#writing in da office i am boreddddd

[hiskillingjar]

Strade with a clingy reader? (I apologize if someone has already asked for this)

lots of requests for this one sooooo i wrote a fic for it!! i also have a headcanon post stacked in the drafts for the other boys (gender neutral) sooooo here we go!

6000+ words, the most lovely and dubious of consent, also posted on archive of our own cus. ya know. it's long babeyyyy

It was rare that you went to Strade’s bedroom door after a nightmare.

Rarer still that he actually let you in.

When you slipped into his room, the opening and closing of his door almost silent and the slow padding of your bare feet against the carpet even quieter, his still body and slow breathing (deep and low, almost a snore but not quite) made you think, for a moment, that he was still asleep.

You wondered if you should just slink away and leave him to it. That was until he wordlessly lifted the corner of his duvet, without even opening his eyes first to greet you, in a silent invitation for you to join him. 

It's so wrong and (honestly) borderline perverse that such a small gesture made your heart swell in your chest to the point of nearly bursting out of your ribcage, but you couldn't help it. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

It was easier to play the victim than acknowledge that you might have been at least a little complicit in your captivity.Though you always had a way of blaming yourself for these sorts of things. 

That’s probably what a therapist would have told you, if you had one.

With a hidden smile that you hoped he'd never see (lest he possibly use it against you, and he probably would), you climbed into his bed, effortlessly slotting in next to him as he wrapped a thick arm around your middle and pulled your body close to his, like you were two pieces of a puzzle that naturally fit together without even a degree of forcefulness. His bare, hair-fuzzed chest was sweaty against your back and stuck to the thin vest that you wore in lieu of pyjamas, but the warmth was comforting and pleasant, like sleeping next to a radiator or space heater, so you didn't mind. 

It was nice to be reminded that he existed, you thought as you pressed back against his warmth with a peaceful sigh, to be reminded that this wasn't all some dream concocted by your sick, messed-up mind, desperate for a semblance of comfort and company, no matter the cost to your mental state. 

At least when he was real, you couldn't be blamed for liking the attention, the moments of sweetness, the quiet mornings where he was too tired to pull his mind games on you or hurt you.

Those moments kept you gentle and kind, and, for the most part, pliant to his whims. 

It was your only method of survival, after all, staying sweet on him in spite of it all.

"Come here, buddy," Strade murmured, still half-asleep, his slow breathing like wine, heavy and addictive, and his low voice (his accent thickened with sleep) as smooth and as comforting as velvet, suffocating and all-encompassing, like the warmth and dark of the room, like a pill bug curled up under a mossy log, like a foetus in the womb. "Come here..."

You didn't say anything as he pulled you in even closer, your hips pressed tightly together, his broad thigh wrapping around yours and caging you down against the expensive mattress. You could feel the first stirrings of arousal through his boxers against the thin gusset of your shorts, but you didn't mind, not all that much.

It was too early for worries, surely, too early to be concerned that he might take advantage of your need for comfort and closeness, and take your body as he so often did. 

His arms pulled you into him again, and though he was hot, burning hot (almost too hot, like you descending down the pits of Hell itself), he was also strong and powerful and comforting (and, and, and, you always made explanations for him) and safe. 

You couldn’t possibly resist turning to face him (at least you told yourself that you couldn’t resist), nestling your head into his soft chest, into the crook of his shoulder, and breathing in his scent, gasoline, motor oil, a little sweat (he hadn’t showered yet and you kind of hoped that he wouldn’t until later in the day), the soft musk of effortless masculinity and tan skin and thick hair.

Against your better judgement, you felt safe here.

He was strong. He made you feel small and protected and loved, in a funny sort of way. He was powerful. He was in charge of the house, the looming patriarch of your fucked up little family, like a husband with a doting wife,, and he held all the power that came with that position in a way that so naturally suited him. 

He reached a hand up to stroke through your hair, mussed and a little matted from sleep, and kissed the top of your head very lightly, grumbling lowly in satisfaction as you nestled in even closer, your arms reaching and squeezing around his middle, your legs tangled up with his as you clung like a babe did to its mother.

He was comforting. He made you feel safe.

