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send jjk reqs and thirsts?? :3c

the beast in my brain needs them

Law as Re Leon

gale n my durge tav <3 🐶

full nsfw version here

can you write about fem strade x fem mc 👉👈

a/n: HECK YES I CAN !!!!

CAN YOU HANDLE IT?

{ f! strade x f! reader }

word count: 1.2k

warnings/tags: NONCON, mentions of blood and injury, facesitting, suffocation, foreign object insertion.

When you first laid eyes on her, you felt a twinge of something unfamiliar yet compelling, like a moth drawn to an unearthly flame. Strade was unlike anyone you'd ever met—a whirlwind of charm and confidence, her aura both captivating and dangerous. The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the murmur of conversations, but you were entrapped.

Her smile was disarming, a perfect blend of warmth and mischief that made you feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling. Her freckled brown eyes seemed to see right through you, as if she knew your darkest secrets and loved you for them. She spoke with such ease, her voice a soothing melody that made you forget you were strangers. Every word she uttered wrapped around you like a silken thread, drawing you closer to her web.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, her accent adding an intriguing lilt to her words.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away. "Sure, why not?"

You talked for what felt like hours, her laughter ringing in your ears like a beautiful, haunting tune. She made you feel special, desired in a way you'd never felt before. When she suggested going back to her place, you didn't hesitate. It seemed like a natural progression, an inevitability.

Now, you lay on the cold, hard floor of her basement, your wings singed beyond repair. You couldn't remember when you were stripped naked or how your wrists ended up bound behind your back. All you knew was that your body throbbed, and your skin was sticky with sweat and blood.

You tried to convince yourself it was just a nightmare, that you were passed out drunk on your sofa, but the pain was too real. Every pulse, every ache, was a cruel reminder that this was your reality.

And of course, she was too.

Strade stood over you, the same endearing smile plastered on her face, but now it seemed grotesque, a mask of sadistic pleasure. In her hand, she held a hammer, its head coated in crimson.

"Aw, ready to give up already, schätzchen?" she purred, her voice sending a chill down your spine. "I hope not, we're just getting started."

You didn't respond, your mouth too dry, your head too foggy to form words. Instead, you stared up at her, hoping she could see the plea in your eyes.

"Ever eaten a woman out before?" she asked casually, shifting her weight to one leg. As she hovered above you, the overhead lights bathed her in a golden halo, and you couldn't help but feel small and insignificant beneath her.

You nodded, the movement making your head swim. Strade merely chuckled in response.

"Good!" she mused, her smile widening. "I'd hate to waste time teaching you."

You knew you had no choice. Protesting would only bring more pain, and you couldn't bear the thought of her hitting you again. She dropped her pants and lowered herself onto your face, her scent overwhelming your senses.

"Lick," she commanded, her body sinking down you.

Her thick thighs pressed against your cheeks, her warmth spreading over your skin like a stifling blanket. The pressure was suffocating, her full weight making it hard to breathe. Her skin was hot and slick with sweat, the musk of her arousal filling your nostrils and coating your tongue as you reluctantly obeyed her command. You could feel her every movement, every shift and grind, each one pressing her deeper against you, further sealing your fate beneath her.

Your tongue moved with more urgency as she pressed down harder, and soon her soft moans filled the room. You felt her muscles tense and relax, her hips grinding against you as she chased her release.

"Mmm, let's see how you handle this, Liebling," she cooed, her legs caging your face.

She didn't lift herself off you; instead, she hovered slightly, ensuring you were still beneath her as she reached for the hammer. With a cruel smile, she dropped herself back down, suffocating you once more. Strade then ran the hard, wooden handle along your slit, dragging it agonizingly up and down as struggled to breathe.

Then, without warning, she inserted it into you, the intrusion sharp and painful. You gasped, your body tensing against the bonds that held you in place. She began to move it slowly at first, each thrust sending waves of discomfort through you, a twisted echo of the pleasure she had taken moments before. The handle stretched and scraped along your walls, and her pelvis jerked into your face.

