#sssoooo sorry for the wait aaagggg

[gurokiitty]

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

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

IN THE WOLF'S DEN

{ strade x virgin! gn! reader }

word count: 2.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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