Welcome to the Circus

Hunched below the large oak tree in your garden, you were suckling on prey out of view. Gulping down fluid, you shot up the second he grunted. “What the fuck.” A stalemate settled over you two, and you wet your lips, collecting the residue. “I thought you were busy today.” Even at this distance, he could see the glint of your pointed fangs.

Still dressed in a bloodied hoodie, he gaped at you while you wiped your mouth clumsily, absolutely aghast. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You huffed, squinting at him like he was the odd one for asking. “What? No. Why would I be a vampire?” He threw up his arms. “Because you’re literally eating some organ bullshit in front of me?” The accusation made you deadpan, and you turned to face him fully, said prey in hand.

An apple.

A drained, deflated, slightly browned apple. He faltered, palms still hovering in the air. “The hell is that?” You sank your canines into the fruit's flesh, and his confusion grew when it shrivelled further. The insides had been turned to a grainy pulp- then you cast it aside. “I wanted a snack.” Crickets were loud in the background as he narrowed his eyes; your porch light was the only source of illumination.

“Okay?”

“Jeff, just say what you want-”

“If you’re not a vampire, then why the fuck do you have fangs?”

“I’m a fruit bat.”

You glanced away from him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Kinda’.” You mumbled, and his arms dropped, eyebrow raised. “A fruit bat.” His bewildered tone hung between you for a moment before you shrugged, meeting his gaze. “Yeah.” He pursed his lips, opening and closing his mouth multiple times, blinking at you.

Okay. That was definitely fucking new. Like, a fruit bat? A fruit bat. In what world was that an acceptable answer? He knew human-eating monsters existed, but really? The worst part was that he could tell you weren’t messing with him. He could read you like a book, and currently, his lover was being utterly, unrefutably truthful. He pinched his nose bridge, gesturing at you dramatically after.

“So you just- what? Pounce on pineapples and attack grapes?” You rolled your eyes, beginning to walk towards the back door with him in tow. “I eat like a normal person, stupid. I just like to drink the juice.” You were referring to your ability to consume nectar. You could retain the nutrients by simply draining the fruits- it was more fun that way.

He shucked off his boots on the mat, padding into the kitchen behind you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeff said, exasperated. “I don’t know- I just- like. It’s not something you just bring up.” You countered, and he puffed in response. “I literally stab people daily, and my boss doesn’t have a fuckin’ face.” Crossing your arms, you reclined against the sink.

“Okay, I should’ve told you, but I didn’t know when to talk about it-”

“You’re a bat. I don’t think timing really matters.”

“A fruit bat!”

“Same shit.”

A pause, then he gave you a once-over, sticking his tongue into his inner cheek. “… Were you born like that?” You sighed. “Yes.” If you thought the concept of your existence had finally settled in his mind, you were wrong- because he stared at you as if you’d told him the moon was made of cardboard.  

“How the fuck did that happen?” You hopped up onto the surface, perched on the kitchen sink ledge. “My mom was a fruit bat. It’s genetic.” He lifted his arm, drawing circles in the air in your direction when he spoke. “You- okay. Mm.” He clasped his hands together and pressed them to his mouth. “Be honest. Have you ever considered biting me?” The question had you sputtering. “No! Never. I wouldn’t hurt you- we don’t feed on blood.”

Much to your dismay, that’s not what he meant.

Your concern swiftly faded into irritation as the light in his pupils brightened. “I swear to god.” He, naturally, proceeded anyway. “Do you think you could, though? ‘Cause I can work with the fang shit-” The second the words left his lips, you exhaled loudly, throwing your head back in annoyance. “I’m not biting you because you wanna’ be a pervert!”

“Why not?” He argued, pleading. “You cannot be serious.” You gawked at him, and he groaned, crowding your space, his hands on either side of you. He pitched closer. “It’ll be hot. I can handle pain, babe.” Jeff’s masochism streak truly had no bounds.

Excitement was plastered across his face, and you grabbed his cheeks, irked. “Why are you like this?” He snickered, leaning into your touch. “You can mark me up- promise I’ll be a good for ya’.” He raised his brows suggestively, a snort forcing its way out of you despite your stance. “C’mon- c’mon, c’mon. You know you wannaaa’.” He dragged the vowels, persuading you the way he knew best- by making you laugh.

His antics, unfortunately, worked every time, and you giggled. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you finally dropped your guard.

“Fine.”

“You could hold my knife and everything. Make me really fucking feel it—”

“Jeffery.”

➽──────────────❥

Pickle Problems ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Toby never thought he’d be the one clutching his shirt while being defended, yet here he was.

You had gone out on a late-night snack run, stopping at a twenty-four-hour eatery. It was still a gas station, but it had a full, hot-to-go section where you could order from. He saw it while walking with you and decided it’d be nice to switch it up since you usually just went to the local corner store.

“We feeling spicy chips or normal tonight, Tobes?” You grinned, holding up two bags. The sodium lights hummed faintly overhead, and he bit his lip, debating. “Mm… spicy. I’m gonna’ be brave.” You nodded, the snack swinging at your hip while you walked to the register. The menu glowed from behind the counter, hung up near the ceiling. You called over your shoulder to him.

“Can you pick out a drink for me? I’ll order for both of us.” Your request was acknowledged by a short “’Kay!” And he stepped down the aisle, circling to the open fridge section at the back wall. He scanned the selection, wiggling his fingers over the miscellaneous bottles before grabbing a couple. He heard you talking with the cashier as he slipped the drinks into his comically large pockets. Men and their jeans, you’d said to him once. He thought about it every time he swiped something.

Shuffling to catch up with you when you finished paying for the items, the two of you made your way outside. You settled on a scuffed bench to the side of the shop, and he snagged a container from the plastic bag, opening the box. “I got you a burger- no pickles or tomatoes.” You said, eyes warm. “Oh my god, y-you know me.” He gasped teasingly, bringing the sandwich up to take a bite- when a single slice of pickle fell out.

