#strade moment

[ramsonwolf]

sketchbook strade for your troubles. i had leftover fake blood i needed to use up tee hee

[darqx]

Upgrading the 'polaroid magnet' idea of 2019 for 2023's Xmas card trades, these ones are made from wood and use actual magnets! Luxurious! |D All the poses are also referenced from actual party photos i've taken of other people, to add to the candid vibe lol.

The dreamcatcher is kind of a gag gift (yes the craft project i reffed here) for some friends. Since they don't have the ability to fight their nightmares i have offered to [try and] do it for them XD

Made from: Wooden craft polaroid (plus some backing MDF pieces), magnet, misc decorating items (glitter, wooden shapes, gel pens, paint etc). The dreamcatcher is just a storebought one with laminated paper mes wired to it

[mythos-asks]

Mod Kj: Strade's Enneagram he best fits into is the Challenger. He has a very dominating and confident personality, and is always yearning for adventure. For the MBTI personality, Strade would definitely be ESFP-T, the Entertainer. He is the life of the party! Despite all his quirks he loves being around people. In terms of alignment, he would definitely be chaotic neutral. His impulsiveness paired with his lack of care in certain situations emphasizes that.

What are the personality types of the characters?

Mod Tag: Sam definitely fits into the Enneagram type two personality: the helper. In terms of MBTI, he fits into the INFJ-T type. He's an innovator and advocate at heart, but is led more by his emotions and can have turbulent moods. He's neutral good, as he believes that kindness should come first and doesn't really concern himself with laws, though he doesn't consider himself a rebel by any means.

(Note from Mod Caide: Wow, he was very prepared for that...)

[salems-lots]

Kinda messy drawing of Ren. as a treat for me [tried to stick to the preliminary ykmet design but im not sure if i got his face well]

[ruskatuskapuskasapuska]

[WIP]

I am yet again procrastinating on schoolwork by making shitposts and starting a somewhat ambitious fanart :"^)

I really wanna mess around and experiment with the mosaic-"censoring" and implied(? (but-still-pretty-much-in-your-face)) gore with this one >;^) I'm kinda terrified but masochistically looking forward to drawing the background and lighting/shading, since I don't usually fuck around with those much (at least not on the same scale as i'm planning to do with this)

...

...haaaah, i miss fixating on normal, healthy-ish fandoms with no fucked up shit being the focal point... :'\ /jk, I'm having a great time here ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º)

[b3gxcryz]

Me when I see you

…Isn’t this one of those…ah…video game characters?! I think I recall Ren being obsessed with this one in particular…what’s its name…Kurt?

[renhanaschewtoy]

Coworkers

FINALLY. I'm so sorry it took so long. All the chaos and junk really got the better of me. I hope y'all like this, I really tried. I can't wait to write more. Strade's Favorite Bartender will be next! 💚 NSFW MDNI

You’d always had a certain fondness for Lawrence you supposed. He was always the quiet guy at work, hesitant to ever really speak or have attention be directed his way. 

And it wasn’t like you’d bulldozed into his life either. 

It had started small, really. He was stronger than he looked and often you both shared shifts. You’d asked him a few times if he could help you move some things, speed up the task and he’d always given a little nod and followed you to do so. 

You wanted to bridge that gap, you bought some tea you kept in your locker, offering it to Lawrence on breaks. At first he just stared at you for a long moment before slowly giving a nod of his head, crystalline eyes directed anywhere but you. And then grabbing the sandwiches or other items from the corner Mart you saw him buy from time to time. You simply wanted Lawrence to feel appreciated in the warehouse. That you were grateful he helped you.

And it turned into routine after a little while.

Sharing breaks, eating together in the silence that was the wee hours of morning before the sun broke. Settled in the stale smelling break room or outside on the bench in the parking lot, side by side. You usually did most of the talking but from time to time, it was exciting to hear Lawrence talk. When he'd mention his plants, the most recent time he went on a trek through the park or on a hike, better was when he’d actually give you his opinion. Even if it was differing. If it weren’t for the occasional stutter or stammer, you’d reckon to say he’d have a rich voice. Dulcet to you, if you dare say so.

You gave him your number, just in case you switched shifts at work or something came up of course! Though that didn’t stop you from sending the occasional message asking how he was doing, or if you shared a shift a “have a good night! Oops, I mean morning!” sort of text. You wanted to endear yourself to Lawrence.

And you had.

You wormed your way under his skin and into his heart like vines of twisting ivy, you made it hard for Lawrence to breathe around you sometimes. The saccharine scent about you that was so alien, so absolutely opposite of damp rot and soil he’d become accustomed to. You were the fragrant bulbs of flowers he tried to nurture and fight the impulse to cut. You were soft, you were succulent in a way Lawrence didn’t understand like the occasional ones he had spotted around his apartment. Visions of you swam in his head at night in his bed, in the fog of his shower. Emboldened by the haze of burnt hash of a blunt that was discarded on the ashtray nearby. Lawrence wondered how you would feel…from the inside. How different you would feel from his hand. Water or lotion made do in a pinch when he’d fist himself to completion, more often than not he would grow frustrated after the clarity hit him.

“huff…huff…nngh…f-fuck…(Name)...” Water cascades down Lawrence’s pale body, head bowed with one hand braced against the cool tile wile the other hand stroked his weeping cock. You brushed up against him on more than one occasion today, he felt the soft warmth of your skin through your clothes, caught a peek of skin when you’d reach up high, Lawrence swore…goddamn it, he could hear the blood in your veins. Your hand brushed against his when you handed him a paper cup of some herbal tea you’d been so proud to prattle about hoping he’d like it. And he’d die before telling you that it was actually too sweet for his taste. But maybe that was you and your influence on the moment. Too sweet. His breathing grew ragged as his glacier eyes screwed shut, trying a slight twist of his wrist as Lawrence fisted his cock; reliving the encounters behind his eyelids.

The warm flush of your cheeks, he wondered how much blood could reach the apples of them…the plush look of your lips that always curled into a little grin, what might they look like swollen from his own pressed to them or his teeth sinking into them? Would your heart hammer in your chest? Or would it be slow and calm? Would you let him touch you? Actually touch you? To crawl inside of you and feel your warmth from the inside, to break your ribs and truly be in your embrace until you were cold and still like he often felt. A grunt passed Lawrence’s lips as he grappled with the thoughts– did he want that? No…no, he didn’t think he did. Lawrence wanted to savor you if he was ever presented the opportunity. You’d feel different. You were different. His mind rewound and pulled forward like a video on a loop, searching for just the thing to focus on. That breathless face you made after exerting yourself, the way your breathing drew a little rough and you tried to chuckle through, the way your (color) eyes would look up at him so gratefully in a way only you ever looked at him.

