If Reqs Are Open, What Would Happen If The Reader Managed To Escape Strade? I Can Imagine She Did Her

if reqs are open, what would happen if the reader managed to escape strade? i can imagine she did her best to act as if she loved him (like if she developed stockholm syndrome) but when least expected, strade finds out she’s gone??

LOL i love drama like that & i just gotta know how he would react!!

i luv your acc ☆〜（ゝ。∂）!!

a/n: thank you for your kind words! i absolutely adore drama too lmao, so i had fun with this. hope you enjoy :3c

{ strade x f! reader }

warnings/tags: generally SFW, stockholm syndrome, psychological and emotional abuse themes, flashbacks, dependency, reader was held captive before ren (to justify why he isn't in this LOL).

After months of careful deception, you learn to mimic signs of affection and dependency, crafting a façade of compliance. Gradually, you familiarize yourself with Strade’s routine, seizing on his rare moments of carelessness. This observation reveals where he hides his keys and the device needed to disarm the shock collar around your neck.

The day finally comes when he leaves you home alone, overly confident in your supposed submission. As his car vanishes down the driveway, a surge of fear and exhilaration grips you. You quickly disarm the shock collar and slip out barefoot, dressed only in the thin tanktop and shorts he provided.

Once outside, the stark reality sets in. Without belongings, money, or means to communicate, you find yourself overwhelmed by uncertainty. The unfamiliar streets and neighbourhood only heighten your sense of vulnerability.

Your deep-seated fear of what Strade might do to anyone who assists you, prevents you from seeking help. Remembering his threats and knowing his capability for cruelty, you avoid involving others as much as possible, fearing that any attempt they make to help could lead them into grave danger.

Upon discovering your absence, Strade's initial disbelief rapidly spirals into rage and paranoia. Anticipating that you might seek police help, he destroys any evidence of your captivity before starting his search.

Despite his rage and sense of betrayal, he is calculated in his approach, reviewing footage from hidden cameras he installed around the house to trace your last known direction. He predicts your likely paths and potential havens, using his intimate knowledge of your behaviours and fears to narrow down his search.

Meanwhile, he may begin to leave cryptic messages in places he suspects you might visit; each laden with intimate references designed to manipulate and unnerve you.

The longer you're free, the more you recognize how deeply your dependence on Strade has become. Every shadow and unfamiliar face triggers a panic that he might be lurking nearby. Despite your desperation for freedom, there's a twisted comfort in the life you left behind.

You find yourself grappling with survival on the outside—seeking food, shelter, and a semblance of normalcy. The harsh practicalities of life make you question whether you can truly exist without the perverse care Strade provided. Amid these struggles, you feel an overwhelming sense of isolation and disorientation.

After wandering the streets aimlessly, you eventually stumble upon a small, rundown shelter for the homeless; where the dim lights and hushed whispers contrast the nighttime silence you've grown accustomed to in his home. Lying on a worn cot, a memory of sleeping in Strade's bed unexpectedly floods your mind.

It was the first night he invited you upstairs, a night that marked a disturbing progression in your captivity—a sign that you had somehow earned his trust or, perhaps more accurately, successfully played into his delusions. This memory was far removed from the stark and unforgiving confines of the basement where you initially spent your days.

It feels surreal now, as distant and detached as a scene from another person's life. The warmth of his bed and the false sense of security he provided starkly contrast with the thin, scratchy blanket provided by the shelter. You remember how he held you close, his breath steady in the quiet room, making you feel, for just a moment, that you were something more than a captive. It was a night when the boundaries of your grim reality seemed blurred, and you almost allowed yourself to forget the bars of your gilded cage.

Now, lying amid the restless stirrings of others seeking shelter, you feel a stark loneliness. Here, there are no arms to hold you, no illusion of safety. You pull the thin blanket tighter around yourself, trying to stifle the shiver that runs through you, not just from the cold, but from the haunting clarity that here, in this place of refuge, you are utterly alone.

The following morning, as the grey light of dawn filters through the shelter's windows, you gather your sparse courage to face another day. Stepping outside, you draw a deep breath, bracing against the cold. Your breath catches in your throat when your eyes land on Strade's truck ominously idling at the curb. He's leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. He startles you—not just by being there, but by his calmness, as if this morning is merely another routine pickup, not the recapture of an escapee. "Good morning," he says, his voice disturbingly casual, as though the recent events were just a minor disruption. The street is mostly deserted; the few early risers are too wrapped up in their morning routines to notice your tense reunion. He pushes off from the truck and steps towards you, his movements controlled, almost gentle. "Let's go home," he says, his words sounding more like an invitation than a command.

