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Creepypasta / EverymanHYBRID Content

Creepypasta / EverymanHYBRID Headcanons:

Cuddling HCs

Play Wrestling HCs

Kiss Ban HCs

Creepypasta / EverymanHYBRID Fics:

Sugar on my Tongue - Human!Laughing Jack x Jester!reader (SMUT)

Oxytocin Shot - Habit x Reader domestic fluff abt purring Habit

Habit knew he spent too long humoring you when he woke up strapped to a table, with a bright white spotlight shining right into his eyes.

Maybe it was his fault; he pushed too hard, provoked you too much. It seems your final straw was when he let Evan out just to taunt you. To show you that he can take your beloved Evan away from you whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could about it. He let Evan rant and tell you the horrors; how Habit can take him, lock him inside his own mind, and mentally torment him while using his body to commit any atrocities he wanted.

It was fun, sue him. The way you looked at him reeked of pure hatred and anger. Not fear, not that primal frantic gleam of helplessness he loved seeing in his victims, just pure fury and spite; a silent promise that you’d make him pay for this, you just didn’t know how yet.

He didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. You’re a human, he’s a demon. He’s more than a demon, even. Why should he give a shit about your dumb little feelings?

There’s a slight sense of regret when you step into the light, holding a book, cold indifference on your face. Perhaps it was a mistake to reveal that he was a demon to one of Evan’s weirder friends.

He still finds it funny, the way you had gasped and practically clutched your pearls. You were easy to fuck with, the paranoid sort who checked their locks 3 times before bed and put stock into things like knocking on wood and tin foil hats. Conspiracy theorist, Evan had called you in his mind time and time again. Whatever the hell was your deal, conspiracy theorist or maybe an alien from another planet, he didn’t care; Habit was just annoyed it was officially his problem now.

“Gonna read me a bedtime story?” He grinned at you, subtly flexing his wrists and testing the bonds. They held strong— weirdly strong. “Or are you gonna play doctor?”

“Front all you want. There’s nothing you can do.” You say, not even sparing him a glance up. You’re preoccupied with your book, the pages bookmarked and sticky tags poking out of it. It’s only when he lets out a series of loud cackles, like you just said the funniest shit he ever heard, that you fix him with an angry look.

“Ohhhhh, fuck that’s cute. You really think there’s anything you can do to me that’ll scare me? Think you can just hold me here?” As if to emphasize his point, he jerks his wrists forward only to be met with resistance.

You shrug. “Go ahead then. Break out.”

The challenging look on your face only takes him aback for a moment, but then he practically snarls at you, pulling his wrists and ankles harder. He was already imagining sinking his teeth into your jugular, imagining the way you’ll scream and cry when he keeps you conscious long enough to feel the agony, to feel your life slipping from you.

… Only, the restraints don’t budge. Not even a little. He furrows his eyebrows; straps like these, even though they’re metal ones, should be easy for him to break through. At worst, his host’s wrists would break but that’s never stopped him, especially with his rapid healing abilities. What the fuck is happening?

“It took a while, finding the right cocktail of ingredients that would actually put a damper on your abilities. You wouldn’t believe how many plants and chemicals I went through just to make it happen.” You speak as you walk around the table slowly, staring down at him as if he’s a bug.

“You can keep trying if you’re really feeling antsy. I’d save your strength if I were you, though. You’re gonna need it. These next few hours are gonna be long, exhausting, and painful. For you, anyway.” You finish, cracking your book back open and flipping through a few pages.

“Hey… Hey!” He jerks wildly, trying to get your attention when your back turns to him. “Let me out of here, you crazy fuck!”

“If you’d just left Evan the fuck alone I wouldn’t have to do any of this.” You say lowly, whipping back around to glower at him. If you were less mature, you may have chosen to spit on him in that moment. Habit lets out a low and cruel cackle, his usual cadence warped by distortion; his true voice.

“You humans are so pathetic. So stupid. Do you think Evan would do the same for you? Think— think that he’d go this far and save you?” He laughs loudly in your face, your shoulders stiffening at the sound and his words. “All this for someone who wouldn’t do the same if he were in your position!”

“You don’t know Evan.”