Her breathing quickened and mingled with each shuddering gasp you made. Strade's excitement was palpable, her hips grinding harder against your face as she found pleasure in your torment.

You struggled to breathe, your airways constricted by her weight pressing down on you. Panic surged through you as you fought for even the smallest breath, your vision blurring at the edges. Desperation clawed at your mind, and you wanted nothing more than to scratch at her thighs, to push her off, to find relief—but your wrists remained uselessly bound beneath you, denying you even the slightest chance of escape.

"Yes, that's it," she panted, her voice heavy with arousal. "Struggle for me, Liebling. Let me feel your desperation."

The handle moved faster inside you, each thrust a painful, throbbing presence, interwoven with the suffocating pressure against your face. Your lungs burned, and you could feel your strength waning, the fight slowly draining from your body as the lack of oxygen took its toll.

Strade's moans reached a fever pitch, her movements becoming more erratic and frenzied. She was close, teetering on the edge of her release, her pleasure derived from your suffering. Every twitch, every futile struggle only seemed to heighten her arousal, driving her further into a state of ecstasy.

"That's it, keep going," she urged, her voice a breathless whisper. "Don't stop. Show me how much you can take."

You tried to comply, your tongue moving as best it could under the crushing weight, but your body was failing you. Darkness crept in at the corners of your vision, your mind teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. You could hear your own heartbeat, a frantic drum in your ears, each beat a desperate plea for air.

Just as you thought you couldn't endure any longer, Strade shuddered above you, her climax ripping through her with a force that left her trembling. She rode out her orgasm, her hips jerking erratically, before finally collapsing forward, her weight pressing down even harder, if only for a moment.

Then, she slowly lifted herself off you, the sudden rush of air almost as painful as the suffocation. You gasped desperately, your lungs burning as they filled with much-needed oxygen. Tears streamed down your face, your body shaking uncontrollably from the ordeal.

Strade looked down at you, her expression one of sated pleasure and cruel satisfaction. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"You did so well," she praised, her gaze lingering on your heaving chest, the blood and sweat glistening on your skin. She paused, seeming to savour every inch of your suffering, like a connoisseur appreciating a fine meal.

"I think I'll keep you around... Mein kleines Haustier."

You're so handsome when you're silent, Gale. Don't spoil the moment.

Confession: I know Mushrooms don't have sexual organs but I'd do /ANYTHING/ to get sloppy with Sovereign Spaw. They can top or bottom I dont care I'd fuck Spaw all night long

one with the weave

can you write about fem strade x fem mc 👉👈

a/n: HECK YES I CAN !!!!

CAN YOU HANDLE IT?

{ f! strade x f! reader }

word count: 1.2k

warnings/tags: NONCON, mentions of blood and injury, facesitting, suffocation, foreign object insertion.

When you first laid eyes on her, you felt a twinge of something unfamiliar yet compelling, like a moth drawn to an unearthly flame. Strade was unlike anyone you'd ever met—a whirlwind of charm and confidence, her aura both captivating and dangerous. The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the murmur of conversations, but you were entrapped.

Her smile was disarming, a perfect blend of warmth and mischief that made you feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling. Her freckled brown eyes seemed to see right through you, as if she knew your darkest secrets and loved you for them. She spoke with such ease, her voice a soothing melody that made you forget you were strangers. Every word she uttered wrapped around you like a silken thread, drawing you closer to her web.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, her accent adding an intriguing lilt to her words.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away. "Sure, why not?"

You talked for what felt like hours, her laughter ringing in your ears like a beautiful, haunting tune. She made you feel special, desired in a way you'd never felt before. When she suggested going back to her place, you didn't hesitate. It seemed like a natural progression, an inevitability.

