Ambitions Cut Short
Charlotte, Fire Emblem Fates
Non-con, Monster, large object insertion.
My first attempt at writing guro/snuff, edited to fix the tense issues there when I initially posted.
She has beaten one with her bare hands before, but this particular Faceless simply would not go down. Charlotte has hit it time and time again, but it seemed to have insane durability. Honestly, she is impressed. Not much can survive a blow from her at her best, yet this faceless keeps coming back for more.
"I'll rip you in half!" she exclaims, tired of dealing with the monster. Charlotte prepares what she hopes will be a final hit, taking the beast out for good. She leaps at the monstrosity, swinging with all her might. And she lands the blow! She breathes a sigh of relief, as she sees the Faceless drop.
Then, the warrior woman pauses to catch her breath. The fight has been rough, and she isn't sure she could handle much more of it. Suddenly, her back explodes in pain, and she flies forward, slamming into the ground.
The blonde groans in pain and surprise, and turns back to look at her attacker. A second Faceless looms over her, even larger than the first, and Charlotte desperately tries to gain her feet. She doesn't want to think about what such a foul creature will do to her, if she can't fight it off.
She scrambles, trying to push herself up, but the monster slams its fist into the back of her head. The force sends her face-first into the muddy earth, and she lays dazed for a moment. Finally, she regains her senses and starts trying to rise once more.
But before she can stand, it is upon her. She feels its surprisingly warm hands lock around her wrists, pinning them down to the ground, then feels its weight press against her. She urgently tries all she can to break free. Despite her shocking strength, however, no amount of kicking, tugging, or squirming loosens its hold on her.
"Help," she cries out, desperately. "I can't handle this thing!" she clings to her facade, even when there is little chance someone will hear her. Suddenly, one wrist is freed, but before she can push herself up or find a grip on the monster, she feels its fist slam into her head, followed by another impact with the ground.
Her vision swims with stars, and the pain is unbearable. She is too dazed to notice her hands are free, and the weight that forces her down lessens. By the time she gains her senses, however, her wrists are held once more, and the weight is back. Yet, somehow, it is different. It takes her a moment to realize the Faceless has brought out something she didn't even know it has.
A large, hot cock is pressed against her ass, as the monstrosity presses its weight onto her. It hasn't removed her bottoms, luckily, so she iss not yet exposed to the beast. It is shocking and disturbing that the Faceless (at least this one) still has the equipment to begin with. The Faceless pulls back, lining its member up with her ass and pressing its way between her cheeks. It begins to grind itself against her, and she grunts in surprise.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asks. "I'm going to destroy you for this!" but her threats fall on deaf ears. The Faceless simply continues thrusting itself against her, and she feels the huge cock rub into her. It feels strange, as the heat of it rubs against her ass as with each thrust, but it is not entirely unpleasant.
Suddenly, it speeds up. It takes her a moment to notice, but once she does, she cries out in protest. "Don't even think about it! I won't have you shooting that all over," she begins, but already the globs of the beast's hot come are shooting all over her back, some even propelled all the way into her beautiful blonde hair. "me." she finishes, then groans in disgust. The smell of the semen is cloying, and overwhelming, and Charlotte can't believe the Faceless are even capable of this.
After it finishes, it rests for a moment, recovering from its climax. Then, it rises. Charlotte whirls to her feet, and turns to face the monstrosity. Gods, it is huge, even for a Faceless. And that isn't even mentioning the massive cock that is still just as hard as it has been when it first started grinding it against her. She wants to fight back, to tear the thing apart, but as it has its way with her, a crowd of Faceless has advanced on her. It seems the abominations have some sort of pecking order, as they were content to wait until the hulking one that has claimed her is finished before they made any sort of move.
Charlotte's mind races. Despite all of her flirting, she has not done much with men before. When her efforts went truly unnoticed, she has done a little...extra work, to bring a few stubborn men around. She has stroked men off, and she has sucked men off. But this Faceless is no man, and it seems determined to use her body. It begins to take a few tentative steps towards her, and lifts its arms up, as if it is planning to grab her. Instead of resisting, Charlotte has a different idea. Before it can grab her, she drops to her knees, and begins to crawl towards the monster. It stops in confusion, as she kneels before it.
She reaches up, and before she can talk herself out of it, takes the Faceless' cock in one hand. She still marvels at how warm the creature is, she always assumed they were some sort of undead, and would have no heat to them whatsoever. Of course, she also assumed they would be...lacking, in certain areas. She begins to stroke, running her hand up and down the length of the beast's shaft, unable to wrap her hand around its entirety.
"If I make you feel real good, you'll go easy on me," the blonde asks, mostly talking to herself rather than the hulking monster. "Right, big guy? Maybe you'll even tell your friends to just let me walk out of here." That is a stretch, she knows. But perhaps some of her allies would find the group of Faceless in the time she is able to distract the creature, and she will be rescued.
So far, it seems to be content with her stroking. Eventually, she takes hold with both hands, and begins to stroke faster and harder. Using both her hands, she can encircle its girth, and grip it tightly, firmly as she strokes the length of the monster. She looks up at the curious mask, trying to use the hungry look that has driven the few men she has been with wild. But if her charms have any effect on the beast, she can't tell. Then, it grows bored. She feels its large, powerful hand grab the back of her head, fingers gripping her hair roughly, demolishing what curls haven't been ruined by the beast's seed earlier.
"No...please," she begins to beg, as the creature pushes her mouth toward its cock. "Don't make me do...that. I can't, I ju-" her protests are cut off suddenly, as she is forced onto the cock, being left with no choice but to take it into her mouth. It is massive, she has to stretch her jaw to fit even the tip in, and her complaints are soon nothing more than muffled gibberish.
With its massive hands tangled into her hair, gripping her head roughly, she can't fight as it forces its way into her, meeting momentary resistance as its tip hit the back of her throat. Yet the brutish creature only tilts the blonde's head, straightening her neck before forcing more of its length into her. Charlotte continues to groan, trying desperately to plead with the creature, for all the good it would do her. The beast only presses in further and further, until it has pushed down her throat completely. The blonde flails, striking the Faceless' legs, pressing against it, trying to pull herself off as she struggles for breath, but the monster's strength is too much for her. It's grip holds her down, as she feels her lungs begin to burn from the strain.
Finally, it is in her to its hilt. There is nothing more for her to take, and Charlotte can’t begin to express how thankful she is. She sputters around the massive cock, as her lungs scream out for her to breathe. If the monster stayed in her like this for much longer, she will be facing real trouble. But finally, finally, it begins to pull back. Once it is out enough for her to breathe, Charlotte sucks in air greedily, having to use her nose instead of her mouth. Sadly, she is not given much time. The Faceless thrusts back into her, luckily just as she breathes in, forcing Charlotte to hold what breath she has.
Then, it begins fucking her throat. It falls into a rhythm, quick and savage, as it slams into her throat over and over. At first, Charlotte tries to count how many times it thrusts into her, how many times she feels her neck stretch to accommodate it, and how many times it nearly gags her, causing her to cough and sputter around the massive member. It isn’t long before she loses count, as the monster shows no sign of slowing or stopping, and continues fucking her throat.
Just as Charlotte wonders how much more she can take, it finally slows, then seizes up, and she feels the massive cock twitch within her. She tries to pull away, to free herself, knowing what is to come, but can’t overpower the massive Faceless.
All her efforts earn her is a tighter grip on her hair, the monster tugging roughly as it comes. With its cock forced so far down her throat, its seed spills into her directly, the heat of its come filling her stomach. Were it not for the member still blocking her throat, Charlotte would likely retch up the hot, sticky substance, but the Faceless is so slow about pulling out that she can’t. And once it has pulled out, her only priority is sucking in as much air as she could. Her lungs still burn from the strain, but she finally feels some relief as she begins to come back to her senses. Of course, Charlotte is too exhausted, too distracted, to look around her.
Just as her panting begins to slow, she feels a massive fist slam against her head, sending her sprawling to the earth and dazing her once more. Before she can process what has happened, she feels another Faceless stripping the cloth of her bottoms off of her, leaving her bare. She tries to call out, to fight back, but is so exhausted and still trying to catch her breath, she can hardly muster any strength as she creature lifts her effortlessly.
“No…” she mutters, weakly, as it grabs her hips, turning her away from it. She can only look back, and watch, as it lines the tip of its cock up with her cunt. It is so big there is no way in hell she can take this! “Please! It’s… it’s too big! And I… I’ve never...”
Her pleas are as useless as before, though, as the monster presses the tip against her, rubbing it into the folds of her cunt. Then, she feels its grip tighten on her hips. It begins to pull her, forcing her onto its massive cock, and Charlotte can only cry out in pain as it stretches her. Her body practically screams for it to stop, and the blonde begins to kick and writhe, trying desperately to free herself. Of course, the beast has several hundred pounds on her, and only continues its inexorable progress. Each inch it penetrates is a new, personal hell, as it stretches her, threatening to tear her with how large it is.
All Charlotte can think of is how this would ruin everything. Who would want her, after this? After this monster ruined her, ravaged her? But soon, the pain blocks out any thought. Then, overwhelms her completely. She feels her mind strain to comprehend the pain she feels, before her vision begins to darken. With a pathetic whimper, she drifts into unconsciousness. But the Faceless continues its progress, until its cock is as deep as it can go. Then, it begins to fuck the unconscious fighter, her body limp, each thrust causing her limbs to sway as they dangle below her.
While she is out cold, another Faceless comes forward, and takes a position in front of her. It grabs her by the neck, lifting her up, and lines up her open mouth with the tip of its cock. Following the lead of its comrade, it pushes into her, filling her throat once more. The two monsters fuck her, suspending her on their cocks as they thrust in and out of her, pleasuring themselves with her unconscious body as if she were nothing more than a toy. Time passes, and she is passed between the horde, each member taking its time with her. Occasionally, she drifts back to consciousness, but the horror of her situation ensures it is never a long trip back to reality.
It is impossible to say for how long this lasts, but Charlotte eventually comes to. When she does, it is quiet. The sounds of battle, and of the Faceless, have faded, and it seems she has been left behind. EIther that, or her allies have lost the fight as badly as she has. Regardless of what has happened, she finds herself alone, naked, and covered in the monster’s sticky come. The fighter is so sore she can hardly move, and looks down to see her body covered in scratches, bruises, and other injuries. She feels tears begin streaming down her face.
She feels absolutely ruined, and with no idea what she should do. But, at the very least, she is alive. Surely someone would come back to the battlefield, even if it is only to pick over what arms remained in the field. Hopefully she could bargain for some sort of help then…
But even as she thinks this, even as she allows herself some small sliver of hope, she feels the ground around her move. Charlotte lets out a choked sob, knowing exactly what the sound means. And sure enough, a Golem, a massive Stoneborn, rises up from the earth beside her, letting out an ear-shattering bellow.
Charlotte begins to crawl, desperately pulling herself away from the beast, but its reach is far too great. Its massive hand grabs her by the midsection, lifting her as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.
“P-Please…” she mutters, with hardly enough energy left to speak. “I don't… I want to live…”
The fingers that grip her clench, squeezing her experimentally. It hurt as the pressure builds, but just as she begins to wonder how much she can take, it stops. The golem drops her, letting her fall to the muddy earth. She lands on her back, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. She gasps, sucking in air, as she massive creature rears back its arm, hand balling into a fist.
“Gods, no!” she manages, before the fist crashes down into her midsection. Somehow, the blow does not end her, but it is enough to force Charlotte to retch. She rolls onto her side, and the come the faceless shot into her stomach splatters onto the muddy earth, along with blood and bile. She sobs, then, seeing no way out of this with her life intact.
Then, the golem lifts her once more. This time, its grip differs, with its middle finger between her legs, supporting her weight. Then, it shifts. The massive tip of its finger presses against her entrance.
“No. No, there's just… there's no way!” Charlotte pleads. “Y-you can't! It'll kill me!”
But the stone mask shows no compassion. Instead, it pushes. Charlotte feels blinding pain as the massive finger stretches her. Rips her is more like it, as the flesh of her folds cannot stretch enough to take it. Yet, it continues. Charlotte finds herself wishing she could pass out, wishing this agony would end, but somehow it is enough to keep her conscious. That is, until more than flesh stands in the way. Until her uterus has been pierced, torn through, and her hips halt the beast’s progress. Or, attempt to.
It pushes in, even harder than before, and Charlotte hears a sickening crunch. The pain is unimaginable, causing her eyes to lose focus, as her hips shatter, allowing the beast to press in further. Still, the massive finger pushes into her, by now blood pours from her, cascading down the monster’s digit. Charlotte can only stammer pathetic half-syllables, likely pleas for mercy cut down by the pain she feels, as the horror continues. It pulls out, causing her to gasp with relief, only to redouble its efforts, pushing even further, either sliding her organs out of the way, or crushing them. She feels a horrible squelching, sliding pain, as her intestines begin to slip past the finger, trailing out of her. She looks down in horror, seeing the horrifying sight of her own blood, her own body mangled as it falls out of her, and the unimaginable sight fades, slowly but surely, as she loses consciousness.
Though the blonde has no way of knowing, the desecration of her body doesn’t end there. The golem withdraws its finger from the ruins of her cunt, dropping her to the muddy earth. It then lifts its ragdoll once more, and begins forcing the finger down her throat. It is much too large for her, and before long, the flesh of her neck begins to stretch. By now, Charlotte’s body has given out. The poor, ambitious woman doesn’t feel the last of her life fade, as her neck ruptures, her jaw pops off, and her head splits in two, torn asunder by the massive digit.
Her ruined body is tossed aside, no longer any fun. Her jaw and the top of her head are split, left attached by only the barest remnants of her neck. Her legs, half torn from the stretching, end in a horrible sight, as her innards spill out of her. What’s left of the fighter is sure to turn heads, though this sort of attention won’t do her any good.
Clair, Fire Emblem Echoes Shadows of Valentia
Non-con, asphyxiation, choking, necro.
Gray strangles Clair, taking place between their B and A supports.
Gray finds it harder and harder not to resent her. He confessed, he poured his damn heart out to her, telling her he loved her… and was told never to speak with her in response. Clair, who always speaks her damn mind, no matter how much it hurts. Clair, who he can't even think of without shaking, without getting angry.
Yet, she's so infuriatingly gorgeous he can't help but think of her. Before, he wanted her to be happy. Now, he wants her to hurt like he does. The villager lies awake at night, thinking of it. Of how badly he wants to hurt her. Of course he feels awful about it, but the desire doesn't fade.
And each night, it gets worse. Eventually he can't even try to sleep. Instead, Gray paces the camp, trying to keep his mind on other things. Trying to keep his thoughts away from making it so she can't speak to him. From her face, twisted as she gasps for breath. From his hands, locked around that slender, pretty neck. So alluring, so fragile…
And suddenly, Gray notices where he is. A very familiar tent is before him, dark, its entrance unguarded. He knows she's asleep inside, not a worry in her head. She can just cast him out, throw him away, and sleep like a baby? It isn't right.
Before he can stop himself, Gray is lifting the flap of the tent. He leans in, gazing at Clair. The light of the Moon makes her radiant, as she sleeps, her hair sprawled out beneath her head. That neck, so enticing… her chest, rising and falling with each breath, while he suffers under her words.
He can't take it. Gray steps in, crossing to her bed. He lowers her covers, slowly, so he doesn't disturb her. In the dim lighting, he can still make out her curves under the thin night gown, and he wishes things could have been different. He feels a stirring of arousal, and Gods does he wish it was different. But now, this is the only way. He'll win. Clair will be his, and no one else's.
So he climbs into the bed, straddling her. Each of his legs pins one of hers. The weight causes her to stir, to open her eyes and see the dark outline of her uninvited guest. Before she can scream, however, his hands clasp around her neck. It's so thin he can easily wrap his fingers around it, and squeezing feels so natural. Her hazel eyes go so wide, when she realizes her breath won't come. Gray watches as her mouth opens, closes. Silent gasps as she struggles for air. Then, those eyes lock on his. Even in the dark, she must be able to tell. Her eyes beg, they plead.
“Why are you doing this, Gray?” they seem to ask. “What did I do to you?”
Threw me away, he wants to say, but the words won't come. What does it matter, anyway? Gray has no intention of letting up, and slowly, that dawns on her. Her lungs scream for relief, for air, and suddenly she is desperate. She begins to thrash, to struggle against her assailant, but with her legs pinned she cannot overpower him.
Gray's arms have the strength of a man who's worked the earth, while Clair has lived in luxury. Her training isn't enough to win her the day, and her thrashing slows. Her hands, attempting to push at Gray, to claw him, fall. As she runs out of air, she goes limp.
Gray stares into her eyes, as the spark that gives them so much inquisitive charm slowly fades. Beneath him, Clair loses consciousness. Laying on top of her the way he is, he feels the warm rush of her piss as her bladder empties. And yet, he holds his grip. He wants to be sure. Absolutely sure that she's gone. So, he presses harder. Squeezes tighter. Until he hears a soft pop, and knows he's crushed her windpipe. He breathes deeply, then, enjoying the breath he's taken from her.
Only then does he realize how hard he is. Even in death, Clair is beautiful, and now… she's all his. With a shudder of apprehension, Gray frees his cock. He lifts her nightgown, and tugs down her soaked panties, revealing her cunt.
“I love you, Clair,” he says, as he pushes the tip of his erection against her. “You made me do this…”
He pushes in, then, marvelling at how warm she is, how alive she feels even though he knows she's gone. With nothing holding him back, he fucks her. He uses her, like nothing more than a pretty doll, thrusting into her, rough and hard. In moments, he comes, his seed spilling into her dead cunt.
There's a certain satisfaction in his climax, an ownership that he can't deny feels incredible. And leaves him wanting more. Of course, tonight is his only chance, and if discovered, he won't survive tomorrow. So he rolls over his lover, dead as she may be, and presses his cock against her ass, next.
He fucks her until just before daybreak, enjoying her every hole cold as much as he did hot. By the time he's done, her body is coated in his come. But, naturally, he has to leave if he has any hope of survival. Not that he cares either way, with Clair gone.
Attempts at Parley
Maribelle, Fire Emblem Awakening
Non-con, stabbing, snuff, necro.
Maribelle's attempts to meet with Plegian troops take a different turn than in canon.
“Plegian troops, crossing the border to pillage and loot? I hope your captain understands this is an act of war!” Maribelle says, tall on the back of her horse. The rank and file soldiers look up at her, dazed by the noble’s sudden appearance.
“And who’re you to stop us?”
“A noble of Ylisse! I demand parley, before you take any more innocent lives.”