“Hhngh…haah…(N-Name)...” Lawrence choked your name from his throat as a shudder ripped down his spine, hips jerking erratically in a rhythm that grew sloppy before pearly, viscous cum splurted forward, coating his hand and dropping into the water to disappear down the drain. The smell of stale, foggy air and eucalyptus as the evidence of his mild perversion disappeared from sight. Maybe that’s why it was always easier in the shower. His panting eventually subsided into just one heavy sigh, the heaviness left him and again the frustration followed.

It wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t you.

Maybe Lawrence was getting greedy. Not that he could ever act on it. It always made him seize up worse when you were just looking at him with those eyes of yours. So patient for whatever he may say or do. It was maddening that he let it get this far. That you somehow had sunk so deeply into him instead that keeping you was now a regular rotation in his fantasy. That fire fed and fanned by content he consumed on the internet. But there was always just a slight pause on maybe trying such on you. Maybe. Exhaling through his nose, Lawrence turns off the water and steps out of the shower. His brow is deep set in thought as he lazily towels off his pallid skin and blonde hair that falls over his shoulders limply still damp.

Dressing for bed, Lawrence dares to glance at his phone- he never gets notifications. Not really. Just from you. And today must be one of those nights that the stars just align, one message from you.

(Name): “Hey!! I have some news tomorrow!”

Lawrence’s brows furrow and lips press in a thin line, he’s not sure how to reply. If he should. But he wants to.

Lawrence: Okay.

Like most or any social interaction- not his best work. Not that you cared. It never stopped you at all or caught you off. Most might find him brusque and socially awkward, which wasn’t untrue. Lawrence doesn’t linger on the thoughts of what it could possibly be, it could be anything with you; infinitely more optimistic than himself. You found the silver linings in most things, took joy in the small victories or whathaveyou. Something he would possibly find overwhelming or even annoying but you seemed to broach him a way just so that it never…felt that way. Lawrence didn’t want to keep you at an arms length like he had the first handful of shifts where he’d nearly tried to avoid you. And now he craved you. You were sunlight, warm and necessary. You were nourishment Lawrence didn’t believe he needed. He was starved in ways that didn’t make sense.

Tugging on old, worn sweatpants, Lawrence crawls into his bed and tries to settle in and stares at the ceiling for a while before his breathing lulls into sleep. 

The next day, the next shift. Stars litter the sky and the moon hangs along them. The streets are mostly dead, the silent stillness of the parking lot of the warehouse is usually comforting but there’s an odd looming sense regarding your news and Lawrence doesn’t know why. Why his stomach turns and twists so strangely when he sees you eagerly wave him over as he pushes the heavy door open after a swipe from his employee badge.

“Hey, Law!” you greet, warmly as ever- you were probably the only one who forced themself to adapt to the lifestyle of working this shift and still function. Or function better than most of the other workers here. Granted it made sense to Lawrence, it was what he preferred though it never showed.

Lawrence gives a low hum of acknowledgement you had grown accustomed to as you met him halfway to walk to the lockers together. “You…mentioned you had news…?” After spinning the dial on his lock, those piercing baby blues turned to you, seeming to perk up at his voice addressing you.

You bite your lip in that way that makes him wish he could be one of your teeth. To feel the plush skin under pressure. Lawrence blinks before turning his focus back to your eyes. “Yeah! Yeah, I finally got a grown up job, heh…” You run a hand through your (length) (color) (type) hair, your grin faltering to something almost akin to nervousness or anxiety. Because all Lawrence can do is stare at you with a blank, unreadable expression. The silence hangs over heavy as you scuff your shoe on the floor.

“... you're quitting…?” It feels like he's choking it out but if he did, you didn't seem to notice. And he's grateful for it.

“Well, yeah, I mean…I gave my two weeks. It's just…I can't work here forever. It doesn't pay enough and I'm not exactly cut out for it long term.” You admit with a little bob of your head, glancing around the warehouse stacked with pallets and equipment. And it was true if Lawrence was being honest, you weren't as strong to continue this sort of labor for long without it doing something to your musculature or God forbid your beautiful bones. It was bad enough when you bruised.

“...oh.” There's an odd sort of thrum in his chest he can't discern, a tension that settles tight in too many places for his liking. Your sharp eyes seem to snap to him at the monosyllabic reply and soften. That look. Not of pity, just soft.

“But we can still text! Or meet up on off days! I'd like to check out that trail sometime, if you'd be down?” You're quick, so quick, to offer him the modicum of comfort. That you somehow, some way, want to be around him even when no longer coworkers. You were so odd. But it wasn't unwelcome. “But uh…I was gonna throw a little party. At my place with people from our shift. If you wanted to come.”

Lawrence raises a brow at that, it isn't a “no” (it would be for anyone else)but it's more of that confusion. He didn't do parties. He didn't do other people. Crowded spaces. Not without some sort of necessity or incentive tied to it. His pause seems to make you fidget. “I know it's not your thing, so don't feel you have to or anything. But it would really nice to have you there.” You uplilt your word with that hopeful tone.

He shifts on his feet, his eyes unable to hold your gaze. Honestly? He doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. Lawrence shifts on his feet a little as if still chewing all of the information over. He didn't like any of it. Most of all your leaving. Your absence would be felt so deeply. Lawrence felt like had something, had someone, even on the humdrum shifts you shared. Be it normalcy, warmth, Lawrence didn't know. But he wasn't about to let it go. Let you go. He couldnt. You might be vines constricting around him, but Lawrence could be all the thistles, barbs, and thorns in the world of it kept you ensnared to him.

Sometimes the stars just aligned like that.

“But, like I said- I know it's not…”

“I'll come.”

You blink up at Lawrence, surprise stark on your face for just a moment at his definitive tone. It lingers before your lips curl into a toothy grin making his heart thud against his ribs. “Yeah? That's great. Really great.” You pull out your phone and tap on it few times before a buzzing comes from his pocket. “That's my address, it starts at seven but y'know…it's a party so show up whenever.” You shrug casually.

Lawrence glances to the side, racking his brain for a moment, thinking of what next, of what to do when he gets there- nevermind that it's days away. “Alright! Well, let's go kick this shift in the teeth!” You chime, clapping your hands together and wandering off to whatever task you were assigned and Lawrence slowly trailing after you.

×××

Relationships were complicated. People were complicated. Well…living people were complicated anyway. For the briefest moment Lawrence thinks back to his family, people that meant little to him in the grand scheme of things but whether he liked it or not was part of his building blocks. At least a little.Which brought a vague memory of a muffled voice from childhood, “We can’t go to a dinner party empty handed.” A few hours before Lawrence decided he would make his appearance, he stopped at the liquor store on the corner to bring a bottle of…fuck. What did you even like?? All you drank when you were together was whatever was at the vending machines, the convenience store, or tea. Lawrence stood near the door of the shop- bottles lined all over the shelves and walls. Advertisements of several brand plastered all over in bright colors or neons.

Augh.