It landed with a sad splat, and you both stared at it for a solid ten seconds. Smacking his lips together, he went to laugh, only to be interrupted. “No fucking way.” You clicked your tongue. “I literally told him not to put pickles on your shit.” Heavy irritation was written on your features. He blinked at you, chuckling. “It’s fine, I can just pick t-them off-”

You rose to your feet, bag in hand. “It’s not fine. We’re going back inside.” With that, he scrambled to match your pace, hovering his hand out, unsure. The automatic doors slid open, and you marched up to the counter, an overly polite smile gracing your lips.

“Hi, we just ordered- I asked for no pickles on my man’s burger, but we found some. Could we get it remade, please?” Sugar coated your tone, but Toby knew better. That was your “Do not piss me off” voice. A cadence he had been the victim of many times.

The cashier barely glanced up, with far too much attitude in his mannerisms. His name tag read ‘Jace.’ “I made what you asked for. We don’t do refunds.” Your eye twitched, and your boyfriend swallowed. Your anger may not be targeted at him, yet his heartbeat quickened all the same.

“I’m not asking for a refund, sir. I’m asking if we could get it remade- and I’m very sure, I requested no pickles.”

“I did my job. What else do you want?”

“I want my order remade because it’s not what I paid for.”

“Listen. I don’t know what your problem is. I made your fu-”

However, upon finally meeting your gaze, the man froze. While Toby was nonthreatening to you, you often forgot how he was perceived by most people.

His eyes were sunken in, bruises littering almost every inch of his skin, with scars peeking out from old bandages. There was a certain malice that lingered in his movements, this abnormal sharpness that followed every twitch.

Muted, but just noticeable enough- his shoulders would jerk, his teeth grinding every few seconds. Like he was only a fraction away from splintering. The boy’s eyes burned into his own.

The hairs on his neck stood on end, and Toby murmured, focusing back on you. “Can you ask for extra ketchup?” His words were eerily monotone, his fingers clinging to your sleeve when you nodded at Jace. “No pickles, extra ketchup, if you would be so kind.” You smiled, coy and expectant. As if you could see it in the way he breathed out.

There was something deeply wrong with this couple.

His view flicked down- less than a second, but he saw it. The distinct specks of red that dotted the cuffs of your lover's sleeve. If you were this comfortable with the guy, you had to be just like him. If not worse.

Jace was stupid, but not that stupid.

He straightened up instantly, simpering with a weak grin. “R-right. Yeah, sure.” He spun on his heel, darting to the back swiftly, leaving you and Toby alone. He turned to you, pouting. “I hope he adds a lot, I wanna’ s-suh- smush all the sauce together.” You hummed, then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “That’s ‘cause you’re weird and like your burgers soggy, Tobes.” He stuck out his tongue at you. “Yeah, and y-you kiss me after, s-so.”

Smacking his shoulder as the cashier returned with your food, you giggled. “Stop.” The worker stayed quietly across from you until you noticed his presence, and the order was handed over without fuss.

The night air was cool, the breeze caressing your cheeks while you enjoyed your takeout. Toby sniggered from your right, chewing. “I think we scared the cashier.” You shrugged before wiping the crumbs from the corner of your mouth. “Well, he should’ve been nicer if he didn’t want problems.” Your logic made him snort. “You’re s-so evil, muffin.”

“And you’re my accomplice. What does that say about you, Mr?”

“I never said it was a bad thing! I think you’re p-pretty when you’re mad.”

“You have a thing.”

You were right, he did have a thing. Perhaps it was toxic, but observing you get in someone's face- cocky with him standing behind you, had Toby more hot under the collar than he was willing to admit.

You didn’t need to know that, though.

➽──────────────❥

Too Chewable ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Happy as Jack may be, there were times when he couldn’t understand you if he tried.

He’d come over after being away for more than two weeks, a mission up north. They needed his strength, his prowess and grit to turn the tide in their battle. He had torn through the defences easily and ripped into their bodies without mercy. A ruthless soldier.

When Jack fought, his blood trail heeded a warning, telling anyone unlucky enough to witness his carnage to move with caution. Feared even amongst the proxies.

Razor-sharp claws that could slice into almost everything, with a maw strong enough to pierce bone. He was terrifying, a monster by right— unless he was here, of course.

“Let’s wrestle.”

The question froze him mid-act, making him turn to you with a confused expression. He’d just stepped out of the shower, still towelling his hair, when you spoke. Propping yourself on your elbows, you were sprawled on your stomach. “It’ll be fun!” The sheets hadn’t even been untucked yet, and your foot thumped against the pillows, body angled towards the edge of the bed.

He arched a brow. “You want to… spar?” Tossing the towel onto a chair, he padded to you while you sat up. “Yeah, and you can teach me how to suplex people with the strength of a thousand men.” Flexing your arm, you nodded at your lover eagerly. Then you rose, standing in front of him. He cocked his head, peering down, unsure. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, my dove.”

Your difference in stature was undeniable, and he couldn’t fathom ever being rough with you. Seasoned killers could barely hold their own against him on a good day, so staring at you now had him hesitant to say the least.

Dressed in your pyjamas, you looked so comfortable, warm with your gentle eyes. The idea of throwing you around for the sake of violence made him frown.

Alas, you were determined, taking his large hand in yours and pressing it to your chest, fingers intwined. “We can do it on the bed, it’s not like we’re actually fighting-” You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I trust you.” The excitement in your gaze was weakening his will by the second, his lips twitching up before he could stop himself. Damn his inability to deny you.

“… Alright.”

With that, the two of you climbed atop the covers, his frame settling over you. This was supposed to be effortless, but Jack wasn’t exactly versed in domestic warfare. He didn’t know where to start or how to handle the wrestling without harming you. Simply hovering above you, stiff as you muffled a laugh. “Tell me if I’m holding you too hard.” He murmured, and you grinned. “Jack, you’re literally not moving.”