Another soldier steps forward, a bit better groomed than the others. Taking him for the captain, Maribelle turns her horse to face him.
“Are you the one in charge here?”
“Yes. So if you've got something to say, spit it out. We've got orders to follow, after all.”
“I'll do nothing so vulgar as ‘spit it out,’ we're talking life and death here! You and your men had best turn back for Plegia, lest you bring war down on all our heads,” Maribelle says, hoping to appeal to the men's reason.
“Gangrel wants war. And if we know what's good for us, we want what the king wants,” the man says, shaking his head. “‘course, a noble bitch seems like a much better target than some stinking village.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and that hesitation would spell disaster for Maribelle. When his men grew so near to her, she isn't sure, but their hands around one of her ankles, tugging her from the back of her horse. She falls to the hard earth, tangled up in her saddle, and the sudden commotion is enough to spook her horse. Her mount flees, leaving the noble dazed and immobile.
Worse yet is the group of Plegian soldiers surrounding her, distasteful expressions plain on their faces. She struggles to rise, extracting herself from the tangle of rope and leather that is her now-useless saddle.
“What do you think you're doing?!” she asks, incredulous.
“A declaration of war, like you said. This is easier on us, and likely to be a lot more effective anyway.”
“W-what are you referring to?”
“Raping and killing a noble, and leaving her mutilated corpse practically within sight of her keep? Even your peaceful bitch of a ruler can't stand for that.”
Panic seizes her heart. She turns, frantic, looking for any opening, and when finding none, bolting for the smallest looking enemy. With a shove, however, she's sprawled on her back in the center of the circle. The captain moves first, straddling her.
“This'll be easier if you stay still, girl,” he promises, but Maribelle isn't a submissive young lady. She drives a fist upward, catching him in the jaw, before he can grab her wrists. There's not much force behind the hit, clumsy as it is, but it's enough to anger her attacker. He grunts, grabbing her wrists firmly and wrenching them above her head.
“I did warn you,” he says, drawing a dagger from his belt with his free hand. Maribelle's eyes watch the bright steel in horror, as he aims his strike. With a flash, it moves down, and she feels intense pain as her hands are pierced, and the blade is driven into the earth.
She screams, then, her voice shrill and panicked, full of pain the likes of which she's never felt before. Still, any attempt to move her hands now will only ruin them further, and she has been effectively immobilized.
The captain reaches a hand back, then, and one of his soldiers hands him their blade. He works quickly, cutting Maribelle's clothes from her body even as her frantic heartbeat pushes blood from the wounds in her hands. In a moment, she is naked, and the men's eyes pore over her hungrily. Her face grows bright red, exposed to strangers in such a horrible way.
Her screams give way to sobs, as her assailant trails the tip of the dagger over her naked breasts, lingering at her nipple. Her breath causes her chest to rise, pushing the razor sharp blade into her, making her wince in pain.
“P-please, unhand me!” she begs, but the men only laugh.
“No chance of that, Missy,” one of them says, “Now that we are what you're hiding under all those clothes.”
“That's right. My men and I have gotten all worked up, seeing you naked like this, and I'd hate to see them frustrated. So I'm going to break you in, then they each get a turn.”
“Please, Gods, no! I'm begging you!”
“Never should have ridden out here, milady,” the captain spits. He reaches down, freeing his cock and stroking lightly, until he's fully erect. Maribelle's eyes dart down, toward his erection, widened with horror.
“But I've never…” she protests weakly, as the tip of his cock presses against her cunt.
“Don't see how it'll matter to you before too long, so just lay back and enjoy it,” he says, sneering. He thrusts in, then, and Maribelle feels only pain as he forces himself in. In spite of herself, she pulls her hands towards her in reflex, dragging them over the dagger's blade and causing herself even more pain. And yet… there's some give, the blade moves just slightly. Feeling a desperate flash of hope, Maribelle tugs even harder, timing it with the man's thrusts, hoping he won't notice. The pain is unbearable, both from the widening gash in her hands and from his efforts between her legs. But finally, finally, she feels the dagger slip up, leaving the earth.
She yanks one hand free, gripping the blade and pulling it from the palm of her other hand. The captain's eyes widen, as she slashes at him, but he manages to rear back at the last second. He bats her hand aside, and the blade slips from her grasp, slick with her blood as it is.
“Well, that wasn't very polite, was it boys?” he says. Maribelle lets out a choked sob, as the last of her hope is picked up by one of her audience. He hands it to the captain, who takes it eagerly. “What were you hoping to accomplish, milady?”
“You won't get away with this. They'll hunt you down, and gut you'll like dogs for this.”
“The only dog I see here is you, bitch,” he spits, and the blade flashes down once more. It sinks into flesh between Maribelle's perky breasts, sticking into her sternum with an audible thunk. She gasps in pain, but he only raises the blade once more. Thunk. It rises, and falls. Crack. The bone splits, allowing the blade into her chest. It nicks the wall of her heart, and the organ struggles to pump her life's blood even in its compromised state, tearing itself apart. She sputters then, the last of her breath coming in ragged gasps, as everything fades away. The last thing Maribelle sees is that damn sneer, the last thing she feels, the distant heat of his seed spilling into her.
“Can't believe she pissed herself,” one of the soldiers says, taking his turn pumping into her slack mouth, lifeless eyes gazing at nothing.
“Closest thing to lube we're gonna get,” another answers, fucking her cunt roughly.
Of course they would have preferred her alive, but hell if they were going to let a fine noble like this pass them by. Each soldier took at least one turn, with many coming back for seconds long after the last of her life's warmth had faded. These two would be the last, and were on their third round.
“Sure we can't take her with us, captain?” one of them asks.
“Wouldn't be much of an example then, would she?” he says. “We want a war, after all.”
The men grumble as they fuck her, spilling their seed freely when finished. They leave her then, her body ravaged and ruined, with a dagger still sticking from her chest.
Scarlet, Fire Emblem Fates
Non-con, hanging, asphyxiation, snuff
Scarlet meets a grisly end at the hands of Hans, making a fine example of the fate of rebels.
Corrin's forces breathe easy, having vanquished the rebellion in Cheve and taken many of their soldiers - including their leader, Scarlet - prisoner. Generally, prisoners of war are protected, and that's exactly how Corrin plans to treat them. Unfortunately for them, however, the princess can't be everywhere at once.
“On your feet, maggots. That is, unless you want to die seated?” a deep voice challenges. Hans, a reformed criminal serving as King Garon’s subordinate, strides into the center of the holding cells, oozing contempt. The group of men following him all appear to be cut from the same cloth. “King Garon wanted this rebellion crushed, not chastised, and I aim to finish the job.”
“Excuse me, ser, but we're prisoners of war. Wounded, and those who surrendered. Aren't we protected?” a blonde wearing all red armor asks. She'd be an imposing opponent, had her rebellion not been crushed only an hour before. Now, she stands in Cheve’s own dungeon, her cell set at the head of the block, offering full view of all of her compatriots. As such, it takes all Hans can muster not to laugh in her face. He can't deny she's pretty, however, and Hans would love to find out what's under that armor of hers.
“The face of the rebellion herself, eh? Scarlet, isn't it?” he says, sneering. “Soldiers are protected. Traitorous bitches who turn on their own country? They get put down.”
“P-put down? But, we surrendered.”
“Are you stupid? This is war. You should have taken things more seriously before declaring a revolution.”
“But Corrin assured us we'd be safe if we-”
“That whelp’s word holds no sway here. I'm tired of this talk,” Hans says, slotting a key into the door of Scarlet’s cell. “You'll make a fine example, hm?”
“An example of what?” she asks, backing away from the imposing man. Her back hits the wall of the cell agonizingly quickly, leaving her nowhere to retreat. In answer, his hand wraps around her throat, squeezing tightly.
“What happens to those who rebel,” he says, and Scarlet can see her own horror reflected in his hungry eyes. He holds her like that for a moment, not allowing her the slightest gasp of air.
When he finally releases her, she drops to all fours, coughing and sputtering. He laughs, then, and places the heel of his boot on her back. Pressing down, he knocks her flat, and kneels on top of her. He produces a dagger from his belt, and begins slashing the bindings of her beautifully adorned armor.
Once separated, he pulls the plate covering her toned back away, casting it aside. Scarlet struggles beneath him, feeling herself being exposed. With a grunt, he buries his fingers in her short hair, lifting her head and slamming it back down against the stone floor. There's a satisfying crack, and as Hans stands, pulling Scarlet up by her hair, the wyvern rider is dazed. With her armor cut loose, her breastplate remains on the floor, leaving her wearing nothing but her underclothes.
And with a flash of the dagger, those are rent as well. By the time Scarlet comes to her senses, she is naked before Hans, his men, and worse still, her doomed troops.
“W-what do you think you're doing?” she asks, her tongue dry and heavy as it works around the words.
“Making an example of you. Did you think I'd just off you and be done with it? Laughable!” he says, chuckling as if to prove his point. She kicks, then, desperately trying to gain her footing. In response, Hans’ free hand pulls back, only to slam into her stomach a second later. With a groan, Scarlet's most recent meal splatters onto the floor, mixed with the acids of her stomach. She all but goes limp, then, dangling from his grip on her hair. “Disgusting. Can’t you keep your last meal down? What a shame.”
“Just… get it over with…” she says, dreading what is to come, but seeing how utterly futile it is to fight it.
“There’s no fun in that. You’ve been a thorn in King Garon’s side for too long now, and now that we’ve plucked you, you need to suffer. It won’t be so easy as lopping your head off and putting it on a pike,” Hans says, dragging her towards the wall. He forces her onto her feet, then guides her wrists to some shackles on the wall. Once Scarlet is bound, he works on freeing himself from his pants. Seeing his enemy bound and helpless is enough to have him hard already, and he’d not want such a thing to go to waste.
Scarlet tells herself not to look, to take whatever punishment is coming facing the wall. That it will be easier that way. And yet, she can’t help a glance over her shoulder. Once her eyes lock on his cock, however, she begins to struggle.
“No! Not that, please!” she begs, tugging at the shackles with such force that the metal cuts into her wrists, and lines of blood begin running down her arms. Hans only chuckles, forcing the head of his cock against her tight folds.
“Let me guess,” he says, as he begins pushing in. “First time?”
He works his way in, then, marvelling at how tight she is. Her toned body is incredible, that’s for sure, and with each inch he pushes into her, she tightens up a bit more. He can tell from her groans that it hurts, but that only makes him more excited. A life of pillage and plunder gets a man to a point where that’s all he enjoys, and by the Gods does Hans love it.
Scarlet’s troops, injured and battered as they are, look on in horror as their leader is raped in front of them. Hans is slow, at first, even pausing to let her adjust once he’s worked his way in. And as he thrusts into her, there’s a purpose to his motions. As if he’s searching for something, probing her. Before Scarlet can put much thought into it, the top of his cock brushes against her clit during one of his thrusts, and she whimpers involuntarily.
“I’ve got you now,” he says, and suddenly his thrusts are all focused there. Before Scarlet can do so much as blink, his motions have a new edge to them. There’s a sick heat spreading through her, starting in her core and radiating outwards. She knows he’s pleasuring her, and can’t help but feel sickened by each moan that escapes her lips. Any glance to the side finds the face of one of her soldiers, already filled with dread at their fate, now filled with shame as the woman they put their faith in moans on the cock of their soon-to-be killer.
Tears begin streaming down her face, despair and shame mingling into a singularly depressing mood, backed up though it is by carnal pleasure. Hans takes his time fucking her, bringing her to an intense orgasm that has her crying out and sees her knees nearly buckling beneath her, before he finally finishes. With a thrust that is deeper, and harder, than any of his others, he finishes, his seed spilling into her womb without care or concern. Worst of all, the heat that fills her feels so damn good she can hardly stand it.
She feels relief, then. At least that part is over, and this torment can finally end. But as Hans pulls out, and steps back, he gestures to the man closest to him.
“I know it’s sloppy seconds and all, but go on and take a turn with her. In fact, I’d like all of you to. Consider her a treat, on me,” he says, grinning menacingly.
“No! No, anything but that, I can’t take more of this!” Scarlet cries out, any will she had left stripped away in her shame.
“Now, now. Don’t you think you should enjoy your final moments? Though, don’t expect these guys to go as easy on you as I did. They’re not quite the… expert that I am,” he warns, before moving to the back of the cell.
And true to his warning, the soliders are rougher. They fuck her without any attempt at pleasure, taking her for themselves. The first one to go for ass instead nearly causes her to faint, using nothing but his spit as lube. Then, it becomes a trend. Eventually, two will come at her at once. Then they loosen her shackles, and it becomes three. One fucking her face, one forcing her to ride his cock, and another slamming into her ass, all at once. It goes on for what feels like ages, until most of the soldiers have taken several turns with her, filling her and coating her in their come.
By the end of it, she lays on the floor, panting, not even noticing she’s on the remains of her meal from earlier. Her eyes are glassy, hardly seeing anything around her as she withdraws into herself, hiding from the horror of her situation. But then Hans is above her. That voice rings out, and she’s forced back to clarity.
“I think my boys’ll spread what happens to traitors just fine, don’t you? I mean, a fuck as good as you is bound to get them talking,” he says. “And I’ve decided to let your men go free.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. At the very least, they’ll return home, to their families and friends, and whatever peace they might find. “Of course any of them that try to leave during your execution will be killed on the spot.”
“And what am I sentenced to?” she asks, some of her fire returning.
“I’m going to hang you. But don’t think it’s going to be easy. In fact, I’m giving you a chance to get out of this too. If you survive the night, you can go free. Boys, go on and string her up by her throat,” Hans orders, and his men comply. In no time, she’s dangling from a rafter, legs kicking desperately just inches from the ground that could so easily save her from choking. By now, her men are freed, none daring to come to her aid in fear of being cut down where they stand.
“Now, I’m gonna let your soldiers help you. But the thing is, they can only support you by fucking you. Anyone tries anything else, and they’re dead,” Hans explains, a sadistic smile curling his lips. Meanwhile, Scarlet kicks, gurgling as she struggles for air and her men look at each other in bewilderment.
Finally, one comes forward, desperately pumping at his cock, trying to get hard. He grabs her hips, and thrusts into his leader, doing his best to support her weight as he does. He hears a sputtering breath, and knows its working. It feels incredible, the way she tightens up around him as she struggles for breath, but he does he best to hold on.
After all, Scarlet’s life is on the line, as are theirs. And each and every soldier wants to last as long as possible, to save her. Even if the method is horrifying.
Of course, the night is long. A handful of soldiers, most of them injured already, have their limits. Despite their love for their leader, they can only do so much, and the fact that many of them crumple to the floor before giving up speaks volumes to their dedication. It simply isn’t enough, however. After no more than an hour, Scarlet is left dangling with no one to support her. After being fucked so far beyond raw, blood oozes from her, and she hardly registers the slow loss of her life’s breath. Hans approaches her, eager to watch the final moments of such a nuisance.
Scarlet slowly loses consciousness, no longer strong enough to kick, or even to make a sound. Her eyes lock onto Hans, however, watching her killer with contempt until even that small focus is too much. Just before she fades completely, she loses control of her bladder, hot piss rushing out of her and splattering onto the floor in a steady stream. Were she in a better state, it would hurt, as her piss ran over the ruins of her folds, but it hardly even registers as she slips away.
Once she is well and truly dead, Hans cuts her down. He draws his axe, then, and chops the head from her body. Those of her soldiers that are still conscious look on in shame, knowing they weren’t enough to save her, even given the chance. And then, Hans’ voice rings out again.
“Kill all these dogs, as well. They couldn’t even save their own leader, and should each be put down,” he orders, holding her head by the hair, and dragging Scarlet’s body along behind him with his free hand. Once outside the castle, he displays her head and her violated body for all to see, before setting out for Corrin’s party. Still more traitors linger around the Nohrian royals themselves, and that can’t be allowed. In their defeat, they might strike at their conquerors, and Hans would never allow such a thing.
Ursula, Fire Emblem the Blazing Sword, Fire Emblem Heroes
Non-con, snuff, dismemberment, beheading
Ursula crosses the paths of Zephiel and Narcian, and unfortunately for the assassin, Zephiel does not easily let go of grudges.
While the Askrian keep that held the Order of Heroes was massive, it was inevitable that Heroes from all times and worlds would have a chance of bumping into each other. Usually, this was no issue. At times, however, sparks would fly. And at other times still, the absolute worst would come out in those who crossed paths.
Those with more villainous natures, when not on the front lines under Kiran’s orders, tend to stick to themselves, in the less populated areas of the keep. Zephiel is one who sticks to his isolation with a fierce tenacity, only seldomly backed up by his former subordinate, Narcian. Today is one such day, and the two walk the halls in silence, taking in the nostalgia of each other’s presence. Until, however, their peace is disturbed.
Another disreputable Hero is making her way down the hall toward them, and the sight of her causes Zephiel to grind his teeth. The former king had survived countless attempts on his life, the most prevalent of which was his own father’s attempt to poison him. But another that always stood out in his mind was the Blue Crow’s attempt to end his life.
And now, by chance, she crosses his path. Either this incarnation of Ursula hasn’t failed in her attempt to assassinate him yet, or she simply doesn’t recognize him after his many years of training and growth.
“Narcian,” he growls, keeping his voice low. “What say we have some fun here? I have quite a bit to pay this wretched woman back.”
“Gladly, milord. Things have been far too boring for Narcian’s taste of late!” the Wyvern Lord answers, still showing reverence to the man who once gave him his orders. That is, to his face, at the very least. Zephiel is not a man one wishes to anger, with his tenuous grip on sanity.
And yet the very sight of Ursula, the Blue Crow has enraged him. As their paths converge, the two men spread out, blocking the blue-haired assassin from progressing any further.
“What is the meaning of this?! Is there some grievance between us?” Ursula asks, her tone demanding. “I’ll have you know, harassing an assassin of my caliber does not end well.”
“Quite the tongue you’ve got there!” Narcian says, “But you should really watch how you speak to your betters.”
“Betters? You two?” she scoffs, “Unlikely. Now, stand aside before I make you stand aside.”
“Hmph. You truly don’t recognize me, then?” Zephiel says, his eyes darting up and down Ursula’s full figure. “I am Zephiel, King of Bern! All men will tremble at my name, as they’re eradicated in the flames of dragons.”
Sure enough, the name and title get a reaction out of Ursula. Her eye’s widen, then narrow in anger.
“Ah, yes. Zephiel. One of the ones that got away,” she says, venom dripping from her words. “Do you want me to rectify that, milord?”
