cecilia ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✦’’~ IMPORTANT INFORMATION!!

I am not doing any requests for long story ideas (My ask box—as of now, is strictly for headcannons, comments, and whatever else!) I can't guarantee my focus to be good enough to fulfill the needs for multiple stories an ideas! I can, however, guarantee that small ideas will be answered and given a short story if they inspire me (lol).

I am strictly writing for only fem!reader (because I'm professional and biologically female). That might change, but it's what I'm comfortable with for now!

For other content that I'm posting, it may very, and be more Gender neutral. So take my posts as however you like! :3

My posting schedule is and will be all over the place! I'll try to update here whenever something pops in my head! But again, it'll be random!!

Requests / asks will all be answered in a 'first come, first serve' basis, so I promise I will respond to you soon!!

✦’’~ WHAT I WRITE!!

Different kinks (waterworks, breathplay, cnc/dub con, age play, pred/prey dynamics, wound fucking, somnophilia, bdsm, ect..ect)

Ask and you shall receive you dirty dirty goblins

Dark themes (mentions of suicide, self harm, cannibalism, ect..ect)

In general, when I write/post, there will be in general be a mix of fluff, straight smut with or without plot, angst, and light-heavy mentions of gore within all my stories! :3

✦ ~-─ {.⊹ ✦ ⊹.} ─-~ ✦

He'd been looking for you for days. Practically dragging his nose through dirt to find the faintest of your scent in gas stations, cars, and grass. Until he did. Finding you curled up and laying in the center of some sterile room.

You had minal injuries, or as they seemed in the locations, bandages wrapped your limbs. But he could tell right away you weren't.. you.

Even the very air felt different, and it wasn't because of the room.

"Hey, hey, dont move so much," he muttered under his breath and finally scooping you up. Before turnng on his heels and walking simply over the dead bodies that put you here.

But only when he brought you home and finally got a look at you did he realize why every part of you seemed so familiar.

You were a demon like him.

How? God-like he'd ever know. Of course, obviously speaking, he couldn't question the culprits but this was truly something interesting. And he wasn't going to waste this opportunity any longer.

So of course. The moment you awoke, his hands were gripping your shoulders to keep you upright, and settled on your knees on the couch. His lips wide with a smile.

"I should've kept those fuckers alive to thank them,"

"What.. are you talking about..?"

"You're like me," he paused "can't you feel it..fuck I can see it,"

He wasn't making any sense. Like he was being vague on purpose. But like a dog, he started to rub up to you. Holding you close and flush, all while mummbling under his breath. Not letting you squirm or fight him off at all.

“mine,”

“finally,”

or

“you can understand now.”

Because now, he genuinely believes this is the first time someone can truly relate to him. Before, humans were temporary and fragile to him.

But his behaviour doesn't stop there. Weeks pass and he's only gotten more touchy. More territorial of your very scent in his life. Though—atleast from how you see it, it not in a romantic mushy way, but in an instinctive “this is my creature/my partner” kind of way.

And maybe his behaviour started rubbing off on you too over time. It became more animal-like. Like human was nothing but the thing you looked like on the outside.

Stronger scent recognition to things you didn't even notice had a scent. Perfumes, colongne and certain candles became brain aching, too.

Sticking physically close constantly. Despite having hate Habit while human, like a dog, you were more forgiving.

Becoming more possessive with touch. You hated him. Sure you had before this whole thing, but here you were craving hugs, craving touch.

Even instinctively guarding each other in certain cases.

But of course, even your own emotional regualtion had its problem's. Violently lashing out or lose control, was a constant. But he didn't once recoil. He encouraged it. Like he finds it beautiful watch you embrace your true nature.

He starts obsessively teaching you how to use your new abilities or handle instincts, almost like guiding a newborn predator. He loves every second of it.

Over time, Habit will start to treat you less delicately than before when you were human. Because now? He knows they can survive it. Especially with sex.

Your first spring was hell in of itself. Like a way to torture you just because he knew how rough itd be on a 'first timer'.

For nearly 3 days he took great pleasure in watching you practically drip through your clothes with need that he was the only one who could handle you.

Had you grinding agasint his boot till you begged for him to finally do it.

"Pl-please, f-fuck, j..just fuck me already,"

You were a strange little thing.

Always craving the kinds of thrills your body could barely handle—like your mind was drawn to anything that would leave you breathless and squirming one way or another.

You loved being over-stimulated till tears blurred your eyes, being choked tight enough to make your head spin, even being left bruise like a peach. But recently, you'd taken a sorta liking in being chased.

It had started as a little thing

One little thing you'd seen in passing on your fyp. Usually of a guy chasing a girl through the woods. But after a dozen videos? It was all you were dreaming about.that adrenaline. That thrill.

It almost felt like it was the one thing you'd been missing out on your whole life.

So when you asked him this afternoon, how could he say no? That grin of yours alone was enough to make his pulse shoot straight to his groin.

“Alright, if you’re sure,” he murmured with a crooked smile. “Go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll even give you a head start.”

Then, after the briefest pause, he added softly, “But when I catch you, I get a prize of my choice.” Leaning comfortably agasint the doorway, watching you closely knowing just how this was already going to play out.

"You won't," you smiled—just to mess with him before slipping your shoes on and bolting out the front door with a giggle. Quickly slipping into the shaded pine surrounding the property to put some distance between you both.

Outside the cool fall air hit your skin instantly, almost cooling your heated skin. While your heart already started to pound in your ears not from overexertion but from the adrenaline in a chase that he had not started. Atleast—you were sure he hadn't yet. Habit wasn't exactly known for "head starts" and "fairness."

No—you knew Habit well enough to know he did this for the love of a chase. And was more than likely already tracking every snapped twig under your shoe, and ever shaky breath of yours.

Yet, despite that, your focus slipped to the setting sun instead. Watching the casts of orange light filter between the branches—following you almost, as it painted the woods in gold. That was beautiful, just as it was breathtaking.