“Love.”

“Yes. I promise I will tell you if you get too rowdy- but you won’t, ‘cause you’re way too careful for that.”

Sighing, he shook his head at your teasing. Leaving light pecks on your cheek, then pulling back. “Mm, try getting out from under me.” You glanced down, noting the gap between your bodies. He was lying in the middle of your thighs; all you had to do was flip him over. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

Hooking a leg onto his hip, you used the momentum of turning to knock him down- only for your lover to stay stone still. Attempting again, you latched onto him fully, putting all your weight into the rotation.

Jack hadn’t budged an inch.

You huffed. “Why are you so heavy?” Rocking back and forth (or aiming to) as he chuckled quietly. “Attacking me, then insulting my weight, how rude of you.” You gave it one last push, his spine finally meeting the linen with a soft thump. He was splayed on his back, his arms limp at his sides, when you pouted.

His hair was still damp from the bath, chest bare with sweats hanging low on his hips- allowing Jack’s thick happy-trail to peek over the band. The picture-perfect example of a boyfriend. But you couldn’t afford any distractions.

Your gaze darted to his stupidly smug face, unbothered and aggravatingly relaxed. “You’re not even trying.” He ran his tongue against his teeth lazily, canines reflective in the low light. “I did try. You won.” ‘Intimidating’ your ass- he was more like an overgrown house cat than anything else. Your torso was pressed flush to his, and you rested your chin on your palm, poking him in the cheek with your free hand. “Put. In. Effort.” Every word emphasized by a jab.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine.” The reply was short, and you snorted at his blunt tone. However, before you could prod him further, your shoulders were snug to the mattress.

He’d swapped your positions so fast that you didn’t register it had happened until you were beneath him once more.

Grip firm on your wrists, they were pinned by your head while he caged you. His jaw unlatched wide, revealing jagged incisors. It gave you the exact view his victims had. A beast holding them down, their strength pitiful in comparison, no matter how much they struggled. His head descended, and his nose brushed the sensitive skin of your throat, a basey clicking noise reverberating from his ribs—

Then he left a feather-light kiss against your neck, drawing back with a slight smile.

“There. We’ve fought. Are you satisfied now?” You lunged up in a flash, sinking a bite into his shoulder. You wiggled your feet, chewing on him softly as he was rendered speechless. He could feel your dull teeth compressing his flesh, and he blinked, both amused and stupefied.

The moment he released his hold on you, your arms looped around his neck, continuing to gnaw on him. He faltered.

“My dove?”

“Mhm?”

His palm supported your head when you detached, easing you onto the pillows. “What are you doing-” Yet he was cut off, your mouth securing to his bicep. You took advantage of his confusion and flipped him over. Your barrage was relentless, covering his upper half in marks- your lover simply taking it, boneless.

Your legs were swinging, little hums filling the room while he observed you. You would nip his throat, then bite near his collar. Groping his chest with one hand and feeling up his arm with the other. It wasn’t even sexual; you seemed content just using him as a chew toy. He sometimes wonders how he got here.

Ten minutes passed, and you reclined, satiated. “If I was you, I’d be way worse. Like-” Your fingers squished the fat of his pec, mindlessly squeezing. “You have so much relastate, Jack.” Your amazed expression forced a breathy laugh out of him.

“Thank you, little lamb.”

“You're welcome. Also, if I was a giant cannibal, I’d never eat you. Maybe, I’d like- nibble, but not fully, you know?—”

Jack thinks he’s going to spend the rest of eternity loving you.

➽──────────────❥

XOXO - Gossip Girl ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Most people would say that Brian was a killjoy.

You were not most people.

Flipping to the next page, you scanned the words. Immersed in your book when he bursts through the bedroom door.

His chest was heaving, coat swiftly thrown to the side, before he faced you with wild eyes. “Dolly, you will never fuckin’ believe what happened today.” He said, slumping down onto the floor, leaning against the mattress.

You scooted to the ledge and crossed your arms in front of you, lying on your stomach. If Brian was shaken up, you knew you were in for the ride of your life. “I thought you were just doing recon?” His head lolled back, glancing at you. “We did, but then we came back and guess who the hell was waitin’ for us?” You squinted at him, quizzical.

“Who?”

“You remember that motel girl I told you Tim was seeing?”

“You’re fucking lying.”

His words had your jaw hanging open, and you rose onto your elbows, now alert. “She tracked ‘im down- was sitting in her car when we pulled in.” You gawked. “How’d she even find you guys? Isn’t the house super far out?” Combing a hand through his hair, he shrugged, aghast. “Lord knows. Shit, if she wasn’t pissed, though.” You nudged closer. “What’d Tim say?”

Tim, from what you’d heard, had a long history of scandalous romantic affairs. He never stayed with one person for long, and if he did, it didn’t end well. Him and your lover were brothers in arms, with Brian carrying the more domestic passions, it seemed.

He’d had his fair share of lacklustre relations, but they were all one-night stands, clean cut. Not to mention the fact that he was with you now, blissfully claiming the title of your boyfriend.

He sighed, sticking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “What didn’t he say. They were yellin’ at each other for over thirty minutes-” He tossed an arm onto the bed, body turning towards you. “Apparently, she thought they were exclusive. Saw him out with another missus, and lost her mind.” You gaped as he shot you a look.

“She said he told her he’d call her the night she saw ‘em together, too. Was screaming her damn head off on the porch- they got so loud, Rogers woke up and came outside.” You felt terrible on her behalf, but you’d be a fraud if you said you weren’t on the edge of your seat. “He’s so messy, oh my god.” You snickered, fully invested.