“No, not the way you do. But I know him in ways you don’t, sweetheart. And I can tell you this: Evan is a stupid meathead who wouldn’t even think to save you, let alone get anywhere close to success. You’re wasting your time on a useless sack of—”

He’s cut off by the sharp crack against his cheek. His head whips to the side, a red hand print blooming on the skin; his toothy grin successfully wiped off his smug face. You’re shaking, for the first time this night. Your breathing is a little heavier, no matter how hard you try to get it under control.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t even finish that sentence.” Your voice is tight with emotion.

Habit slowly licks his teeth, staring at you with a half lidded and bored gaze. Feigned indifference. It has to be. For the sake of your strength, it’s feigned.

The smile he gives you in response is ice cold.

You sigh, picking up a large glass bottle. It looked almost like a soda bottle, if not for the swirling herbs and colors inside of it.

“The fuck is that?” He eyes it with scrutiny.

“A mixture of lots of things. Mostly stuff meant to cast out demons, though.” You pop the bottle open and set it on a side table. After taking a sack of salt and drawing a circle on the ground around Habit’s bound form (so fucking stupid, because he sincerely doubts you understand the significance of a salt circle, let alone how to use one correctly anyway), you take the remaining bit and pour some in the bottle, capping it to give it a little shake.

“Come back to me, Evan.” You say aloud, speaking your intention clearly. Before he can berate you again for your stupidity, you put some of that herby water in your hands and throw it on him.

Immediately his body seizes, his eyes widening. His limbs automatically pull against the restraints, futilely trying to protect his torso from the burning sensation spreading across it. His breath catches in his throat at the unfamiliarity.

Habit has been burned before. Of course he has, it’d be odd if he hadn’t with how long he’s been alive. He’s been burned by fires of his own making, hot metal, melting wax, even by eating food too fast before it’s cooled. But it’s never felt like this. This is a white hot pain that feels deep; deeper than he’s ever felt anything. It stung against his skin where the water had landed, but it left a prickling sensation in its wake that had spread to the surrounding areas as well. It’s, decidedly, not a normal burning sensation.

You don’t give the chance to process the sensation, striking his nerves again with multiple sprays of the water. He gasps this time, thrashing hard against the restraints. Every part of his skin the water doesn’t touch feels equally affected by it; pins and needles race up and down his body, concentrated at the point where the water made contact.

He doesn’t even notice when you stop, his mouth stuck open in a silent and inaudible cry, and his eyes squeezed shut. He’d love nothing more than to rake his nails up and down his torso; it felt tingly all over and he needed to scrub away the sensations now. His chest rose and fell quickly, his arms shaking and straining against the straps.

“Evan?” You grab his face and turn it toward you roughly, tone deceptively soft. Habit lets out a small wheeze when you do so, cracking his eyes back open. He sees the moment your expression sours.

“Not Evan yet. It’s fine. I’m patient. I’ll be waiting for you, Evan. ‘M gonna fix you, promise.” You coo in a quiet tone, leaning in a little. His face is still held in your tight grip, and he gnashes his teeth at you. He manages to nip your hand as you swiftly pull it away, scowling at him.

“You’re really crazy. I knew you were a fucking weirdo but this takes the cake. It’d be impressive if it weren’t so pathetic.” His voice was a little hoarse, eyes lidded. You tsk at the theatrics, putting the bottle down to pick up a knife. He furrows his eyebrows, bracing himself for the sharp stabbing pain that was sure to follow; at least he used to knives and not that accursed water. He could handle knives, and all the creative ways one could use them.

You don’t plunge it into his skin like he assumes; you use it to rip his shirt down the middle, peeling it back to expose his skin. It looking completely normal while still feeling like it was on fire only served to agitate him more. He grit his teeth, barely suppressing an annoyed growl.

“Pervert.” He accuses. You give him an annoyed glare before rolling your eyes and deciding not to humor that.

You dump a generous amount of the herbal water into a small cup on the table before walking over to him, hovering it above his stomach. It tensed involuntarily before he forced his body to look more relaxed.

“C’mon, you’ve already proven it’s uncomfortable. Let Evan go.” You tilt the cup marginally, the liquid edging closer to the rim. Habit grit his teeth, eyes locked on the cup.

“Just for this stunt, Evan can kick fucking rocks—”

You dump the entire cup onto his stomach, his words lost in a stifled scream. He sucks in air through his teeth to silence any pained noises. He can’t stop it this time, the growl that reverberates through his chest. He thrashes against the restraints, shudders running up his spine. Stinging hot pain spreads across his entire torso, some of it splashing on the front of his jeans.

