Tw: Noncon - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

The Innocent Dragon

What if the history had been changed?

What if there is more to the Aegon's prophecy?

What if the Dance of dragons never took place?

What if the union of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower never took place? what if Rhaenyra Targaryen had a Older sister who was kept hidden in the palace by the Targaryen family due to her innocent soul and ethereal face?

What if she was finally introduced to the realm only to be betrothed to the rogue Prince who had his eyes on her from the beginning?

Read "The Innocent Dragon" to know all the answers to these questions.

Aesthetic Part One Part two Part three

Part four Part five

@rosecentury @queenbrownie18

Can i request strade doing some gross stuff to fem!reader on stream?

a/n: of course anon! i hope you enjoy :3

YOU'RE A STAR <3

{ strade x f! reader }

word count: 3.0k

warnings/tags: DEAD DOVE, NON-CON, graphic sexual violence and gore, forced exhibitionism, gagging and restraint, fingering, foreign object insertion and removal (?), genital mutilation, eye gouging, forced self-cannibalism, wound fucking, reader death.

As you awaken, the soft glow of a computer screen flickers erratically, casting eerie shadows across the room. Squinting against the harsh, unfamiliar light, you groan against the cloth gag pressed into your mouth. It feels rough against your tender cheeks and oppressively heavy on your tongue, leaving your palate dry. Pain and confusion mix as you find yourself kneeling on the floor, clothed only in your underwear with your arms secured tightly behind your back. Your head groggily lolls forward, your gaze falling upon the thick, durable fabric of a tarp laid out beneath you. Panic flickers through you as you shift your weight, the bony parts of your knees pressing into the tarp's hard, unyielding texture, its coarseness grating against your skin.

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps approaching breaks the silence. Before you can react, a gloved hand grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls back, forcing your head upward. The movement is abrupt, jerking your neck as your eyes are directed away from the relative safety of the floor toward a camera set up a few feet away. You blink against the light, now glaringly bright, as your masked captor adjusts his position and poses beside you. The camera's lens focuses, the red recording light a sinister glow that confirms your fears— this spectacle is not only for him but for an unseen audience.

"Did you have a nice rest?" Strade asks, his familiar accented voice interrupting your thoughts. He pauses, his breath close to your ear as he ensures the camera captures every expression of fear and confusion on your face. "Don’t worry, we’re just getting started. Smile for the camera, won’t you? We wouldn’t want to disappoint our viewers."

Your heart hammers in your chest, the sensation of fear mingling with the stale taste of the gag in your mouth. His hand travels down your front, the light glinting off his fingers as they skim along your chest. He traces the contours of your ribcage and teases the tender skin beneath your breasts before grabbing and squeezing one roughly. You shiver, attempting to recoil from his touch, but the ropes binding your arms dig into your skin.

“Oh don't be like that, kumpelin,” Strade hums, his voice resonating with chilling casualness. “I thought you wanted to come home with me.” The pressure intensifies as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, bruising the sensitive flesh. You whimper into the gag, your sounds muffled and distorted by the cloth. His fingers then creep upward, tracing over your collarbone and around your neck to finally rest at the nape. With a sudden jerk, he pushes you forward, forcing you onto your stomach. You feel his body hovering above yours as he leans in to whisper in your ear. "Are you ready to perform?" You try to shake your head 'no', to squirm away, but the weight of his knee presses into you. "Relax. My viewers paid good money to see this." Strade commands, his voice lowering as the camera captures your prone position. Your muscles loosen, causing him to hum in approval. "That's it. Now let's put on a show, shall we?"

His knee presses more firmly into your lower back, pinning you helplessly beneath him. As the camera light blinks, his other hand explores, charting a path across your trembling body. Strade's fingers probe and tease, moving lower and lower until they reach the waistband of your panties. With a practiced ease, he slips them down your hips, baring you to his touch. You shudder as he dips his fingers between your legs, feeling your wetness coat his calloused skin. He shoves two digits beyond your entrance, your warmth enveloping him. His fingers are cool against your warm insides, causing you to arch on instinct. He growls in satisfaction, his fingers moving faster as he expertly slides them in and out of you. The anticipation is almost unbearable, your body trembling as you try to focus on the sensations he's creating, the pleasure that threatens to overwhelm the fear.

Strade's free hand grips your shoulder, holding you in place as he continues to glide his fingers along your gummy walls. You feel the pressure building within you, the need to cum becoming more intense with each second. Just as you're on the verge of climax, he pulls his fingers away, leaving you aching and desperate. The camera's red light blinks on, bathing you in its harsh glow as Strade stands, his robust silhouette outlined against the monitor. His steps echo across the room as he strides toward a shadowy corner. Each footfall resonates, deliberate and heavy, the sound growing fainter as he moves away to retrieve something unseen. After a moment, the echo of his footsteps shifts, growing louder and more distinct as he walks. In his hand, he clutches an empty beer bottle, its smooth glass catching the dim light as he moves.

Strade's presence looms as he approaches, the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots signalling his return. The outline of the bottle in his grasp, though indistinct, sends a shiver down your spine as he stands over you. He taps the edge of the bottle, letting the clink of glass punctuate the tense silence, before setting it down on the tarp with a muffled thud. Your heart pounds as you strain against the tight ropes, twisting your body in a desperate attempt to slide away. He swiftly grabs your hips and forces them back and up, forcing you into a downward position. As Strade's fingers find the hard, smooth edge of the beer bottle, his lips curve into a predatory smile. "Jetzt beginnt der Spaß," he chimes, his tone low and sinister.

Tauntingly, he taps the bottle's rounded lip against your entrance, causing your body to tense in response. You plead and sob helplessly into the gag, which only seems to excite him further. With a brutal thrust, he pushes the neck of the bottle inside you, filling you up with its cold, hard length. You cry out, lurching forward as pain rips through your body. Strade grins, his large hand driving the object forward from the base. "Ah, that's it," he purrs. "Let it all out. Let them hear you." He begins to thrust it into you, slowly at first, letting its edges scrape against your tender flesh. You feel yourself stretching as if your cunt is being torn open with each savage draw. The camera captures every movement, every expression of pain, and displays your twisted, contorted form on the monitor beside it. He leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your sweat-drenched skin. "Ready?" he pants, an edge of excitement tinging his voice. Before you can respond, Strade pushes the bottle deeper until the lip hits hard against your cervix. With a grunt, he pushes again, and the bottle's neck gives way, shattering within you.

A raw, guttural scream erupts from your throat and your legs shake, threatening to collapse. Your body spasms uncontrollably as he continues to shove the base forward, fucking you with the jagged pieces of broken glass. Blood mixes with your fluids as it coats the insides of your thighs and drips onto the tarp beneath. As Strade pushes the remnants of the bottle deeper into your body, you can feel your walls ripping and tearing. Your wails diminish to muffled groans as tears blur your vision. Strade breathes heavily, his chest heaving as he works himself into a frenzy. The room seems to spin around you, the burning sensation pushing you to the brink of consciousness. Just as you think you can bear no more, he yanks the bottle free, and a hot rush of air and blood fills the empty space.

Strade leans back, his satisfaction evident as he watches you writhe in your own blood. Your breathing slows, with each inhale a desperate gasp through the stale fabric of the gag. As it absorbs your saliva, the cloth turns into a damp, heavy mass, pressing down on your tongue. For a moment, he simply observes you, allowing the unseen audience to take in the full extent of your distress. His eyes, visible above the cloth of his mask, glint with amusement as he watches the struggle reflected on the camera's monitor.

Then, he eases you up, guiding you back to a seated position with rough, steady hands. You can feel some pieces of glass crunch within you, making you cringe and tremble. He kneels and starts untying the ropes that bind your wrists. As each strand of rope loosens, you gradually restore feeling to your numb hands. He tilts your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Is that better?" he taunts, the smirk evident in his voice. You can barely nod, the pain radiating sharply with every movement.

"Now, give them a better look," he commands, nodding to the camera. "And pick the pieces out of your cunt."

You stare up at him pleadingly, his gaze merciless. "Or would you prefer that I do it?" Strade asks, his voice laden with dark amusement, knowing full well the torment he offers is no choice at all. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear almost choking as much as the gag. Gathering what little resolve you have left, you tentatively reach for the first shard poking out of your mutilated hole. The cool, slick edge of the glass bites into your fingertips as you grasp it, a sharp contrast to the warm blood that coats it. Every muscle in your body tenses as you pull, the pain a searing, white-hot flash that threatens to overwhelm your senses. You toss the piece aside as Strade watches intently, his presence looming over you like a dark cloud. You wince and pause, the room spinning slightly as agony courses through you.

"Don’t stop now," Strade urges, his voice dripping with false encouragement "Every piece, remember? Our viewers expect a thorough show."

You can feel your face wet and sticky as tears mix with snot, each breath shaky and ragged. Another shard awaits deeper inside, and with a shuddering breath, you prepare yourself to continue. As you reach again toward your entrance, your hands tremble uncontrollably. You can hardly recognize your genitals through the tears and outflow of sanguineous fluid. Gritting your teeth, you push your fingers deeper, searching for the next shard with a mixture of dread and determination. As you locate the jagged piece, it cuts into your flesh, forcing a gasp from your lips. You carefully try to coax it out, pinching it between your index and middle fingers. Slowly, you draw the shard out, pain flashing intensely. Fresh tears spill over, blurring your vision as you fling it onto the tarp alongside the other one.

Your hand reaches back in, fuelled by a sudden surge of adrenaline. The pain is intense, but it also sharpens your resolve. You find another broken piece, smaller than the others, yet just as vicious. This time, your fingers are more precise, your grip more confident. You pluck it from your soft walls, a small victory against the overwhelming hurt. The shard joins the others, clinking lightly against them. Your breath catches as you probe for more, the fear of missing even a single piece keeping you vigilant.

Strade watches, silent now, his gaze heavy upon you. You feel his eyes tracking every motion, every flinch. You wince as you discover yet another fragment, lodged deep and angled awkwardly. Taking a long, shaky breath, you set your jaw and ready yourself. This one hurts the most, yet as you finally free it and toss it aside, a sense of grim accomplishment fills you. Pain, fear, and determination meld, fuelling you to see this through; no matter the cost.

Every move you make, every shard you remove under Strade's watchful eye, is immortalized by the camera lens, feeding the twisted spectacle for him and his audience.

After what feels like an eternity, you manage to retrieve the last of the shards. Your fingers, slick with blood, finally still, and you slump back, exhausted. Strade surveys the collection of bloodstained glass on the tarp then turns his attention back to you, kneeling beside your slouched body.

"Well done, liebling!" He beams, patting your cheek. "You did a great job." Despite the situation, his praise elicits a weak smile from you; a small, involuntary response to recognition. "But don't think it's time to rest yet," he continues, his tone shifting to one of ominous delight. "There's still so much more fun to be had."

Strade rises to his feet and picks up one of the larger shards from the ground, examining it under the harsh light. He turns back, bathing you in his imposing shadow. You draw a shaky breath as cold dread pools in your stomach.

"You've bled, but not nearly enough," he says excitedly as he approaches with the shard. As you attempt to scoot away, Strade reacts swiftly, straddling your hips and pinning you down with his weight. His free hand clamps firmly on the back of your head, immobilizing you. The cold, sharp edge of the shard grazes the unblemished skin of your lower eyelid, paralyzing you with terror.

"Stay still, liebling," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your face through his mask. Without warning, he presses the shard deeper, and a sharp, excruciating ache erupts. He slices through the tender flesh, tracing a slow, deliberate curve around your eye socket. You try to pull away, but his ironclad grip holds you in place. A stifled scream escapes through the gag, a tortured sound that seems to delight him.

As he meticulously carves around your eyeball, blood wells up, warm against your cheek, trickling down and mingling with your tears. Your nails dig into his arm, but his focus never wavers; his grip firm as he continues to saw through your flesh.

"You're doing so well," he murmurs, as if his soothing tone could make the ordeal any more bearable. The pain blinds you— a mix of sharp stings and deep, throbbing aches that threaten to engulf your senses. You fight to stay conscious, driven by a primal fear of what might happen if you black out too soon.

He completes the circle and leans back, examining his work. "Almost done," he assures you, skillfully manipulating the shard and severing the last strands of connective tissue. Then, he shoves his thick fingers into the socket, extracting the fleshy organ with a grotesque squelch. Your vision wavers, relaying the final blurry image of Strade’s masked face as he severs your optic nerve.

