Archived 2/17/2026

Archive of Melonfics from over the years. Left here for anyone who wants access to them still. (Author is fine, safe, and healthy, simply removing social media to focus on writing novel)

[melonba11s]

Survive One Night (FNAF fanfic)

…. Feddy… Uh don’t perceive me?

TW: Noncon, Forced Orgasm, Machine Sex, Wet dream

The first night on the job and she’d tossed the tablet to the side and gotten up. No way was she going to sit and stay in some dingy office for six entire hours. Armed with a flash light and a great load of nostalgia, she began to walk to hallways.

It wasn’t too long ago that she had been one of the children who’d anticipated birthdays, not just her own but her friends as well, because everyone had their birthday parties at Freddy Fazbears Pizza. Freddy would walk off stage and sing happy birthday to the kid, while Chica went to the kitchen, made a bunch of noise with pots and pans that you assumed now were just from a sound machine, before she came back with a cake.

Playing in the ball pit that probably had years old pizza crusts at the bottom and listening to the animatronic mascots sing and perform in a way that was so lifelike, it even made the adults gaze in wonder.

And that included herself right now. These marvels of engineering were unlike anything else, the Fazbear Entertainment Company were geniuses. Now that the animatronics were in free roam only at night, something about an accident in 1987, she pressed herself against the wall as she watched Bonnie stomp down the hallway towards the office.

The safety manual she had flipped through would be the only thing waiting for him there though, and an empty seat. Why did these things even need a night guard?

She sighed softly, looking around the main party room, and glancing up at the stage. Freddy was the only one left, and she could hear distinct clanging of pots and pans. Chica was in the kitchen. Maybe she had some kind of device on her that sensed she was in the kitchen and played those noises?

Approaching the stage, she was filled with happy memories. Sure the place had gone to the dogs kind of, but it was still great. Staring up at Freddy right now couldn’t help but bring a smile to her face.

She gave a small jump as the animatronic bear blinked with a distinct whirr of machinery, then its eyes flicked down towards her.

“oh!” she caught herself before she could make too much noise. She put a hand on her hip.

“I forgot about that, how great you are. Detecting faces and being able to make eye contact.” She half expected Freddy to begin to burst into song. But he just stared.

“I’d love to stay you big lug but, I am kind of here to do a job. Your friend Bonnie is probably making a mess of my office right now. Big Purple Putz, he was always my least favorite.”

She turned around, sweeping the flashlight across the party room.

“Think I should go pay Foxy a visit next?” she shot her question back at the bear, laughing quietly to herself. Like the bear would answer. She stayed still a bit more though.

“… It’s kind of sad how far this place has fallen…” she mused, now suddenly filled with melancholy. “It used to be so alive… Now it just feels worn down. Like a car that stopped getting cared for.”

She let her arms drop to her sides, inhaling deeply. The smell of mechanical lubricant, pizza and lemon scented cleaning chemicals was the same.

“Oh don’t worry.” She stretched. “I still love you. I love all of you. You’re amazing, really. I’m sure things will look up-“

The sudden whirr of mechanical joints grew louder, and before she could spin around the flashlight hit the ground. Two fur covered hands had grabbed her and were lifting her, manhandling her.

She couldn’t help it, she let out a scream. Her back hit the solid mass of fake fur and metal casings that was Freddy’s midsection. As everything fell still, she grabbed onto his arms, panting heavily.

“Wh-What’s gotten into you, Freddy?!” She couldn’t help but talk as if the robot would respond. She tried to struggle out, but the grip was firm. Why was a singing pizzeria mascot so strong?

And why was he holding her in such an awkward position. Bent in half, her thighs were pressed against her stomach, she jolted as she felt the tear of fabric and cool air hit her nether regions.

“Fu-frick! Freddy I just got this uniform!” she struggled, she could feel the tear in the pants. It left it wide open… Stupid cheap fucking materials, leave it to Fazbear Entertainment to cheap out on-

She stiffened as something hit her down there. It wasn’t fur, it wasn’t metal. It was something else. Slightly soft, but smooth. She swallowed roughly as it continued to rub against her lips, spreading them slightly.

“N-No way.” she strained to try and see but couldn’t maneuver enough to get a look. There was just no way they gave this jukebox with moving parts a fucking cock.

In fact, why was this happening at all? She was trying to think as the unknown device rubbed against her still, beginning to grow slick. Freddy was a robot, he was programmed to do specific things, this couldn’t be in his programming.

It was getting harder to think though. She let out a small gasp, as the pace of the thrusts grew in intensity. Mechanical, jerking. Thrusting forward before reeling back slowly before all the power was put back into that forward motion. Like a piston.

The flashlight on the ground was casting shadows on the wall before it flickered and went out. She could barely see anything now, she could only feel and squirm.

“S-Someone please… help me.” she whispered hopelessly. She was the only one in this building until 6 am.

The rubbing had stopped, and for a moment she felt relieved, maybe he’d ran out of power? Then the forward thrust again, slower this time. and pressing into her.

“N-No!!!” All her energy came back to her in one swoop, feeling the head of his cock pressing inside of her. But no matter what she did it was like struggling against a brick wall. She couldn’t stop him, as her walls gave away and let him in. The rubbing from before, was that some kind of foreplay? It made it easy, not very painful.

Who designed and gave this bear such a big fat cock? She swore she could feel herself splitting in half as he lowered her onto it. No matter how much she tensed though he just kept going at a slow unstoppable pace.

Until she felt him bottom out. Her thighs were shaking from the combined strain of being folded so close to her body and his cock inside her. She was panting, trying to catch her breath.

She could do this, this wasn’t so bad. She’d figure it out, she’d get the fuck out of here.

And then the thrusting began. There was no more piston like reel back before the sudden strength put into one thrust. No, it was just immediate, jackhammer like in its speed and intensity.

The noise she made was meant to be a scream but all it came out as was a wanton like moan. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, no, this was assault, it was a rogue machine attacking her. But she couldn’t help but bite her lip and gasp, digging her fingers into the fur of his arms as her cunt was pounded mercilessly.

“o-oh fuck!” it was embarrassing, how fast he was pushing her to the edge. No one had ever fucked her this hard before, and she knew in the back of her mind no one would be able to ever again. She sunk back into him, letting her body fall limp in his grasp as she came, panting.

She wasn’t sure why she expected mercy, to be let go once she came. A machine, animatronic, it lacked the biological senses to stop. Her moans and pants of ecstacy turned into whines and sobs as he kept going, her body shuddering with overstimulation.

He wasn’t stopping. She was stuck like this, until 6 am. How long was it to 6 am? She strained her eyes in the dark looking for a clock but quickly gave up as another orgasm was forced out of her.

“p-please… someone…” she gasped, the onslaught showing no signs of stopping. She needed it to stop soon, she was going to go insane, she was shaking, someone was shaking her-

“Wake UP!” She sat up, gasping and looking around wildly. The office, it was… the office. She whipped her head around, looking for any animatronics.

All she was met with was a very pissed off looking boss.

“First night on the job and you fall asleep?!” he boomed, pointing a finger at her like she was a liability. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?! If anything had gotten-“ he stopped himself short, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to control his breathing.

She looked around, down at the tablet, still on the first camera looking at the animatronics on stage. The lights were all on and it looked a lot more cheerful than what she remembered. A small puddle of drool was stuck to the screen.

She moved to rub it off.

“Christ just…” The boss yanked it from her. “Just. Just grab your shit and go. You’re fucking fired.”

[melonba11s]

Suit and Tie (Strade/MC fanfic)

Contains: formal wear fetish (reader has one), alludes to canon events, shock collar mention, fluff, oral sex, Strades wearing a suit lol

Strade had been in a bad mood that morning.

He didn't take it out on you or Ren, he just stewed silently. Didn't smile as much when it came to conversation.

You asked Ren quietly what was up with him.

"He has a *wedding* to go too." Ren said, before giving an odd snicker.

"A wedding?" You said incredulously. "Who would invite that guy to a wedding?"

You forgot how normal, how loveable Strade was to the outside world. To those who didn't see him down a few steps and behind a locked door.

Ren shrugged.

"Some neighbor. He fixed their fridge and they invited him. He *hates* dressing up."

Dressing up. Of course someone like Strade would hate the constrictive bindings of a suit and tie. Someone trying to keep him held down in the form of clothing.

Ren seemed eager to see Strade for a whole other reason. Perhaps relishing in the chance to see his captor uncomfortable, feeling out of place.

You really couldn't imagine him cleaned up and wearing something other than cargo pants or jeans.

Or spending more than 10 minutes getting ready.

"Ren, should I shave?" his voice called from the bathroom.

"No, it's uncanny." Ren replied, flatly. You couldn't imagine Strade clean shaven either.

Strade spent a few more minutes rustling around in the bathroom before he finally emerged.

He looked... dulled. All of his energy quashed into a red suit that squared off his shoulders a bit too much. Even his hair was more under control, pulled back into a small tie that rested at the nape of his neck.

He tugged at his collar a bit, groaning.

"Why doesn't anyone ever just host a wedding at a bar or bowling alley?" A rhetorical question, based in his frustrations.

"You look good." The words fell from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Different, but good. His eyes locked onto yours. The beginnings of curiosity and excitement flickering like a flame in his eyes. Wanting to make you tell him more, make you admit something else.

Then he glanced at the clock.

"Scheiße, I need to leave." He grabbed his wallet off the table and stuffed it into one of his suit pockets, before grabbing his car keys.

Then he grabbed a smaller remote, and spun a dial. You felt your collar light up, and stiffened, prepared for a shock.

Just a few small beeps. Decreasing the perimeter on the collars. An extra precaution for when he was gone longer than normal.

"Have fun." You said, barely lifting a hand to wave as he brushed past you and Ren and towards the door.

A grunt in response. He was not going to have any fun.

The sound of a door closing, a lock clicking into place, and silence settling down in the house.

"... So, what do you wanna do?" You turned to look at Ren. You supposed you should try and enjoy this alone time while you had the chance too.

The hours ticked by. Mid morning turned to early afternoon.

You and Ren watched TV. You ate lunch together. You lived *normally* for the first time in months.

But you couldn't get that damn suit out of your mind. Ren could tell you were distracted too.

"You have a fetish or something?" he had asked, catching you off guard.

"No! I just... Like the way suits look... they seem to make people a lot more attractive."

"So you do have a fetish."

"Shut up, you're one to talk."

Non-serious bickering that always felt good to get into. The kind friends had.

And yet even as the afternoon turned to dusk and Ren crept to be alone in his room, you stayed in the living room, thinking.

Thinking about how Strade's sweat would cling to that suit. How it would wrinkle over time as he moved and had a few drinks.

How he'd be dreaming of getting back home and taking it off. Maybe right in the hallway.

Weddings were emotional affairs, maybe he'd call you to him, force you onto your knees-

The sound of a garage door opening made you sit up. You were on your feet in seconds and adrenaline pushed you to race to find somewhere to hide, be out of the way. Somewhere Strade wouldn’t think to look.

Surprisingly. You stood in front of the fridge.

"I bet he'll want a beer." you thought. One of his favorites, cheap and tasting more like failed sourdough than a proper lager.

By the time the door opened, you had made your decision. You waited patiently, holding the cold can of beer, just inside the collar’s perimeter.

You could hear him kick off his dress shoes with a mumbled complaint about aching feet. Followed by a groan of relief as those aching feet hit chilly hardwood.

"Here." You said softly, as he appeared from around the corner.