By the time the sensation lessens from burning to prickling, you’re filling the cup back up. For the first time in a long ass time, Habit feels something that’s adjacent to panic. His gut collapses inward as you dump another cup full onto him, this time starting at his chest and slowly trailing to his stomach and purposely splashing some on the front of his jeans since you noticed his legs starting to tremble.

He breathes heavily in and out through his teeth, but it does little to suppress the frantic gasps of pain that are now escaping him.

“C’mon, Evan…” He hears you mutter. It sends a flash of concentrated irritation through him, but he can’t dwell on it. That prickling sensation across his chest, torso, and now his thighs is getting stronger and harder to ignore.

At first, the pain was wiping his mind completely blank, all his nerves and thoughts centered around the water splashing against his skin; he was unable to focus on anything else. However, by the time the burning becomes tingling, his mind is starting to feel mushy. It’s not the normal delirium that comes with being overloaded with pain; it’s a kind that feels unbearably itchy, and makes blots of color appear in his vision. Pins and needles race up and down his body, and he can do nothing about it. Control over his own body had slipped completely in the flood of sensations overwhelming his senses.

“Fuck. Stop. Stop.” He pants out. He does his best to make his voice sound even slightly demanding— it only works somewhat. He tries to remain composed, but he feels himself slipping when that tingling sensation sharpens around his lower stomach and thighs.

“Damn it!” He jumps— he actually fucking jumps— when you slam the bottle down next to him. “Why won’t you leave his body? I did everything right!” You plant your face in your hands.

When you look back up at Habit, he’s not wearing a smug, mocking grin like you expected him to be. His eyes are lidded and his mouth is slightly parted; he looks like he’s on another plane of existence at the present moment. His torso twitches every now and then, his hips stuttering occasionally as well.

You raise an eyebrow, looking down at his skin. It’s perfectly normal, the only evidence that you did anything at all being the wetness from the water. You wipe your hand across his stomach, gathering up and spreading some of the water, and rip it away in a startled manner when he convulses.

Your touch makes the tingles flare, his eyes crossing at the feeling turning itself back into rapid prickling that makes his arms jerk wildly in the bindings again. He’d give anything to scratch his stomach right now— anything to get rid of these hellish sensations.

“F-fuck! Don’t— Take this shit off, take it off!” His words are as frantic as his movements, released in short spurts of breath.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, tilting your head lazily to watch the way he squirms.

“It itches! It burns, it— just take it off!”

“Honestly at this point, I’m not sure if that’ll help. It’s just water that’s on you now, you know? The feeling you’re talking about is probably all under your skin by now.” You shrug, unbothered by his predicament.

You words just make him throw his head back and groan, muttering obscenities to himself. Your words were an unfortunate and apt description; it did feel like the feeling had burrowed deep under his skin, a persistent electric feeling zapping his nerves again and again. In response to it, his body couldn’t stop moving in an attempt to shake it off.

You watch him writhe on the table, trying to cope with all the nerves in his torso firing all at once. Oh well. If nothing else, at least putting him in his place a little was satisfying, you suppose…

You raise an eyebrow when you see his head fall to the side, panting heavily as he presses his thighs together, roughly rubbing them together to create friction through his jeans. It sends a stinging burn through his system but it also relieves that itch ever so slightly. He couldn’t stop the press of his legs even if he wanted to, his body not listening to his demands to stay composed.

“Oh. This is your thing? Yeesh.” Your tone was thick with judgement.

“The fuck it is.” He immediately snaps back you, but shuts his mouth when he registers how breathy it came out. He speaks, with a clearer tone this time because he refuses to sound that pathetic again. “I just said it itches.”

“Oh? Ok. let me help.” He sees you lift the bottle and his face goes slack. Before he can protest you dump a generous amount on top of his jeans and thighs, making him choke on a scream. His vision whites for second, the burn all consuming, before it begins to throb.

“Oh fuck!” He lets out a long and hoarse cry, drawing out the words. The burn is overwhelming at first, but after a few seconds of his brain being overloaded, it leaves behind an intoxicating buzzy sensation that has his mind swimming.

