*⋆ ☄︎. ·˚

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

The Exorcist - masochist!sub!Habit x sadist!dom!reader (SMUT)

Ruler of my Heart - Multi-chapter fic based on the SEVENTRIALS tournament. Habit x unhinged!reader. Mind the warnings on each chapter. (ONGOING)

You didn’t expect Habit to actually get you sushi, but he did. Granted, it was from a mystery joint you’ve never heard of and it was haphazardly thrown into the bag so you suspect he didn’t pay for any of it, but he still got it.

Whether or not you liked the sushi he picked out in this case was irrelevant; your actual goal was less about the food and more about testing how much Habit was willing to keep to his word. You wanted to see how far he was willing to bend to requests. He didn’t get mad that you took the flag from the “deformed-dog-thing” (as he so eloquently put it), and he didn’t even flinch when you demanded a food that was notorious for being specific, expensive, and best served fresh.

The sushi tray in front of you, at the very least, told you that he wasn’t unwilling to reward cunning behavior. He could’ve snatched the flag from you and made you trudge through the woods, but he didn’t. You could use that to your advantage.

Your chopsticks latch onto another piece, and you pop it in your mouth. You ate more cautiously at first, wondering if he poisoned it; but you were halfway through your first roll, and you hadn’t fainted, started sweating, experienced vertigo, or had any cold and/or hot flashes so you’re probably safe. Maybe. In any case, if it was poisoned, it can’t be that strong if it’s taking this long to kick in, right?

Habit sits across a table from you, eyes flat and analytical as he watches you eat. Upon closer inspection, you can see his lips are very subtly quirked up. Not quite a smile, but a smug and knowing look. When you presented the flag, he quietly looked at you before he let out a loud and abrupt cackle, snatching it from your hand. He didn’t say anything directly to you— though you did notice he has a habit of talking to himself. He muttered the entire way deeper into the woods, leaving you behind with the creature.

You and it engaged in a small staring contest before it surged forward and pounced on you. You braced for impact, possibly its sharp claws again, but it merely knocked you down and landed behind you. One of its gangly limbs grabbed the back of your shirt and started dragging you through the door.

It was sickly skinny and its bones were visible, but even so, its strength was uncanny. No matter how much you kicked or try to claw at it, it didn’t budge. For a moment, you wondered if it planned to eat you. It dragged you through the door, your vision immediately spinning as it did. You felt a weightless sensation in your stomach— not nausea, but the same feeling you get on an elevator.

When your vision adjusted, you realized you were on the kitchen floor of a home you had never seen. After it released you, it had scampered off toward the stairs. You remained on the floor, a dull ache in your limbs for a reason you’re unsure of, and looked around curiously. After feeling came back to your legs, you stood, intent on exploring the new place. You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a bunch of boxes, one of which filled with royal purple duct tape.

The idea of this— this cozy, normal looking home— being Habit’s house was equally possible as it was ridiculous.

Your skepticisms were confirmed, though, when Habit walked through the door minutes later. There was blood on his knuckles and a rumpled brown paper bag fisted his hands, but you knew immediately it must be sushi when you saw Japanese lettering on the side of the bag.

“… Hello, Habit.” You greet quietly, voice a little hoarse, eyes glued to the blood on his hands. There was also some on the bottom of his boots that left smudges on the floor.

“Hello, rabbit.” He grunted, not really paying any mind to you as he tosses the bag onto the table and takes off his hat. Your eyes narrowed a little in befuddlement when he licked the blood off of his knuckles. He didn’t even bother to clean his face or boots of blood before he plopped down at the table and gestured for you to sit across from him with a theatrical little wave of his hand. He had been watching you eat ever since you started.

You meet his gaze and swallow the roll in your mouth.

“So… Do you like wasabi?” You ask, only when you’re sure your voice won’t shake or reveal any weakness. He was staring like he was trying to figure something out. Or possibly waiting for something.

“Yes.”

“Oh, really? How do you like it?”

“Straight from the tube.”

You go silent, your nose scrunching automatically before you smooth out your expression. Maybe he’s weirding you out on purpose? It’s hard to tell because his expression is blank. Were serial killers notorious for horrible taste? You aren’t sure. Maybe you can read up on that when you get the chance.

You slowly nod, deciding not to comment on that. Clearly he wasn’t planning to reward any attempts at small talk.

“That stunt you pulled.” He suddenly speaks, leaning forward on his elbows like he was discussing serious business. “I usually don’t mind smartasses during my games but I am a bit pissed. I wanted to make one of you fight for the flag ‘til you ruined it.”

“You wanted us to fight that thing? Can it be defeated?” You ask, thinking deeply about the monster you had seen. Not that most things couldn’t be killed, but you’re pretty sure it’s some kind of demon and demons are famously unmerciful and stronger than humans. Defeating it with no weapon or help wouldn’t be possible.

“Of course it can. Not by any of you fucks, but it can. I was really looking forward to watching one of you struggle and inevitably fail.” He sighs deeply, like he was genuinely disappointed. “I was thinking about punishing you for ruining it earlier.” He adds plainly, searching your face for a reaction.

“Will you?” You ask, keeping your hands steady, and answering in an even tone.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He leans forward on the table. “What do you think, hm? Should I punish you?”

“If you wish.” You say quietly, finally looking up and making full eye contact with him. You summoned all your will, trying to appear strong and calm. Your hands feel restless in the quiet that follows, fingers automatically moving to pop your knuckles a few times. The pressure on your fingers and the sounds help you remain present. That familiar instinct within you, the animalistic one that yells fight, run, and scratch in the moments where you’re most vulnerable, rears its head.