Hair still up, but not as neat. The front of his suit was unbuttoned to reveal the dress shirt and he'd loosened the tie considerably.

The Strade you knew was oozing out from its cage. Eyes flickered from your face to the beer.

He took it as condensation began to form on the can and opened it. The sound of metal snapping open seemed so loud in the darkened house.

He took several long gulps before wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his suit, no longer having to worry about looking presentable.

"Thanks, Liebling." his voice was husky. He began to shrug the overcoat off.

"wait." you placed a hand on his arm. He stopped, eyes crinkling as he finally smiled.

"Ooh, that's right." A hand meeting your cheek before moving up to ruffle your hair. "You like suits."

You nodded, no use trying to hide it.

"I could tell by how you looked at me" he was moving closer. You took a step back into the wall, swallowing heavily.

You could smell him. Sweat, the myriads of cologne and perfume other guests had worn, the lingering of a steak dinner and champagne.

You pressed yourself against him and slid to the floor, knees hitting the wood.

"Strade." Your mouth felt so dry. "Can I please?..." You couldn't bring yourself to say it. You rubbed your cheek against his thigh, then pressed your face into his crotch.

Greeted with the pleasant surprise that he was already hard. You couldn't help but open your mouth and inhale his sharp musky scent, hoping to be able to taste it as much as you smelt it.

"You really are weird..." You looked up at him. He seemed so far away, those amber eyes glowing with affection.

His hands undoing his belt as you eagerly pulled his slacks down.

You should slow down, try not to look so eager as his cock twitched, freed from the sweaty confines of his boxers.

"to hell with it." you told those reasonable thoughts, circling the head of his cock with your tongue before taking him in your mouth.

The moan that came from him was delicious, his eyes closed as you took him further in. Feeling him buck his hips against you a bit and digging his hands into your hair.

If he had been trying to stay in control of himself, he failed. Because it wasn't long before you weren't doing any work at all, and were just letting him thrust into your throat.

Hands limp at your sides, looking up at him with misplaced adoration as he came down your throat.

"Swallow it all." he said, breathlessly. You didn't have a choice. If you did you still would.

The afterglow was nice. Panting, leaning against his legs as Strade steadied his breathing, a hand on your head.

"... How was the wedding?" you finally asked. Silence stretched on. You wondered if Strade was ignoring your question.

"I'd have rather spent the day with you."

You glanced at the clock.

“It’s still early.” you began to rise. “We can.. I don’t know. Spend the night together.”

A hand ruffling your hair.

“Right you are, Liebling. Let me get this monkey suit off.”

A quick plate of leftovers microwaved for him and another beer, you both had started out sitting on the couch, Strade now stripped down to nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

But as time went on, as the TV changed channels and programs, you had melted into each other. Strade laid out across the couch, a mess of limbs with your cheek pressed against his chest.

You found yourself staring at his hand, limp and upturned as he focused on the TV.

You slid your own palm across his and was met with a firm squeeze, and caught him smiling slightly.

"You're clingy tonight," he commented. Were you?

"I'm not used to you being gone." you replied. It was true. You'd grown used to Strades generous showering of physical affection and his overbearing company. Even if he was your kidnapper, he had a way of worming into your body and leaving holes in his absence.

A small chuckle.

"Oh so you have... what is it?... *separation anxiety*?"

You weren't going to grace him with an answer. You stayed quiet and just squeezed his hand back, focusing on its callused surface.

Strade would take silence as an answer too though, and you groaned as he began to sit up, forcing you up.

"I suppose I should give you some extra attention, to make up for it." you swore he *purred* those words, as he maneuvered you like an awkward mannequin until you were pinned underneath him on the couch.

You could feel your heart beating against your rib cage as you swallowed nervously.

The soft thud of Strades knees hitting the floor, apprehension and excitement flooding your body as he slid down until he was between your legs.

"Spread 'em." your joints felt stiff as you obeyed, whining softly as he worked your underwear down.

This felt familiar, you knew what he was up to, and you couldn't help but reach down to grab a handful of his hair.

"wai- AUGH" his teeth sunk into your inner thigh. On instinct your thighs snapped closed on his head, and he looked all too pleased with himself.

"Don't get greedy..." A light hearted warning that held no threat behind it, just simple teasing.

Making fun of you for being eager.

You knew your arousal was visible to him. You gripped the couch instead of his hair, afraid of more teeth as Strade pressed his mouth against you.

He enjoyed you like he enjoyed his beer. Peering at you over the rim of the glass with gleeful eyes as he ran his tongue across you fervently, enjoying every noise you made.

Eager groans of enjoyment coming from deep within his chest as he settled in, hands on your hips gripping you tightly. Strade was never one to let anyone take a meal away from him.

His already fast pace increasing as you began to writhe and moan. Nothing was ever slow or sensual, he wrung orgasms out of you like he started a lawnmower. Quick, jerking motions.

You closed your eyes and arched your body into him as you came, half expecting your fingers to put holes in the upholstery with how hard you gripped the couch.

He always had a self satisfied grin on his face whenever he was done performing. You remembered the first time you saw that smirk with half lidded eyes as he licked his lips.

The first time you saw that expression he hadn't let you stay with him on the couch.

You were glad he always let you stay by his side now.

[melonba11s]

Flitterwochen (Strade/MC fanfic)

This ones for the Strade Girlies, and Me, Who are Delusional and just want to be his wife.

Contains: AFAB MC (written with a Femme MC in mind), Established Relationship, mentions of marriage (You guys are newlyweds), Oral, PinV Sex.

CW's: Mentions of canon typical violence, Asphyxiation/suffocation, Strade

If four years ago you were told that you’d be here… You would have laughed in their face. Maybe even gotten sick to your stomach. That first night on that cold basement floor felt like so long ago now though. Of course it would, with a warm breeze off the ocean tickling your face as Strade held your hand. Shock collar traded out for a thin gold band around your finger, matching the one on his. 

“You won’t get upset if this comes off for bar nights, will you?” he’d asked teasingly during the reception. You’d rolled your eyes, shaking your head. An answer and a reaction to his words. 

You hadn’t even expected a real honeymoon. You figured Strade would drag you back home and back to that basement, where you two had first gotten to know each other. He’d surprised you with the tickets, grinning like a kid on christmas. It must have cost a fortune. Or more likely in Strade’s case, a few lives, taken on film for a bloodthirsty crowd. 

A resort in Mexico, a small private casita away from the main resort. Just the two of you. Three entire weeks. 

It was so hard to be as excited as you had been before the eleven hour flight though. And that was after a wedding. Smiling until it felt like your face would get stuck like that and your cheeks hurt, crying happy tears and standing until you felt like your feet were going to fall off. 

Now? You were dead on your feet, just following Strade who seemed more awake than ever as he led you down the sandy path. 

“There it is, Schatz.” He sounded out of breath. Or maybe he was just as tired as you. He was pointing towards the small bungalow. The ocean just a few yards away, the lights already on ready to welcome you both in. 

The AC felt like a kiss as you stepped in, barely taking in the interior as you heard Strade locking the door. And then a hand gripping your hair like a vice, and your back hit the wall as Strade pressed himself against you. Realization hitting you as the rush of adrenaline woke you up like a shot of espresso. 

He hadn’t been tired. He’d been excited. His hot breath hitting your ear as he ground his cock against your thigh. 

“Care to test if they can hear your screams from here, Schatz?” And you melted under his scorching breath. 

Your knees hitting the floor as he fumbled with his belt and zipper. A hand digging in your hair again as he pulled out his achingly hard cock. 

You wanted to ask when he first got excited. You swallowed your words as well as his cock as Strade lined himself up with your open mouth and buried himself in your throat. 

The heat of the tropical climate had made him sweat more than usual, and you could taste it, savoring the saltiness as you closed your eyes. The back of your head hitting the wall rhythmically as he thrust into your mouth. Forget a bruise, there’d be a good size bump on your skull at this point. 

Still you moaned, one hand gripping his thigh as the other dipped between your legs. You couldn’t help it, Strade lit such a fire inside you. And he never minded, he loved watching you enjoy yourself as he had his way with your holes. Especially if it was after he’d bloodied you up. 

Both of his hands gripped your skull suddenly as he bottomed out, burying your nose in his pubes. All you could smell and taste were him, your eyes rolled up to look at him as best you could. Feeling his balls rest on your chin and twitch as he emptied his load down your throat. 

Spit dribbled down your chin as you gasped for air when he finally pulled out. You leaned forward to press your cheek to his thigh as he wiped at his own mouth. 

“Schiesse, that was nice…” His voice was still low. “You always look so pretty with my cock down your throat, Schatz. Shame that the venue wouldn’t let you wear that instead of a dress.” 

He laughed, sounding more than pleased with himself as you smiled, still too busy catching your breath to laugh with him. The two of you stayed that way for a moment, catching your breath as you listened to the waves. Then Strade bent over, hooking his arms under your knees before lifting you up carelessly. 

“I suppose it’s a little late to carry you over the threshold, isn’t it?” He was grinning at you, and you found yourself lost in that amber gaze and white teeth, like so many times before. A face that held all of your attention, even in a paradise like this as he used his foot to knock a door wide open. 

Gentle wasn’t something Strade often was, and if he bothered, it wasn’t for long. 

It made sense he didn’t have the patience to keep up the bridal style carry for long, as he braced himself and tossed you. 

You let out a shriek that was more mirth filled than shock, and hit the freshly made bed with enough force that you were surprised the frame didn’t crack. The blankets had barely settled before Strade’s hands slammed down on either side of you, trapping you yet again. 

Was it really a trap if this was exactly where you wanted to be? You couldn’t help it, you knew it probably wasn’t on his agenda but you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him like your life depended on it. 

This had to be heaven, pressed against him as you both rolled around on the bed, a playful fight for dominance as more clothes were shed. You always loved how Strade could rip your shirts in half with his hands, the fabric turning to shreds between his fingers. And missing his favorite knife, he did the same with your underwear. Feeling the cotton stretch thin, dig into your skin painfully until the seams gave way. 

Leaving your lips alone finally, Strade nipped and mauled his way down your body, his bites more than a little painful as he took one of your nipples between his teeth and pulled. 

It hurt, but even as you let out a short scream of pain, you trusted him. This was the ultimate form of trust, putting your life in his hands so often. Knowing he would never go too far. 

He let go, satisfied with the tears pricking your eyes before he went lower.

Strade laid his tongue flat as he pressed it against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs as you arched your back. He never began with slow licks, it was always an assault from the get go that made you squirm and whine as he sucked on your clit. Far too overstimulating to even get you close to an orgasm so soon. 

But damn if it didn’t get you excited, feeling his scruff against your inner thighs as he gazed at you smugly from between your legs, his gaze traveling from you to the side. 

“Oh?” He stopped, suddenly looking curious. You took this moment to try and recover as best you could, as Strade crawled back over you to reach for the bedside table. “Look at these!” 

You watched blearily as he picked up something that unfurled quickly, a long sectioned foil ribbon. You almost didn’t recognize them, it’d been so long since you’d seen them. 

“Condoms?” You asked, as Strade looked at them with interest piqued. Strade never bought condoms. He never needed them. What was the point when most of your lays would end up turned to ash in your kiln? 

Strade was grinning now. 

“Think we should use them?” He asked, his voice teasing. He had an idea. It shouldn’t have but it made you curious as to what he was thinking as he tore one off and threw the rest to the side. 