“The burning sensation should scratch that for you.” You say plainly. You watch the way his hips jerk and roll, his thighs pressed together as tightly as he can. It doesn’t surprise you when you can see the front of his jeans tightening as his cock hardens. With all the sensations buzzing around his head in addition to the friction of him rubbing his thighs together, it’s honestly surprising it didn’t happen sooner.

He’s only half listening to you, a growl stuck in his chest. He momentarily forgets about being angry you, because the tingly feeling between his legs is all he can focus on.

“Is it odd for me to think you’re enjoying this more than me?” You press the bottle against his hard-on, his back immediately arching as he jerks. “Don’t think for a second I’m doing this for you, either. I’m far too selfish for that. I just really like that dumb little look on your face.” You give him a serene smile.

“When… When I— fuck— get out of here, you’re gonna be so fucking sorry.”

“Uhuh. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you cigarettes and some water when we’re done here.”

You hold the bottle against his clothed cock, the drags of his hips slowly getting more frantic. His breathing turns ragged as the prickling and burning he feels blends with the pleasure. Right when he feels his stomach start to tighten, you rip the bottle away from him, making his eyes slam back open. When he meets your smug gaze, he scowls. If looks could kill, you’d be dead where you stand.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What? Don’t forget why we’re here. It’s certainly not because I wanted to fuck you of all people.” You shrug innocently, before giggling to yourself at his torment.

“No, it’s because you just wanted an excuse to feel up Evan, right?” His words take you aback before your gaze hardens, pouring more water directly onto his cock and thighs this time. His reaction is immediate, more thrashing and cursing leaving his lips, moans blending in with his gasps of pain. You’re sure he’s insulting you, even though he’s babbling more than he’s talking now.

As you bring him up and down from the edge again, heavy grunts of pain slowly turn into hysterical giggling under his breath as the prickling continues to assault his torso. The pain was shifting from something that truly hurt to something that felt addictive; a high that he actively wanted to chase now.

By the time his orgasm is withheld for the fourth time, he feels like he wants to explode. His entire lower half feels like it’s on fire, and you occasionally stopping just to splash more water on him has made him terribly sensitive.

As soon as he comes down from the edge, you press the bottle against him again, this time harder. He squeezes his eyes shut just so you don’t see them cross. He almost looks like he wants to cry, and maybe you’d feel bad for him, if it weren’t for how much of a brat he’s being.

“This…” He trails off before he finishes his sentence, basking in the feeling of his thighs squeezing the bottle for a moment. “This is nothing. This is— stale. You got any new tricks or is this the best you can do? I’ve killed people in more creative ways than—“

You cut him off by pressing your hand against his throat. “You talk way too much, Habit, seriously.” you grumble dryly, giving it a squeeze. His voice distorts as he deliriously laughs, squeezing the bottle between his legs harder.

Speaking of the bottle, you glance down at it. It’s nearly empty now. As you think to yourself how you’re going to wrap this up and make your escape, his humping against the bottle gets more frantic. The feeling of you squeezing his neck, right on his pulse points and properly strangling him, has him completely gone. Stars dance behind his vision as he gasps for air, his nails digging into his palms as the coil winds in his stomach.

“Ugh, whatever… Don’t think this is over. I am gonna find a way to exorcise you. But for now, you can have this. Enjoy it, because when I finally figure this shit out, it isn’t going to be nearly as fun for you.” You say, muttering at the end, mostly to yourself. You know he’s not really listening anyway. His head is up in the clouds, high on all the endorphins and adrenaline flooding his brain.

He thrashes wildly in his restraints and lets out a strangled moan when you squeeze harder around his neck and pour the rest of the water right onto his cock. You then roughly press the bottle against him hard, grinding it against him in tight little circles. As if to torture him more, you move achingly slow, building him up slowly and heavily and holding him on the edge for a moment just to see the way his gaze goes hazy and his legs shake like jackhammers.

His orgasm slams against him when you finally let it, speeding up your movements suddenly. When he cums, his eyes roll back, his whole body shaking with the utter force of it. Long and hoarse moans that teeter on screams leave his throat. Intense waves of pleasure wracked against his system, the release both mind-numbingly satisfying and overstimulating; even when the contractions of his abdomen end, the tingles and prickling continue to linger.

