Hey Hey!

Hey hey!

Could you do a Ren x Fem!reader Nsfw while they were still ‘owned’ by Strade? He can be there too if you want ^^

I just need this 🙏

a/n: yess i love this dynamic so muchh <3 this is probably one of the more wholesome things i've written. hope you enjoy, anon!!

WASH IT ALL AWAY

{ captive! ren hana x captive f! reader }

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: NSFW, consensual (:0 !?), mentions of blood/injury, soft and gentle, bathtub sex, kissing, handjob, some scratching/biting, fox penis in vagina.

The night was still, punctuated only by Strade's deep, even breaths as he slept in the adjacent room. His slumber marked a brief reprieve from the day’s cruelty, a precious few hours where shadows gathered and whispered of forbidden things. The dim light seeping through the basement door painted golden streaks across the staircase, a faint illumination that led you to Ren.

Your steps were silent, cautious, as if the very air around you could betray your intent. Ren was there, as you knew he would be, standing at the stairhead, his eyes alert and intense. His presence was a beacon, drawing you closer with the gravity of shared pain and longing.

As you approached, his posture relaxed, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I was so worried," Ren whispered, his voice heavy with relief. "When I heard you, the sounds... I was so scared."

"I made it back to you, Ren. Like I promised," you replied, though your voice trembled.

His eyes warmed with a familiar tenderness as he took your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? A warm bath... we can forget everything else, just for a while," he suggested, his voice a gentle caress promising care and comfort.

As Ren guided you upstairs to his bedroom, the soft click of his claws against the stairs marked your path. Upon entry, your pain and fear momentarily subsided, replaced by a sense of security in his familiar presence. The room was suffused with the scent of him— earthy and lightly floral, mixed with the copper tang of blood that no amount of scrubbing could erase.

"Just relax," he murmured, his voice soothing as he brushed past you, his tail gently swaying. "I'll run the bath."

He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, and soon the sound of running water mingled with the rustle of movement as he adjusted the taps. Steam slowly began to fill the space, weaving around you both like a gentle caress and blending seamlessly with the room’s lingering scents.

"The bath's ready! Nice and warm," Ren called out softly, invitingly. You both undressed, the layers of your captivity falling away with each piece of fabric that hit the floor. Though the heavy shock-collars remained around your necks they seemed less constricting here, in this temporary sanctuary.

Stepping into the bathroom, the humidity enveloped you, easing the chill of fear that had clung to your bones. Together, you sank into the comforting embrace of the hot water; the bath becoming a secluded haven where peace could exist, if only for a while. As you settled in, the water around you faintly blushed, tinged with red from your fresh wounds.

You sat facing each other, your legs intertwined comfortably. Ren’s tail softened in the water, becoming slick and smooth under your fingers. You reached out, tentatively at first, then with more assurance as you brushed your fingers through his fur, the texture luxurious and mesmerizing. He sighed, a sound of deep contentment escaping him as his tail twitched slightly and his eyes closed in blissful surrender to the moment.

Ren opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that melted any lingering tension. He smiled gently, reaching for a sponge. "May I?" he whispered softly, seeking your permission to touch, to wash away the physical reminders of the day's ordeal.

You nodded, allowing him to cleanse the wounds and weariness from your body. As the sponge moved in smooth, careful strokes over your skin, the tension within you began to ebb away. Gradually, he set aside the sponge, his fingers replacing it, the transition almost imperceptible. The soft touch of his hands felt more intimate, more healing than the porous material, tracing the contours of your body with a touch both soothing and careful.

The steam hung heavy around you, a veil that seemed to isolate you from the rest of the world. It was just you and Ren, the water lapping gently at your skin, his hands exploring the lines of your body with a reverence that made your breath catch. The kiss came naturally, almost inevitable, as you leaned into him. His lips were soft against yours, urgent yet incredibly tender, conveying emotions too complex to voice.

You deepened the kiss, your fingers weaving into his damp, red hair, gently tugging him closer. As your hands explored, they found the soft base of his ears and squeezed gently, drawing a throaty groan from him. Ren's reaction vibrated against your lips as he touched your back, his nails gently raking along your spine. The water around you seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your beating hearts, waves gently swaying in time with your movements.

