#QS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hiskillingjar · 13 hours

Note

Could we get some aftercare with Strade? (Like him patching up mc and being all sweet and gentle after a torture session and mc is confused and doesn’t know how to process it)

i wrote this like five years ago and abandoned it so thanks for making me pick this back up.

2500+ words, literal follow up of strade's route in btd. it is what it is

*CLICK*

The heavy collar was fastened around your neck before you had the chance to say anything, and already, you could feel the heavy weight of it, both physically and symbolically.

He had claimed you. He owned you.

He controlled whether you lived or died, which was entirely dependent on whether you entertained him…or not. “Come on, buddy.” Amid your silence, Strade stood to his feet and dusted his hands off on his trousers, before he offered a hand out to you. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

An almost kind smile came to his face (his handsome face, still handsome in spite of everything he had done to you for the last three days) and he didn’t even seem that annoyed when you hesitated to reach out for him.

In fact, he was remarkably patient, given the situation.

You blinked wide, scared eyes at who was now, effectively, your captor, half expecting yourself to burst into tears at the shallow display of kindness.

You anticipated him whipping a knife out as soon as you reached out for him, anticipated him laughing cruelly at you for being so gullible, so trusting.

You anticipated him continuing the brutal torture that you had survived for three days before this, until your brain broke and your body splintered into bloody shards in his hands.

But he didn’t.

He just waited for you.

All without a snarky word or a raised eyebrow.

Maybe if others had been so patient and kind with you before this, you wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Ironic, really.

After another long moment, you eventually reached out for him and took his hand.

“There you go,” Strade muttered softly as your hand slipped into his own. “Not so bad, is it?”

He hauled you onto your shaking feet with surprising ease, demonstrating his intimidating strength (demonstrating how you wouldn’t have won if you tried to fight back against him).

You hadn’t used your legs in a couple of days and the searing pain still coursing through your body quickly fired up again, causing you to stumble with a weak cry and a whimper.

Falling into his arms.

In another universe, the act of him catching you would have been charming. Romantic almost.

It seemed twisted to consider it romantic now.

“Woah, easy there!” He exclaimed with a little chuckle, and not a mean one either. He attempted to support your shaking body the best he could, draping one of your arms around his shoulder, his free arm drifting downward to wrap around your shuddering waist. “Guess I should have known you’d have trouble walking right away. Sorry about that.”

He apologised and it almost made you laugh (almost made you throw up).

Because he’s not apologising for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for putting a fucking drill through your foot, for fucking raping you while you were near comatose.

He was just apologising for thinking you’d be able to walk properly after all of that.

His seemingly genuine kindness was enough to make your muscles clench, your stomach ache, your heart pound in your chest.

It made your head spin.

You couldn’t seem to reconcile these two very different sides of him. It couldn’t be the same man, could it?

He was apologising. Did he even know what he was apologising for?

“I’ll help you up the stairs, alright?” He offered, and you nodded quickly, not sure what else to do. “Then we’ll figure a place to put you for the time being, while I assess the new, ah, new living situation. Okay?”

“Okay,” You mumbled weakly, as he hauled you upwards (pulling you towards his cocked hip) and helped you up the wooden steps, doing his best to put as little strain on your injured foot as possible.

It almost felt nice to be treated so gently, so patiently, to be the vulnerable one for a change, and let someone else, someone stronger, someone older, take care of the situation…even if that meant being vulnerable to someone like Strade.

He led you up the stairs of the basement, past the heavy, locked door, and into a...totally normal-looking hallway.

You almost scoffed, it was so normal (barring the lack of pictures on the wall, or any modicum of personality in what little you could see of what must have been his house) as he reached back to close and lock the door behind him.

"Hm?" He looked towards you with a raised eyebrow. You hadn't realised that you had, in fact, scoffed out loud. He didn’t seem rushed or tense, though, not like he was dealing with a hostage.

In fact, he seemed quite calm.

"...Nice place." You murmured, averting your eyes.