As you climb into the truck, the familiar interior greets you—a stark reminder of your first time in this seat, marked by its distinctive coppery smell and the notable absence of a passenger-side handle. When the shelter recedes into the background, a wave of finality washes over you, and tears begin to stream down your face.

Upon reaching his house, Strade quietly guides you inside. As the door locks behind you, it becomes certain that you will never step foot outside again.

Do you write anything involving ageplay? (Both characters involved are adults of course)

i haven't written anything with ageplay before, but i've written fics with age gaps many times before! i don't mind trying to write ageplay though!

umm strade size kink drabble / hcs pretty please :3c

{ strade x gn! reader }

warnings/tags: NSFW, size difference, physical dominance, body pinning and smothering, belly bulging.

strade enjoys using his height and bulk to maneuver you with minimal effort.

he'd slam your pliable body onto and against any surface he pleases, keeping you pinned with the soft expanse of his stomach. his extra weight makes your struggle feel inconsequential and his thick arms imprison you against him.

he may hold you up with one arm, your legs dangling helplessly, or keep you under his shadow by pressing you firmly to the ground with his heavy boot.

his large, strong hands are perfect for asserting dominance, encircling your wrists, waist, or neck with ease.

he derives a certain pleasure in watching your combined reflections in mirrors. the visual of his large, imposing figure coupled with your smaller stature excites him. he'd call you his "kleine Puppe", his little doll, as he smothers you with his bulk.

as you're pinned beneath him, the heat and scent of his body are inescapable, and his broad chest against yours makes it hard to breathe without his permission.

he often stands just a bit too close, towering over you with a sadistic grin.

to intimidate, he may occasionally demonstrate his raw strength. whether he's twisting your arm behind your back or crushing hard objects in his palm, he enjoys watching your eyes widen in fear as you are reminded of his power.

when he fucks you, your tummy bulges from the girth and weight of his erection. he often rests his hands over your stomach, feeling the muscles tighten as he thrusts into you harder, faster.

with your hands bound behind you, he'd force you into a prone bone position, his stomach heavy against your lower back and his robust forearms on either side of your head.

dni

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asks, thirsts, requests

❥   i always accept thirsts, asks, and requests, so please feel free to send them in!

❥   i will take requests for short fics, drabbles, or hcs. please know i may take some time to complete them as i am still in college!

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❥   i am not caught up on the bnha or jjk manga, so i apologize for any inaccuracies in my writing!

content

❥   i will not write: character x character (char x char x reader is fine!), scat, bestiality, or pedophilia.

❥   i will write: adult or aged-up characters only, m! or f! characters x f! or gn! reader, non/dub-con, incest, piss, whump, necro, snuff, monsterfucking, etc. 

uhh dad strade x fem reader drabble or short fic? make it as gross as you want. hope you’re having a good day :)

PAPA

{ dad! strade x adult daughter! reader }

word count: 880

warnings/tags: INCEST, age gap (18+ reader), molestation, alcohol use, descriptions of blood, violence, oral mutilation, and decapitation, poorly translated german lol

You live blissfully unaware of the horrors lurking just beneath the surface of your father's life, drawn instead to his charm and rough affection. Even as an adult, you seek comfort in his embrace, climbing onto his lap where you feel the familiar outline of his knife sheath against your back. The weight of his large, calloused hand rests reassuringly on your hip, and in these moments, you feel only safety and love. Unbeknownst to you, the same hand that holds you close could, with chilling ease, end your life.

Consumed with lustful thoughts, your father gazes down at your body, imagining all the ways he could destroy it. His rough fingertips reach to trace the curve of your stomach through your shirt, his breath hot against your neck. He imagines pulling out every one of your teeth, tasting your blood as it drips down your chin, and licking away your salty tears as you cry out in agony. He wants to hear you scream and feel you struggle as he stifles your sounds with his cock, shoving it deep into your gummy, bloody mouth.

But above all else, he wants to take your head. He helped bring you into this world, after all, and he insisted on being the architect of your departure. In his darkest fantasies, he envisions the satisfying thud of your head as it strikes the basement floor, followed by the crimson tide of your blood, warmly spilling, seeping into the rough, porous concrete beneath.

Fuelled by alcohol, his hand squeezes your flesh roughly, causing you to wince as sharp waves of pain ripple through you.

