl isn’t you.

Coriolanus sizes you up before giving a slow reply.

“I look forward to it,” he says.

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosbas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!fic #tbosas fanfiction

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bamfkeeper · 2 months

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You were taken and Kurt does everything he can to to get you back.

I wanted to write something like this since the post where he sees you get hurt and goes nuts. This is sorta like that but more extreme. A little darker than what I've written before. Please skip this one if the warnings make you uncomfortable. There might be a part two that features more recovery, maybe. Idk yet we will see.

Warnings: Gender neutral mutant!reader, kidnapping, descriptions of injury, creepy soldiers, violence, mutant prejudice (the term 'mutie' is used), mentions/descriptions of physical abuse via soldiers to reader, good ending I promise, unedited (at this point please just expect it lmao I never edit my writing bc I'm lazy).

WC: 3.4k

It happened so fast, a blur of motion and confusion. You barely had time to react before you were snatched from the comforting surroundings of your bedroom and forcefully shoved into a heavily armored vehicle. The interior was cramped, filled to the brim with men in imposing uniforms, their expressions stern and unyielding. You looked up at all of them, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your powers were gone, they had put that damn collar on you, the one designed to nullify your abilities. In that moment, you felt completely and utterly helpless, stripped of your defenses and at the mercy of your captors. They knew it too.

"Poor thing. It doesn't know what to do, does it?" one of them snickered at you, his voice dripping with mockery and malice, making you shiver with a mix of disgust and fear. The man's voice was so vile it made you want to vomit, and the way he looked at you made you feel profoundly uncomfortable. You were helpless, bound on the cold, hard ground of the van, as all of these soldiers kept their disgusting, predatory gazes glued on you, watching you squirm in agony and distress on the floor.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat and metal, amplifying your sense of dread and making your situation feel even more hopeless. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as you desperately wished for some form of escape, but there was none. The soldiers' laughter and jeers filled the back of the van, and you felt even more distressed.

"You're a cute mutie, you know that? Most of 'em you can tell are filthy things, but you...you're one of the attractive ones, aren't you?" one soldier spoke. His words were condescending and cruel despite what he said. The tone of his voice carried a sharp edge, filled with disdain and mockery. He looked you up and down with a sneer, observing you with distain and annoyance.

His comrades stood by, chuckling and nodding in agreement, their eyes filled with the same mixture of contempt and amusement. His expression growing more malicious with each passing second, his boot lifted and kicked you slightly. "Are you going to speak, or are you mute, just like a dumb animal?" he asked sharply.

You took a sharp inhale, your chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to steady your nerves. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as you made a conscious effort to avoid interacting with them at all. The last thing you wanted was to provoke them and risk any form of retaliation.

Your throat was dry, and you could feel your heart pounding in your ears as you swallowed thickly. "N-no..." you managed to let out in a quiet, shaky whisper, barely audible but enough to convey your reluctance and fear.

A sharp sting to your cheek as one of them swung their baton across your face, the impact reverberating through your skull. The blow was so hard it jerked your head to the side with brutal force, and your temple slammed painfully into the cold, unforgiving floor of the van. You could feel the rough texture of the metal against your skin, the scent of dirty leather and iron filled your nostrils, adding to the disorienting pain.

He scoffed, the sound filled with disdain, his eyes holding nothing but cruel amusement and a twisted sense of superiority. "Pathetic freak," he spat, the words dripping with contempt and malice.

The ride was unbearably long and dreary, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. You laid on the cold, hard floor of the van silently, trying to block out the incessant comments and remarks they made about you and your appearance. Their voices dripped with eager malice as they spoke about the brazen and disgusting things they wanted to do to you, each word sending a shiver down your spine and making you want to curl up into a tight ball and hide from the world.

After what seemed like endless hours of discomfort, the van finally slowed to a stop. You were roughly dragged out of it, your legs refusing to cooperate after being forced to lay in such an uncomfortable position for so long. The sun had set the world into a foggy darkness, the only lights illuminating the area were from the large bunker that was build into the wall of a large mountain, guarded with armored vehicles and more men in uniforms.