He holds up the bloody mess to the camera, admiring it under the light before his attention returns to you. Letting your head go, you slump forward slightly, dazed. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he grips your chin, removes your gag, and forces your mouth open. With a disturbing calm, he places your own eyeball between your teeth.

"Eat it," he commands, his voice a twisted mix of encouragement and command. Your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat as blood and fluid coats your tongue. The organ feels oddly firm yet fragile in your mouth. "Go on. Chew."

With a hesitant bite, the delicate outer membrane bursts under the pressure of your teeth. A rush of salty, iron-rich fluid floods your mouth, mingling with a hint of the faintly sweet vitreous humour. You gag, the urge to vomit nearly overwhelming as he firmly closes your jaw. Tears stream down your face, cringing at the crunch and squelch of your own eye. The texture is an unsettling mix of squishy and gritty, and the residual connective tissue offering a slight resistance as you chew.

Forced to swallow, you feel the remnants slide down your throat, clinging desperately on their way down. The taste of copper lingers on your tongue as Strade releases your jaw, satisfied with the perverse ritual.

Your consciousness begins to falter, wavering on the edge as the room spins into a blur of indistinct shapes and shadows. Each heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears, a slow, dragging rhythm that seems to echo through the muffled chaos of the room. The metallic taste in your mouth is overwhelming, suffocating, as you struggle to draw a clean breath through the heavy, copper-laden air.

You desperately try to focus on something—anything—but your thoughts are scattered, disjointed fragments that refuse to cohere.

Strade’s face hovers above you, his features distorted and shifting as if seen through water. His voice sounds distant, a disembodied echo that you can barely grasp. “Stay with me,” he murmurs, or perhaps commands, but the words slip through your mind like sand through fingers.

A zipper rasps loudly in the thick silence. Through your dimming vision, you make out the vague shape of Strade standing before you, his movements deliberate and ominous as he slides his boxers down. You try to recoil, but your body barely responds; your head weakly bobs backward, only to be caught and steadied by his firm grip.

"Es ist Zeit für das Finale," he growls, positioning the head of his cock at your empty eye socket. As he forces himself into you, pain spreads throughout your entire body, shooting up your spine and filling your skull. You try to scream, but no sound comes out; only a wet gurgle rises from your throat as you struggle to form words. The pressure in your head increases, becoming almost unbearable, as his hips begin to thrust roughly.

You feel the foreign sensation pulsing within your skull, then the trickle of something warm flowing down your cheek. A distant, guttural sound—perhaps a laugh or a grunt—echoes in your ears as your eyelids become unbearably heavy. The pressure in your head builds, blurring the remaining fragments of your consciousness.

The last sensation you register is the chilling grip of Strade’s hand and the distant wet slapping of his skin against yours.

Translations

Kumpelin = Buddy

Jetzt beginnt der Spaß = Now the fun begins

Liebling = Darling

Es ist Zeit für das Finale = It's time for the finale

Can i request Derek taking his anger out on fem!reader after the "he took you home" ending? You can make it as nasty as you want 👀

a/n: sure! i luv that sleazy, bleach-blonde bastard. hope you like it! :3

PLAYING WITH FIRE

{ derek goffard x f! reader }

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: NON-CON, painal, fire torture, burning, stomping, mutilation (?), degradation, name-calling, humiliation.

As you blink away the haze of sleep, the painful wound in your back throbs dully amidst newer aches. With a shuddering breath, you try to push yourself upright, only to be met with the uncomfortable resistance of chains binding your wrists. The cold, varnished floorboards press into your bare skin, making you acutely aware of your nakedness.

"Hello!? Where am I?" your voice cracks, echoing slightly in the vast, lavishly furnished room.

The door swings open as you struggle to make sense of your opulent, yet foreboding surroundings. Derek steps into the room, his presence immediately filling the space with a palpable tension. He's meticulously groomed and dressed in an expensive, tailored suit; a stark contrast to the dishevelled, agonising figure you remember from the desert.

“Ah, finally awake, are we?” His smooth voice cuts through the silence, his smirk widening as he hungrily scans over your body. It's then you realize this is the man who revelled in your torment under the brutal desert sun— the same man you had desperately stabbed, yet had been too terrified to finish off.

You try to speak, but your voice is strangled by the rising panic, words lost in the jumble of your frightened thoughts. Instinctively, you slide back as he approaches, the cold metal chains clinking as your throbbing back slams against the wall.

“You remember me, don't you?” His voice is smooth, almost casual, but you can hear the malice underlying each word. “You stabbed me.” He emphasizes the word, his eyes gleaming with a sinister delight.

“I-I'm sorry,” the words tumble out as a weak whimper.

“Oh, I know you’re sorry.” Derek’s tone is mockingly sympathetic as he crouches in front of you, his face inches from yours. “But an apology won’t quite cut it, will it? No,” he shakes his head slowly, his words sending a shiver of dread through your spine.

You press back against the wall, trying to disappear into its cold embrace. The chill from the varnished wood floors beneath you seeps deeper into your bones, mirroring the cold dread that fills you as he leans closer. His presence suffocates, looming over you, chained and vulnerable.

Without a word, he reaches for your ankles, pulling sharply to straighten your body along the cold floor. The chains at your wrists tighten as your arms twist and pull at your shoulders. The metal is cold and unforgiving against your bruised skin as your joints are stretched to their limits.

"You know... I've thought long and hard about what I wanted to do to you once I got you here." Derek says, towering over you. He reaches around in his suit pockets and then produces a small bottle filled with a clear liquid and a sleek silver lighter. "Here, we won't run out of time," he adds, his eyes gleaming as he holds up the items for your inspection.

"If you don't die too soon, at least." With a chilling smirk, he swiftly slams his foot down hard on your stomach, the polished dress shoe pressing cruelly into your flesh.

You gasp, air whooshing out of your lungs, pain splintering through your body like shattered glass. Your eyes water, a silent scream etching itself into the frozen air as you struggle futilely against the icy hold of the chains. The weight of his shoe pins you helplessly as he unscrews the bottle's cap.

"Wh—" Your breath catches in your throat as the acrid scent of alcohol permeates the air. He grinds his foot deeper into your soft stomach, eliciting a pained grunt from your lips.

"Let's see how long you last," he muses, his words slithering through the air and sending waves of panic crashing over you.

With a chilling calmness, he begins drizzling the alcohol over your breasts; trailing a cold, wet path across the marred skin. Some drops seep into your fresh wounds, making your muscles tense involuntarily.

"No, please— Wait!" you plead, your voice cracking as each breath is laced with the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol.

As Derek lowers the lighter to your chest, his eyes alight with a perverse pleasure. With a flick of his thumb, a small flame dances to life and the liquid ignites a blazing inferno upon your writhing body. For a fleeting moment, there's a bizarre sensation of warmth that tickles your skin, almost deceivingly gentle. But this warmth rapidly morphs into a deep, searing pain.

Within seconds, the ticklish sensation escalates into an unbearable burning. Your skin reacts violently to the intense heat, the pain magnifying as the fire consumes the alcohol-soaked area. The room fills with the acrid smell of burning as you scream, raw and guttural.

The sound of his laughter mingles with your cries as the flames dance hungrily across your tender breasts. You instinctively try to recoil, but the chains and the weight of his foot, hold you mercilessly in place.

"Awww... I could listen to you squeal like that all day," Derek taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he watches the flames. "But I want this to last."

Abruptly, he shifts his stance, lifting his foot from your stomach and bringing it down sharply onto the flames on your chest. The polished shoe crushes the fire against your skin, smothering the flames with a series of swift, brutal stomps. The heat retreats as quickly as it had erupted, leaving behind a suffocating smoke, the grotesque smell of charred skin, and the lingering scent of alcohol.

Derek observes the aftermath with a twisted satisfaction, his shoe leaving a grim imprint on your abused flesh. Leaning down, he grips your face harshly, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to meet his gaze. "You look good when you're crying," he murmurs, a malicious smirk twisting his lips.

Before you can respond, he presses his foot down on the side of your face, turning your head sharply to the side. His other hand uncaps the bottle once more, and he begins dousing the other side of your face and neck with alcohol.

Muffled cries escape your lips, distorted and desperate, as Derek's shoe presses firmly against your cheek, pinning you to the hard floor. You struggle to breathe, each gasp a laborious effort as panic claws at your throat. Your sounds of distress are smothered under his force, reduced to whimpering that barely breaks the tense air of the room.

Leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear, Derek taunts, "What was that, bitch? Did you say something?" He pauses, feigning a moment of thoughtful consideration before his voice hardens. "Ah, you want me to burn your pretty little face, is that it?" With a cruel smirk, he straightens slightly, the pressure momentarily easing from your face before he shifts his stance.

"You really shouldn’t ask for things you don’t want," he murmurs darkly as he once again produces the sleek silver lighter. His fingers play over the metal, teasing the flame to life with a swift flick.

Holding your gaze with his, he lowers the flame deliberately towards the alcohol-soaked side of your face. The fire catches instantly and the heat sears your skin as it ignites. The initial warmth is swiftly overwhelmed by a sharp, engulfing pain that races across your flesh. As the flames lick upwards, the tips of your hair catch fire, adding a horrifying, crackling sizzle to the dreadful orchestra of your shrieking. Your cries intensify; a visceral reaction to the unbearable sensation of your skin and hair burning.

With deliberate cruelty, Derek shifts again, his shoe coming down hard on the burning side of your face. The sudden pressure extinguishes the flames and the harsh grind of his sole against your charred cheek sends a new wave of pain through your body. As he steps back, the smell of burnt hair and skin lingers nauseatingly in the air.

The room falls silent for a moment, save for your heavy, ragged breathing and the occasional clink of chains. Derek eyes the damage with a perverse sense of accomplishment. "Look at you now. Not so pretty anymore, are you?" he sneers.

He suddenly grabs your ankles and pushes them uncomfortably over your body so your toes touch the floor behind your head. The harsh and sudden movement forces you into a vulnerable and painfully distorted position. "Mmm, but your cute noises got me all excited," He purrs, fumbling with the zipper of his dress pants. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he peers down at you from between your thighs, his cock freed from the confines of his boxers.

"Now, beg for it," Derek demands, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for me to fuck you."

You swallow hard, your throat tight with fear and revulsion. You bite back a cry, clenching your eyes shut.

His hands, now gripping the backs of your thighs, push your knees even further towards your chest. The movement is so forceful that a sharp yelp escapes you despite your resolve.

"I said beg, slut" he repeats, his brows furrowing. "You were quick to beg for my cock out there in the desert; let's hear that desperation again, right here."

You turn your eyes away from his gaze, a small act of defiance against his demands. However, the cruel delight in his eyes intensifies as he reaches beside him, retrieving the sleek silver lighter once again. His fingers play over the metal deliberately as he watches your eyes widen with renewed fear. The small flame springs to life with a click, its glow reflecting ominously in his turquoise eyes.

"Or," he murmurs, the flame now hovering dangerously close to the sensitive skin between your legs. "I could burn you where it'll hurt most."

Panic claws at your chest, your heart hammering wildly as the heat from the flame prickles your inner thigh. The threat is clear and imminent, pushing you to the brink.

"Please, Derek," your voice trembles, the horror of the situation squeezing the air from your lungs. "Please fuck me... I'll do anything. Just don't burn me again... please."

The words tumble out of your mouth, broken and raw, the shame of hearing your own voice reduced to such desperation echoing within you. Derek's smirk widens in response, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his eyes.

The flame suddenly licks across the tender skin of your vulva, causing you to scream in pain. "Oops," he says nonchalantly, watching as the small burn mark forms.

"No, please, stop it!" you cry out shakily, tears welling in your eyes. "Please... anything but this,"

"Hah! I like really that pathetic look on your face," he sneers, the flame flickering dangerously close one last time before he snuffs it out.

With a cruel smirk, he deliberately spits on your clenched hole, the warm liquid landing with a sickening splatter. You recoil in disgust, waves of shame and humiliation crashing over you. "I knew you'd be begging for me to fuck you," Derek chuckles, leaning close as his hot breath brushes against your burned face.

He positions himself at your entrance, the smirk never leaving his face. he taunts, pushing forward without any gentleness. The discomfort is immediate, intensifying the mix of pain and humiliation already consuming you.