But before you could properly admire it farther? You heard him.

His all too familiar heavy boots striking the forest floor somewhere behind you. Deliberately slow in a way that sent exhilaration curling through your stomach alongside a delicious kind of fear.

Of course, he wasn’t just running after you.

He was stalking you.

Within minutes, you couldn’t tell where the hell he was anymore. Behind you? Ahead of you? All you caught were little things—a low whistled hum in the distance, the purposeful crunch of leaves in the distance.

All of it.

But slowly, you stepped backward while searching the trees around you, attention fixed somewhere behind—which gave him the perfect chance to close in.

And he did.

“Found ya.”

The words came with an easy smile as he stepped from the trees so suddenly it almost looked like he’d appeared out of thin air. Though quickly, you stumbled back till you fell onto your butt and into the leaves with a startled gasp, scrambling away on your hands as you looked up at him.

“Still trying to run, hmm?” he chuckled. But the amusement on his face faded the second he properly looked at you.

Your breathing was..far too fast. He knew that.

Caefully dropping down to straddle you waist, grounding you still as one hand steadied on your cheek, his other slipped carefully into your pocket, already knowing exactly what he’d fin your inhaler.

Shaking it once. Twice. Three times—practiced motions, like he’d done it plenty before—while his hand on your cheek, slid beneath your jaw, gently tilting your head up from the leaves.

“Easy,” he said quietly, eyes fixed completely on you. “In…and out. Nice and slow.”

You wrapped your lips around the inhaler, breathing in the medicine while he counted each breath with patient focus.

One after another.

Waiting until the panic faded from your lungs. Until the sharp, desperate breaths finally slowed into something manageable again.

Normal.

Only then did he lower the inhaler slightly, letting it hover near your mouth just in case.

“Better?”

You nodded weakly. “Yeah… yeah.”

“Good.”

Relief softened his expression for only a second before his hand slid up into your hair, his fingers tangling gently at the back of your head as his wait persisted on your stomach. Leaning close enough to press light warm kisses against your panting mouth.

“Now,” he murmured against your lips, amused once more, “time collect my prize.”

“Wait! Hey, No—! This doesn’t count,” you sputtered, laughing breathlessly, as your hands already began pushing against his chest.

But he simply smirked agssint your lips, unbothered by your giggly, yet breathy protests.

“Hey, I caught you fair and square, darling. You can't go backing out now,”

He paused for just a moment, as he fauggt himself to keep his mouth hovering above yours—and not just ruin you in kisses right then and there. His gingers still silently ordering your focus to stay solely on him.

"So c'mere already, (name)"

...

Whoever Habit's with, he will absolutely, no questions ask, steal things for them. Luckily for you, it's you.

But even so, it's not always expensive stuff either. Sometimes it’s genuinely random. Maybe it's something like a necklace you mentioned liking in a store once, and three days later it’s sitting on your desk with dried blood on the clasp because he absolutely did not pay for it.

Because of course it is.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Some guy had it.”

“…Habit.”

“He doesn’t need it anymore.”

But the thing is, he doesn’t really understand why normal people would consider this wrong, especially when it’s for someone important. In his mind, if he can take something and make you happy with it, then why wouldn’t he?

He remembers everything you casually mention liking. Once. Just once. You could offhandedly say you miss a childhood candy, and suddenly he’s tossing six packs of it onto your bed weeks later like:

“Found it.”

Expensive gifts especially feel dangerous with him because you know there’s no way he acquired them legally. Designer jewelry? Rare collectibles? A jacket you stared at too long in a store window? Yeah. He’s getting it...somehow.

He’ll more than likely get offended if you refused a gift because of how he got it. Not angry necessarily—more confused.

“I got it for you. Just take it.” sorta thing

Like that alone should outweigh every ethical concern in how he obtained said item.

Physical affection during gift giving is rare (oddly enough), but there’s this intense stare while you open things. He wants to see your reaction. He watches for every tiny expression change because your happiness genuinely matters to him in his own deeply messed up way.

He’s also very “this reminded me of you” coded except the things reminding him of you are concerning.

Dead moths.

Rusted lockets.

Knives with pretty handles.

Bones shaped like hearts.

If you treasure something he gave you? He notices immediately. And it means everything to him (though he refuses to show it. If he wasn't for him using a human body, his tail would've given it away).

Now, if he hears about someone hurting you? Oh, the gifts afterwards feel 10x heavier.

Because suddenly, he's stalking them down, morning ever damn part of their schedule until he knows how to make their death an accident. Obsessive? Perhaps. But he loves you in his..sick and twisted way. And all he wants to hear is them begging and pleading for forgiveness.

"Ple-please w-wait! I- I'm sorry-!"

"Yeah, keep talking. Don't you fucking look away from the camera."

"Say it loud and clear. Ya?"

"I want to really feel how sorry you are,"

And of course, once he's done, he'll come home, covered in blood (as always), happier than a clam, smirking ear to ear. Just to show you, and see your face change.

Watching your eyes widened—caught utterly and completely off guard and he's just thinking..

For you. He had a sixth sense.

Not the sorta sense he used for when you were hurt, or scared. Not even to tell your moods apart when you were on your period. No—this was something else entirely.

And tonight, when he came home to see you curled up sleeping on the couch. Wrapped under the warm fuzzy blankets you loved so much, with a movies end credits glowing across your face, and your face mushed into the pillow under your head. Drooling.

To him, albeit cute. His focus was purely (not so much) on the little pinch in your brows. The slight mummble of contempt under your lips, even the way your breath shifted as you shifted to lay flat on your back to sink deeper into the worn couch.

Sure—maybe a normal person would've carried you to bed, tucked you in. Kissed your forehead.

But he wasn't normal. Nor were the things you asked him to do like how you "wouldn't mind if you were fucked awake."

And who was he if not to obliged to such a request.

But seeing you like this. Snoring oh so peacefully, he knew now was the perfect chance to not only help with that little request of yours. But to tend to his pathetic boner shoving a notable tent in his jeans just from watching you.