His body falls limp, shuddering breaths leaving in short spurts. He tries to fight the blackness creeping in the sides of his vision, but his eyes slip shut anyway. The last thing he feels before he surrenders to the dark is your hand leaving his neck to push his bangs from his face.

As promised, when he comes to, there will be a cigarette, a lighter, and a water bottle waiting for him on the table next to him. For now though, you unlock the restrains, turn on a dimmer light, and leave the warehouse.

With the door locked, of course. You’re going to need the head start, if you plan to outrun his burning hot vengeance.

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

weird in a good way, of course. he liked fucking with people who were spiritual— he was a demon, after all! he knew you were oddly receptive to the idea of him being a demon, and now he understood why. you believed in all that magical junk. adorable.

he started paying closer attention after that. noticed when you made jars filled with herbs and sealed with wax to hide behind your books, the way you’d hold eye contact while saying “be safe, habs” before he’d leave the house while pretending you’re just being affectionate, how you’d mutter under your breath while stirring your tea clockwise thrice in the morning.

he confronted you about it when he found a sigil sewn into the sleeve of one of his favorite hoodies. subtle, almost invisible because the black thread you used was almost identical to the fabric of the hoodie, but there. he knew symbols had power— he said the exact same thing to noah a lifetime ago. magic, runes, symbols; they all existed, not all of them worked, but some of them did if they were used correctly.

you clearly knew what you were doing. so he assumed your mark worked.

of course, you were quick to assure him it was just a protective sigil— it was only meant to attract good things! you put it on yourself on your rougher days, even. he only pretended to be upset for a few minutes to watch you squirm but he wasn’t mad. he was proud you knew how to tap into this kind of power.

upon seeing his positive reaction, you were less secretive. you’d openly blow cinnamon at the doorway, spend time journaling under full moons, and sprinkle salt where you thought appropriate. you’d slip rings with certain crystals on them on his fingers if he had a particularly important affair to attend to. morning tea was now shared with him and you let him sit with you while you did your spell work.

even your affection felt more purposeful. more charged. never malicious, but he could practically read your actions like a book; incantations that make your mutual love stronger, wards against anything that would dare to touch him (he thinks it’s cute you think he’d even need or want protection, so he lets you do your thing), herbs that held meaning dashed into the dinner you spent the evening cooking for him.

despite the initial indifference toward it, he really comes to like this side of you. it, at the very least, assures him that the spookier things that are bound to happen— have been happening— will never be enough to scare you off.

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

cat-coded jack who one day finds you, scavenging on the scraps and licking your fingers clean of the blood from the organs you scooped up. jack is immediately set on edge and irritated; it must be you making the mess, you who keeps ruining his hunts.

fox-coded reader who just tilts their head and denies making the mess, but whose ears perk up when jack mentions he hunts. sounds like a free dinner in your opinion— that is, if he’s willing to share the parts he doesn’t finish.

fox-coded reader who lets jack believe it’s them making a mess of the forest for a little while, following him around and leeching off his kills while keeping him company, until jack finds a fresh mess you couldn’t have possibly made— you’d been with him all day, so why is the meat still fresh? why is the body still warm?

dog-coded habit who tumbles out of the bushes with a rabbit in his mouth. he shakes his head vigorously, splattering viscera carelessly. he wasn’t even eating it, just making a mess for fun.

dog-coded habit who looks up, cocks his head, spits out his kill, and licks his lips.

cat-coded ej who looks irritated.

fox-coded reader who has stars in their eyes.

ticci toby:

- you may as well have told him you slaughtered all who he holds near because he’s UPSET

- he does his best to respect your wishes but he’s actively crashing out in his head

- i hc toby experiences a lot of black and white thinking so while he tries not to take it out on you he’s sooooo devastated and angry at the same time

- he doesn’t do well with these types of punishments; specifically ones that dangle the shame over his head so he’s trapped in a loop of guilt (not to say that you’re unjustified in setting these boundaries, it’s just how his head works— how black and white thinking works. it’s often irrational, unfair, and cranks emotions up to 100)

- he can’t forget he made you mad and make the feeling fuck off for a while because the knowledge that he can’t kiss you will constantly remind him of his fuck up

- i truly do think he wouldn’t wanna take it out on you though so i can see him leaving to give you some space and blow off some steam for a few hours