He curses under his breath as he slides into you, the ring of muscles gripping tight around him. His fingers squeeze into your hips, anchoring him as he moves with ruthless intent.

"That's it, cry," he whispers harshly in your ear, each word punctuated by another forceful movement. His laughter is low and dissonant, mixing with the sound of your choked sobs. He thrusts harder, his body pressing down on yours with a cruel weight.

"I love hearing you like this," Derek hisses, his breath hot against your neck. The pain from the burns and his brutal handling makes each moment excruciating. Your vision blurs with tears, the room spinning as you struggle to find any semblance of control over the situation.

Suddenly, Derek stops, pulling back slightly to look down at you with a twisted grin. "You know, I think you enjoy this. All this pain, the humiliation. It's what you deserve, isn't it?" His words cut deeper than any physical wound, his voice dripping with cruelty.

You gasp for breath, trying to form words, to deny his accusations, but the pain overwhelms you, stealing your voice.

Without warning, his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are cold, devoid of any humanity as he scrutinizes your tear-streaked face. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your pain."

You stare back at him, your eyes wide with fear. Derek’s face inches is from yours as he resumes his movements; slow and deliberate now, watching your reactions with sick satisfaction.

The room fades around you, your senses dulled by the overwhelming pain and fear. You feel disconnected, as if watching the horror unfold from outside your own body. Derek's voice, his harsh breaths, and the cold chains become distant sounds, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

As he continues, his grip on you tightens, his body pressing down with oppressive weight. "You’re mine, my property," he whispers, each word a venomous promise. "No one can hear you here. No one will save you."

You struggle to focus on anything but the pain, the burning sensation that seems to consume every inch of your being. Your thoughts spiral out of control and your body feels like it's being torn apart. Derek leans forward, bracing himself on one arm as he thrusts deeper, harder.

Finally, his movements grow erratic, his breaths coming faster as he nears his release. His lips nearly touch your ear as he delivers a final, chilling message. "Remember this pain," he murmurs. "It’s only the beginning."

With those words, Derek finishes inside, his body shuddering above you. You feel his warmth fill you as he slowly pulls out, sliding free with a wet, sucking sound.

He stands, fixing his clothing with quick, efficient movements, never looking back at you. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the room.

You lie there, aching and broken, the tears drying on your cheeks. The chains rattle faintly as you shift, the cold metal a harsh reminder of your captivity. In the silence, your mind whispers a vow, a flicker of defiance in the darkness: somehow, you will survive this. You must.

hii!! i love all of ur writing and headcannons so much, would there be any chance you could write about strade kidnapping reader who just so happens to be a virgin? he knows about this thanks to some talking beforehand at the bar and later brings it up. he ends up taking their virginity (unwanted hehe) thanks a lot if u write this !! 🙈🙈🙈 feel free to change the consent !!

a/n: tysm! as a certified virgin™️, yes i can!!! <3 hope you enjoy :3

IN THE WOLF'S DEN

{ strade x virgin! gn! reader }

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: NSFW (graphic), NONCON, build-up, brief alcohol use, kidnapping, violence, knifeplay, blood and injury, licking and biting, mild corruption themes, loss of virginity, creampie.

Your fingers glide along the rim of your glass, tracing patterns in the condensation that pools beneath your touch. Amidst the cacophony of voices in the bar, his presence stands out, a solitary figure who commands your attention. He emerges from the crowd, his sharp features softened by the warm lights, and his eyes gleam with a dangerous allure, drawing you in with each step he takes. He slides onto the stool beside you, effortlessly claiming the space as his own.

"Name's Strade," he offers, his voice smooth and accented. You introduce yourself in return, feeling the weight of his gaze as you shift nervously in your seat.

"You look like you have something on your mind," he observes, taking a sip of his drink. You're taken aback by his directness, but something about him draws you in, a magnetic pull you find impossible to resist.

You swallow, nerves dancing beneath your skin as you meet his gaze. His presence is overwhelming, yet oddly comforting. "I guess so," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, "but it's nothing I'd share with a stranger."

His chuckle ripples through the air, a low sound that sets your pulse alight. "Ah, but aren't strangers the best confidants? No judgments, no preconceptions."

His words resonate within you, coaxing a nod of agreement. "I suppose you're right," you concede, turning your gaze back to him.

You begin to open up, sharing things you've never told any stranger before. You tell him that you're alone, that your family lives in a different city, that you feel the most lonely you have in your adult life. The words spill freely from your lips and he listens with an intensity that both unnerves and excites you. And then, almost as an afterthought, you confess a truth you've kept hidden for so long— the truth of your virginity.

Strade's reaction is immediate, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. "A virgin," he muses, his voice edged with amusement, "how intriguing."

A flush blooms across your cheeks, a blend of embarrassment and exhilaration at his reaction. Your fingers linger on the rim of your near-empty glass, his gaze holding you captive.

"In what way?" you ask, a small thrill pulsing through your veins.

Leaning closer, his smile widens, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "It's not every day you find someone so… untouched. It makes you unique, like a rare gem."

Your pulse quickens at his words, but before you can respond, the bartender interrupts; a temporary reprieve. You hastily order another drink, the liquid a balm for your nerves.

As the night wears on, you lose yourself in conversation, the sounds of the other patrons fading into insignificance. Only when the bar begins to empty does reality come crashing and you realize it's time to part ways.

"I should get going," you say, pushing yourself away from the bar. "I have an early morning." Before you can take another step, he's beside you, his hand grazing yours in a tantalizing caress. "Allow me to walk you to your car," he offers, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous glint.

There's part of you that hesitates, a silent warning echoing in the recesses of your mind; but the pull of his presence is undeniable, drawing you into his orbit once more.

The streets are quiet as you make your way through the night, the only sound is the soft shuffle of your footsteps on the pavement. You steal glances at him out of the corner of your eye, his silhouette a dark shadow against the moonlit sky.

As you round a corner into a dimly lit alley, the air suddenly thickens with an ominous tension. Your heart quickens its pace, a silent drumbeat of warning, and in an instant, he's upon you, pinning you against the rough surface of the alley wall. His grip is firm, almost bruising, as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning across your face.

"Don't make a sound," Strade whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. His smile, once charming and enticing, now twists into something dangerous; like a predator revelling in its prey.

Panic surges within you as you struggle against his hold, your pleas swallowed by the gaping alley. With a sickening thud, your head meets brick and stars explode behind your eyelids as darkness descends like a shroud.

You awaken to the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights, your head pounding with a dull, insistent ache. Disoriented, you blink against the harsh brightness, your surroundings slowly emerging from the haze. No longer are you in the alley; instead, you find yourself in a musty basement, the air thick with the scent of damp and decay.

Your heart lurches as you shift, feeling a cold metal pole press into your back and your arms bound tightly behind it. Panic claws at your insides, fueling a desperate struggle against the restraints.

"Ah, you're awake already?" Strade's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn your head to see him descending the stairs with an unsettling grace, his silhouette looming like a spectre in the dim, flickering light.

"Wha— What's going on?" you stammer, your voice trembling with fear.

He chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth, as he crouches to meet your gaze. "You don't remember? Our chat was going so well... You opened up to me about so many things,"

Dread coils in the pit of your stomach as your naivety sinks in like a lead weight. "Please, let me go," you plead, shrinking back against the cold metal pole, trying to distance yourself from him.

But he only smiles in response, seemingly unmoved by your desperation. "I wanted to get to know you on a more... intimate level," He explains, his tone disturbingly casual. "So I took you home."

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves closer, the heat of his body an unwelcome presence. With a swift motion, he withdraws a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

"Please," you whimper again, tears clouding your vision. "I'll do anything, just let me go."

Strade laughs, the sound echoing in the confines of the basement. "Anything, huh?" he muses, that menacing smile still etched on his face. "Well then."

He places the knife on the floor and leans into you, his body pressing intimately against yours. He's so close you can smell him— a dreadful blend of sweat and petroleum invading your senses. Rough hands reach for the ropes binding your wrists, causing you to flinch. With deft movements, he begins to untie the knots, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.

The ropes fall away, and you gasp in relief, only to feel his hands seize your shoulders, shoving you back against the pole. Strade retrieves his knife and kneels before you, his bulky frame illuminated by the overhead lights.

"Now," he commands, gesturing with the blade, "strip."

You swallow hard, bile rising in the back of your throat as you meet his gaze. Slowly, with trembling hands, you begin to remove your clothes, the fabric rustling loudly in the silence of the basement.

Strade watches you intently, his eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. You strip down to your underwear, your clothes a crumpled heap at your feet. The cool air of the basement chills your skin, and you curl into yourself, attempting to shield your body from his invasive gaze. He steps closer, his free hand brushing across your cheek.

"Have you ever stripped naked for anyone before?" he asks, almost tauntingly, his face mere inches from yours. You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "N-No," you manage to croak out, the response hanging between you.

Strade chuckles as if amused by your innocence. "I figured as much," he sneers, "A virgin in every sense."

He watches your reaction with a sadistic delight, savouring your fear— your vulnerability, as you shrink further into yourself.

"Aww, you're trembling," he observes, his eyes raking over your quivering form. "Niedlich."

With a sudden, brutal motion, he grabs your ankles, dragging you forward until you're sprawled on the ground before him. He crawls over you, his weight pressing heavily, the knife still firmly in his grasp.

Strade brings the knife to your chest, the cold steel kissing your skin before biting in with a sharp sting. You gasp, a cry of pain escaping your lips as the red line blossoms with warm, crimson buds. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, his thumb pressing into the wound and smearing the blood across your skin.

"So cute," he repeats, his lips curving into a predatory smile. "I could just devour you whole!"

His tongue flicks out to trace a wet, humid stripe along your jaw, his putrid saliva mingling with your tears. "Hah... You taste sweeter than I imagined, Liebling," he purrs, and you shudder beneath him, the sensation both revolting and terrifying. His fingers then trail down your stomach, his touch like a brand against your skin.

"But you forgot something," he breathes, forcing your trembling knees apart.

Your blood runs cold as he carves a delicate line along your abdomen with the knife. He stops just below your navel and flattens the blade against your stomach, sliding it beneath your underwear. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can feel the blade prodding the delicate skin of your groin.

Strade's breathing is quick and shallow, his breath warm across your face as the flush of excitement tints his cheeks. "Don't squirm too much," he whispers, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Without looking down, he begins to slice through the fabric of your underwear, the knife gliding effortlessly through the thin material. The sound of ripping cloth fills the silence, mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. As the last shred of fabric falls away, your body is laid bare, exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He runs the flat of the blade over your abdomen once more, a sadistic smile spreading across his face as he revels in your fear. "So rein," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "So unbroken. It's almost a shame." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, "but not quite."

As Strade sheaths the knife, you attempt to pull yourself away, the concrete chafing your palms with each drag. He follows close behind you, his cruel smile unwavering. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you desperately try to crawl faster, but it's futile. His hand clamps down on your waist with a bruising grip, yanking you back towards him.

You cry out in terror and frustration, the sound echoing in the desolate basement. He flips you onto your wounded stomach, your skin scraping painfully against the floor. With a sadistic grin, Strade forces your head down, pressing your cheek into the rough concrete. It bites harshly into your skin, and you can feel your tears mingling with the grime.

The metallic clink of a belt buckle sends a fresh wave of fear through you, and the sound of a zipper follows soon after. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he positions himself between your legs, his weight pressing down on you. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading, leaving blooms of purple on your tender skin.

His grin widens as he leans in, panting. "This may... sting a little," he taunts, his voice sticky against your ear.

"No! Wait!" you cry, your voice cracking with desperation. Your pleas are met with cold indifference as he slams into you, his cock worming past the resisting tissue and resting deep inside. A searing pain rips through your body, and you scream, the sound raw and guttural.

"Mmm, perfekt..." he huffs, revelling in your agony.

You choke on your sobs, the foreign sensation warm and heavy, and tearing with force. Something warm and wet trickles down your thighs, coating them—and him— in a cherry-red sheen. With each brutal thrust, your cheek grates against the rough concrete floor, the blistering ache engulfing your pleas. Strade shows no mercy, his movements relentless and punishing, each gasp and flinch you make fueling his perverse excitement.

"That's it," he breathes, heavy and strained. "Scream for me."