So with a careful—almost gentle movment, he settled himself down. Down on his knees at the end of the couch where your legs splayed limp and flat under the blankets. His eyes taking in the sight of you—like you were holy, before in the same breath, bunching the fabric of your blanket up out of the way.

For a moment? You shifted, murmuring something under your breath, one of your hands moving to rest by your head, even your leg pressed into his own. But just as quick as it started, you settled once again giving him the 'go ahead' to keep going.

And so he did.

He pressed onwards, brushing the pads of his fingers up along your cunt through your shorts. Silently watching the way your body seemed to unconsciously react to the sensation, no—presense of him.

"Atta..girl.."

He spoke, mostly to himself if anything, before continuing. Carefully using his free hand to pry your shorts down. Tugging them under your bottom to leave you in that same familiar way he ways did. Your panties already clouded in a noticeable wetness.

"Fuck..sweetheart.." He swore under his breath, his hand already finding purchase on your hip—to keep you still, as his other brushed through the wetness soaking through the thin lacey fabric.

"So fuckin' sexy..so pretty...so wet for me," He listed off, his thumb brushing over your hidden clit. Each word punctuating his rhythm. His ears queued intently to listen to each unconscious gasp, and feel every little squirm.

It was so addicting—you were addicting.

"Hm..hab..bit.." you murmured suddenly in your sleep and like it'd finally flicked a switch in him. The one part of him planning to savour you. Planning to watch you awake on his cock all drunk and stupid. Changed.

Changed to something more desperate. Desperate almost.

His hand, the one having previously having been circling the tight bud, shot away, focusing on flicking his belt loose, nudging the loose jeans down, exposing his leaking dick from his boxers and giving it a few half assed pumps before directing it towards you.

"Mhm..' he hummed almost gently along to your unconscious words. Carefully shifting closer between your parted thighs. His practiced fingers nudged your panties to the side just enough to brush the neediness of his cock along the soaking slit of your cunt.

Once..then twice..swearing under his breath with each drag, slowly dressing his cock in your arousal, before finally, in a shaky groan, slipping himself into your pretty little cunt in pulsed movements.

And as if you hadn't been reacting before. You had reacted now. In a couple moments, the rubbing. The pressure. The rythem had you shifting more agasint the couch. Whining each time his hips dragged and skin slapped.

"Mhm..it feels good doesn't it?" He smirked with a shit eating grin as he grinding his cock into your cunt with a mounting pressure that only seemed to make staying sleep..much..much harder.

Then.

Your eyes fluttered open. Lips gasping in panted breaths as your brain hazy and confused took in your surroundings. Already squirming under him as you tried to process what was even going on.

God, you looked so hot all confused. All fucked out of your mind..

"There you are.." he smiled, leaning down to bring his lips to yours. Starting gentle, before easing into his usual rough kissing he craved so bad from you. The grinding his hips not breaking the practiced movment he had once.

"God-..you're just drowning in it, aren't you..?"

Hate sex with Habit (Fem!Pov)

Short summary: Neither of you got along; there wasn't a day that you both didn't spend fighting, and today was another day that you both were once again, and he was loving every second of it.

"There it is." (Fem!Reader)

Short summary: He noticed it. The boredom. The numbness in your face lately. No matter what he threatened you with, nothing seemed to instigate a reaction from you—a genuine one. Until he found something a bit more.. unexpected.

Lights, camera, action. (Fem!Reader)

Short summary: Habit is a horny guy, and when he realizes that he can film it to watch it all later. He can't exactly help himself.

Your Jealous Boyfriend (Fem!Reader)

Short summary: Every time you introduce Habit to someone new, no matter how nice they are. He doesn't like them—especially not the ones who are too stupid to catch the hint that you're his. But tonight, when you call him out on his behaviour, he doesn't exactly take it lightly.

Just breath, sweetheart (Any!Reader)

He's rough. Always is. He has always taken a sickening sort of pleasure in admiring tears sobs down his victims' faces. Watching them plead and beg, grab his pant legs and say

"Please, I'll do anything—!"

But seeing them on you gave him a whole different type of high.

His eyes focused solely on where you kneeled at his feet, the pout in your lips, the puffiness in your eyes as they became red. Even the flush of your cheeks as sobs parted your lips in short puffs.

God—it made him rock fucking hard and was very obviously struggling keep himself in check.

Absolutely fighting every thought in his head that told him to forget torturing you and instead slip his hand into your hair and force your hair back—to keep your eyes on him. Then use his other to open the belt of his pants to shove everything down and let his aching cock twitch agasint your pretty pink lips.

God—he could imagine it. The way you'd part those lips of yours oh so obediently and let him slip it down your throat.

Starting slow just to let you adjust your throat around his length till the course hair of his pelvis ticked your nose. Then again. And again.

"That's it.. keep on crying for me," he'd say through groans each time you choked and panted as the tip of him pushing as deep as it could into your throat. "No, no, keep those pretty eyes open, sweetheart, I'm not done.."

As soon as spring comes around, he becomes the horniest man on the planet. He's antsy and needy. And for once, he's the one begging for attention. (Though he won't admit it. Actions speak louder then words if anything.)

"Just- fucking stay there."

"Where do you think you're going? No- no, that's not happening."

"Fucking listen to me. Stop fighting me on this for once."

But none of his behaviour comes to be unexpected. Since after dating him it only really came with the same perk every spring. That at the same week of April—that whenever the hair on his arms stuck up, so did his own cock.

He hated it, of course. Wanted nothing more than to stop just having this little issue of his because of how cocky it made you. You tortured him into patience. Always so easily ignoring his whines like there were nothing more than blowing wind outside.

Because you wanted him to admit it. To say "(name), your right, you are..I need you bad"

So instead he tried to play it cool—especially when it, his rut, first started. Play the 'waiting game' and pretending he didn't crave desperatly to grind his cock into his precious bunny everytime your scent even wafted in his nose.