Eventually Lawrence meanders over to the wine section, staring at the bottles blankly, drifting from label to label. White wine? Red wine? If you would even drink it. Dry? Semi? Sweet? It was alcohol for fuck’s sake, why did it have to be so complicated. With a shake of his head, frustration beginning to simmer in the pit of his stomach, Lawrence swipes a bottle of sweet red with a delicate looking label adorned in little gilded flowers. Maybe even if you didn’t like it, you would think it’s pretty. Or maybe you’d think he was weird, like most other people– no…no, that wasn’t true. It was you. None of his antisocial tendencies seemed to deter you or bother you, opposite; you’d been nothing but accommodating and patient with Lawrence.

Keeping his head down, Lawrence shoves a few bills at the unbothered clerk who bothers to spare him a second glance before he begins the trek to where your apartment is supposed to be. Gingerly stepping through the building, Lawrence lingers in the hallway probably a beat longer than necessary before rapping his knuckles against the door. His palms are sweaty as he cradles the bottle of wine and waits…and waits…he can hear the thrum of bass through the door, music playing paired with a few voices…by the sound of it, not to many people (thankfully) or so he hoped. Just as he debated leaving and tossing away any hopeful ideations, the door is abruptly pulled open to reveal you. In more casual clothes. A warm flush blooms beautifully over your cheeks that has his breath hitch ever so slightly.

“Law! Oh man, I was beginning to worry you weren’t gonna show up!” You lilt, posture so much more relaxed and…oh. Lawrence spies the red plastic cup in your hand, of course. It was a party. People drank. He brought a bottle that he’d almost forgotten about seeing you the way you were. The drunk blush on your cheeks looked ever so enticing. “C’mon, c’mon in!” You usher him in warmly and he can take in your apartment. Posters decorate the walls, well loved furniture, a small cozy kitchen…that same sweetened perfume that was so uniquely you seemed to seep into the very walls. Lawrence shuffles inside, keeping his eyes down, only sparing glances to the other coworkers mingling around your place. Some chatting, some playing video games you had set up on your television, others bobbing a little to the music.

Lawrence’s hands tighten around the bottle before looking up to you and awkwardly thrusting it towards you. “I…I didn’t know what to bring…If I should bring anything.” He admits, biting the inside of his cheek as you blink and accept it, looking it over.

“Huh? That’s real sweet of you, thanks Law! Wine, huh? Fancy. I’ve never really tried it.” You inspect it, but keep it carefully tucked in the crook of your arm, though before Lawrence can feel embarrassed about his actions you give a mischievous grin. “You’ll have to come over again and maybe try it with me, huh? Can’t drink alone.” You chime warmly before disappearing only briefly to tuck it safely in the kitchen so nobody thinks to open it. Something for just the two of you…it ignites a spark of hope that he allows himself to buoy on for comfort now that he’s vastly out of his element. You poke your head out of the kitchen, “You want something to drink? I can mix you something or uh…I’ve got water, soda, juice…” Lawrence takes the opportunity to follow you and the variety of beverages and snacks. 

Opting for water, Lawrence takes up post along one of your walls, simply watching you and everyone else. Time ticks on as his hands worry the label of the water bottle to shreds. The music feels too loud, he can feel the bass in his bones. Nobody but you really wants to talk to him, he’s spared a nod of acknowledgement or a brief greeting but nothing more- if anything people seem surprised to see him here at all. Lawrence swallows thickly and glances to the clock and moves to stand up and you seemingly appear out of nowhere. Your eyes seem to trace over his features, lingering on his face for a beat before you do that wonderful thing you do. Soften up. Relax. “Hey...I know this isn’t really your scene. It can probably be a lot huh? Here…my room is quieter, you can chill there for a bit maybe? Kinda decompress? I really…hah…I really don’t want you to go yet…if that’s okay?” The alcohol has you emboldened, your lips a little looser, your thoughts more apt to slip between them.

And a strange warmth is surging through his veins, he feels it in his own cheeks, feels his fingers twitch slightly before Lawrence finds himself nodding. Your hand slips in his smoothly, gently- and he’s tempted to flinch but instead he squeezes, carefully. True to your words, your room is notably quieter than the living room, the length of hallway giving a decent berth. You settle on your bed with a dramatic sigh and Lawrence almost shyly sits beside you, hands in his lap. “...I’m glad you came.” You admit as you fall onto your back on your duvet and tilt your head to look up at him. “Is it greedy I wanted to keep you a little longer? Just to myself?”

It’s not greedy.

You’re not greedy.

You’re perfect.

Lawrence swallows thickly, your words reverberating in his skull, echoing his same thoughts. You wanted what he wanted. He could only hope anyway but you said what he was thinking aloud. You made it real. You were real. “N-No..No I don’t think that about you.” Lawrence manages to mutter out and it makes that smile grow wider on your lips. Your hand reaches for his again, delicately, as your fingers trace his knuckles. 

“We could hangout more often, y’know. I meant it when I said I still wanted to see you even after I’m outta there.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever wanted to hang out around him, much less. Well beside that one friend he made online who seemed down to maybe talk in person. But they weren’t you. Nobody compared to you. The silence hangs for a moment but in the soft lighting of your room, your eyes roam over his face again before you push yourself to sit up again, shuffling a little closer to him that Lawrence can feel the warmth of your body next to his. “...is it okay if I…” You dip your head slightly, lashes fluttering to make a point of looking down at his lips before meeting his gaze again. Just barely, Lawrence shakes his head before you give a breathy little chuckle and press your lips to his, a hand raising to cradle his jawline. The light stubble there is felt against the soft, smooth skin of your palm. Your lips are plush and sweetened by whatever alcohol you’d been drinking before, slightly sticky and sweet that Lawrence savors before clumsily kissing you back. Pushing back against you perhaps with an eagerness you hadn’t anticipated that draws a soft sound from your throat. Lawrence swallows down your groan, wanting more, feel you more, taste you more, feel all that livelihood that seems to emanate from you.

The kiss grows, heat building as your arms string around his neck and hands tangle in his blonde hair as it falls messily from its elastic. Lawrence leans, arms circling around your waist, a soft grunt muffled against your lips as he dares to deepen the kiss, tongue tracing your lower lip before being granted. Being able to explore inside of your mouth before pressing you down into the mattress. He can feel every breath you take, the expanding and compression of your chest, the way your heart thrums against your chest- Lawrence swears he can hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it’s his own pounding in his hears. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is more. More. 