“Yer’ tellin’ me. She was sayin’ that Tim was a good-for-nothin’ liar, had him all sorts of wound up.” He grunted, and you tilted your head to the side. “I mean, is she wrong? Like, if the man I was talking to promised to call, and I saw him with someone hanging off his arm, I’d be so irritated.” The scoff that left Brian made you snort.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said! But that bastard don’t listen-” Flinging up his hand, “And that ain’t even the craziest part, baby.” He narrowed his eyes, jabbing a finger into the mattress. “Motel girl knows Clockwork.” You raised a brow, wracking your brain.

“Wait, who’s Clockwork?”

“Rogers ex.”

You gasped with all the space your lungs had to offer, mouth wide in astonishment. “Brian.” He clicked his tongue and gestured into the air. “We had to drag her out- she wouldn’t leave until Tim forced her into the car. She was callin’ him shit I didn’t know existed.” Slapping a palm over your lips, you muttered harshly. “Not him being yelled at in front of his own home. I’d literally die.”

“After she left, Tobias told me that the girl’s insane. When he was still with his ex, she’d show up to shout at ‘em both ‘cause she had problems with Clockwork- didn’t even flinch when she saw him.”

“Tim actually has the worst taste in hook-ups. He needs to reevaluate or something because this is not it, girl.”

“Sweetheart, don’t even get me started.”

You giggled at his building exasperation, and he groaned, pinching his nose bridge. “This ain’t the end either. He’s goin’ to see her tomorrow. Y’know, sometimes, I wish I could see into that damn head of his ‘cause I- mm.” You angled yourself, leaning forward before kissing his temple. “Talk to me, lover.” Brian hummed at the affection, shoulders easing. He nuzzled into your cheek while his lashes fluttered closed.

“You’d think after havin’ his ass chewed out, he’d make better choices, but no.” Continuing, he pointed into space, circling nothing as he talked. “S’all ‘Brian, you don’t get it! I got somethin’ real here!’ And ‘I have it handled, stop looking at me like that!’ Like-” He shot up, whipping towards you head on, bothered to hell's end.

“The only thing real here is the fine I’m gonna’ hafta’ pay when she bashes my windows in because she thinks it’s his truck. I mean, would it kill him to find someone who likes to paint once an’ awhile?— A nice lady who doesn’t threaten my well-being ‘cause he ain’t wanna’ turn on his fuckin’ phone. Maybe somebody who knits instead of trying to take us both out, since he wants to do fuck all- all the goddamn time.”

His tone was heated, and he wrapped up the tangent with an aggravated “Ugh.” Lip curled up in frustration. “I’m sick of it, dolly. I am.” He crumbled back down, huffing. “The world is so evil to you, Bri Bri. You’re so strong.” You cradled his neck, pecking along his cheekbone. “Hopefully, he settles soon, and you’ll be free from this torment.” Your teasing had the edges of his mouth tugging up.

“If his next missus ain’t whip some sense into ‘im, I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re gonna’ fight him on behalf of the maneaters?”

“Sure am.”

With the crooked grin on his face, perhaps you’d buy him a T-shirt that said ‘Number one ally’ on it.

➽──────────────❥

Barking Opposition ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Tim had hit the lowest point in his life by far.

You were mad at him.

He hopes he dies.

He doesn’t know how it happened or when it happened, but it happened. And now, he’s condemned to couch duty for the foreseeable future.

Your prized possession, your absolute, all-time favourite comfort sweater, had been ruined. An irredeemable amount of blood had gotten on it, and no matter how hard he tried, the dark patch refused to come out. He’d sat on the sweatshirt by accident post-mission, dropping onto the sofa in his dirtied jeans. The crime was realized too late, and you caught him in the act, mid-panic. That was two days ago.

He agreed that it was his fault. You had warned him multiple times about being careful, reminding him to move with caution when he came home after a job. Alas, he was used to the living conditions of the mansion, where everything was already caked with grime, and nobody batted an eye at bloodstains. Except that was the manor, and this was your home.

After The Incident took place, you’d rightfully given him the cold shoulder. All his apologies were met with an icy glare, then you’d spin away from him dramatically, leaving him in your shadow to sulk. To make matters worse, the dog you’d begged him for had taken his spot on the bed.

Every goddamn morning, it would prance out from the bedroom. Jolly, smug as it cuddled up to your side. You’d pet its head, telling it how handsome it was- how well behaved and polite. The puppy was basking in your love while Tim got nothing. Not. Even. Scraps.

Tim hated that dog more than he hated the operator.

That dog couldn’t protect you from otherworldly dangers. It couldn’t defend your name righteously as a good man should. It didn’t help you with laundry and the kitchen sink pipes when they’d act up. It couldn’t even talk- and yet, it was the one curling up on your chest when dusk fell. The thing was practically rubbing it in his face at this point.

He remembers what the stray did, as if it were yesterday (it was). He was minding his own business when it came sniffing around the corner. Strutting to his seat, it had turned its nose up, skipping away as if it only came to show off. The tag on its new collar read- “Best Boy,” and he had never felt more betrayed. Best? Best? You had to be joking.

He’d fought borderline wars to make it home in time for dinner, and that good-for-nothing dog had taken his position in your life overnight.

Tim was fuming.

He hadn’t gotten a single kiss from you in over forty-eight hours. Forty-fucking-eight. He was dying of thirst watching an ill-fitted replacement drown. You weren’t responding to any of his messages either, simply leaving him on read or giving his text a thumbs up if he told you something you deemed important. You were probably spooning the puppy right now, having it tucked into you. Being terribly sweet on that stupid, undeserving, wretched, godforsaken motherfucking—

“Masky, are y-you good?”

Toby’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he whipped to the side. The boy had settled next to him on the porch bench, equally as scuffed from the prior assignment. His cigarette was snapped in half from how hard he’d squished it during his inner monologue. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Though his words were nowhere near convincing, making the younger proxy arch a brow. “… Are you sure? You’ve been s-staring at the truck like it killed your family, man. John W-Wick style.” He sighed in response, closing his eyes for a moment before he snagged out another cig, lighting the smoke tiredly. “I fucked up, Rogers.” He spoke with so much grief, Toby leaned back.