Your hands slid down his front and traced patterns on his furred chest, feeling every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his breath. Ren responded in kind, his hands sliding down to cup your hips, pulling you closer until you were straddling him, the water swirling around you as you moved together.

His kisses trailed down your jaw, each one light and tantalizing. You threw your head back, allowing him access to the delicate skin of your throat, his lips and teeth gently teasing. His breath, warm against your damp skin, mixed with the steam, creating a heady sensation that made the room spin slightly.

You leaned forward, whispering his name as a silent plea, your movements becoming more deliberate. Ren's hands steadied on your hips, guiding you as you gently ground against him. Your hands ventured further, tracing the course line of fur that led to his cock. His response was immediate; a sharp intake of breath, his back arching slightly, urging you closer.

The bathroom vanished, consumed by the sensations intensified by the warm water caressing your skin. It was just you and Ren, moving together in perfect harmony. His lips found yours once more, your tongues dancing as his hands explored the contours of your body, urging you closer still. You could feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, the water lapping at your skin as he thrust into your grasp.

His fingers dug into your hips, urging you to a faster pace, and you obeyed without hesitation. You could feel every inch of him, the head of his shaft pressing against your palm as you stroked him, the familiar ridges that slid between your fingers slick with water and precum. The sounds of your breath mingled with the soft splashing of the water, creating a rhythm that seemed to echo through your very soul.

He whispered your name, his voice husky with need, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "Please, I need to be inside you," he breathed out, a plea laced with passion, urging you closer to the edge. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice tender as he sought your consent. The words sounded almost foreign to you now, having grown so accustomed to the harsh commands of Strade's regime. Here, with Ren, every word was a gentle offer, a question soaked in care and respect, forming a stark contrast to your current reality.

You nodded as you managed a response, "Yes, Ren, please." His smile was slow, grateful, and filled with warmth. You hovered above him and he carefully moved forward, uniting you both in a moment as delicate as it was intense.

As his cock slipped inside, Ren's hands gripped your thighs, his nails digging slightly into your skin and drawing a soft moan from you. He leaned forward and his lips found the curve of your neck again. This time, his kisses were punctuated by gentle bites, each leaving behind a tender mark.

The shape of him, with its curious, fox-like tapering, fit perfectly, complementing your own form. Your body moved in sync with his rhythm as you met his thrusts with your own. Each connection sent ripples of pleasure through you, drawing moans that mixed with the steamy air. Your hands clung to his shoulders and your nails dug in slightly as he bucked faster into you.

"I want you to remember this... remember us, when everything else feels like too much," Ren murmured against your skin, his breath hot and his words imbued with a fervour that made your heart swell. His actions were deliberate, marking you in a way that felt reverent— in a way that made you forget the weight of the shackle that sat just a few inches below his lips.

The rhythm you found together was a natural cadence, echoing the soft sound of water lapping at the sides of the tub, the gentle movement resonating in perfect harmony with your joined breaths.

Ren's pace quickened, his movements becoming less controlled, more urgent as he sought release. You could feel the tension building within him, his grip tightening as he neared the brink. His breaths became short, his chest heaving against yours. With a final, deep thrust, he groaned, his body tensing as he reached his climax, filling you with the warmth of his seed.

Panting, he collapsed gently against you, though he remained inside, ensuring the connection wasn't broken. You both sat there, entwined and still, the water in the bath slightly cooler now, but your bodies radiated enough heat to keep the chill at bay.

Ren's arms wrapped around you more fully, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You felt his lips move against your skin in a soft, almost imperceptible kiss. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice laden with emotion. His tail, still submerged, curled around your leg in a gentle embrace.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady against yours. The steam from the bath enveloped your bodies, creating a serene cocoon that shielded you from the harsh outside world. Each touch, each whisper deepened a connection that felt as vital as the air you breathed.

haiii, everyone!! i'm slowly working through the requests, i took a little break after buying bg3 (lol), but i will gradually finish them all! thank you for your patience and kind words <3 they're very encouraging!

anyways, here's my tav, she's a wood half-elf druid <33

VOULD I ASK ABOUT A COP READER AND STRADE???

Like the readers older sibling was missing and they were looking for them, who also got kidnapped (and possibly killed by strade) he meets them at the bar, reader is like REALLYY drunk, she whines about not being able to find their older sibling, and Strade knows. He knows what he did.

a/n: what a fun idea!! strade would definitely be extra horrible if he knew his victim was a cop. hope you enjoy, anon!