You struggled to regain your bearings as they pulled you forward, your body aching and your mind reeling from the ordeal. They forcefully walked you inside the huge doors that were drawn open, jerking you around with a roughness that made it hard to keep your composure. Their hands grasped you firmly, their hands groping your body as you struggled against their grip, trying desperately to maintain a calm façade.

Your brave face was beginning to falter, and it became increasingly evident that your terror was rapidly growing. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't hide the fact that fear was taking over, creeping into every corner of your mind.

They walked you to a wall of cells, which stretched endlessly in both directions, each one containing a mutant. Some cells already held mutants who were caged and looked absolutely horrible, as if they had been there for a long time. The conditions of the cells varied greatly; some were sterile and clean, while others were more run-down and dilapidated, as if the guards had no fear that the mutant inside would ever escape.

The air was thick with the smell of decay and neglect. Most of the mutants didn't move or look up; they were either lying down or sitting in a posture of utter defeat. Their eyes were vacant, their spirits broken, and it seemed as though hope had long since abandoned them. The overall atmosphere was one of despair and abandonment, a stark reminder of the cruelty inflicted upon them.

"What is this place?" you asked, attempting to sound firm and confident. However, your voice betrayed you, emerging as meek and afraid instead. The man holding you chuckled in amusement at your fear as he opened the heavy, creaking door to your chosen cell.

"Your new home, mutant. Get comfortable," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. With a rough shove, he threw you onto the cold, hard ground. The impact knocked the wind out of you as you landed with a thud. The man then unsheathed a gleaming blade, its edge catching the dim light.

He began to cut through the coarse ropes that bound your body, each slice of the blade careless. He didn’t care if he nicked you, and he did a few times. You flinched as the blade cut your skin, the sharp jerks and sawing through the ropes stabbed into you as you let out sharp hisses and pained gasps.

The man continued as if he weren't hurting you, and he scoffed with each noise you made. "If you sat still this wouldn't have happened," he grabbed one of your bleeding arms and he held it up.

"What do you want from me?" Your voice whined out, desperate for answers. None of their uniforms gave their organization away, and you had no idea what they wanted with you. The room was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows on the walls, which only added to the sense of dread you felt. The man just stood up, shrugging nonchalantly as if this entire situation was a routine matter for him.

"Nothing important. Whatever the boss wants," he replied, his voice dripping with apathy. "We do anything to your kind, and no one will come for you. We won't be charged with any crimes, you aren't people. You're nothing to us, and soon we will exterminate your species and we will be the supreme race on the planet again."

His words cut through the air like a knife, making it hard to breathe. You could see the cold determination in his eyes, a reflection of a deeply ingrained hatred. It was clear that they had been planning this for a long time, and you were just another pawn in their grand scheme. The thought of being part of such a ruthless plan made your stomach churn, but there was nothing you could do but listen and hope for a chance to escape.

The days melded together in an indistinguishable blur, and your concept of time dissipated. Every single day, you were visited by the men, who would unceremoniously drag you into a sterile lab filled with cold, clinical instruments.

There, a man wearing white would subject you to various invasive procedures, poking and prodding you with sharp tools that seemed designed to maximize your agony. They took many things from you—blood, tissue samples, and even bone marrow—leaving you feeling increasingly depleted and always somewhat wounded and weak.

Your time in this nightmarish place was exactly what mutantkind was afraid of, what you were afraid of, filled with relentless suffering, and they showed no sign of compassion or concern for the excruciating pain they inflicted upon you.

You were beaten regularly, just like the rest of the mutants being held captive in the facility. Every day, they came to your cell with their batons, mercilessly laying into you until your skin changed colors from the bruises. They were relentless, you were kicked and hit repeatedly, dragged by your hair across the cold, hard floors, thrown against the walls, and tossed around like a ragdoll.

You were barely fed, only given tasteless slop that had the consistency of old paste and looked anywhere from white to grey mush. This so-called "food" was just enough to keep you from starving, but not enough to ever feel full or satisfied. The meals were infrequent and meager, purposefully designed to keep you in a state of constant hunger and weakness.