“What’d you do?”

“I- lord. Favourite sweater. I stained the son of a bitch, and now I’m sleepin’ on the couch.”

“Oh yikes.”

Huffing, he reclined, taking a long drag. “Haven’t been loved on since. I might as well have ended up in a ditch tonight.” He exhaled heavily, and Toby nodded in understanding, sympathetic. “I remember when I stained my baby’s f-favourite pillow. I was in the dog house for weeks.” That had Tim scowling. “The fucking dog- should’ve never gotten a pet-” Facing the boy once more, he gestured at him with the cigarette.

“It’s sleepin’ in my spot, Rogers. Can you believe that? After all I’ve done. I get thrown away like fucking chopped liver- for a dog.” Toby shook his head, shrugging defeatedly. “Yeah, I’ve b-been there. Happens to t-the best of us, Masky.” Tim buried his face in his palms and groaned. “The hell am I supposed to do, huh? I can’t even get a damn kiss after all this bullshit.”

Toby slumped against the bench, trying his best to come up with a solution. Masky had always given him advice when he was learning the ropes of being a good partner, so it was only fair that he put in effort now.

It felt like his brain was steaming from the strain, but after a few minutes, he sat up. Light bulb sparking above his head. “Have you tried using a boombox?” Tim looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What in god’s name are you talkin’ about, Tobias?”

“When I f-fuh-fucked up, I stood outside with a boombox for l-like an hour- and it worked!” He explained, raising his hands. “Listen, if they love you enough, the boombox always does w-what it’s supposed to. Trust m-me.” Tim narrowed his eyes, inhaling the smoke before puffing in disbelief.

“I’m a grown ass man. It’s not doin’ shit, and I ain’t got the time to stand outside for an hour.”

“Okaay- well, don’t b-blame me when you’re still s-sleeping on the couch tonight instead of being held, Masky.”

He went to scold the boy for his tone, only to be interrupted by Toby standing suddenly, phone pressed to his ear. Tim could hear the sappy nonsense spill through the speaker, and the other killer grinned, mouthing at him. “Gotta’ go, angel wants me home.” The porch was occupied by him alone after that, the silence giving him room to think.

He wasn’t showing up with a dumb boombox. He couldn’t. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. There was no way it would actually make you any less mad, and he wasn’t risking the chance of your mood worsening. Absolutely not, he was not buying an oversized stereo to blast cheesy music outside. That was idiotic; he was far too old to be pulling off stunts like that. He wasn’t doing it. He will not do it—

The boombox rattled in Tim’s backseat as he drove, and he prayed that he wouldn’t have to kill Toby Rogers tomorrow morning.

➽──────────────❥

Purple With Jealousy ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Habit was seething.

This was Evan’s fault.

Gengar. A Pokémon. A fucking cartoon character. He had a shirt with the little shit printed on the front. Nothing spectacular, just a faded tee he had in his closet- yet you seemed to like it. You said it suited him, the creature sharing his grin or something like that. He never thought anything of it, never cared about it.

Until now.

Recently, he’d come home to find you hugging a life-sized plush of the character. It was round and stupid-looking, but so were the rest of your stuffed animals, so he brushed it off. You told him you’d bought it because it reminded you of him, and he had scoffed. Okay, he found it a tiny bit endearing that you got a dumb purple pillow to hug when you missed him. But that wasn’t the point.

The present issue was that the whole “only using it when he wasn’t available” thing seemed to have slipped your mind. You had begun bringing it to bed with you, saying you didn’t want it to get cold. Which made zero fucking sense, but sure. It was fine-

And then it fucking wasn’t because you were currently facing away from him, cuddling with that ugly bitch.

You had let go of his arm in your sleep, rolling over to latch onto the toy instead. Habit, of course, noticed immediately. He didn’t need rest the way you did, and the second your warmth left him, his eyes shot open. The only reason he was there was to hold you- or else you’d get sulky. With that logic, why were you even an inch away from him, let alone embracing something else?

His teeth were grinding harder by the millisecond, and he scowled, glaring at the back of your head. You were snuggling into its chest, humming quietly. Grabbing onto it like it was your boyfriend, when your real boyfriend was less than a centimetre behind you.

Its stupid, featurally challenged smile had him livid. It was so fucking ugly. Genuinely an eye sore to see. Its fat fucking head wasn’t even, and its stubby limbs stuck out at odd angles. It looked nothing like him. It couldn’t keep you safe or soothe your worries. It didn’t take care of you the way he did, and it definitely couldn’t fuck you the way you liked.

It didn’t even have a fucking dick.

So why. The actual fuck. Were you nuzzling the hideous ball-shaped teddy as if you loved it?

You held the son of a bitch with so much fondness that it made him irate. His eye was twitching, and he had half the mind to yank it out of your arms. This wouldn’t have even happened if Evan’s stupid ass hadn’t bought the shirt. Yet much to Habit’s dismay, Evan was a fucking nerd who liked merch, and now he was losing his carefully nurtured rabbit to a cotton stuffed purple whore.

If he could sink his hands back into the depths of Evan’s soul to choke him, he would.

A vein was popping out of his neck, and he turned onto his side, staring at the toy with visceral hatred. “I’m going to find your creator, and rip his spine out of his fuckin’ throat, you hear me?” He muttered under his breath, full of malice.

He slipped an arm around your middle, tugging you back into him, and you squirmed, still attached to the parasite. This had to count as cheating. He huffed, reaching over to wiggle the fabric from your grasp. Your fingers eventually loosened, and the plush rolled off the mattress, landing on the ground with a muted thump. Jesus- fucking finally.