PIGGY

{ strade x gn! reader }

word count: 1.3k

warnings/tags: alcohol use, violence, kidnapping, psychological torture, forced voyeurism, implied sibling death.

The room spins and the edges of the world soften as you gulp down another shot, the sting of alcohol burning a path down your throat. The dim lights of the bar flicker, casting elongated shadows that dance mockingly around you. This place is a sanctuary of sorts— a shabby dive where lost souls come to drown memories and silence their demons with liquid oblivion.

Strade finds you there, at the edge of dissolution. His entrance is unremarkable, yet somehow you feel the atmosphere shift, a predatory chill seeping through the smoky haze.

His eyes catch yours across the crowded room, glinting with a dark curiosity as he takes the stool beside you. "Rough night, buddy?" he asks, his voice smooth, dangerously inviting.

You nod, swirling the ice in your nearly empty glass. "You could say that." The words spill out of you, heavy with bitterness.

His smile holds a semblance of warmth, perhaps a touch too studied, but under the weight of your despair, you don't notice. He leans in, the movement calculated, as if setting the stage for a confession. "Wanna talk about it? Sometimes airing it out is the only way to breathe again," he suggests, his voice a careful blend of intrigue and concern.

You hesitate, the words hanging precariously on the tip of your tongue. The presence of a stranger, oddly enough, feels like an opportunity to unload, to confide. "It's my older brother," you finally say, the words escaping in a rush. "He's missing, and I feel like I'm chasing shadows. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Strade’s interest sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours, unblinking. "Disappeared? That’s heavy. How long has he been gone?"

"Three weeks," you reply, the number feeling more substantial with each passing day. "Three weeks of not knowing. It’s eating me up inside."

"And the police?" Strade probes, his voice a soft nudge pushing you deeper into your own turmoil.

"They're doing what they can, I guess. But I'm a cop too, and it feels like I should be able to do more. It's different when it's personal, you know?" You take another sip, the alcohol a poor salve for the ache of helplessness.

Strade nods, feigning empathy. "I can only imagine. Being so close to it, being expected to just wait and see. Must be tearing you apart."

"It is," you admit, your guard crumbling under the weight of your grief and the false security of his attentive gaze. "I keep thinking I'll miss something, or that I’ll get a call saying they've found him, but not... not in the way I hope."

He leans back slightly, giving you space to breathe, yet his presence envelops you, thick as the smoke in the bar. "Sounds like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. Someone like you shouldn’t be alone with this."

You laugh, a hollow sound. "Feels like I don’t have much choice in the matter. Everyone else is just... moving on."

"But you can't," Strade concludes, his voice soft. "Not until you know."

"Yeah," you whisper, feeling the truth of his words like a punch to the gut. "Not until I know."

He watches you for a moment, a predator disguised as a confidante. "Let me do something for you tonight. Let's make sure you get home safe. It’s the least I can do."

Gratitude, misguided and dangerous, washes over you. "Thanks, I... I appreciate that, really."

"Don’t mention it," he replies, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he signals the bartender to settle your tab.

You lean heavily on him as he guides you outside, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the bar. The alley beside the establishment is dimly lit, deserted, and as you stagger against the cold brick for support, Strade’s demeanour shifts imperceptibly.

"You really think I'd help a cop?" His voice is suddenly sharp, a serrated edge that cuts through your alcohol-fueled haze.

"What?" Confusion clouds your mind, struggling to keep up with the sudden change.

"I’m not calling you a cab," he sneers, his face inches from yours and his grip tightening painfully on your arm.

Before you can react, your head slams against the wall, a burst of pain radiating through your skull as stars explode in your vision. Strade’s mocking laugh is the last thing you hear before darkness claims you.

When your consciousness creeps back, it’s a cruel awakening. Your body aches, bound tightly to a cold, metal pole in a room that reeks of blood and decay. Panic claws at your chest as your eyes adjust to the dimness, the figure of Strade emerging from the shadows.

He's watching you intently, holding an expensive-looking laptop under his arm. "Awake already?" He asks, his voice mockingly gentle.

"Where the fuck am I?" Your voice is raw, fear sharpening each word.