"Ah, if you say so." He chuckled, pocketing a set of keys and placing his arm back around your waist, before pulling you into his side once again. "It's a means to an end. Something that makes me look...mm, normal, you know?"

You didn't know. But you nodded your head all the same.

He didn't continue his line of thought as he led you up the second set of stairs, bare feet comforted by soft, grey carpet that was getting slowly dotted with blood from your punctured foot.

You didn't feel bad about it in the slightest.

You were relieved when he opened the door to, again, a normal-looking and plain bathroom and led you both inside, locking the door behind him and approaching the large tub. “A friend of mine says that a bath is the best way to feel better,” He said, adjusting the handle of the spout and putting his palm underneath the running water, checking the temperature. “They’re not for me, personally, but it’ll probably feel nice for you, right?”

“Mm,” You hummed, biting your lip, settling down on the closed toilet lid and holding yourself tight.

Your relief was finally starting to settle in, but, conversely, the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were beginning to feel the full, sharp extent of your injuries. Tears threatened to stream down your cheeks, and he seemed to pick up on that.

He looked at you then, amused in spite of your pain, his golden eyes crinkling fondly.

"This may sound a little intrusive," He apologised, his voice gentler, softer. "But, can I..?"

"Huh?" You looked up.

He'd never concerned himself with not being intrusive before. Why now?

“Let me help you get undressed,” He said, taking a step closer towards you with an easy, laidback smile, the kind of smile that immediately won you over and settled you in the bar. “You’re probably too weak to do it yourself right now…right?”

You gave him an uneasy look, half expecting him to do something...expected.

"Relax," He insisted, as he reached down to untie the strings of your stained jogging shorts (why had you left your apartment in those?), his voice and touch unnervingly soft and gentle, handling you with far more patience than you were used to. "I won't hurt you more than I already have."

“For some reason, I doubt that,” You mumbled grouchily as your shorts slid down, just about grazing your cuts enough to sting.

“So cruel to me, liebling,” He asked, his voice tinged with playfulness and even a small hint of fake outrage. “Do you have any faith in your captor at all?”

“None.”

You tried not to make eye contact with him as he tucked his strong hands beneath your (blood) stained top and pulled it off, letting it fall to your still-shifting feet and revealing your ratty sports bra.

“Hmph,” He huffed dramatically, as if your reply had genuinely offended him. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

With a soft laugh (clearly, he wasn’t that upset with how stand-off-ish you were being), he pulled the bra off without much struggle (your arms were in no state to do any fighting anyway).

You shivered, feeling the sudden cool air on your chest, enough to make your nipples swell.

He didn’t say anything about that, but he did look a little smug as his eyes drifted up and down your body.

“Underwear off, then,” He then said, giving you a pleased look. “I’ll be a gentleman and leave that to you.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching for the straps of your panties, pulling them down your marred thighs and letting them fall to your feet too.

Strangely, he seemed far less interested the more you undressed, though.

“Huh…not a bad body,” He commented placidly like he was commenting on something mundane or dull. You almost scoffed again as you crossed your arms (and he let you do it). “You do look a little pale, though,” He added with a slight tilt of his head, his voice softening once again as he turned back to the bath and pushed the tap down to a stop. “I guess the blood loss is normal in your case…” “I guess so,” You replied with a little sigh, covering yourself more tightly with your arms while he dragged a hand through the hot water.

"Lie down into the bath," He instructed a little sternly after standing up straight again and wiping his damp hands down his front, his tone suddenly more authoritative. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Your legs felt like they were about to give out from under you as he spoke, but you didn't even attempt to argue with him. You just did as he said.

The water was much hotter than you expected, hot enough that steam was emitting in short wisps from the surface, making you immediately inhale with subdued pain (never mind how the hot water felt on your open wounds).

You quickly sank down into the tub, though. settled by the heat and the comforting warmth of it, like a blanket on your aching limbs, quicksand on your shoulders. It felt…safe, in a perverse kind of way.

You were growing used to perversion, though.

“Ah, you looked like you needed that,” Strade said after a few silent minutes, and when you looked up, you saw that he was stripping off himself. “Move up.”