“Sure?” You sat up slightly, as he ripped it open with his teeth. It was so odd, seeing him unfurl it. Then you gave a snort as he began to stretch it. 

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t help but laugh as he rolled it along his fingers. 

“Need to make sure it will fit!” He gave you a mischievous grin, a glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but snort. He was impressive, but he wasn’t a monster down there. 

“Oh don’t be like that Schatzi… We have to have some  sort of first on our honeymoon~” His voice was like liquid chocolate to you right now, and you relaxed. First time protected sex after years of doing it raw, it was an amusing concept. 

As used too Strade as you were though, you were pretty unprepared for when he began to roll the condom over your head though. “Hey!” You slapped his hands away out of shock, and Strade put on a pout, pretending to look hurt. 

“Come on, stay still!” You huffed, now thoroughly confused as he began the process again… Until it was stretching over your eyes. You began to take deep breaths, trying to mentally prepare. 

Over your nose, Strade was looking more excited as you gave him a look of apprehension. 

He let go, and it snapped painfully against your skin. The yelp of pain you let out exhausted all the air in your chest suddenly. The world instantly became a steamy haze from behind the latex, as Strade grabbed your wrists as you began to instinctively reach up. 

You held your breath again, trying to control your breathing as Strade manhandled you into position, slotting himself between your thighs. Your nerves were lit aflame and you felt his cock hit your stomach before he began to position himself. 

No safeword. He wouldn’t listen if you begged. You trusted him. 

Moans caught in your throat as Strade’s cock pushed its way inside of you like it had so many times before, before he began to build up a steady rhythm. Eventually you tried to inhale, and felt rubber hit your tongue. But no air. 

You let out a cough, your chest beginning to try and heave. Eyes wide but suddenly clouded by adrenaline. You tried to jerk your wrists from Strade’s iron grip but it was no use. You could hear him panting, as if he were choking just like you. 

“Having fun?” His words sounded far away, muffled by the roaring of blood rushing to your head. 

Your mind trusted Strade completely. But during moments like this your body stopped listening to any words your mind screamed at it. Back arching as you tried to bite at the condom to tear a hole in it, before your tongue pressed against it as if that would help. Another cough as you tried to inhale again to be met with nothing. 

Panic. Panic was all that was coursing through you as you bucked your hips against him, unintentionally getting Strade off as he let out a string of curses. He was just staying still, watching you with a wide grin on his face as your struggling body did the work of getting him off.

Your walls were clenching around him as you thrust your chest out. It hurt. There was hardly anything Strade hadn’t done to you. Choking, Drowning, Strangling. 

Suffocation was a whole new kind of pain. The struggle for air only slightly abated by the stale air you kept inhaling that offered none of the life giving oxygen your body depended on. 

You tried to speak, a plea for air. It came out in a gurgle as saliva spilled from your mouth too now. And despite all of this, you were cumming. You couldn’t focus on it against the struggle for life, but you could feel it as Strade finally began to thrust again. You couldn’t understand anything he said, as your eyes began to roll back. Your entire body stiffened up as you tried for one more shaky inhale, the inside of the condom felt unpleasantly wet and slimy, way too hot, it made the rest of your body feel ice cold.

Or was that everything fading away? Was this how it would end, on the marriage bed of all places? 

Your body barely registered Strade cumming, unable to feel his cum seeping out of your pussy as he pulled out. 

It was over, this was it. Your life was flashing in front of your eyes, memories of the life you two had shared for the past four years- 

Cold air hit your tongue, then Strades fingers as he easily punctured a hole in the condom with his index and thumb. The rest of the condom ripping off so easily with that one tear, his spare hand rubbing your chest as you inhaled deeper than you ever had before in your life. 

You could taste blood in your mouth. You’d bitten your tongue at some point, but you had no wherewithal to flinch even as Strade ran his fingers over the lacerations. You were too busy gulping down breath after breath of air, afraid that any moment it would be taken away from you again. 

“Still with me, Schatzi?” He didn’t sound overly concerned, just grinning at you like he always did after a round of torture. 

Confident that he could keep you alive. The confidence that made you trust him. 

You reached a hand up to wipe your forehead. Slick. A mess of saliva, sweat, tears and the condensation of stale air.  You definitely looked like a mess. You focused your gaze on him. 

“There’s those pretty eyes…” Because this was Strade, and of course right now he’d find you more beautiful than ever. 

You finally relaxed, your lungs still burning with need as your back hit the bed again. Feeling Strade hit the bed next to you, an arm possessively wrapping around you before he pulled you close. 

Closing your eyes as you felt his lips press against your cheek, then ear, then forehead. A spattering of kisses. You could tell he was just as exhausted as you, perhaps the events and travel had finally caught up to him as well. 

“I love you…” You whispered, knowing he could never resist saying it back. A slow nod, feeling him let out a long low sigh. 

“I love you too.” 

[melonba11s]

Parasocial; Part One (YKMET:Strade Fanfic)

Parasocial; A one sided connection between a person and someone they do not know personally. This connection can be with a celebrity, a fictional character, or a media figure. 

Or even a dark web streamer. 

“Wow, that much to watch me jerk off?” B3GCRY huffed in front of the camera. He tugged the plain black balaclava back up his face. His biggest fan leaned into her screen, chewing her nails until they ripped and tore, leaving only ragged ends. 

She didn’t need the money. He did. She glanced at the man in the background, bloodied and half-dead. Then her eyes locked onto B3G as he began to unzip. 

“I suppose I can…. For my “Biggest Fan”” She sighed, a hand dipping between her legs as she crouched in her chair, eyes glued to the screen. B3GZB1GG5TF@N moaned as he pulled his cock out, beginning to stroke himself slowly. She used her spare hand to type as fast she could single handedly. 

“Cum on his face” along with another hefty donation. She didn’t care what the other viewers were thinking or saying, their messages were turning into a blur. Her thighs shook, watching him stroke himself faster, his moans felt like they were burying themselves into her scalp. 

“I love you.” She whispered to her screen, feeling herself grow closer. She loved him so much, no one understood her like he did. No one could come as close to understanding him like she did. She needed him more than anything else in life. 

She tilted her head back as he came, cum landing on his victims face and making them wince and begin to plead for their life again. She was so close. It was almost ruined by the fact that she hadn’t cum at the same time as him. 

“Heh… Thanks for the donations, B1GG5TF@N” 

That sent her over the edge. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to tell him how hard she just came. How much she loved him. Her real name. 

She smeared her own fluids across the keyboard as she hurriedly typed. 

“I’ll see you next stream, B3G” she pressed her cheek against the screen. It was warm. It was a poor imitation of how warm he would be. She pressed her lips to it. The screen didn’t kiss her back. 

She stood up, knees wobbling as she left the laptop running. The two steps it took to get her into her bed was too much almost, as she fell face first. She had work tomorrow. She stayed up for him. She was sure no one else was as dedicated as she was. She wrapped her arms around an old pillow and pulled it close. 

It didn’t hug her back. It didn’t smell like blood or whatever he smelt like. She could only imagine how he smelt. Of sweat, blood, unwashed and foul. She wanted to bury her face into him and only smell him forever. 

There was a ding. A Private message. She frowned, pressing her face harder into the pillow. She’d forgotten to shut her laptop down… She groaned as she forced herself up, feet heavy as she pushed herself back up and walked to it. 

She nearly slammed the screen down but a few words caught her eyes, made her breath stop. 

“You really love him, huh?” It was another viewer. She squinted. Another viewer.

They were in as much as she was. She snorted, before sitting to reply. 

“More than you.” she responded. They began typing back almost immediately. 

“What if I told you I knew where he was?” She froze. 

“Liar.” she said out loud to herself. She typed it out too. 

The other person sent a photo. She frowned. It was just a screenshot of  social media site. 

A post by some sort of bar. She frowned. Why the fuck did they send her this? She was about to type but then she saw it.

B3G. It had to be him. The same eyes, the same hair. The side profile matched almost exactly. He was sitting and talking to someone off camera, not noticing the picture being taken. Several new messages were sent as she stared. 

“He frequents this bar a lot.” 

“Picks up people there sometimes.” 

“He lives not too far away.” 

“But it will cost you” 

His Biggest Fan stared at the chat window, her mind a whirlwind. 

“Want more proof?” Another photo was sent. 

This one was some sort of barbecue. And there he was again. Off in the background. Facing away. She recognized the frame though. This person had to know. This couldn’t be coincidence. 

“How much do you want?” she asked, her hands shaking. 

The amount they sent back nearly made her want to barf. Then they sent a link to a crypto wallet. 

“I’m ready when you are.” They sent another message. The only thing lighting up the room was the blue glow of the screen. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Quit your job. Drain what little you have left in your bank account. Sell everything you own at a pawn shop. Cut your cards. Drive. 

Drive until you can’t stay awake anymore, pull over and pass out leaning back in the seat. Wake up, repeat. 

Barely eat, only ever stop for gas and the bathroom. 

She didn’t need anything else. She was going to see him. 

Her body ached from driving for so long without a break and she was finally pulling into a neighborhood that was far too normal, far too nice. 

Her stomach  dropped as she slowed to a cruise down the street. Had she been duped? Maybe it was just someone who looked like B3G. Maybe she had been given the wrong address entirely. 

She stopped in front of the house her GPS had marked and stared. It was so normal. A normal front yard, a normal car in the driveway, a normal paint job. 

This couldn’t be it, could it? 

She had come so far though. She couldn’t give up here. She killed her engine and took a deep breath. If it was all fake… 

She’d drive home. She’d crash with her parents until her life got back together. Or maybe she’d drive herself off a cliff. Either one. 

She felt out of place walking up the normal driveway, up to the normal door. Should she ring the doorbell or knock? 

She felt like a million eyes were on her. She rang the doorbell. She felt if she knocked the force would shatter her body into a million pieces. 

The door opened. Amber eyes, staring intently, a grin on his face. 

“How can I help you?” German accent, the english words dancing across his tongue like they were still learning to waltz. She stared, taking him in. Swallowed, her throat was dry, the swallow got stuck in her throat. 

He glanced back, towards her car, his eyebrow cocking. 

“Need a jump?” he asked, sounding so genuinely helpful. 

“I…” She had to say something. Say anything. He needed to know who she was. 

“I found you.” were the only things she could think to say. It made him pause, his smile dropping. Confusion, a frown as he looked at her. Like he was trying to take apart what she said, looking like he wanted to open up her skull and tinker around to try and figure out what she meant. She tried again. 

“B3GCRY.” No emotion left on his face. It all slid off and fell somewhere below. His gaze hardened, he glanced up and down the street. 

A grip that was too tight on her wrist, as she was yanked in surprisingly fast and hit the floor behind him. The door slammed, the click of a lock. 

The stomp of a boot at the base of her skull that sent her vision swirling before she could even look around. 

She could hear someone though. Someone else. 

“Who’s that?” She tried to say her name. It never came.

[melonba11s]

Ache (Strade and MC BTD Fic)

Warnings: Teeth, Tooth related Trauma, Mouth Harm, Unskilled Surgery, Torture, Canon Typical Violence.

It had started with a dull ache. A dull ache that disappeared for days at a time. A dull ache that was forgotten about when you were dealing with much more serious wounds. 

Then it became a constant ache. You chewed ice to numb it. Then the ice began to hurt. You resorted to Ibuprofen. Of course Strade noticed but he chalked it up to basement stuff, you jerking your head around too fast or snapping your jaw closed too hard. 

And then the 120 pill count bottle was half gone and when he had a headache he only stared at you in disbelief. 