"My little workshop," he replies nonchalantly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. "You want to see your brother, don't you?" Strade smiles, sensing your fear. You quickly nod, hope and desperation surging through you.

"Then relax. You won't want to miss this."

He casually opens the laptop, types something on the keyboard, and turns it towards you. The flicker of the screen casts eerie shadows across his face as the video begins to play.

You squint, trying to make sense of the images flickering across the laptop as he holds it just out of reach. Your heart sinks as you recognize the figure in the video— it's your brother, bound and terrified. A cold dread washes over you as Strade walks into frame, your mouth dry, words failing.

"What is this you sick fuck?!" You manage to spit out, your voice laced with horror and revulsion.

The screen flashes with horrific scenes, your brother's pleas echoing in the cramped, dark space as Strade approaches with a knife.

He watches you, a perverse glee lighting up his eyes. "See, your brother... he's become quite the celebrity."

Despite the overwhelming urge to look away, to shut out this nightmarish reality, you can't. Your eyes remain glued to the screen, each image searing itself into your memory— your brother's fear, his pain, his futile attempts to plead for a life already doomed as Strade's knife slices through his skin.

Guilt surges through you—irrational and overwhelming—guilt for not being able to stop this, for not finding him sooner, for every moment you spent doubting the worst had happened.

Strade's face twists into a smirk as the video unfolds before you. "Touching, isn’t it? The bond between siblings..." His words hang in the air, a new kind of torment. "Y'know, he talked about you, even towards the end. Kept saying, 'My sister is a cop. She’ll find you. She'll stop you.'" He laughs, mocking your brother's voice with an exaggerated shrill.

Your response is visceral. A scream rips from your throat, raw and hoarse, as the full weight of the horror crashes down upon you. Hot tears stream down your face, mingling with the bile on your tongue. The bonds around your wrists chafe painfully as you struggle against them, the metal pole unforgiving and cold.

He stands over you, a dark silhouette against the dim light, watching your every reaction with an analyst's eye. As the final scenes play out, your brother's wet, gurgling screams fade into a haze of pain and terror. Strade closes the laptop with a slow, deliberate motion and leans in close, his breath foul against your ear. His voice, a venomous whisper, sends shivers down your spine. "Your cop friends are probably wondering how torn up you are about your brother... It wouldn't be too surprising if you just... disappeared too."

"Now, why don't we film a sequel, little piggy?" His words slither around you, tightening like a noose. "And find out if you squeal just like your brother."

requests are temporarily closed until i catch up! i currently have 10 to finish. once i'm done, i will re-open them.

thank you everyone for sending me your fun ideas! <3 i will try my best and get these finished asap :3

hiii!! i don’t know if requests are open so in case they’re not this is more of like a convo / thirst?? but i keep thinking abt strade with a pregnant mc..like me personally i would try to hide the pregnancy for as long as i can bc knowing strade i wouldn’t be surprised if he used violence to get rid of the baby so AAA what do you think?? :00

hii! requests are technically closed, but i am fine with anyone still sending them in— just know i have many to finish and it may be a few days before i get to it!

anyway, I totally agree with you, anon! i don't think strade would be very receptive to the idea of you being pregnant. he'd likely use it as another avenue to exert his control and further manipulate you.

warnings (please heed): pregnancy, violence, forced miscarriage.

He'd inevitably notice the signs— the way your body changed, became fuller and more enticing. He might fix his gaze on your swelling belly, a cruel smile spreading across his face as he lifts his foot. When you shield yourself, curling protectively around your unborn child, the realization would hit him fully, and his smile would turn cold and menacing.

"So, you're hiding something from me, aren't you?" he'd say, voice dripping with mock sweetness. He may find it amusing, the fact that you tried to conceal it, but it wouldn’t take long for him to use the pregnancy to his advantage and make frequent, terrifying threats against you and the fetus.

His torment would culminate in him violently forcing a miscarriage, despite your desperate, animalistic protests. In the aftermath, as you lay broken and devastated, Strade would crouch beside you, his expression a twisted mask of satisfaction. "Don’t worry," he’d whisper, a chilling promise.

"I can always give you another one."

I JUST SAW REQUESTS CLOSED IM SO SORRY

don't worry! i'll add your request to my list and start working on it soon :3