Now, you lay on the cold, hard floor of her basement, your wings singed beyond repair. You couldn't remember when you were stripped naked or how your wrists ended up bound behind your back. All you knew was that your body throbbed, and your skin was sticky with sweat and blood.

You tried to convince yourself it was just a nightmare, that you were passed out drunk on your sofa, but the pain was too real. Every pulse, every ache, was a cruel reminder that this was your reality.

And of course, she was too.

Strade stood over you, the same endearing smile plastered on her face, but now it seemed grotesque, a mask of sadistic pleasure. In her hand, she held a hammer, its head coated in crimson.

"Aw, ready to give up already, schätzchen?" she purred, her voice sending a chill down your spine. "I hope not, we're just getting started."

You didn't respond, your mouth too dry, your head too foggy to form words. Instead, you stared up at her, hoping she could see the plea in your eyes.

"Ever eaten a woman out before?" she asked casually, shifting her weight to one leg. As she hovered above you, the overhead lights bathed her in a golden halo, and you couldn't help but feel small and insignificant beneath her.

You nodded, the movement making your head swim. Strade merely chuckled in response.

"Good!" she mused, her smile widening. "I'd hate to waste time teaching you."

You knew you had no choice. Protesting would only bring more pain, and you couldn't bear the thought of her hitting you again. She dropped her pants and lowered herself onto your face, her scent overwhelming your senses.

"Lick," she commanded, her body sinking down you.

Her thick thighs pressed against your cheeks, her warmth spreading over your skin like a stifling blanket. The pressure was suffocating, her full weight making it hard to breathe. Her skin was hot and slick with sweat, the musk of her arousal filling your nostrils and coating your tongue as you reluctantly obeyed her command. You could feel her every movement, every shift and grind, each one pressing her deeper against you, further sealing your fate beneath her.

Your tongue moved with more urgency as she pressed down harder, and soon her soft moans filled the room. You felt her muscles tense and relax, her hips grinding against you as she chased her release.

"Mmm, let's see how you handle this, Liebling," she cooed, her legs caging your face.

She didn't lift herself off you; instead, she hovered slightly, ensuring you were still beneath her as she reached for the hammer. With a cruel smile, she dropped herself back down, suffocating you once more. Strade then ran the hard, wooden handle along your slit, dragging it agonizingly up and down as struggled to breathe.

Then, without warning, she inserted it into you, the intrusion sharp and painful. You gasped, your body tensing against the bonds that held you in place. She began to move it slowly at first, each thrust sending waves of discomfort through you, a twisted echo of the pleasure she had taken moments before. The handle stretched and scraped along your walls, and her pelvis jerked into your face.

Her breathing quickened and mingled with each shuddering gasp you made. Strade's excitement was palpable, her hips grinding harder against your face as she found pleasure in your torment.

You struggled to breathe, your airways constricted by her weight pressing down on you. Panic surged through you as you fought for even the smallest breath, your vision blurring at the edges. Desperation clawed at your mind, and you wanted nothing more than to scratch at her thighs, to push her off, to find relief—but your wrists remained uselessly bound beneath you, denying you even the slightest chance of escape.

"Yes, that's it," she panted, her voice heavy with arousal. "Struggle for me, Liebling. Let me feel your desperation."

The handle moved faster inside you, each thrust a painful, throbbing presence, interwoven with the suffocating pressure against your face. Your lungs burned, and you could feel your strength waning, the fight slowly draining from your body as the lack of oxygen took its toll.

Strade's moans reached a fever pitch, her movements becoming more erratic and frenzied. She was close, teetering on the edge of her release, her pleasure derived from your suffering. Every twitch, every futile struggle only seemed to heighten her arousal, driving her further into a state of ecstasy.

"That's it, keep going," she urged, her voice a breathless whisper. "Don't stop. Show me how much you can take."

You tried to comply, your tongue moving as best it could under the crushing weight, but your body was failing you. Darkness crept in at the corners of your vision, your mind teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. You could hear your own heartbeat, a frantic drum in your ears, each beat a desperate plea for air.