He made you feel safe.

What a sick joke.

Had the you from three years ago been able to see you now, you had no doubt that they would have begged Strade to kill them, that fateful night in the basement.

Better dead than as a psychopath murderer’s (rapist’s) little lap dog, his little wife, his perfect little hostage.

But he was not your enemy, at least not for now.

He was merely a slumbering beast, a lion, a wolf, his chest rising slowly with each calm breath, up and down, and his eyes gazing lazily down at you as he assessed his prey with the placid and amused detachment expected from a predator.

"My, my, you're awfully clingy this morning," Strade crooned quietly with a low chuckle, the hand in your hair drifting down to your shoulders, feeling the warmth of your skin as it slid underneath your shirt (roaming over the scars that marked your skin). "What, did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Or something," You mumbled, pressing your face a little harder against his chest, trying to make him feel your weight on top of him as he so often did with you. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it much (despite your weight gain over the last three years), but you knew you were doing it, so that’s all that mattered. "I just want to feel you...feel you against me."

"Mm, promises, promises…" He said with another laugh, shaking his head as his thick fingers roamed the notches of your spine. "Normally, you'll do anything you can not to feel me, fraulein...why the change of heart, hm?"

His stubble dotted cheek grazed against yours, the bridge of his nose nestled right up against your jaw, inhaling your scent as you did him, and when you looked up (as he was gesturing for you to do), his golden eyes (so vibrant, even when the room was so dark) were half lidded (still tired) and teeth-achingly fond. 

He was always so good at showing just how fond he was of you, after all.

“What, do you feel like being a good girl for me today?”

You didn't answer his question, not properly. You couldn’t bear agreeing or disagreeing with him, not today anyway.

You didn't say anything, in fact, but you didn't stop him either as he pushed the fingers of his free hand back through your hair, cradled your skull (curling his fingers into a fist) and brought you in for a deep kiss, which you acclimated to almost instantly, clinging onto him even tighter.

It was pathetic, and at least you knew it was fucking pathetic, to admit to yourself that he was everything you wanted before all of this, that he embodied everything you fantasised and masturbated to when you couldn’t get a real person to touch you. It was probably even more pathetic to admit that you still wanted it, in spite of the psychosexual dynamic that was as close to any kind of Stockholm Syndrome as anything else (like it was a real condition anyway). 

You still felt awful and unbearably guilty, in spite of your new found honesty to yourself, that every inch of you continued to yearn for him and crave the feeling of his touch, instead of fighting for your life to be free of him. 

But you always had a way of feeling guilty about the things that you wanted.

You had no doubt that a therapist probably would have said that to you too.

The bruises that seemed to always paint your skin ached slightly, like just being near him, the fire that he was, was enough to set every nerve alight, but the sensation was addictive.

You wanted to get lost in him. 

You wanted to let him make you his, whatever the cost of that submission was.

So, instead of wallowing in your own self pity or lying to yourself (as your fellow captive was so prone to do), you let yourself wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards yourself, deepening the kiss and letting him take you as he wanted (as he always wanted).

Understanding your need without words (since he was always so strangely attentive of that sort of thing), his kisses gradually grew rougher. 

His sharp cannibal teeth grazed your parted lips as he kissed you hungrily, sucking your tongue, biting down, making you squirm and writhe and moan. His hands roamed down the length of your body and dug into each trembling curve and slope of newly acquired fat, squeezing you so tightly and pressing your body against his so forcefully, it almost hurt. 

This was what he wanted, though, and you knew that: you losing control, giving him full access to you, your bruises, your body, hurting you. 

You were sure that he was going to tear into you one of these days, when he bit down on your lips again, a rupture of blood streaming from your mouth, staining his tongue. You were sure that he was going to make you bleed even more and glut himself on your blood completely, but you didn't care. 

You wanted him, still wanted him, in spite of all of that, in spite of his violence and hunger.

And the more you gave in to him, the more he wanted to take from you.

His mouth wandered down from your lips (his slack tongue drooling a dangerously pinkish string of spittle over your lips and down your chin) and to your neck, making you shiver and gasp even more, gripping onto him tightly, arms around his shoulders, legs tangled with his and squeezing tightly.