You couldn’t help it, you said. It just hurt. Such a persistent ache that it prevented you from sleeping. 

He sat you down, took a flashlight and looked inside, tutting about how “if it hurt that bad you should have said something.” 

You didn’t want to tell him how badly it was bothering you. Because he would make it worse. And he did. 

A digit pressed down on the back of your mouth, on the gum. You shrieked in the sharp lance of pain. He did the same on the other side, both points on the bottom row of teeth.

“Liebling, you never got your wisdom teeth out?” he asked. No, you hadn’t. They hadn’t come in, you figured. Maybe you’d hoped you’d never have to get them out. 

But now you were faced with the ugly truth that… Yeah, they’d probably have to go. 

While sitting underneath the man who had kidnapped you, and collared you so that you could never leave. 

“Yep, those are gonna have to go.” Strade said aloud, he looked like he was thinking. 

You weren’t even going to suggest going to a dentist. A dentist was expensive. And going out? Without a collar? With all those opportunities to escape? 

No. You were stuck. And that made the ache so much worse. 

Strade bought you some orajel. A few tubes actually. It worked a lot better than ibuprofen. 

So much better you could forget about the problem for a bit, lull yourself into the idea that maybe they’d stop trying to come in and you’d be fine. You could eat just fine now and drink ice water again and sleep. 

And then Strade came up to you while you were folding towels and told you to come to the basement. You were no longer fine. 

You were on edge as you followed him, his hand gripping yours. You tried to ignore how the hold felt more… comforting and snug, rather than like a vice threatening to break your fingers. 

In the basement was his work bench, pulled out into the middle of the floor. 

“Lay down.” He patted it, giving you a grin. What would fighting do? Begging? 

You laid down, the polished wood underneath you was slightly cool. Two hands brushed your hair from your face, patted your cheeks, and Strade gave you another grin. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. You weren’t. You nodded anyway. 

“Good!” he laughed. “Stay there.” A command, firmly given. 

You heard him rummaging around. You were beginning to wonder what kind of game this was. 

Then the next thing you felt was a thick rope wrapping around your torso. You stiffened. 

But of course he wouldn’t want you moving, yanking away from him. Trying to get off the workbench when it was clearly involved in what he had planned. 

You flexed your fingers as he tied your wrists down too, then your thighs. 

“Open up~” A familiar sing-song tone to his voice as he produced a ring gag. You complied, growing more confused by the second. 

Then you jolted as there was the loud rip of duct tape in your ear. Strade chuckled. 

“Sorry. Just can’t have you moving your head. It will make the work I gotta do even messier.” 

Work. This wasn’t fun. He never  called what he did down here work. Several strips were being pressed to your forehead, forcing you to stay looking up. You tried to lift your head. Nothing.

Alarm bells were going off in your head but you couldn’t question him because of the gag. All that came out was a whimper. A whimper that made Strade’s grin widen a bit. 

“I was waiting on a mouth prop but what would you know! Delivery delayed. And you’re almost out of that tooth cream.” 

You began trying to beg. Anything else. He didn’t pay much attention though. 

“Are you scared?” he asked. You couldn’t nod. “It’s okay. Think of how much better this would be than the other outcomes.” 

Other outcomes. Pockets of pus opening up in the mouth. Teeth decaying from the friction and falling out. Sepsis. 

You reluctantly calmed down just a little. And then Strade pulled out his knife. 

Not a scalpel. Not even a thin blade. His usual hunting knife. 

And you began to jerk against your bonds again, short panting shouts echoing in the basement. Strade cocked an eyebrow. 

“What? I’m most comfortable with this one!... You want me to be done fast, right?” An edge to his voice. He could make this longer if he wanted. He could make this worse if he wanted. 

“Don’t worry! I’ll be careful!” He patted your cheek again. 

You knew whatever orajel you had used however long ago was not going to help here. 

“Keep your tongue out of my way.” A warning before you watched the blade pass your lips. Every protest died, as you flattened your tongue down as best you could. 

And then. A hot gush of blood, it tasted of copper. A split second after the shock of the taste hit you, the pain did. 

And Strade sighed like a romantic as you screamed, as he dug his knife in deeper. You could feel it grinding against bone. 

“Aaahh, there’s that pretty voice.” you barely registered his words. You tried to jerk your head again but the tape wouldn’t give. You could only lay there and take it, screaming and crying. Your tears were soaking into your hair along with the sweat you had broken out in. 

“I think that’s it…” Strade mumbled, it seemed he was talking to himself now. You weren’t a great conversation partner right now. He produced a strip of gauze now and stuffed it into the side of your mouth. “Keep that there.” Then he moved onto the other side.

At some point you were too exhausted to scream as loud as you had, and could only sob, your nails digging into your palms as you clenched your hands. 

Pain seemingly fading into a loud buzz in your skull, Strade wavering in your vision before you clenched your eyes shut. 

“I think that’s enough!” He sounded satisfied. More gauze was being stuffed into the left side of your mouth. You slowly cracked your eyes open. Hope began to flutter in your stomach at the possibility of it all being over. 

Until he flashed a pair of  needle nose pliers. 

“I  think I can grab ‘em now!” You wanted to throw up. All you could taste was your own snot and blood in the back of your throat. Then a firm grip on your jaw brought you back. 

He was close. His eyes staring into yours. 

“Remember. This is better than the alternative.” You just wanted a break. 

A break that wouldn’t come. Because now those pliers were dancing around in your mouth. Brushing against broken and tattered flesh that made you flinch. Opening up and grabbing onto what they could. 

And then the pulling. The voice you had lost came back slowly. Strades knuckles were pale, his bicep was flexing. He was sweating, and grunting. 

You were screaming and begging, your tongue pushing against the pliers. 

Something slid. You felt tiny strings of flesh pulling taut and breaking. *ping. Ping. Ping.* Each one releasing. 

And then a pop. Another gush of blood filled your mouth and you began to choke on it as Strade jerked back. 

He stared at your tooth like it was a treasure, his eyes twinkling. 

He said something. You couldn’t hear him. You were sure he was talking normally, but to you it sounded like a whisper. You could only stare as he waved your tooth, something that had once been a part of you, in front of your eyes. 

Then the clink of it being dropped and hitting the concrete of the basement floor. 

You didn’t hear him. But you knew what he said. 

“Time for the other one!” As the process began again. The removal of gauze. The pliers this time seemed to play with the loose flesh in your mouth more than before. 

You willed this tooth to come out easier than the first. As if bone and sinew could prepare for Strade. 

The other side of your mouth was still bleeding, forcing you to swallow every minute to not choke on your own blood. 

It was almost over. 

The grip. The pull. The sharp pain it sent to the base of your skull. The pressure building until the roaring in your ears returned, ringing in your ear drums. 

Then the pop. And this time Strade didn’t show it off, he dropped it and the pliers instantly. 

It was over. It was done. He was untying you quickly, cursing under his breath. The rip of tape off your skin, taking with it several strands of hair, you couldn’t feel. The relief of knowing it was over had caused a clammy chill up your body. 

He was none too gentle as he dragged you off the workbench. Your knees hit the floor. It would definitely bruise. 

And then his cock was shoved in your face. He had to have had it out already. Judging from the gathering of pre at the tip, how it already looked a little wet, you had to believe he had been jerking off at some point while he was cutting into you. 

“Come on.” He urged you. Your eyes were wide, the gag still on as you stared. 

And all of the relief was gone. Because you remembered who this was. This was Strade. And of course he had gotten off on this. 

You could barely take a breath in before he was balls deep down your throat, gripping your hair, rutting against your chin like Ren did when he was in heat. 

His cock was getting coated in blood, and it seemed to make it that much better for him. Grunting in German under his breath. 

You don’t know how long he lasted. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe several. All you knew was that you were in pain. Feebly you wished you could at least bite him. 

And then he was cumming down your throat. Not just once. But twice. First stopping for a bit, his hips stuttering, then giving two more wet thrusts before cumming again. 

You had no choice but to swallow. Swallow like you did your own blood and snot and tears. You doubted anyone could mix up that toxic cocktail as well as Strade. 

As he pulled out you were aware that you were definitely a mess. Your blood surely was dripping down your chin in waves. Splattered down the front of your shirt. 

You lifted your shirt, you needed to clean yourself. All you did was smear your cheeks with it as Strade caught his breath. 

The dull ache was back. You doubted either ibuprofen or orajel would help this time. At least the maddening pressure was gone. 

“Here.” You looked up as a roll of gauze bumped into your forehead. Strade was holding it out to you, his cock still out and soft, his hands shaking. “Put that in. I can’t… Hands aren’t steady enough.” 

You took it and spent way too much time carefully rolling perfect little rectangles of the fabric before placing them in your mouth. You bit down. It hurt. 

But it felt better.

[melonba11s]

Too You (Strade/MC Fanfic)

Contains: AFAB MC (Gender Neutral Pronouns), Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Fluff, Mention of Canon typical behavior

A collar symbolized ownership. But he didn’t really treat you like he owned you.

He treated you like a roommate at times, asking you about dinner plans or splitting up chores. Other times like a friend, sitting with you on the couch and talking normally. Sometimes he treated you like a personal punching bag, dragging you to the basement and slicing you open and finding unique ways to make you scream.

And it was only after that was he ever really intimate with you, on his own whims, choosing how you’d pleasure him that day, or… if he was in the right mood, pleasure you-

You stopped thinking about that, not wanting to blush while sitting next to him. Not unless he gave you a good reason too.

“Strade.” you decided to take a chance, try and figure him out. He gave a grunt to show he was listening.

“What am I to you?” you asked as he took a sip of his beer. He cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t stop mid sip to answer. Instead he finished off the can and set the empty container down on the couch side table.

“What brought this on?” he looked amused, giving you a lazy grin as he turned to face you. You looked away, giving a half shrug.

“Just… wanted to know.” You felt stupid now, ashamed. The collar should tell you all you need to know. No matter how he behaved. You were just his.

“… Why don’t you tell me what I am to you?” he relaxed back, propping his elbow on the arm of the couch and resting his cheek in his hand.

Great. Of course he’d turn this on you. You couldn’t help the hot flush on your cheeks now.

“… Kidnapper.” You tried. He laughed and you relaxed a bit, hoping he’d let it go.

His laugh was really charming though. Loud, infectionously cheerful, it took him a moment to come down.

“A kidnapping victim wouldn’t ask their captor what they are to them! Nice try though. Let’s try again. What am I to you?” he sat up, leaning in. He was getting close. You could feel his breath on you.

“Uhm… Friend?” His nose brushed against your cheek. You flinched back. He didn’t laugh again, but he did chuckle.

“Friend, huh? Why so nervous about me touching you then?” A hand on your thigh. “One last chance to tell me the truth… Or else we can do this the hard way.” His hand slid off your thigh, towards his pocket. The pocket that held the remote to your collar.

“..B-Boyfriend.” You blurted it out before he could even slide a finger into the pocket. Was that a look of surprise on his face? A short pause. Then he began to chuckle.

Then laugh.

Then he was howling, leaned back, as far back away as he could lean on the couch. His empty can of beer tipped over and rolled off the table.

And all you could do was sit there and take it. No use in running, you couldn’t leave the house. Fighting back wouldn’t end well.

You really wished you could at least cry. But crying was what he wanted.

So you sat, tuning him out until he calmed down, willing to give you his full attention again.