Because, even in those first few days—he still tried to play the character of someone the ache couldn't help him keep up with. Each day becoming more and more disgustingly territorial of you. Not in an obvious, clingy way either—he's more subtle, possessive with his things. He'll stand too close behind you. Appearing whenever someone else touches you. Even go as far as quietly inserting himself into your personal space like he belongs there.

His behaviour changed, too. He'll start to act less "human" or at least struggle to mimic them enough to blend in during his rut. He get's impatient. Blunt. And very very irritable.

His physical instincts spike hard. He’ll circle around reader a lot, lean down close to smell them, rest his chin on their shoulder unexpectedly, hold onto wrists or waists longer than necessary. Not always aggressive—just instinctively possessive.

His voice would probably change a little too—become rougher, quieter, more growling underneath his words when he’s irritated. Especially if you're near him while he’s already worked up. (Which is always.)

Gets worst with boundaries too. If you tells him “no” or tries to push him away, he’d go eerily still for a second before backing off. Acting as if he'd been caught doing something he himself couldn't believe he was doing.

"Forget it. I don't get what's going on with me"

While the both of you know full while what the issue is. He just refuses to let himself give into it.

If anything, the scariest part honestly was be how self-aware he is of himself. He knows his behavior is abnormal. Knows he’s being obsessive. But just refuses to act on it.

As days passed, though? His rut getttinfg familarly worse. Sleep becomes impossible. Obviously speaking, he finds himself jerking off more and more frequently to ease the pressure. Going as far as starting to pace the hallway till early morning to distract himself

He even starts getting unusually reactive to jealousy. Someone flirting with you? Talking to you? God forbid—touching you in a passing shoulder bump. Suddenly that person has terrible luck. Things go missing. They start feeling watched. Habit never admits anything, obviously.

“You’re mine right now. That’s just how this works.”

Also!! On a sorta side note, his rut would probably make his entity traits stronger. More glitches in cameras around him. More distortions in sound audio, not just to others voices but his as well.

But when he finally gives in?

"Okay- fuck, you win. You're right, is that what me to say?"

"Want me to admit that you're right? God- I hate you"

Yet? Beaides anything he may spit. He's absolutly pathetic the moment he slips it in. He'll make sounds. Not just groaning, he'll whine, and pant like he can't take it anymore.

He cums fast as shit too. Poor thing really. Can't hold up when he feels your body hugged around him in the slightest. But his endurance is fucking crazy good for the first couple rounds until his hips get lazier and sloppier each time his cock grinds into you.

Knots in you.

He left you here little over a month ago.

Simple brought you in, pressed a kiss to your cheek—and like you were nothing more than a passing fling, like everything you’d done together meant nothing at all… he walked away.

Leaving you with nothing but silence.

At first—like the forgiving thing you were, you told yourself it’d only be a day long thing. "He was going to be back soon, right"

But God, what a hopeless thought that turned out to be.

Because when he didn’t come back that night, so you waited for the second… then the third, and by the time it crept towards a week, restlessness set in. You started pounding on the door—windows—on the walls, absolutely anything just to make noise.

Just to be heard.

To be saved.

But even when people passed by—when you could hear voices just outside the front door—no matter how loud you screamed, how hard you tried…

Nothing worked.

It was a nightmare being trapped here. You barely had any food, and just last month, the heat cut off, and now you were freezing.

He really had forgotten about you.

So now, exactly 35 days in, you’ve stopped expecting anything different. You’ve fallen into a routine—if you can even call it that. Days blurred together, filled with nothing but the hum of silence and the occasional use of the camera you found in one of the drawers in the place.

You started recording yourself sometimes. If nothing else, just to capture what you’re sure are the final moments of your miserable life.

Because what were you to do?

You couldn't leave. Couldn't call anyone.. as if the damn apartment had been cut off from the whole world. Atop that, your phone was very..very dead.

So here you were, loving till the end of yet another late afternoon finally deciding to call it a night. Because besides talking to a camera and staring into the mirror in the bathroom, there really was nothjng to do.

So with the same schedule you could die unconscious, you snuggled up into bed again to finally sleep. Having planned to sleep the whole night, but unfortunately, tonight, someone was paying you a visit.

Habit.

You didn’t hear the front door open. Didn’t hear the uneven drag of footsteps across the floor. Didn’t hear the quiet thud of the door closing behind him, or the slow, disoriented wandering through the dark as he tried to remember the layout through the dark apartment.

Drunk enough to dull the edges of everything he’d been avoiding. Drunk enough to come crawling back to something he refused to name—refused to understand.

Because leaving had been easier, hadn’t it?

Easier than admitting he cared. That he needed you in a way that didn’t sit right with him. He told himself that space would fix it. That distance would make it go away. That if he trapped you here, he would have time to get you later when he figured his crap out, but with the smell on his breath—it obviously didn't help.

Not in the slightest.

And now, here he was. Shoes kicked off and abandoned somewhere behind him, steps unsteady as he made his way toward the one place he knew you’d be.

“(name)..” Your name slipped from his mouth in a low murmur as he pushed the bedroom door open, his gaze landing on you like he’d just found something he hadn’t realized he’d lost.

A thin strip of light from the hallway cut across the floor, climbing the edge of the bed, catching the outline of your shoulder where it peeked out from the blanket wete you slept facing away from where he stood in the doorway.

To him, in the mess of his head, you looked almost…ethereal. Like the light he'd been looking for.

And like a man lulled to a call of a siren, he stepped into the room, the panels creaking under his heavy foot steps, loud enough to wake you from you restless sleep. Your eyes fluttering open, to only freeze.

Breathing. Not yours. Heavy. Uneven. Wrong. It wasn't the hum of the fridge. Not the quiet rattle of vents. You knew every sound in this place—every single one.

And this? This wasn’t supposed to be here.

Which only really made your stomach twist.

It can’t be—

But before the thought had even time to settle, irritation burned right through the fear. Hot. Immediate. You sat up, turning to your face towards him. Swaying as he stood stood at the edge of your bed like he’d never left.