They wanted to ensure that your body remained perpetually frail, as if the collar around your neck didn't already make you harmless enough for them. This deliberate deprivation was a method of control, a way to break down your spirit and ensure that you remained too weak to resist or fight back.

You were so tired.

The torment seemed endless. You swore that if they didn't need to take samples from your body nearly every day for their experiments, they would have taken pleasure in killing you outright. The relentless abuse was a constant reminder of your helplessness, and the fact that you couldn't fight back killed you inside.

Collared, drugged, and experimented on like some kind of helpless animal, it seemed like there was no end to the torment. They groped and touched you in ways you didn't want, and it was clear they had no regard for your consent or well-being. The very sight of your discomfort brought them pleasure, and they made sure you knew it every step of the way. Their methods were devised and precise; deeply psychological torment designed to break your spirit and make you feel utterly powerless.

As much as you hated it, it worked.

Their methods proved to be highly effective, gradually wearing you down over time. You could feel yourself slowly succumbing to their demands, submitting to what they wanted from you. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism that your brain instinctively resorted to in order to cope with the relentless torture and abuse. After enduring for such a long period, you found that you had no fight left within you, completely drained of the will to resist.

Red alarms blared loudly, their piercing sound cutting through the silence and yanking you from a rare slumber. Startled, you blinked awake, though your vision was slightly corrupted by the bruises and swollen skin, especially around your dominant eye, which throbbed painfully.

Groggily, your head rose from the cold, hard floor, confusion flooding your mind as you tried to process your surroundings. The distant sounds of fighting drifted to your ears from the direction of your cell, adding to the disorientation and making you wonder what the hell was happening beyond the confines of your small, dimly-lit prison.

You felt your body flinch violently as something large and heavy slammed into the room where the cells were located. The sudden noise echoed through the small, confined space, sending a chill down your spine. Instinctively, you crawled into the nearest corner and curled up there, trying to make yourself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

You had learned from experience that the precious visits from the men were less painful if you were already huddled against the wall, minimizing the areas they could hit with their fists or batons. The cold, hard surface of the wall offered a strange sense of comfort, even as fear and uncertainty gnawed at you.

The the heavy, metallic sound of your cell door creaking open, and instinctively, your entire body tensed up, bracing for yet another brutal attack from the armed men who derived joy from taunting and tormenting you. You prepared yourself for the rough hands and the mocking jeers that usually followed. But this time, instead of the expected harsh touches and cruel laughter, you were met with something entirely different—a voice you hadn't expected to hear again.

"Liebe..." the voice whispered weakly, the word hanging in the air like a fragile thread of hope. Puzzled and intrigued, you slowly pulled your head out from its tucked, defensive position and glanced toward the source of the unexpected whisper. The sight that met your eyes made you freeze.

Kurt stood in shock, his eyes glued to your fragile, timid form curled on the floor. The scene overwhelmed him, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. He slowly knelt down, every movement deliberate as if sudden actions might shatter the fragile peace. His hands, steady yet trembling with restrained emotion, gently set his swords on the floor with a quiet clink that echoed in the silence. "Liebe...y/n..." he rasped quietly, his voice a soft whisper, trying his best to sound calm and composed despite the complete internal storm of rage and anguish brewing within him.

His heart ached with as he reached out, his fingers hovering just above your form, not wanting to startle you further. You stared with uncertainty, your body naturally flinching away, so used to a heavy hand and harsh touches that left you in anguish. For some reason, your brain couldn't differentiate between your lover and the men who had been torturing you.

"I-It's me, Kurt..." he said with a pained strain, his voice cracking as if it hurt to speak, "It's okay...I'm here now." He muttered, his hand gently touching your bruised body, his fingers trembling slightly as if afraid to cause you more pain. You made a quiet whine, a soft sound that conveyed both your relief and your lingering fear. Looking at him and realizing that he had come to you, that he was truly here, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you.

He was here, and you were safe.