“As if a washed up hag like you could manage such a feat!” Narcian says, backing up his former ruler, just like old times.
“What did you call me, you insignificant whelp?!” Ursula asks, taking a step towards the blonde. Before she can reach him, Zephiel’s fist collides with her head, the King of Bern moving surprisingly quickly considering his size and the full plate he wears.
The punch is enough to stagger the assassin, catching her completely off guard. Narcian is quick to spring forward, shoving her to the ground, rolling her face first, and straddling her. Though he isn’t as bulky as Zephiel, his weight is more than enough to pin the mage, who relies more on skill and magic than actual strength to end the lives of her targets.
Even knowing she’s pinned, she struggles, squirming beneath his weight with a desperate ferocity. That is, until Zephiel takes a step toward her, and places the heel of his boot against her neck. He pushes down, letting her know who is in control, until her struggles slowly cease.
“You have much to pay for, wretch,” he says, “Trading coin for lives is pathetic. Humanity is such a blight, and I can’t wait for it to be swept aside. For now, however, I’ll have to get rid of you myself.”
“You fool, it’s not as though we can truly die in this world,” Ursula spits, “What good is any of this?”
“I can make you wish you were dead,” Zephiel says, simply. “Do whatever you wish with her, Narcian.”
“Gladly, milord!” he answers, and the pushes his weight against Ursula’s prone body. She can feel, then, that he is hard, and it isn’t difficult to piece together what comes next for her. Sure enough, Narcian reaches down, freeing his cock, and then works quickly to yank Ursula’s panties aside beneath the revealing robes she prefers. He pushes the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling the heat of her sex against him, and Ursula can’t believe she’s allowed this to happen.
“Kiran will never accept this, you know,” she threatens, invoking the Summoner’s name as a trump card. “You’ll both be punished.”
“I believe we both know you lose most of your memory upon coming back,” Zephiel says, referring to the strange magic that keeps them from dying in Askr. “All that will linger is the pain, and you’ll likely think random enemies did this to you, not Narcian and myself.”
Ursula falls silent then, knowing Zephiel is right. Her silence doesn’t last long, however, as Narcian begins pushing into her. He is slow, but forceful, and each inch he shoves into her brings forth another whimper. Ursula can hardly stand the noises she makes, already showing such weakness before her attackers. She can feel Zephiel’s eyes burning a hole in her back, sense him thinking of what a failure she must be, whimpering like some child in the face of so little.
Ursula clamps her mouth shut, determined not to make any more noise. And as Narcian pushes in as deep as he can, she is amazed at how long she’s stayed silent. Even when he begins thrusting, starting out with a steady, rough pattern, she stays quiet. He picks up speed, and his grip on her hips grows firmer and firmer, but she remains silent. Narcian, however, continues savoring how tight her cunt is, even if she has managed to avoid growing wet with arousal so far.
It makes no difference to him, and she certainly wouldn’t be the first beauty he’s fucked into submission. Zephiel, however, seems annoyed by her silence. He kneels beside her head, grabbing her by the chin and forcing her to look up at him.
“If you’re going to remain quiet, this must not be bad enough for you. Is that it, you wretch?” he asks, squeezing her jaw.
“There’s… nothing you can do that I can’t take,” Ursula assures him, through gritted teeth.
“We’ll see about that,” he says, and his hand wraps around her throat. He squeezes, blocking off her air, and watches as her eyes go wide. Each second she goes without air, the thrusts from Narcian grow more intense. Zephiel’s grip is like iron, and Ursula can do nothing to wriggle away from it, cannot manage even the slightest gasp of air.
Unfortunately, the asphyxiation works against her efforts to resist. As she struggles to remain conscious, and her face begins turning the same blueish-purple as her hair, Narcian’s thrusts become more and more pleasurable. The man certainly knows what he’s doing, she must admit, but such thought is far from her mind now. All she can think of now is air, glorious air, and how badly she needs it. She looks up at Zephiel, eyes afire with her rage. She struggles, flailing her arms and hoping for any sort of purchase against the floor, his armor, anything.
But as her eyes lose focus, and her limbs go limp, Ursula knows she has no chance. Just as she begins to lose hope completely, Zephiel releases her. Her body reacts instantly, sucking in lungfuls of air greedily. The blurriness at the edges of her vision fades, as life-giving air flows through her once more. She can’t suppress the euphoria she feels at having her life in the hands of another, having it nearly yanked from her only to be returned at the last second. But that euphoria is quickly replaced by another, as Narcian’s thrusts push her over the edge.
Whatever ability Ursula had to resist was stripped away as Zephiel choked her, and now the assassin can do nothing but ride out the waves of pleasure she feels as climax crashes over her. The walls of her cunt tighten around Narcian, and the Wyvern Lord reaches his own climax, his seed spilling into her womb with no concern.
“Gods, you’re quite the fuck!” Narcian says, pulling out. “Even Narcian must admit, he’s not had much better than you.”
“And I doubt she’s had better than you, considering how easily you made her come. Pathetic, I thought you were a renowned assassin, not some worthless whore,” Zephiel says. “To think you nearly killed me all those years ago. Well, I’m no failure, ‘Blue Crow.’”
The King of Bern draws his greatsword, Eckesachs, and can practically feel the blade hungering for her blood. But how best to end her miserable life?
“Go on and help her up, Narcian. I would like her to meet her end on her feet,” Zephiel orders. “A luxury I doubt she gave many of her targets.”
Narcian rises, then, and tugs her up by her hair. He is far from gentle, and Ursula comes up cursing.
“As I said before, I’ll just come back. We can’t truly die here, you stubborn fool,” she says, yet her eyes betray fear. After all, none of them have died within the walls of the keep, only on the fields of battle. Perhaps there is something to where one dies, that none of them are aware of. In the midst of her thought, Zephiel swings his great blade.
It connects just below Ursula’s knee, easily severing her leg before travelling on to the next. The arc of the blade brings it lower, striking directly against the bone of her lower leg. The blade, coupled with Zephiel’s strength, makes short work of that as well, and Ursula topples to the floor once more, blood pouring from the ruins of her legs.
“Wha-” she cries out, but Zephiel is quick to raise his blade, only to turn it blade-down, and drive it into her toned stomach. It pierces her easily, before striking the floor. Zephiel twists the blade then, and Ursula feels a blinding pain as her guts are twisted with it. She turns her head, vomiting up blood and Gods know what else. In spite of herself, her bladder gives out amidst the intense pain, her piss pooling beneath her as Zephiel pulls his blade up once more.
He stands for a moment, watching her twitch and squirm as her life’s blood seeps out of her, joining the piss and vomit that surround the Blue Crow. It’s a good feeling, seeing the woman who once tried to end his life as she feels her own slip away. He turns the blade down once more, this time bringing it down slowly. The tip rests against her throat, and in spite of how weak she feels, Ursula manages to raise her hands, to grip the blade, as if to hold it at bay. Zephiel only scowls, pushing the blade down, rending the flesh of her palms as easily as paper, as Eckesachs travels through her neck, separating her head from her body.
Her body spasms, then, blood pouring from the openings he left. Narcian looks over the ruin of her body, shaking his head.
“Quite a waste, if you ask me,” he says, “She really was a good fuck.”
“You’re welcome to her now, Narcian,” Zephiel offers, “Though if she does return to life, I’m not sure how that would work with you inside her. Likely best to wait and see.”
“Yes, milord,” Narcian agrees, “And what do we do if she does come back? None of us have died within the walls of Askr’s keep, after all.”
“I feel generous. We’ll do this one or two more times, then let her go,” Zephiel says, “Perhaps that will teach her some manners.”
Delthea, Fire Emblem Echoes Shadows of Valentia
Non-con, snuff, asphyxiation, necro
Delthea pushes her brother a bit too far.
“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t just given up yet, Luthier. I mean, you’re such a lost cause, and all,” Delthea says, during one of her brother’s forced training sessions. He is taken aback, not sure what it is she’s referring to. He assumes she means his inferior magical prowess, which is an incredibly low blow coming from someone as naturally gifted as his little sister.
“Do you mean my aptitude with magic? I may have to work harder than you, but I’d hardly call myself a lost cause!” Luthier retorts, doing his best to remain calm. He is trying to get Delthea to actually study, after all, the only true lost cause he can think of.
“Oh, well, yeah, that too! But I meant why do you bother trying to make friends? Nobody likes you, you’re so boring even at your best,” Delthea says, her tone one of brutal honesty. “And good luck ever finding a girlfriend. After the war, I’m going to go off to a big city, and find a handsome husband, and you’ll just be stuck back in the village.”
“I… W-what?” Luthier says, unsure of where this sudden venom is coming from. “Why would you say something like that?”
“It’s just the truth, y’know. You’re so lame, especially when you drag me off to practice magic like this. Like I need your help, I’m so much more gifted,” Delthea says, grinning wickedly. Luthier feels his rage boiling up, threatening to overflow. Still, he clenches his teeth, doing his best to contain it. Lashing out won’t do him any good, as he’s learned countless times with his precocious little sister.
“You know as well as I that women carry our family’s magic better, there’s nothing I can do about that,” he argues, “But you could still do with being a bit more grateful. I’ve done my best to care for both of us, and… my training has at least done something, right?”
“Nope, it’s been pretty useless. And you really call what you’ve done ‘caring for us?’” Delthea says, still pulling no punches. “More like barely scraping by. It’s pathetic, honestly, you should have gotten us out of that stupid, boring village! But I guess you liked it because it’s just like you, stupid and boring! It took me getting captured to get you to leave, and now you just feel obligated to help the Deliverance. You’re pathetic!”
Something in Luthier snaps, then. Delthea stands before him, looking up at him with borderline revulsion, and he can’t stand the look on those otherwise adorable features. He grabs her, and slams her down, onto the sturdy table that hold his notes and study materials. Things she was always so quick to dismiss.
“B-brother?” she manages to squeak, her features suddenly twisted by fear and pain. But his hands wrap around her slender neck, and any further words are lost in her desperate fight for air. She begins to flail, arms waving, legs kicking, sending his books and papers fluttering around the tent, but Luthier’s grip stays firm. His little sister’s eyes lock on his, finally showing the slightest shred of repentance as her face grows redder and redder.
“Who’s pathetic now, Delthea?” he asks, his tone surprising her. There’s so much hate in it, her struggles cease for a moment. Has she really driven him this far? Made him despise her so much that he can strangle her, staring his little sister in the eyes as he ends her life? She suddenly wishes she could take it all back, apologize to him. Plead with him, do anything to convince him to give her another chance.
But all of her chances have been used up. Luthier’s grip does not slacken in the slightest, until his sister’s struggles slow, grow feeble, and finally stop. Even then, he doesn’t let go. He holds on for a few moments more, watching her face shift from red to blue, the spark of life in her eyes fade as her life slips away. Delthea’s last thoughts are of how sorry she is, how she should have been more grateful to the brother who gave her his best. She’s far too gone to notice her bladder failing, and the stream of hot piss that escapes her, pooling beneath her on the heavy table.
Finally, Luthier lets go. He stands over her body, panting from the effort of holding her down. With her small, feebly body, it was no real trouble. As he looks over his sister’s corpse, Luthier suddenly notices how hard he is. Somewhere between slamming her onto the table and choking the life from her, from her horrified expression the the puddle of piss her body now rests in, he was aroused. Of course, he’s always noticed what a fantastic body his little sister has, just another way fate favored her, but now… now that’s all his.
With shaking hands, he lifts her skirt, exposing more of her pale thighs than he’s ever seen before. He feels himself twitch as her panties are exposed, soaked as they are with her piss. He tugs at her panties, tearing the fabric and exposing her folds. He works quickly, then, pulling himself free from his robes. If he’s going to do this, he’d prefer her to still be warm.
He climbs onto the table as well, positioning himself on top of his sister’s body. It’s easy for him to line himself up, to press the tip of his cock against her cunt, something he’s sure he never could have done were she still alive. The very idea of fucking his sister’s is something he’s never thought of, but it’s enough to drive him mad now.
“You’re mine, Delthea,” he mutters, as he thrusts into her, moaning weakly once he’s in. “You’re pathetic, and you’re all mine…”
The mage doesn’t hold back, as he begins fucking her body frantically. This is his first time, after all, and Luthier knows nothing of pacing as he pushes his cock in and out of her tight body, savoring the warmth, and the tightness of his sister’s cunt as she clings to his cock. It takes him no time at all to reach his climax, to spill his seed into her, adding a bit more warmth to the rapidly-cooling body. He collapses on top of her, then, as the weight of what he’s done finally settles in.
She’s really gone. The sister he’s worked so hard to care for, to raise, who’s always been such a pain. So ungrateful, so rude to him, and so much more gifted than he. There’s guilt, yes, but beneath that is a sick sort of accomplishment. He finally has some peace and quiet, now, and quite the prize to enjoy it with. He feels himself growing hard again, looking over her empty expression, her spread legs, and wonders how many times he can fuck her before someone comes looking for them.
Kagero, Fire Emblem Fates
Non-con, gangbang, bound.
Not technically guro or snuff, though I might add that later. This is the Kagero fic, in which Kotaro and his men have their way with her while they have her captured.
The room’s heavy door slides open, scraping across the floor as it does. Torchlight floods the dark prison cell, casting light upon the bound ninja within. Kagero raises her head, her eyes meeting those of her captors. To her annoyance, she is forced to look up at them, as the ropes that hold her in place have her bent forward, an incredibly uncomfortable position that is made all the worse by the aches and pains of their efforts to subdue her.
Since she was captured, Kagero has been bound and gagged in this dark cell. Her arms are suspended above her, yet tug her forward into a bent position, while her legs are shackled to the floor behind her. At first, she had struggled, but all that won her were some scrapes from the shackles, and some new aches for her exhausted muscles. Eventually, she fell into a restless sleep, dozing as the time passed.
Now, however, she is awake, and alert. The light stings her eyes, as does the smoke that follows it, but Kagero does her best to keep her gaze locked on their eyes, refusing to show any weakness to the traitors who had captured her.
“Well, well, well,” Kotaro says, sizing up his trophy. He approaches her, placing his fingers on her chin and turning her face from side to side. “Seems my men didn’t embellish. You’re certainly a fine prize. Retainer to Prince Ryoma himself, if I’m not mistaken. And, as any good trophy, easy on the eyes.”
Kagero groans in frustration, the gag making any attempt at speech impossible. She turns her head away, forcibly, though the strength in his grip makes that difficult. In response, Kotaro draws back, and slaps her across the face, hard enough to leave her dazed for a few seconds.
“You need to learn your place,” he says, smirking. “I’m sure Garon would pay us a pretty penny for such a valuable prisoner, and I’d prefer to keep you in good shape. Though, if I had to guess, ‘alive’ will be good enough for him. Anything beyond that is… well, it’s up to you, isn’t it?”
Kagero’s eyes widen, as she catches Kotaro’s meaning. She is well aware that she is completely at their mercy, and doesn’t need to watch his eyes drift over her body slowly, lingering on her breasts… on her thighs… or to watch as his men practically salivate at the sight of her, to know what it is they want.
There is a brief flash of movement from the traitorous ninja, and Kotaro is holding a wicked blade. He presses the edge against her neck, pressing just hard enough that she can feel the steep biting into her.
“Honestly, even if I bring nothing more than your head to him, we'll still get a nice reward,” he says, keeping the pressure of the knife steady. “So keep that in mind, if you're wanting to try anything.”
In response, Kagero only groans into the gag, unable to speak even if she wanted to. She knows the obvious of her situation, and doesn’t need such a pointless explanation. Of course, Kotaro seems to enjoy showboating like this, going on and on in front of his audience, when they all know as well as Kagero what is to come. He has a horrible personality for a ninja, to be sure, but such an analysis is probably a waste of time in a situation like this.
“I’d like to think you know your place,” he says, as he lifts the blade, leaving a thin, red line on her neck. “And now, it’s time to break in our lovely little trophy.”
Kagero shakes her head, unable to fight back a slight panic as things finally begin to come to a head. She tries to plead, though her gag makes the effort futile. Of course, even without the offending fabric, Kotaro would not have been swayed by any of her efforts to bargain or plead. Even hearing her attempt was enough to thrill him, making an already exciting prospect all the more enticing. First, he reaches down, cupping one of Kagero’s breasts as it hangs beneath her, feeling especially weighty considering her position.
He tests the weight, appreciating just how large she is for a woman so skilled, and who usually sticks to the shadows. Kagero strains against her bonds, desperately trying to shy away from his touch, but her captor only clicks his tongue in amusement.
“You might as well settle in, you know,” he says, slipping his hand beneath her shirt. He grips one breast, and tugs it out into the open air, causing her to whimper. He then yanks her shirt down the rest of the way, exposing the other as well. “After all, things are just getting started.”
The men arrayed around Kagero begin to shift, as they watch their leader toy with the beautiful woman. None of them move, yet, as Kotaro has obviously claimed her first experiences for himself. But they fidget, and many of them move their hands to the increasingly obvious bulges between their legs. Kagero feels her face growing hot, knowing that it’s her body causing such a reaction. And knowing what will eventually come from it.
“Ha, watching my boys back there? Don’t worry about them yet. Right now, it’s just me and you. And trust me, I’m more than enough,” Kotaro says, groping her with one hand, and rolling her nipple between two fingers. “Think of them as more of a little… bonus, after you and me are done.”
Kagero is sure she will think of them as many things, but a “bonus” is surely not on the list. But as Kotaro toys with her, she can’t dwell much on that. The man has a ridiculously good technique, and Kagero cannot deny the pleasure she feels at his skillful hands teasing her nipples. The ninja’s only other experience was with Saizo, and while that had been consensual, he had none of the finesse or skill that Kotaro already shows. But Kagero will not show any sign of weakness to that touch, she cannot.
Yet, there’s an undeniable warmth spreading through her body, and it makes the ninja feel ashamed to even acknowledge it. However, Kotaro quickly grows tired of trying to tease pleasure out of her, while gaining none for himself. He lowers his hand, freeing his cock from his pants. Unsurprisingly, it is hard, and ready for whatever her has in mind. Kagero can’t help but wince, and groan at the sight of him, and how plainly eager he is for what’s to come.
“Now, I wonder… what’s the best way to warm up with a trophy like you?” he says, as he circles around her, sizing her up like a horse at market. Once behind her, he lifts the bottom of her outfit, revealing her ass and panties to the men behind him. They make appreciative sounds, as he smacks her, hard enough to make her flesh jiggle slightly, and to make her whimper into the gag. “I’d love to focus on some time back here… but maybe I’ll save that for later.”