“There she is…” he hummed, voice slurred but softer than it had any right to be. “...God. Look at you.”

No bite. No edge. Just something almost… fond. Admiring you in a way he didn't do before. But now? You were too irrtated to focus in it. Jusy sat up quickly, blankets falling to pool around your hips as you glared up at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your voice came out sharp, tight with everything you’d been holding in.

“You leave me here for a month—a month—and the first time you show up, you’re drunk?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just adjusted his stance slightly, leaning a hand into the mattress beside you like he had all the time in the world.

“So much complaining…” he clicked his tongue, tone light—mocking, almost playful. “Not even a ‘missed you.’ I’m hurt, (name).”

“You’re hurt?” You shot back immediately. “That’s—are you serious right now? You don’t get to just walk back in here like—like nothing happened—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp breath, anger tripping over itself. As he began to lean in slightly, just enough to invade your space—not quite touching, but close enough to make it feel intentional. His hand reaching to brace a hand by your hip. His other shifting to hovering near your chin. Not quite touching you yet.

“Still so loud,” he muttered. “Didn’t fix that, huh?”

Your hands shoved against him on instinct, putting space between you. “Don’t—don’t touch me, you psycho.”

But if anything, that only made something in his expression shift—amusement flickering through, faint but there.

“C'mon …” he murmured, the alcohol on his breath impossible to miss this close. “didn't you miss me.”

"Miss you? Fuck n-"

But like he was already tired of you fighting him, he closed the distance again, working quickly, heavier. Reaching out to grab your throat to hold you still—squeezing slightly to keep the threat there. The hold making you gasp and squirm. But that didn't change anything, no. He simply leaned in kissing you. Using the pathetic gasp you made as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth.

It was messy. It was everything you hated. Your arms still pressing insistently at his shoulders, digging into his borrowed skin.

But he didn't stop.

No—he pressed forward leaning into you more, as he used his hold on your throat to lay you back flat across the mattress, crawling atop you to press himself between the junction of your thighs in a way that he seemed to play a role in belonging there.

"God, I missed you. You're still such a pretty thing sleeping so closeby.." he slurred in a lazy hum, parting from your lips only to kiss the corners of your mouth, the side of your jaw..then down your throat, tasting the pulse beat under his lips.

Again, your breath caught as you struggled, through it belittled what fight you had before.

"That's it.." he smiled, though he didn't take the little fighting words as the complete "giving in" act. No. He could see it in how tense you were, the pinching of your nails in his shoulders that you were fighting..just in a more silent way.

He just had to push you a little farther, help you remember fully who you belonged to..who's pet you were.

"Can't you forgive me (name)?" The tone of his voice foreign on his tongue. Usually, that would've sounded sarcastic, or well, passive-aggressive as shit. But no. It was almost genuine. "I love you. I missed you so bad.."

"You're full of it.."

"But I'm not baby, I mean every fucking word.."

His hand slowly lifting from your throat just to press down by your head. His lips hovering comfortably above your lips. The smell of whiskey was strong but only shook your head, refusing the little show he was putting on.

“C'mon..don't be like that," he watched your reaction, the pout, the way your eyes refused to meet him.

Of course, he was going to change that. It was just going to be a little different that you'd gotten used to receiving from him before his little stunt.

But with a slow drag of his hands, they followed downwards at the same even level of his lips. Grabbing your shoulders when he littered you in silent kisses there. Before grabbing down at your waist when he kissed and nipped at the swells of your chest.

All just to watch you squirm.

But he wasn't done. Just kept going, lowering his head farther down, your legs already pressing and kicking him as your breathing started to waver.

God, were you sucker for this. His hands cupping your hips, slipping the pads of his thumbs to nudge the hem of your shirt up enough to take the bunched fabric in his teeth to tug the thin fabric enough to expose your navel, pressing kisses there too.

The feeling, as new as it was, had you squirming and shoving your hands into the top of his head now, grabbing into his hair to try and get him off.

"So pretty.."

He muttered, lost in his drunk daze before he slipped his farther, peeling the blanket covering you half hazardly away to see the you only wearing panties. Absolutely wasting no time at all to start kissing the front of your panties.

Tasting the unwanted heat that seemed to pool just under his lips. Just as he expected it would.

"Say..it..say it. Say you forgive me.."

"N-no. You can't just come back now expecting me to give you.."

You glared, but it held no fight, no control. Especially when you felt the pulse of his tongue abruptly drag flat across the thin fabric covering your cunt.

"Please.."

He mumbled into the fabric of your panties, slowly beginning to lap at the fabric of your panties, with enough pressure that your clit pulsed in rhythm with each pass.

"-..Please (name),"

He continued, pressing his face into your cunt, breathing in the scent of you. The scent of your arousal already dripping more than you were willing to admit. And he knew that—knew you wouldn't admit, but your body would. He felt the way your legs trembled around his head, the way your breaths gasped, even how your fingers dug into his hair to pry him away.

He was utterly unbothered..but in a much calmer way then when he was sober.

Habit never begged or pleaded. You hadn't even been aware he knew the word, 'please' until.. just now. But now you couldn't help but hope he drinks more often to get this again..

He was so well-behaved..like a dog. He didn't need orders to know how to get what he wanted. Nudging the snout of his nose needly into your cunt. Until you were begging for it without saying a thing.

And the moment, his tongue began to lap faster into the front, tasting the forming arousal condensating on the front of your panties. That's when he knew you were giving up..one way or another.

Your body now only squirming from sensation and not because it was him.

Drinking up every drop of you like it was the finest nectar. Practically content to lap through the barrier of your panties until you came.

But as heady seconds ticked by, one of your hands gave in. Wanting more. Craving more. Finally reaching down to pull the sopping fabric to the side, to give him what he was wanting. If anything? To him, it was the equivalent of being given a meal he thought he would only be able to view through glass. So without hesitation, he dug in.