The pain blurs into a surreal haze, your mewls crumbling into incoherent moans and whimpers. Strade's weight is suffocating and his flesh is damp against yours; a clammy, sweaty layer uniting you both. His breath is hot and heavy as it mingles with the nauseating wet slapping between you.

His teeth drag threateningly along your shoulder as his thrusts become more frenzied. He curses against your skin before biting down hard on your neck with a sudden, primal urge. You yelp in pain and he cums, the warm spurts seeping deep inside your body.

Strade chuckles breathlessly as he pushes himself off of you, his eyes heavy and pupils dilated.

Your own eyes flutter open, puffy and glossed with tears as you roll over, curling into yourself on the unforgiving concrete. Through the haze, you dimly register the traces of your spit and blood splattered beside your face; the rough surface glittering almost beautifully under the light.

pursuit in the labyrinth

a/n: was commissioned to write the darling as some sort of lara croft-esque character and to build more of the popular post-auction maze game my beastfolk au had going on. despite the challenge, i tried my best without interfering too much with the reader’s ability to insert self as is—just that the reader is more capable than they may seem. a quick side note, there are multiple labyrinths scattered throughout my au world, so they all would have slightly different rules. some challenges would differ between each maze for various reasons, ranging from the size of the labyrinth, the numbers of participants, cultures, what kind of beastfolks, etc.

→summary: you were determined to win. unfortunately, in the end, it had always been an impossible task.

→pairing: maned wolf beastfolk / fangedfolk hunter x afab reader (no pronouns are used)

→warnings: noncon, dead dove, sexual assault, (nonconsensual) drug uses / drugging (reader gets drugged), stalking, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, human trafficking, human hunting, injuries, psychological torture, stress hallucinations (visual and some auditory)

→kinks/tags: noncon, afab reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, predator and prey / prey kink, breeding kink, monster dick/cock, inaccurate anatomy, stomach bulge, overstimulation, knotting, implied impregnation, size difference / size kink, rough sex, beastfolk / beastfolks, exophila, tetraphila

→word count: 9.6k, edited by @devilruin→commissioned by: a super sweet and very patient kofi supporter <3

→previous installment/inspiration: link

this is part of my beastfolk universe!

→(early-to-mid) post zoo, the technology is somewhat primitive but still advanced enough to run live shows. think of the quality as similar to the old live football broadcast from twenty to fourty-odd years ago. grainy but entertaining enough.

→link to character refs

minors dni.

photo credit | unknown

all rights reserved to @monstrouslyobsessed.

The rough surface of the vines you grappled onto, sawed into your skin with every movement. Even though you had bandaged up your hands with what materials you could salvage from the wilderness in the labyrinth, the hot sting of your wounds was nearly overwhelming. As thick sweat dripped down your battered body, sobs erupted through your ragged breathing at every push forward.

Each time you hauled yourself higher into the air, your bloodied hands grappled against the abrasive surface of the tree, and you could hear your deafening heart pounding in your ears. The ID tag they pierced into one of your earlobes still itched, but the sensation was lost to the constant stinging from the gashes in your hands and the exhaustion weighing deep within your heavy bones.

Blood slicked your fingers making grasping the vine difficult, but you were determined to bypass any obstacles in your path. You refused to give up, not when you knew you were almost home free.

You had to keep going.

"IMPRESSIVE! THE PREY IS NEARLY AT THE END—CAN ANY OF THE PREDATORS CLAIM VICTORY IN TIME?"

The booming voice of the announcer had you wincing. Faintly, you could hear the slight whirring of countless cameras hidden throughout the forest maze merrily documenting your struggles and the leaking shame between your bruised legs. Your muscles shuddered as a fresh wave of that same unwanted heat crashed over your naked body.

Another sob fled through your clenched teeth, and you forgot the maddening urge to surrender to the stalking beasts not far behind. Whatever embarrassment you felt about being naked in front of countless viewers watching you get captured and fucked on TV was gone. It vanished the moment you escaped from your release cage.

You never wanted this—being used as a plaything in a sadistic game to get viewers excited. Not once had you dreamed that you would be trapped in a dangerous pursuit by five predators, all desperate to claim their reward—you.

What had you done to deserve this? You were meant to be at home, safe with your family, and had been diligent with your education. Even though the government had been in shambles since the mass zoo breakout, you and your family were still promised sanctuary. A safe haven while the global authorities worked toward happy compromises for both humans and the beastfolks.

You had no idea how you came into this situation: chained up like a cattle with an ID tag on your earlobe and a heavy collar on your neck. You blinked, dazed and confused, and saw a large audience of different kinds of beastfolk. Everyone wore luxurious attires, glittering under the dim lighting, and their strange faces were lined with eager anticipation.

You remembered feeling confused, thinking you'd been pranked by a friend—or maybe one of your family members. Things had been rather tense since the last political uprising between both races, especially among your friends and family. So, if someone had tried to ease up the tension with a joke, you didn't find this very funny at all.

Yet, that all came crashing down when the host—some female whiskeredfolk with wicked features, cackled and shouted numbers. She spoke so fast your head spun, while waves of white paddles shot up over and over, and when paired with her rapid-firing tongue, it made your blood run cold.

You were at an auction.

And you were its centerpiece to be sold.

A glint of light caught your eyes, and you turned your head—only for more horror to consume you.

The cameramen wove through the guests, their lenses trained on you, while more cameras recorded every angle from discreetly mounted spots above.

The cameras…why were there cameras?

"—a beaut," the auctioneer halted the bidding for a quick breath, her form looming over your trembling figure. Her clawed hands grappled one of your thighs and you barked out a yelp as she roughly wedged your legs apart, to displaying your pussy to the murmuring audience. Shame etched your face, and fear struck your shaking heart cold when the host snapped her large fangs at your ear and breathed your scent deep, "Clean, fertile,"

You whimpered aloud at the way she pinched your bare pussy lips, "ripe for good, hard fucking and seed,"

This wasn't a prank.

You really were the main item for this auction. As the hostess spread your folds obscenely wide, showing off your fleshy pink interior, you sobbed under her low inhale.

"A cute little thing, perfect for breaking and breeding. Pretty features and a healthy bloodline—would make a wonderful addition to a growing family. Perhaps a useful little pet for milking, sucking handsome fat cocks, and licking some pretty pussies...? Mhm, of course, humans can also perform common household chores too! They're wonderfully multi-purposed creatures, aren't they?"

The hostess's thick tail snapped through the air impatiently, a claw pressing into your abdomen to better show you off to her excited audience, "Though, in my personal opinion? It'd be a shame if you don't make a proper little breeding bitch out of this one first. This one really is quite exquisite."

A sharp wail erupted from your throat, as the urge to plead for mercy was strong.

But a low growl and the slight brush of her sharp teeth on your neck from the hostess had you swallowing your voice. Instead, you could only manage short whimpers and noises as she laughed.

"Listen! It even sounds divine, don't you agree?" The hostess grappled one of your breasts, provoking another sob from your lips, and crooned to the keen audience. "Imagine hearing all those sweet noises from this tiny human, crying and begging in your bedsheets...I’m almost wet even thinking about it!"

The horrifying implications had you weeping, your brain short-circuiting with the utter humiliation and defeat you felt. Before you could reach hysteria, the hostess clicked her tongue and closed your legs. Her fingers draped over your quivering form and tapped your ass, purring aloud, "If you are still interested, my lovely bidders, the auction will resume in thirty seconds...!"

The rest of this auction was a whirlwind, washed with a sea of flashing paddles and thunderous echoing voices. You blinked once and you saw large bodies in shambles in the middle of the large room, fighting to take each other down. With flashes of bare teeth and claws, they were just moments away from slashing and ripping each other's throats out.

A distant shriek could be heard—and you slowly realized it was from the hostess.

Guarding protectively over you—her highest-bid good yet, she barked out, "Security!"

But there was no trace of anger or fear in her voice.

Instead, she was gleeful as you cowered before her, a lean form covered in expensive jewelry that she flaunted proudly. She clapped her hands excitedly, baring her pearly white teeth to whoever was still looking her way, "Ah, would you look at this, dearest viewers—this auction ended on a very exciting note! Five distinguished guests wanted this lovely treat so bad they were willing to start a literal war with each other over their claim! Isn't this marvelous!?"

The hostess cackled, petting your head, oblivious to your terrified trembling, as she continued, "If you do not know what this may entail, then allow me, your darling host, to clarify it for you—"

You yelped when the hostess seized your chin and turned your head to countless eyes and she purred, "Whenever we have such a major…bidding war that ended in this such note, that means you, dearest viewers, have a wonderful entertainment in store! The labyrinth game of hunt—!”

“Our competing guests will have a fair chance to win this precious darling in the upcoming future! Within a week, we will announce the game and reveal all the information for our contestants and the viewers to prepare~!”

Her following words had you sucking in a deep, desperate breath, “Tune in to this channel for further updates and wish your favorite beast the best of luck! But remember, as always for this show, what comes ahead is for the entertainment of adults only~”

Entertainment for adults only…?

Are you being…thrown into a game show of brutal sex and having it bebroadcast live?

Before your panic could consume you, something crept over your bare hips and distracted you from your incoming meltdown.

The hostess sunk a thick finger inside your dry pussy, ripping a yelp from your gaping lips and spreading your clit to tease the salivating predators—the very same five that fought over the rights to claim you. Upon the sight of those beasts, she purred into her lapel microphone, “…I wish you five wonderful guests a good hunt for your prize. Now, that’s all, folks! Thanks so much for watching the auction—and stay tuned for the upcoming game—”

Her announcement faded, replaced with statics in your ears and a growing headache. Your world dimmed and all you could see were the tiny flickering red lights from the surrounding cameras archiving your vulnerable state. Although you couldn’t seem to see them through your tear-blurred eyes, you could feel countless hungry gazes violating your exposed body, and eager to devour you whole.

The camera light flicked off, signaling the end of this broadcast—of your doom.

You remembered nothing else, just strange motions of being dragged from place to place with claws gripping each inch of your skin to appraise you. Your health? Your features? Whatever it was, you weren’t paying attention. All you had left was a fragment of hope that it was all but a sick, twisted dream.

A long, sick, twisted as fuck dream.

You closed your eyes so many times, begging someone, anyone to wake you up from this nightmare. Silently hoping that you’d find yourself curled up in your bed and waking up to your worried family. You would tell them it was just a bad dream that you screamed through.

Alas, it wasn’t.

A sharp pinch on your arm and a gasp ripped through your throat. Whatever it was had you jerking upright on the cold steel floor. Another jerk and you realized that a guard, dressed in a black suit, held your boneless arm in a hard grip and pulled it through the gap between two iron bars. Blearily blinking your eyes, you took a moment to realize what exactly he was holding in his other claw.

A syringe.

Once emptied, the scaledfolk guard (a lizard? You were not sure what type of beast he actually was) released you with an indifferent hum, leaving you to nurse your injected bicep in confusion. Barely giving you another glance over, he was brisk with his words, professional and nearly over-formal. “I was instructed to inform you of the basic rules of the game. Each participant will hunt you down. You get to run and hide as long as you can in the labyrinth. Use whatever skills you have to endure. It ends only when you find the exit, get caught, or the time limit runs out.”

“The exit will be at the opposite end of the entrance. If or when you do reach it, you will be guaranteed your freedom and be spared from whatever fate the hunters wish to give you. We who are involved in the auction will never again have any hold over you and your closest relatives, should you manage to reach the destination first. However, should one of the hunters capture you before then, your fate will ultimately be theirs and they will be declared the winner of this game.”

Oblivious to the growing despair coloring your face, the guard kept a monotone expression as he continued to drone on, “You will have a fifteen minutes head-start before the hunters start their pursuit. To better your chances, we will also interfere with their superior senses occasionally. However, they will have the opportunity for more…advisories when the game reaches the first hour—”

You interrupted hastily, nearly recoiling at hearing the defeated crack in your hoarse voice, “Adv…advisories? What…what are those...advisories?”

The guard sighed, showing clear disinterest in his job, and bore his flat reptilian eyes into you. “You’ll find out soon enough. Anyway, you have three hours to escape, so do your best to entertain the masses. Should you manage to reach the end of this time limit without reaching the exit, we will deploy all means for the hunters to capture you within those final minutes, completely unrestricted. To be let loose and run wild, so to speak.”