“So. Show me what it would mean to be your boyfriend then.” He looked satisfied with himself, smug, his arms hung limply at his side, legs spread slightly. Inviting you in. Inviting you to show him by example.

You didn’t know what to do though. Maybe at one point you knew how you’d treat a boyfriend. But months under Strade’s care, only receiving his own messed up version of intimacy after you’d screamed, cried, and begged… It had been erased.

You swallowed, your throat feeling oddly dry. His grin growing, the skin under his eyes crinkling, eyebrows raising as time ticked on.

“What’s wrong? Need me to show you?”

“No.” You answered quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. But you could do this. You just needed to… remember.

Remember romance movies and novels. Hands holding hands, lips meeting lips, cheek to cheek.

A hand resting on his thigh now, as you crawled forward. His expression was unchanging, that same grin on his face as you grew closer.

Inching your face closer to his smile, smelling his breath, gazing deeply into those amber eyes that seemed just a tiny bit apprehensive. Was he nervous about what you were going to do?

You parted your lips ever so slightly, and pressed them against his… It was like kissing a statue. He was oddly still.

You moved a hand up to hold his shoulder, pressing your chest to his. Pulling away after a few moments-

“Do that again.” You had barely stopped as he spoke. You frowned for a moment, but obliged.

And he came to life this time, a warm calloused palm on your cheek as he sighed, licking at your lips just a bit before moving his mouth against yours.

For some reason you expected him to taste violent. Bloody, harsh, like kissing a blade.

He was… so human though. You could taste beer, cigar smoke, skin, sweat…

A slight flinch as his teeth brushed against your lips. He was opening his mouth, getting greedy.

There wasn’t a flash of pain as he sank his fangs in though. Just wet, pushing, as he forced his tongue past your lips.

He was moving fast. Fingers curling into your hair, lapping at the inside of your cheek, sucking on your bottom lip.

It was easy to sink into it, mind overtaken with an emotion that made your heart race and stomach drop. Easy to forget about the collar keeping you in the house.

Because right now, you didn’t think you needed the collar. You’d stay anyways, just to remain like this.

Feeling him swallow, being able to picture his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he broke away to pant softly.

“ha…. fuck.” You opened your eyes. He was still so close, nose rubbing against yours. For once, he wasn’t smiling. Instead he looked needy, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded.

“Didn’t think I’d like it this much…” he let out a shaky laugh. Heat was practically radiating off his body, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and drip down his neck. There was only one other time you saw him like this.

A quick glance down, your body tensing in his grip at the sight of the tent in his pants, just centimeters away from your thigh.

Strade was quick to distract you again though. Grabbing your chin and moving you to look him in the eyes again.

“You have anything else to show me then?” he asked. Yes. You did. A chance for intimacy without a knife being dug into your skin. You were more desperate for it than you thought.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning back, guiding him between your thighs. Despite his size, he seemed to slot perfectly there, leaning over you. His hair framing his face as it slid from behind his ear.

Fingers hooking in the band of your pants, tugging them down impatiently. He was moving too fast.

“Strade, wait” He didn’t listen, you hadn’t expected him too. Instead he buried his face into your neck, groaning as he fought to get your pants off while he was tangled in your legs.

This scenario was mildly familiar. He was losing control. Getting way too into it.

Sliding a hand down his chest to find the button of his pants, unlatching it with sweaty fingers to try and help him along.

He was hard. His hand flying up to fight yours off, fingers tangling for a moment before he pushed his boxers down just enough to pull his cock out. His hips jerking a bit as he stroked himself.

‘Overexcited, like a dog’ you thought to yourself, thoughts that were dashed from your mind as he began kissing you again. Sucking hard on your bottom lip, you couldn’t help but begin to whine, feeling the head of his cock rub against your clit.

It felt like he was teasing himself, your own slick beginning to wet his cock and glisten on it.

Sucking on his tongue as he finally began to slide his cock inside you. He was so excited though, he wasn’t going to last long.

And you were surprised to realize that you wouldn’t either. Something about the entire scenario, sweat soaked skin, feeling the scruff of his chin rub against your cheek.

Your grip on his shoulders was probably growing painful as the sound of panting, moans and skin hitting skin filled the living room.

“oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” It was overstimulating, and at any other moment you’d be a lot more embarrassed with how vocal you were being.

For once though it felt like he was hitting all the right places, maybe you were delusional enough right now to believe that he was giving a shit about your pleasure too.

Every nerve set alite, fuses blown, you felt like each neuron in your brain was going to explode. A need like no other had taken over, and you let go of his shoulders to wrap your arms around his head, roughly pulling him in closer.

A grunt of surprise from his as your teeth knocked together, pain lancing through your jaw. Pain came second though, as you both came.

It had to be the best orgasm you’d had in a long time, a wave of goose bumps passing over your skin.

Strade looked a bit worse for wear as well, eyes rolled back, biting his lip as he shook before collapsing on top of you.

It was hot. It was sticky. It was unbearably uncomfortable but total bliss as well. You both stayed there for several moments, panting.

“… I guess I’ll be your boyfriend if it means more of this.” Strade finally spoke up, before letting out another chuckle.

[melonba11s]

Being Nice (Strade/MC fanfic)

CW: Jockstrap, Ass Eating, Sweat fetish, Gender Neutral MC

"what are you wearing." your voice came out in a croak. Strade had come up from the basement, his shirt and pants covered in gore and began to undress.

Him undressing in front of you had stopped bothering you a while ago. You even sort of liked it. Made you feel like he trusted you.

So you stared a bit, appreciating his soft chubby belly and biteable folds of fat on his back.

Until his pants slid down and you bore witness to a full moon.

"Hmm?" Strade looked up, folding his pants over his arm as he stood in nothing but his boots, socks and a jock strap.

"Ah? this?" he asked, gesturing to his waist. "Person in the basement was a kicker."

*was*. Whoever he had in there wasn't around anymore. That should bother you, it should make you feel sick.

You could barely register it though, your gaze was still held by his attire.

The bands of elastic clung to his waist, and cupped his ass perfectly. Whatever guard that the strap was equipped with made his bulge round and distracting.

The sound of a throat clearing made you start.

"My eyes are up here." Strade was grinning. A small spark in his eyes. But he didn't look dangerous, his recent basement activities had sated him.

Or you were tricking yourself into a false sense of security and safety.

Either way... It felt okay to be vulnerable around him right now, and you got closer.

"Sorry." you weren't sorry. "It just looks... Good." Maybe complimenting him would butter him up a bit.

Strade cocked an eyebrow, then gave a dramatic sigh shaking his head, like you were a dog begging that he just *couldn't* say no too.

"Okay, fine... Do what you want." he tossed his clothes aside to the floor.

Your knees dropped onto the floor hard enough to bruise.

It made Strade laugh.

"No patience, huh? That's cute." You swallowed down your embarrassment, leaning in to press your face into his hip.

It was wet, still sweaty, and the elastic gave way some of his sweat as you pressed into it. You inhaled deeply, almost choking on how overwhelmingly powerful the odor was.

You wanted more though. You began inching around him rubbing your cheek against his thighs and then against his ass.

A small chuckle from him. You really hadn't expected it to be so soft. You couldn't help it.

You bit it.

It earned you a small yelp and a gentle swat.

"Hey!" He didn't sound very upset, just amused. "That wasn't very nice."

"you want me to be nice?" you asked. Your tone was coy, unlike how you usually spoke to him. Something about this moment had affected you.

Strade didn't respond outside of another short laugh.

Short because you placed your hands on his ass and spread them slowly.

"whoa, what are you-" he choked on his words as you ran your tongue across his hole.

He *tasted* so much stronger than he smelt. You groaned and buried your tongue into him, lapping and sucking at his ass like it was a rare treat.

And it was earning you some noises you had never heard him make before. Gasps and "nng's", a hand brushing your head as if to swat you away again but not gaining enough purchase too.

You grew more fervent, running your fingers between his thighs to massage the space between his balls and ass, loving how you could feel him tense and shift with each rub.

After several moments of sucking and licking, you drew back for a breathe of good air.

Which is when the hand he kept behind him finally grabbed a good handful of hair.

"Hey now..." you looked up as he turned around. He looked beautiful.

Pupils blown out, cheeks dusted with red, mouth parted and eyes hooded.

"You better take care of this now." You swallowed as he pushed the front of his jock strap down, his cock springing free. It looked *painfully* hard.

The grip on your hair grew painful as he tugged you too your feet, then let go as he tossed you over the arm of the couch.

"I wonder if I should be nice to you, too."

[melonba11s]

This Is You On Drugs (Strade/MC BTD fanfic)

Strade doesn’t like drugs because they can change the way someone acts… But what if he shows them later how they acted?

Contains: Drugging, Filmed Violence, Canon typical violence, blunt force mutilation, gore gender neutral MC, Strade.

Food and drink in Strades house were safe. Strade wasn’t the type to poison people, it was too quick and didn’t give him time to see any reactions he craved.

Drugs would change or inhibit how you reacted too much. He wanted you to be yourself. A true king of encouraging self love and confidence.

So food and drink was safe. Water from the filtered jug in the fridge was safe. The cheese was safe. The cut up bits of steak were safe.

You had no reason to not eat in his house. If you tried to starve yourself he’d eventually force you to eat.

So when you woke up in the middle of the afternoon with a pounding headache, dry mouth, and chronic dizziness you just had to believe you were sick.

You had to be really sick. That was why you couldn’t remember falling asleep in the first place, or even waking up in the morning. You must have slept through the night and well into the day.

Getting up was hard. Your legs felt like cement. But you needed water. Your mouth was so dry.

Stumbling down the hallway, groaning in pain the entire way. It felt like your head was detached from your body, floating on its own towards the kitchen.

The light of everything was too much. You were forced to shield your eyes just to make it to the kitchen, squinting so much your eyes were almost closed.

Actually closing your eyes as you opened the fridge as the cold air hit your face, along with the fluorescent bulb’s shine feeling more like a needle to your skull.

Reaching in, blind, but knowing where that water was, you curled your fingers around the plastic handle.

“Don’t drink that.” A sudden voice, the fridge was closed forcefully. You looked up at Strade, he had a smile on his face… Like he was in on some joke you didn’t get. You rubbed your eyes, frowning.

“I’m thirsty.” you said, a fact made obvious by how dry your voice sounded. A chuckle, and he was pressing something cold into your hands.

You looked down. Bottled water. He never bought bottled water. That’s what the filter on the jug was for.

You didn’t ask questions, you cracked it open and began to chug it. You had been really thirsty. You felt better with every gulp of water.

Strade kept his eyes on you, his grin widening the entire time.

“Feeling better?” he asked, as you finished off the bottle. You nodded.

“Head still hurts… I think I’m sick.” an arm around your shoulders,

“Bet you need some rest then, huh? Come on, sit on the couch with me. You can relax there while I show you something…” He was pushing you towards the living room, still grinning widely.

“Strade…” your voice came out in a whine. “Can’t you show me later? I’m tired…” nothing sounded better than crawling back into bed, maybe with another bottle of water or two.

“Oh come on, Schatzi.” He sounded almost hurt. “This won’t take long!”

You sighed, giving up. Nothing would convince him otherwise when he got pushy like this.

He was admittedly gentle with you, guiding you to the couch, sitting you down against the throw pillows after making sure he fluffed them up a bit.

The TV was on, but for now the screen was black. Strade got comfortable next to you, arm around you again, leaning against you. Despite how terrifying he was, his solid warm form was a comfort you indulged in without restraint. Loving how soft and comfortable it felt to be nestled against him.