Just as you thought you couldn't endure any longer, Strade shuddered above you, her climax ripping through her with a force that left her trembling. She rode out her orgasm, her hips jerking erratically, before finally collapsing forward, her weight pressing down even harder, if only for a moment.

Then, she slowly lifted herself off you, the sudden rush of air almost as painful as the suffocation. You gasped desperately, your lungs burning as they filled with much-needed oxygen. Tears streamed down your face, your body shaking uncontrollably from the ordeal.

Strade looked down at you, her expression one of sated pleasure and cruel satisfaction. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"You did so well," she praised, her gaze lingering on your heaving chest, the blood and sweat glistening on your skin. She paused, seeming to savour every inch of your suffering, like a connoisseur appreciating a fine meal.

"I think I'll keep you around... Mein kleines Haustier."

Just noticed your ask box was open again!

How about another Ren x Fem!Mc smut? But instead it’s reader cleaning Ren up and taking care of him after one of Strades punishments? I read your last one and absolutely loved it! ^^

a/n: sure thing! hope you enjoy :3

UNTIL THE END

{ ren hana x f! reader }

word count: 1.0k

warnings/tags: NSFW (consensual), very fluffy, mentions of injury and abuse, handjob, mirror sex, lots of praise and comfort.

It's as if your kisses are a balm, your love a salve that can soothe the hurt carved into his skin and soul by cruelty and pain. Your tongue tracing the edges of his wounds becomes a timeless ritual, a reminder that love can be a powerful, healing force, hidden from the chaos of your captive life.

Ren whimpers softly, his breath hitching with each touch. You cradle him closer against your chest, your hands tenderly running through his soft tresses. The bath is now lukewarm, tinged with pink from antiseptic and blood. Your fingertips have begun to prune from the humidity, but you still hold him, soothe him, understand him. The collection of scars you both bear binds you together.

"Does it still hurt?" you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear. The water ripples as you adjust your position, pulling Ren even closer, his head resting against your shoulder.

"A little," he admits, his voice barely audible. "But it's better now... with you."

Your heart aches at his words, a mixture of love and sorrow. You kiss his temple, your lips lingering against his damp skin. "I wish I could take all your pain away," you murmur, your fingers tracing the delicate curve of his jaw.

"You do," he replies, his voice steady despite the tremor you can feel running through his body. "Every time you hold me, every time you kiss me... you make it bearable."

You squeeze him gently, your arms wrapped around his slender frame. "We make it bearable for each other," you say, your voice filled with conviction. "We survive because we have each other."

Ren’s eyes meet yours, his amber gaze filled with gratitude and love. "I don't know what I’d do without you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

"You’ll never have to find out," you assure him, your hand gently cupping his cheek. "We’re in this together, remember?"

His hand reaches up to caress your cheek, his touch feather-light against your skin. "Together," he echoes, his voice a mere breath against your skin. "Until the end."

In that moment, the tension and fear of your life dissolve into an overwhelming need for connection. Slowly, Ren leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. He starts softly, tentative as if testing the waters of this newfound intimacy. But as the warmth builds between you, the kiss deepens and becomes more desperate.

His hands roam over your back, tracing the curve of your spine with a delicate caress. You respond in kind, fingers threading through his hair, a sensation like silk beneath your touch. Your hands find the base of his ears, squeezing gently and eliciting a soft moan from his lips. There’s an urgency in the way you embrace each other, as if the moment might slip away and leave only the cold reality of your shared captivity.

Ren breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. "You’re so soft," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. "So gentle."

You smile, brushing your lips against his jawline, savoring the hitch in his breath. "You deserve gentle," you whisper back, your breath warm against his skin. "You deserve all the tenderness in the world."

You hold him like that for a long time as the room fills with the soft sounds of your breathing and the steady lapping of water around your bodies.