“Should they still not have captured you by the very last second and you’re still not out,” he shrugged unsympathetically at your trembling form and rolled to his clawed feet, “your fate will be left up to the viewers’ discretion. They may vote for one lucky hunter to claim you—or to grant you your freedom.”

“I—how is any of this fair!?” You shrilled, losing the last remnants of your nerves, and rattled the metal bars of your containment cage in a hysterical panic. Wordlessly, you were begging for him to offer even a shred of comfort—to do anything to spare you from this twisted, sick game of being chased like a mouse from its lunging prey, and froze under his cool gaze.

Flippantly, he dismissed your cry with a roll of his eyes. “We’re not here to play fair—we’re here to entertain.”

Entertain.

There were no further words.

All you could do was to sit there, half-naked and cold, as his words—their rules—sunk in.

Your brain was scrambling itself in an attempt to understand just how cruel the beastfolks truly were. The horror of your reality took roots deep within the marrows of your bones, leaving a numbing static in your mind. Even then, you still wanted to believe it was just a very sick joke, that you only needed to wake up, and you’d be back in your warm bed.

But the metallic screeching from the wheels underneath your prison were painfully real, proving that it was not a dream.

As the cart screeched through what looked like some sort of a massive hallway, harsh fluorescent lights bathed the sterile white walls, searing your eyes. Each inch of the floor and the walls were barren of any notable details, with no windows or doors to be seen. It was as if they were simply using this path to transport goods, rather than a living, breathing being like you.

Each groan that echoed from these squeaky wheels underneath your cage felt like a tick of time, growing louder and louder the closer you got to the end of your freedoms. To be stripped of your rights as a person with thoughts and feelings, thrown into this ring of fire for the sake of pure entertainment.

Your eyes hurt.

It was hard to discern your surroundings. You had no idea where they had taken you after the auction. It had been a blur for you, dissociated from your current reality of becoming a beast’s plaything.

Your cage jerked and the marching of these inhuman guards’ footsteps halted. You blinked rapidly at the sudden burst of warm air caressing your shivering body, and realized that a door slid open upon your arrival.

As sunlight kissed your skin, thawing the week-long chill from your quivering body, you squinted ahead. Past the haze of your initial dissociation, your gaze fixed on the dense thicket of trees in the distance. Among them, the maze’s artificial walls blended within the rustling leaves, barely distinguishable under the morning skies.

Everything about it looked wrong.

The colors were too uniformed and glossy, with no imperfections or irregularities to be seen. You could faintly hear a slight metallic sound whenever the branches swayed against the wind, but that was all. There was no wildlife—no cricketing, no birdcalls, not even a hint of small wings flapping above those unnaturally perfect trees. Only silence and the emptiness existed within.

It’s nothing more than a sadistic illusion, manufactured for some sick entertainment.

It looked like something straight out of some kind of a sci-fi magazine for botanical movie stages rather than thriving natural woodland. No, this is a set designed artificially, meticulously maintained to look perfect for the show.

You gulped, sweats beading down your skin and your heart beating wildly with anxiety.

And there was a slow burn between your thighs. It hurts.

A shadow draped over you, prompting you to shrink back into your little cage with a shallow gasp. Terror settled deeply within your chest when you saw a familiar fluffy tail whipping back and forth in excitement. The hostess.

She tittered at the pretty sight you made and cracked her modified heels onto the concrete upon her arrival at your cage. Grasping one of the iron bars, the hostess beamed and lowered her iconic microphone to her lips. “Hello, my little darling morsel! Hope you’ve been faring well since we last saw each other~ Aren’t you excited for this event?”

She didn’t wait for your reply, though you had nothing nice to say to her, or the invisible audience, at all. She instead cackled like the witch she was and tossed you a sly wink with her microphone clasped back to her lapel. “Ah, a joke, of course! You’ll be fighting for your freedom, mhm? You little humans are so adorably predictable~”

The hostess spun away, hitting a palm on the top of your cage, and cheered to a group in the near distance. “Hello, my dear viewers! How are you all fantastic people today?”

You realized the group consisted of photographers, cameramen, interviewers, some strangers you recognized from the auction, and the gussied-up personnel of the show. There were no masses of the audience visible anywhere. Though, perhaps because of the grand scale, even bigger than most stadiums you've seen before in the tube TV, there was no way to safely separate the participants and the spectators—?

Your logic halted abruptly upon realizing that you’re overthinking.

You skittered against your corner upon hearing soft, lusty growls from the five strangers—those five bidders who had clawed and bitten at each other a week prior, with literal fur and scaly skin flying about in the air in the middle of the auction floor, over you. Their gazes burned.

They were all you could focus on, not the whirs, clicks, and light flashing of the countless cameras around.

One was a fangedfolk, standing tall on a pair of strangely elongated legs. His thick coat of red and gold, with a few streaks of gray, glittered under the high sun, and his amber eyes made you squirm. He licked his lips when he caught you glancing at his lanky form and waved his fingers in wordless greeting. The end of his long tail trembled, over-eager to claim you.

Second was a tawny-furred whiskeredfolk, their pointed ears swiveling for any threats. Beside them stood someone who seemed to be their sibling or a relative, but with a thicker, white coat—baring their teeth at one other. Both were more interested in out competing the other.

Next was a scaledfolk giant, hankering above all, with thick plated skin and heavy ebony claws hanging low to their bulky knees. His beady eyes promised nothing but dangerous hunger at the sight of you, and their dark purple tongue swept across their crested lips. You huddled into your corner at the sight of him.

The final candidate was yet another scaledfolk, a slender, legless reptile with silky black scales. They settled on their coiling tail with a slight smile, feigning harmlessness, as they flickered out an ink-like tongue to taste your wafting scent. You gulped when they sent you a saucy wink.

Distantly, you heard the hostess cackle, waving an arm to gesture at your thinly clad form, and continued, "Our lovely little darling got very, very popular with all five contestants, mhm?”

Her tail coiled around one of the metal bars of your cage, as she posed scantily against the top and rumbled, “They’re also getting real impatient too, soooo why don’t we go over the rules all quick-like and get this show on the road, shall we?”

She rattled off the similar verbatim you’d already heard before from the guard, ignoring the hitch of the terrified sob you desperately held back. The hostess tutted, pulling away from your cage, and proceeded, “—time limit of three hours. For my darling viewers, the timer, any current advisory, and the map progress will be on your screen! Of course, for the sake of fairness, our wonderful guests won’t be privy to those detailed pieces of information outside the countdown—”

It was a small mercy that the hostess obliviously shielded you from the dirty leers from those five guests as she chattered away.

“—in the event that we reaches to the end without either a capture of our darling morsel or their escape from the labyrinth, the viewers will have the opportunity to vote—”

There was something about that thick-maned fangedfolk that unnerved you most of all. Unlike the other four, trembling with eagerness, he lost that quiver in his tail and was calm. Calculating. The fangedfolk evened his stance, his posture relaxed in the midst of the hostess’ chattering, and alternated his glances between you and the forest.

Despite their initial demeanor, even the coiling scaledfolk weren’t as calm. They constantly shifted their long tail, restlessly and impatiently waiting for the hunt to start.

“—now, to introduce our talented hunters!” The hostess cocked her hip at the cameras, sweeping an arm at the five predators in a flourish.

Each spoke their names and shared a brief biography and background, some more emboldened than the others. The two rivaling felines had even pledged to share you if they reached their coveted prize, you, at the same time. Yet you heard not a single word any of the dangerous participants said; your brain was full of your internal screaming.

You refused to move an inch, paralyzed with fear—and the growing heat swelling through your pulsating veins. Something slicked between your thighs, pooling beneath your folded body, and perfumed your sweltering body with that strange musk that left the predators inhaling sharply.

An aphrodisiac.

That guard drugged you with some kind of aphrodisiac cocktail.

But you couldn’t afford to dwell on that. Not now, not when the hostess lolled her head to the side with a long purr, and pivoted to the front of your cage. She bowed down to your eye level and crooned, “And now for today’s favorite morsel! You’re probably in no shape to introduce yourself properly, mhm?”

Unperturbed by your heavy scent, she winked at you and gestured for one of the cameras to pan down to your crouching form, where every bit of your humiliations was laid bare to the public eye.

From your liquid heat coating down your inner thighs and slicking the curls of your pubic in an oily mess to your face dripping with perspiration and arousal, you were in no state to even utter a word. Even your simple tunic hadn’t spared you from shame. It was plastered to your sinful form and did nothing to hide your taut nipples. All you could do was to wring the cheap fabric tight against your body, to shield what modesty you had left from the flashing cameras.

The hostess wasted no time and recited the short introduction you didn’t remember writing. The way she detailed your life, from your job to your hobbies and favorite foods, had you wrenching your nails into your calves. She divulged so much about you that you felt sickened, and your blood ran cold.

How long had they been planning to take you?

Yet you were afforded no time to despair, to even taste the urge to rip the tag off your ear, when the hostess erupted in excitement at the end of her monologue. Swaying her hips to her enraptured audiences, both visible and beyond the live feed, she trilled, “—so! Without further ado, my dearest viewers, it’s almost timeeeee for the Hunt!”

She slapped at the air above your cage, “Gentlemen, get our little darling into the starting positionnnn...!”

Several uniformed personnel materialized by your cage, hooking their claws onto the metal bars to wheel you across the concrete to the entrance of the labyrinth. The leveled gravel crunched loudly underneath the employees’ heavy footsteps, and the rumbling groans from the axles below your prison were reminiscent of a death march. As your skin quivered with a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through your muscles, you seized the iron bars and stared ahead. The abyss was vast and unrelenting, its green foliage stretching in every direction, yet you could smell the sharp scent of metal and rust.

Desperate to ignore the lust filled glares burning holes into the back of your skull (fitting for beasts like them), you sensed them restraining themselves and faintly hear demanding snarls—

“Hurry up, my cock is aching—!” one roared.

The hostess laughed in response, “Oh, shush, patience is a virtue, my friend—”

Her voice faded away from your consciousness, as adrenaline consumed your senses the moment the staff parked your cart. One employee took to the front of your cage and repositioned himself in one corner. He clasped his hands on something above, out of your sight, and waited for the hostess’ cue.

You couldn’t see the pointed look he sent the grinning feline in the distance, your heartbeats loud in your ears. With all the flair as an entertainer, she was yowling empty words about your characters and mockingly cheered you on with a hand over her heart.

“It’s time!” The hostess erupted, finally catching on to the staff’s dull look and disrupting you back to reality with her voice hitting feedback in her lapel microphone. She pumped a fist into the air, eliciting further excitement from the crowd, and began the countdown.

“Five, four, three—”

Instinctively, you scurried back from the bars and rolled to your knees. Your eyes darted around wildly, oblivious to the confusion you felt about the sudden changes—from the heat to an anxious need to run. Your body craved the urge to flee, to get away from the monsters lurking not too far away.

“Zero—!”

Blood now roared in your ears.

The door dropped down like a guillotine—and you bolted from your metal prison, desperate for that freedom at the other end of this labyrinthine hell.

You have fifteen minutes head-start.

Damp grass rippled underneath your racing feet, with no thought of which path to take or how far you’d sprinted. As your pounding heart thrummed through every vein in your body, your ears and eyes searched for any abnormality in your surroundings.

A distant rustle.

Somewhere over the walls of trees, a hunter echoed a drumming snarl, “Where are you, my sweet morselll~?”

To your arising panic, they felt far too close.

Your lungs tightened inside your body, and you choked at the sensation of what felt like everything imploding within. You needed to breathe. Your battered feet sank into the cool, mulched floor, but only numbness remained in your soles. Every step grew heavier, your body teetering on the brink of collapse, yet the fear had you in its chokehold and continued to drive you.

Slapping a shaky palm on one of the massive ivied brick walls, you staggered forward with labored breaths. With a long inhale, the air tasting acrid on your tongue, you forced yourself to lift your heavy head. You needed to get yourself together, to get your state of mind functioning beyond primal instincts, and to rein in the strange urges to keep running.

“AFTER AN IMPRESSIVE SHOW OF ENDURANCE, THE PREY STOPPED RUNNING TO TAKE A BREATH.” a voice boomed from seemingly nowhere, amplifying across the lush treetops and startling your already tensed self. “I MUST SAY, I ADMIRE THIS LITTLE PREY’S WILL OF FIRE. ALREADY THEY’D MANAGED TO BREEZE THROUGH SEVERAL MILES SINCE THE GAME STARTED, DEAR VIEWERS...”