And you seem of the same mind. Your hands drift down to his hoodie, moving to push it off his shoulders and Lawrence awkwardly shrugs out of it, loathe to part from your lips even to breathe. With you on your back, his hands take the opportunity to roam, albeit shakily. Taking in every curve, noting the muscle and fat on your body- soft under his larger hands and so very warm. Lawrence could get lost in you endlessly. He wanted to. Parting only for a moment, his breathing ragged, you seem to waste no time as you greedily take in air while yanking your shirt up and over your head and reaching for the buttons of his plaid shirt. It isn’t long between the two of you, clumsy hands- some from alcohol and others from lack of real heated experience, before clothes are strewn over your floor and you and Lawrence are a tangle of limbs on your bed. His body cages you in, body anchored to you as he savors each sensation, each beautiful sound he’s able to pull from your lips, feeling the way your body moves and the way it works against his own. Lawrence reminds himself to be affectionate, what he was taught affection is supposed to look like through media consumption anyway, though with you it’s easier. It’s so lovely to kiss along your neck, feel you gasp and shudder, to feel your pulse flutter under his lips. “...feels…fuck…so good…” he groans lowly against your skin.

Lawrence can almost picture the expression on your face as you give a chime of laughter and dare to roll your hips against his own, feeling his erection straining against the cotton of his boxers in a very obvious tent. “It can feel better…I can make you feel better…” You croon softly and that’s the snap that breaks him. Pulling away so abruptly you look up at him owlishly, he shoves his boxers down his pale thighs, impulse and need overriding most if not all thought in this moment. The desperation that burned through Lawrence to feel you from the inside.You lift your hips accordingly as he paws at your underwear before they slip down your legs and carelessly discarded with everything else. Bare before each other, there’s the briefest moment between the way the two of you have been interlocked, drinking the other one in. Before Lawrence’s hands grip the meat of your hips and tugs you closer with a strength you usually thought was reserved for the warehouse, not that you minded. The feeling of his fingers digging into your skin, you certainly wouldn’t mind a little bruising if not more come morning.

“Just…Just stay still…Just let me…” He pants, his eyes clouded and glazed over, transfixed as he mumbles almost to himself and you arch your back just so to give him a better angle as one hand releases you to line his aching cock up to your sweet entrance.First he notches the bulbous head in and groans, chest heaving with every breath as you bite your lip with a soft whine- spurning him on, urging him to just push. And so he does, inch by inch, Lawrence spears you on his length and his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull. You feel divine; tight, wet, impossibly warm around him as you clench like a vice that his his hips already stutter the first time within you. Sweat already begins to bead his forehead as Lawrence’s jaw clenches- as tempting as it is, he couldn’t bear the embarrassment if he came undone within you so quickly. 

You keen below him, hushed little murmur of, “Please…fuck, Law…need you, please.” While resting your hands on his shoulders with a little squeeze, you don’t mean to rush him, really you don’t- but you’d wanted this, thought about this, more times than you cared to count. And with a little liquid courage in your veins, you finally fucking had it. Had him.

And surely, he begins to rock his hips. The push and pull between you growing as Lawrence begins to rut within you, rhythm building and pressure mounting as you buck your hips in kind, pushing him deeper until his cockhead nudged against that delicious spot within you that made your lashes flutter and moans spill from your lips. Ordinarily, Lawrence wasn’t one for much noise- but the music muffled anything beyond your door and these sounds were for him and him alone. Shouldering your legs over his shoulders, Lawrence picks up his pace and his hips snap against you, heavy balls wetly slapping against your ass that has you squeak until you relax some in his grip. It leaves you helpless, putty as he fucks you into the mattress with reckless abandon now- your headboard knocking against the wall with each brutal thrust as he moans and grunts above you. While the sight of your is ever enticing, something Lawrence wants to burn into the folds of his brain, the need to feel close to you wins as he hunches over, nearly folding you in two. Hands bracing on the bed as he buries his face in the crux of your neck and shoulder as he kisses along the skin, breathing hotly into your ear as he continues to pump his cock into you. “...close…so…need to feel you…so warm…so fucking good…” Lawrence babbles to you, drunk on the euphoria as he feels pleasure coil hot in his stomach, on the brink.

So close.

So close.

So close.

“L-Law…’m not…a-ah, oh fuck…!” You gasp and choke on your words as you’re pinned below him, bliss drawn over your flushed features as your brain struggles to send words to your mouth, “...’m not gonna last...just like that, like that…!” You encourage as he surges with renewed vigor. Lawrence wants, no, needs to feel you come undone around. What you feel like when overcome with pleasure, what you look like, all of it. He grits his teeth before finding better use for his mouth, latching onto your throat to suckle a deep mottled mark into your skin that has you nearly scream into the room before he claps a hand over your lips to muffle it as he feels you contract around him. Convulsing, throbbing, spasming all around him in a way that Lawrence shuddering as his engorged cock finally empties itself within you, the excess forming a creamy ring around the base of his shaft and dripping down the plush swell of your ass onto the duvet. Ragged huffs fan over the hickey now left into your skin as Lawrence gives a few more languid, shallow strokes to enjoy the lingering feeling of you tightly wrapped around him as you try to catch your breath with a few low sounds of complacency. Sated, Lawrence almost begrudgingly lowers your legs carefully and his piercing eyes look up at you- trying to gage if you might be disappointed or upset, but instead is met with a bleary, satisfied smile and a breathy chuckle.

“...fuck, Law. I knew you had in you.” You mutter playfully before resting your arm over your sweaty forehead and Lawrence can feel his lips quirk ever so slightly. Something akin to pride settling in him slightly, but he remains knelt between your legs as a silence settles over the pair of you and you raise your arm to peek at him. Wordlessly, you pat shift and shuffle, peeling back the blankets and patting the spot next to you.

“But…your party…?”

“I’m pretty sure people heard and I’m pretty sure they didn’t. What’re they gonna do? Rob me? I don’t have shit.” You chuckle, though Lawrence seems to give pause and glance to the door. His reluctance seems to sober you some as you sit up slightly. “Uh…unless you wanted to go.” You try to keep your tone steady not to betray the tinge of hurt that creeps in all the same.

“No…! No, that’s not what I want…uhm…” Lawrence awkwardly scoots off your bed and grabs his boxers to tug on padding to your door and opening it a crack, peeking and listening for any other life in your apartment. The music had since stopped and it was still silence.With the knowledge your apartment is now empty, Lawrence locks your door for you before returning into bed and you just smile. The simplest thing, as if this was normal. Maybe it was, Lawrence sure as fuck didn’t know what that was, but this was nice. This was beautiful. You were beautiful.

Slowly, he moves to the other side of the bed and slides in beside you. Lawrence has not slept next to another person, honestly it was never something he thought he would like but it feels like it’s both what you want and what is expected. And frankly- it could be worse. “...Can I…?” He shuffles under the blankets, swathed in your detergent and perfume, his frame shifts over yours and his head presses to your chest where he can hear the steady beat of your heart. The intrusive thought rings in through his head that he could have it, have that piece of you forever. Sealing this moment forever between the two of you...but he pushes it to the back of his head. No, another part of him didn’t want that- as tempting as it may be. If he took that part of you, this wouldn’t be possible. And Lawrence wanted this, whatever this may be, and more of it. More of you. Sex. Intimacy. The touch and warmth of another living being. It was odd, it was still something Lawrence was trying to make sense of. A way that this could remain but you might still be wholly his. All his. Only his.