Eventually, you shift slightly and pull away from him. "C'mon, we should get dried off," you suggest softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Ren nods, his movements slow and careful as he allows you to help him out of the bath. Grabbing a towel, you begin to dry him off, your movements gentle over his fresh injuries. He flinches at first but then relaxes into your touch, trusting you implicitly.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourselves. Strade's marks are etched into both of your skins, a haunting reminder of the sadism you endure. For a moment, you imagine what you might look like free from the bruises and collars, living a life where pain isn't a constant companion.

As you tenderly dry his skin, your eyes meet in the mirror. "What do you think we would look like in another life?" you ask softly, your fingers brushing against his neck.

He leans his head back into your touch, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Beautiful," he replies, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Without all this…"

You lean in, peppering kisses along his neck and shoulder, feeling him shiver beneath your lips. "Do you want me to touch you?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, please," he pleads, his voice trembling with need.

Your breasts press against his back, still slightly damp and warm from the bath. Your hand travels down his front, grasping his length gently. He gasps, his body tensing for a moment before relaxing into your touch. You begin to stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate, your other hand tracing patterns on his chest.

"Look at yourself," you whisper into his ear, watching his reflection in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are, still."

His eyes flutter open, locking onto his own image. A flush spreads across his cheeks, and his lips part as soft moans escape. You continue to murmur words of praise, your voice soothing and steady.

"You're so beautiful, Ren. So perfect." Your hand moves with a steady rhythm, your thumb occasionally brushing over the sensitive tip. His hips begin to move in time with your strokes, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

As he reaches the edge, you hold him close, your own breath mingling with his. "I’m here for you, always," you promise, your voice filled with unwavering conviction. "I'll be there to lick your wounds and soothe your pain. We’ll survive this, together."

With a final, desperate gasp, he finds his release, his body trembling against yours. You hold him through it, your hand never faltering until he’s spent and leaning heavily against you.

You press a gentle kiss against his temple, your lips lingering on his skin. "Together," you repeat, your words soft and genuine. "Until the end."

Strade all beaten up maybe he secretly enjoys it

Even more wizard whump ✨

thinking abt baby trapping gale dekarios </3

Strade doodles I really wanted to do because I need his breasts thank you.

how about a crazy ex girlfriend! reader and Strade🔪🩸 I really like your writing its really good!

a/n: i wasn't sure what flavour of crazy you were hoping for, so i went with the classic 'break into your house and hold you at gunpoint to express her love' kinda crazy. hope you enjoy!

THIS LOVE

{ strade x f! reader }

word count: 1.5k

warnings/tags: DUBCON to consent, implied stalking, obsessive behaviour, gun use, nonconsensual bondage, threats of violence, some gaslighting, self-injury (cutting and stabbing), bloodplay, woundfucking.

The moon casts an eerie glow over Strade's house as you approach, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and dread. The gun tucked into your waistband feels heavy, but it’s a necessary weight.

It's been months since you last saw him, since he cast you aside because of your jealousy and the scenes you caused. But tonight, you will make him see reason. Tonight, you will make him understand that you belong together. Your love is a storm, wild and consuming, and nothing will stand in its way.

The lock clicks open under your deft fingers, and you slip inside, the familiar scent of his home washing over you. As you move through the darkened hallway like a spectre, your fingers trail along the walls, absorbing the essence of the place where he lives—where he breathes. Every step deeper into his sanctuary feels like a step closer to your destiny.

Your eyes are drawn to the living room, where you can almost feel his warmth, his musk lingering in the air. Bathed in glittering moonlight, Strade lies passed out on the couch, an empty bottle at his feet. His chest rises and falls with the rhythm of deep, alcohol-induced sleep, a scene so deceptively peaceful it almost makes you hesitate.

Almost.

You retrieve zip ties from your bag, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You move silently, slipping the ties around his wrists and tightening them until they bite into his skin. He stirs slightly and then wakes, thrashing and confused like an ensnared boar. His eyes dart wildly before settling on you, widening in shock. “Was zum Teufel…?”