He holds your gaze with a cold expression; you consider if he maybe wanted you to beg for mercy instead. He seemed like he got off on the power trip of holding other’s peace in his hands to break as he pleased. He was the type of person you’d expect to like the begging, screaming, and crying. The type to revel in the fact he can make someone tremble using just his words, without lifting a finger.

He suddenly slams his hands down hard on the table, pushing himself up. You flinch, heart pounding, and he meets your gaze with a wide grin.

“Bam, correct! That’s exactly right, rabbit.” He chuckles before sitting back down, legs spread open and arm thrown over the back of the chair. “Ok, I won’t punish you, just for getting it right.”

“… Thank you.”

You keep your eyes on him as you lift a water bottle, taking a slow sip from it. As much as you’d like to chug it, you know you should probably save it for later. You don’t know when he’s going to give you any more or how long until the water the others found would run out. Speaking of the others…

“One of us was supposed to die today. To that thing.” You state plainly after placing it back down. It was obvious that you flubbed his plan of killing one of you off during this mini-game. You knew the violence and bloodshed was coming, but for some reason, the news still makes you stop and process it. It could’ve been you, had you been a little dumber, and a little more desperate.

“Aww, don’t look so disappointed, rabbit.” He says in a condescending manner, grinning widely. “I know you’re eager to be the last one standing but you’ll get plenty of chances to make that happen later.”

“I guess I will.” You say quietly, going back to finishing your food.

“Not even gonna deny it?” He leans forward on the table, as if to size you up. “You prepared to kill for your victory?”

“I’m prepared to win.” You say, with absolutely no shame on your face or in your heart. If it comes down to you or them, you’ll choose yourself in a heartbeat. He gives you a wry smile.

“I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you, won’t I?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Really? Enlighten me, why not?” He scoffs, clearly skeptical.

“You’re… Well, I don’t know what you are exactly, but there’s something different there. Something that’s stronger than me at least. You don’t have to worry about me trying to fight you when I know if I do I’ll just get my ass kicked.”

You recall the metal chair. The rest of your group had been pretty quick to move on from it— likely because there admittedly are more pressing matters than a chair— but everytime something supernatural happens, your thoughts stray back to the chair. Crumpled in a heap, now, thrown in a fit of annoyance and ostentatiousness. It was an apt warning, and a promise for more unusual things to happen.

“And that rusty little slasher in your pocket?” His words give you pause. You thought you managed to slip that by him, but he somehow knew. Possibilities of how he could’ve figured it out run through your head; cameras, spying, some other supernatural shit? In a way, he just did you a favor, by confirming that even something this small wouldn’t fly over his head. It was good to keep that in mind, at the very least.

“I didn’t take it to use it against you. Just self defense in case anyone else decides to go ballistic. It could come in handy later, too.” You say, completely honest. You truly didn’t intend to use it against Habit. Maybe against someone else— you weren’t above it— but not him. He must know you’re telling the truth, because his chin dips in an approving nod.

“Smart rabbit. I was gonna take it from you, but you know what, I think I’ll let you keep it.” That slight condescension leaks back into his tone as he leans back in his seat in a relaxed and casual manner. Even still, you can see the way he’s watching for a reaction, his eyes scanning your face with an anticipatory smile.

“Much obliged.” You don’t give him one. At least, not the one he may have wanted. Your hands remain steady, your face is still, and your voice doesn’t waver. He may have the upper-hand here, but you intend to survive this. Survivors can’t afford to choke on their fear. Especially not in the face of someone who’d love to exploit it.

The grin he gives you in response to that is downright wicked. “Make sure to use it for something entertaining.”

“I’ll do my best.” You nod, intending to make good on that promise.

“I think I like you.”

“Frightful, but appreciated.”

Habit snickers before abruptly standing. “Alright, sit tight. I’m gonna go check on your friends.”

It’s ironic he keeps calling the other contestants that, given the nature of all the challenges he’s given you up until this point, including the original seven trials. They’re built to strip away individuality, sure, but also to isolate. You could tell immediately, because you already knew how to isolate yourself; you didn't need his cult to teach you how. Sever one tie, usually the rest are easier to clip. They go even faster when the ties you want to sever know each other. They start wondering and discussing why you ditched their wedding, or why you didn't care when they informed you of a funeral they were to attend. Then the questioning stops, and that's when you know you've won.

It eventually becomes second nature. Weave and sew people into your life, just to cut them right out of it without thinking twice about it. It's inevitable to end up alone when you become good at it; the ripple effect that shutting out one person has spreads to everyone in your life, and eventually, you don’t remember the last time someone wished you happy birthday or asked about your weekend.

You weren’t lonely. You didn’t feel things like loneliness. But sometimes you do drown in the consequences of being alone.

——

“PISS AND MOAN, PISS AND MOAN. YOU COMPLAIN AS IF THIS IS A GAME FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT: GET OVER YOURSELF.”

You refresh the SEVENTRIALS’ twitter a few more times, seeing if anything more is to come for today, but it seems the admin just wanted to complain a little about some of your fellow rabbit’s incompetence. While you, of course, already competed trial 3, it makes sense to you why many haven’t.

“Lose a friend, by any means necessary.”

It was a hefty ask, and the average person wouldn’t do it for some dumb internet challenge. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, you had been waiting for an excuse to land in your lap for a while now and this was the perfect out. He said lose a friend; but he didn’t say it had to be a friend. Besides, once you broke up with him, he could be downgraded to friend status, right? You did lose a friend… in a way.

Well, it didn’t matter now. You lost the deadweight you’ve been wanting to lose and you were put forward in the competition. Clearly, the admin didn’t care for the semantics of it all.