Lapping his tongue flatly across your cunt, tasting your nectar right from the source. His nose pressing into your clit in a repeating rhythm that had your whole body shaking, panting. Hands pawing into his hair.

He didn't speak—couldn't really. Letting out nothing besides groans and vibrating hums against your sensitive flesh that had you seeing stars.

"H-hab..Habit- wait, I'm gonna-"

You gasped, finally, but no matter how badly you squirmed as the feeling intensified, crushed him between your thighs, barely stopping for for air,. He stayed down. Down until you came all over his face. Until, you gripped his hair and rode his face, his tongue, the sensation of your orgasm.

Tears trailing lines down your cheeks, as your body twitched in tiny jerks, gasping for air, as he only leaned back, pressing kisses to the peakness of your clit.

Which only had you pressing into his head to push him away.

"No- bad..do-don't.." you panted, shaking your head, talking to him like he was a dog. And if anything, he was. But holding your fingers tight in his hair, tilting his head up from between your legs you saw it.

Finally, you saw him.

His eyes were lidded, dilated into drunk saucers, his hair was a mess, all mushed and going every which way, and his face? Despite the only light coming from behind him, you saw the shine. The glaze of your arousal coating his face. The panting. The rise and fall of his body each breath he sucked in.

"Wow.." You muttered almost to yourself, flicking your eyes away from him, for only a moment. Before with a drunken strength and a one track focus. He pressed himself back down. Abruptly kissing your clit in slow presses.

Which made you tense immediately. Your body squirming, as sounds parted your lips without trying.

"O-okay! O-okay..i forgive you!-i..i accept..-" You managed to gasp. Pausing as your struggled under the grntle movement of his lips. Legs tightening around your head. Your fingers tight in his hair, but his hands only moved to grab your thighs, keeping you open to properly enjoy you. "-y-..your apology!"

"N-no no..more.."

But of course, he didn't stop—he was drunk off more than the whiskey coursing through his very bones. He didn't even acknowledge his own self like he would've done by now. Just leaving his cock to press and throb in the tent of his jeans, staining a wet patch that anyone even from far away could see.

The overstimulation of him was enough to make you dizzy. For your senses to short circuit into the last thing you wanted it to do.

"H-hab..habit please, please," You started to plead with him, struggling to pull away from him, but siddenly, short sprays of squirt twitched from your cunt, blessing his face with the holy water he craved. His tongue savouring each pulse of juice you granted him.

He wasn't just drunk anymore. He was drunk on you.

"P-..please..no more.." you tried once again, but besides before, he eventually leaned away, blowing air on your over stimulated clit, before pressing kisses onto your lower abdomen..

"Do you forgive me?"

"Y-ye..yeah, I do.."

"Good..good," he panted into your skin, his hands previously parting your thighs drifting upwards to hold your hips once again, holding your squirmy self still as he began nipping and biting at the flesh until it was tender and hot.

"Because I'm not planning on leaving..anytime soon.."

"I need to catch up..on lost time,"

✦ ~-─ {.⊹ ✦ ⊹.} ─-~ ✦

To everyone unfortunate enough to know him—including you—Habit was anything but charitable.

Sure, sometimes he was nice enough to "give" things—his Reese's, a blade that ‘reminded him of you’ or even a kiss that didn't feel like it was a threat to ‘choose wisely.’

But in reality? All of it was done to cover up what he was doing behind your back. What the news would eventually show you one Tuesday afternoon. That another one of your missing friends now found floating dead down a river.

Which really only made all that he'd done the past couple of days feel like anything but forgiveness and more like his way of savoring you for himself—comforting you with the biggest smirk on his face.

Because that's just what all of this was.

Jealousy.

You’ve already lost three friends to this rampaging jealousy in the past couple years and still he refused to admit that it was anything done out of such a "pathetically mortal emotion".

But you could see it—the way his hand grabbed you when people came too close, seen him glare at anyone who stared too long, noticed how you being his always became a part of conversations, even felt the way he'd kiss you in front of them. Harder. Rougher. Purposely leaving hickey's to bruise openly on your neck so your friends—everyone, could see who you belonged to.

Like he was proving a point.

As such? To keep him behaving since Habit met your new group of friends, especially your new guy friend, you'd sucked his dick enough times that you should've charged him an hourly rate to keep him from killing him.

All because each time they hung together it felt more like trying to combine water and oil. Impossible.

Despite the facade they put on to keep the group together—to keep everyone happy. They both hated each other and Habit refused to ever let you be alone with him. Always insisting on tagging along to “keep an eye on things,”

Always saying something along the line of, “Hey, yeah, I’m just here to supervise.” He'd mutter, “pretend I’m not even here.”

As if that were possible.

Because everytime you stepped away to go to the washroom, or to grab something for just a moment.

That's when the mask slipped.

That was when he showed it.

“Yeah, she’s pretty. I’ve seen a lot more than you'll ever, though.”

“No, trust me—you’re not her type. You look nothing like me.”

“Oh, sorry, what was that? My back’s killing me. She kept me up all night.”

And by the time you'd come back, he was all sweet again. His hand already locking back on your waist like he hadn’t spent the last five minutes dismantling someone’s self-esteem for sport.

Did it work?

Yeah.

Your friends would back off how he liked. They'd leave you all for him again. But like the three previous friends, not everyone took the hint and as expected, It happened again. Like clockwork, he was upset with the same guy—the same one that's been on his last nerves for the last couple of months.

Which, of course, you always missed. Missed the way he watched the sway of your hips when you walked in front of him, even heard the jokes he made about you when you weren't listening. But today? He had to listen to your little friend of yours try and offer to take ‘his spot’ while you were away, like it was a joke.

Unfortunately, it wasn't very funny.

So, tonight, after meeting up with your usual group of friends—he was already irritated.

“How do you always miss it.” He continued, already on his all too familiar tangent that had started since the moment you both got in the car to head home. But you only sighed, setting your keys down.

“What are you even talking about?”