Shivering, you pushed your jellied legs forward. The voice soon became garbled to your burning ears, and you refused to acknowledge the existences of hidden cameras dotted throughout the maze, broadcasting your every movement. To record your inevitable fate—

You adamantly shook your head to clear your despairing thoughts.

It was better not to think anymore.

Freedom was your priority, your humiliations be damned.

You sucked in another painful breath—and surged forward, diving between a fork in your path. Flying down the rightmost passage, you nearly stumbled over a protruding root and narrowly avoided a collision against another brick wall. By sheer luck, you corrected your footing without losing another second, and all you could hear was your heavy panting reverberating throughout the forest—

“PREDATORS, MAKE HASTE, WE GOT A FAST ONE!" you distantly heard.

Like hell you were losing your freedom.

The heavy thudding of feet came closer behind you—and you grappled a hanging root without a second thought. In a frenzy, you jerked your weight upward and planted your feet on the rough bark of a tree. Pain exploded in your swollen hands, throbbing from what felt like a thousand tiny thorns on the green rope, but the approaching footfalls had you gritting your teeth.

The branch rattled above you, its perfect leaves raining over the wall, and you propelled your body upward.

You were gone by the time the hulking scaledfolk came into the same passage you once occupied.

“Fuck!” He roared, dashing over to your previous spot and thudding a thunderous punch.

You flinched at his rage, scraping your roughened fingers against the damp moss as the entire structure quaked with his strength. In your haze of desperation, you clawed into the crevices of the shifting wall and pulled yourself up. Amidst the towering lizard’s cursing rants, you steadied yourself and planted your aching feet on another mossy concrete tile. With the way the overgrown lizard was punching the wall, you needed to hurry before he could break through it.

With each lunge, one foot after the other, you shambled into a staggering run. Your lungs were on fire, and every part of you screamed for rest, but you willed yourself onward. Gasping loudly, with your mouth tasting like desert sand, you took another path and ran once more.

Even though it felt like you were swimming through molasses and your tunic was so soaked with sweat that it stuck uncomfortably to your heavy skin, you refused to stop.

Surrender was never an option.

Catching your second wind and evening your strides, you began running quicker when you heard an explosion of bricks. A rumble shook underfoot, but by the time the oversized lizard reached the other side, you were already well out of his reach. Absently, you wondered why he couldn’t climb over the wall like you did.

But you dwelled no more on it, your thoughts interrupted by a booming announcement and you nearly toppled over from the volume.

“ATTENTION, PREDATORS AND PREY, WE ARE ALREADY AT A HALF AN HOUR IN THE HUNT. THE SECOND ADVISORY IS NOW TRIGGERED: CERTAIN CHANGES TO THE ENVIRONMENT HAVE TAKEN PLACE. PLEASE MIND YOUR FOOTING AND STAY NEAR TO THE CLOSEST INTERSECTIONS OR TREES TO AVOID INJURIES—”

Second advisory? You must’ve missed the first one—

The walls began to groan, and you yelped, nearly face planting into a nearby tree. Hooking your fingers into the rough barks, oblivious to the ways the artificial textures crumbled under your fingers, you clung on as you stared wide-eyed at the sudden tremors of the labyrinth.

Dumbly, you watched in confused awe as certain bricked walls turned sharply to a different direction and some others disappeared into the ground. The maze was morphing new pathways, with the metallic screeching of gears and cogs groaning loudly throughout the forest. It rang for an eternity, leaving your tagged ears aching, until it ended with a deafening thud to conclude the transformation.

The static voice abruptly returned.

“THE SECOND ADVISORY IS NOW COMPLETED. YOU MAY NOW RESUME THE HUNT SAFELY—”

Fuck.

Your adrenaline soared with your renewed fear and, without a second hesitance, you sprinted once more. Your tunic had ridden up your thighs, revealing a taunting tease of your soaking lips, but you stayed oblivious to your own state. All that mattered was to keep moving, to find the exit of this accursed place.

You cannot afford to let a hunter capture you.

You have to succeed.

You vaulted over a pile of broken bricks, a recent telltale sign of the stubborn scaledfolk stalking you. Biting back a sharp wince as a jagged piece grazed your oversensitive soles, you grabbed a hanging vine with a weak curse. Its spiny hide stung your palms, but your hands were so numbed from the numerous cuts on your swollen flesh that nothing even registered to you.

A rustle.

You swung your head backward, paranoia running deep in your consciousness, and your frantic eyes searched for any trace of anything amiss in your vicinity. You learned quickly that the whiskeredfolks and the snake were especially fond of stalking in the shadowy depths. With so many narrow misses and instances, you knew that even a tiny bush could still hide any of them.

With a hasty heave, you yanked yourself over to the treetop in a few pulls and landed clumsily on a sturdy branch. Skittering to the top of the closest wall to peer over the maze, you tried to make sense of your location—and the predators. It was a bit of a cheat, but you realized that being the ‘prey’ of this sick game had allowed you some small exceptions—

Though they were limited still.

The tree branch you perched on began to vibrate in warning by the time you spotted the lumbering lizard in the distance.

You hurried off to the other side of the closest wall before it could zap your feet—it was not something you wanted to experience for the third time. Crumbling down to the hard ground, still recently disturbed by the scrapes of the latest rotation, you choked back a whimper. The burn continued to grow between your thighs, reigning hotter than even the cuts and bruises you endured from escaping every single predator.

It’d been some pure luck that you found yourself a small hiding hole long enough to rest during the...

When was it? During the fifth advisory? Sixth?

Thirty minutes of obscured and compromised senses. To the predators, they were all but entirely blind in almost every way, their tracking nonexistent during that time. For you, it was the perfect blessing in disguise. You could rest, nurse your wounds and bruises, and drink some water in a bottle conveniently found nearby.

[Though, you didn’t remember seeing it there before when you circled back for that hiding spot.]

It had been enough to restore some of your thinking capability, just enough to test some theories on how to exit the maze faster.

Most fell through.

You tried walking on the top of the walls, determined to take advantage of your higher vantage points—but it’d leave you utterly vulnerable to any lingering hunter alongside the wall, (you had a way too close of an encounter with the white-furred feline) as there was a time limit of how long you could stand there before you’d get mildly electrocuted. The electricity would linger too for a short while no matter which wall you tried.

You suspected the electricity was also the reason the predators had no semi-free reign to climb over the walls like you could. Even you were aware of how sensitive the beastfolks’ senses could be. Maybe it was the constant noises it emitted that rebelled them from trying, or the fact that it likely has a far higher enough voltage output to stun them all.

[That lizard didn’t punch as many holes as you expected, so perhaps it was because of that effect...?]

The trees being electric was not a welcome surprise when you attempted to climb to the peak for a better vantage point. Swinging like the screaming Tarzan wasn’t a pleasant experience either, as you tried saving your neck—and your nervous system—from being potentially fried.

[Though you could’ve sworn you saw something red and fluffy whipping in your periphery that time—but you never saw it again when you landed roughly on some thick layers of moss. You were thoroughly bruised, but so was your ego. At least you were still alive.]

Cheating was a no go, but it at least gave you some answers and advantages.

Still, how long had you been in this forsaken place?

It felt like you had been running for weeks straight—!

“ATTENTION!”

You clawed into the walls with an ugly grimace at the screeching voice.

“WE ARE APPROACHING THE FINAL HOUR! VERY IMPRESSIVE, OUR DARLING MORSEL, YOU’VE ENDURED MUCH LONGER THAN MOST OF OUR PRIOR PARTICIPANTS. BUT NOW, WE’RE GOING IN FULL THROTTLE—! INSTEAD OF GETTING ADVISORIES SPARSELY THROUGHOUT EACH HOUR, YOU’LL BE GETTING ADVISORIES AT INTERVALS OF FIVE MINUTES. LIKE BEFORE,”

Fuck! Paralyzed by the sudden anxiety the hostess’ words caused, you trembled as the announcement continued.

“SOME MAY BE BOONS, OTHERS MAY BE BANES—”

You didn’t bother staying to finish listening; your instincts screamed that someone was prowling far too close to you. Rasping for air as your body screams for rest, you’re spurred into movement. You could barely run with a sudden bout of vertigo spinning your head, but you were determined.

Even if you’d end up in a hospital for overexertion, you’d rather face that fate than to be a beast’s plaything. If you fainted here and now...

You shuddered to even think about what would happen to you.

There was no way you would lose your freedom.

There was no way you would lose.

There was no way you—

“ATTENTION, THERE’S ONLY TWENTY MINUTES REMAINING! THE PREY IS OH SO CLOSE TO THE EXIT—SO TO TURN UP THE ANTE, HERE COME THE NEXT ADVISORY!”

You were about to ignore her, as you had done so often before, too hyper-focused on escaping this hellscape—

Though something sugary smelling wafted to your nose, and you careened to a stop in confusion. It was so strong that it caught you off-guarded. It overwhelmed your already heightened senses that were still burning from the adrenaline rush you were constantly sustaining.

The fragrance had you trembling, and your loose drenched tunic felt so tight on your skin it was suffocating. You peeled it right off your torso with a choke, and your softer flesh bounced from your hasty, thoughtless removal. As you flung it off your body, it rubbed coarsely against your hardened nipples, sending electricity right down to your core.

You yipped, flinging off the shirt from your body to fight the sudden need to seize, but grinding your thighs together from the movement had you spiraling with a strained mewl.

A powerful surge of arousal punched its way into your lower belly, buckling your knees to the ground. Then a flinch shuddered throughout your frenzied system—and you hadn’t realized you were crawling to the ground with wet heat gushing down your legs. Your lungs felt so thin—

Your fingers scraped lines through the dense moss, hissing upon hearing the explosive announcer above.

“OH, OH MY, WHAT A DELICIOUS SHOW WE’RE BLESSED WITH! SO WITH THE...MEDICINE PREVIOUSLY IN THE MORSEL’S SYSTEM,”

Was that what the syringe was for!? It was a trigger!?

Horror cooled the sweltering heat within your shaking body. You could faintly hear the invisible cameras whirring at the humiliating sight of you, immortalizing your weaknesses in the memory of whoever was watching this hideous show. You gritted your teeth to swallow your anger—the need to break something in someone’s face for what you were being put through.

The ear tag itched so, so terribly, but even that couldn’t distract you from the searing heat between your legs.

“TRIGGERED BY THE APHRODISIAC GAS, THE PREY WILL NOW GO INTO HEAT! SO NOW, THE POOR THING MUST ENDURE THE CALL OF LUST WHILE WEATHERING THE HUNTERS ALL CHASING THAT LAUDABLE BEHIND AND RUNNING FOR THEIR FREEDOM~”

No...!

“OH, YES! I SHOULD REMIND YOU, MY VIEWERS, THAT DUE TO THE PREY’S CURRENT STATE, OUR PREDATORS CAN NOW SCENT THEM NO MATTER HOW FAR AWAY THEY ARE. SO, BEST OF LUCK, YOU ADORABLE, LITTLE MORSEL.”

Oh, fuck. You had to hurry.

You needed to get out, now.

You shambled to your feet, shivering from the gnawing sensations under your bruised skin and gushing warmth leaking from your swollen heat, as you propelled yourself through the maze. Sobs hitched between every unsteady breath, your cunt trailing copious slick onto the beaten path—

Like breadcrumbs for the famished to follow.

The sharp arousal snapped through you, feeding your urges to plunge your blood-slicked fingers into your greedy pussy right then—

But you refused. You had to endure—

You were so, so close to your freedom that it was impossible for you to surrender now!

Another announcement boomed, alerting how close you were, but you barely could even focus on even one word of what the hostess had said.

You grappled onto a nearby vine, wincing at the excruciating throbbing in your swollen clit. Even the lightest draft of air was hellish. Planting your feet onto the papery bark, you climbed the tree and bit back every wail swelling within your dusty throat. Going to the top sounded utterly insane when every fiber of your being was so ignited with lust you felt as if you were on fire, but you forced yourself upward.

A higher vantage point would be your answer to this victory—

“I can smell how delicious they are—!” One feline exclaimed, rasping as if they were inhaling the sweetest fragrance they’d ever smelled. “Gods, we need to breed this bitch—ride ‘em on my cock...”

You stiffened, hearing their voices so close through the walls.