You chew the inside of your cheek, ignoring your phone buzzing like mad, only ever interrupted by a phone call you also elected to ignore. Perhaps you were too harsh— if you had spared his feelings a little, maybe he’d leave you alone.

You pick up your phone, scrolling through the slew of threats of suicide, self harm, homicide, and— of course— the begging. God, there was so much begging. It’s been nonstop for three days now, gradually getting more desperate and intense. You still ignore all of it. You block him and set your phone down. He wasn’t your problem anymore, and reading his texts and listening to his voice messages no longer appealed to your morbid curiosity. It’s lost it’s entertainment factor. Now, it’s time for dinner.

You ate sushi that night.

——

You blink, zoning back in when you accidentally brush the wound on your forearm against the table. The bleeding had stopped thanks to the numerous napkins the sushi place provided you, but it still stung and you were worried about reopening it. Habit hadn’t offered any bandages or anything— said that you were just lucky you didn’t need stitches. You suppose he had a point.

You debate snooping, at least for a bathroom, but decide it isn’t worth facing his wrath when you just got in his good— or as close to good as he gets— graces. You’d rather sit at a table for a few hours than fight for your life in the woods anyway. This wasn’t so bad. After you finish your food, you clean up after yourself, waiting patiently with your head resting in your arms.

——

BANG BANG BANG BANG.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?! Dumping me like that over the phone and then blocking me?! Open this fucking door!”

You stand in your walk in closet, a kitchen knife clutched close to your chest. Despite the situation, your grip and heart are steady. A part of you saw this coming.

Clearly, it was for the better that you dumped him. He’s always been a freak, but you didn’t know he was completely batshit crazy. You always seem to attract the wrong people.

“You think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it?! You always do this shit! You just use people and then throw them out like trash when you’re done! Emma was right about you, you’re an evil bitch!”

At that moment you feel your phone buzz in your pocket; the signature Twitter whistle can just barely be heard over his fists pounding hard on the door. Your breath catches when you feel him start to slam his shoulder against it between beat downs of the door. You recall the Tweet that sent the snowball tumbling down the mountain in the first place.

Lose a friend, by any means necessary.

“Open this door, I’m not fucking around anymore!”

Lose a friend.

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

Any. Means. Necessary.

The door to the closet rips open as you spin around, him busting it down now that you weren’t using all your strength and body weight to hold it back. Before he can even say anything, you lunge forward and plunge the knife into his chest. It sinks in easily. Then, you do it again. Again, again, again. You can’t stop— your body refuses to stop until it’s certain he’s dead.

By the time you’re off of him, blood is splattered up your forearms, clothes, even on your face. His eyes were stuck wide open in terror and his mouth was open from the scream and gasps that caught in his throat. Though he is no longer breathing, you whisper one sentence as your parting gift, breathing heavy and heart pumping loud.

“HABIT made me do it.”

——

You awake to the sound of growling. The creature from earlier sits atop the table, staring down at you. You squint at it in a judgmental manner, leaning back in your chair to make some distance. You must’ve fell asleep while waiting for Habit’s return. This whole situation was dredging up memories you were very hard to ignore.

Only when the creature sees you’re alert and aware, it hops off the table and scampers over to the door, looking back at you like it expected you to follow.

“Not gonna drag me this time?” You ask dryly, standing. It lunges forward and you stumble back, your whole body tensing up.

“That wasn’t an invitation! I can walk.” You're quick to add. You glare at it in annoyance.

You rub your eyes as you walk over, following it through a few doors. This place really made no sense. The kitchen opened into a bathroom and the bathroom opened into an ominous looking staircase. How the hell was anyone meant to navigate this without a map? Maybe Habit had one lying around; you remind yourself to keep your eyes peeled for one.

By the time you made it back to the warehouse where this all started, you were ready for more rest. The walk was disorienting, with the way reality itself seemed to bend and twist the further you went into the home. You scan over the people remaining in the warehouse.

You only count 4.

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

A/N: im ngl im sooo self conscious when it comes to mischaracterization so pls tell me if habit feels in/out of character at any point 💔💔 i really love his character so the last thing i wanna do is misrepresent him by accident. he’s so very dear to me

The warehouse actually isn’t that bad. There are a few glaring issues— one of which being the body that’s still dripping blood all over the floor. There was also the fact that this place contained no windows, and only one door, which was at the top of the staircase. No one had been brave enough to attempt to open it yet, but with how antsy some of them are acting, it probably won’t be long now. It’s also too cold in here, and the only thing you had were the clothes on your back; the loungewear you had on before you were forced on your journey.

It could be worse, though. Couldn’t it?

You ignore the way your limbs and stomach ache, prying open another one of the many crates that were inside the warehouse. It’s the fifth one; the previous 4 had been uneventful. One full of news clippings, another of video tapes, one full of stuffed animals and figurines, and the last one being empty. After you crack it open, the fifth one reveals it also doesn't contain anything you're looking for— those being, food, water, or anything that’ll make this whole thing more comfortable— but it did have a few boxes in it, with a box cutter laid on top of them.

You tilt your head before you pick it up. It was a bit rusty, but testing it against the top of the box tells you it’d still be able to do some serious damage. You decide to keep it. Of course, with no intention of using it against Habit.

You weren’t stupid. He was powerful enough to bring you here in the first place, bend a mental chair like it was cardboard, and who knows what the hell had really happened to the eliminated rabbits; who knows how many of them ended up like rabbit 61? Taking on Habit, even if he truly was just a maniac running on fumes and his own ego, with just a box cutter was basically begging for him to get pissed off and kill you.