“Strade, my love,” you whisper, pressing the gun to his temple, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “Don’t move. I have a gun.”

His eyes flash with a dangerous glint, muscles tensing as he tests the restraints. “W-What the hell are you doing here?” he growls, his rough voice trembling slightly.

You smile as dread floods his features. It's as if a shell crumbles before you, revealing the soft, vulnerable creature within. The expression on Strade's scarred face assures you that you are in control—you have the power to sway him your way.

“I’ve seen them,” you say, your finger hovering over the trigger. “All the... the sluts you bring home."

You've watched from the shadows, seeing people come but never leave, witnessing his hand itch down their backs as they drunkenly stumble in. Some are hardly conscious, their heads lolling as he carries them inside. The images gnaw painfully at your heart as your digit glides over the steel pad, just itching to press down.

"It makes me so angry... So jealous. I'd decorate this couch with your brains if I didn't love you so much..." Your voice is laced with desperation, your brows furrowed and pout immanent. It was an expression as familiar to him as one of fear, but it frightened rather than thrilled him.

“You’re insane, you have no clue what you see,” he spits, struggling against the zip ties.

“No, I'm in love with you, Strade,” you insist, tears blurring your vision. “I came here to show you don’t need anyone else. Just me. Only me. I can make you change your mind—make you remember the love we shared..."

You're on him in an instant, leaning in to smash your lips into his, the kiss sloppy and desperate. He tries to pull away, but you hold him in place, the gun digging into his temple. You straddle his hips and fumble with the waistband of his pants, pulling them just enough to expose his manhood.

You grind your clothed body against him, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Yet, he remains unresponsive, his eyes cold and narrow. The realization cuts deep, and you stop midway, staring down at him with a mix of anger and despair. Memories flood your mind—how he used to grip your throat just a little too tight, how he’d smile when you cried out in pain, how his eyes would light up at the sight of your scars and bruises. He had always seemed to enjoy getting off on your suffering, pushing you to the edge, revelling in your pain.

“Y-You need to see me bleed, don't you? See me in pain?” you ask, your voice tinged with urgency. “That's what it takes to get you off, isn't it?”

Before he can reply, you slide off him and scurry to the kitchen, tucking the gun back into its holster. The knife drawer opens with a metallic clink, and you rummage through, frustration mounting as you find only dull blades, their edges worn from neglect. Your fingers finally close around a steak knife, the one sharp exception among the rest. Its pointed edge gleams under the dim light, forged for gliding effortlessly through meat of all kinds; a weapon used for dining rather than violence. You grip the handle, feeling its weight, the promise of pain and power thrumming through your fingers.

With the knife in hand, you return to the living room and straddle Strade’s thighs once more. He relaxes slightly, his expression softening with a mixture of curiosity and caution. You can feel his gaze following your every movement as you push your shirt up, exposing your stomach to the cool air.

Slowly, you trace the knife down your abdomen, the sharp edge grazing your skin just enough to draw a thin, blooming line. His eyes darken, his interest piqued despite his earlier defiance.

“You always did like to see me bleed, didn’t you?” you murmur, the knife trailing lower. His eyes remain fixed on the blade, and you can see the flicker of something primal in his gaze. He bites his lip as if trying to stifle a response, but his cock bobs in approval.

You smirk, feeling a sense of satisfaction at his reaction. “Then watch closely,” you whisper, reaching for him with your free hand. You press the knife a bit harder, small droplets of blood forming where the tip bites into your skin. Leaning forward, you glide your torso against him, the fresh wound skimming the length of his shaft and coating it in a cherry-red sheen. You can feel him slowly hardening in your hand, slick with blood and arousal.

"You know, I'd cut my heart out for you if it would make you happy," you huff, a small smile playing on your lips as you lean back on your heels. "But then, how would I get to see your handsome face when I present it to you?"