"I like this," He mumbled softly, pulling back from your neck (after leaving a bite in his wake)  for just a moment and rubbing his forehead against yours, a smile dimpling his features and making him look all the more sickeningly fond of you. "This attitude turn. You're normally so...brusque with me, so dismissive. It's not all that becoming of someone in your position, you know."

"You can't have minded it too much," You replied, your tone as flat as usual, though your arms tightened around his neck and your legs clung even tighter. "I'm still alive...have been for nearly three years, now."

"Mm, that's true," He agreed with a nod, one hand descending down your body, groping your hips, the soft flesh of your ass, palming the shadowed bruises that covered your flesh. "I guess you're cute enough that I can handle a shitty attitude now and then. But, this..." He laughed again before digging his teeth into his bottom lip and grinding his hips down against yours completely. "This really is too cute for words. Maybe you should keep it up, hm?"

"Maybe," You replied coyly, your own eyes flitting downwards as your hips bucked in unison to his grinding, pressing the two of you together even more.

This was the place he liked to bring you, right to the very edge of your most intimate and darkest desires. It was his way of tempting and playing with you, you guessed, an overgrown child playing with his food, playing with his favourite toy until it broke, while you begged and pleaded for him to pull you back from that edge, before it was too late and you fell over it and succumbed to them completely. 

You found that you were (often) pushed far over the edge, and had been for a while as he climbed on top of you and pinned you down to the mattress with his heavy body (pressing his weight into you), his lips against your neck, leaving kisses, bruises, bites and harsh marks on your skin.

You writhed and mewled at each burning pulse of pure shock from his teeth, his tongue, but the pain was such a sweet sensation...almost as good as the satisfaction he felt watching your skin purple and bruise, evidence of what he did for you that everyone would have the chance to see (if he ever let you leave the fucking house again).

This was just how he loved, you told yourself, because surely he must love you to have kept you around this long.

Your pain was his pleasure. It was as simple as that.

"Are you alright?" He asked you as he pulled back and looked in your hazy eyes.

"No," You rasped as you reached up to touch one of the worst bites, hissing as you felt wet oozing out of you, mingling with saliva and spittle. "I'm bleeding."

"Well, that’s hardly a concern of mine," He chuckled, evidently a little turned on by your honest answer as he leaned down to kiss your lips a little more, his strong arms bracketing your neck and shoulders as he loomed in view. . 

His tongue pressed inside your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your lips, and dragged against yours in a sleepy and slow, massaging sort of way, in spite of his violence and how much your bruises were throbbing. He had the potential to be soft and gentle with you, and displayed that potential to you readily only to take it away just as quickly. 

An overgrown child playing with his food. Playing with his favourite toy until it broke.

"I want to make you bleed more," He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth with a slight smirk, groping hands travelling down your hips to wrangle your shorts down your legs and throw them to the side. ”I always do. That’s when you look your best, you know?”

"Mmhmm?" You hummed against his lips, threading your own groping hands through his hair and pulling him closer to you, not bearing to have him away from you for even a moment.

“Mm,” He rubbed his forehead against yours again, his breath warm on your skin as his hips slotted between yours, and you felt the heat of his erection through his underwear against your thigh. “Makes me that much crazier about you.”

You didn't stop him as he initiated another deeper kiss.

But you never stopped him.

"Mmph..." 

You groaned lowly at the back of your throat as your fingers curled into fists in his hair and pulled hard. It was the most amount of power he would ever let you have over him, you knew that, as you tethered him closer to you, to your desires, as he sucked on your mouth, his tongue delving hungrily against yours, again and again, invading you as he pushed closer to you.

You wrenched your head back, away from the kiss, with a harsh gasp (breaching the surface of the water before drowning)  as he slid his hand up between your thighs, feeling the wet heat that lay at the top of them and devling his fingers inside without even a moment of hesitation or any kind of resistance. Dripping wet, pre-cum smeared between your thighs, you were that fucking eager for him.

God, you were fucking pathetic. 