Or maybe torture you. He’s clearly capable of it.

You can’t help the way your eyes drift upward again, falling to rabbit 61. Her blood had eventually slowed from that maddening drip, drip, drip, to something that could fade into the background. She was running out of blood to lose. Her body was already turning pale. You hope Habit decides to clean her up before the stench of rot hits your nose. You hear it’s not pleasant.

——

“Crumble. Fester. Moulder. Ripen. Seethe. Putrescence. Go bad. This language has many words for “rot”, but is this due to appreciation, or squeamishness? Words give voice to disgust, but disgust is slippery. Something that makes us feel queasy may not be dangerous, but it can get us a bit… overwrought. Tender cell walls collapse, releasing roiling torrents of water and sugars; which then dry into shifting vistas for swarming, microscopic life. Yeasts belch carbon dioxide into the swirling, cloudy atmosphere.”

You try to focus on the documentary your boyfriend picked out, but it’s not as easy as it’d normally be because he’s pressing kisses to your neck. You sit there stiffly, eyes lidded in boredom, legs crossed and curled under you comfortably.

“What do you think, baby?” He mutters against your neck. His tongue lolls out and he licks at your neck a few times before going back to open mouthed kissing. His spit dries tacky on your neck.

“It’s gross.” You comment, glancing at him when you say it. You know he won’t read into that. Especially since he’s too busy mouthing at your jaw and slipping his hands in your shirt. They’re cold and a bit clammy. You try not to recoil too harshly from the touch.

“Yeah?” His hand slides up to grope your breast.

“I’m confused.” You admit, turning your head. He pulls back, furrows his eyebrows.

“What about?” His hand is still playing with your breast, groping and massaging, but you don’t really care.

“Is this supposed to turn me on?” You ask bluntly, furrowing your eyebrows. The prospect was curious but clearly completely beyond you. He blinks, stares at you silently before he lets out a nervous puff of laughter.

“I mean… You said you were into, like, gorey shit? Gross stuff? What’d you say, the uh, p… perplexing—"

“Perplexities of the decaying process. But I meant that I just thought it was interesting, not that…” You can’t help it; you look at him like he just said the stupidest shit you’ve ever heard. He sighs, pulling his hand from your chest and out from under your shirt. You can see him flick his eyes back in an annoyed manner.

“Well sorry, I just can never tell with you. You never wanna do anything, I just wanted to appeal to you a little…” He frowns, glancing away, fidgeting a little. “It’s not like I wanna bang to hearing about a bunch of gross animals eating corpses either. I just wanna feel you, baby.”

He leans in as he speaks, kisses being placed against your cheek before one longer one lingers on your mouth. Your face remains slack, lips refusing to mold and cooperate with his. He may as well have been kissing a stone statue.

“Look, I just don’t think I’m ready.” You say in a calm manner, turning your head away from him, as if explaining a complex subject to a simpleminded child. Your mind wanders elsewhere, as do your eyes. You don’t want to look at him, especially as your eyes are glazing over and your soul feels ready to crawl out of your body. You’d rather be anywhere and doing anything else than entertaining his impulses. Momentarily, you wonder why you invited him over in the first place. What were you doing again? Ah, right, he brought dinner and some vodka. It was unfortunate that your free alcohol and food had legs, arms, a mouth, and a libido.

You pop your knuckles to ground yourself when you hear him let out an annoyed huff, pulling back. You look back at him then, eyes tracing over his face. His cheeks were flushed— you suspect with the humiliation of rejection— and you can see the way his lips are curled down in annoyance.

Your jaw clenches when he adjusts his pants, clicking the documentary off. The prospect of wanting to have sex with you so badly he was willing to do it with mold and rot on the screen was cute. Pathetic, but cute; in a helpless and sick dog kind of way. Not arousing, though. Not even slightly.

“Do you know when you will be?” He asks, eyes piercing into you. Expectation is heavy in his gaze.

“No.” You say dismissively, not even pretending to consider it. Something in his expression darkens. His bitter displeasure is plain on his face, and his body language goes stiff and tense like an angered animal. Inside of you, deep inside where your darkest feelings reside, something festers. You decide right then, know for a fact, that violence is certainly in his future.

——

You jump when a hand claps down on your shoulder, pulling you from your head.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just wanted to say, we found some water. Here, I grabbed you one.”

227 holds out a water bottle and you take it. “Thank you.”

“Of course. We’re still looking for food, but… I don’t know, kinda losing hope.” She admits, chewing her cheek anxiously. You shake your head.

“Relax. Habit wants us to play his game, yeah? We won’t be fun to watch if we’re too weak. We’re bound to eat eventually.” You reassure her. She nodded slowly, before perking up and offering a small smile.

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, seven.”

“Don’t thank me.” You say, not to be polite, but because she really shouldn’t. Not in a competition like this, where it’s only a matter of time before you cross blades.

The moment is interrupted with thick static coming through one of the warehouse speakers.

“Good evening, rabbits! Tonight, I’ve decided to turn dinner time into a mini game. It’ll get you all nice and warmed up for the rest of the fun to come! I was going to just toss out your dinner but my ole’ friend stick-in-the-mud gave me a wonderful idea for a game he likes to play with his dogs. So we’re doing that now!” Habit speaks with glee. Your lips purse.

You don’t know who “stick-in-the-mud” is, but he just made it to top 5 on your hit list for fucking you over like this.

“Now, if you’ll all make your way to the dining area I’ve set up for you.” Habit goes quiet, and none of you move.

“Dining area, rabbits.” More silence. A few confused glances this time.