"You are so beautiful, Mein Schatz," he murmurs, "Just like your mother…" His fingers press roughly into your flesh, causing you to wince as sharp waves of pain ripple through you. You try to wriggle away but his grip tightens, anchoring you in place.

"Oh, don't be like that," he breathes, his voice a soft, velvet purr that belied the sharpness in his eyes. "Don't you want to feel how much your old man loves you?". He asks, his hand sliding down between your legs. You try to protest, but your words are smothered by his free hand tightening over your mouth. He paws at your thinly-dressed crotch, seemingly deaf to your whines and enraptured by the warm sensation of your skin.

His fingers tremble slightly, the alcohol undermining the steadiness of his grip on your face. In his clouded mind, he thinks of a myriad of ways to end your life—each more lingering and excruciating than the last. Yet impatience whispers to him, suggesting he could end it all now, right here on this couch. The thought curls his lips into a sinister smile as he imagines the swift draw of his blade across your tender throat, releasing sanguineous rivulets that pour down your front and stain the fabric beneath.

He withdraws his hand, the touch lingering like a shadow as it slides from between your legs and back to your torso. "You know, I always thought about what it'd be like to have a daughter," he murmurs, his voice low and thick with a twisted mirth. "And I got one, didn't I?" His fingers crawl higher, skittering across your ribs before they hook around the edge of your bra. "You were such a pretty thing, so quiet and sweet. I'd just watch you for hours."

You shudder under his gaze, locked into his intense stare. His face shows pure love and adoration, yet hides something sinister beneath that bleeds through each touch. It’s as if he’s two people rolled into one and you can’t tell which is real.

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear, his words a whisper laced with menace. "But you grew up, didn’t you? You became a woman, and oh, how things changed." His eyes, predatory and cold, scan your face as he pauses. "I told myself I wanted to keep you safe, to shield you from the horrors of the world," he continues, pressing his fingers deeper, pinning you with a force that shatters his protective guise. "But the one you need saving from is me."

Your eyes widen with fear and confusion as you squirm against the heat of his embrace and the confinement of his arms. He watches you silently, curiously, pondering your thoughts and feelings. Yet instead of releasing you, he draws even closer, his breath unsettlingly warm against your face. "Mein süßes Mädchen," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face with deliberate slowness. "I've always wondered how you'd look splayed out on my workbench... I'm just dying to know what's inside that pretty little head of yours..."

Your heart flutters as he speaks again, his voice low and hypnotic. You try to reply, but the words snag in your throat. His eyes gleam with eagerness as he observes your panicked struggle.

Then, with a contrived snicker, he shakes his head. "Oh, you should see your face!" he exclaims, his fingers darting out to tickle you. "You’re so easy to scare!" His laughter rings out again, hollow and disconcerting. You try to laugh along, but it comes out as a strangled gasp, hanging in the air as your father's chuckles continue to echo around you.

umm strade size kink drabble / hcs pretty please :3c

{ strade x gn! reader }

warnings/tags: NSFW, size difference, physical dominance, body pinning and smothering, belly bulging.

strade enjoys using his height and bulk to maneuver you with minimal effort.

he'd slam your pliable body onto and against any surface he pleases, keeping you pinned with the soft expanse of his stomach. his extra weight makes your struggle feel inconsequential and his thick arms imprison you against him.

he may hold you up with one arm, your legs dangling helplessly, or keep you under his shadow by pressing you firmly to the ground with his heavy boot.

his large, strong hands are perfect for asserting dominance, encircling your wrists, waist, or neck with ease.

he derives a certain pleasure in watching your combined reflections in mirrors. the visual of his large, imposing figure coupled with your smaller stature excites him. he'd call you his "kleine Puppe", his little doll, as he smothers you with his bulk.

as you're pinned beneath him, the heat and scent of his body are inescapable, and his broad chest against yours makes it hard to breathe without his permission.

he often stands just a bit too close, towering over you with a sadistic grin.

to intimidate, he may occasionally demonstrate his raw strength. whether he's twisting your arm behind your back or crushing hard objects in his palm, he enjoys watching your eyes widen in fear as you are reminded of his power.

when he fucks you, your tummy bulges from the girth and weight of his erection. he often rests his hands over your stomach, feeling the muscles tighten as he thrusts into you harder, faster.

with your hands bound behind you, he'd force you into a prone bone position, his stomach heavy against your lower back and his robust forearms on either side of your head.