You hissed painfully as you felt him bite down on your neck again as he slowly finger-fucked you, the scruff of his stubble itching your skin as his teeth dug in deeper. You did your best to retaliate, curling your fingers tighter into his hair and pulling on it. You’d tell yourself that you were trying to get him away from you, to release yourself from the painful clamp of his jaws, but you knew that that wasn’t the truth, not really.

It still felt good to do, though. 

Strade growled lowly at the pain in his scalp, and his free hand planted itself in the middle of your chest, pinning you to the bed, holding you down like a struggling animal, stopping you from flinching too much or squirming away from him as he dug his teeth even deeper, grinding them together to make the pain that much worse.

Your mind was hazy, torn between the excruciating pain of his bite and the overwhelming pleasure of his thrusting fingers inside of you. 

Your body was so exposed, so vulnerable, to everything he wanted from you.

Strade was in full control of you, as he so often was, and you ached for it. 

"God…do you even know how much I love you?" You rasped shallowly, finally letting go of the fists of hair you were still clinging onto, as he pressed another bite against your shoulder, lighter but still painful.

“Hm?” He hummed airily against your skin, a light hearted smile gracing his features as his hazy eyes glanced upwards, eyeing you as he pressed his fingers a little deeper inside of you, rubbing against a bundle of nerves that always made you tremble.

“Ngh-!” You groaned, fisting your fingers into the bedsheets in lieu of clinging to him even more, your eyes squeezing shut as you tipped your head back. “Ahh…I do love you. I do. I shouldn't, but I do. So much I can barely stand it..."

“Hm…no wonder you’re so clingy this morning,” He replied, his voice full of good humour, as it often was, like he was telling an especially mean joke that he’d never let you in on. “You’re all loved up. How sweet~” 

He kissed you again, his body pushing down against yours, grinding into you as he slid his fingers from inside you and tucked down his boxers, finally revealing his hard cock and letting it smear a line of pre-cum against your bare skin. His hands bracketed your hips as he kissed you more forcefully, biting down again, and slid down to your thighs to part them further, spreading you open.

He sucked on your sore mouth hard enough for the stream of blood to start trickling again and delved his probing tongue back into your mouth, tasting your blood, evidently (by how hard his cock was) getting more and more turned on as it smeared on his tongue, stained his teeth, made him that much more hungry to see you writhe and tear into you.

You didn't care. 

You'd welcome him tearing into you, if he stayed this close, if he kept kissing you.

"So sweet," He murmured thickly against your lips, in something between a growl and a purr, as he pulled away from the kiss, a smear of blood painting his own lips. "So fucking desperate for it. Do you like this, liebling? Do you like me hurting you like this?" He asked, his voice husky, his breath hot, as you felt him slot his hard cock against your entrance (rubbing against your clit), ready to breach the barrier and take you, as he so often did.

"I like you kissing me," You were breathing hard, your eyes going down to try and watch as he pushed into you, though, of course, you saw nothing but his belly pressing against yours, his tan skin achingly warm (and hot). "Even if it hurts...I like that you're doing it, all the same."

"Is it painful?" He murmured, licking his lips and breathing heavily as he breached your entrance and slid inside of you, easily. “Does it hurt so much, fraulein? Can you barely even take it?”

In spite of the lack of resistance (pathetic, fucking pathetic, god, you hated that you wanted him this badly, you hated how wet you were and how ready your body was for his invasion), there was something intimately painful about the stretch. It was like your cunt was struggling to take all of him in, even though it had done this countless times before, like your body itself was rejecting the painful force behind his initial thrusts and making you clench down even tighter around him.

"Ngh!" You cried out, your back arching and your head thrown back, as his hands covered shadowed bruises painting your skin, digging in, tearing into you. "I-It's torture...the worst pain imaginable…"

"Oh, you poor thing," He murmured with a giddy, rasping little chuckle, like your admission was everything he needed to let go of any sense of composure that he might have had before (if he ever had any). "But there's nothing you can do, is there? No, no, nothing at all."

“Mph,” You whined, your shaking hands going up to cover your sweating face as he gripped your hips tighter and slid even deeper inside of you.