“The only other possible room in this place— my fucking god. Look up, dipshits.” At that moment, the metal door busts open, Habit standing on the other side. His leg was up like he kicked it open.

“Come. Dining area.” He says before he walks backward. You creep forward with only a little hesitation. Your guard was up, but playing along was better than possibly pissing him off by refusing to. In your peripheral, you can see the Max and Ted whispering to each other. You just hope if they plan to do something stupid, you’re not apart of it.

After climbing the stairs, you stop in front of the door.

“What the fuck…” You hear Ted mutter behind you. On the other side of the door, instead of anything that actually made sense, was a forest. No cement, no walkway— they door opened straight into a forest. Thick fog hung in the air as far as the eye can see, the moist air wafting into the warehouse. You feel goosebumps rise up and down your arms from the chilly air.

You walk forward, ignoring the “Careful…” that 227 mutters behind you. Your hand meets the door frame and you step one foot into the forest. You press your foot down, as if testing a freshly frozen lake. It was sturdy. Real. It functioned like a normal door, like it lead into another room and not the woods. The thick layer of fog on the forest floor spills into the warehouse behind you as you take cautious steps forward and disturb it. It’s safe— at least as safe as this kind of thing could possibly get.

Something about the forest feels alive. The fog moves with you, parting for your footsteps and the leaves and sticks under your feet seem to only make any sound when they’re sure they will startle you. Staring at the trees for too long makes your stomach lurch; it feels like falling. It feels like being cornered. You don’t understand how, but the forest is living and breathing, and it’s stalking you like a predator.

You look up and stiffen when you see Habit in one of the trees. He’s standing on a thick branch, arms crossed, watching you and your hesitant party with a steely gaze. Although he isn’t right now, you could easily imagine him crouched in a ready-to-pounce position.

“Hello, Habit.” You greet, mustering all your courage and will yourself to keep your face straight. Your shoulders release some tension when you successfully keep your voice steady. Treading the line of faux fearlessness and willful submission is difficult but it’s an art you’ve mastered. He cocks his head to the side, as if not expecting that.

“Hello, rabbit.” He grins down at you. It’s a predatory thing; yet for some reason, you don’t really think it’s meant to be. It’s just him, how he smiles naturally. After all, if he really wanted to scare you, he could do worse. Much worse. There’s a slight note of condescension in his voice. “Bring the rest of your friends in, will ya? They’re a little shy.”

You look over your shoulder. 52 had crept forward, but stopped just inside the doorway. You wave a hand. She mirrors your footsteps, testing the barrier between the two worlds, but she doesn’t quite have enough courage to step fully inside.

“C’mon, guys. Let’s stick together.” You say, if only to convince them to come forward so you can get this— whatever this is— over with. You beckon to 52, encouraging her to fully enter like she had intended.

52 and 227 walk forward slowly, 13 following shortly after. Ted and Max bring up the rear, reluctance all over their faces.

“Good, we’re all ready! Now, you all worked up an appetite, yeah?” As Habit talks, he jumps down from the tree, with a little “whoop!” as he lands on his feet.

“Me, personally, my favorite thing to do when I’ve worked up an appetite is to go hunting. So, that’s what we’ll be doing.” He digs into his pocket and takes out a little purple flag. He waves it around as he speaks.

“See this? Consider this your meal ticket for the night. I’ve hidden a few through the forest, along this trail.” He taps his foot, gesturing to the start of the beaten path beneath him. “All you have to do is bring one back, and I’ll get you whatever you want to eat. Sound good?”

“Stick-in-the-mud” just shot to the top of your hit list for suggesting Habit throw you all into this bullshit game instead of just feeding you like a normal person would.

“What’s the catch?” You pipe up, your tone unintentionally snappy. Habit slowly turns to you and waits, giving you a chance to fix your tone. You clench your jaw before taking a slow deep breath through your nose. You clear your throat before adding, in a calmer way, “It can’t be as simple as a scavenger hunt, right? What else is there?”

“Well, I want to give you all an incentive to hurry up. Can’t spend all week waiting around for you guys to come back or starve to death, you know? So, while you’re searching, my buddy is gonna chase you guys down. Give you a reason to keep those legs moving. Say hi, buddy.” Habit tilts his head up, looking somewhere behind you. Ted and Max scramble away with startled gasps as you’re turning around. You come face to face with… well, you’re not really sure.

It looks humanoid, but it’s bigger than the average person. Its skin is also sickly pale, hairless, and bulging with veins. Its mouth hangs open and exposes razor sharp rows of teeth. Its eyes stare wide and unblinking, with no pupils. Its lets out a gurgling sound. Your whole group stumbles closer together to get away from that thing as it walks forward stand beside Habit. You can feel 227 and 52 press in closer to you on either side, as if hiding behind you. You decide to just take that as them feeling safe behind you and not using you as a human shield.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna give you a 10 minute head start.” He reassures you, as if that’s the issue. “I’m a very fair host. Besides, if I let him get at you now, you’d all be dead in less than five minutes.” He grins widely like he just told a joke and is waiting for laughter. It earns nothing but anxious glances around and dead eyed stares.

He ties the purple flag in his hands around the creature’s neck, your eyes tracking it.

“Alright, you guys ready?” He grins, and then gives you guys a count down. The people around you line up side by side, refusing to look each other in the eye. Though they were being friendlier before, they’re clearly planning to offer no mercy. Chilling moments like this reminded everyone it was a competition.

“Go!”

Chaos erupts. Everyone starts sprinting forward to go deeper into the forest. At first, it’s just running, but you can see at one point Ted attempting to trip 227, shoving her out of his way so he can race further along the path.