"Mm!" You let out a little squeak of surprise as he stepped into the tub behind you, his warm body, his tank skin pressed to yours. “H-Hey, come on, I just wanted to relax!”

"So, relax," He said lightheartedly, with the kind of commanding tone you were starting to get used to. He was going to have his way, no matter what you said, so better to just…let it be.

The bath was more than big enough for the two of you (you could only guess how much it must have cost him), but a self-conscious gnaw on your brain forced you to try and appear as small as possible against his broad chest.

Curling your knees up to your chest, hunching your shoulders inwards, dipping your head down.

“Hmph, that’s cute.” He said, almost fondly and with an audible smile, slowly stroking up and down your back with a gentle touch. “You’re so tense…almost like you’re scared or something.”

His fingertips were calloused from years of physical labour (you didn’t want to think what that labour might have been) as they traced up and down the tattooed lines of ink in your skin, slow and almost curious. And, despite how frightened you might have been, you couldn’t help but lean back against him, relishing in his softness, his almost kindness, while he was still in a good mood.

"There we go," Strade said with a pleased murmur. "Perfect. Exactly like that."

Strade slipped a hand around your stomach, and rubbed the skin gently, before slowly sliding upwards, inch by inch, until his fingers were gliding against your ribs. without any kind of malicious intention, humming softly into your hair.

You don’t know what song he’s humming.

You found yourself sighing with a weird kind of pleasure, sinking further into the warm water that soothed your aching muscles, and relaxing against his soft chest. He seemed satisfied by how much you were relaxing and wrapped both arms around your middle, pressing his face into your hair and taking in a long inhale of you.

It felt nice.

Maybe you should just stop denying yourself pleasure and accept the good things he was offering.

Your body was so close to his that you could feel every part of him, the twitches in his muscles, the shifting of his arms and legs around you, the initial stirrings of arousal of his cock against your backside.

It was easy to forget that he was your captor now, and not...something else.

An older boyfriend your mother didn’t approve of, a mentor you were growing closer and closer to, a cute stranger who picked you up at a bar for a consensual fucking.

The warm water of the bath, the steam fogging up every surface, his slick skin against yours, all made it easy to forget the world outside, the pain in your body, and the injuries that you had already sustained.

It felt like it was just you and him alone, in that tiny, enclosed space.

"Relax," He breathed softly in your ear, the warm breath from his every word tickling your neck and making you shiver. “Let me take care of you.”

“Mm…” You sighed as he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. “That’s…ah, that’s nice.”

“Mmmhmm,” He echoed softly, the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his chest, making you shiver once more.

The heat of the water was inviting, as was his embrace. Strade drew his hands along your ribs and up your chest, squeezing and groping them lazily, sleepily, gently, his touch so soft now.

He didn’t seem interested in hurting you anymore.

In fact, it felt almost like the opposite...

But…

You couldn’t help but notice the swirling of crimson blood in the water.

How comforting the water had been, and yet, how much iit stung the deep wound in your foot, the cuts up your thighs and across your chest.

How the person who had caused you such pain was so peaceful behind you, touching your body like he was scared you would break.

He had wanted to break you so badly before. Why was he now treating you so delicately?

You sighed quietly as his hand slid a little higher up, over your collarbone and...over your new collar. It wasn’t a particularly tight fit, but it was always there.

Always a reminder. A warning.

The feel of his hand grazing against the cold metal of the collar was...odd.

Strange.

Unnerving.

He stopped for longer at the collar, his fingers slowly wrapping around it. You knew he felt your tension increase, but he did nothing to further provoke you.

Just the same, his fingers remained there, almost like he was waiting for something.

"What?" You murmured softly, your eyes locked down on your bloody foot.

"Just..." He murmured, his voice oddly husky and rough from the close, confined space you two now shared. “Happy to have you here. That’s all.” “Hm…” You hummed. “Thanks. I guess.”

#strade btd #strade ykmet #strade x reader #strade x mc #qs #fics #drabbles

26 notes · View notes