Habit exhaled when you shuffled, turning to face him, then rubbing your cheek into his chest. You inhaled deeply, a soft smile gracing your lips as you nuzzled deeper. He felt your thigh nudge between his legs, and you were fully cocooned in his embrace soon after. Contentedly babbling about whatever you were dreaming of.

Clearly, you were much more comfortable this way. “Gengar” was an unnecessary addition to the household, and he would be taking care of it in the morning.

While your lover didn’t need sleep, the lull of your heartbeat was calming. Repetitive, like white noise amongst the crickets outside- his lids were drooping before he realized. It wouldn’t hurt his vessel to rest a little extra, so he yawned and buried his nose in your hair to call it a night.

Though as the next day rolled around, his anger returned tenfold.

Everything was great, dandy, even. He’d planned to throw it out when he awoke, but he had business that he’d forgotten to wrap up. He could just toss the thing when he got home; it wasn’t a big deal. However, upon stepping foot into the house, the sight that greeted him had him holding back a yell.

Gengar was sitting at the fucking dinner table. You were eating with it. Talking to it. You had propped it up with a dumb bib and everything. Its rotund ass was in his seat. With his plate. Having a grand time with his bunny. Habit marched up the chair with a sneer, grabbing the plush’s head harshly.

You gasped, a pout already forming while you scrambled to rise onto your feet. “Bitty! What are you doing?” He grunted, replying roughly.

“I’m burning the bitch.”

“What? Why?”

“Bonbon, do not piss me off—”

➽──────────────❥

Bogeyman Down ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻

Laughing Jack was currently doing everything but laughing.

Oh, he’d really done it now- you were livid. Absolutely ticked to the moon. He’d done the one thing you’d asked him not to. The singular requirement you’d talked about prior. Do not mess up your life because he was in his head again.

And Jack had meddled to high heaven.

As stubborn as he was, he, unfortunately, could admit that this was his fault. Kind of. Maybe. Definitely. Whatever. In his opinion, the man with you looked suspicious. He was all over you. Laughing as you walked, nearly falling into you while you joked around. It had Jack feeling beyond betrayed, and he perhaps acted a bit irrationally.

He waited for you to part ways, then he snapped. Following the guy home before slipping into his dreams, tormenting him to the brink of psychological breakage. When he awoke that morning, he couldn’t even speak. Wouldn’t respond to any stimulus. His roommate was in shambles and beyond worried, so they called in professionals.

Which is when Jack found out that the guy was not a friend.

He was your cousin.

Your thoughtful, very close, and well-respected cousin. You’d informed him earlier that month that “Jay” was coming to visit, talking about it briefly while you two were under the covers. Though regrettably, he’d been quite distracted.

You had a habit of feeling him up for fun. You’d grope him through his shirt, grab his ass roughly mid-conversation, and knead at his thighs if you were bored. That night was one of those nights. It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention; it was just hard to stay focused when you were practically stroking him over his boxers. “It’s keeping my hand warm!” You’d said- and then you proceeded to pump him until his eyes crossed.

So gods forbid he was a little off course when analyzing your cousin.

Still, that didn't matter because you were very angry with him currently. You knew what’d happened from the second the man's roommate called you, turning to him with a glare that chilled him to the bone. You had left swiftly to visit Jay after, and now he was sulking alone past one in the morning. Curse that boy.

Alright, he was reaping what he sowed, but he missed you. You’d been mad for over two days, and he was dying. Literally dying, he swears he could feel himself withering by the hour. Yet the faith he had in your love remained; you were mad, yes, but you promised you weren’t breaking up with him. Therefore, he had to plan this out carefully. He was not about to put your relationship on the line due to recklessness.

The hospital halls were illuminated by cold overhead lights, humming dully as he slinked down the corridor. He’d made a bouquet for you, a bundle of your favourite flowers, with treats mixed into the stems. Tied together with a large red ribbon, a classic.

He saw the ajar ward door at the end of the walkway, and he padded forward, heart felt speech prepared. One step, another, then a shocked gasp made him falter. Twisting around, there was a nurse gawking at him two paces away. Her face was drained of colour, aghast at the view in front of her. Jack loomed over the scattered carts, lit by the faint glow of the private room behind him.

It cast shadows across his features, the glint of his edged teeth reflecting white. His form was towering, barely fitting beneath the ceiling. Skin pale, with makeup cracking along the curve of his painted lips.

A haunting sight that sent piercing fear through her nerves, making her grip her necklace shakily. She stared at him for a moment, their eyes holding tension while the awkwardness crept up his spine. “Hello…?” He greeted, trying to be cordial, and she staggered back. Muttering under her breath, “Babayaga.” He frowned at that.

Blinking a few times, he opened his mouth, closing it rigidly after debating his options. Usually, he’d simply get rid of any witnesses, but you were mad enough. If he acted out of line, your patience would definitely wane, and he couldn’t afford that.

Jack swallowed, shuffling blindly to the side, attempting to reach the door handle. Her eyes were still glued to his figure— light flooded into the dim hall.

You, in all your irritated glory, were stationed at the room's entrance, and he swivelled to you. “Gum drop-!” Though you didn’t let him finish, completely focused on the worker trembling in his shadow.

You held a palm up in his direction, effectively silencing him. “Hi. Sorry, my boyfriend’s really eccentric. He’s just visiting.” The tight smile you were giving the woman had him gulping dryly.

“Your- your boyfriend?”

“Yes. My boyfriend. He’s harmless, I promise. Just tall.”

“Right.”

She obviously did not trust the information one bit, but she nodded nonetheless. Returning your grin weakly, before swiftly speed walking her way around the corner, signing a cross over her chest.

You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Jack.” Good god. Alright. “Yes?” He said with a nervous half laugh, and you scowled. Drawing a deep inhale, your tone left no room for nonsense. “You know what you did.” Jack hummed in acknowledgment, then you crossed your arms.