- he’ll probably just hack at some trees or destroy junk and kick over trashcans

- no one dies thankfully

- being with you has taught him a lot about patience and restraint, if he were in a more fragile or unhealed state of mind he’d probably escalate the situation into a screaming match

- our boy has come so far, instead of yelling at you he’s yelling at plants ❤️

- i know to some “it’s not that deep” to be put on a kiss ban

- but for toby it becomes less about the kiss and more about the fact that he hurt you so bad you want THAT much distance from him

- he takes it as a personal insult or as something you’re doing on purpose to hurt him (again!! black and white thinking, it’s irrational and spirals out of control very quickly)

- most things are ALWAYS that deep for him; he feels very deeply for you because he loves you and hurting his feelings is way easier than you’d think because of how much he loves you

- while he’s blowing off steam, he kinda has his own stages of grief. he starts out angry at you, then angry at himself, then he gets sad you guys are fighting and if it’s particularly bad he may shed a few tears at the thought of you leaving him. lots of self hatred flying around

- if he was truly in the wrong he will eventually return and apologize again (he did once when you initiated the ban)

- even if he’s not in the wrong and you’re just being petty though i can see him growing fed up with you two fighting and just apologizing. he’d rather bite the bullet than make things worse and potentially lose you

- ^ at the very least he apologizes for making you THAT upset

- he needs a kiss before the end of the night though he HATES going to bed angry

- like he deadass will not sleep and will sulk if you sleep without you guys making up

- it doesn’t sit well in his spirit at all

jeff the killer:

- you put the d1 crashout on a kiss ban???? bro good luck

- at first he doesn’t even think you’re serious and tries to kiss you but when you turn your head his whole face drops

- he’s too proud to admit, even to himself, that it bothers him so for the first hour he holds out

- “youre so fucking dramatic.”

- as he stomps away from you

- he’s loud as fuck for someone so skinny like across the house you just hear stomp stomp stomp stomp. probably muttering to himself a whole bunch of nothing too

- he goes to take his anger out on some poor soul. if it ain’t toby it’s some random victim

- “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE 😰”

- “my partner’s pissed at me. someone’s gotta die for this. it’s not gonna be me. GO TO SLEEP.”

- stab stab stab stab

- i gotta give it to him, he lasts longer than you’d think

- but again after the first hour goes by it becomes very obvious he’s agitated

- he makes a lot of comments about how ridiculous and immature you’re being

- and if you call him out on being needy he vehemently denies it

- “no i don’t care that you won’t kiss me, but it’s about the PRINCIPLE”

- since when do you care about principles jeffrey???

- after a bit of stewing in his annoyance, he finally quietly walks over, like a reluctant cat who had been ducking you finally giving in for some contact

- “you know i don’t mean the shit i say, right?”

- he says it in an offhand tone, but the fact that he approached you at all to try and mend what he did (in this case, made a snarky and rude comment you didn’t appreciate) says he actually cares about your feelings and what you think

- he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t. it shows in the way his posture curls in on itself a little and his tone is lower than usual. there’s less of the cutting edge in his voice and more softness

- if you want to tell him off, now’s the time to do it. he won’t talk back, he’ll just quietly take it with an eye roll or a slow nod. annoyed and wanting this to be over, but listening

- it’s as close to an apology as you’re gonna wring out of him

- it’s worth the way his body relaxes when you finally do grant him a kiss though

- doesn’t even have to be a big one or on the lips, just peck his temple and he’ll scoot in closer to you to press your bodies together

homicidal liu / sully

- these two are so fun bc they’re so different

- liu is literally the definition of a sopping wet cat, him in contrast to sully is hilarious

- if liu’s on a kiss ban he looks absolutely pathetic

- “oh… ok :( it’s ok i’ll give you space”

- he’s not even trying to guilt trip you, he’s just genuinely sorry

- he’ll respect your wishes but GOD he HATESSS it

- he loves kissing you. not even on the lips necessarily; he likes to litter kisses all over your face. cheeks, forehead, temple. eats it up

- he’ll probably try apologize again but when you tell him you just need space he goes to sulk by himself until you give him the okay

- once you do, he’s attacking you, planting tiny “mwah”’s all over your face

- sully. sullivan. (derogatory)

- (is sully short for sullivan?? it is today)

- sully doesn’t take kindly to being told no

- he’s not even lovey like that but if he starts fronting while liu’s on a kiss ban he’s annoyed on liu’s behalf

- HOW DAREEEE you tell SULLY WOODS what to do

- the sky must be falling, hell is frozen over, pigs are flying, he wants a kiss and you said NO?