He lifted the remote, and pressed play. The screen fizzled a bit, then the picture became clear.

The basement. You jerked in his grip. One of his homemade films.

You definitely couldn’t handle this kind of thing right now.

“Strade-“ You began to protest.

“Hush. Just watch.” he shushed you, smiling at the screen.

A woman was on the ground, slumped against the pole. The camera moved towards her, accompanied by footsteps. It hit you that Strade was actually holding the camera. He usually had it up on a tripod-

“Okay Schatzi! Are you ready?”

You couldn’t recognize the voice responding at first.

“Yeeeaaaahhhh” They dragged out the word, ending it with a bit of a giggle. “You sound like… an ant.” The camera moved over.

It was you. You were wavering on the spot, eyes unfocused. A silly smile plastered on your face.

“What?” the you that was sitting on the couch began to speak. No, that couldn’t be you. You would never stand like that, talk like that, hold a giant sledgehammer like that.

The woman on the floor was beginning to beg, scream, writhe in place.

The Strade behind the camera began to laugh, backing up a bit.

“Go ahead then! Just like I told you! It’s just a fun game, like the ones you play with Ren.”

You sat in fear, disbelief, as you lifted the sledgehammer and began to approach the woman on the floor.

“No.” You said as you began to lift the hammer up. The you on film didn’t hear you, or maybe they just didn’t care.

You could only watch in horror as the hammer came down.

Ankle shattering, skin ripping apart. No. You shouldn’t be strong enough to do that much damage. As the woman on the floor let out an ear piercing scream, blood splattering across the floor, staring at her mangled foot in horror.

“Stop!” You yelled, trying to get up, to turn off the TV. Strade kept a grip on you, his spare hand was unbuckling his belt.

“Don’t be like this, Schatzi.” His voice was in your ear. “You looked so happy, it was almost worth the price of the drugs.”

Drugs. Drugs that he hated. It made you stiff with fear.

Drugs that had altared you, made you not yourself. The kind of thing he never wanted.

You could only watch as the you that was apparently hopped up on some horrid mix began to lift the hammer again.

Kneecap was next, the sound of bone splintering, skin turning into ground beef, your stupid fucking voice continuing to giggle.

“That’s… funny…” The you on camera knelt down, shoving your fingers into the freshly destroyed leg. How easily they slid into the torn tendons and pulverized muscle.

You pulled out a shard of something. The gross sound of wet suction and the woman’s breath hitching between her screams made you want to vomit.

“Uh oh…” You sounded like a complete dunce, looking at the shard of bone in your hand. “I broke it…”

You seemed to be referring to the piece of patella in your palm, staring at it. You dropped it onto the floor, now looking at the camera (or perhaps Strade?) in dissapointed.

“I wanted… Something to give you.” The woman at your feet was breathing heavily. Strade was laughing.

“It’s okay, Schatzi. You’ve given me so much already.” He was cooing, and you hated how it made your slack face light up in a grin.

The woman on the ground seemed to find her voice now.

“YOU’RE A MONSTER.” She wasn’t looking at Strade. She was looking at you.

She was right.

“A SICK FUCK.” Your smile had dropped now, using the hand that wasn’t on the hammer to cover an ear. It made your heart pound, watching this.

The you on camera shaking your head as she continued to yell insults at you. It was comforting, knowing that even while not in your right state, you didn’t want to be called those things-

“SHUT UP.” The drugs were speaking. They had to be. “YOU’RE GIVING ME A HEADACHE.”

No, the drugs were. Realize that. You were begging yourself to realize that as the hammer rose again. The woman was still yelling.

“STOP.” The both of you yelled at the same time. You were frozen in place, but they weren’t. The hammer swung down.

Wet thump, horrid cracking, teeth coming loose. A scream of pain turning into a wet gargle as blood and muscle filled her throat.

Another swing, an eyeball popping open, the inside oozing all over her face as her skull caved in. There were no more screams.

Another swing. Brain exposed, flying from the safety of the cranium, hitting the wall and floor.

You were breathing heavily as you dropped the hammer. Legs shaking, hands twitching, you were looking down at yourself in horror.

“Oh no…” The you on camera said, before looking back at Strade. “I got… really dirty.”

Your front caked in shards of bone, blood, bits of gore and more. You doubled over on the couch, retching.

Strade was laughing next to you, laughing on camera. It echoed and bounced, it was everywhere.

You were dirty. You were filthy. You were diseased.

Strade had turned off the TV as you sat there, rocking back and forth, gagging and trying not to vomit.

“You put on a good show, Schatzi!” He sounded genuine, rubbing your back.

And you hated how it made you feel just a bit better right now.

[melonba11s]

Another Glass (Strade/MC fanfic)

You're thirsty, so Strade gets you something to drink!

CW: Coerced Participation, forced ingestion/ coerced Ingestion of Non-Food Items, Vomit, Nose bleed (minor), Canon Typical Behavior.

You were thirsty. Really thirsty. So when Strade came down into the basement, you begged. 

“Please, just something to drink…” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You cut off your begging short. Talking just made your mouth more dry. Strade cocked an eyebrow at you, grinning. 

“Sure buddy, I’ll get you something to drink!” You perked up just a bit, as much as being bound and half naked in some guy's basement would allow. Water. Juice? Maybe a Beer. It didn’t matter. You just needed something liquid down your throat. 

He was at the counter now, humming and glancing back, as if to make sure you couldn’t see what he was doing. Everytime he glanced back he’d give you a grin and turn away. 

You took this opportunity to look around the basement, usually when the lights were on and Strade was here you were… too occupied to get a proper look. 

The floor had some weird brown stains across it. You decided to ignore the floor. There were all sorts of tools hanging off the walls. Including a saw. You found yourself staring at the saw. 

Each of its teeth polished and sharpened, it shone. It could probably go through bone like nothing. 

“Here you go, Buddy!” Your attention snapped back to Strade. He had a glass of some yellowish looking liquid. It looked sort of like apple juice. 

“Admiring my… ah… what's the word?... Männergarten? … Man Cave?” He shook his head a little. Something he did when something wasn’t a direct translation, but it was close enough. Assuring himself he did great.  

He reached forward with the glass. Warm apple juice wouldn’t be your first choice but you had to take what you could get. You opened your mouth, eying it. It moved… too slowly to be apple juice. Too thick. It clung to the glass too, and it wasn’t until he tipped it into your mouth did you have the brains to think “wait who would keep apple juice in the basement?” 

The liquid that hit your tongue was thick, it coated it instantly. You gagged as the taste of chemicals hit the roof of your mouth and you turned your head away from the glass instantly, spitting and choking. 

Strade was laughing. 

“Wh-What the fuck was that?” you managed to ask, your entire mouth filled with the burning acrid taste. 

“Motor oil!” Strade said, cheerfully. He still had most of the glass left over. Its contents were threatening to spill over the sides as his body shook from his laugh. 

“Th-That’s not… edible…” Your voice faltered, as you gasped for breath, continuing to spit to try and get the taste out of your mouth. Strade just kept an eye on you, grinning. 

“Not thirsty anymore then? I noticed you admiring my saw, wanna get a… closer look?” It felt like your heart stopped for a moment. He was moving towards that fucking saw. You know what he could do with it. 

“No! I’m still thirsty!” You gasped, leaning forward. “Just… I’ll drink it.” You had to be going insane. The idea of drinking more made your stomach lurch. Strade however, seemed pleased. 

“Sure thing, tell ya what… I’ll even let you hold the glass yourself.” Was he going to free your hands? Thoughts raced, of action movie scenes. Smashing his head into the concrete, making your getaway while he was dazed. 

But all he did was free one hand from the rope, before making sure the other was tied securely to the pole. With that, he set the glass down in front of you and backed off, arms crossed, watching. 

You swallowed thickly. This would do nothing to quench your thirst. If anything it would make it worse… But it had to be better than whatever else he was thinking about doing. 

You grabbed the glass, listening to the small “tink” of it on the concrete. Just… Hold your breath and guzzle it down. It would be easy. It had to be easy. 

You raised the lip of the glass to your mouth, and squeezed your eyes shut before tilting your head back. 

The taste of chemicals flooded your mouth again, irritating and grating against all your nerves. Your instincts were screaming at you to spit it out, as the oil slipped between your molars and under your tongue, coated your gums. 

You suppressed your gag reflex and swallowed it. You fucking swallowed it. 

The second gulp wasn’t any easier, your stomach twisting as the foreign contents splashed inside it. You had to fight down another gag as you forced a third mouthful down your throat. 

Then the glass was smacking against the concrete, a small crack forming in it from the force as you hunched over, gasping for air, tears filling your eyes and overflowing. 

It was empty though. You were safe. You did it. You looked up at Strade, blinking tears from your eyes. 

Strade whistled, looking impressed. You’d impressed him. That had to be good. 

“You really seemed to enjoy that, buddy!” You didn’t. Strade reached behind him and pulled a bottle off the counter. You squinted at it, some kind of brand name… 10W-30… 

The fucking motor oil. 

“I bet you’d like another glass.” He was approaching, looking at the cup, shaking the bottle of motor oil. He was teasing you. He was fucking with you. 

He had to be. He knelt down again, looking at the cup, then at you. 

“Don’t you?” he pressed. You what? Strade made a show of looking over at the wall, and you followed his gaze. The saw stared back at you, teeth glinting in the light. 

“Yes!” You answered before you could even understand what you were doing. “Please! I’ll take another glass.”  

His laugh echoed off the walls. It bounced around inside your head. The “glug” sound of oil being poured went straight to your spine, it sent horrible shudders down it. Another glass. Another glass. Another glass.

“Bon Appetit” His accent made you think he’d spoken German again, before you recognized the words. Words you’d heard at french restaurants and from romantic movies. 

Enjoy your meal. 

Somehow you didn’t think you’d find this on the menu at Mirazur. 

Your hand was shaking annoyingly as you grabbed the glass again. The oil spilt over the sides, down your hand. You’d wasted some. 

This time as you brought it to your lips you smelt it. It had an odd sweet smell to it. Something coppery as well. 

You inhaled the scent deeply, it wasn’t all too bad. Then you took another sip. 

A gag. A choke. You began to cough. The glass fell from your hands and shattered across the floor. 

The honey colored liquid spread across the floor, taking shards of glass with it. Something was running from your nose. Something was leaving specks of red in the puddle. Strade was whistling, saying something. 

Your nose was bleeding. You raised your free hand to wipe it, before your stomach gave another horrible lurch. You swallowed back the rising bile. You couldn’t. He’d count it as erased progress. You couldn’t. 

It rose again, and you nearly swallowed your own tongue to keep it back. An odd choking noise, then hot and foamy liquid began to spew from your mouth. You hunched forward. 

You couldn’t keep it down. It spread like the waves at the beach did across sand. Thinning as it got farther away from its source, pushing whatever was in its path, splattering and splashing. 

The taste of acid and chemicals and oil made your head spin. Or was that just because you were unable to breath, your stomach continuously cramping and forcing you to continue. 

You used your free hand to support yourself, feeling some of the stray glass from the cup cut into your fingers. A stream of red to join the foul yellow sea that had begun to grow in the basement. 

Boots stomping through it, not caring about the muck, approaching you. You gave a final hiccup, your stomach cramping one last time, having given all it had to give. 

You expected a hand in your hair, pushed forward into your own mess. Demanding you to clean it up. A boot into your stomach maybe, forcing you to continue to vomit despite your emptied stomach. 