“This is the last time you piss me off.”

“Mhm.”

“You will not do it again, and if you start feeling off about somebody, you tell me about it. Because we are in a relationship, and that’s how it works. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my sweet.”

Your glower made him deflate more and more, shrinking into his fur cloak until his chin was tucked by the end. He’d fought immortal creatures for fun, been through unfathomable carnage, yet nothing compared to the disappointment of his spouse. You were scary when you were mad.

The staleness stretched on for another beat, then you sighed. “Stop overthinking and talk to me.” Moving closer, taking his hand in yours. “I love you so much, it’s not fair when you keep doubting me.” His palm cupped your cheek, and you stood chest to chest. “I trust you with my life, and I need you to trust me too, Jackie.” The earnestness in your gaze made his shoulders drop.

“I know- I know. I just-” He murmured, tugging you into him, the flowers pressed against your back. “I’m not… good at this. But I’m trying- I swear, I am.” He whispered into your hair, “I’ll be better.” And his vulnerability was clear as day.

You buried your face into his chest, clutching at the wrapping around his torso. “You’re not in a box anymore, and I’m not leaving you behind. No more bottling things up, okay?”

His bottom lip wobbled, and he squeezed you. “Okay.” Abandonment issues be damned, he’d rather spend another five hundred years imprisoned in a tupperware than lose you.

“What the fuck?”

The foreign voice made him shoot up, whipping his head to the source. Jay was leaning on the door frame, confusion plastered on his face. “He’s- He’s fucking!? That’s- I saw him!” He stuttered, and you held your hand up, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

“Wait- okay, it’s not what it looks like. Take a breath-”

“Take a breath?! He literally gutted me, I fucking felt it.”

“I lightly disembowelled you-”

“Jackson, not now.”

— ^ ^ —

You smirk at her, turning to look at her from your place next to her on the couch. You reach out a hand, and she takes it, letting you pull her closer. "Oh, baby, you are beyond special." Stephanie looks at you from behind her glasses, quietly looking for reassurance. She would get it, obviously, but you weren't about to pass up flirting with her a little. Evan wouldn't either, if he were in the room. "But no, we don't usually date other people. Only happened one other time. Both were happy surprises." You laugh a little at the end of your response, taking in the way Stephanie seems to relax.

She knew about Jessie, obviously, but there could have been people before her. You wouldn't blame her for asking; you were sure that you would do the same thing. If you and Evan hadn't gotten together in high school, you know the question would have come up, and it definitely would have if you were in Jessie or Steph's position.

"Happy surprises, huh?" Stephanie lets herself fully lean into you now, head angled up to keep looking at you with her pretty doe eyes that always managed to distract you.

"The happiest, baby." You use what little leverage the corner of the couch gives you to pull her into your lap. Insecurity and anything close to it always leaves you feeling clingy, and while Stephanie might not feel the same way, she doesn't push you away. She's happy to be tucked away in your arms, feeling the love you have for her. "We love you so much, you know that, right? Like, no matter what?"

She squeezes you, forehead resting against the side of your neck. "Of course. And I love you guys, too."

Before a comfortable silence could settle between you two, heavy footsteps sound in the room, and with the most audible smile you think you've heard in ages, Evan goes, "Hell yeah, you do!"

Stephanie's head comedically pops up as you both look at Evan coming into the living room, his smile just as big as it sounded.

"Hey, pretty boy!" You smile, watching him walk towards the two of you, crouching on the floor in front of where you and Stephanie sat on the couch. "How are you? How are the boys?"

You sit criss cross on the floor of Habit’s closet, staring up at the wall. You’re wearing comfy pajamas; baggy t-shirt, sweats, fuzzy socks. This was a very laid back day, after all, so you were dressed appropriately for the occasion. Habit has been away since this morning and wouldn’t be back for another hour. Dinner is already prepped and warming the house from the oven. You cleaned until no mysterious stains remained. You even reorganized and cleaned some of his favorite knives. Thus, you allowed yourself to indulge in some curiosity for being such a good homemaker, and took a seat in his closet; a little peek into his head.

Habit owns a lot of hats.

Your eyes trail along the ones on the wall; baseball caps, beanies, two— no, three fedoras (you considered burning them— just briefly). If you didn’t know him, you’d think he just liked wearing them and leave it at that.

But you knew him better than that. You were very intimately acquainted with the animal that’s nestled underneath his skin.

It made sense, right? To instinctively protect your head. It’s the control center for 4 out of 5 of your senses, and it’s where the brain is housed. It was no wonder that Habit couldn’t leave the house without one. They made him feel secure. Untouchable.

Even though they are, in fact, just hats.

You hear the jostling of keys and a door opening, cutting through the quiet. When you stand and quietly pad down the stairs, you see Habit locking the door behind him with a duffle bag in his hand. He’s mumbling something to himself, never having quite broken the habit of talking to himself even with the company of you and his cats. He drops his duffel bag. It makes an odd sloshing sound… You’re not eager about cleaning that later.

When he meets your gaze, a fanged smile crosses his face. “Hello, rabbit.”

“Hello, Habit.” You greet with a slight bow of your head. There’s blood stains on some of his clothes, but he doesn’t really seem to care, walking deeper into the house, greeting his cats as he does. You turn your gaze toward the duffel bag and sigh, tsking as you walk over. You suppose you can take the opportunity to put his knives away.

When you return to the bedroom, the knives now cleaned off and placed neatly with the rest of his collection, Habit has changed into clothes that aren’t bloodstained; or at the very least, he’s shed his outer layers. His hoodie was discarded into the laundry basket and he’s swapped his jeans for sweats. He was staying in for the night, officially, now that he’s changed. He paces up and down the room, like a caged animal, as he fiddles with a camcorder in his hand.

“Habit?” You ask, walking over to the laundry basket; noting what’s stained and how much. It was practically stuffed with hoodies.