Kotaro circles back around, standing before Kagero. She looks up at him, anger plain on her face. She is annoyed, as he slowly but surely exposes more of her body, and now watches his eyes linger on her breasts once more. She wonders if he’s changed his mind, and will continue toying with her after all. With how good it was beginning to feel, she hopes not, but with how long it’s been…
Suddenly, his knife flashes once more. He cuts the rope holding her arms up, but still leaves her wrists bound together. Kagero falls forward, onto her knees, then spills further forward, hitting the ground with a grunt. Kotaro’s men chuckle, and Kagero feels the heat of embarrassment rushing to her cheeks.
“Some ninja, huh, men? She can hardly even stand up without a rope holding her.” Kotaro says, sneering. “‘Course, she is kinda top-heavy, huh? Not that that’s a bad thing, of course. Not for what I have in mind.”
Kagero cries out, the sound muffled by the gag, as Kotaro grabs her by the ponytail, pulling her up onto her knees. He keeps lifting her, making sure she’s straining to raise her chest as high as possible. When he finally releases her, Kagero nearly falls back down, but knows it would only mean more ridicule, and likely more pain as well. With Kagero on her knees, however, the ninja is the perfect height. Her chest lines up perfectly with Kotaro’s crotch, even if the position is incredibly uncomfortable as she stretches to reach him.
The traitorous ninja chuckles, as he reaches down, cupping one of her heavy breasts in each hand. Holding them, he slides his cock in between the warm flesh, then begins to press her breasts together. Kagero’s eyes widen, she’s never seen nor heard of anything this strange before. The feeling of shock, and strange violation, only spreads as he begins thrusting himself in and out of her chest, the heat of his cock surprisingly pleasant against her flesh.
That is, until he picks up speed, and the roughness of his motions begin to take a toll on both of them.
“Ah, hell, one of you brought some lube, right?” he asks his men.
“Yeah, boss, I've got some,” one of them answers, handing him a small jar.
“Excellent, thank you,” Kotaro says, taking the jar. He unscrews the lid, and scoops out some of the slippery substance, causing a strange squelching noise. He then slathers it on to Kagero’s breasts, enjoying the disgusted look on her face as the lubricant is rubbed onto her, making her glisten in the torchlight.
Once he's got her adequately covered, he slides his cock between her tits once more, and begins fucking her in earnest. This time, the lubricant keeps it from being painful, and instead makes it absolutely incredible. Kotaro can feel the warmth of her breasts, as he squeezes them around his cock, and savors the look of bewilderment on the ninja’s face. Focusing on that face, he picks up the pace, thrusting faster, harder, until he's finally there. With a groan, he comes, one thick strand of his seed landing on top of her breasts as he pulls out.
The rest, he aims at her face, purposefully letting it hit her bangs, her eyes, her mouth, trying his best to coat her pretty face in the hot, sticky liquid. Kagero feels the eyes of the men surrounding her, taking in the sight of her humiliation, and loving it. She feels so degraded already, as they begin to catcall, and knows that things are only just starting. As if to emphasize this, Kotaro tugs at the rope that binds her hands, attaching it to the ceiling once more. He positions it so that she is bent forward again, but even further than before this time. She’s nearly doubled over, an exceedingly uncomfortable position, but one which her bonds hold her in.
The position is one which leaves her open, as well, and Kotaro walking behind her is an easy reminder of that. Especially as she feels his knife slice at her panties, nicking her slightly in the process, and then feels her panties falling to the floor.
“Lucky for you, I’m gonna need a little rest,” Kotaro says, and his men begin to get a little antsy. “That does mean you guys, gotta hang out for a bit longer. I still get first dibs with her, here, too. But, what kind of man doesn’t… well, warm a lady up first?”
And with a cruel smirk, Kotaro runs his finger along the length of Kagero’s entrance, pressing into her folds gently. Unsurprisingly, she’s dry, not aroused in the slightest by the way he’s been using her body. Of course, if he has his way, that is about to change. He slowly presses his finger into her, showing a surprising amount of gentleness considering the situation. Kagero cannot help but groan into the gag, though, a mixture of her shame and her annoyance mingling. In spite of herself, with how slowly, gently, Kotaro is toying with her… Kagero feels minor traces of pleasure. Those traces build upon each other, as he slips his finger in and out of her, occasionally hooking it within her.
After a few moments, he earns a legitimate moan from the woman who prides herself on staying quiet. Her face grows even redder, as the men surrounding her catcall in response, taunting her for enjoying herself. She focuses, ignoring them, trying to keep her body from betraying her. Kotaro pulls his finger out, and Kagero allows herself a brief moment of hope. But it would seem Kotaro is only spurred on by her cry, and he kneels down behind her. He brings his face closer, closer, until Kagero can feel his breath on her cunt.
She takes a deep breath, knowing what is to come, and trying to steady her nerves. Then, he presses his mouth against her folds, driving his tongue into her. Kagero bites down on the gag, hard, trying to stay silent, but as the man explores her it grows harder and harder. His tongue feels so wet, so hot as it is buried into her again and again, seeking out her most sensitive spots and teasing at them. Kagero can’t help but hate how good it feels, as if her own body is betraying her. She should be hating this; scum like Kotaro pleasuring her, with his men watching her? It is disgusting… but her arousal only rises, as he continues his efforts. He presses his thumb into her folds, as he begins tracing shapes within her, and uses it to seek out her clit, pressing against it, teasing at it.
Before long, Kagero’s had just about all she can take. Her moans come more and more frequently, and the pleasure she feels overwrites the shame. At least, partially, she still cringes each time one of her audience calls out to her. But she is pushed closer and closer to her limit, until finally, the ninja is there. Her eyes roll back, as she cries out, a pathetic, muffled moan, her legs trembling from her climax. Were it not for the ropes holding her, she might have lost her footing, but her bonds ensure that won’t happen.
Kotaro pulls back from her, snickering softly. “Pretty good, huh? Don’t bother denying it, I tasted your arousal plain enough. Not to mention that little climax you had, eh? I bet you’re feeling pretty fucking awful now, huh? Coming like that, to me, in front of all these guys?”
Kagero tries her best to keep her head high, and to avoid the gaze of any of the men in the room. Of course, he’s right. She can’t believe he was able to force her to come, to make her own body betray her. It took a lot of effort, to be sure, but the idea still sickens her. She doesn’t have much time to dwell on that, however, before she hears the sound of Kotaro stroking himself.
“Ah, that was plenty of time to rest. Now, I think it’s time for the main event, don’t you?” Kotaro asks, approaching Kagero from behind, and placing his hands on her hips. The ninja shakes her head, frantically, knowing what’s going to come next. And knowing that he won’t hold back, in any regard, even with her pleading (as much as she can, at least) for him to stop.
He presses the tip of his cock against her, rubbing it into the folds of her cunt, still wet with his saliva and her own fluids. He continues teasing her, guiding it along the length of her entrance, pushing in for a second, only to pull back. After what feels like an eternity of this, Kagero almost wishes he’d get on with it. The teasing is playing havoc with her, much to her shame, and she just wants it to be over with.
That is, naturally, until he grants her wish. With a sudden grunt, he pulls himself into her, thrusting in rough, without any warning. Kagero whimpers in pain, not expecting the thrust in spite of his teasing. Though it is not her first time, it has been quite some time, and the ninja is not at all used to the feeling of him filling her. Of the hard heat of his cock being shoved inside, with no regard for the pain it causes her. Yet, with how wet Kagero is, it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it could have, even as he begins to fuck her in earnest.
He thrusts in, and out, picking up speed with each motion, with each sound he earns from his trophy, and Kotaro is really getting into it. His men watch, eager for their own turn, as he fucks her, savoring the tightness of her cunt, the feeling of her walls squeezing around him as he rams into her, over and over. After a moment, Kagero’s cries begin to shift. Soon, they’re not just from pain. There is pleasure there as well, and the ninja hates herself for it. But he just keeps pushing into her, his cock rubbing against her with each thrust, his flesh slapping against hers, and it’s been so long since she had anything like this.
“Can’t believe… you’re enjoying this too…” he says, between his own grunts of pleasure. “Men, are we sure we… didn’t catch a whore instead of… a ninja?”
At that, Kagero hangs her head. He’s right, after all. If she’s brought low by something this base, this awful, then perhaps there is something wrong with her. Perhaps she doesn’t deserve to be retainer to Prince Ryoma, or to anyone. And if she feels it anyway, should she hold back? For a moment, she struggles against her own resolve, nearly giving in to the pleasure she feels. Kotaro can sense how close she is, both to coming once more, and to breaking. But, somehow, Kagero holds on. She won’t break, not to him and not yet. This was all forced on her, and whether or not she enjoys it is not her fault.
She keeps that in mind, as Kotaro forces his way in deeper, deeper, until he’s gone as far as he can. Kagero can feel him ramming into her, fucking her rough, fast, hard, and she knows he doesn’t give a damn about her pleasure, only his own, and yet that somehow does not ruin the feeling. Kotaro does, however, finish before her. He thrusts into her, driving himself in to the hilt, and groans as he lets go. Kagero doesn’t even register what he’s done, until she feels the heat of his seed pour into her.
Before she has a chance to think of even that, the pleasant sensation of his come pushes her past her limit once more, causing her to cry out, and tip back her head. But as it dawns on her what that feeling means, Kagero begins groaning, trying desperately to speak through the gag. Of course, Kotaro couldn’t care less. He pulls out, moaning with satisfaction as he does.
“That was incredible. Whoever had you sure was a lucky guy, you whore,” Kotaro taunts. “I would love another round, honestly, but my men here are about to lose it. I can’t say I’m sure I’ll want one after they’re done with you, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
And with a snap of his fingers, the men come forward, as he walks out of the cell, closing the door behind him. The slamming of that door has a certain finality, one which Kagero hates instantly. Most of the men already have their cocks in hand, having been pumping away at them slowly as they watched, staying in the mood until it was their turn. Now, horrifically, their turn is here. Kagero feels pure, blind panic as they close in on her, too many for her to count reliably given her circumstances. And each and every one of them as lustful and eager as Kotaro was. It’s only a few seconds before she feels another set of hands on her hips, another cock pressing against her. The man who claims her first, however, is bigger than Kotaro. Much bigger. But that size does nothing to dissuade him, as he shoves himself into her.
Kagero can only whimper, muffled as it is, while he fucks her. The large man takes her harder and faster than even Kotaro, with the ninja feeling nothing but pain as he slams into her, over and over and over, straining both her ankles and her wrists each time she’s pushed against her binds. Another of the men takes a stand before her, slipping his cock between her breasts just like Kotaro had, squeezing them together and allowing the larger man’s motions to push her, pleasuring him in the process. The rest of the men close in, groping her when they can, touching her, rubbing her. Many of them tear at or cut her clothes, leaving her completely nude in seconds.
Though she is their prisoner, and the men could take turns with her as long as they desire, many of them are impatient. Several begin jacking off on her, picking any patch of skin they enjoy, and pleasuring themselves to her pathetic sounds. One even takes her ponytail in hand, wrapping the smooth hair around his cock, and using it to pleasure himself. Still others want more from her, and begin contemplating cutting her bonds. If they free her hands, she can touch them. If they take off her gag, they can fuck her throat.
Several of the men place their hands on her, supporting her, while one cuts the rope at her wrist. Were it not for her attackers holding her up, Kagero would surely tip over, especially with that hulking man fucking her, driving her to new levels of discomfort with each thrust. Two men grab her wrists, forcing her to take their cocks in hand, and begin pumping up and down their length. The man using her hair seems so thrilled by it, that he hardly lasts a moment, before he groans weakly, his come spilling into the dark strands, matting them together. He is followed by several other impatient men, who aim their loads onto her as well. Unfortunately, the feeling of come landing on her skin will become quite familiar in the time to come, she thinks.
Next, is the man fucking her tits, who does not even slow his efforts as he finishes, allowing his seed to coat the skin between her breasts, and splatter onto the floor beneath her. When he backs off, another man takes his place, and rips the gag from her. He does this just as the large man thrusts into her, and comes, adding his own seed to Kotaro’s. The heat filling her once more causes Kagero to groan, and the sound is clear as a bell without her gag. Of course, the gag is quickly replaced with a man’s cock, as another man moves in behind her. This one, however, seeks new territory.
Kagero nearly blanks, as she feels her cheeks being spread, and the tip of a cock press against her ass. In her panic, she flails, trying to gain her freedom, but the myriad hands that grip her are too strong. It earns her nothing, but a swift kick from below, catching her in the stomach. Then, he’s forcing his way in. The man uses nothing, not the lube they brought, nor Kagero’s fluids, nor even his own spit, ramming into her dry. It is hellishly painful, his cock thrusting into her, and Kagero knows it can’t be pleasant for him either. She tries to beg, to plead, but the man fucking her throat gives her no chance, being equally as rough as his ally.
Before long, however, both of the men have reached their limits. The one taking her from behind keeps fucking her, even as his seed spills into her ass, only stopping when one of his comrades pulls him off of her, wanting their own turn. The one in her throat pulls out, all but the tip, and begins to stroke himself. Kagero’s eyes widen, knowing his intent, and sure enough, he finishes, all of his seed landing on her tongue. She coughs, and sputters, the cloying taste overwhelming her as his seed slips out of her mouth, running down her chin and onto the ground. He slams his fist down on the back of her head, causing her vision to swim with stars.
“You’ll swallow like the whore you are, next time,” he orders, and Kagero mumbles an assent. Sadly, she can hardly manage to speak after the way he abused her throat, and he can hardly hear her. “Louder.”
“I… understand…” she murmurs, and he shakes his head.
“Worthless…” he mutters, and wraps his hands around her throat. By now, another man has sidled up behind her, and begins fucking her. The feeling is growing familiar by now, however, and the fingers pushing her windpipe are much more of a concern to the ninja. The man squeezes her neck harder, harder, until she can’t breathe, then just watches her, staring into her eyes as he chokes her. She begins flailing once more, or rather, attempting to. Her captors still hold her steady, watching eagerly as she’s choked out. Time seems to stretch by, seconds becoming minutes, until finally, finally, Kagero’s consciousness abandons her. The man finally lets go, allowing her exhausted body to breathe on its own, though Kagero remains out cold.
After that, their efforts only ramp up. They shift her through positions, each of the men getting to do whatever they imagine with her, so long as they take turns, and don’t mind how absolutely sloppy she’s getting, covered in come and whatever else their desires might entail. Her cunt and ass are each filled countless times, along with her mouth, and likely even her stomach is full of come by the end of it. By the time Kagero comes to, the room is empty, and dark once more. She is lying on the cold, hard floor, in a puddle of whatever bodily fluids they left her, the warmth of their passions long since gone. Yet, she knows, if help does not come soon, she’ll be subjected to this again.
Know Your Place
Julia, Fire Emblem Genealogy of the Holy War, Fire Emblem Heroes
Non-con, bloodletting, stabbing, snuff
Berkut misses Rinea, stranded as he is in the world of Askr. But he happens upon Julia, and decides to have a little fun.
Being away from the intrigues of the Rigelian empire is, to be sure, a blessing in disguise. Sure, there is a slight chance Berkut could be replaced while he is away, if time even passes in such a way back in Valentia, but with no control over the situation, the prince decides to cope however he can. Though, admittedly, he misses Rinea quite dearly. Often, he finds himself toying with the engagement ring he keeps on his person, remembering the softness of her touch, the light of her smile. It’s enough to make him furious.
It takes some cruel gods indeed to separate the two of them, and Berkut vows to make them pay some day. For now, however, he does his best to wander the halls of the Askrian castle, hoping to avoid the other “heroes” that are really nothing more than common riffraff. Commoners, who deign to speak to him? It’s horribly offensive.
Of course, those that hurry past him, hardly daring to make eye contact, are somehow more offensive.
Julia knows nothing of the man who shares the hall with her. Once suffering from amnesia, such a lack of familiarity should be, in itself, familiar. But the dark haired young man fills her with a certain dread; as if the malice that oozes out of him chills the very air of the hall. She keeps her eyes down, walking past him without a word. Perhaps it is rude, but something about him simply doesn’t sit right with her.
Once she is past him, however, she notices that the heavy sound of his footfalls stops. It was an aggressive sound, weighty boots on a stone floor, and the absence is oppressive in and of itself. Still, Julia keeps walking. Surely another member of the Order of Heroes would leave her be, correct? What business does he have with her anyway? But then, his voice rings out.
“Not so much as an ‘Evening, milord?’” he asks, his tone accusatory. “This place is so damnably backward. Nobody knows their place at all, commoners like yourself stroll around without a shred of dignity.”
“Uhm… I’m actually of noble birth…” Julia corrects him, not turning back to face him.
“And yet you’re timid as a mouse. Your birth means nothing if you don’t live up to it. If you act like some timid little tavern wench, that’s all you deserve to be, isn’t it?” he asks, closing the distance between them.
“I’m… I’m not sure I follow,” Julia says, finally turning. By the time she does, Berkut is within arm’s reach, and he grips her shoulder tightly. His nails dig into her, even through her robes, and he looks her up and down. There’s a certain panic in her eyes, and Berkut feels a stirring within him. Perhaps Rinea is worlds away, but this woman has him in the mood for a different sort of entertainment anyway.
“I’m just saying, no noble is as timid as you. If they are, they deserve their title stripped from them. What’s your name, anyway?” he asks, an innocent question as he shoves her against the wall. Berkut feels himself growing more and more excited, the more he toys with this timid woman. Soon, she’ll know her place.
“J-Julia,” she says, coughing as she tries to catch her breath. Berkut is far from gentle, and the impact forced the air from her lungs.
“No title? Hmph, of course not. I am Berkut, heir to the throne of RIgel and nephew of Emperor Rudolf. You would do well to remember my name, wretch,” he introduces himself, tone brokering no argument. At the end, he slams his body against hers, crushing her against the wall and driving the air from her lungs once more. He outweighs her considerably, a combination of his training and his armor, and Julia is sure she felt something crack.
The impact leaves her sputtering and coughing once more, and panic begins to seize her. WIth how close he is, and how dazed she already is, it isn’t likely that Julia can escape. Gifted mage though she may be, Berkut has the advantage in close quarters. Her expression shifts, and Berkut grins down at her as he notices the fear in her eyes.
That is, until her fear leads to something else. Julia is suddenly very much aware of how full her bladder is, and how incapable she is of controlling it in her panic. With a soft whimper, she gives in to her fear, and a hissing sound fills the hall as her hot piss streams down her legs, dampening her robes on its way. Berkut can smell it immediately, and his grin turns into a grimace.
