Btd Headcanons - Tumblr Posts
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.
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.
can i rq strade scent / sweat kink hcs ? ( if ur comfortable with it ofc ^-^ )
a/n: omg pls anon, sweaty smelly hairy men are my weakness :''3 thank you for the request!!
{ strade x gn! reader}
warnings/tags: NSFW, sweat and blood licking, armpit sniffing and licking, body pinning and smothering, body worship, biting.
Strade's natural scent is a complex blend of sweat, leather, and motor oil, carried by an underlying note of earthiness akin to freshly turned soil. A hint of copper lingers too, intensifying whenever fresh blood stains his skin. His aroma grows more pungent after long hours in the shop or when he skips showers, each element combining to create a distinctly raw and potent musk.
His sweat has a tangy and salty quality that clings to the skin, underpinned by a distinct metallic sharpness. When on your tongue, this pungent mix becomes almost overwhelming, each flavour distinct and bold.
Strade might find you even more endearing if he discovers that you're aroused or affected by his natural odours. He'd tease you for being a 'little weirdo,' as he smothers you with his warm, sweaty body.
He'd pull your face into his armpit, allowing you to indulge in his distinct scent: strong, musky, and intoxicatingly male. As you shudder with delight, he'd watch your reactions closely, a smirk playing on his lips. "Like what you smell?" he'd taunt, before tightening his grip around your head just enough to restrict your breathing. Then, he'd encourage you further, "Go on, taste it," as you hesitantly extend your tongue to the damp skin, the salty tang of his sweat mixing with the unique musk of his body.
When he pins you down, his weight presses evenly against you so you can feel every contour and line of his muscular frame. The heat from his body coupled with the texture of his sweat-dampened skin are intoxicating. As you trace your hands and lips across the broad expanse of his chest and abdomen, you feel the subtle stickiness of his sweat against your bare skin. His scent—a heady mix of musk— envelops you completely, leaving you immersed in his essence.
After your blood is on him and he's warm, sweating from exertion, Strade would position himself to give you ample opportunity to worship his body. Starting from his feet and moving upwards, he'd instruct you meticulously: "Don't miss a spot." He'd revel in the sensation of your nose and lips on his heated skin. With every kiss and inhale you'd savour his scent, devotedly lapping up your own blood as it trickles down his hairy, sweat-slicked body.
Strade may even turn the tables on you, indulging in his own perverse curiosities. He'd pull you close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers a taunting challenge. "Let's see how you taste," he'd murmur, before taking long, deliberate inhales of your scent, his nose brushing along the curve of your jaw. Then, with a wicked grin, he would extend his tongue, tracing a slow, tantalizing path down your neck and along your shoulder, savouring the briny taste of your sweat as if it were a delicacy. He'd then bite hard enough to draw blood, swirling his tongue along your skin to make a mess of the wound and mix the flavours of iron-rich blood with salty sweat.
can i rq strade x ren x reader nsfw hcs please ?? ur like my new fav btd fanfic writer teehee :3
a/n: yes of course! and omg thank you <3 i'm so flattered :3c i hope you enjoy these nasty hcs!
{ strade x ren x gn! reader }
warnings/tag: NSFW, NON-CON, abuse of all forms, lots of strade voyeurism, fox-like mating/courting behaviours, breeding, cum licking/eating, sweat, piss, humiliation, oral mutilation, oral sex (double bj, face sitting, deep throating), blood as lube, necrophilia (?), hypothetical reader death.
It's no surprise that Strade gets off on testing loyalties, often commanding one of you to inflict pain on the other. Whatever it is, he finds pleasure only when both of you are left sobbing, bleeding, and terrified; both of yourselves and each other.
Ren becomes noticeably more affectionate and clingy at the onset of mating season, often nuzzling your neck and closely shadowing your movements. During this period, he is more susceptible to Strade's coercion, compelling him to act on his primal instincts. Strade might restrain or hold you down to allow Ren to breed you like the animal he is.
Strade finds pleasure in your humiliation, often forcing you to "clean each other up" post-ordeal. He'd make you and Ren lick the blood, sweat, and cum off each other's bodies, denying you the luxury of bathing.
While he's bound and helpless, Strade may command you to urinate on Ren, who is normally meticulous about keeping his fur clean. You comply, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as the warm stream cascades over Ren's trembling body, his features twisted in distress and his fur matted unpleasantly.
Strade would push his knife between your lips, slowly carving through each of your tongues. As your mouths fill with the coppery tang of blood, you and Ren kneel side by side, mouths working in tandem to suck him off. With his hands firmly gripping your heads, Strade dictates the rhythm and depth, the bitter taste of blood intertwining with his salty essence.
You'd often be made to straddle Ren’s face, pressing down as he struggles to breathe beneath you. Meanwhile, Strade grabs a fistful of your hair and grinds his hips forward, pushing his cock deep between your lips. As he forces himself all the way down your throat, he pinches your nose shut, cutting off your air completely. Ren’s hands, previously idle, instinctively move to your hips, attempting to ease the suffocating pressure on his face while his tongue works desperately between your legs.
Strade enjoys forcing you to draw blood from yourselves or each other, then using it to lubricate his fingers or cock before he violates you both. He watches with glee as you and Ren reluctantly smear the blood across each other’s bodies, coating your skin in a macabre sheen.
With the basement floor slick with the blood of a previous victim, Strade commands Ren to fuck you. The metallic scent hangs heavy in the air as the proximity of their lifeless body, mere inches away, adds a morbid thrill. Strade observes you both, physically entwined and coated in blood.
Should a bond form between you and Ren, Strade would seek to destroy it in the most harrowing way imaginable. He hands Ren a sharp, gleaming knife, issuing a chilling command: "Tear them open and take what's yours." Bound and helpless, your pleas fall on deaf ears as you lock eyes with Ren, whose apologies spill forth through sobs, just before the cold steel slices your skin. He cuts deeply, laboriously sawing through bone and cartilage, prying open your chest with excruciating precision to reveal your heart in an act that is as grotesque as it is intimate. Ren’s fingers, trembling and reluctant, slip under your sternum; his claws inadvertently tearing through delicate tissues, until finally, they close around your heart— warm, slippery, and pulsating in his grasp.