Lawrence’s reverie is broken only by your arms encircling him and hugging him close to you, one hand carding through his hair to keep his head pressed to your chest as you hum in contentment. “Night, Law.” You mutter with an affectionate kiss to his head as you reach an arm out to turn off your lamp and succumb to sleep. Lawrence lingered awake a while longer, his nocturnal nature something he was grateful for as he relished in the soft breaths while you slept, how your heart slows, the sweet silence as he curls around your body and eventually, an hour or so after observing you, Lawrence sleeps as well.

Eventually sunlight dapples through your blinds, making Lawrence crinkle his nose slightly- he wasn’t accustomed to this. Not that he slept poorly necessarily, but it would take a day or so to get his circadian rhythm back. But it hadn’t been a waste as you groggily rouse beside him with a sleepy smile. “...Hey.” You greet warmly, throat still raspy from sleep as you push some of his bangs from his face. “You sleep okay?” Lawrence nods slowly, drinking in this vulnerable vision of you as you yawn and roll to look at him on your pillow. “You want breakfast or something?” You offer up with that languid smile and something akin to adoration lingering in your eyes, the afterglow looked all the more prepossessing on you. “I have some of that tea still that I brought you a few days ago.”

He pushes up to sit and chews his lip for a moment. Maybe a part of Lawrence had hoped. Had known. “Uh…actually I, uh…I brought some tea for you. I can make us some.” He replies slowly, shifting his gaze to look at you, testing your reaction, if you would find it odd that he brought something besides the wine.

“Aw! Yeah, I’d love that.” You grin and sit up as well, moving to tug fresh underwear on and a large shirt, “You know where the kitchen is, the kettle is on the stove. I’m just gonna freshen up quick.” And with that you disappear into the bathroom while Lawrence prepares you his own specialty brew. 

[celestial-sinner]

How good are the BTD characters at kissing?

Strade: Fairly good, though he mostly only kisses someone out of lust rather than actual love. There's definitely gonna be tongue involved. He might even make Ren and MC give him a 'welcome home' kiss when he comes home from going out due to Strade seeing himself as the man of the house. He most likely also doesn't wait for someone to kiss him back, and he'll bite your lower lip hard.

Ren: BEST KISSER. Definitely practices with a body pillow but only because he wants the kiss to be perfect. Soft and sweet and definitely savoring the moment

Lawrence: Probably doesn't even know what a kiss is lol

Derek: Kinda same as Strade: mostly out of lust but more forceful

Celia: Very good at kissing. Soft and sensual, little bit of tongue involved. She might even leave lipstick marks on your face.

Mason: Lol nope

[eat-yourheart]

Random headcanon I have about og Ren

Whenever Strade was about to hit or hurt Ren, he would very gently, intimately remove his glasses. Ren learned to be terrified of it, beginning to think that as long as he had his glasses he wouldn't be harmed. He used to be terrified, at least. After Strade died, he took them off. On his own. He won't be hurt again now, so what is the point of keeping that memory? He tries to throw them out, he tries really hard. But he ends up keeping them in a little green silk bag, hidden away in a closet to be pulled out and cried over on bad nights.

Years down the line, as Fox now, he only uses his newer glasses for reading or for long distances, hands shaking a bit whenever he does have to put them on. One day his MC, trying to be soft and romantic (either a fawn mode thing or a genuine one, Ren doesn't care, as long as they look happy), gently removes his glasses to try to kiss him.

Instead, they get thrown off and slammed into the nearest piece of furniture, nose breaking and cheek bruising. Ren sits there, pinning them, panting. After a moment he realises what happened, hands shaking, hands always shaking. Hands fucking shaking, like that weak thing he used to be. He runs his tongue across his teeth, swallows heavily. He pulls MC up, immediately remorseful and lovey, petting them and apologising with teary eyes. MC can't tell how much of it is fake, but being patched up so lovingly feels nice.

[after-witch]

TPOF!Ren Imagine

Title: TPOF!Ren imagine [Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: What if you were taken by Strade? What if you escaped, leaving Ren behind? And what if you just happened to bump into Ren, years later?

Word count: 2100ish

note: kidnapped reader, drugging, descriptions of violence and torture, scars, kidnapping, descriptions of noncon sex, just a stream of consciousness written imagine that I did before bed because I have no self control, take that as you will

Imagine Strade has kept you. You spend weeks, months--more?--being tortured in ways you could never have imagined. But you live. Somehow or another, you live.

You're kept there, like Ren, as an interesting pet. And the two of you share a tentative bond, in time. He did help you, after all...

But... you're afraid of Ren. A little. Not because he's ever been mean to you or hurt you without Strade forcing him to--but because you know that Strade can be fickle. He might decide he likes Ren better, and get rid of you.

Or maybe someone else he brings home will catch his eye, and he'll ponder getting rid of one of you... and who is more likely to go to make room for another long term victim, you wonder, the boy with fox ears or plain, simple you? It's obvious.

So sometimes, you're afraid of Ren. Afraid that Ren's existence will eventually mean your demise.

But you have your moments together.

Moments where you curl up in Ren's nest of a bed, letting his warm tail wrap around you, ignoring the way your shock collars occasionally clink together while you snuggle. Sometimes you whisper things to each other. Hopes. Fears. Secrets. Dreams for the future, which are sometimes shared fantasies of escaping together, going somewhere, starting anew.

There are shared pains, too. You sneak into the bathroom and clean each other's wounds, as much as you know Strade will allow without crossing an unspoken boundary. You press cool cloths to his burning cuts, he gently massages your healed but always-aching broken fingers.

Sometimes, Strade makes you hurt each other. Usually, Ren wins out in the end. But you have no chance against claws. You don't hold it against Ren after the fact, but sometimes when you're sharing a bed at night or a quiet moment when Strade is out of the house, you can't help but think about the way his claws rip through your flesh or the way his knot hurt when Strade yanked him out early.

And one day... Strade is dead. You scream for Ren when it happens--some new victim he's captured finally getting one over on him, not without their own fatal wounds--and Ren watches Strade die, and you watch Strade die, and then the two of you are standing over his gaping-mouth corpse.

The two of you head upstairs, the basement thick with quiet, and for the first time you don't have to worry about hearing Strade's footsteps come up them.

Ren's collar comes off first. Then he helps you with yours.

And you should--say something. You should tell him that the two of you will leave, go to the police, find an apartment, figure out what to do--something, anything.

But in the moment, you panic. You panic because you see in Ren's eyes that he wants you to stay with him and you're so afraid of being trapped again.

You bolt. You bolt out the front door and don't look back. You hear Ren shout your name and the pad of his feet up to the front door, but he doesn't cross the threshold.