“Don’t you guys go tearing up his forest! He’ll be real upset if you do, and you don’t wanna see that guy upset!” Habit cups a hand around his mouth as he yells after everyone.

Well, everyone, except you. You stand still and stare, watching everyone fade into little dots until they’re no longer visible in the thick fog. Habit turns around and stills when he sees you, as if he didn’t notice you didn’t start running until now.

“… You deaf? I said go. Run, rabbit.” He waves his hand, shooing you.

“No, I heard. I just had a question.” You ignore the bewildered and judgmental look he gives you before continuing. “You said we got a 10 minute head start, right?”

“Yeah?”

“In those 10 minutes, we aren’t gonna get hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Even by that thing, it won’t hurt us in these 10 minutes?” You ask, now pointing your finger at the creature, but still staring at him.

“Fucking— yes, what more do you want me to say? For the first 10 minutes, you won’t be hunted. Don’t ask stupid questions.” He snaps, squinting at you questioningly.

“Ok.” You nod, speaking plainly. You turn toward the creature. A thick drop of drool splatters to the floor as it stares. When you take a step toward it, it lets out a quiet and long growl, narrowing its eyes.

“Hush, now. Remember the rules.” You creep toward slowly, hands up by your chest so they’re visible and in a placating position. You keep your eyes on it, avoiding eye contact by staring at its chest. It’s chest bones and rib cage jut out something awful. You entertain your curiosity by wondering briefly if it’s hungry, or if that’s just how it looks. The thought is forgotten when Habit speaks.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He actually looks confused, as if it’s a genuine question. He looks a bit dumbfounded, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Playing your game.” You stop in front of the creature. It growls, completes an analyzing circle around you, then stops in front of you again. You raise a hand, slowly putting it forward when it finishes sizing you up. Your face remains still, but your heart is thudding so fast and hard in your chest that it’s painful. You can hear it in your ears. You take slow deep breaths, willing yourself to calm, and keep your hand as steady as possible.

The creature goes still, staring at your hand. It raises its head, snapping its jaws and baring its teeth. You pivot and lower your hand, still moving slowly and steadily. It tremors when it gets passes over the creatures bared teeth, and you can feel its warm breath hit it. One quick bite from the monster, and that’d be it. Your hand would be gone.

You keep going until your hand latches around the purple flag tied around its neck. It’s not knotted, but it is quite secure. You swallow thickly. You’re not close enough— you need to use both hands.

You steel yourself with a deep breath, releasing it slowly and edging forward a little. your hands deftly mess with the tie, undoing it slowly. Every time the creature moves— when it breathes— like it may just lose patience and attack, you freeze until it’s safe to move again.

Relief seizes in your chest when it finally comes loose, falling into your palm. You let out a shaky sigh, starting to slowly back up.

In those minutes of quiet, you forgot Habit was there, watching your every move. When he understands what you were doing, he had shifted his stance and crossed his arms. He had given the creature a sharp look— an unspoken wait— when you had approached it.

He granted you that small mercy, just because you were ballsy enough to approach and take the flag from a creature that could easily bite your head off. Now that you got what you wanted though, enough was enough.

A piercing gun shot booms behind you, shattering the quiet. You flinch violently, a gasp escaping your throat as you feel your stomach drop. The creature also startles and lets out a loud snarl, swiping blindly at you. Its claws pierce your skin like wet paper.

You hiss, stumbling back and clutching your forearm to your chest. The creature growls at you, and you take a few more steps away. Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you can feel your pulse in your neck. Only when you’re sure it won’t lunge, you check your wound. Blood drips down from where it struck you, but your gaze travels upward to the flag in your hand. You got what you wanted. That’s what mattered. In any case, you’re sure you can find something to at least slow the bleeding. You lift your head and look at Habit.

The look on his face is conflicting to say the least; it’s clear he probably wasn’t expecting anyone to be brave enough to do that— if they even thought to do it in the first place. You consider, worry, for a moment if what you did didn’t count as winning this challenge, but you weren’t about to ask and tempt fate. Instead, you walk over, holding the purple cloth. You stick your hand out, meet his gaze, and speak with conviction.

“I want sushi.”

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

A/N: sorry if you don’t like sushi gang i promise it’s not totally baseless, you’ll see next chapter 🌝

In your defense, you genuinely didn’t anticipate things going this far.

Not when you were scrolling through social media, clicking on random text posts and accidentally stumbling into HABIT’s “audition application”. Not when you decided to put in all your information, answer the questions, and email it over.

Not even when the trials suddenly stopped being harmless and started becoming tasks with real life consequences. Consequences that would follow even if you decided to put your computer away and forget about it.

It became obvious to you that this wasn’t a game— not really, anyway— by the time trial three rolled around; “lose a friend, by any means necessary” was both an ominous and grave sounding request. It implied something sinister, even if you chose to ignore it and take the easy route of what losing a friend meant. The man behind the HABIT account, upon getting backlash for this request, had been quick to shut up everyone who complained by swiftly reminding them that he never said that this was a tournament for the viewer’s enjoyment.

It was no surprise to you when that challenge alone caused 62 people to get eliminated, not counting the ones before.

No, this wasn’t a game. It wasn’t even really a tournament like the original invitation had stated. This was a test of faith; a man seeing how far he could pressure random people into doing his bidding. A man who expressed he didn’t care that his “rabbits” weren’t enjoying the game, because it wasn’t for them.

A man who promised that by the time the game ended, you would regret joining in the first place and envy those who didn’t make it in.

Now, standing in a dark and cold warehouse, that promise made sense.

