Vermintide: Unholy Unions - Blackfur
A collection of short one-shot stories featuring different rats and human males.
The sound of clanging metal cut through the heavy rain, each strike a banshee's scream that silenced the storm for just a heartbeat. Amid the scattered remains of Skaven and human bodies strewn across the village, two figures stood alone. A human soldier, armored head to toe, lifted his shield just in time to catch a halberd strike, deflecting it with a twist of his wrist.
The Blackfur parried, swinging the staff of his halberd up to meet the soldier's blade with a screech of metal on metal. They were both exhausted, breaths heaving, but neither could retreat. Victory demanded that one of them fall. With a sudden surge of force, the Blackfur shoved forward, sending the human stumbling back. His halberd lowered, beady eyes glinting with twisted hunger.
“You fight well, man-thing," he hissed in a high, nasal voice, mocking even as he lingered in a stance to strike. “But still only soft-surface dweller. Soon you fall-break. Many-many Skaven, fast-quick win."
The human scanned the village, catching the distant rumble of another Skaven horde closing in. He exhaled, chest straining under the armor's weight. He reached into his back satchel, gulping down a potion before locking eyes with the Blackfur, cracking his neck as he settled into a low stance.
“I won't make it easy," he muttered, muscles tensed as the swarm closed in.
In a rush, they fell on him. He slashed and hacked, his shortsword flashing as it tore through fur and flesh. His shield smashed into a rat's face, sending it reeling with a shriek. But through the blood and fury, all he saw was the Blackfur, standing back with a smirk. If he was going to die here, he wanted that look wiped clean off the rat's face.
With a guttural shout, he cut through the Skaven before him, buying a moment's breath. Taking aim, he hurled his shortsword with all his might. It whistled through the air, striking the Blackfur square in the chest, piercing the armor just enough to draw blood. The Blackfur's eyes widened, a snarl of pain breaking his composure, and finally—finally—that smirk was gone.
The human smirked back as the swarm overtook him, claws sinking into his flesh and teeth gnashing against his armor. As darkness crept over him, his last thought was the satisfaction of seeing that smug grin disappear.
Frederick's eyes flickered open, a dull ache pulsing through his body as he strained to focus on the cracked, grime-streaked ceiling above. The faint light from sputtering candles cast eerie, flickering shadows across the room, their glow barely illuminating the rough, soot-blackened walls. He tried to shift, only to feel the cold, biting restraint of iron shackles binding his wrists and ankles, holding him down against his will. Memories surged up—the rain-soaked battlefield, the relentless Skaven horde, the brutal final clash—and then, only darkness.
Now, laid bare and bound to a creaking, splintered wooden bed, Frederick's pulse quickened. He fought down a rising wave of panic, forcing himself to breathe as he took in the smell of rot and decay that seemed to press in from every corner, thick and cloying. Movement in the shadows caught his eye, and his gaze snapped to a pair of blood-red eyes watching him from the edge of the darkness. As the figure stepped forward, recognition dawned, a sick twist forming in his stomach.
The Blackfur, his wounds hastily wrapped in stained, blood-soaked bandages, approached him, his gaze steady, a smug smirk tugging at his muzzle. Each step was slow, heavy with satisfaction, as he took in the sight of Frederick, restrained and defenseless.
“Ahh, look-look, man-thing awake," the Blackfur sneered, his voice a low hiss dripping with malice. He loomed over Frederick, his eyes glittering with the dark, sadistic pleasure of a predator savoring its cornered prey. “Did brave little man-thing think he won, yes-yes? Foolish, foolish."
Frederick swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet the rat's gaze. “Do what you will, rat," he spat, voice tight and unyielding. “I won't beg."
The Blackfur leaned close, breath hot and rancid against Frederick's cheek. “Beg? No, no. Man-thing will understand soon," he hissed, his claws grazing Frederick's skin, trailing downward with deliberate, excruciating slowness. “You ruined-beautiful fur, prized fur, black fur," he growled, claw pressing against his bloodied chest bandage. “Now, man-thing will pay."
Frederick braced himself, ready for the sting of claws or the bite of steel—but instead, the Blackfur's paw dropped lower, gripping Frederick's manhood instead. A jolt of panic surged through him, his body tensing for pain. But what came next was worse. The Blackfur's muzzle lowered, engulfing Frederick's length with warmth.
A wet heat closed around him, a twisted intimacy that sent revulsion spiraling through his mind. The Skaven's mouth moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, his tongue curling, stroking, driving Frederick to a horrified awareness of every sensation. Frederick's breath caught, his mind screaming in protest even as his body betrayed him, reacting despite every attempt to shut down.
The Blackfur looked up, his triumphant gaze locking onto Frederick's, savoring the human's reluctant arousal. He took him deeper, each stroke vile, practiced, pushing Frederick closer to the edge. Finally, the Blackfur pulled back, a smug smile playing across his face as he took in Frederick's visible arousal.
“Ah, man-thing likes, yes?" he sneered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Wanted to kill Blackfur. But now we see… how much brave man-thing can endure."