You should go back for him. You should tell the police that he's there. But you're afraid. Your face was on Strade's streams. Who knew what sort of people watched them? What if you were recognized? Strade wasn't shy about the fact that powerful people watched his streams. What if... one of them was connected with the police department?

And so you don't say a damn thing. You pick up the pieces of your life and there's a part of you that you left in that damned house with Ren that rots and festers, but you can't let it stop you. You hate yourself for leaving. You hate yourself for not going back.

But you might have hated yourself if you stayed, too.

And then it's been years... and years.... and years.

You still suffer from your time with Strade. Mentally. Physically. The scars have faded, but they never go fully away, some white-blanched and others still retaining a tinge of vivid pink. You hate those the most.

And there's the aches and pains, too. Arthritis in your fingers and hands. A fracture in your foot that didn't heal properly, but you didn't have the health insurance to get it fixed, and now you walk with a limp and cane on bad days.

You get nightmares. Most of the time, you're right back in the house or the basement. Being tortured. Slow and thick dreams that are usually coupled with sleep paralysis. Ren is in them, sometimes, and he's scared and hateful and you wake up with that gnawing, awful guilt.

But you force it down. You have to--Ren was an adult, too, just like you. That's how you cope with the guilt. You tell yourself that he left the house and found himself a small place to live and he's doing fine out there. Working at a bookshop or some anime collectible store. Something that helps him get by. He'll have scars and nightmares, too, but he'll be okay, for the most part.

Just like you are.

Because you've moved on as much as one could, considering. You have a spouse--ten years together, now--and a house with a little yard and a career that leaves you comfortable enough, financially. You don't have kids but your spouse has nieces and nephews that you enjoy spoiling now and then, and that's enough for you.

You were so hyper-vigilant after your initial escape. You wore wigs, and went outside only rarely. You hopped around from place to place, used fake names. You had locks upon locks upon locks on your doors. You never went home the same way twice.

But over time... you gradually stopped worrying. When 1 year became 5 years became 10 years, when time aged your face and slowed your racing heart. When you got a long-term partner and stopped hopping to new places every year, terrified that someone would come find you.

Over the years, you stop looking over your shoulder everywhere you go. You stop assuming every stranger staring at you on the bus recognizes you from Strade's streams and is going to kidnap you and kill you. You stop thinking about it as an immediate threat and treat it like past trauma--to be dealt with, sure, but to be tucked away for your sanity.

And one day, one ordinary little day, you're walking around a secondhand collectible store to look for a particular book when you bump into someone.

The first thing you notice is that they're wearing a nice suit, tailored, like they're going to a business meeting or live in a big city where such outfits are considered casual wear.

The second thing you notice, when you look up at their face with an apology on your lips, is that underneath the hat that they lift every so gently, they have fox ears and scars and red hair peppered with just a dash of silver.

It takes you a moment. Two moments. Three moments.

It's Ren.

Older, like you. But Ren, clear as day, there is no doubt about it.

Relief and an awful, stomach-churning anxiety spread through your gut at the exact same time.

"Ren?"

He doesn't react at first, merely stares at you, and your nightmares come back to you: those nightmares where he hates you, where he tells you that you left him there like he's nothing, where he throws back all your whispered conversations in the dark back in your face.

And then a little smile splits his face and the gut-churning fear in your stomach recedes just enough for you not to shake when he places two hands on your shoulders, steady, and firm.

"Hey. It's okay. It's been a long time."

You break into something like a laugh, and tears prick at your eyes before sliding down your cheeks.

"How..." You don't know what to ask first. How is this possible? How are you? Why are you here? Are you okay?

And finally you settle on something that's eaten away at your soul, bit by bit, since you ran away.

"I'm... sorry." You can't look him in the eye. "I shouldn't have just left that day. But I was scared, and I--"

He places a finger to your lips, and the claw at the end seems sharper now, polished and carefully filed.

"Don't," he says. "It doesn't matter now." He has a coolness to his voice, a shrugging tone to it all. You wonder if it matches your own tone, sometimes, when you're confronted with reminders of the past.

"Do you... want to get coffee or something?" You ask, and you immediately feel stupid, asking if someone who was tortured alongside you (who hurt you, too--but he had to) for coffee like they were an old high school friend.

But he smiles, a little grinning pep to it now, a little bit of an edge with his teeth showing, and says, "Sure."

You leave the shop together, book forgotten, intent on catching up.

It should bother you, that he didn't look actually surprised to see you. It should bother you, that he swept you out of the store so quickly.

But you're too overwhelmed by his presence to notice little things like that.

You don't even notice the black car parked down the street that turns only only when Ren leads you into a coffee shop, pulling around the corner into a nearby alleyway.

You don't think twice about Ren texting someone after you arrive. You don't think twice about Ren ordering for you, motioning for you to find a seat, insisting on taking both cups to the little stand with sugar and creamers himself.

You don't think twice about the taste of the coffee being a little off. Ren put in too much sugar, probably. You used to take it much sweeter, back then, when Strade allowed the two of you to indulge in cup after cup to stay awake for nighttime streams.

It's a shame the hyper-vigilance ebbed away, really, because if you had noticed any one of these things, maybe you would have left the situation. Though, in the end, would it have stopped him?

You focus on awkward small talk. Asking what he's been up to (running his own business) and how he feels (better than ever) and whether he's okay (are you?).

He asks you questions, too, and you find yourself spilling it all too easily. You talk about your spouse, your cute little home, the garden you planted, the books you've read, the little career you've built. You ask if he still likes anime and he smiles, and then your hand is on his arm--you can see some of the scars on his hand, and your own, too--and feel so bad so you start to apologize again---

That's when things get... woozy. Your hand slips from his arm, and you can't grasp your coffee cup. You mumble something about not feeling good.

Ren is standing right away, helping you to your feet. He pulls out his phone and says he'll call an ambulance. You try to wave it off, you're fine, you're just overwhelmed, you didn't eat much today. He insists you sit down and if you weren't so dizzy you might realize something is wrong as he leads you down the street, into an alleyway, where at the end there is a shiny black car with tinted windows.

"I'll take you to get some help," he says, and you don't question it, because your mind is foggy and you can't see straight, and it's just Ren, isn't it? It's just Ren.

It's not until you're bundled into the car with Ren taking the spot next to you in the backseat, his worried expression smoothed over into something cool and triumphant, that the sense of wrongness hits you. Even through the fog of your mind, it hits you.

"Ren? Ren?"

"Shh."

That finger is back on your lips, but this time his finger pivots sideways, a claw lightly tracing one of your facial scars. You can feel it slicing open, like a papercut.

The little blossom of pain is a good distraction for the punch of the needle that he jabs into your thigh a moment later.

You have just enough time to gasp and mutter something, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Nothing comes out. You see him watch you for a moment, eyes half-lidded, before he stares ahead at the driver.

"We'll have time to talk later. When the drugs wear off."