“What?” He grunts, popping in and out memory cards.

“Do you get cold a lot?” You ask, your fingers trailing over the hoodie in the basket. You look up at his silence and turn to him. He’s staring at you with furrowed brows.

“What?”

“You like wearing layers. Hoodies. Button ups. You know? Is it because you’re cold?” You tilt your head, asking genuinely.

“I don’t get cold, lamb, you know this.” He tuts. “You noticing shit again? Analyzing my closet now? Freaks me the fuck out when you do that, babe.”

He doesn’t mean it; you know that. Honestly, there’s probably nothing in this world you could do to “freak him out”— at least in the way “freaking someone out” would be meaningful. But you do notice that he seems to take it as a personal challenge when you start “noticing shit”, as he puts it. You don’t blame him. You understand that feeling like a bug under a microscope is a stomach turning feeling that makes you want to gnash your teeth.

“I’m sorry.” You aren’t. But you say it anyway to placate him, to remind him that you taking a peak at his inner world is out of endearment, not malice.

“Just keep your beady little eyes on your own closet, ‘kay?”

He plops down on his bed, and you walk over, stopping in front of him. You tilt your head. His hat has a blood stain. He tips his head back, meeting your gaze and sighing to himself like you were a needy child.

“What is it, bunny?”

“Your hat.” You raise your hand, slowly, his eyes tracking it as it lands on the brim. “Blood. I’ll clean it.” You start to ease it off and his hand catches your wrist. For a second, there’s a wild look in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. He stares, searching for something, his eyes jumping around your face. He doesn’t seem to find it, because he releases your wrist, maintaining eye contact with you.

You ease the hat off of his head, his hair spilling and flowing across his forehead. It had gotten quite long, having been a while since Habit really sat down to cut it. He usually just tucks it into his hat and goes on his way. Your hand skims over his forehead, pushing bangs from his eyes.

A smile tugs at your lips. Is it weird to say that your demonic, sadistic, and evil force of nature gave you cuteness aggression?

“Careful.” He mutters in faux warning, eyes narrowed but pupils dilated. Protective of his head, even now, with his closest confidant. You’ll simply have to show him he has nothing to fear, and that you aren’t a threat.

You start by tucking his bangs back behind his ears, and then tracing underneath them slowly. You avoid the back of his neck and temples; you don’t think he’d appreciate being touched there. But you do work your way up toward the top of his head, nails buried in his hair and itching against his scalp.

He looked bored at first; indifferent to your attention. However, you can see the moment something changed in his expression. His eyes fluttered before he forced them back open to continue his nonchalance, still staring up at you through lashes. You rub in slow and gentle circles, a careful middle between massaging and actual petting. You enjoy it too; an opportunity to dote is nice, especially when he’s not being a jerk about it. You glance down again, checking on him, and almost pause when you get a good look at his face.

You’ve only seen Habit this relaxed when he’s asleep; and even then, he sleeps light and scrunches his face at the slightest movement or sound. His eyes were shut, lashes delicately splayed on his cheeks, and his entire expression was slack. There was no scowl, snarl, or even cruel smile twisting his face into those expressions you’ve grown to know and feel fondness for.

Habit loved control. Needed it. Thrived on it. But right now, you could be fooled into thinking otherwise.

When your hand caresses down his cheek to scratch under his chin— mostly so you could tilt his head up and drink in that serene expression some more— Habit subtlety tilts his head, chasing your hand and baring his neck to give you better access. Your other hand continues massaging that lovely spot on the top of his head.

Then, there’s a faint vibration under your hand. It’s barely there and you don’t notice it at first, but after a moment, you can also hear a quiet chuffing-like sound. You tilt your head, not stopping your movements.

Not purring; it’s not quite a steady or deep enough vibration to be purring. But it can count as what you recognize as a pleasure growl, something that some canines do. You continue, the chuffing not stopping for a moment.

“Does that feel good, Habs?” You coo softly, not able to help yourself.

He responds with a grunt, pushing into your hand more like your words were interrupting his little bubble of bliss. You smile.

“I didn’t know you did that.” He squints his eyes open at you when you say that, and furrows his eyebrows when he sees the affectionate smile on your face. He becomes aware of himself all at once, his eyes widening a little before he clears his throat, cutting the chuffing off. He averts his gaze, moving his chin away from your hand that was still scritching it. Weak point noted.

Your other hand was still tangled in his hair, thumb moving back and forth. “You didn’t have to stop, I liked it.”

“Shut up.” He mutters firmly with a little eye roll.

“I’m serious, it’s cu—“ Your words were cut off with a little yelp as he abruptly stands up and grabs you by the hips, tossing you down onto the bed. He climbs over you and presses a firm, silencing kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, his forehead against yours, he squints down at you.

“Shut up.” he says again, a little softer this time.

“I really love that you do that, Habs.” you say in a soft tone, smiling, pushing his hair from his face. Your hand sneaks under his chin again. A growl layered over a chuff rumbles through him before he nips at your fingers. He lays down next to you on the bed and pulls you into his chest, holding you hostage.

That was fine. you got what you came for— confirmation that Habit’s head was sensitive and the only one allowed to touch it was you. With that in mind, you curl into him and let him hold you for a bit before dinner.

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

A/N: i was rewatching some bits of EMH and there’s a scene where evan tells vinnie that if vinnie has to fight habit, to aim for his head because, according to him, it makes habit “a little nuclear” when he gets attacked on the head. i love that little detail so much, the smaller details of the series are so well thought out and the allusions to habit’s animalistic nature are always present, even in the little things!

anyways another quick note, i wrote this drabble mostly to practice capturing habit’s personality. im working on a longer fic but he stumps me sometimes; i wrote this as a warm up before i wrote chapter 1 of the longer fic and i feel more comfortable writing him now. so, more habit stuff to come!