“The way he was looking at you.” He shortly explained like it was obvious, like you should've already gotten rid of him since day one. Silently listening to the tightness in his jaw, as he paced that damn line in front of the couch. “I was two seconds away from ripping his damn eyes out if you stayed near him any longer.”

“Easy, Habit. It really wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, no,” he snapped, turning his focus to look at you, down your figure, his chest heavy as was his breathing. “Not the way he was looking at you.”

"You're really overthinking this," You sighed, the words familiar on your tongue because you've said it nearly hundred times before you turned to walk past him into the kitchen, “Baby, this isn't anything to be jealous over,”

Of course you'd say that again.

Like you hadn't learned that he hated the word more than anything because to him, this wasn't just jealousy. You were his territory, and another man was trying to piss all over it.

So in the silence of the walk into the kitchen..the odd silence that he'd usually have filled with his voice by now you turned to look behind you.

"Habit?-"

But instantly, he stopped you. His arms grabbed you, pulling you back against him, flush to feel every hard line of him. His voice was now closer..lower. “Jealous,” he repeated, like the word offended him. “I’m not jealous.”

His grip tightened. Shifting only to grope the fat of your chest. “I just know exactly what I saw.” He hashly muttered, tilting his head to nip at your earlobe. "I know what I fucking saw (name). And I saw him looking at you like he forgot I was standing right there." He finally growled low, and threatening, his fingers plucking at your nipples through your clothes being sure to pry every deserving whine and shaky gasp from your lips.

"I was being so patient with him. With you (name).."

He muttered into your ear, almost sounding empathetic, but yet you felt it. Felt the threat hit all the same. In that same instant, his hold dragged down from your tits to grab your hips in a bruising grip, forcing you to step forward and flush into the kitchen counter. The front of him flush against your back, Your ass.

"O-okay, okay- you aren't being jealous," you gasped in response, breath catching in your throat in shaky breaths as your hands pressed into the cold countertop. "I'm sorry-"

But that didn't stop him. It'd take a lot more than this to distract him enough to get him to ease off. Especially when it came to something stupid like him being called out by you.

"Beg." He ordered onto your ear, making sure you heard him clearly, "beg me to let him live."

"What..?"

"Beg me to not find that fucker and kill him."

"Ha-habit wait hold on-"

“Beg for me,” but he only talked over you, repeating himself but quieter this time, which somehow made it more threatening, “to let him keep breathing.”

You stared at him and, because you knew what he was, knew exactly what he was capable of, “please,” you swallowed hard, your words shaky as was your heart. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

"Bullshit." He quickly spit, his hand raising from your hip to grab your chin to turn your focus on him. Because he closed the short distance to kiss you roughly. Parting only when you were struggling for breath and panting into his lips.

The tent of jeans growing and pressing familiarly against your covered ass.

God, you always become a mess so quickly.

"If you care for him so much. Put in the effort to say that bullshit while im fucking balls deep in your cunt."

In an instant, he moved again.

Pressing you down by the large splay of his fingers on your back to force you face first and flat into the counter. Holding you still, mostly, as his other hand dragged the fabric of your pants down to puddle at your ankles, exposing the soft expense of your ass covered by your pretty lacy panties he loved so much.

"Fuck.." He groaned, smirking at the sight of your still bruised skin as he focused on himself, flicking his belt off and the button of his jeans before he reached into the scorching heat of his boxers to pull out his angry cock, nudging the hardness of his cock to adjust your panties out of the way.

"The shit you put me through (name)." He muttered to himself in a heavy sigh, clicking his tongue. "You do it on purpose, don't you?" His voice rambled while his hand slipped down your back to hold your still squirming hips.

His mind focused strictly on slowly dragging his cock. Savouring every whine and tilt of your head as the head of his cock coated himself in the wetness of you.

"N-no..I don't-" You managed to gasp.

"Yeah, keep saying that, sweetheart. It won't last long.." he smirked, before abruptly shoving his cock balls deep into you. Giving you only a couple moments to adjust around him until he started to fuck you into the counter.

Your voice quickly breaking into unsteady mewls and whimpers. As his hands on your hips, pulled you back into each movement of his hips, not allowing any distance between the lewd slapping. Your hands pawing, looking for anything to hold. As your legs began to tremble.

"Say it." He growled over the lewd sounds of skin slapping. Your breath heavy. Obviously, and very quickly, becoming a mess from how well he knew to use you. "Say you don't want me to fucking kill him."

"H-ha..habit- oh god.." You started to speak as he fucked you in a rough rhythm, that onky proved he was only looking for one answer. “Please..Habit. He means nothing to me. H-..He’s just a friend.”

But in the same instant you spoke, his hand reached to tangle in your hair, arching you off the cold counter. His cock still contuing his driving mission to prove a point.

"Try again."

"Pl-please Habit, he didn’t mean anything by it," you mewled, tears blurring your vision as his pace drew faster into you. the sounds of skin lewdly slapping blurring in your head so fast it made your head spin.

"You don't learn very fast, do you?"

And like he'd done before, it got worse, not with pace, or grip, no, this came with reaching his other hand in front of you to grind the rough pads of fingers into your clit. Circling the swollen nub like it owed him money. "Last chance..sweetheart."

"-ok..okay! Fu- uck..habit..." you panted finally, tears blurring your vision as pain confused with the pleasure soaking between your legs. "I- I won't see him again, I'm yours..please.."

But his rhythm didn't subside once. No, the feeling of him pounding against your cervix continued, the pulling on your hair felt sharper. All of it enough to make your legs nearly give out below you to make you depend more and more on the counter where your hands pressed.

"Atta girl.." He smirked, cocky as ever as he simply lowered his head to speak roughly into your ear. “Now keep making those pretty sounds for me. I want everyone to know you're mine.”

His touch lingered like a claim, every movement deliberate, every word a reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

So at least no one was dying tonight.

Also!! Here's the original drawing this is based off!! Plus, the inspiration for it!!