The room around you seemed to blur as the significance of his presence settled in, the promise of protection and care easing the tension consuming you. A cry escaped your throat and you fell into him, his arms instantly wrapped around your body, his tail following suit. "Shh, sh...Es ist okay, ich bin jetzt hier." he whispered, trying his best to soothe you while your cheeks dampened with tears.

He held you tightly and let you cry, feeling the tremors of your sobs against his chest. He could hear the terror and desperation in your muffled wails, each one a heartbreaking testament to your pain. Your arms and hands gripped him, but your hold was weak, your strength sapped by the inhumane treatment you endured. You were in dire need of medical attention, evident from your pale complexion and labored breathing. Despite this, he didn't want to let go yet; he wanted to keep you in his arms, so afraid to let go and lose you again.

"You're safe now, liebling," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Oh... I was so scared... so terribly scared I might not reach you in time." His heart ached with the memory of the fear and helplessness he had felt, and he vowed never to let you out of his sight again.

"Let's go...hold on..." he said, gripping you tightly as his tail moved and wrapped securely around his swords. With a swift motion, he teleported you to the jet. The floor beneath you was hard and unyielding, but the environment around you was far more welcoming and comforting than the cold, harsh cell that had been stained with your own blood.

He leaned back to grab something, his arms unwrapping from your body, but your grip grew stronger on him. "No...no, don't go," you were desperate for him, so terrified of his absence, your mind was in pieces, the aftermath of the torture you went through on full display as you became more and more attached to his presence. Needing him like he were the only thing keeping you from drowning in the thrashing waters that plagued your thoughts.

"I'm not going anywhere, schatz... I am just getting a blanket for you," Kurt soothed reassuringly. His tail, nimble and gentle, reached out to grab the blanket so his arms could remain wrapped securely around you, providing a sense of comfort and stability that you desperately needed. He carefully grabbed the soft blanket and draped it over you, making sure you were warm, and continued to hold you close against his body in a protective embrace.

The presence of the other X-Men in the jet went by unnoticed by you, They started up the jet and began the flight back towards the mansion where you could be properly treated. Right now, your only focus was on Kurt, his presence and touch being the only things grounding you in that moment of anxiety.

As you finally began to give in to the much-needed sleep your body was desperate for, your eyes caught a glimpse of the swords Kurt had carried with him into the facility. Their brilliant, silver shine was now dulled with the stains of crimson, splattered and smeared across the once pristine blades, telling a silent tale of what transpired before he found you. You blinked, trying to focus more on them, but his tail pushed them out of view, obscuring the unsettling sight.

Kurt didn't want you to witness the sheer carnage he had wrought, as he was completely blinded by a bitter and relentless rage that consumed him entirely. In his fury, he slaughtered so many men that he lost count, not even realizing the extent of his actions. All he could think about was wanting you back in his arms, where you would be safe and protected from the horrors that had befallen you. His blades were stained with the hateful blood of those men who had caused you so much harm, and he felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, even though deep down he knew it was wrong.

But he didn't care about the morality of his actions, not now at least. Seeing you so badly hurt had ignited a fire within him, a burning guilt that was only somewhat lifted by the vengeance he exacted. His mind was clouded, but in the chaos, all he wanted was get you home safe where you could be treated. None of the other X-Men dared say a word to him about what happened, by the time they arrived to help Kurt had already went through the men with ease, his blind rage driving him to kill to get to you.

He carefully adjusted his hold, making sure that you could lay your head more comfortably against him. He wanted to ensure that you couldn't see the gleaming blades. His expression was a complex mixture of trouble and deep worry, reflecting the weight of the situation and his concern for your well-being. Leaning closer, he whispered softly, "Rest, liebe... we will get you fixed up soon. Just hold on a little longer..."

You couldn't argue with him now. Your body was in need of rest and you finally felt safe enough to fall asleep. It was such a relief to sleep without worrying about someone coming in and hurting you. You closed your eyes as he held you tight, whispering sweet nothings to you as you slowly allowed your body to fall into a deep slumber. All you knew now was that you had a long recovery ahead of you, and he would be by your side the entire time.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight and @/strangergraphics

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