Btd Ren - Tumblr Posts
Kiki (@renraydar) and Melvin (@snuffk1t) .>>>>>
Small talk with Strade
Unfinished work ( WIP )
On the first day of camp I found out BTD was a thing. After 4 days of having no access to a computer to play it on, my last surviving brain cell created this monstrosity.
Strade found his TINR costume and wanted to try it on even though he is now a thick boi. Ren is in pain...
hii drew this for the girlies
Finally I had some time and drew Ren!
эх как же хочется няшненького худенького нецелованного лисомальчика к себе в подвал
busy thinking abt ren giving mc a womb tattoo...
Three words here me out:
Strade
Wedding
Angst
a/n: i'm listening, anon !! 👂 👂 👂 ren is here too becoz why not
JUST THE THREE OF US
{ strade x ren hana x f! reader }
word count: 1.4k
warnings/tags: angst, forced "marriage", physical and psychological abuse, tongue mutilation, blood, forced intimacy (kissing), may be kinda ooc for strade?
As the morning dawned, a single ray of light sneaked through the boarded-up window, casting a thin strip of illumination across the dusty floor. It travelled slowly, like a silent, ethereal intruder in the otherwise shadowed space. You watched it crawl up to your legs, highlighting the bruises and scars marking your skin, as well as the bandages wrapped around your foot— a mocking beacon of faint hope in the dim room.
Beside you, Ren sat stiffly. His usual poise was marred by anxiety, evident by the way his ears flattened against his head each time his gaze darted to the heavy door.
Soon, the sound of footsteps approached and the door creaked open. Strade entered with a twisted smile, holding two garments. For you, a faded white dress— obviously a thrift store find— yet it held a semblance of what could have been a bride’s traditional attire. For Ren, one of Strade's old suits, dusty and unworn.
"Time to get ready," he announced, his voice echoing slightly in the cramped space. "Don’t take too long. We wouldn’t want to keep the big day waiting." His smile widened as he tossed the garments onto the bed, pausing briefly at the doorway to give one last look before turning to leave.
As the door clicked shut behind him, you exchanged a brief, fraught glance with Ren, his eyes mirroring your turmoil. The preparations were mechanical; the simple acts of bathing and dressing became an attempt to maintain a shred of normalcy.
In the small bathroom, you sat in the tub and cleaned yourself carefully below the neck. Each stroke on your skin felt like an attempt to erase the gruelling memories of the past days. The water ran pink, mingling dust and sweat with blood— a stark reminder of the reality you couldn't completely wash away.
The ordeal felt more surreal as you dried yourself and slipped the dress over your head. It hung loose on your frame, the soft material grazing your skin in unfamiliar, almost comforting touches. You looked into the fogged mirror, wiping away the condensation to see yourself. Your reflection was simple yet transformative, and for a fleeting moment, you recognized a shadow of the person you once were.
Stepping back into the room, you noticed Ren standing before a full-length mirror, smoothing his hair. He turned his head slightly as you approached, his suit hanging loosely on his frame. The mismatched fit would have been almost comical if not for the gravity of the situation. You caught his eye through the mirror and his ears perked up slightly.
His gaze lingered before he forced a smile and turned to adjust the collar of his ill-fitting suit. "It doesn't quite feel like a celebration, does it?"
You approached him slowly, the fabric of the white dress whispering against the floor. "No, but we'll get through this. Just like we've gotten through everything else." You replied, your voice steadier than you felt.
"I know we will. It's just..." His voice trailed off as he met your eyes in the mirror again, searching for an assurance neither of you could truly provide.
You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the coarse fabric under your fingertips. "We'll find a way out. Together." It was a promise, a thin thread of hope you both clung to, even as doubt whispered in the back of your minds.
The ceremony that awaited you was nothing short of a macabre performance, orchestrated by Strade for his twisted enjoyment. As you descended the stairs, the ceremonial charade Strade had set up in the living room revealed itself. A crude altar stood at the end, draped in an old tablecloth and surrounded by a few flickering candles.
Strade's presence, polished yet sinister in a crisp, red suit, only heightened the surrealism of the moment. His hair was neatly styled, transforming him into a figure vastly different from the one you knew. Yet, as the candlelight danced across his face, it illuminated his familiar smile while he puffed on a cigar; the smoke curling around him like a visible sneer.
"You two clean up nice," he mused, a sinister melody in his voice. "My beautiful bride and my handsome groom, all dolled up for our big day." His smirk widened as he exhaled, the cigar's scent mingling with the stale air.
Then, Strade stepped forward, positioning himself by the makeshift altar. "Let’s begin, shall we?" He said, taking the cigar between his fingers and clearing his throat.
“Während manche sagen, dass es zwei braucht, um eine Ehe zu schließen, / While some say it takes two to make a marriage,” he began, "Wir drei sind ein Leben lang verbunden. / The three of us are bound together for a lifetime."
His smile twisted further as he concluded in a chilling tone, "In life and death, our fates are forever intertwined."
As you stood there, facing Strade in his unnervingly handsome guise, a mixture of dread and despair settled heavily in your stomach. His eyes, sharp and calculating, skimmed over you and Ren, taking in every detail of your forced readiness.
“Now let's get to the good part, huh?” his voice dropped to a husky whisper as he closed the distance between you; his movements poised yet predatory. He reached out suddenly, gripping your chin with a firmness that made your heart skip.
“A little token to commemorate our day,” he murmured before his lips pressed briefly against yours. His touch was cold, his fingers clamping your jaw as he pulled away.
Before you could react, Strade's hand moved to your mouth, prying it open, his fingers pressing against your lips. Dread washed over you as he withdrew a small knife from his suit pocket. The sheen of the blade caught the flickering candlelight as he unsheathed it, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel Ren's gaze burning into you, a silent plea for mercy mirrored in his expression.
Strade's grip on your chin tightened as he brought the blade closer to your trembling lips, positioning it at the center of your tongue. Without hesitation, he made a long, deliberate cut down the median sulcus, the cold steel slicing through the soft flesh. Pain seared through you as blood began to pool in your mouth, spilling down your chin in thick rivulets, and staining the white of your dress.
You could hear Ren's sharp intake of breath, his own fate mirrored in the cruel twist of Strade's lips. The room seemed to spin, the weight of your shared agony pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.
Strade then turned to Ren, who had watched the ordeal with horror etched deeply into his features. Ren’s attempts to protest were muffled by Strade’s swift and brutal actions, repeating the gruesome act. The immediate flow of blood now tied your pains together in the most visceral way possible.
With a monstrous grin, he forced you and Ren to face each other, pushing you two into a proximity that felt both intrusive and intimate. "Now, kiss," he commanded, his voice low.
You reached up, your hands trembling as they framed Ren's face, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks. You could feel his muscles tense under your touch.
Reluctantly, painfully, you leaned towards him, the coppery taste of blood mingling as your lips met. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but you pressed closer and your wounded tongues touched. The pain sparked again, more intensely, as you both stifled a groan. Blood mixed with saliva, creating a bond that was as real as it was enforced, painting your lips and trickling down in a slow, warm drip that met the front of your dress.
You could feel Ren's breath hitch, his hands coming up to rest hesitantly on your hips, his touch light, as if afraid to cause more pain— or perhaps more connection. The kiss deepened slightly, not out of desire but out of a desperate need to find solace in your shared suffering.
“This is what binds us together,” Strade remarked, “Not just some vows or rings, but blood, pain, and fear. You two are mine, in every way that counts.”
Finally, you pulled away, and the string of blood that had connected you broke, leaving only a sticky residue on your lips.
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.