Instead there was just a hand on your back, it was rubbing slowly. Strade was making a “tut tut” sound with his tongue. 

He was kneeling next to you, careful to keep his pants out of the vomit. Another hand on your shoulder, sitting you up. Sitting up made it easier to breathe, the back of your head hitting the pole as you raised your nose to the ceiling. 

The force of your vomit had caused you to break out in sweat, and you shivered at the sudden cold of the basement. 

“Want me to help you with that?” Strade asked. He didn’t wait for a reply, you didn’t know what he wanted to help with, until he was pinching your nose. Brief panic, then realization. He was talking about your bloody nose. 

You stared at him, he looked mildly amused, but there was something else in his expression. Something you hadn’t seen before. You both stared at each other for a few minutes before Strade let go of your nose. 

“I better get this place hosed down.” he muttered, standing and shaking the mess off his boots. “Tell you what, I’ll let you have a drink from the hose! As a reward.” He grinned, ruffling your hair. 

You could barely speak, your tongue felt like sandpaper, your throat like a dessert. 

“Water?” you asked, the effort to say a single word making your vocal chords crackle and pop. 

“Water.” Strade replied, with a smile and a nod of his head.

[melonba11s]

The Couch

I have some weird emotions concerning Strades horrid little basement couch

The couch was kinda disgusting. It was crusty. covered in crumbs and beer and god knows what other sorts of stains.

Yet Strade spent a majority of his down time on it. He slept on it nearly every night.

well.

Used too.

Now he slept in the freezer. You kept wanting to tell Ren to get a lock and chain, afraid that any day he'd climb out and punish you both for dragging him in there.

But he hadn't yet. And now you sat alone on that couch. You Sat and picked at the crumbs still on it, long stale and hard as pebbles. You were looking for something.

Not looking for something tangible. You were looking for why Strade used to spend so much time on this horrid couch.

Why did he sleep on it? You laid down across it. It still smelt faintly of him, but the stale smell of the basement was beginning to take it over.

The realization that he hadn't sat on it in months hit you like a nail gun. It made your gut clench and you wanted to scream and cry.

You shouldn't though. Not for him. He didn't deserve them.

You pressed your face into that filthy petri dish of a couch.

You wondered for a moment if it missed Strade. You felt another odd swirl of emotions.

"I'm sorry." you whispered too the soiled cushion. It just felt right.

[melonba11s]

Screams of the Damned

CW: Virginity Lost, Mild Religious Themes, Mind Break/Sanity Ending, Disassociation, Strade

The screams of the Damned were something you shouldn't be so accustomed to hearing.

Horrid howling like a wind ripping up everything in its path. Ringing in your ears, a constant drone which could drive one to madness. Screams that felt like needles upon your skin, or searing flames spreading across every inch of your body.

They were screams you had grown familiar with because they were coming from your own throat. You had no other word for the kind of screams they were. They had to be the screams of the damned.

Because this had to be hell you were living, under that amber gaze. 

He was going to kill you, and he was going to make sure every waking moment before that was painful torture. The knowledge alone that you were going to die might kill you. 

Your heart was racing, beating so fast and hard against your chest you swore you could feel your ribs cracking. You were drenched in sweat despite the basement being freezing, and the fire of your screams was not causing it to dry. 

You were a good person. You did your best to help those around you, to lend them a listening ear or a helping hand. 

What did you do to deserve this? What could anyone do to deserve this? You couldn’t even bring yourself to look away shyly as Strade undid his belt. 

You knew this would be coming. His demeanor the entire time, on edge, acting like every single cut he gave you caused a shudder of ambrosial bliss down his spine. He didn’t do this because he hated you,  and deep down you knew that he wasn’t trying to punish you.

He did this because it made him hard. The weight of that knowledge though, how fate led you to this pitiful end in a dark basement… 

Whatever higher being was out there, they made him your punishment. 

What did you do to deserve this? It ran through your head again, turning your head away with a sob as he pulled his achingly hard cock from his boxers. 

He asked something, you couldn’t understand. A hand gripped your chin painfully and forced you to look at him. 

“Are you a virgin?” Strade asked again, enunciating each word in a way that highlighted his accent. 

You gave a hiccup, your throat aching from screams. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. You only nodded… Then grew frantic again. Suddenly panic was rushing through you, and you began thrashing against your bonds. 

You felt your bound hands grip at that concept. Your virginity. It was the last thing he hadn’t taken from you. It was all you had left, and in your crazed mind, you came to the conclusion that it was the only thing keeping you alive. 

“Don’t, please don’t.” you managed to get out words, your raw throat turning them into gravel dripping down your chin. Strade grinned, and your stomach lurched as you watched him stroke his cock fervently to your begging. 

“Aawww, what’s wrong? Am I not… good enough?” His words dripped with fake sympathy, his face getting closer. It felt like he was sucking your ability to speak out of you, as your voice collapsed into whimpers again.

With the first slice of his knife, you had stopped caring about being naked in front of him. But now that you were covered in bruises and cuts, under his gaze, you felt like he had peeled your skin away, leaving you exposed, more naked than ever. 

You curled in on yourself instinctively, trying to cover any delicate part he’d latch onto. And he began to laugh again. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” his forehead was pressed against yours, forcing you to look him in the eyes. His hand slid up to your cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture. 

It made you flinch, whimpering. 

“See? It starts… with a kiss.” You blanched in horror, attempting to back away before he caught your lips in his. There should be gnashing teeth, your bottom lip should be swelling then bursting under the pressure. 

Instead, his hand was moving to the back of your head, keeping you close. Your eyes were wide open, yet his were closed. There was finally silence. You wish there wasn’t. 

Because if it were still loud you wouldn’t be able to hear the gentleness of his lips moving against yours, the tiny pops as he broke off any tender suction, then a small, chaste kiss planted at the corner of your mouth. 

“Then… I move down to your neck.” He purred, his eyes alight with glee. You could feel the scruff of his cheeks against your neck. You opened your mouth, wanting to tell him to bite down into the artery, end it. 

Instead he latched on, and your body shook as he sucked hard. It hurt. But it didn’t make you scream. No, it should make you scream, the way you instinctively leaned into it. 

Fresh tears were sliding down your face now, but you were unable to put any vocalizations to them. Content with leaving a hickey, Strade pulled back and licked at your cheek, grinning. 

“See? It’s nice so far, isn’t it?” It really wasn’t, but all you could do was slump in your bonds, tied to the pole as he continued to move down, planting kisses and leaving hickeys as he went. Then a small chuckle. 

“Sorry, I’m not very patient.” He explained. He didn’t need to explain, as his firm grip grasped your thighs. There should be bruises being left, but instead he was only gently coaxing your legs to spread for him. 

You flinched as you felt his thick cock hit your sensitive flesh. He gave a groan, rubbing himself against you. Your legs twitched as you stared at him. Any minute now he’d get rough, he was going to tear into you like a piece of meat. 

You needed him to do that. Somehow… it felt worse, having him pretend he was your lover, not your kidnapper. Not your punishment. 

A hand on your cheek again, making you look at him. 

“This will probably hurt. It almost always hurts the first time.” There he was again, explaining the process. Like you were his tender spouse, who had saved themselves for him on their wedding night. 

He was still rubbing his cock against you though, and you could feel sticky precum being smeared over you. It was disgusting. You would rather he drip acid onto you. 

Then he pulled his hips back, a hand on your waist, positioning you as best he could with your hands tied behind you. 

You wished you had the energy to tell him to just get it over with, do it the way he usually does. Instead, you had to deal with the head of his cock poking your entrance, then pushing its way in. 

And he was right. It did hurt. It felt like the burn of a muscle being stretched to its max and then further. But it was nothing compared to what he had done up until now. 

No, this was bliss. It was a pain that you could tune out, breath in and out, try to relax yourself into. 

“That’s it… You’re doing great.” His voice floated in, and you let out a small sob. You didn’t want him to be praising you, you didn’t want him to be your first. 

But you had no choice. In the beginning he said he’d tell you when you would be able to make choices. That time hadn’t come yet. 

“Ahn~” He’d made a weird, higher pitched noise. It wasn’t until you were sucking a breath in did you realize. It’d come from you. 

The head of his cock was rubbing against a part of you inside that made you bite your lip, roll your hips against him despite the pain. 

And when you snapped your hips upward, he was fully hilted inside. It made his jaw go slack for a moment, eyes closing for a moment as he exhaled. Then he was smiling, grinning down at you. 

“Starting to feel good already?” there was a teasing tone to his voice and your eyes went wide. No, it couldn’t be him alighting these feelings inside you. Feelings of wanting to be held closer, wanting him to keep going. 

You tried to pull your hips back, but his grip remained firm. You could feel his thick nest of pubes rubbing against you, it sent delightful shivers up your spine that made you want to throw up. 

“It’s okay…” He cooed, rubbing and massaging your hips as his cock twitched inside you. You could feel more precum oozing inside as he began to pull out. “You’re allowed to feel good…” 

You pulled back everything you had and spat at him, watching it splatter across his cheek. He looked surprised for a moment, then laughed, using his thumb to wipe it off and flick it away. 

Instead of admonishing you or spitting back at you  though, you jerked in his grip as he thrust back inside. The way it made your entire body bounce as he took up a steady, strong pace, pushing out short moans until you bit down on your lower lip. 

Blood filled your mouth as you broke skin, but you didn’t care. Anything to prevent yourself from hearing your own moans. You were sweating so much your body was sliding across the concrete floor, and all you could hear now was the slap of skin on skin and Strade’s breathy groans. 

He was still going slow, steady, no rough quick movements. It was driving you mad, a coil beginning to form in your stomach as he began to bring you close to orgasm. 

So despite your aching throat, you began to scream again. Those same screams of the damned from earlier. You needed to drown out those sounds, hating how every time he thrust inside you your scream would hitch with a small gasp. 

Strade was saying something, and laughing, but you couldn’t hear him over your own screams. Screams you were having to force out now, they were increasing in pitch as he edged you closer and closer to orgasm. 

Something inside you was breaking as Strade finally began to cum, grinding himself against you. That something snapped, and you arched your back, screams dying into a pathetic whimper as you came. 

Strade’s chuckling filled your ears, filled your skull, bouncing off the walls, it was empty except for his laugh. All you could hear anymore was his laugh right now. You couldn’t hear your own breathing, wheezing. You could barely feel his cum seeping from your hole as he pulled out. It was hard to feel anything right now. 

A hand in your hair. It felt like TV static as it ruffled. There was nothing left. He’d taken it all. 

You stared at your own body. You felt separated from it. You listened to your own heart. 

Thump. 

Thump.

Thump. 

Silence.

[melonba11s]

Do you have requests open? Sorry if you already have that written somewhere.

I currently do not have free for all requests open ^^;; Your welcome to give suggestions or ideas for what you want but I have been extremely busy with work lately so it's been hard for me to write a lot.

I do have something planned for today though <3

[melonba11s]

Strades Crusty Couch Went To Hell With Him

[melonba11s]

I should write more Demon Strade. Get worse with it.

[melonba11s]

No Way Out (Demon Strade/MC fanfic)

Warnings: Minor Vomit, Non-Con, Mind-Break, size difference, painful sex, minor pred-prey

Contains: Demon Strade, Gender Neutral MC (implied AFAB though)

Your feet hit the pavement as you ran down the street. It was dark, and even though the street lamps were on, their light didn’t reach anything. It was just dark shadow on dark shadows. As you turned a corner you found yourself…  

Back on the same street. You fought down a scream of frustration. If you made a noise he’d hear you. He’d know he was close. 