“I knew you were a baseless commoner posing as a noble, but Gods. Pissing yourself? In front of a prince?” Berkut asks, appalled. “Have you no shame whatsoever?!”
“I… I’m sorry, it was an-” Julia begins, but Berkut has already reared back his mailed fist, and it strikes her stomach before she can finish speaking. He steps back, then, allowing her to double over in pain. Julia struggles for a moment, overwhelmed by pain, as stomach rolls from the blow. She begins to wretch, the contents of her stomach trying to force themselves out, and she desperately tries to swallow them back down. It’s no use, however, and the mess beneath her grows.
“Gods, utterly disgusting,” Berkut mutters, “I think it’s about time we relocate, since you’ve soiled this otherwise acceptable hallway, hm?”
And he drags her to his quarters, which are luckily close enough that no one notices them.
“P-please… why are you doing this?” Julia asks, as her ties her other wrist, tightly, to the bedframe.
“You need to learn your place,” he answers, “and I’m eager to show you just how beneath me you are.”
By now, her piss-soaked robes have been cut away, and Julia lies naked on Berkut’s bed. His eyes flit over her with a hungry edge to them, and he finds himself eager to become more intimate with his prey. A part of him feels guilty, wondering what Rinea would say of this, but… Rinea is far from here, and he has to fill the void somehow.
“But… we’re not enemies. I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this…” Julia continues, hoping she can reason with her captor. What she’s already been through was horrifying, but… what seems to be coming next can’t be any better.
“Would you ask why a predator hunts its prey? The predator has a need, and the prey satisfies that need. This is nothing more than that, and resisting your better won’t do you any good,” Berkut says, and Julia struggles feebly against the ropes that bind her wrists and ankles. The knots are far too tight, however, and the ropes too strong. The mage has no chance of escape, until Berkut sees fit to free her.
“Please…” she says, but Berkut only smiles down at her. Though a smile from such a handsome man would usually carry warmth, Berkut’s only bears malice. Something about the hungry look in his eyes, the way he seems to savor whatever is coming… it sends a chill down Julia’s spine. And as he climbs into the bed with her, kneeling down between her legs, Julia’s heart begins to race. He adjusts her binds, spreading her legs easily, and she can feel his eyes on her.
She’s never been this bare before a man, and it’s enough to fill her with shame all on its own. But the way he toyed with her before dragging her here, the way he trussed her up like this, it all makes it so much worse. And as his lips touch her thigh, nipping at her gently, Julia can’t help but cry out.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she asks, but Berkut doesn’t so much as pause. He works his way closer and closer to her entrance, and Julia suddenly finds the room growing warm. Hot, even. The air was cold on her bare skin only moments ago, but now there’s a heat spreading through her, starting between her legs, where Berkut finally presses his mouth.
With skillful precision, he buries his tongue in her, exploring her eagerly, filling her with a damp heat. Julia strains against her bonds, wriggling as much as she can under his touch, hating how incredible it feels, like nothing she’s felt before. Sure, she has touched herself in the past, once while thinking of her half-brother, though at the time she had no idea of the truth of his birth, but this was something else entirely. Berkut’s tongue was much more flexible than her fingers, and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Still, Julia did her best to hold back, biting her lip and balling up her hands, digging her nails into her palms to distract herself.
As his tongue brushes against her clit, however, nothing can take her mind from the pleasure she feels. Julia cries out, her own body betraying her, and Berkut focuses on her clit, eager to have found her weakest point. In only a moment, she’s panting, hardly able to think straight, let alone plead for her freedom.
“You claim to be of noble birth, yet you’re panting like a bitch in heat in just a few moments,” Berkut says, his voice muffled as he makes no effort to pull back, the feeling of his words bringing its own pleasure. “Absolutely pathetic, you were meant to be a whore, hm?”
Is he right? Julia thinks, unable to speak as her body is pushed closer and closer to the edge. It feels so good, I… I can’t even begin to resist…
Berkut pushes her even harder, and in only a few seconds, Julia is over the edge, her nails digging into her palms deeply enough to draw blood as she cries out. It’s amazing, better than anything she’s felt before, and Julia finds herself craving more even as she hates the feeling. Hates how it feels as though her own body is betraying her, making her enjoy something so awful. Berkut rises, then, looking over her once more.
“So? I suppose you are a whore then, aren’t you?” he asks, “Don’t cling to nobility if you’re this pathetic. Any true noble would have resisted me. At least for a moment, but you gave in like it was nothing. You truly are below my station, slut.”
“I… I guess I am... “ Julia admits, each of his words heavy as a stone.
“Well, I have no use for a whore,” Berkut says, reaching for his belt, movements almost too quick for Julia to follow. When his hand pulls away, he wields a small dagger, and she feels a brief flash of hope as he moves the blade towards the rope at her wrist. Though a small part of her wants to experience more, she knows being set free would be a blessing, and Julia finds herself praying for her freedom.
It’s a surprise when the cold steel presses against the flesh of her wrist. Berkut pushes down, dragging the blade through the flesh of her wrist so quickly the pain doesn’t sink in for a moment. He switches sides, and slits her other wrist as well. Julia cries out, a mix of pain and horror, as she feels her life’s blood seeping out of her with each frantic beat of her heart. Tears begin streaming down her face, and a chill begins to sink in.
Berkut still gazes down at her, and the prideful prince reaches down, freeing his cock from his trousers. She is surprised to see he’s hard, and wonders if he gets some sick pleasure out of this. Out of the way her blood pours onto the bed, staining the sheets and spreading out beneath them. He pushes the tip of his cock against her entrance, enjoying how wet she is from his earlier efforts. He thrusts into her, making no effort to be gentle, and the feeling is enough to drag Julia back to clarity.
It doesn’t last long, however, as more and more of her blood leaves her body. The feeling of him fucking her, thrusting in and out of her, grows more and more distant with each passing second, as her eyes lose their focus.
I’m going to die, she thinks, mind grappling with the horrifying fact. Of course, it isn’t the first time the mage has met her end in the world of Askr, but this is different. Death before was so sudden, so quick, her attacker nothing more than a foe on the battlefield. But this is so close, so drawn out, Julia can hardly comprehend it. Will she come back? Or is the magic that revives them on the field of battle not present in the castle? Only time will tell.
Berkut’s wicked grin fills her vision, his piercing gaze seeming to see right through her, until it all fades away. The last sensation Julia experiences is a sudden heat filling her body, something she has never felt before, and can’t place for the life of her. All she knows is it’s a pleasant feeling, and offsets the chill she feels nicely. Then, her eyes flutter shut, and she fades away.
Berkut comes inside of her, just before she fades away, grunting softly as he watches the life drain from her eyes. He pauses, looking over the mess that is his bed. The prince hopes his theory is correct, or this night’s about to be nothing but a lot of boring clean-up. Still, it might be a long wait as he tests the limits of their resurrection. Luckily he has a fine toy in Julia’s body, and he reaches up, cupping one of her still warm breasts as he begins thrusting into her once more.
She might not clench up around him, or squirm as he pushes into her, but the heat of her body is still pleasant. She’s no Rinea, of course, but she will at least while away a night. Especially if she does come back, and he gets to go through the whole process again. Berkut honestly can’t say if he’d rather her come back, or stay dead, but for now, fucking her corpse is enough.
Julia’s blood seems to drain out of the bed, flowing back into her wounds, which seal up clean, not even leaving the faintest of scars. Her eyes open, a serene calm there, as if she’s waking up from a deep sleep. But when her vision comes into focus, she notices something is horribly wrong. This isn’t her room. She can’t move… she’s completely bare… and there’s an unfamiliar man holding a wicked looking lance.
“Welcome back, whore. You and I are going to have a lot of fun tonight, hm?” Berkut says, and vague memories bubble up from the still groggy depths of her mind. A flash of steel, blood pouring from her wrists, his body against hers, in hers, and Julia screams. That is, until the tip of his lance presses into her throat, silencing her as it rends her flesh. Berkut laughs, then, watching her gurgle and thrash as she chokes on her own blood. “We’re certainly going to have fun, Julia.”
Lilina, Fire Emblem the Binding Blade, Fire Emblem Heroes
Non-con, combat gore
Lilina has seen many people die since she was pulled into the realm of Askr, both friend and foe. But now she faces an opponent she hoped she'd never cross.
Fighting for the Order of Heroes meant seeing all sorts of faces. Sometimes, it was a hero of legend. Sometimes, an old ally. Other times, an old enemy. But always, always, a surprise. Lilina loved seeing all that she could, and it was quite thrilling for the young mage. So far, she hadn’t encountered anyone exceedingly close to her, but a part of her was looking forward to it.
That is, until Lady Cecilia came bearing down on her, fearsome magics at the ready, and Lilina was forced to unleash her own fire magic against her former teacher. It was a gruesome sight, seeing what the spells left behind, even knowing that Cecilia would not truly die, and would instead return to life at the end of the battle, or return home. Though any time Lilina thought of Cecilia’s beautiful face, marred as it was with horrendous burns, she shuddered.
Now, when Lilina goes into battle, there’s a bit more apprehension. Perhaps next time it will be someone even closer to her? Someone she can’t bring herself to strike down, even in the heat of battle? How can one prepare for such a thing?
Still, her quick spells, which still pack quite a bit of power, are invaluable. Lilina continuea to see a lot of battles for the Order of Heroes, a part of her always dreading who she might face next. At the bottom of her heart, she fears it will someday be Roy, and wonders how she can ever strike him down? He was her dearest friend, but somehow she would have to be strong.
Today’s battle is quite fierce, with Veronica throwing a lot of her strongest Heroes at them, but with Lilina’s help, Kiran’s army stays ahead, repelling them without issue. That is, until they begin to grow weary. Until one after another, her allies fall, leaving only her to finish off the last of the enemy units. As she closes in, she can tell they’re an armored unit, and it’s enough to make Lilina smirk in triumph. It’s been a hard battle, but it seems victory is within her grasp.
That is, until her opponent draws closer. Suddenly, she can see just how familiar he is. Hector. Her father, who died in the clutches of Zephiel. The spell Lilina was preparing fizzles out. Her still outstretched arm, formerly wreathed in flames, begins to tremble. All the while, her father, much younger than she’s ever seen him, closes in on her.
“F-fath-” she manages to squeak, a mix of surprise and joy at being reunited with him, after losing him so suddenly. Of course, to him, she’s nothing more than an enemy that needs to be slain. Armads rises in the middle of her cry, and Hector chops downward, mangling Lilina’s hand, and interrupting her.
She pulls back reflexively, lifting the ruins of her hand before her, assessing the damage. Slowly, the pain builds, writing over everything even in her adrenaline-fueled state, as Lilina lets out a choked sob, knowing the ruins of her hand are beyond most healers. Of course, that’s if she manages to get away. Her father, virile and unstoppable in his youth, continues forward, sweeping Armads low, and Lilina does her best to hop upwards, to dodge the great axe,
But his aim is too precise, and her motions too sluggish. Armads finds one of her ankles, and the axe cuts through her flesh and bone as easily as it does air. Hector’s daughter, though he has no way of knowing that’s who she is, falls to the earth, one arm and one leg completely ruined by his efforts.
“F-father, please!” Lilina sobs, tears streaming down her face. Hector only shakes his head, blaming her hysteria on the situation, not considering that he is in fact the father she pleads with. Instead, he raises Armads, only to strike down once more, slamming the blade into her back. The weight of the axe crushes her as much as it cuts her, leaving Lilina’s body in ruins as her organs are either crushed, cut, or forced out of the way.
She coughs, the remnants of her lungs crying out in protest as she does, blood splattering from her mouth. And Hector raises Armads one final time, before delivering a killing blow to his daughter’s head, never knowing that he ends the life of his beloved daughter as he crushes the pretty young enemy under his axe.
Huzzah so many FE fic my only regret is that Heroes is not availabe in my region. GOt to go to the wiki to know some of the characters
Sonya, Fire Emblem Echoes
Electrocution, burning, snuff.
When Celica's army is scattered by Jedah, Sonya finds herself face to face with two not-so-familiar faces.
I'm hoping to do an entire series of Celica's army coming to unfortunate ends after being separated in the Tower of Duma, and started off with Sonya.
Sonya can't comprehend why Celica would trust Jedah. Of course his deal was wrought with deception, the man serves Duma and the divine dragon’s madness infects him with ease. Any man who would abandon his own daughters only to sell them into witch-dom later does not deserve trust, and yet. She believed him.
Now, Celica's forces, Sonya included, have been scattered throughout the Tower of Duma, and that is one place you do not want to be alone. Worst of all, they have been scattered by magic, thrust into unfamiliar rooms with no warning, and no chance to prepare.
Being alone and unprepared in a place like this is often lethal. Still, Sonya is a mage. A skilled one, at that. If anyone can make it out on their own, it might just be her. Until, however, she opens a door and feels a powerful magic yank her inside.
It starts at her feet, pulling her off balance, and she falls, head cracking against the unforgiving stone floor before she is dragged along it, knowing the rough stone is scraping her up and snagging her robes. And, sure enough, by the time she comes to a stop on the center of the dimly lit room, her robes are ragged.
She rises to her feet, looking around frantically as she brings a hand to her head, checking for blood. As her eyes adjust, she begins to process who is in the room with her. And begins to prepare a spell, knowing she'll need much more than a basic fire spell here.
“Too late, dear sister,” Hestia’s voice rings out, almost mocking. A bolt of lightning flashes from her hand, catching Sonya in the chest. The current isn't lethal, but it's enough to disrupt the mage’s control over her muscles, forcing them to convulse. She cries out in pain, as she falls to the stone floor once more, twitching and spasming.
“We're so glad you've come back to us,” Marla adds, approaching her. She grabs a handful of Sonya's hair, and tugs her up to her feet, though Sonya is still dazed from the shock, and can hardly stand on her own.
“Neither of you… are yourselves…” she manages to mutter, hardly recognizing her sisters in their current state. “You're monsters. I'm going to help you…”
Awh, calling your own sisters monsters?” Hestia coos. “That's low, Sonya. Besides, we're much stronger now than ever before. If anyone needs help right now, it's you.”
This statement is matched with a motion. As Marla releases Sonya, Hestia places a hand on each of her shoulders, and smiles wickedly. There is no bolt of lightning this time, as she channels the current directly into Sonya's flesh. It starts out lower this time, just enough to paralyze her, but as Hestia raises the intensity, Sonya's muscles begin to strain within her.
They flex, release, flex, release, causing intense pain, but through some magic between her sisters, Sonya does not fall, or even move and inch. She begins the feel the flesh beneath her sister's hands heating up, and wisps of smoke pass between Hestia’s fingers as the skin is charred.
All she can do is scream, until finally Hestia lets up. Control returns to her, though something still keeps her from moving. She trembles from the pain, each and every muscle in her body aching from the strain.
“Now, sister, if you join us… we can make all of this stop. And you'll be stronger than ever before,” Marla offers, delicately stroking Sonya's cheek.
“Never,” she says, with a finality that masks how desperate she is becoming. There really seems to be no way out of this, and each time her sister's assault her she grows weaker. Before long even the simplest spell would be enough to spell her end.
Then, the current starts up again. This time, however, both Marla and Hestia lay hands on her, and it is much stronger than before. Sonya feels the muscles of her bladder contract, before they loosen, and her piss rushes out of her. Her cry of pain becomes mingled with one of shame, as her sisters mock her for the unavoidable release.
With every drop rushing out of her, her piss splatters against the stone for quite some time, puddling beneath her feet. Once finished, they ramp up the electricity again, and Sonya knows she can't take much more. Everything's so hot, she can practically feel her mind cooking from the shocks tearing through her body. She collapses, falling to her knees in the puddle of her own piss, both of her sisters maintaining their grip.
“Say the word and this ends, Sonya,” one of them says, but she can no longer distinguish their voices, addled as she is.
There is a thought, struggling against the fog, against the pain and the confusion Sonya feels. Something about what just happened… about how she fell… and then it breaks through. If she fell, they're no longer restricting her. The current coursing through her is enough to keep her down, but it doesn't stop her mind. Not enough, at least.
She calls on that old familiar power, the magic that she's relied on so many times, letting it fill her just as she electric current she struggles against does. She's exhausted, weak, and nearly at the end of her rope. As such, she knows this will spell her end.
But Sonya would rather go out fighting. By the time her sisters sense the magic she's called forth, it is too late. Sonya releases all that energy, and a fiery nova engulfs the room, turning it into an incinerator. The cost of the spell is too great, however, and she fades from life long before she sees the flames. For a few brief seconds, the heat and flames within that room burn brightly, before sputtering out.
Two flashes of light come after as the twisted bodies of Hestia and Marla collapse in on themselves, their lives ending in that peculiar fashion that is unique to witches. Sonya is left behind, a crumpled charred corpse. The first of Celica's party to meet a grisly end after Jedah’s (not so unexpected) betrayal.
I thought she was going to use to piss to electrocute all of them buth this works too. Nice story looking froward to who goes next
Do you think you could write a fic about this set? I like the idea of Sakura diving into that pond looking for ore and drowning.
Took some liberties with how it happened, but here you go.
Basically, Sakura drowns, hard to title this one.
Sakura, Fire Emblem Fates
Everyone enjoys diving for coral in the castle springs. The water is always pleasant, not too warm, not too cool, and crystal clear. It’s an easy swim down, and the coral is such an eye-catching pink that it’s never hard to find at least some of the smithing material. It’s so natural, in fact, that it’s easy to forget just how dangerous even a small spring can be.
Sakura, though a Hoshidan princess, finds it hard to get past her timidity. But for some reason, the waters of the spring are very freeing. She often finds herself diving in her free time, always happy to share some of the spoils with Corrin when she has the chance. To her, the springs offer an escape. She can’t very well stammer under the crystal clear water, nor can her shy personality stand in her way.
And tonight is a wonderful night to swim. The deeprealms are free from time, experiencing their own shifts in day and night, and whatever moon shines over the strange keep lends an eery, though beautiful, edge to the water. Sakura loves swimming at night most of all, despite the dangers the lower visibility brings.
Of course, with how frequently she dives, the danger feels almost ridiculous. Ryoma often tells her to be cautious swimming so lagte, but the beauty of the water, the slight shine of the pink coral at the bottom of the pool, always brings her back.
Noticing a particularly choice piece of coral, more perfect even than one Subaki might find, she reaches out, grasping it eagerly in her hand. She tugs back, excited to have claimed such a prize for herself. In her excitement, however, the princess fails to notice how precarious the rocks surrounding the growth of coral are. Her haste to free her prize turns out disastrously, as the rock balanced above it tumbles, crushing her hand beneath it.