You don’t remember how you got here; just remember receiving a royal purple envelope in the mail that told you, in all caps, to prepare your mind and body for the trip of a life time. It wasn’t signed nor had an address, but you knew HABIT must’ve sent it.

Your legs ached, threatening to buckle, and your stomach twisted with hunger. Did you walk here? Did it take hours? How long have you been standing here, in a trance that fogged your memory up? Your fingers and arms felt fuzzy, stiff from disuse.

Above your head was a large spotlight that bathed you in a circle of white light. The rest of the room is so dark you can’t make out much of anything; only shadows of crates and blobs of objects on the ground were even slightly recognizable.

5 other people stand by your side, huddled in an organized manner within the circle. You quickly account and file away who’s present; two women, three men, and yourself. One short woman, one tall—wearing glasses. One lanky man, one muscular looking one who was tall and had built shoulders and biceps, one chubby one who looked like he didn’t get out much. It seems who brought you here had a nice little selection of people to choose from. It also seems that you were the last to wake up, as the others were already quietly talking to one another and breaking from the formation you were organized in.

Over the confused murmurs and panicked breathing from some of them, you can hear a faint drip, drip, drip, coming from somewhere in the room. Perhaps water. It is a warehouse, after all; but you can’t be too sure, since your senses are still fuzzy from the trance.

“You. You’re up.” The shorter woman eyes locks with yours, stepping toward you. Everyone else quiets at her observation, turning their gaze toward you.

“I’m up?” You blink slowly, still trying to shake the fog from the sides of your vision.

“Yeah. You were in a, um, daze. You were just staring ahead blankly— totally unresponsive.” She explains. You eye her body language; it’s very anxious. Her fingers fiddle with the long braid tied and brought over her shoulder to rest on her front and you can see her shifting from foot to foot like she’s deciding whether or not to run.

“We all were.” The muscular man adds gruffly, looking less than pleased about being stuck here to say the least. He looks more irritated than afraid, but it’s obviously a front.

“I was the first to wake up. Are you alright?” The woman asks, a hand hovering above your arm like she wanted to check you over herself but didn’t want to overstep.

“Or, even more helpful, do you have any idea what the hell is happening?” The muscular man chimes in again, crossing his arms across his chest.

“No clue.” You say honestly, eyes tracking over everyone around you. They all seemed in rough shape, similar to you; eye bags under their eyes, shaky limbs, a few of them were even slightly pale.

“Fucking great…” The chubby man mutters, stressed hands running through his hair as he looks around in an almost frantic manner.

“Look, now that we’re all up, can we finally find a way to get out of here?” The lankier man, who had been silent until now, speaks up, his hands stuffed into his hoodie’s pockets. His body naturally curled in on itself, like he was subconsciously trying to make himself smaller. “We waited like you said. Let’s go.” He urges again, staring down at the shorter woman. Your head tilts a little.

They had waited for you wake up instead of attempting escape. It was kind. You don’t think you would’ve done the same.

The shorter woman lets out a breath, slowly nodding. She creeps to the edge of the lit circle with trepidation, and everyone seemed ready to follow her. No one felt brave enough to stray from the group, so you all trailed behind her in a huddled manner. Before she could make it out of the light and into the abyss-like darkness of the rest of the room, you all heard a voice from above you.

“Good morning, rabbits.”

Faintly in the darkness, you see the silhouette of a man wearing a cap, standing on top of the railing of the second floor. He walks slowly toward the end of the railing, toward the stairs.

“Hey. Who are you?! Where are we?!” The muscular man steps forward but stops when the man raises an arm, a large machete in it. He points it toward your little group, making you all still.

“Ah ah. Stay.” He says firmly, no humor in his voice. “I know you all must be eager to start, but let’s have some patience.”

He walks down the stairs and steps into the light, just outside the spotlight. It was enough to illuminate his face, but his face casts shadows over his eyes. He grins at the confusion and fear filling the room, thick enough to choke on it.

“Don’t tell me you all already forgot. Use your fuckin’ brains, what did you sign up for aaaaall those months ago, hm? What did you find in your little email inboxes?” He holds his arms out like a showman, prompting.

“You run the SEVENTRIALS twitter?” The tall woman suddenly speaks, her eyes widening. The man— HABIT— chuckles and nods.

“Are you serious? We’re here because of a stupid internet challenge?” The chubbier male steps forward toward HABIT, both anger and fear making his voice shaky. “You’re sick and twisted. What— what is this, you’re running a trafficking ring through Twitter or some shit?! You practically tricked us into playing your stupid game! Who do you think you are?!”

HABIT’s smile drops, staring down the man. He charges toward the man aggressively and grabs the front of his shirt. The rest of you recoil back, startled by the sudden and quick movement. “You’re all here by your own doing and you only have yourselves to blame. You signed up to play the game. So fuckin’ play it.” He practically spits before he throws him backward. He crashes back into your little group, you all fumbling to keep your footing.

“I’m gonna remind you all of the rules once and only once because I’m in a good mood. But after that, you’re fucking done if you cross the line again.” He sounds genuinely angered, the playful lilt completely gone.

“Rule one: do not fuck with me. Rule two: do not lie to me. Rule three: do not seek outside help. You,” he points to the chubby male, “are on thin fucking ice. Don’t make me make an example out of you so early.”

After a beat of silence, HABIT gives you all a serene smile, taking your silence as compliance.

“Scream, cry, beg me to go home, make a pitiful attempt at escape. It’ll make no difference. I personally suggest you save your energy.” It makes your skin crawl, how definitive the statement was. Your fates were sealed ever since you got accepted, and he made that very clear. He walks in a slow circle around the spotlight, his gaze predatory and analyzing.