Their comrade agreed, snickering and shuddering with a deep inhale of your scent. “They’re so close—we have to catch ‘em...!”

Your blood ran cold.

Somehow, you managed to find enough strength to dart into some other passage, your stride clumsy and the number of times you hit the walls, and the floor was embarrassing. With a muffled sob, you hated the way your cunt ached incessantly and the impulsive need to grind your thighs together—

“Aughhugh!”

You collapsed with a seizure, a white-hot sensation snapping your boiling nerves taut from the sudden orgasm storming through your curling body. Your teeth sunk into your thumb to muffle your screams, a pitiful attempt to trample the sounds of your confusion. You hated yourself for mindlessly stroking your other hand into your puffy flesh. Your clit throbbed in tandem with your thundering heartbeats, and you clenched your eyes shut from the way the ecstasy swarmed your better senses.

After a few seconds, you were startled awake by a booming announcement of words that sounded garbled to your numbed ears, and shakily crawled back onto your feet. With your nipples stiffing from arousal and the musky air biting harshly at your overheated skin, you shambled forward with another hitch of sobs. You were too dazed to focus, your vision blurry and seeing red and streaks of gold and gray, but you still pushed forward with your hands grasping the vines draping across the nearby wall.

Despite everything—

Despite the very words in your head too indiscernible to understand—

Despite how every fiber of your existence howled for mercy—

You refused to submit.

The hateful, throbbing aches between your thighs was so acute you nearly wailed each time the slightest brush of your own skin touched your soaking slit. Even when your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the sounds you heard were distorted, you still pushed on with a soft growl of determination.

But by the gods, it hurts.

It was so excruciating, this inferno of wants drowning you from the insides. Your cunt hungered to be filled, to be stretched, and your womb swollen with cum. The needs to have teeth and claws caressing your tight skin was mind-numbing. You wished to howl your surrender, to plunge your fingers inside your holes.

You wanted to give up, to beg for those monsters to fuck you into sweet oblivion—

“No,” you hissed airily through your tears, fighting against your body’s urges in order to continue forward.

The red blob seemingly sniggered, curling so close to you that you could almost make it out beyond your visual snow of hallucinations. But...

It was beckoning you.

Mindlessly, you followed. You were confused, but it felt right to follow whatever this weird hallucination was.

Or was it wrong? You couldn’t tell anymore, your brain a scrambled mess of words that stopped making senses to you.

The announcer erupted in a shrill, but you understood none of what that wicked witch said.

“You’re almost there, sweetheart,” you thought it said, leaving you to pause in confusion. Your ears were buzzing with white noises and garbled voices, and you were smart enough to know that such things can stemmed from the highest amount of stress a living being can endure—but gods, you’d rather follow a hallucination than to become an animal’s plaything...!

You shambled forward, your knees and feet shaking in disjointing steps, but—

Something with rough textures on their…palms?

Caught you by your biceps.

You shook your head. You probably caught onto a tree again, shouldering yourself to stand straight. The red smoke tutted when you shook it off and mumbled something at your insistence to continue.

It felt like you took a thousand steps—yet only took one, when you stared at a looming gate. Its rusted iron was pure black, lines of void in your fuzzy sight. You blinked.

You blinked again. Your eyes narrowed with effort.

A slow buzz grew louder in your head—

You gasped the moment you comprehended what it was.

You never thought twice when you sprang forward—

Then a dull pang rang throughout your depleted body.

“Ugh, huh?” You blinked, scraping at the moss on the ground, your lead-heavy ear tag catching as you grappled. Why were you on the ground?

Even trying to push yourself off was futile; your body felt too heavy to move.

A sweltering hot breath burned your ear with an ugly chuckle.

“You’re so adorable, my sweet morsel,” he crooned, trailing his polished claws down your back.

Your heart stilled.

Your eyes widened and tears grew heavy in the corners upon realizing his color, “N, no...!”

The red blob...

He grinned, and you shivered at the shine of his ivory fangs. The lean beast purred against your drenched skin, inhaling your sweet scent deep.

“Oh, yes, you were oh so close—but my poor little morsel, you were so tired and so out of it you fell for my little trap anyway. Just imagine if you hadn’t listened...”

Your cracked nails scored through the green moss when he pushed your face against the cool ground and lifted your lower body to grind himself over your exposed cunt. It left you gasping, mumbling to a delighted thrill from his throat—and the feel of a coarse tent in his loins had you shuddering.

The aphrodisiac in your system returned with a vengeance.

All the fight you had left was snuffed out of you when his large claw slithered down your spine to massage your hard clit. Soaking his curved digits in your wet heat and slowly pumping them inside of you, the hunter sighed into your nape. 

“It was worth seeing you to the end—the thrill of this chase had me salivating...you really are quite a prize.“

You heard nothing of what he’d said, writhing and bucking against his hard loin. Against his stroking fingers—

“Ah, I’m getting impatient too—” you briefly felt him pulling away and saw him looking up at the trees. There was a brief confusion when you caught him sweeping an arm to wave—

That hostess erupted with an exclamation, rattling out some static-filled words again, but you were too far gone to try to discern her comments or even where you were anymore. The only thought in your mind is the need to be fucked until you were broken.

“Let us give them quite a show, hm?”

Behind you, there was a rustle of fabric, and the deafening sound of a zipper tore through your static-filled mind. Your breaths quickened as something thick and heavy slapped across your asscheeks. The heat dragged down your bare skin, causing you to squirm from the slow realization of his size, and it nudged against your hard nub.

His claws dwarfed your thighs, with his long nails nicking thin red scores on your flesh, as he slowly spread you wide open to his burning gaze. He started stroking your weeping slit with his large, sweltering thing and coating himself thoroughly with your essence, as he snarled against your ear, “My morsel, you had no idea what you’d done to me the entire time I was shadowing you—you were so cute, so oblivious...”

Confusion furrowed your brows as you found the strength to glance over your shoulder. His long face was blurry, so close that you could only make out his black muzzle and ivory fangs, but when his red tail flicked into the corner of your distorted vision, it clicked.

It was the tawny-furred fangedfolk—the one with unnervingly long limbs. He grinned upon catching the recognizance in your widened eyes.

“I, it was you. Y, you’ve been behind me this whole time...” You sobbed in defeat, staggering your face against the cold stone and shuddered. With another choke and a brief struggle to curb your gasps, you mumbled wearily, “W, when?”

His breathy chuckle scorched the thin skin of your nape as his long tongue traced down the curve of your spine. Grabbing your buttocks in a firm squeeze, the wolf pressed a tender kiss on the soft area between your shoulder blades. At your hitched sob, he hummed, “Since the very beginning—I got lucky, but I didn’t want the game to end so early, so I sat back and watched the show, so to speak.”

 “Though, I gotta say…”

You flinched at the purposeful press against your soaking hole, his tapered tip stretching inside the wet ring of your inner muscles. His claws pried you open so obscenely that you could feel cool air caressing your puckered rim, and the hunter dug his sharp nails into your soft cheeks, taunting you. You couldn’t suppress that whine from escaping your throat at the way he purred against your scalp.

“You really did test me this whole time, my dear morsel—the way your body breezed through the skies, your ass—” a rough growl erupted from his throat, and you trembled as a hot trail of saliva dripped onto your shoulder.

“You really were amazingly adept at surviving this long on your own.”

It was a precursor to everything he’d do to you, his cock kissing your clit.

The wolf shifted, now nudging himself at home—

A slam, his silky fur caressing your skin and sticking to your sweat, and you distinctly heard yourself whimpering on through a broken gasp.

He split you open so vulgarly, hilting himself right to his swollen knot. You felt nothing, only dullness, for a moment too long. There was only the eerie stretching you felt between your spread thighs. Vaguely, you remembered choking on air.

Your lungs felt hard, your breaths were thin and wheezing, and your body went slack. You turned into a helpless toy, rocking against his slim hips. His chest was heavy on your back, his claws everywhere as he brutalized your tiny body. Your mind blanked, only absently catching his unabated growls and the desperate rhythm of his fat cock.

Then it came like an explosion, so intense you melted with a deafening yowl. Your very bones shuddered as the blinding agony consumed you like wildfire, making your bloodied fingers tremble against the soft moss and splitting your broken nails even further. You laid there uselessly, gasping wetly and mewling—

You wept as the pain ebbed, giving way to the tide of pleasure from the drug coursing through your veins. It was sweet, the wolf’s lunging thrusts thrumming through you so intensely your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Hot and cold washed over you, caught in the juxtaposition of confusion and acceptance, of searing pain and intoxicating pleasure.

Feeling yourself being pulled apart shouldn’t feel this good—

It was supposed to feel ugly.

The way his hard knot hammered against your tight walls should’ve left you begging for mercy and in hysterics. It should’ve repulsed you that a monster like him was fucking you, panting like the dog he was over your limp, broken body. That he was ruining you to the illicit eyes of hundreds of thousands of viewers watching this sick, twisted show.

But instead, you were bucking your hips against him and ached for more.

More of whatever this disgusting pleasure was.

“S, stop—” you tried so pathetically you wondered why you even tried at all.

“You’re so adorable for trying,” he panted with a low chuckle, his fangs scraping against the tender surface of your nape and peppering possessive nips against your bruised shoulder. A few powerful jerks of his hips had you whining, your broken sobs replaced with desperate mewls and your body curving to his immense, disproportionate frame.

The wolf pulled you off the dirt, wounding a slim arm around your neck, and jerked you deeper into his embrace—showing you off to the world beyond the maze. He rasped into your ear, baring your deformed belly under his ugly leer (and everyone else’s through the countless camera lens) where his cock stretched your insides. “Mine.”

You heard him loud and clear, even through the garbled static booming from the treetop, his possessiveness bleeding into each snarl.

“N—” No word would come to your throat, lost to a choke at the way he plowed your battered insides.

You grappled onto his arm, briefly taken aback by the firmness of his hard muscles beneath your grip, and your thoughts were immediately lost at his next thrust. A gasp fled your mouth when you felt the rough pad of his other paw on the hideous protrusion against your womb. It was perverse, yet—

A jagged moan escaped, and you squeezed around him involuntarily, wetting your chapped lips at hearing his slow groan.

Even the feel of his scruffy, soft fur against your swollen, abused pussy should’ve made you ill, but it felt...good.

Even though you’re being fucked by a monster—a beastfolk who’s ready to breed you...

A walking, humanoid animal.

A being that should in no way be compatible with any human being—this pure torture was nothing short of heavenly. 

You staggered, helplessly prone to his unforgiving rhythm, bouncing and grinding your wet cunt along his entire length, on the verge of popping his engorged knot inside—

His subtle musk drowned out the lingering bit of your consciousness, drawing you deeper into the fangedfolk’s possession. A pleasant numbness drenched you down to your toes, which were stained green from the moss and leaves. You paid no thought to how wrong it was supposed to be. You allowed yourself to surrender all your senses to him, to stop thinking, and diverted what little of yourself you had left to his searing hot flesh.

You were supposed to fight him—!

To get out of this hellhole...!

A stifled squeal erupted from your mouth as a sudden pang ripped throughout your taut body and seized every nerve, reducing you into a sniveling, blubbering mess. Everything was electric, pulsating throughout your veins as your climax surged in torrents.

As your abused pussy soaked and tightened around the plunging cock, the wolf remained unyielding. His teeth were like an inferno against your skin, and his harsh breaths felt like welts against your flushed cheeks, and his voice warbled and slurred as he fucked you ever so roughly. 

“G, gods, y, you really are a, a wonderful prey—a prize...!”

His cock stretched you apart, digging deeper and deeper for your womb. The thick, taper head battered against your poor cervix, bulging against your poor belly—the wolf never stopped caressing it, and you were barely hanging on.

Your vision blurred once more, and only you and your captor existed in this universe, entangled in each other’s flesh. His fur draped over your body, and he so easily consumed you from the inside out, slowly devouring your consciousness into this sweet oblivion.

Somewhere in the furthest corner of your mind, you were screaming. It was supposed to be disgusting, it was supposed to be vile to be fucked by the beast. Instead, you clung to the wolf’s knuckles, rasping for more, as his knot hammered against your swollen clit. You wanted it all.

You relished in the slick sounds of his cock violating your sopping sex in a vicious tempo. The way you were speared so deep, your toes gripping the wet earth for purchase to grind against his hips while your slick coated his fur into a matted mess—your world shrunk further the more you sank into him.