She screams, then. Or rather, she would, were there not an entire spring’s worth of water keeping her quiet. Instead, her precious air bubbles up and out of her, until she shuts her mouth in a panic. Glancing down, she realizes her hand isn’t quite as damaged as it seemed. The rock is wedged so that its weight does not land entirely on her, but holds her down by the wrist.
She shakes her head, relieved the damage is minimal. She pulls back her hand, eager to free herself and return to the surface, as her lungs begin to burn from the strain of holding her breath. It wouldn’t be so bad, had she not panicked and wasted so much of her air. But the rock will not budge. Her hand won’t come free. Cold panic seizes her once more. She grabs her wrist with her free hand, tugging harder. Still, she makes no progress. Truly growing frantic, she braces her feet against the stone, and begins to push with her legs as well. She feels the rock digging into her, and feels a sharp pain as her hand moves a few agonizing inches.
Blood begins pouring from the cut the rock leaves behind, but Sakura knows she can’t hesitate. She’s beginning to feel weak, faint, and tugs all the harder. Finally, she manages to free herself, the perfect piece of coral long forgotten as she fought for her life. The princess looks up, then, seeing the light of the moon that promises her salvation, and attempts to kick upward, swimming towards it. Her movements are so sluggish, though, so weak. Even the adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her heart race, isn’t enough to grant her the strength to swim.
Despite her efforts, she doesn’t gain even an inch towards the surface. Suddenly, she wishes she had brought Hana or Subaki along. Or that Corrin or Ryoma would happen along on patrol, or perhaps Hinoka, who would swoop in at the last second as she always seems to do… but no one comes.
She continues kicking her legs feebly, desperately, as her lungs scream for relief. Her body needs air, and despite her insistence against it, her mouth opens. She gasps, praying for the sweet taste of night air, but instead the water of the springs rushes into her lungs, filling them. She reaches up, clutching her throat, squeezing as if she could keep the water out, but it is no use.
Sakura feels an intense pain, then, coupled with the knowledge that she’s met her end in the spring she loves so dearly. She gazes up at the moonlight, one last time, as her vision fades.
By the time someone passes by the spring, the hour as late as it is, Sakura's body has floated to the surface. Retrieving her bloated body from the water leaves the army's morale in shambles. It's one thing, losing a comrade on the battlefield, but somehow death like this seems utterly senseless in comparison.
Awesome! Thanks for this, there just aren't enough good drowning fics on here. In fact, I've been thinking about writing some myself.
Anyways, keep up the good work!
Very nice stuff here!! Haven't read all of these, but there are definitely some good ones. :)
And Fates gives a lot of potential, what with the ability to capture and then recruit enemy units, you have a lot of generic characters that can be used. :)
I would like to see something with a generic Sky Knight by the name of Fumi, if possible. :)
Midori, Fire Emblem Fates
Non-con, rape, bondage, piss, humiliation, archery, snuff
I also want to start a series with the kids from Fates, usually what might happen if their parents don't show up to save the day. So, here's Midori.
“I could stand here and complain about you dragging my name through the mud.” the curvy thief says, “But Candace is going to take the high road—and just say good-bye. You could try to take back your bag. But I'll warn you. I'm quick as a wink.”
And with their exchange ended, the woman departs, with Midori’s hard-earned Dragon Herbs in hand. Without hesitating, or waiting for her father and his allies to catch up, Midori takes off after her. True to her word, Candace is quick, darting through the forest with surprising speed. It takes all Midori has just to keep up, and Candace is definitely gaining ground. Of course, in all of her haste, all of her desperation to reclaim the highly rare reagent, Midori isn't quite as observant as she usually would be.
When she sees Candace standing in the center of a clearing, panting from her wild sprint, she charges in without thinking. As soon as she passes the trees that border the clearing, and steps into open ground, Candace drops the act, smirking wickedly. And a cudgel crashes into the back of Midori’s head, knocking her senseless. The last thing she sees is that damn smirk, coupled with the knowledge that she lost. That she'll never have the Dragon Herbs she hunted down for her father.
But Midori doesn't know yet just how much she's truly losing.
When Midori finally comes to, her head feels like it's splitting in half. The pain is unbearable, and only grows worse as her eyes flicker open, and light floods her vision. She's on the ground, sun beaming down on her, and she can feel the soft, warm grass beneath her. A quick glance to the side reveals the forest she dashed through so recklessly, and Midori sighs. She reaches for a pouch on her belt, hoping for a pinch of something to stop this throbbing in her temple, but finds she can't move an inch.
Her hands are bound beneath her, tied tightly at the wrists and the elbows. A quick test reveals the same holds true for her legs; rope holding her ankles and knees together.ether with no room for movement.
“Finally waking up, hm?” a familiar voice rings out. “You know, you did quite well to keep up with me. Very tenacious! But Candace can’t have anyone that can keep up with her up and moving, hm?”
“My dad and his friends are going to find you! And don’t worry, they’ll definitely be able to keep up with you!” Midori says, already more than fed up with this thief.
“Is that right? You mean those simpletons that are still searching miles away for you?” Candace says, glaring down at Midori in triumph. She kneels then, pinching the girl’s cheek. “I guess they didn’t expect you to chase after a renowned treasure hunter all on your own. Really, that wasn’t a smart move at all.”
“But you robbed me! You’re just a no good thief, and Midori can’t tolerate that!” Midori says, wishing her voice didn’t sound so small coming from so low.
“Oh, please. Candace is no thief! And I’ve got quite a respectable gang, as well. Don’t go selling me short!” Candace says, snapping her fingers. On cue, many unsavory characters begin stepping out of the shadows of the trees. Midori’s eyes widen, as she realizes just how much trouble she’s in. “See, little Midori? You really should have waited for some help. Now we get to have a lot of fun with you.”
“But… but… my Dragon Herbs… I worked so hard for them!” Midori protests, weakly. Gods, does her head hurt, and the stress of the situation only makes the pain worse.
“D’you hear that, boss? She worked hard for them,” one of the men sneers. “I guess that makes them worth your life then, huh?”
“W-what? M-my life?” Midori stammers, as the stakes grow higher than she imagined. They are rare herbs, to be sure, but would someone really kill for something like that?
“Well, I can’t exactly let you walk away and bring down the wrath of this oh-so-impressive father of yours, can I?” Candace says, shaking her head. She shrugs, before adding; “It’s the only solution, really.”
“No… No! I won’t tell them what you look like, or where you were! I’ll say I just got lost, and lost the herbs… and… and…” Midori begins, tears welling up. “I’m sorry!”
“Tsk, tsk. Where’s all that fire from earlier?” Candace asks. “I’m just a no good thief, as you say. Maybe Candace the Treasure Hunter would let you go, but you wouldn’t accept that.”
“I take it back!” Midori sobs, her voice cracking. “You’re a treasure hunter, and you can have the Dragon Herbs, just… let me go! Please?”
“Gods, can we shut this whelp up? Her whining is giving me a headache.” one of the thugs says, rubbing his head. Midori can’t help but doubt his head hurts as badly as hers, but the suspicious cudgel at his belt has her sympathy at an all time low.
“Yes, and I have just the thing! I’ll keep her really quiet while you boys have some fun. Isn’t she just adorable? We’ve really caught ourselves a good one!” Candace says, looking Midori over.
“Wh-what? What are you going to do!?” Midori asks, deeply concerned by Candace’s words. There’s only so many ways a bunch of thugs can have “fun” with her, and none of them are good. Especially not with the hungry edge in Candace’s eyes, matched eerily by the hunger in the eyes of her gang.
The treasure hunter stands, then, and begins removing her panties from beneath her skirt. Midori’s eyes widen, finding the act entirely out of place for the situation. But as Candace works the cloth down her legs, and over her boots, Midori feels a growing sense of dread. Whatever’s going on can’t be good, she at least knows that much.
And as Candace finishes, she makes her way toward Midori, and stands over her. She squats, then, positioning herself above Midori’s face, and giving the young apothecary quite the view of her folds, which are by now wet with her excitement.
“What?! Please, stop, what are you doi-” Midori begins, but Candace lowers herself, pushing her cunt onto Midori’s face, and muffling her protests. With how tightly she’s bound, Midori can’t even struggle as Candace grinds against her, and as the treasure hunter’s weight bears down on her.
“With all the wagging you’ve done with that tongue, I think it’s time you put it to better use!” Candace says, then chuckles. “Alright, boys, do whatever you want with her, so long as it doesn’t interrupt our quality time. Oh, and do save anything really nasty for me, okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” one of them says, as he pulls a knife from his belt. He goes to work on the ropes binding Midori’s legs, freeing her for a moment. Before she notices she can move, distracted as she is by Candace’s rough grinding, two more thugs have grabbed her, spreading her legs apart. The first goes to work on her clothes, stripping her, cutting the clothes away when necessary. Before long, Midori is exposed, and can feel cool air on her belly, her legs, and worst of all… on her virgin folds.
“Any objections to me breaking her in?” the thug asks, and due to whatever pecking order the gang has, it seems there are none. Midori isn’t sure if she wishes she could see what’s coming, or prefers the view of Candace’s ass that takes up her entire field of vision. At the moment, she’s far too distracted either way, gasping for breath whenever Candace lets up, and praying the thief doesn’t smother her here and now. Despite how hopeless things seem, surely Kaze will come and rescue her.
Though, as Midori feels the tip of the thug’s cock pressing against her cunt, she finds herself wishing her father would be a bit quicker. Much quicker, actually, coming in at this exact moment to save his daughter’s purity… and for a moment, everything seems to freeze. Time stretches out, like a blade pulling from its sheath. Then, the thug grunts. And his cock is forced into her sheath. Midori is nothing if not small, and the man’s thrust is far from gentle. She feels herself stretch to accommodate his girth, as her virginity is stolen from her.
She cries out, but the sound is engulfed by Candace’s folds, only furthering the pleasure of the woman who got her in this mess. She moans, then, obviously pleased with the pained sound coming from beneath her.
“Ah, that felt delightful! Be as rough as you want, boys, this one’s a squealer!” she says, grinding even harder. Again, Midori wishes she could take something, just one pinch of her concoctions could dull all this pain, could help her relax… perhaps, with enough, she could be free from all of this. She’s yanked from those thoughts abruptly, as the man grunts with effort, fucking her even harder, even faster. Between the motions of both Candace and her thug, Midori can hardly think straight, hardly breathe, and it goes on for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, the man groans, and Midori feels a wet heat spilling into her strained cunt. He stays in, for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for one of his comrades to grab him by the shoulder, yanking him out of her nearly as roughly as he went in.
“Turns up, I’m next,” the man says, and Midori is only given a moment to rest before he’s taken the other thug’s place. With a thrust, he’s in, and somehow this one seems even larger than the other. Midori whimpers, and Candace moans, and it all starts again. Sometime during this man’s thrusts, Candace cries out, and Midori feels her trembling on top of her, the weight growing worse as her legs threaten to give out.
“Now, now, Midori. You can do better down there!” Candace says, once she regains her composure. “I hardly feel that wicked tongue of yours, you know! If you do good enough, we might let you live as our little toy!”
Somehow, that threat gives Midori hope. Whatever the circumstances, if she can survive, her father might find her and save her. With her life on the line, she opens her mouth wider, and begins lapping at Candace’s cunt. The woman moans, grinding even harder as the pleasure she feels is magnified, but it is difficult for Midori to focus or keep up any sort of rhythm as she’s fucked mercilessly by the man between her legs. Her body can hardly handle the cock that’s forced into her, and the pain she feels is incredible, almost like her cunt is tearing from the strain.
Then, a new sound escapes Candace’s lips. More of a gasp than anything else, and Midori is shocked to find a sudden heat filling her mouth. It’s a strange taste, and judging by the scent, it can only be one thing. The offending liquid rushes into her mouth, and Midori can do nothing but swallow as Candace’s piss spills into her. Any attempt to spit it out, or to hold it in her mouth, would only end in her choking on the hot liquid, and likely anger Candace either way. Still, she feels a wave of shame, of embarrassment, swallowing the other woman’s piss. Especially when the men surrounding her catch on, and laugh and jeer, hurling insults at her.
From there, things only get worse. When Candace has had enough, Midori is lifted. One man takes her ass, another her mouth. Others make her stroke them off, coming wherever they like on her naked body, while others piss on her. By the time she passes out, Midori has serviced countless of the gang, but still others wait for a turn, while some are eager for a second round. Her last thought is of her father, and how he should be here any second now, before her vision fades.
When she wakes for the second time, Midori finds herself bound to a tree. The sun has fallen, and the clearing is cold. Her skin is bare, and her body aches. Midori is sure they fucked her countless times while she was out, and the pain she feels seems to confirm that. Still, judging by the empty clearing, it seems they’ve simply left her for dead. Not as bad as it could be, she supposes. This way, it should be easy for her to be found, and the torment will finally end.
But then, a familiar figure steps in front of her. A woman clad in pink, now holding a wicked looking bow in her hands. Midori trembles at the sight of her, bound as she is. Again, there’s that damn smirk, and Midori knows she didn’t do well enough. Either that, or the promise was false to begin with.
“I… I’m sorry... “ she says, weakly. “Please. I tried, wasn’t I good enough?”
“You were pretty good, honestly. And the whole gang would agree on that, I think, they each took at least two turns. Not to mention you drank my piss pretty willingly, and that’s rare,” Candace says, “You must be pretty freaky, to have done all that.”
“I didn’t like it or anything!” Midori shouts, her voice cracking. “I… I mean…”
“Now, now, that attitude is exactly why I brought my bow. We really can’t let you live, Midori.”
“Please,” Midori begs, weakly. “I’ll… I’ll do anything! Just let me live.”
Candace notches an arrow, and pulls it back. That smirk never wavers, even as she takes aim. Even as she lets loose the arrow, and it finds its mark in Midori’s shoulder. The impact comes first, causing Midori to gasp. Then, comes the pain. It’s blinding, unbearable, and so hot as agony radiates from her pierced shoulder. Tears well up, blurring her vision, but she can still see Candace pull another arrow from her quiver.
“Please!” Midori shouts, but the next arrow hits her in the stomach, tearing through her before burying itself in the tree behind her. Midori’s extensive knowledge as an apothecary makes her very much aware of how lethal damage to the abdomen is. And how slow of a death it is. But Candace does not let up. Another arrow is let loose, and another, neither missing their mark. One hits her thigh, the other, her chest, bouncing off her sternum. The fifth slips between her ribs, piercing a lung, and finally putting an end to her crying.
All Midori can manage now is soft, desperate pleading, her breath ragged and weak. Blood oozes from each of the punctures, slowed only by the shafts still stuck within her. Again, Midori knows just how much time each of those shafts give her, not sure if she should be grateful or curse the time she has left to suffer. One more arrow strikes her, again tearing through her stomach, before Candace has spent all she’s brought.
“Oh, dear, I really should have brought more arrows, hm?” she muses, before approaching her target.
“P-please… please…” Midori manages, blood spraying from her mouth with each word.
“We both know it’s far too late, now. Don’t we?” Candace says. “Besides, you’re such a good target. I’m just getting my arrows back.”
And with that, she tugs each of the shafts from Midori, allowing the blood to flow more freely. She lingers for a moment, trailing one of the arrowheads down MIdori’s abdomen, slowly guiding it to her cunt. She presses the tip against her, and Midori breathes in sharply. With a whimper, she loses control of her bladder, pissing herself. Candace walks away, laughing derisively as she takes aim once more.
Again, all of her arrows find their mark. By the end, another is buried in Midori’s stomach, with two more in her shoulder and thigh. The fourth ruins her final lung, and the fifth manages to strike her in the cunt, but by now Midori can hardly feel the pain. The sixth, almost mercifully, is aimed at her face. It slips into her eye with ease, piercing her brain and suddenly it all comes to an end. Midori twitches, her body spasming and straining against her bonds, as her life slips away.
Candace turns, then, leaving the young apothecary’s body for whoever - or whatever - might find it. She pats the pouch at her waist, eager to find a buyer for the Dragon Herbs resting there. The Dragon Herbs that a young girl already paid such a high cost for.
Any chance of some karma murder when Kaze and his wife find out about this. Man Oboro would impale her on a polearm
Again, very interesting stories
Any chance you can do some consensual scenes? Warriors ending their lives on their own terms, things like that?
Thats an interesting some I don't want to die a virgin moments cause there would have been alot if RNGesus had anything to say about it
Yeah, those would be good. :)
Actually, the guy who drew the Sakura pics has a some more Fire Emblem stuff, including a new one with Mist
In case you're looking for new ideas.
GCs being weird and won't let me post links. He's called uwfan tomson, just look him up on deviant. But yeah, he's got drowning sets for Mist, Sakura, and Hana from FE.
Bump in hope of an update, preferably a consensual one. :)
The Price of Seclusion
Olivia, Fire Emblem Awakening, Heroes-verse
Non-con, throat-fucking, gutting, ryona
If Olivia thought finding a place to practice her dancing was difficult among the Shepherds, then it’s impossible in Askr! Sure, the Order of Heroes is nice enough; a massive collection of heroes from all times and realms, but there’s really not much in the way of privacy. What places there are that offer solitude are often already claimed, but the shy dancer does her best to stake them from time to time. After all, her dancing is invaluable, as Kiran has told her on multiple occasions.
Today, by chance, one of her favorite locations is unclaimed. It’s an old store room, in the depths of the castle. It may be a bit musty, but it’s empty enough, and well lit by putting flame to just a couple torches. It’s just roomy enough for her to dance freely, without worrying about being watched, or interrupted. So, breathing a sigh of relief that her impromptu studio is all hers, Olivia begins.
Valter keeps a close eye on the pink-haired dancer these days. Since his summoning, the Moonstone can’t help but feel a bit… off. He’s a hunter, after all, and hunters aren’t meant to be cooped up for long. His instincts run wild, a certain hunger rushing through his veins, and Valter finds himself stalking and planning before he truly realizes what it is he is doing.
When she sets off on her own, a defenseless member of the herd slipping away from safety, the hunter is close behind. And once she dances, he watches. Her movements remind him of her languid form on the battlefield, though without the grim determination of her performance being life or death. Instead, she smiles softly, blissfully unaware that perhaps this performance means more than she can imagine.
Olivia hums to herself as she moves, flowing through the room like a gentle breeze. The cool air grows even colder, as sweat beads up on her skin from her efforts. After several practices of her routine, she tires, panting and leaning against a cold stone wall. So tired is she, and her breathing so loud, she doesn’t hear the door slowly push open.