The street was familiar to you, it was the same one he had picked you up from just a few days ago. Strade, all smiles even as he used a knife to carve you open. But you had gotten loose, hidden a knife under you, and when the moment was right… 

You had missed, and he’d made you pay. Taking the knife out of his neck, plunging it into your eye socket, scrambling your brains as he got his revenge. 

But you knew you had to have at least nicked an artery, and he was so preoccupied with making sure you paid for the wound that he wouldn’t last long after you were gone. At least no one else would suffer like you had, he wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again, you thought.

And as the world spun out from under you, your cheek hit pavement, and you’d woken up here. Getting up, catching your breath, wondering where you were. 

Turning around and coming face to face with him again. At first you had stood in shock, barely recognizing the face that stared down at you. 

He was so much taller, a gaping hole in his chest filled with green flames, horns curling out from his forehead. 

“As you requested.” A voice that felt like hot tar being poured over you. “I pulled their soul from the nether, as a reward for your good work. Have fun.” 

You whipped around, looking for the source of it, swearing you saw some glowing yellow eyes that disappeared as soon as you met them. 

Then a clawed hand reached forward. For you. Eyes glowing, smile widening. You stumbled back, a yell catching in your throat before you spun on your heel and ran. 

You knew in the back of your mind this is what he wanted. He wanted you to run, let him have a chase, let him smell your sweat and fear of him. 

That brought you to now. You had no idea how long you had been running, clutching at your lungs as you dove behind a dumpster. You’d died. You had for sure died. 

And this was hell, or whatever horrible afterlife. You had no idea how long your soul had been adrift, until it was planted down here to be some kind of trophy hunt for that monster of a man. The monster that was now a demon. 

You lurched forward, intent on continuing to run, knowing it was hopeless. 

“Got you~” A hand curled around your midriff. It was way to fucking big, and you began to push at it until he squeezed, painfully hard. He held you like one would hold a large doll, carefully maneuvering you to face him, using a finger on his spare hand to stroke your neck, claw getting dangerously close to the matching spot you’d stabbed him- 

“I could have chosen anyone.” He said. You whimpered at the deadly appendage so close to your neck, but managed to give him a confused look. “My fox.” he began to explain, voice low and crackling with embers. 

“A victim I managed to remember fondly… But I wanted you. The one who took me out.” You shook as he brought you close to his face, mouth opening, showing off rows of fangs. 

You were faintly aware of your clothes being torn off, shredded and cast aside as his huge tongue lolled out of his mouth, sliding up the side of your cheek, wetting your hair. 

“We could have had so much more fun together… I think we’ll have that now.” a grumble. You were airborne for a short second, now naked as he tossed you to his other hand, stomach hitting his palm. You scrambled to try and crawl forward, beginning to sob in fear. 

Something huge, heavy hit your back, as he kept a firm hold of you. You didn’t want to look back, feeling it slide against your bare skin, a thick liquid coating the tip of it as Strade let out a groan of pleasure- 

It hit you like a bolt of lightning. That was his fucking cock, thicker than your arm, longer than anything you’d ever had inside of you. Feeling him peel your legs apart like you were a limp toy, not a kicking screaming human. 

“No- No, it won’t… That won’t-” You couldn’t get your words out , you were so out of breath, stuttering horribly, adrenaline shaking your voice. 

If he made any notice of hearing you he didn’t say a thing. Perhaps being a demon had finally quieted him down. But you couldn’t take comfort in a lack of conversation right now, not when that hot giant dick was pressing at your entrance, slowly, painfully. 

“Please, I’ll do anything, ANYTHING.” you began to beg, your voice rising to a shriek as he managed to push himself in. The pain of being torn was unlike anything you’d experienced. 

“If you’ll do anything you’ll be a good hole for me…” that rumbling voice returned, full of mockery. You couldn’t bring yourself to form words anymore as he continued to invade you. You could feel blood, hot, sticky, pouring down your inner thighs. There was no way, you’d have to black out any second now, you were going to die, again. 

Your breathing was ugly, ragged, pants that sounded more like tortured moans, hands gripping at him, still trying to pull yourself away even now. 

Then the unique sick feeling of your ass bumping into his pubic bone. It was all inside. You could feel it, everywhere. Tears were streaming down your face, snot and drool mixing at your chin and dripping to the ground. Bile rose in your throat and you vomited, the sour acid burning your tongue and lips. 

You were a mess, held there, completely taken by a demon. Taken by this man you hated more than anyone, hated him enough to kill him. 

So why was your body reacting this way? Instead of violently trying to push out the intrusion, the only thing screaming for it to stop was your own thoughts. 

“You’re sucking me in so nicely, Schatz…” No. No you weren’t. You couldn’t be. 

Then he began to pull himself out. It should have brought relief, the sweat trickling down your back should be cooling you off, your body rejoicing in a much needed removal of this intrusion. 

Instead every nerve was screaming for him to put it back in, the sweat on your skin felt like it was boiling you alive, and a glance down revealed to your horror that there was no blood. 

You were slick and dripping with your own juices. Just as you were about to yell out in horror, scream for the nightmare to end though, he thrust back in, rendering you speechless as he began to fuck you properly. 

You could feel each spurt of his precum, blindingly hot, slick up your passage as he began to give out animalistic grunts over you. 

You didn’t just know you were going to die now. You wanted to die. You’d rather die than know he was making you feel this way. Your screams were ones of horror, but that was only because you were forcing them to be. You wanted to stay silent, but it was so intense your body had to make noises. 

So you could only scream for him to stop even though you clenched around him tightly, you could only pound against him with your hands even though they were growing weaker with your impending orgasm, you didn’t want this. You didn’t want to want this. 

Death should have been an escape from him, Death should have been a punishment for him. 

What had he done to deserve this type of heaven? What had you ever done to deserve this hell? 

Your mind could only go blank as your scream warbled as you came, feeling his cock twitch and pump you full of his cum. It was no good. There was nothing left. 

Nothing left but him, as he began to laugh. A laugh that shattered the vision of a familiar street around you, leaving nothing but a dark void. And him.

[melonba11s]

Life is Like a Box Of Chocolates (Ren Hana fanfic)

Sorry for my hiatus, but please enjoy this fic!

Contains: Canon typical Violence, near death experience, Mild Ren/Strade, stockholm syndrome, Ren Coping.

Ren had no idea what day it was. He knew what day it had been the last time Strade had called him into the basement. 

Tuesday. Strade had been unsuccessful in getting someone back home from the bar. So Ren had had to do. 

There was a weird truce between the two. A delicate balance. Strade could cut Ren open, burn him, punch him, fuck him whenever he wanted. In return, Ren lived. At least, Strade would try not to kill him. So far he’d been doing a good job of it. 

And when things weren’t painful, they were… satisfying. It felt good to be wanted. And he knew Strade wanted him because Strade had demonstrated just how easy it was to kill someone. 

Tuesday though had been bad. Strade usually held back. But holding back meant he wasn’t getting it completely out of his system. Combined with a dry spell of no new captives, and Strade had lost control. 

A blade too deep, Ren remembered iron hot pain, screeching, feeling Strades hips slap against his ass as his tail was yanked on, a handle for Strade as he continued to carve into Ren’s back. 

Then it was feeling woozy, the pain fading. The puddle beneath him was cold and hot at the same time, sweat dripping down his forehead as Strade came inside and let him go. Slipping forward in his own blood, whimpering. Clutching his wrist, keeping the wound closed as much as possible. 

Mumbled German, a nudge with a boot. The sound of quick rummaging in the cupboard. He wasn’t getting any dizzier, keeping pressure applied to his wrist. Because even if he hadn’t comprehended it, Ren instinctively knew that if he let it continue to bleed, he’d be past medical attention. 

Rough callused hands grabbing his wrists, pulling him forward. Peeling his fingers away from his wrist none too carefully, not even bothering to check the sharpness of the needle on his finger like usual. Because a dull needle didn’t compare to the idea of dying. 

The first set of stitches were rough, uneven. They pulled the wound together, Ren found himself laughing to himself, the way his skin pulled at the thread and came apart down the wound. It reminded him of a button up shirt that was far too tight. 

He really was out of it. A tingle ran down his spine at Strades silence. He usually would ask Ren what he found so funny, wanting to laugh alongside him. Ren found that he liked that about Strade. Being the center of attention and getting someone to laugh was an addicting feeling. 

He just watched as Strade ran through and did a second round of stitches. Each tug made Ren grunt a bit in pain, watching as Strade’s shaking hands calmed, this round much more even, pulling the skin closer, allowing the wound to properly begin to clot and slow the bleeding. 

  The bottle of alcohol shook roughly over Ren’s wrist, and he yanked himself back in a sudden start of clarity. Strade kept an iron grip on his hand, and the sting of the disinfectant coursed through Ren, causing his hackles to raise and tail to bristle. 

When he tried to shout in pain though, all that came out was a raspy wheeze. It still cost him the energy of a yell to make such a noise though. He was really tired, and the basement was cold. There was a source of warmth nearby though. 

With the excess alcohol patted dry, Ren leaned forward, resting his cheek against Strades chest. Looking up through his eyelashes, he could see a smile on Strades face. A hum as he inspected his stitches before unrolling some gauze. 

It was a bit hypnotizing, watching the sterile white cotton wrap around his wrist in a fluid motion. Ren counted each round of fabric, not ignoring how gentle Strade was now that it looked like he was no longer in imminent danger. Fingers carefully avoiding the fresh stitches, pulling the gauze snug but not too tight, securing it with medical tape. 

This had to mean something, didn’t it? He wouldn’t do this for any other captive, would he? Room temperature water met his lips, and he realized just how dry his mouth was as Strade held the bottle to his mouth. Did he keep this in the med kit too? 

The effort of swallowing was almost too much, and when Strade didn’t pull the bottle away, Ren pushed at the lip of it with his tongue, letting out a cough as the water splashed down his front. 

He couldn’t force himself to stay awake anymore, closing his eyes against the harsh bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a laugh though. Strade was laughing, if only a little. Ren let the world close in, if Strade was laughing after that, it had to mean he was going to be okay now. 

And that brought Ren to today. He had no idea what day it was. He just remembered sleeping, occasionally opening his eyes and clearly seeing a fresh bottle of water on a bedside table. Grabbing it with shaking hands that became more steady each time he roused. 

At some point he found the energy to get up and stumble his way to the bathroom, washing himself up. But Strade had been out of the house it seemed, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to ask what day it was. 

Ren closed his eyes again, rolling over. Rather than more soft bedding though, he flinched at the feeling of cardboard and a box's edge. 

He sat himself up as much as he could, and looked down at the now dented box. Chocolates. 

It was Saturday. Strade always went grocery shopping on Saturday. Ren reached forward, picking up the box and sniffing at it. Caramel, Pecans, White Chocolate, Milk Chocolate, something fruity too, maybe cherries? 

It was a very nice box of chocolates. Cursive font graced the front, a lace ribbon holding it together. 

Maybe he was still out of it, because he swore he could smell something else on it as well. 

“I’m sorry.”

[melonba11s]

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I apologize that I haven't been posting many fics this month 🥲

Truth be told I had a line up of holiday fics planned, but work has been super busy lately, leaving me exhausted and unable to even really think of writing much.

I hope though that you all have a good holiday season, and you'll stick with me through 2024 as well!