- mad asf. huffy asf. makes his displeasure known

- “oh so because you’re pissed at liu, you’re taking it out on me? we’re different people.”

- “i just don’t wanna love up on you guys right now. i’m still upset >:(“

- cue grumbling about how immature and unfair you’re being

- ngl i don’t even think it’s abt the kiss for him it’s the fact that he never wants it and you said no the ONE time he lowkey wants it

- i think after a while he’d pry and ask why liu is on a kiss ban in the first place

- whatever the reason may be, he’s scoffing and nodding along with you

- gossipy bitch

- he flames liu a little to get you to smile though. calls him an idiot and tells you that you have nothing to worry about because liu is an obsessed fool in love. he’s on your side, and tells you that you guys will work it out. not worried at all

- sully woods does not grovel, he wont beg and plead for a kiss

- if you give him one before he switches with liu you can see him smirk in victory. he likes that he got one before liu

hoodie:

- brian.

- tsk tsk. he hates when you’re mad at him but he should’ve thought abt that before he pissed you off

- i think it depends why you’re mad

- if it’s something smaller (especially issues that are unrelated to the operator and his “work”) he’s floundering a little and trying to appeal to your ego. he’s not the kind to beg for approval, yk? hes out of practice when it comes to groveling

- lots of repeated “‘m sorry, darlin’”s and “it won’t happen again, i promise”s

- he’s giving you that Broke Boyfriend Back Hug when you stubbornly turn away from him too. kissing you up and down your neck to butter you up (hey if it works it works)

- if it’s bigger though i think that’s when his avoidant issues come into play because he needs to get away for a minute to think by himself

- there are just some things he feels he can’t share. things that would potentially taint the way you see him, possibly forever. this feeling gets better the longer you guys date but he honestly wants to keep you as far away from his “work” as possible

- it’s already bad enough that you’re at risk for getting slendersickness (you’re a civilian in this context but even if you’re a pasta/proxy, he still keeps you at arm’s length. there’s a lot of dirty work that he’s done and a lot he’s not proud of. they’re demons that he fights on his own, even tim isn’t privy to his darkest thoughts)

- so with that being said, i think he’d tell you upfront if he refuses to do/say something

- he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings but he’s veeeeery protective of his boundaries (mentioned in another post but they’re his fragile sense of autonomy— the last bit he has really)

- he does eventually make it up to you, and the affection that follows when you finally permit it is soft, loving, and attentive. quiet apologies for not being able to give you what you really want— a look inside his head— and trying to make up for it how he can

- until then though, he won’t beg or press you to kiss him. he doesn’t want a kiss if you don’t feel like giving him one; and he also doesn’t need a kiss to know you love him (although he does love physical affection with you)

- he’ll give you as much space or time as you want, because he’d want the same from you

- the reason he keeps apologizing is more so because he feels bad abt hurting you, not bc he wants to “win” or bc he wants a kiss

masky:

- guys i’m scared

- of his disproving stare AGHHH

- i feel like his expression when he doesn’t like something is NASTYYYY omfg 💔 lord have mercy on you

- another one who refuses to go to bed angry but it’s especially because he won’t be able to get any restful sleep anyway if you’re THAT mad at him. just flopping around the entire night

- he’d rather stay up all night arguing with you than try to sleep with your back coldly turned away from him, hunched into yourself

- quite frankly not amused with your antics or your “punishment” but he won’t beg either

- ngl i think out of everyone he’s the one most willing to just let you get it out of your system

- he’ll sigh, attempt to placate you with an apology, but if you express you need space he’s understanding and leaves you be

- he gets it yk? sometimes he doesn’t want anything to do with anyone either

- don’t get me wrong he loves you more than anything— much more than himself— but it’s bc of that love he’d rather give you a few hours to collect yourself than try to force you to argue with him

- that being said though, by the time you guys are getting ready for bed, he does want it solved

- i feel like, like brian, he wants to keep you distanced from his darker thoughts and actions