The last thing you see before unconscious is his smile, almost a grin.

[angel-sweets666]

Strades breeding kink problem

Strade x Afab reader

warning: smut, violence

DONT DO ANYTHING THIS GERMAN SADIST DOES, HES PURELY FOR THE FREAKY GIRLS. Also this is kinda short bc I’m bad at writing smut.

Strade always had his fair share of bizarre kinks and fetishes, many of which he had inflicted upon you on multiple occasions. You had endured having your skin sliced open, stabbed, and mutilated purely for his sick pleasures. One of his more… dulled-down kinks, however, was his intense breeding fetish. Strade seemed completely unfamiliar with the concept of pulling out, reveling in the possessive nature of it. The thought of leaving you pregnant and full, waiting for him at home after a day of harassing women and men on the streets, filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Whenever he returned from his cruel escapades, there was a gleam in his eyes as he approached you. He would caress your swollen belly with a strange mix of pride and lust, whispering dark promises of a future where you were bound to him not just in the present but for eternity. The idea of claiming you in such an intimate and irrevocable way excited him beyond measure. Strade thrived on the power and control he felt, knowing that every part of you, inside and out, was his to command and conquer.

The nights were long and grueling as he took you again and again, driven by his insatiable desire to see you round with his child. Each thrust was a claim, each moan a reminder of his dominance. In those moments, you could feel the depth of his obsession, the possessiveness that went beyond mere physical control. It was a dark, consuming passion that left no room for doubt—Strade wanted to own you entirely, and he would go to any lengths to ensure that you remained bound to him in the most primal way possible.

one night, you were once again in the same position you were in most nights, with your body laid out across his old and dusty mattress and your legs spread while he was ontop of you taking you again. He used his hand above your head to hold himself up, he thrusted into you again “yeah… I’m gonna.. Scheisse! Fill you up with babies… just be a good pet and let me get you nice and pregnant… doesn’t that sound fun~” he grinned down at you as the burn from his cock inches deeper towards your cervix.

You whimpered, clutching the bedsheets tightly beneath you. The thought of being pregnant with Strade's baby sounded like an absolute nightmare. You knew that carrying his child meant subjecting both yourself and the unborn baby to his twisted way of thinking. His possessive and controlling nature would only escalate with the knowledge of fatherhood, chaining you to him.

strade grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled them up towards him, he began to go much faster with you, the tip of his large dick slammed into your cervix once again, he groaned and placed his hand on your lower tummy. Wanting to feel his length going in and out of you. “Doesn’t that feel good..?” He grins with his German accent that will forever haunt you. While being his in captivity wasn’t fun, the more intimate parts like cuddles and fucking; that was pretty nice, he could be a comfort sometimes!

his thrusts became sloppy, your moans and his grunts soon just became a mess of whining and moaning. Strade slammed his hips into your pussy one last time before he began to paint your insides white with his seed

“oh your going to be such a good mommy.”

[hiskillingjar]

Do you have any headcanons for how ren, strade, and lawrence would react to a completely inexperienced mc, like hasn't even had a first kiss/held hands before?

yes!

ren 🦊

oh my g-ddddd ren would be in love with you

he'd think it was so cute, he wouldn't be able to contain himself

you blush and stammer when he holds your hand and kisses your cheek, it's just too cute

he'd swoon and coo over you and just be so sweet on you <3

...he wouldn't be able to stop himself from pushing you further though. what else was he going to doooo?

you get so shy by the smallest acts of affection, how could he not?

he'd be totally obnoxious in public too

kissing your cheek and squeezing your hand (and groping you) just to make you whine and blush and whimper and getting everyone's attention

aw, it's okay, sweetie. i think it's cute that you're so innocent <3

law 🥀

i mean. lawrence has no experience either so. same hat? same hat!

it would be sweet though, the two of you hesitating and stammering and blushing about every touch, every shared moment, every kiss...

and then...you know, as the two of you get closer...

and explore each other's bodies and figure out what your boundaries are and what you like...

you'll both get the experience that you're looking for <3

strade 🔨

*knowing look*

come on.

why would you give strade any opportunity to fuck with you?

he would use every opportunity to fuck with you that way

teasing, touching, using all your inexperience against you and mocking you the entire time as you whimper and stammer and cry the wholeeee time <3

and if he kept you on the long term, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from pushing and pushing....

until he's made you into the perfect toy that he wanted to play with

it's so easy to make a toy though...when he has the perfect canvas to start with <3

[ikilledmyhamster]

Okay listen, what I love about BTD kid au is that Strade, rire, & sano were friends ever since childhood. I mean it's adorable if you actually think about it 😂

I do have a headcannon story that I would like to tell you all so feel free to read this!

I still don't know how the three met, it's kind of like that one trio where they don't even know how they met each other in the first place so let's just go with that. But I'd figured it would go something like this.

Story: Strade was an only child and had no friends due to his behavior. He met sano when he was around probably 6-7 who was stuck in a pond with ropes around his tail (Sano). Strade upon seeing a young boy with a snake tail, was curious and decided to help him...but the two ended up in the rope and it took 2 hours for them to get themselves free. Strade and sano became friends after that and strade didn't even bother asking about why sano had a tail.

The next part is where the two met rire which is kind of in a weird way. Strade got home from his kindergarten and decided to play with sano as the two were close, sano has an idea to summon a demon, which wasn't normal for a child to say that but hey, he's a naga demon so what do you expect? Anyway, they summoned a demon and you might be asking how and why they did it. Well one; They were pretty dumb kids and also just curious, two; Sano found rire's 'symbol' online for odd reasons and decided to try it. They successfully summoned kid rire but...they interrupted his tea time which made the demon prince angry (Btw he's a prince because his family is still alive, so he ain't the demon king yet). After a full on rampage that goes on for about a few hours, they were able to come into an agreement to become friends.

Childhood Moments: Strade, Rire, & Sano would build their own treehouse in their old neighborhood where they used to live, and they would make the treehouse pretty big. Of course the three had their own rooms and storage for their own stuff, by this time strade had an old camcorder, so he used it to create videos and/or memories of their childhood.

The three would go on adventures and weird places or even terrifying ones. Strades parents never really paid any attention to him so they didn't care if he left the house. Strade likes to draw or doodle in his free time, so he draws a lot of art of him, rire and sano. Sano and strade likes to pull pranks on rire. For example one time, they did a water bucket challenge but instead of it being normal cold water, it was holy water which burned poor kid rire skin. Of course he was not happy, but don't worry...he got his revenge.