Strade's brows raise in amusement as you continue to toy with the knife. "You can see my face now, Liebling," he murmurs, his voice dripping with sadistic delight. "So, go on then. Bleed more for me. Go deeper."

Without hesitation, the blade pierces your flesh again, and a small cry escapes your lips. You push the knife deeper into your abdomen, feeling a hot, searing ache radiate through your body. Blood wells up, spilling over your fingers as you pull the knife away and let it clatter to the floor.

With a grimace, you push your own fingers into the gash, feeling the warmth of your essence coat your skin. The pain is blinding, but you don't stop. You want him to see, to understand the lengths you’ll go to for him. Your fingers move inside the wound, exploring the torn flesh, and you gasp again, your breath coming in ragged bursts.

A curious smile tugs at the corners of Strade's mouth, and you can feel his erection twitch in your bloodied hand, responding to the perverse tableau before him.

"D-Do you see?" you gasp, your voice trembling. "I bleed for you."

You then lean forward and guide the head of his cock into the open wound, pressing it against the jagged flesh. Pain and ecstasy blur as you stroke the base, feeling the hot throb of his arousal against your anatomy. His hips jerk forward, pushing deeper into the wound, and you yelp, your head falling forward as your hair cascades over your sweat-slick face.

"Haah.. F-Feel... Feel me..." you stammer, your voice breaking with the intensity of the moment. Your hands move with frantic urgency, stroking his length and smearing your blood over him.

The world narrows to the point of pain where his cock and your wound meet, a singular focus of raw, consuming sensation. Every thrust sends waves of agony through you, yet a familiar pressure builds in your core.

You sob his name, your voice a weak, broken plea. "Strade… I… I love you…"

With one final, savage thrust, he shudders, his climax tearing through him. You feel the hot flood of his cum seeping through your tissues, the sensation overwhelming, yet so rewarding. As the intensity peaks, your vision blurs and your body succumbs. You collapse on top of him, darkness closing in as you bask in the aftermath of your union, skin against skin.

Food for thought

If strade wasn't german he would sound like Jschlatt

You are welcome.

Tchuss

omg i can kinda see that

do u do platonic hcs or nah?

i can :)

qUESTION DO U KNOW CREEPYPASTA????

yes! although i've only ever read/played games based on a few of the old ones (like ben drowned, sonic.exe, jeff the killer, slender man, etc.)

because now i can just imagine that fun song scene but with strade...in the hat- https://youtu.be/DQInFpciXmw?si=-Lpt6fSQYRp-ahje

an image to accompany that thought:

i want to write darkfics for bg3 as well :'3

would anyone be interested?

Hi it's me the scratchy one I have been absolutely OBSESSED lately and I need to share this with someone...i can call you a friend right?

ANYWAY IDEA

Remember the 2003 cat in the hat film starring Mike Myers?...that but strades the cat

I'm sorry-q

of course, you can call me a friend!

and yes, i remember that movie XD now i want to draw strade wearing the tophat.

i hope you have a nice day scratchy anon :3

Could you possibly do MC gaining the upper hand over Strade somehow... and then the terrifying consequences of Strade regaining the upper hand?

a/n: sure! hope you enjoy, anon :3

SHOCKER

{ strade x gn! reader }

word count: 908

warnings/tags: graphic violence and gore, stabbing, electric shock, some name-calling, cutting, wound fingering, disembowelment.

It felt different being the one in control, wielding a knife with trembling hands, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Your body bore the signs of your captivity—your torment. Scars both old and fresh marred your skin, and a shackle-like collar weighed heavy around your neck. Over the months, they had transformed you into captive prey, but tonight, the predator was on the opposite side of the blade.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty betraying the facade of confidence he wore like armour. His gaze filled with shock and, perhaps, a hint of fear. Yet, you couldn't afford to dwell on his reaction, not when your own heart threatened to burst from your chest.