- you’re the light of his life and he doesn’t want to taint you like that. he’s not trying to underestimate you but he wants to safeguard the one good thing in his life

- so there are things he’s not keen on sharing. he’s not as secretive as brian but once he feels like you’re asking too many questions he’ll gently shut you down and tell you that he doesn’t feel like talking about that stuff

- he’ll apologize— especially if it was his fault. he seems like he’d be above it but he’s really not

- it’s not this super heartfelt apology but he does mean it. a murmured “‘m sorry, peach” and his arm thrown around your neck to squeeze you close is as mushy as it’ll get

- after you let him kiss you again, he’s pretty sweet on you the next couple days— almost makes you wanna do another ban bc of how touchy he is after

eyeless jack:

- this one is rough bc while he likes physical affection he also doesn’t need it to know you love him

- you saying it is enough most of the time

- and i think he prefers cuddles to kissing anyway

- but other than that he hates that you’re upset with him the guilt is literally eating him alive

- he’s the type to hold himself TOO accountable for things. he’s really hard on himself and struggles with self forgiveness

- by the time you’re telling him you aren’t mad he’s already planning to punish himself for the next week pls make sure he’s eating right and not overworking himself :(

- you could choose to never kiss him again if you wanted, even if you did forgive him. like i said he doesn’t need a kiss to know you love him even if he does enjoy them. it isn’t about the kiss, he just feels terrible you’re that upset

- he is good about giving you space though

- he doesn’t take it personally; after all, he asks for space too sometimes. he understands there are times you just think better when you’re alone

- shame that he left to give you space without his goodbye kiss tho :(((

- he waits for you to come to him. he wants to go to you but he doesn’t want to cross boundaries or accidentally make you more upset

- he makes sure he stays easy to find; he mostly stays in his office or around the area. he wants to be there when you come back

- he’ll also wait for you to initiate, once you give him a kiss though ALL bets are off

- it starts deceptively chaste but his lips stay locked on yours even after a few minutes have passed. just tap him and remind him you do in fact need oxygen

- he’s right back to it after you catch your breath though

- sigh. jack with an oral fixation you mean the world to me.

laughing jack:

- he’s about to start crying what do you mean he can’t kiss his beloved sugar cane. his gummy bear. his jellybean.

- i think he’s by far the most whiney abt it and he’ll do everything but kiss you

- he’s so very sad

- he cuddles up to you and you can see him pouting, but he respects your wishes and doesn’t kiss you. he just kinda looks like a sad puppy while using your shoulder as a headrest. you’re unmoved. you’re used to his puppy eyes. you continue doing what you’re doing with no second glance to him

- he sniffles and whimpers into your shoulder, sits on the floor and hugs your leg, endlessly apologizes, nuzzles his face against any part of you he can reach. he’s in AGONY

- it’s so pathetic you may just forgive him just so he’ll stop his sniveling

- the thing abt jack is i truly don’t think he understands when he disrespects boundaries sometimes

- he doesn’t have many friends and the only people he interacts with on the daily are a bunch of weirdos (the other pastas and proxies)

- his examples for social interaction is… not great

- so if he does something that warrants you putting him on a kiss ban you’d probably have to sit him down and explain why you’re upset

- he’s still learning but he loves you and doesn’t ever wanna hurt you. he just knows he does it unintentionally sometimes

- so yes, he will honor your request and not kiss you at all but he is very much not happy about it

- he’ll whine about how mean you’re being mostly

- he’s only trying to guilt trip you a little. not to make you feel bad abt your boundaries, per say, but just enough to take pity on him and give him a lil kiss

- if what he did was especially bad i think he’d feel really bad, like enough to beat himself up in his head

- cold behavior like this makes him feel terrible because of his abandonment issues

- so make no mistake, the tears are real, and he’ll get increasingly frantic the longer it goes on

- if too long goes by and you’re still mad he’s asking stuff like “have you finally gotten sick of me?” and the like. this isn’t to guilt trip but he’s genuinely asking

- SO relieved when you finally end it. apologizes once more for good measure before attacking you with affection

- he usually isn’t the one to initiate cuddles but he will this time, he needs to be close to you for a little while

- and of course plant a million kisses all over you

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

A/N: this took me forever to write bc i keep pivoting to write one shots abt evan myers and habit. someone take everymanhybrid away from me pls

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!