Another childhood memory is that the three would occasionally watch horror films like slasher films. Especially paranormal activity, every time there is a demon or spirit that is possessing a person, sano and strade were pretty much scared while rire happily watches the scene. BUTTTT, when it comes to the exorcist scenes...Rire would immediately hold his friends with his tentacles while hiding behind them😂😂 (inspo from the photo above)

Another time, sano and strade did a research and they read that in old Russian ancient times, there used to be a saying that brownies could scare off evil spirits or demons. And so...they tried it on rire, the results did not disappoint them. The moment they bought a brownie cake and placed it on the table in front of rire...the poor boy disappeared. Which confused the two at first, but then they realized it actually works! Rire would stay in hell until he knows for sure, that the brownies were gone.

Treehouse: The treehouse that they built in the forest is still there standing stable till this day, and that treehouse holds a lot of childhood memory. Strade Sano & Rire would often sleep in that treehouse as their comfort zone and also since it's the place they mostly hang out in. They carved their names on the treehouse door, something like this; "LR+SK+S" Which obviously means in order; "Lucien Rire+Sano Kojima+Strade". Of course soon strade had to move out of his old town and so did sano and rire. They left their old treehouse but kept their stuff there.

Present: Whenever Y/N is free they sometimes go to the Kojima brothers house just to hangout or sleep over. One day they stumbled upon an old photo of the main trio. Rire in the center, strade on his left side and sano on his right side. The photo looked like it was taken a few years back and Y/N was able to open the frame and found a note attached to the back of the photo which had coordinates, which if your guessing correctly; Leads to their old treehouse. Akira & Y/N visited that place and found the treehouse with all of their stuff still there in the same places where they left it. And if they went all the way to the back, they would find a wooden box container which is filled with many cassette tapes and writing of dates. Strade would record those childhood videos and put them on cassette tapes so there was a lot of them. Of course, Y/N & Akira ended up watching some of the videos in the end and didn't bother telling sano, strade, or rire.

Anyway that's pretty much my version of the BTD main trio kid AU. Let me now which one should I do next down below here ⬇️⬇️⬇️

(Btw, credits to the art above belongs to @darqx)

[creepy-friday]

Masterlist

Creepypasta

New Year Headcanons

Toughts

Toughts/Masky

Grinny and Smile

A small fanfiction/fem!proxy

Toughts/Zalgo 1

Toughts/Zalgo 2

Nurse Ann

Small Mansion Headcanons

Toughts on the fem!proxy for every creep of the mansion

More fem!proxy headcanons

Jane stealing Jeff's lover

Mansion Headcanons

Newbie Female Proxy

Life as the fem!proxy

Toughts on Tim

Jeff x Reader[Angst]

Eurovision Crack

Jeff x Reader[More Angst]

Jeff Toughts

Slenderman's daughter

Slenderman's daughter and his proxies

Pregnancy

Cuddle headcanons

Slenderman's daughter origin

Residents headcanons

Tough maid reader

Maid reader

Brian toughts

Masky and fem!proxy moment

Cheating reader

Masky nsfw

Poly relationship with the proxies

Dead fem!proxy

NSFW headcanons for the proxies

Reciprocated feelings

EJ x demon hunter reader

Falling in love

Hoodie nsfw

Life as a female proxy

Toby Headcanons 1

Toby Headcanons 2

Jeff Headcanons

Liu Headcanons

Eyeless Jack Headcanons

Zalgo

Jeff and Ben Headcanons

Cody/X-Virus

Nina Headcanons

Jason/Candy Pop/The Puppeteer

Creepypasta ladies x reader

Female Proxy Description

Boyfriend to Death

Strade Headcanons

Hazbin Hotel

Cenobite Reader

Alastor x Wife!Reader

Dead by daylight

Frank Morrison

Creepypasta mains

[vetitiscripta]

i wanna see ren grow horrified when he realizes mc only follows instruction because theyre literally being controlled by strade. i want to see him question it all and maybe even lose it a bit when he realizes mc hadn't acted alone. and most of the violence had been the same man he'd let bleed out that day on the ground. i want to see how bad that takes a toll on his mind.

anon your mind. mentally kissing you on the mouth anon

for those who missed it- this is regarding my ghost strade au

for this au, i like to think that strade can really only interact/“control” mc in certain moments, probably something like due to strong emotions (take that as you will 😏) or whatever

but god!! ren thinking that mc genuinely wants to do this type of stuff or hang out with him of their own free will only to find out its all because of strade. he would start thinking about everything that has happened and would wonder if any of it was genuine

he’d think about the time he found you late at night on the couch, watching one of strade’s old snuff films. he thought that you had finally understood, had come to appreciate the beauty of it all like he had. he cuddled with you on the couch as you put on another one on. (you had woken up that night in a cold sweat, an intense urge to watch one. strade stood in the corner of your room just watching you, smile on his face every time you looked at him. you tried to ignore the urge, ignore him, but it eventually wore you down. you trudged down the stairs and stood in front of the dvds, letting strade pick the one he wanted. you watched 3 films before ren found you, your tears already dried)

he’d remember the time you willingly slept in the same bed with him for the first time. it was late at night and he was trying to find an anime to watch when you softly knocked on his door. when he opened the door you were basically shaking, eyes darting around. “can i sleep with you tonight?” ren was over the moon when you asked, basically had hearts in his eyes (he’s down bad don’t make fun of him). he thinks you’ve come around, you finally see that you love him like he loves you. he happily welcomes you in his bed, arms wrapped around you so tight you fear he may snap you in half, anime playing in the background as you both fall asleep. (strade wouldn’t leave you alone that day. he was constantly around you, pestering you. sometimes he would just hover over your shoulder, watching your every movement, other times he would be telling you stories, the things he did and how he did them. every waking moment was spent with strade, you were so tired. you were happy when it was finally night and you could sleep. but then you felt the bed dip and felt hands on your legs, slowing inching their way up. you shot out of bed faster than ever and made your way to ren’s room. swallowing your pride for the night would be better than dealing with strade for another 5 minutes)

the encounter with lawrence was a staple in your relationship, you two were brought together since then (he believed) and he was so happy with you, he knows that he you were meant to be his

the day you tell him everything, he seems to crumble. he’s frozen as you tell him everything, fear on his face. he wanted to believe it was a joke, a bad joke that he could punish you for but you knew too much for it to be a coincidental joke. you were crying at the end of it, overwhelmed by everything that had been going on, and ren felt close to tears himself

he thought he was done with strade. sure his body is in the basement freezer, but he was no longer controlled by him, strade had no power over him anymore. (he might be lying to himself on that, he tries to be what strade was, tries to fill the empty feeling he got when he watched strade die)

and now you’re telling him that strade is still here just as a ghost? that strade was watching everything? that strade still had control?

i think that ren would try to regain control, would try to show that strade might still be around, but he is in charge now. he’d shock you before you can comprehend what he’s doing and you would wake up in the basement, tied to the pole. ren stood over you, knife in hand. strade stood just behind him, biggest smile you have ever seen on his face. you focused back on ren as he crouched down, “is he here?” you looked back up at strade before nodding. “good” a glint of metal caught your eye as ren brought the knife to your skin

[gurokiitty]

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.