The Blackfur climbed onto the bed, hovering himself over Frederick's hips with a slow, predatory grace. In one brutal motion, he impaled himself on Frederick's cock, his insides squeezing in a merciless grip. Frederick's muscles locked, his breaths coming sharp as he fought to resist the sensation clawing up his spine.
The blackfur chuckles with satisfaction. "You are lucky, Man-thing. I give to slaves, but from you I take!"
The Blackfur began to move, his rhythm punishing as he lifted and slammed himself down, hips rolling with practiced cruelty that forced Frederick closer to the edge. Frederick gritted his teeth, his breaths shallow and uneven, desperately trying to suppress the rising pleasure. But the Blackfur was relentless, each slam driving him deeper into the unwanted sensations that held him captive.
“You feel-feel, yes?" the Blackfur purred, mockery lacing his voice as he ground his hips down, squeezing with precise, calculated pressure that kept Frederick teetering on the brink. “Held here by Blackfur, right at edge-edge... but I do not give release, no-no. Only I decide." He leaned close, his breath hot against Frederick's skin as he hissed, “Admit defeat, beg for mercy, and perhaps I let you finish."
“Do your worst," Frederick spat, voice strained but defiant.
The Blackfur's laughter filled the dim room, thick with dark delight. “My worst?" he whispered, voice heavy with twisted satisfaction. “Very well."
Without another word, he lifted himself off Frederick in one smooth motion, leaving him painfully hard and throbbing, unfulfilled. Before Frederick could register the sudden absence, the Blackfur undid the chains around his wrists and ankles, freeing him, and then shoved him roughly toward the door.
Frederick stumbled, catching himself against the doorframe, body aching and mind reeling. Behind him, the Blackfur lounged back on the bed, tail lifted in a mocking display as he turned, a smug smile twisting his lips.
“What are you doing?" Frederick's voice trembled, caught between frustration and confusion.
“Simple. You are free-free to leave," the Blackfur replied, deceptively casual. He waited, letting the words sink in, before his grin grew wicked. “But know-know, whatever lies beyond means nothing to me." His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “Remember, man-thing, I saved you. Now choose—leave and face what's outside, or crawl back… and satisfy me."
Frederick gripped the doorframe, battling the last shreds of his pride. But beyond the doorway, darkness and death waited. Behind him, the Blackfur reclined, head just turned enough to meet his gaze, that maddening satisfaction twisting his face. His tail lifted high, an open invitation that defied both his mockery and Frederick's own pride.
The image twisted in Frederick's mind—a dark, unspoken challenge, and the assurance of control that left him no escape. Shame gnawed at his thoughts. The desire for survival warred with the realization that, as much as he loathed it, his body harbored a treacherous curiosity, a pull he couldn't banish entirely. He'd been left with no real choice, and the Blackfur knew it.
Frederick turned back, each step heavier, each movement stripping away another shred of dignity. His gaze simmered with defiance, even as he closed the distance, the finality of his decision settling over him like a weight he couldn't cast off.
“Yes-yes, strong man-thing sees sense," the Blackfur chittered, his voice laced with dark victory. “I knew brave one would listen, hmm?"
Frederick's jaw clenched as he met the Blackfur's gaze, a reluctant, simmering anger mingling with his own desire to reclaim a sliver of dominance. “You think I'm here because I want to be?" he retorted, though his voice strained. “You left me no choice."
The Blackfur laughed, his tail flicking in invitation, the motion both mocking and alluring. “Ah, yes-yes. Tell yourself what you need, man-thing," he taunted, voice thick with the pleasure of control. “But I know what brave man-things want when survival calls." He stretched, his form relaxed and submissive, yet his eyes gleamed with dominance. “Come-come. Take what I offer. Fulfill your need… and my own."
Frederick braced himself, the residual anger within him flaring to life, fanned by the rat's taunts. Just as he'd wiped that smug look off the Blackfur's face in battle, here, too, he felt the urge to crush the creature's mocking self-assurance. Driven by a need to reclaim even a shadow of the power stolen from him, Frederick grasped the rat's tail firmly, yanking him into position. The Blackfur grunted in surprise as Frederick forced him onto his hands and knees, each motion laced with ruthless intent.
Without hesitation, Frederick plunged into him, a rush of obscene pleasure overtaking him as he focused on his purpose. This wasn't intimacy—it was domination. Every thrust was a calculated response to the rat's taunting, each powerful movement claiming the Blackfur as nothing more than a means for revenge, a piece of meat he intended to use and discard.
The Blackfur braced, glancing back with a sneer, teeth bared in a mockery of a smile. “Yes-yes, try to take what little power you can," he jeered, his voice dripping with contempt even as he yielded to Frederick's relentless rhythm.
“Fuck you," Frederick snarled through clenched teeth, voice thick with scorn.
The Blackfur's laughter rippled, dark and twisted. “You already are."
The position wasn't right—Frederick felt it gnawing at him, an itch beneath his skin that pulsed with every beat of his anger and the primal need for control. This wasn't how he wanted to claim his victory; not like this. Without breaking his brutal rhythm, he pulled out, leaving the Blackfur gasping from the sudden emptiness, and with a powerful, punishing shove, flipped the rat onto his back.