“And I don’t think you want to do anything, either.” He continued, his eyes that of a predator, wide awake and ready to tear into his prey. “You want to be taken like this, forever. Hmm…” He laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Wunderschon, ja? You’ll always be mine and I don’t even have to try…”

Who's to say that love needs to be soft and gentle?

You think you had heard that once in a literature class…or maybe it was a fucked up movie you watched, when you didn’t have this, when you tried to scratch the itch with film recommendations on forums and shock sites. 

All the same, this kind of love (because it had to be love, it had to be, it had to be) was clearly as good as any other, both for you and for Strade.

It seemed that every time you cried out in pain or writhed underneath him, like you were squirming to be set free, it was enough to make him lose his mind and push even deeper inside of you, caging your body down with his, filling you up completely in an erratic need to take your body, by any means necessary.

"Show me your face." He commanded then, his voice hoarse with desire as he dipped his head down to your level again, his thrusting hips stilling for just a moment. “Let me see you.”

"Don't...hah, please don't look at me," You whined, begging, pleading, still covering your face with your hands, trying to pull back, though for what reason, you weren’t quite sure.

“No, don’t fight me.” He chided like he was scolding a child, an animal, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and wrenching them down forcefully, with a strength you often forgot about and yet, were often well acquainted with. “You know you won’t win, don’t you, fraulein? I won’t let you…”

He was clearly enjoying this much too much to let you pull away now, as he pulled your hands away completely, pinning them down to your chest and  forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

You stared up at him, your gaze caught somewhere between fear and dazed detachment.

The light streaming in from the rising sun outside softened his hulking body into dark, curved silhouettes, and the round, paper lantern behind his head (cheap, replaceable, something that reminded you of home, you said) made him look like some cheap facsimile of an angel, your own personal Heaven when he should have felt like Hell.

An angel to some, a demon to others. You knew you heard that in a movie before. 

"Good girl." He praised, the hand pinning your hands still and compressing your chest  reaching up to stroke your cheek (bruised, scarred, probably imagining bruising you even more). “Good, pretty girl. So lovely, so sweet when they’re behaving…”

You didn't even try to hold back a little giggle, your cheeks flushed as he took your chin in hand and pressed your head back against the pillows, a look of (almost) genuine affection in his golden eyes as he considered you further, as his thrusting hips continued, pushing deep and making your body clench up tightly with pleasure. 

“That’s it, there we go,” He continued to praise, his chest against yours as his free hand slid down to your trembling thighs, hiking them up around his waist and forcing your body to bend painfully in two. “No fighting now, liebling, no fighting me…it makes it so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah…” You stammered, your legs tightening around his full waist as his pace picked up, his hips slamming against yours and forcing out gasping little moans with each painful thrust. 

“Mm, you’d really do anything for me, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” He asked again, the hand on your cheek descending down your neck as his expression grew hungrier and more feral, more desperate for you. “Anything at all?”

“Ahhh…” You groaned, your body growing tight and your mind erratic and manic, as he pushed against your sweet spot multiple times, grazing it but not quite stimulating it enough to feel good. “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes-”

"Oh yeah?" He drawled, interrupting you and running his tongue over his teeth (his sharp cannibal teeth) as he pushed into you again and again, hard enough to get you yelping and the headboard of his bed to start slamming against the wall rhythmically. Thank god you didn’t have neighbours who would hear. "Would you die for me, sweet thing?"

"You-ah!" You interrupted yourself with a yelp when he pulled back enough to slap you hard across the cheek, so hard that it made your ears ring and your head spin. You might have stared up at him, wide eyed, shocked and surprised that he would do something so brutal, so cruel, if you weren’t currently being fucked out of your mind. "Nghh, y-you know I would, you don't...don't even need to ask me."

"Good girl," He praised you (he was, at the very least, good with praise when you were in this kind of headspace), taking your cheeks in hand again and pinning your head down to the pillows and mattress more forcefully, his golden eyes half lidded with desire. "What about killing, hm? Would you kill for me?"

"Strade," You whined, your body arching as his hips continued to ruthlessly slam into yours, each barbaric thrust punctuated with a huffed growl. "God, please-"

"Answer the question!" He barked, letting go of your face to slap you once, twice, three times. You wouldn't have been surprised if your cheek was bruised up again after this, but you couldn't bring even a part of yourself to care about that now. "Would you kill for me?"