Even if you both have been together a while, he never bothers to memorize when your periods coming. Not because he’s observant in a sweet boyfriend way (definaly not lol), but because he clocks the mood shift immediately—shorter patience, discomfort, that look on your face you make when your in pain.

Absolutely teases you about it first, comforts you second. He can not help himself. If you snap at him, he’d smirk and say something like,

“Careful, sweetheart, you're gonna pop a vessle with all the glaring" But if you’re genuinely hurting, the teasing drops way faster than he’d admit.

He’s surprisingly possessive about your comfort. If cramps are bad and you’re curled up somewhere, he’s not letting people bother you. Doesn’t matter who it is. He’ll hover nearby like some feral guard dog and make it everyone else’s problem.

Will steal heating pads, chocolate, and blankets from the victims' homes he killed. Before “graciously” giving them to you like he’s doing you a favor.

If you’re the clingy type on your period, he'll "complain" but he loves it. But of course since he "hates it" you'll hear never ending groans of,

“You’re attached to me like a parasite”

"You better not be sleeping."

"Your so fucking annoying..I swear.."

All while he doesn't so much as budge to get you off. Just laying wherever you collapsed on him for hours. Quietly listening to your breathing, and your scent that he loves far to much.

Now, If you’re the “don’t touch me or I’ll rip your head off” type, he pushes it. Just to annoy you, but he does learn your limits (eventually). He loves when you yell at him, hit him, or shove him to the ground. He finds it hot

(Yes─obviously speaking, he'll stand by the notion he'll always be topping you─controlling you, but seeing you lose you patience on him? Fuck it makes him hard.)

Also, since he lowkey likes it when you're meaner. Finding it funny when you’re grumpy and sharp-tongued instead of being overly polite. But when you get too annoying? He just has an excuse to kiss you silent.

And more than anything, watching you slowly give up and lose focus on only him tastes so much better then anything else.

He remembers what snacks you crave. But everytime he’ll act like it was accidental. Shows up with your favorite chocolate or drink and says,

“I was getting this anyway. Don’t make it sentimental.”

Or!! If you're lucky enough, he'll maybe spare a couple of Reeses from his stash. But you have to react beg for them, give him something in return to make up for his kindness.

"Are you kidding me? No. I'm not sharing. There mine. You can have anything else."

"I'll suck your dick."

"Well, if your going to offer.."

He'll smirk, shrugging before disappearing off into a room and coming out with a handful of his stash. Setting them on the table behind him.

"A deals, a deal, sweetheart,"

Though, on a side note, the very moment you find where he hides his stash, your taking them all. Will he be pissed? Maybe. (he will.)

Mood swings don’t scare him at all. Yelling. Crying over something tiny? He's not someone who understands how to help, besides just being there. He'll just grab you and hold you, his hands rubbing your back. Because that usually works.

If someone else makes gross comments about periods, teases you, or anything. He gets mean fast. He's the only one who can make jokes like that—other people? Absolutely not. Their dying one way or another honestly.

If your cramps get really bad and your bleeding atop that? He'll resort to the last of his plans, not because he doesn't prefer it (trust me, he would've started with it first). But because your smell has been eating away at his patience since it started.

“Move over. let me help".

"I don't wanna..everything hurts. It hurts..

But even as your speaking, he's already forcing you on your back.

"Even better. Spread your legs.."

And whether on the couch in a ball, or curled in blankets in bed, he's having you. Because after being an asshole to you all day, he has to make up with it..in his own way.

First he'll start with kisses, littering your face, your neck, your navel till your clothes have long been tugged off and he's absolutely savouring your cunt on his tongue. Blood coating his lips, his cheeks and nose. Obviously

Habit dedicates his very being to making you cum. And if you've been in a relationship before him (how dare you btw) where you hadn't been able to orgasm, well, he'll definitely prove to you how possible and easy it really is with just his fingers.

He's been alive forever. He knows how to get anyone to orgasm. That's just a basic fact.

He's 9/10 always clothed while you're naked. Because he's gets so focused on making sure you are feeling good that he doesn't care to bother with himself. No matter how badly he's already soaked through the front of his pants he's busy with you.

And you are far too ravishing for him to stop and pull his mouth from your clit just yet.

He’s obsessed with reactions. He lives off seeing how flustered/desperate he can make you during the whole thing. He'll study every sound, twitch, expression, you make to know what makes you tick.

And when you let go? He's obviously acknowledging it:

“C’mon, use your words.”

“What? Too much for you already?”

“You’re adorable when you’re desperate.”

“There you go, that’s what I wanted.”

“Don’t act shy now—you were doing so well.”

Will eat you out. I've mentioned this before, but I stand by it!! Absolutely loves too when you cum all over his face. Legit will lay between your legs, and stay there for hours.

He's probably the most 'into everything' kinda guy ever. Toys? Yes. And he doesn't get insecure about it either. Kinks? Yeah. He'll do anything that man has no idea what shame is.

He loves tying vibrators to you so you cant escape, or using the remote to a vibrator when you both are public. But in all honesty he's done all sorts of nasty shit to you all because you asked for it.

After you cum, and the aftershocks of your orgasm is still tingling under you skin, he's not finished with you yet. He'll contuine. Just to watch your cry and squirm as he contuines to grind his cock into you, or rub his thumb over your clit. He's gets cocky as hell about it.

Also, he won't hesitate in making a show of licking his fingers clean or even leaving his face shiny from where you came all over his face

He'd absolutely act like he knows he’s good at what he’s doing (he is.) and would make smug comments the whole time.

“Look at you.”

“Already falling apart?”

“You’re easier to read than you think.”

Teasing denial type guy. He'd drag things out on purpose just because he enjoys being a menace and watching you squirm/beg/get frustrated.

On the other side of things..to well return the favour, you wouldn't have to do much, besides

Letting him be in control—not necessarily in a cruel way unless that’s your interpretation, but definitely someone who wants to dictate the pace and make you follow his lead.