You didn’t even know his name, that you knew you were supposed to hate him, but your body...

You melted into his furry chest, his arm still tightly coiled around your neck like a collar, almost asphyxiating you while his every thrust drew the very breath of your lungs—

A sharp yank—your stomach stretching and rolling—his length burying in you like a blade—

Distantly, you thought you heard a pop!

Something swelled past your throat.

Did you squeal? You didn’t know, only that you were clawing into his arm and bucking against his furious pursuit. Sharp sensations followed in a delay, as if you were disconnected from your reality, but your body was not. Sweltering heat surged and—

It filled every inch of your insides, and the sounds of the obscene squelching of your joined bodies had you writhing.

The fangedfolk sighed, pulling you deeper into his dangerous embrace, and trailed a long sloppy lick down your neck. He curled his claw around your lower belly, proudly showing off the distension his seed and oversized cock did to your poor little womb. His knot remained buried deep, throbbing and aching for more of you.

Against your ear, he inhaled your scent deeply with a content growl. 

“Show the world you’re now mine, my sweet morsel...”

Oh.

You slacked against his grip, defeated.

You could still hear the announcer, her words incoherent and buzzing in your ear, but her tone seemed so eager and exhilarated.

You’ve lost.

—end.

noncon, dead dove, sexual assault, (nonconsensual) drug uses / drugging (reader gets drugged), stalking, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, human trafficking, human hunting, injuries, psychological torture, stress hallucinations (visual and some auditory)

@febuwhump prompt: killing in self defense

TW: attempted non-consensual sexual activity

***

It had been easier than she'd expected.

Well... sort of.

Scrambling over refuse strewn across a darkened alley, kicking forcefully at the bigger stronger brutal stranger trying to subdue her by sheer domination, clawing for any sort of object that could serve as a weapon... that was difficult.

Terror had locked her throat up so she couldn't scream for help. She was practically hyperventilating which wasn't doing her focus any favors. Her blood was pumping in her ears so loudly she couldn't hear the swearing of the man she kept smashing with her heels.

Her knees were scraped. Various gross-smelly wet things had smeared against her exposed skin and her formerly clean clothing alike. There were sure to be bruises on her knuckles from how much power she'd been putting into her punches before the stranger had managed to trap her in this dead-end alleyway.

She could taste blood in her mouth from the backhand he'd given her. That casual slap had sent her sprawling but had given her a brief bit of space from her attacker. It had offered her a false escape, letting her lash out with her powerful legs from a position on the ground where he'd probably intended her to lay insensate and unable to move his bulk aside once he'd descended upon her.

Fortunately she had a thick skull or something because she hadn't been knocked completely silly and she'd been able to put her all into her attempts to defeat him or at least distract him with pain to the point where she could slip by and run out of the alley.

One of his beefy hands managed to secure her left ankle in a vice-like grip and he yanked her backwards so hard that she belly-flopped onto the concrete and smacked her chin with enough force to see stars. He took advantage of her disarray to wrestle her onto her back and pressed his full body weight down against her, covering her hips and her belly and her chest.

His face was above hers - too high for her to attempt to headbutt him - and his leer was something out of a nightmare. There was too much delight in his sky blue eyes... too much lust... he was getting off on the fight she was putting up as much as anything else. Nausea roiled in her stomach and she hoped she might be violently ill with enough propulsion to coat his face in bile and the scraps she'd managed to swindle earlier from the open market.

Her heels drummed on the pavement uselessly and her arms, free at her sides while he concentrated on holding down her body, beat weakly at his shoulders and ribs. He was grinning, a rictus smile dripping with confidence in the inevitable outcome of their altercation. And she kept landing feeble punches that seemed only powerful enough to tickle him.

It was infuriating.

And then her right hand swept over something cold and hard.

There was no time for thought. Familiarity shot through her arm like she'd struck something against her funny bone. Her left hand continued to strike him while her right hand traced muscle-memory movements along the shaft of the lethal device she'd discovered.

And then the safety was off and the gun was pulled free of the holster and the bullet - point blank through his side just beneath his ribcage on that side - was tearing into his innards on a mission of vengenance.

And then he was slumping over her, still too-fucking heavy for her to easily pull free, and hot blood was pouring out of the entry wound and coating her in stickiness that would never wash out of these clothes.

Gradually her heartbeat began to slow down to normal. Her breathing, still labored due to his bulk spread across the majority of her body, became calm. Disgust and frustration at the situation warred within her even as she realized she was safe.

Panic set in again. The unexpected panic of having survived intact. The desperate panic that would help her slip out from beneath this corpse.

Seconds or minutes or hours later, she found herself on her hands and knees with the gun still gripped tightly. The nausea returned and she made sure to vomit all over the asshole. It was a move she only mildly regretted later, once she had truly regained control of herself, and decided to pick through his pockets for anything else of value.

It was the first time she had had to take someone else's life.

She wasn't entirely sure what the rules on murder were in this dystopian future world but surely killing in self defense was still something that wouldn't land her in prison.

Best not to find out though.

She took the rings off his limp fingers, the watch with the broken face, the wallet and the keys and the comm. She took everything he had and, almost as an afterthought, yanked his pants down to his ankles before picking up a piece of wood from a busted up entertainment center near the dumpster in the furthest corner of the alley. Whacking his calves and thighs and ass with the board over and over and over was a form of stress release. With any luck it would also give the impression that he'd been the victim in this instance. If police thought he'd been accosted by one or more people, beaten savagely and then robbed blind, well... that meant they wouldn't be looking for some nearly-raped woman.

Satisfied at last with her work and worried about lingering too long at the scene of the crime, Faye took his jacket to cover the blood coated shirt she wore and fled into the night.

Snippet of a one-shot I'm making :3

"Did you think I wouldn't figure it out, y/n?" Doflamingo hissed in your ear, his fingers wrapped tightly around your middle. He had you pulled against him, in his lap. You weren't escaping now. Not after he found out about your betrayal. 

You were so small compared to him, able to fit in one hand. You two were sitting in front of a mirror in his room, you being forced to watch him drag his fingers across your shoulders and legs. He's taking his sweet time.

"I'm sorry, Doffy..." You whimpered out, even if it wouldn't help your situation. He laughed in your ear, a low, deep sound that resounds in his chest. You can feel it through your whole body. You were screwed and he wasn't going to go easy on you. 

Doflamingo slowly runs his nimble fingers under your top, unbuttoning it as he goes. His other hand moves from your waist to undo your pants, tugging them off with ease. You can feel his girth through his stupid pink leopard print pants. It was too big for your body. You'll tear if he goes that far.

"Why would you betray me, y/n? After all I've done for you..." Doflamingo growls, pressing his index finger to your clit. 

A shuttering gasp escapes your lips as he rubs slow, agonizing circles on the sensitive nub. Your hands grasp onto his arms, legs shaking and eyes flutter.

"D-Doffy.. I.. I was only doing my job.." You manage to get out in between gasps. 

He hums, pinching your clit between his thumb and index, twisting it. He wasn't going to be nice anymore. You've hurt him, betrayed his trust.

"Your job? Your job?!" He growls, twisting your clit even more. A sputtered scream leaves your lungs as the pain ripples through your cunt. 

Persistance gets you somewhere

Pairing: Dark Peter Parker x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Peter is very insistent in getting a date with you, even if you don’t want to.

WARNINGS: Harassment; Stalking; Incel vibes; Implied future Non-con.

AN: Hope you guys like it and give me feedback, thanks :)

--

“C’mon, it’s just one date. You’ll like it, I promise.”

You ignore Peter as you continue to fill his cup with hot coffee. You were slowly starting to get annoyed at Peter’s persistence, especially when you’ve already told him no so many times. Seems like he just can’t understand that you’re not interested in him as he repeatedly keeps coming into the coffee shop you work at, always repeating his offer.

Maybe you should be a little creeped out at Peter’s obscene insistancy but you can’t, not when Peter looks so normal, always so awkward. He wasn’t a bad guy, you’re sure of that. Maybe just a little too persistent. 

“Peter, you need to stop it. You’re a great guy, I promise,” his eyes light up at your compliment only to darken at your following words. “but I’m not interested. Sorry.” 

He scoffs, his whole demeanor changing drastically at your definite refusal. You try to ignore him as you finally finish filling his cup but just as you’re about to walk away, his hand grabs your wrist, stopping you. 

“Why are you acting so bratty? You think you’re better than me or something? Am I not worth your precious time?” he growls, his hold on your wrist drastically tightening which makes you whimper. You try to twist it, hoping to release it from Peter’s hand.

“Let me go, please. Peter, stop-”

“Everything good here?” a deep voice interrupts the two of you. Craig, your boss, diverts his eyes to Peter’s hand, still closed around your wrist.

Peter immediately weakens his grasp and you take the chance to brusquely withdraw your hand, practically hiding it in your uniform’s pocket. You don’t miss the way Peter’s eyes flash with anger, but right now you’re just glad Craig is here. 

“I was just talking to her, no big deal.” Peter exclaims, jaw clenching as he looks at the older man. Your boss sternely nods, turning back at you.

“I think we need you back at the counter.” you nod, hurriedly grabbing the coffee pot and returning to the balcony, where your co-worker Sasha is standing there with wide eyes. 

“Wow, what was that about?” she asks, but you don’t reply, merely shrugging your shoulders. Your hands can’t stop shaking and you’re just glad that you’re back into the counter.

“He was just a bit….stubborn.” you reply, your eyes itching to look back at Peter but you don’t dare yourself to do so, too afraid Peter would understand that as a signal to approach you again. Sasha clearly doesn’t have the same problem. 

“Dude is still staring at you. In a weird way.” she informs you. You can feel the weight of his eyes on you, it makes you feel even more insecure and scared. Had you misjudged Peter that badly? 

“Oh wait, he’s finally leaving.” Sasha whispers, nudging you with her arm. You turn around just in time to meet Peter’s glare before he walks to the door, leaving the place. His glare makes a shiver run down your spine, the way his usually sweet eyes are now filled with hate.

You force yourself to get back to work and to ignore what just happened. You rationalize it by pretending that he’s just being pushy, that’s all. Not an uncommon thing for waitresses, although it never happened to you.

Until now. 

You feel a pair of eyes following you as you move down the street. It’s subtle but it’s still there. It makes you weary and you speed up your pace. The street is quite empty, late afternoon darkness starting to settle down. 

Clutching your purse closer to your body, you practically run until you’ve reached another street. Discreetly looking over your shoulder, you catch a hooded figure walking towards you at a rushed pace. 

You lose your calm.

Breaking into a sprint, you finally reach your building that unfortunately has a broken lock on the entrance. Galloping towards the stairs, fast steps are heard. 

You arrive at your door, completely out of breath. When trying to take the keys out of the suitcase, they fall to the floor, distracting you. Meanwhile, the footsteps are dangerously approaching and you can hear someone ascending through the stairs. 

You start panicking even more, desperately trying to get the keys to open the door. No one is going to help you, you know that, that’s what you get for living in a bad neighborhood. 

Just as you pull the key into the lock, you’re pushed against the door. A man crashes into you, forcing your body flat against the door. You try to struggle yet you’re not a match for your attacker, who easily overpowers you as he harshly pushes your face against the cold surface. 

Tears build in your eyes while your heart thumps in your chest. You almost feel nauseated from fear, but you don’t dare to say a single word as you hope that he takes your purse and leaves you alone. 

For your dismay, the man presses himself harder against you, his face awfully close to your face, making you impulsively close your eyes. He sniffs you and the moans.   

“You always smell so good, you know that?” 

Your eyes widen with shock.

Peter.

You yelp, trying to force him off you. “Peter, please. Let me go, okay? We can talk about this and-” 

You’re cut off when he rapidly turns you around, forcing you to face him. He shoves his face impossibly closer  to you, a deranged look coloring his eyes. It makes you gulp in fear.

“We’re way past talking now, don’t you think? I wanted to be a nice guy but you just had to act like a complete brat and ruin everything.” he growls, lifting his fingers to touch your cheek.

He’s so close that you can feel his warm breath brushing against your lips. His hand lowers until it ghosts around your breasts, softly caressing it. 

“Now, I'm done being nice so we’re going to do this my way.” an evil smile lifts his lips and you feel cold inside.

“So let’s get inside and have a good time, shall we?”