"Mmph..." You squeezed your eyes shut (your ears were ringing and your vision was spotted with white, you couldn't hold on). "Yes, yes, I'd do whatever you wanted me to do. Goddd..."

"Sick puppy," He chuckled victoriously, gradually slowing down his thrusts and considering you further with a wry tilt of his head. "You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you? How pathetic.”

You whimpered and raised your chin to hide your burning cheek against the pillow. He was gracious enough to let you do that, this time. 

"That's what I like about you," Strade growled, pressing his face into your shoulder and barring his teeth as he huffed out grunts and groans, his thrusts picking up in pace as he got more desperate to claim you. "Such a fucking suck up. I bet I could tell you to piss yourself and you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

You moaned brainlessly in vague agreement, not quite listening to what he was asking, demanding from you, feeling like your throat was closing up on any potential words you might have been able to say.

"Mm, I'll remember that for later," He huffed out a laugh (hot against your sweaty skin) as he pressed another harsh bite into your shoulder, not hard enough to bruise or bleed (like the others) but enough for your eyes to shoot wide open, and to force a shriek from your lips like a dying animal. "So disgusting, fraulein. I'd have the sense to be grossed out, mph,” He stopped speaking for a moment, his drooling mouth slack as you tightened up around him again. “I-If your pussy wasn't clamping my cock like a fucking vice…god-!"

You howled out again, a full throated scream that would wake neighbours and housemates if you had them (barring…well, the obvious) as he pressed a bite against the sensitive skin of your throat. Unable to contain your pain with just the scream, your legs instantly tensed around him and your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You even went so far as to dig your nails into the dense meat of his back and drag downwards, sure to leave behind a nasty mark in their wake. 

It was as close as you could get to hurting him, and you'd take the chance to show him even a modicum of pain possible, at every opportunity. 

You weren't crazy enough to not enjoy that, after all.

"Hrghhh, you fucking slut," He growled under his breath through a pained hiss through his teeth, the ‘pet-name’ rasped amidst a slur of German that you didn't understand (and you generally understood it well now, three years in.) "So, that’s how you wanna play, you little cunt?” He demanded, pulling himself upwards and glaring down at you, like he was about to pounce, as he so often did on the victims that came after you. “You wanna take all of me, don't you? So, fucking work for it."

You yelped loudly as he took a sudden and firm grip of your bruised hip and shoulder, and switched the positions forcefully, rolling you onto his front and lying back on the mattress, all the while keeping his cock firmly lodged inside of you.

"Work for it! Schnell, hund!" He ordered again, taking hold of both hips (digging his fingers and bitten fingernails in hard enough to leave a new batch of bruises and crimson crescents) 

While he ordered you around (in a tone that always made your cunt throb, in spite of the shame that caused you), he managed to push his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, thanks to his new leverage on your body, manurvering and handling you like you were a doll in his lap, a toy that he could use however he liked.

You continued to whine and moan like the desperate idiot that you were as he dragged you downwards at a pace you could barely keep up with, your hips coliding with his painfully and barbarically. That did, however, very little to stop you from bouncing brainlessly on his cock, your trembling legs tightening around him (as they so often did) and your hands curling into fists against his soft chest, doing everything you possibly could to keep up with him.

"There we go," He praised, gentle in spite of his harshly barked orders, one hand trailing down from your hip to grope your ass indulgently. "You're doing such a good job, liebling, you are making me so, so proud..."

"I love you," You whined desperately, hotly, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you continued to bounce his cock even harder, even faster. "I love you, I love you so much..."

"Mm, I love you too, sweetheart," Strade crooned with a broad, indulgent smile, his other hand reaching up to grope your chest as it heaved, up and down, newly pierced breasts bouncing in time with each of your erratic thrusts. "I love your pussy, anyway," He continued with a mean chuckle, pushing deeper inside of you as his calloused thumb dragged over your pert nipple, making you shriek. "And these tits, and how nicely your body bruises at the lightest of touches. Like you were made for me to destory over and over and over again...however can I resist?"