Before he could react, before he could utter a word of warning or defiance, you lunged forward, the blade seeking purchase in the flesh of his shoulder with a sickening squelch.

His scream echoed through the basement, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine. The sight of blood staining his shirt was both horrifying and intoxicating. Its metallic tang filled the air, thick and cloying like the taste of iron on your tongue. Strade's curses pierced the silence, a cacophony of rage and pain that drowned out the pounding of your heartbeat. As you recoiled, the weight of your actions came crashing down upon you like a tidal wave.

His fury was palpable, a storm gathering on the horizon with the blade still embedded in his skin. He shakily reached into his pocket and retrieved a remote control, aiming it toward you—toward the machinery around your neck.

And then came the shock.

It hit you like lightning, searing through your nerves with an intensity that stole your breath away and made your body crumble to the floor. The collar became a conduit for agony, the metal digging into your skin like a thousand needles. Your muscles spasmed uncontrollably, limbs jerking with a violence that felt foreign and surreal.

Numbness spread like wildfire, engulfing your senses in a shroud of icy oblivion. Your vision blurred, the world tilting on its axis as you teetered on the precipice of consciousness. As the shock continued unabated, each agonizing second stretched into eternity. You felt as if your very bones were vibrating, threatening to splinter and fracture beneath the weight of the torment.

Then, mercifully, the shock ceased, leaving behind a searing pain that pulsed in time with your racing heartbeat.

You saw him looming over you through tear-blurred eyes, his features twisted in a crazed, fervent mask of triumph. He snarled as he wrenched the knife from his shoulder, the motion swift and brutal, blood splattering like rain on the concrete before you. The blade gleamed wickedly in the dim light as he turned it over in his hands, its tip now pointed at your trembling form. He descended upon you with a predatory grace, straddling your hips and pinning you to the cold, unforgiving floor.

His weight was oppressive, crushing your hope as easily as your breath. With deliberate cruelty, he lifted your shirt, exposing your scarred flesh to the basement chill. His eyes roamed over your body, a dark hunger lurking in their depths, and he licked his lips as if savouring the fear emanating from you.

"Ah, Mein Liebling, you're too soft," Strade hummed, pressing the blade beneath your sternum. "Couldn't even stab me where it'd hurt."

You attempted an apology but your tongue lay useless in your mouth, your words garbled and senseless. He laughed, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your neck.

"You are weak, pathetic, and so... cute."

You could smell him, a potent musk accompanied by the lingering stench of alcohol that clung to him like a second skin. It was sickening, listening to the words tumble from his lips as his own blood and sweat continued to flow.

"You're soft everywhere," he breathed, plunging the knife deeper and deeper into your flesh until a pool of crimson formed beneath its cutting edge. Strade pulled the blade down to your navel, eliciting a pained groan as you gawked helplessly at your bloodied skin.

He retraced the incision, making a shallow cut through your muscles, and slipping two fingers into the newly-formed hole. He was breathing faster now, working himself into a frenzy as he probed around at your insides.

Strade was knuckle-deep in your abdomen, yet you could hardly feel a thing. All you could register was the wet, almost lewd, squelching of your anatomy as it shifted around, out of place. He shoved his hand deeper, and a foreign, burning sensation built in your gut. Four thick fingers grasped for something, but it slithered from his grasp, slick and elusive like a snake through the grass.

He grabbed again, a fistful this time, and pulled the snake-like thing out of your body. It slunk down your side and met the concrete with a moist thump. Strade grabbed once more, pulling harder.

You felt something unwinding inside.

Inside.

Your insides felt cold and empty, yet your skin was searing hot and painful.

You strained your neck to watch the scene unfold—your own body being turned inside out with each tug, joining a small heap of viscera beside you.

With one final pull, he grinned and held something red and glistening high above his head like a trophy—whatever was left of your intestine, slipping around his grasp, coated in a thick, mucousy sheen.