He didn't pause. Grabbing the rat's legs, Frederick hoisted them high, spreading them wide, leaving the creature laid bare before him. The Blackfur's eyes flickered with a brief, startled look—a flicker of vulnerability that Frederick drank in. It was fleeting, replaced by the rat's defiant, mocking grin, but Frederick had seen it. The power had shifted, if only for a moment.
This position was no accident; it was a choice. Face-to-face, he forced the Blackfur to confront him, to lay his pride out before Frederick's full, punishing onslaught. He could press in deeper now, could take what he wanted fully. His grip on the rat's legs tightened, grinding into the fur, and as he began thrusting again, he reached down, his hand sliding with intent to the Blackfur's sheath.
He felt the creature's cock, already thick and engorged, trapped within. With a swift motion, he pulled down, exposing the rat's pink, claw-like cock to the cold, damp air of the room. The Blackfur hissed, but Frederick paid him no mind, intent on his goal. Returning to his brutal rhythm, Frederick pounded into him, his movements laced with an anger that only seemed to intensify as he felt the rat's resolve waver under his control.
He kept one hand firmly on the Blackfur's own length, stroking with calculated precision, watching as the rat's cocky bravado dissolved into reluctant gasps and suppressed moans. The hisses of defiance gave way to ragged breaths, and Frederick felt a twisted satisfaction as he saw the rat's carefully crafted mask of dominance slip, inch by inch, beneath the onslaught of sensation.
“Not so smug now, are you?" Frederick growled, his voice dark with satisfaction.
The Blackfur's snarl wavered, his sneer blending into a look of reluctant pleasure and frustration as his body betrayed him, responding in ways he clearly fought to suppress. Each suppressed squeak, each tense shudder, was a victory for Frederick—a sign that he was beginning to take back control. The Blackfur's gasps grew sharper, and for the first time, Frederick caught a flicker of something other than contempt in those red eyes: a flash of helpless anger. The Skaven had realized he was ensnared, caught in the grip of pleasure that he couldn't deny, and he was starting to lose the upper hand.
Frederick held nothing back, relentless as he drove them both to the brink. But he didn't let himself finish just yet. This was still a battle, and Frederick wasn't about to lose this fight. He felt it when the Skaven's muscles finally gave way, his whole body arching beneath Frederick's relentless grip, the creature's cock jerking in his hand as he came, spilling hot, slick ropes across his own chest and fur, each pulse a final, bitter surrender.
Frederick thrust deeper, burying himself to the hilt as he let go, filling the rat with every ounce of his seed, a raw satisfaction flooding through him as he watched the last spark of defiance die in those red eyes, leaving only the humiliated rage of a creature conquered. Their gazes met, a silent, charged stare as they both panted for breath, neither willing to look away. In the rat's red eyes, Frederick saw the fury of a pride shattered, the burn of humiliation, and he savored every second of it.
The Blackfur scoffed, his voice bitter. “You haven't won, man-thing."
Frederick's voice was mocking as he pulled away. “Whatever helps you sleep at night."
The rat glared, his fur streaked with cum, Frederick's own seed dripping from his ass, a testament to his temporary defeat. The Blackfur sat up, looking down at the mess across his chest with a grunt of disgust, wiping it off, before he turned a simmering gaze back at Frederick.
“You're free to leave, man-thing," he chittered. “Wouldn't want clan-kin seeing what shameful things man-thing has done, yes?"
Frederick frowned, confusion tightening his features. “Excuse me?"
The Blackfur laughed, a mocking rumble. “Never said you'd die if you left, surface-dweller."
A chill swept through Frederick as realization struck. He crossed the room quickly, his heart pounding as he looked out the grimy window. The streets outside were silent—no horde, no Skaven gathering, no sound beyond his own ragged breath and the faint, mocking chuckle of the Blackfur behind him.
Slowly, he turned back, and there stood the Blackfur, calmly strapping on his armor, halberd secured on his back, his grin wide and triumphant. The Skaven's eyes gleamed, fully aware that he'd played this human like a pawn. Frederick felt the weight of the deception sink in, as sharp and humiliating as any wound.
The Blackfur approached, stopping just close enough for Frederick to feel the heat radiating off him. With a taunting, possessive smirk, the rat leaned in, dragging his tongue slowly along the side of Frederick's cheek.
“Till we meet again, my brave little man-thing," he purred.
With a dark chuckle, the Blackfur turned and strode out of the house, laughter echoing down the empty streets. Frederick stood in stunned silence, the hollowness of his defeat settling heavily around him. It was minutes before he could draw a steady breath, his pride bruised, feeling stripped raw. The rat had orchestrated every detail, weaving a trap to rob him of any claim to victory.
Finally, Frederick's gaze fell to a nearby table, where his clothes, armor, and weapons lay neatly arranged, as if left deliberately to mock him. Dressing with a new, simmering resolve, he left the house, scanning the streets for any sign of the Skaven—but there was nothing, only the faint echoes of his own steps. His pride had taken a battering, yet inside, a smoldering fire burned, a hard, newly forged determination.
As he turned back toward human territory, one thing became clear: they would meet again, and when that day came, Frederick would be ready to put that Blackfur in his place.