He sat up the best he could, in spite of your consistent thrusting, the hand on your ass pinning your body still against his chest as he pushed as deep as he could inside of you, like he was impaling you on his cock…and you certainly yowled loudly enough that it sounded like that.

"That's all that matters though, isn't it?" He asked breathlessly, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. He was so hot. "That I love you...doesn't matter which parts I love, right?"

"Mm...mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your whimpers and whines, as the hand on your chest went down to grab one of your fists and thread your fingers together, giving him full oppurtunity to pull you in even closer. "Tell me you love me...t-tell me you'll never let me go..."

"Oh, mein schatz," He crooned, his eyes softening with delight, drawing circles into the back of your palm and smiling up at you, breathless, a heaving silhouette in the darkness of the room. "Of course, I love you...and of course, I'll kill you before I ever let you go again."

Your bitten lips, blooming and beaten with hot blood, trembled hesitantly, much like the soft, scarred thighs bracketing his hips, as a smile pulled at your features, giving away instantly just how deliriously happy you were to hear him say those words, and mean them. 

"Keep me, keep me forever, never let me go..."

"Never ever," He agreed with a shake of his head, holding your hand tighter as his thrusting grew erratic and hectic, and each string of words became grunts and growls. "That's my promise to you, liebe. And you're more than welcome to hold me to it..."

You couldn't think of anything else to do, other than kiss him. 

You pressed your fingers into his hair, now slightly damp with sweat (he worked so hard to provide you, like a good man did), and pulled his lips to yours, finally, finally, probing his hot, wet mouth with your tongue and tasting your own blood on his mouth. 

He let you do it, too, moaning softly against your trembling lips and finally admitting his own sensual, desperate hunger for you. He cradled your skull in hand, not gripping or pulling on your hair or trying to wrangle you into some semblance of submission, and let his body still completely, feeling your sinking hips on his and spilling over inside of you with a human-like murmur of subdued pleasure.

And that was all you needed.

You clenched down tightly on him with a wretched gasp, as you felt the warm seed claim your insides and spill down your thighs, and it was enough to push you far, far over that edge yourself.

In lieu of anything else (because how could you do anything else), you heaved out a tired groan between your whimpers of pain and excruciating pleasure, falling forward against Strade's heaving chest as he flopped back on the bed himself, his lungs taking in slow swallows of air, adjusting himself as you settled against him.

Your vision was still blurred with white spots, but you somehow felt grounded all the same as you felt his warm hand slowly stroke through your hair and down your sweaty back. 

You let out a soft purr, a sleepy smile on your face as he continued to stroke you, like an animal in his lap. 

“As loyal as a dog." Strade murmured fondly, tilting his head forward to kiss the crown of your head and nuzzling into your warmth. "Mm, no, actually. A dog has the good sense to growl or bite when you kick it. You just seem to cling harder.” He laughed kindly, giving his head a little shake, dragging his cheek against yours. “Even Ren isn’t as bad as you~”

You murmured sleepily, not responding to his teasing, too tired to, curling a little closer against him and shivering with pleasure as you felt a stream of his seed trickle down your thigh.

"Hmph…go back to sleep, love," He then said softly, gently, (more gentle than he should be), giving your head another kiss as he sat up a little more, swinging one leg over the side of the bed. "I've got work to do. You can stay up here, for now.”

"Noo, don't go..." You pleaded quietly, curling your fingers against him and nestling against his chest again as he swung the other leg down and started to stand. "Stay, stay with me, please..."

"So clingy," He chided with another laugh, ruffling your hair. "Settle down and go to sleep. I'll come back soon, okay?"

Strade’s voice was gentle and fond, but you knew that his word was law and he wasn’t to be argued with.

So, you slid back into the bed and curled your body in tight, shivering as he pulled the duvet upwards and covered your naked body.

“Thank you,” You said with a tired smile, letting your fingers drift down between your legs, feeling his cum still oozing out of you. “That was…it was nice.”

“Good,” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your head again, before standing up straight.

“Sleep well, mein schatz. I’ll be back up soon.”