She does hear the heavy footfalls of the wyvern rider, however, as he strolls into the room. Olivia straightens up quickly, whirling to face the door, and the intruder who disturbs her solace.
“My, my, what a delicious little treat I’ve found! And I thought this store-room was emptied ages ago,” Valter says, shutting the door behind him. There’s a certain finality to his actions as he slides the bolt home, securing it.
“Uhm… I-I’m sorry, I was sort of in the middle of practicing down here. V-Valter, isn’t it? I don’t really like having an audience… if that’s okay…” Olivia stammers, doing her best to tell the off-putting man to make his exit.
“Oh? But your outfit is so revealingly alluring, while your dance is enticing. It is enough to drive a man mad, you know!” the Moonstone says, closing the distance between them. Reflexively, Olivia takes a step back, and is quickly reminded of the wall that stands behind her. The stone is as cold and unfeeling as this man’s eyes, and Olivia feels a chill run down her spine.
“P-please, it’s not like that! I only want to practice in peace…” she says, not daring to wonder at what this man wants from her. Yet, he comes closer, and closer, and closer. Until his hand is on her shoulder, fingers digging into her flesh. He opens his mouth to speak, and Olivia can feel the heat of his breath.
“Perhaps I want some practice as well. Would you deny me that, Olivia?” Valter asks, and at the use of her name, the dancer stiffens. He must have been watching her closely for some time, to pick up her name.
“I-I can go, then. This room’s all yours! I’ll just be leaving now, and…” Valter’s grip tightens, then, as he pulls Olivia toward him, only to shove her back against the wall, knocking the air from her.
“I simply cannot practice alone, Olivia! That wouldn’t do me any good at all,” he says, and Olivia feels all hope drain away. His name finally clicks. Valter, the Moonstone. Referred to (behind his back of course) as a beast, someone you absolutely do not want to cross paths with. As panic seizes her heart, Olivia takes leave of her senses.
She tries to bolt. Kicking away from the wall with all the strength her slender legs can muster, she runs, heading for the door in a frantic sprint. Valter's hand, however, strikes out quick as a snake’s bite, grabbing her by the wrist. It isn't hard for him to overpower her, then, dragging her back toward him and then flinging her to the stone floor.
“P-please, don't do this!” Olivia begs. “I'll do anything, just let me go!”
She cowers on the floor, legs splayed out, trembling in fear. She wonders if she should try to scramble to her feet, to flee again, but before she can Valter is standing over her.
“I won't just let my prey walk out of here. I've spent a long time, getting you alone. Lining everything up,” Valter says, as he raises one foot. Olivia looks up in horror, as he slams it down, stomping on her ankle, and she hears a crunch long before the pain hits her. “You'll not get away!”
She turns her head, as the pain explodes through her mind, forcing bile up from her stomach. She turns her head, as she retches, vomit splattering onto the floor. Olivia groans, then, the pain crashing into her in waves. But Valter only reaches down, dragging her up by her hair. She balances, shakily, on one leg, not daring to put weight on her shattered ankle.
“Now, dance for me! Amuse me!” Valter commands, and Olivia's eyes widen.
“I… I can't! You ruined my leg, I can't do anything with it…” Olivia protests, but Valter gives her a look that quickly silences her.
“Dance, or die. I'll get my entertainment one way or another, lovely Olivia. And I promise, I'll ruin a lot more before I take your life. Do you think you'll come back if I kill you down here, like in battle?” Valter muses, Olivia still trembling from pain and fear. “If that's the case, you'll be my new plaything. I'll kill you again, and again, and again! A fresh toy each time you come back!”
Olivia whimpers, despair and hopelessness mingling in the depths of her heart. Still, she sees no option other than giving in. Tentatively, she puts a little weight on her shattered ankle, and the pain she feels is far too great for her to manage any sort of dance.
“I… I can't put any weight on that leg. I'm sorry…” she murmurs, her voice hardly above a whisper, as tears begin streaming down her face.
“You're not going to try? Even with your life on the line?” Valter asks, “I'd think that might give even a weakling like you some determination.”
“It's impossible…” Olivia says, and as soon as the words leave her mouth, Valter is upon her again. He drags her toward the wall, not concerned for her injured leg in the least. He shoves her up against the unforgiving stone, and begins ripping at the meagre fabric she wears. It takes him only a moment, until she's standing naked in the room.
She whimpers, as his warm hands probe at her, groping her breasts, slipping between her legs to tease at her entrance. He even grabs her ass, feeling the firmness of her rear, and gently pushing a finger against her ass. Without warning, he shoves his finger into her, and Olivia cries out. What sort of man would do such a thing, she wonders, but that thought is short lived as Valter pushes his lips against hers, kissing her with a surprising passion.
Olivia does not kiss back, she only keeps still, taking whatever he forces on her. Somehow, her utter refusal to react only spurs Valter on, and he continues fingering her ass as he works his cock free with his other hand. He breaks the “kiss” then, only to lean down, and bite at her neck. He bites hard, and Olivia cries out again, but then his finger pulls out, and both hands rest on her shoulders, pushing her down to her knees.
She stumbles, nearly toppling over, as she tries to maneuver around her ankle, but Valter holds her steady. Once she's down, she's at eye level with his hard cock, and it doesn't take her long to think of what's next.
“Open wide,” Valter says, forcing his tip against her lips. Instead, Olivia clenches her jaw, not allowing him entry. Things have escalated so quickly, and all she can manage is this pathetic resistance, but she doesn't want to make it easy for him, even under the threat of death. Naturally, this angers Valter. “Hm, resisting? Perhaps you have a spine after all.”
With that remark, he pulls back, and Olivia feels brief relief. But then he rears back further, his hand balling into a fist, and he punches her, his fist striking her right eye. The impact is enough to force her back, and the dancer's head smacks against the stone wall behind her, causing her vision to swim with stars. She can't help but open her mouth to groan, and Valter's fingers dig into her hair, pulling her head up as he forces his cock into her mouth.
Olivia frantically pushes against his legs, nails scrabbling against the cloth of his pants, but can make no purchase. And as he tips forward, thrusting into her mouth, Olivia can only whimper. He shows no mercy, tipping her head back and sliding his cock down her tight throat. Olivia finds she cannot breathe, as Valter begins roughly fucking her throat, causing her to gag with each thrust.
The pink-haired beauty continues pushing at him, but Valter is far stronger than her, even at her best. With his cock down her throat, Olivia's lungs begin to burn. She needs air, but nothing she does can stop the wyvern rider from using her how he sees fit. As she grows more and more frantic, she only grows weaker, and before long her hands drop, the room begins to spin.
Still, Valter fucks her. The last sensation she feels, before her eyes flutter shut and she loses consciousness, is the heat of Valter's seed, spilling down her throat into her stomach.
Olivia’s eyes flutter open, slowly. Or, rather, one does. Her other eye is nearly swollen shut, and she struggles to so much as crack the lid open. Her mouth is dry, her throat is sore, and her ankle still pulses with a dull, constant ache. All in all, the dancer can tell the horror she went through in that basement warehouse was no dream. She moves her head slowly, glancing out the window to find that night has fallen over Askr.
The window itself shows she’s no longer in the lower portions of the castle, and the soft bed she lies upon is a further indication she is in someone’s quarters. For a brief second, she hopes someone rescued her. But an attempt to move her arm quickly reveals she is bound to the bed. The dancer can hardly move an inch, and immediately realizes that her attacker has simply hidden her away in his room.
Her heart begins to race, as she searches the room for Valter. At the moment, he seems to be gone. Desperate for some sort of rescue, Olivia attempts to cry out, to scream for aid. All she can manage in the end, however, is a hoarse whisper. She has no way of knowing, but even once she passed out, Valter continued fucking her throat, working it completely raw as he rammed his cock into her over and over, finishing within her several times. With her hope of alerting someone gone, Olivia begins pulling at her bonds, trying to yank herself free, but the ropes are too strong, and the knots too tight.
Her situation is utterly hopeless, and once the dancer realizes this, she begins quietly sobbing. Has no one noticed her absence? There are several of her within the Heroes serving the order, a fact that is still odd to her, and many of them are better trained than she. As she dwells on this, the door to the room creaks open, and Valter returns to his quarters.
“Ah, my prey is finally awake? Fantastic,” he says, and Olivia couldn’t disagree more.
“P-please,” she whispers, her voice hardly audible. “Water?”
“Oh, hm. Yes, I would imagine you’re thirsty. And I’m sure your throat hurts, yes?” Valter says, approaching her. He casually rests a hand on her shattered ankle, squeezing it, and forcing Olivia to squirm beneath his touch. If she could muster enough of a voice to scream, she would, but her mouth only opens in a soundless wail. “Keep your mouth open, just like that, and I’ll get you something to drink. Do be sure and close your eyes, though.”
Olivia does as she’s told, far beyond the point of futile resistance. Keeping her eyes closed, she can hardly see anything, but notices his shadow blocking the light before her. She hears him fumbling, hopefully reaching for a glass of water, and before she knows it, liquid is pouring into her mouth. She’s so parched that she begins frantically gulping it down, hardly noticing how warm it is, or the strange taste. That is, until Valter begins chuckling, then full on laughing as the liquid stops. She opens her eyes to find him gazing down at her, cock in hand, still aimed into her open mouth.
She drank his piss. She opened her mouth, and willingly drank this beast’s piss. Olivia cries out, turning her head to retch, to vomit it all back up, but Valter rushes over, slapping his hand across her mouth. Olivia has no choice but to swallow his piss, now mixed with her bile, and remnants of his come, a second time. She shudders, as the taste overwhelms her. Yet, the humiliation of it all does something to her, and the dancer feels a slight heat between her legs.
“Did that hit the spot?” Valter asks, laughing. Olivia only looks away, not able to meet his gaze. She’s suddenly very aware of her nakedness, as he stand over her, his eyes crawling over her body. Before long, her begins working her bonds loose. She knows better than to get her hopes up, and sure enough, he’s only changing her position. He forces her onto her hands and knees in the center of the bed, and quickly ties her in such a way that she cannot move in the slightest.
“L-let me go… I won’t tell anyone about any of this, I promise!” she says, her voice finally returning, thanks to her horrible drink.
“Now, now, where’s the fun in that?” Valter asks, climbing into the bed behind her. He kneels down, and leans in, pressing his face against her cunt. Without warning, he buries his tongue in her folds, and begins eating her out. The small seed of arousal her humiliation planted within Olivia grows, as he delves into her with an expert’s tenacity. She’s even more humiliated by how incredible it feels, as no man has ever pleasured her like this, and she finds that she can only resist for a matter of moments, before she’s crying out in pleasure. When she finishes riding the waves of her climax, tears streaming down her face from the shame of it all, he simply buries his face in her again. And again.
Each time he manages to bring her to orgasm, Olivia feels a new wave of humiliation, of shame, though she has to admit it lessens each time. By the time he pulls back, she’s soaking wet, a mix of his saliva and her own fluids. The pain of her ankle and her eye have all but faded, replaced by the pleasure he’s forced her into, and as he works his cock free, Olivia finds her eyes glued to it. She wants him inside of her, after all that damn teasing, even though she knows that’s the furthest thing from what she truly wants, her body betrays her.
Not that Valter cares either way. He mounts her, unceremoniously, and shoves his cock into her. It is her first time, and despite how much work he put into preparing his prey, it is far from enough. Olivia squirms as much as her bonds allow as he fucks her, stretching her with each thrust, straining her body. Olivia can feel her folds tightening around him, holding him in, her body eager for his seed. In spite of the pleasure she feels, the dancer is disgusted by how easily he’s forced her to enjoy this.
“Y-you won’t get away with this…” she mutters, though the protest is weak, interspersed with moans as it is.
“Oh, please. As if anyone will ever notice you’re gone. I picked the weakest of you Olivias on purpose, you know. Some of the others might have provided more sport, but you were the safe bet. A perfect little plaything, hm?” Valter says. “I have a lot to test, you know. If the magic that keeps us coming back to life out there works in here… well, you could be a lot of fun.”
Suddenly, Valter produces a wicked looking knife. The blade is serrated, designed for rending flesh, and Olivia’s eyes widen in shock. He continues fucking her, showing no mercy and driving her closer and closer to another climax, even as he presses the tip of the knife between her breasts. He only pushes enough to pinch, at first, to lightly poke into her soft flesh. But as the first bead of bright red blood rushes out of her, standing out against her pale skin, Valter wants more.
“P-please, don’t. Don’t!” Olivia begs, but the knife stays. Despite her growing fear, the dancer is driven over the edge. As she cries out, her whimper broken and pathetic, Valter raises the blade. He adjusts his aim, and brings the dagger slashing down, starting just below her ribs and working his way down. It slices through her flesh easily, and Olivia’s whimper becomes a scream, as hot pain dominates her senses. Valter’s thrusts continue, even as he reaches into the wound, pulling her flesh aside and reaching into his prey.
Blood oozes out of her, covering his hand, his body, his bed, as Valter takes hold of her intestines. With a look of manic glee, he yanks them from her body, allowing them to spill out of the wound, and Olivia’s eyes widen, gazing down at the cavity he’s opened up in her. As he tears into her again and again, Valter finishes, and Olivia can barely feel the sensation of his seed spilling into her, over the blinding pain.
As she loses more and more blood, everything seems to move further away. Yes, Valter is cutting away at her, but it feels like it’s someone else. Everything seems to peaceful, even as her life fades away. Olivia’s eyes slowly flutter shut, but this time, it is no mere loss of consciousness. This time, she is dying. Somehow, even that thought seems so very far away, despite it being her last.
Valter toys with her corpse for some time. The Moonstone is eager to see what happens with her, whether she returns to life, how long it takes, what state she’ll be in after. And while he waits, what better way is there to pass the time than enjoying what warmth remains in that fit body of hers? Needless to say, Valter doesn’t truly care if she ever dances again. Besides, Askr is filled with countless other specimen, prey that no one would miss were they to… disappear.
Would you be willing to do a consensual snuff story? Like a seppuku, or perhaps someone willingly hanging to death, or something like that?
I keep thinking about Faye committing suicide and Silque comforts the loss of her friend with the body before either leaving or joining her in death
Remeber the paladin who betrays us in Sacred Stones to revive his wife that necro fuel right there could have him spend is last moments with her right before Ephrim puts him down
There really is not enough suicide is FE I mean Awakening lost world would be all about killing yourself like Lucina killing or being killed by Servera before offing herself is like my dream fic or pic
Considering this is the first dark thread for FE i have seen there is not enough anything but I have never seen a suicide fe pic or fic
I've never seen any FE Suicide Fics or pics either. And I really think it's something that is missing. I really hope someone will do something like that. :)
Bump in hope of a consensual FE story. :)
Hope you come back soon was over in images and there was an update of veiled616 I want to ask if you do fic of pics
If it's one of Veiled616's, I'd be happy to take a crack at it. I'm such a huge fan, that art is such a blessing. Which one was it?
Sully as anon said there is just not enough stuff or any of her being bested . Love to read her lose and get done
I always thought that armor look like a bowl
How about Tana or Camilla?
Honestly all three of these sound fun. I love that the Veiled616 pictures are usually kind of the aftermath, so writing it actually happening would be cool. I'll see what I can do!
My body is ready when you are
A Fatal Mistake
Sully, Fire Emblem Fates
Non-con, decapitation, bukkake, impalement
Based off of Veiled616's art of Sully. Hopefully it lives up to such legendary work!
Robin’s strategy is simple; send highly skilled and mobile Shepherds to hold key passes, harrying the approach of Plegian reinforcements while the bulk of the Ylissean force fights the main Plegian force in the area. Of course, “hold” is used loosely, by no means does the tactician expect the a single Shepherd to hold an entire pass on their own, but through hit and run tactics and intimidation, they should at least be able to hold the enemy back, allowing their comrades precious time to fight the Plegians that have already taken the field.
Naturally, Sully is one of Robin’s first choices. The Ylissean knight is incredibly skilled, with years of training under her belt. Beyond that, she has experience in the field, and often holds her own against multiple opponents from horseback, using a potent combination of lance and sword. With the highest of trust, the tactician sends her to one of four passes. Frederick, Stahl, and Tharja (not quite as mobile as the other three, her fearsome hexes and other dark magics more than make up the deficit) to the other passes, reserving the rest of the Shepherds for the battle at hand.
Sully isn’t exactly happy about her assignment. Sure, it shows that Robin has a great deal of trust in her, but it also keeps her away from the front lines. Routing a group of Plegian militia that may or may not even use the pass she’s assigned to seems like a waste of her talents. She has enough faith in Robin to stick to the task, of course, but she plans on giving the tactician a piece of her mind when they all join back up after the battle. It's only a matter of time before this riff-raff is history, especially considering the very reinforcements Sully is guarding against are mostly conscripted from the general Plegian citizenship.
Farmers and merchants that meet once or twice a year for “military drills” could never stand against professionally trained soldiers like Sully or her fellow Shepherds, and the cavalier is quite confident of her superiority. She stands in a narrow clearing, with treacherous cliffs blocking either side. Behind her is the battleground the Plegian forces chose to make their stand, and ahead is one of the few passes through the surrounding mountains. If the Plegian's are counting on reinforcements, it's likely they'll have to get through Sully first.
Still, there's no sign of movement on either horizon. The redhead stretches, standing beside her trusted steed and steeling herself for whatever may come. Her armor and the ornamentations of her lance are a vibrant red, perfectly matching her fiery hair, and years of training have given her a perfectly toned body. A body which, when coupled with her sharp instincts, is renowned for its lethality on the field of battle.
For now, however, she can't help but feel wound up. Pacing, stretching, occasionally taking a drink from her waterskin… nothing takes the edge off, as she waits for a foe who may never come. After what feels like an eternity, however, she hears voices echoing off the cliffs. Sound carries far up here, but Sully still feels her heart begin to race. Finally! Some action!
The knight mounts her horse quickly, settling into her saddle with practiced ease. With a quick spur of her heels, she guides her steed towards the voices, eager to rout them as soon as possible. She doesn’t even consider waiting around a second longer, or perhaps seeking out a vantage point. It’s not like Plegian militia would stand a chance against her, either way.
And, sure enough, as soon as they are in her sight, Sully can’t help but snort in derision. A squadron makes its way through the pass, though their marching formation hardly earns them any sort of respect. The farmers-turned-soldiers are loosely packed, clumping up into whatever friend groups they may have rather than holding to a square formation. Eyeing the wide spaces between each group, the way the inexperienced men bunch up, Sully begins to revel in how easy this will be.
Instead of slowing her mount’s approach, she spurs it on harder, driving the beast up to incredible speed. She feels wind rushing past her, as she bears down on the enemy troops, lance parallel to the ground, already seeking out her first targets. Already, she’s wondering how surprised Robin and the other Shepherd’s will be, when she returns victorious, completely crushing a group that wholly outnumbers her.
The first to notice her approach is a Plegian captain, the poor soldier tasked with maintaining some semblance of order in a group of poorly trained riffraff. Unfortunately for him, he is the only trained soldier in the bunch, and the only one with any experience of battle under his belt. Needless to say, his cry of warning is not heeded. The steady hoof-falls of Sully’s mount serve only to confuse the Plegian militia, who expected no real opposition until they reach the battle itself.
Before they can react, her lance has claimed several of their number, finding their vitals with deadly precision. The troops watch in horror as friends, brothers, and cousins are claimed left and right. As they all hail from the same general areas, this red, mounted opponent quickly raises their ire. What was once a minor inconvenience, a far off battle they wanted no part in, is now a bloodbath claiming some of their closest friends. Yet their lack of training and Sully’s mounted advantage make any attempt at striking back useless.
The captain tries desperately to rally his troops, to draw them in to make a stand, but his orders go unheeded. Meanwhile, Sully makes pass after pass, claiming more of their number each time. The exhilaration she feels reaches an almost fever-pitch. It’s thrilling, cutting down men who would likely look down on her if they had seen her before this engagement.
“Come on, you lot of cowards! You sure as hell can’t outrun her, so you might as well try to fight!” the captain bellows, and the intensity of his words, along with the obvious truth behind them, is finally enough to spur his inexperienced troops into motion. They begin to fall in together, but even this is not enough to deter Sully.
Instead, she sets her sights on the captain himself. Sure, he’s likely experienced, but he’s still one soldier. If she takes him down, what little resolve this band of fools has grown will crumple in an instant. So, as her steed reaches its top speed, the rush of the wind pushes her on. She grows closer, closer, scoffing at the poor stance of her opponent. He must not be experienced after all, holding his lance in such a sloppy fashion. The shaft of the heavy spear is dragging the ground, almost as if he can’t support the weight on his own.
Sully grows even more confident, surging forward with reckless abandon, eager to end this little skirmish and return to the main force of the Shepherds. As she approaches the captain, her lance trained at the opening just above his breastplate, she smirks. Of course, none of them stood a chance against a knight like her. But when her lance should be rending the flesh of his neck, it meets only empty air. At the last second, the captain rolls to the side, dodging her furious charge.
In her confidence, Sully failed to notice one crucial detail. The lance her opponent held had no need of his grip, as he had forced it into the earth, bracing it at an angle. The momentum of her mount is too great, even if Sully had noticed, and now it is far too late. The lance pierces the breast of her horse, causing the great beast to scream in terror, its momentum snapping the shaft of the lance easily.
Of course, with the remainder of the weapon buried deep in its vitals, this does the beast no good. It manages a few shuddering gallops forward, before losing its footing. Sully has no time to react, as her mount pitches forward, throwing her from her saddle. In her shock, she loses grip of her own lance, and it tumbles away from her, embedding its tip in the earth. Then, it is her turn to crash against the earth, hearing a concerning crack as she does,
“Ughh…” she groans, dazed by her impact with the ground. It takes her only a second to come to her senses, knowing that she has no time to spare, surrounded by enemies as she is. She gets her feet beneath her, pushing herself up, relieved to find she is largely unharmed, beyond a few scrapes or bruises. A quick glance down, however, reveals a crack in one of the seams of her armor, greatly compromising her breastplate. Not that she has time to worry about that, as the captain and his militia close in. Sully draws her sword, confident with her skill on foot just as she was on horseback.
But confidence can’t do much against overwhelming numbers. She manages to cut down several more Plegians as they approach, but eventually one lands a kick to the back of her knee, forcing her down. Still, she slashes at her opponents’ legs, until one finally manages to knock the blade from her hand. Disarmed, surrounded, and forced to her knees, Sully finally slows her struggles.
“Damn! Can’t believe you bastards bested me…” she mutters, seeking the face of the man who outsmarted her among the numerous survivors. Of course, by the time she spots him, she’s filled with worry over the intense hatred emanating from each and every man she’s left alive. “Guess you’ve got one hell of a prisoner now, huh?”
“You could say that,” the captain says, glaring down at her. “You caused us a lot of trouble, you know. Surprised to find you’re so cute, now that you’re not careening up and down the field.”
“Oh gods, spare me that crap,” Sully answers, shaking her head.
“I won’t be ‘sparing’ you anything, considering how little mercy you showed the men under my command. As you can probably guess, a lot of the men you didn’t kill were somewhat close to those you did. And they want a bit of revenge,” the captain says, and Sully’s eyes fill with rage nearly matching those of the survivors. It’s not hard to pick up on his implications. “I might just let them loose their frustrations on you.”
“And harm a prisoner? You Plegian’s are dogs, you know that?” Sully says, spitting the word Plegian.
“King Gangrel made one thing abundantly clear;” the captain says, :we are to take no prisoners.”
Sully’s heart drops at those words. She knew that her mistake would cost her dearly, but… her life? Is that truly what this man is implying? It’s unbelievable, but the bloodlust in his eyes is impossible to deny. One quick glance is enough to remind her that the same lust shines in the eyes of all his troops. And suddenly, his boot is pressed against her chest, kicking sharply and forcing her onto her back.
“Do your worst,” Sully says, trying to sound tougher than she feels. “You’ll not get the pleasure of seeing me beg.”
“I don’t really care if you beg or not,” he says, motioning for one of his men to grab her wrists. “It’ll feel the same either way.”
And with that threat, he works a dagger free from his belt, and begins cutting away at the tight, black cloth of her shorts. It makes quick work of the fabric, and the sudden cool air on the flesh of her cunt is enough to send a shiver down her spine. Then, the captain works his cock free from his trousers, and spits onto his hand, before working the saliva onto himself.
“What are you-” Sully starts, but it takes him no time at all to push himself onto her. He lines his cock up with her bare entrance, and forces the tip into her. His saliva is a very poor lubricant, and Sully hurts as he pushes his way into her. With his men jeering all around him, it takes the captain no time at all to force his entire length into her virgin body. Sully groans, the pain forcing her words away, as she begins to wish that lance had pierced her chest, rather than that of her mount.
He falls into a rough rhythm, showing her no mercy as he uses her body as a plaything. Fucking her eagerly, with no abandon, relishing each whimper he draws out of the fit woman. All he can think of is how unstoppable she seemed, how confident, as she rode across the battlefield, and compare that to how she is now; forced onto her back, completely helpless as he rapes her. The thought spurs him on, making it difficult to hold back, until finally he reaches his climax. With a grunt, he comes, his seed spilling into her.
“Gods, you’re a good fuck. As much as we need to hurry on, I want each and every man here to take a turn with you. That oughta set their minds at ease, eh?” the captain says, pulling out. “They lost friends, family… but you might at least ease their loss.”
Sully’s life devolves into nothing but pain, and humiliation. The countless troops she had faced with such confidence descend upon her helpless form, raping her without mercy, and without rest. By the end, she can hardly think straight. Her breastplate is shattered completely, leaving her perky breasts exposed to the cool mountain air, something many of the men take advantage of. Pinching, biting at her nipples, while thrusting into her ass or her cunt… each man has some sick variation as he releases the tension the battle caused upon her. By the last man, Sully only wishes it would all come to an end. But, true to her word, she never begs.
That is, until the captain approaches her prone form. By now, she lacks the strength to resist, even without her arms held. She can only watch, as he grows closer. Something familiar is in his hand, but it takes her some time to register her own lance. And then, the look on his face. Something in her succumbs to panic, then.
“P-please… what are you going to do with that?” She asks, worry plain on her face. Of course, her voice is rasp, hardly above a whisper.
In answer, the captain simply pushes the blade against her cunt. Sully’s eyes widen, and a shriek escapes her, as he begins pressing it into her folds.
“Not like this, please… just end it quickly!” Sully asks, but the captain only shakes his head. He continues his slow advance, and the blade pushes deeper into her. It works its way through her cunt, slicing at her walls as it passes through, before plunging into her uterus. Come and blood begin trailing down the shaft, and as the blade pushes further, Sully finds the pain unbearable. Any attempt at speech becomes incoherent babbling, especially as it passes into her guts.
“I think I’d call that begging, wouldn’t you?” the captain asks his men, laughing at Sully’s expense. He continues pushing the lance into her body, sometimes being forced to draw the weapon back, and thrust in with greater force. Occasionally he stops, only to make quick, shallow thrusts, as if fucking her with the lance. And yet, he refuses to go far enough to end it. To pierce her heart, or her lungs, and end things too quickly… where would be the fun in that?
It isn’t until Sully loses consciousness that he has one of his men bring forth a heavy axe. With one steady swing, the woodcutter turned soldier beheads the redhead, and the tears that streamed down her face splatter along the earth as her head rolls to a stop. With nothing left to hold him back, the captain thrusts the lance one final time, until it emerges from the hole of her neck. He then props her body up, the base of her lance serving to steady the fallen cavalier in a puddle of her piss and blood.
He rises, then, picking her head up. Gazing down at her face, eyes empty and jaws slack, he can’t help but think of what a waste this was. Something about her empty expression stirs his arousal, however, and he decides on a final send off. He holds her head steady with one hand, while he begins pumping away at himself with the other. The infinite stare of her dead eyes spurs him on, and he hardly notices the troops circling up around her body. As he pleasures himself, they follow suit, aiming into the armor around her neck, meant to protect her from being decapitated like this.
He could almost chuckle at the irony there, but he is far too close to finishing for that. WIth a grunt, his seed splatters across her face, covering the dead Shepherd’s pretty face with one last spray of come. It doesn’t take his men long to add their contributions, filling her armor with their come as a final parting gift. It’s almost unfortunate that her comrades won’t be finding her like this, with the difficulty the militia’s numbers will add to their struggle.
Love the story. Looking forward to your next one!
Have you considered doing a formal public execution as the setting for one of these scenarios?
Seems like it could match well, and you haven't done it before.
This is good I can easily see her falling for that
I don't suppose you do any fics with male perpetrators and male victims, do you? If you did, Artur from Sacred Stones would be a good victim.
Corrin, Fire Emblem Fates
Non-con, impalement sort of?
This one was a request for a friend, though it is also based off of one of Veiled616's wonderful pictures.
Finally, Corrin is alone. The princess doesn't mind her family, or her servants, but at times their constant companionship grows a bit much. At times, she wants some solitude. And as she opens the door to her personal quarters; a curious but cozy treehouse, she breathes a sigh of relief. In her haste to get into bed, Corrin enters the room quickly, not pushing the door closed behind her.
Of course, she fails to notice the quick hand that pushes into the jamb, preventing it from closing completely. She hums to herself, remnants of one of Azura’s songs on her mind as she undresses. Even humming the song is soothing, but it serves as a convenient filter, overpowering the soft footfalls of the dark figure infiltrating her quarters.
By the time the shadow closing in on Corrin registers in her peripheral vision, it's far too late. There's a soft crack as the assailant's club crashes against her head, and the white-haired woman crumples to the floor, a soft gasp escaping her lips. The Nohrian assassin stands victorious over his prey, having incapacitated King Garon's greatest threat with relative ease. He works quickly, feeling over her half-dressed form, searching for any weapons or means of self-defense.
In his probing, he can't help but notice the curves of her body, the gentle swell of her breasts, the way the fabric of her pants clings to her shapely thighs… though he tries to remain professional, it isn't long before he's hard. And it is only then that his hand brushes against something hard, as well. A stone, blue, and somewhat pointed. Though he isn't entirely sure what it might be, he takes it and pushes it out of Corrin's reach. It joins her Yato blade, both far from her reach even though consciousness still eludes her.
Then, the assassin pulls back. He looks over his prey, feeling the dull ache of his erection as he gazes down at that peaceful face, her bare chest… it would be safe to say he's developed a bit of a fixation with the young woman by now. This mission was far from easy, infiltrating another world by slipping in amongst Hoshidan ranks after a battle. Then, he had to deal with her infuriating entourage.
Brothers, sisters, servants, friends… the princess was always surrounded! For days he had watched her, pilfering food just to keep himself sated, and naturally he thought of his prey often. Thought of what he might do when he finally gets her alone, after all this waiting. And now, he moves quickly. With a deft slash of his knife, and some maneuvering, he continues the job she started. Her panties, at least, are gone. Her stomach, legs, and arms remain covered, but he has access to what he needs.
Next, comes his own clothes. He simply frees his cock, pumping his hand up and down it's length once, just to prime himself. He then kneels down, pressing his fingers against the folds of her cunt. He traces up and down her length, savoring the warmth of her flesh, before pushing one finger inside.
“B-brother…” Corrin murmurs, shifting slightly in her forced sleep. The assassin pays her no mind, continuing his teasing. Though, his mind can't help but wander. Which brother is she dreaming of? The archer? The Prince? Or perhaps one of her adoptive family from Nohr? How involved was she with them? The knowledge that she's soon to be his, then no one else's, sends a thrilling shiver down his spine.
With that, he can hold out no longer. He slips his hand back, and moves, lining his cock up with her entrance. With a thrust that holds days of pent-up frustration, he pushes into her folds, losing himself in the warm tightness of her body. His touch and her dreams must be pleasant, with how wet the princess is, and once he's in, and settled into an easy rhythm, she speaks again.
“I'm… yours, big brother…” she says, and he feels his pulse quicken. Such words are maddening, and spur him on. With his pace picking up, Corrin begins to stir. Her eyes flutter open, gazing up at her assailant. And realization dawns on her. She screams, until his hand pinches her nose, making breathing impossible. His other hand pins her arms, and she finds she cannot overpower him.
“I may not be your ‘big brother,’ princess, but you're definitely mine,” he says grinning down at her. He bunches up the remnants of her panties, and forces them into her gasping mouth, muffling her. And freeing his hand in the process, allowing him to reach down, pinching harshly at her nipple.
She whimpers, a pathetic muffled sound, but his thrusts only continue. In spite of herself, her body reacts to him. She was already feeling mounting pleasure, due to her pleasant if confusing dream of her brother, and even the horror she woke too isn't enough to force it from her mind. Still, her eyes dart around the room, seeking salvation.
They light upon her dragonstone, and hope wells up within her. If she can reach the faintly glowing stone, she can change her shape. This assailant could never stand up to her draconic form, and so, she struggles. Finally, one hand slips through, the man’s frantic thrusts making him lose focus, and she reaches out… her fingertips manage to brush against the stone. She cries out, straining harder, and just as she thinks she might reach it, his hand closes over the faintly glowing stone.
“Now, now, trying to cut our fun short?” he asks, as his hand blocks both the light of the stone, and her final hope. “I've been waiting days for this, and you'll fuck just as good dead. So calm down, and enjoy yourself. Plain to see you already are, whore.”
But Corrin reaches up, frantically trying to snatch her salvation from him. She could shift now, without the stone, but she refuses to give in to her fear. The thought of who she might hurt is unbearable, she needs the stone to focus her energy.
“You want this rock pretty bad, huh?” he asks, and Corrin feels a shred of hope. Perhaps he doesn't know the power it holds! She looks up at him, pleading with her eyes, and he chuckles in response. “You can have it then!”
As he lifts the dragonstone, holding it point down, Corrin feels a brief flash of fear, as she realizes what he means. Sure enough, his arm comes crashing down, the sharp point of the stone digging into her. She cries out, even through her gag, as it breaks the thin skin over her breastbone. There's a crack, as it clatters against the bone, not quite breaking it, though the pain Corrin feels would suggest otherwise. But, his arm raises once more.
He strikes her with her salvation, again, and again, until her bone is cracked, weak. Tears stream down the princess’ face, as he raises the stone a final time. She knows she can't take another hit, and she also knows the look on his face. Sure enough, the stone rushes down once more, and this time, her bone is sundered. A sickening crunch fills the room, as her own dragonstone crashes through her chest, crushing her heart beneath its momentum.
The pain she feels is indescribable, but beneath it all, as her mind races to comprehend her imminent death, burning through what little oxygen it has left without her life's blood pumping through her veins, she feels him climax. She feels his seed enter her, and a choked sob is eaten up by the fabric of her panties.
Despite finishing, he gazes down, watching the life fade from her eyes, and continues pumping into her. His cock aches, as he strains his body, continuing to fuck her past his limit. He lifts her leg, attaining an ideal angle for fucking her. Just before the last life leaves her, she feels herself let go. Her body is too weak to fight her bladder any longer, and piss begins to rush out of her, soaking the assassin's legs, his cock, but for some reason that goads him on. In only a few more thrusts, he's there, spilling his seed into her corpse.
He reaches up, gingerly slipping the saliva-soaked panties from her mouth, and places them in his pocket. A thin stream of blood dribbles from her mouth, as her lifeless eyes gaze up at him. He leans down, pressing his lips to hers, and kisses his prey goodbye. So long as he can make it out of this strange pocket-dimension, King Garon's bounty on his traitorous daughter's head means the assassin will live the high life.
Honestly that could work well for the Camilla one, if I ever get around to it!>>11550
Glad you enjoyed it! And yeah Sully would probably get a bit too cocky like that, I thought.>>11555
I've got nothing against writing male snuff, though I've not attempted it yet. Granted, I haven't played SS, so I know nothing about Artur
There isn't much to know about Artur (from the game at least) other than that he's a very pious monk from Renais, and he's very gullible. Perfect victim for something like crucifixion.
Any chance of one where Orochi is reading someones future and sees them the strangle her moments before they strangle her
Hey there Buzzard love your stuff I was wondering have you ever read Torn by Cyberchao X its like what I want to do in Conquest and I think you could take it therehttps://www.fanfiction.net/s/12370238/1/Torn
I think you will like the theme, its not guro but its a good set up
non-con seems to be a running theme in these, but is there any chance we could get a consentual story with Henry and Tharja from awakening? Henry seems like the kinda guy who would have a huge smile on his face even as a woman removed his organs
I agree, I want to see more cons stuff. Perhaps even between pairings, one member of the couple willingly giving their life for the other's pleasure. :)
I kinda want to see Lucina kill Robin from that chapter going with the theme that she married him/her earlier and just rides the body in grief
You would think that would be a big deal but i think I have sen maybe on fic where she kills him then they just move on
Bump to save from faggot spammer
Is buzzard still with us?