“Save the groveling for later though, alright? There will be plenty of time for that soon. For now, let’s start with some icebreakers, yeah? Loosen you guys up a little.” He completes the circle around you all, stopping in front of the shorter woman who had been pale with nerves since the moment HABIT made himself known. “You. Name?” He toothily grins at her.

She swallows thickly before responding in a small voice. “Um. Eliza—“

“Wrong!” HABIT gleefully yells, cutting her off. He almost sounds as if he’s on the verge of laughter. “Try again.”

The woman’s breathing picks up a little, now looking a bit frantic as she answers, desperate to avoid his apparently easily triggered wrath.

“But… But my name is Elizabeth! I swear it is!” She tries to reason with him, only to be met with a disappointed sigh. He tsk, shakes his head, and walks over to a metal chair that was off to the side. The entire group, you included, recoils when HABIT picks up the metal chair and hurls it against the wall with strength a human couldn’t possibly possess. A few gasps are heard as a loud crash echos through the room. The metal chair was now deformed and bent where it collided.

“Mm-mm. That was your old name. And I already told you it was wrong.” He walks back over to her, but rolls his eyes when she flinches and ducks her head down, her body trembling. He heaves a dramatic sigh, removing his hat to run a hand through his hair.

“Anyone wanna help her out? Hm? You?” The man he stops in front of, lanky and tall, stumbles back when HABIT lunges into his space. His hands fly out of his pockets and raise up as if to protect his face.

“What about you?” He points to the muscular man, who takes a step back, keeping his eye on HABIT’s finger. HABIT tilts his head at the silent, tense atmosphere before he locks eyes with you. Your heart catches; you made the mistake of staring at his face too long.

“What about you?” He emphasizes each word with a heavy step toward you, tone low and impatient. Of course the moment he directs his attention to you is the moment where you clearly can’t afford to fuck up.

You couldn’t say your name. He already said that was incorrect. In fact, he had been trying to strip each of you of your autonomy and identity from the very beginning; you knew that for certain. He said it himself, didn’t he? That if you had a life— a job, family, friends— before this, that it would be no more. That burying objects and relationships you held dear wasn’t noteworthy nor was it special; it was just another necessary step that brought you an inch toward being more husk than person.

There was only one other moniker you could think of, in this case. The one he gave you, all that time ago when you got your acceptance letter for the tournament.

“… Seven. My name is Seven.” You finally speak, voice tight with anxiety. You do your best to maintain the eye contact, but it’s hard. There’s something about him that’s just wrong; it makes the energy in the air prickle and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your instincts tell you to run. A quieter part of you tells you to fight.

“Veeeery good, rabbit.” He gives you a wide, manic smile. It’s a grin that’s too wide. It like his teeth don’t quite fit into his mouth properly, and the muscles twitch in a way that looks as if he’s out of practice using them. You flinch when he suddenly grabs your wrist in a tight grip, yanking you forward. You stumble over your feet as he manhandles you, doing your best to stay standing properly.

“Don’t worry, you can choose where you want the real tattoo later.” He roughly holds your shaking arm in place, a purple permanent marker popping open. A scraggly number seven was drawn on your forearm. He releases you and gives you a little push back into your place under the circle of light. He throws the marker toward you, and you fumble to catch it. Your heart patters in your chest, but you manages to keep your composure on the outside, clutching the marker like it was your anchor.

“The rest of your rabbits can write your own numbers while you listen close.” He drags over a crate, standing on top of it in a theatrical manner.

“I know what you’re probably thinking. “Oh, why me? Why choose me? Why kidnap me?”” He puts on a high pitched voice, mockingly, laughing a loud cackle. His expression suddenly changes quick as a whip, the amusement dropping from his voice and face.

“You’re not special. Let’s get that straight right now. I didn’t pick you. I didn’t want you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time after you made the wrong decisions. And because of that, many of you are gonna crack under the pressure before this week is over. Because of that, almost each and every one of you,” he points forward, “will be dead by the time this week is over.”

He lets it sink in before he claps, smiling again with his teeth.

“That being said! You’re all ballsy enough to have gotten this far in the first place, so don’t go dying on me yet, ‘kay? I prepared a whole lotta enrichment for you, rabbits, so make sure you’re appreciative and stay playing as long as possible. Don’t disappoint me.” He hops off the crate, walking toward the staircase.

“Wait.” the tall girl boldly steps forward. He turns around slowly, tilting his head. She straightens her posture, standing her ground but careful not to break rule one.

“Back then… When you sent out the letters, you said there were originally seven of us that made it to the end. Why are there only six of us here?”

“Oh! Silly me, I almost forgot.” He gives his hands a sharp clap and your vision goes white for a minute as all the lights in the warehouse flicker on at once. You instinctively shield your eyes with your hands, a sharp pain shooting up into your head. Another testament to how long you’ve been here—how much havoc he’s possibly wreaked on your psyche—to make you so sensitive to light. Removing your hands, your eyes land on the source of that dreadful dripping earlier.

You freeze, stomach giving a weak little twist. Your eyes remained locked on the body, strung up and dangling from the ceiling from a long noose. Blood had continued dripping from a long cut in her body, from her neck to her lower stomach, the entire time and it’s still going. It’s strange, the metallic smell that hits your nose only in that moment. Now that you think about it, that scent had been present the entire time. However, with everything that’s happened, it had slipped away quietly into the background. You remind yourself to stay vigilant, especially around your kidnapper.

Even as a few screams rings out from behind you, and the people around you start shuffling in a panicked manner away from the direction of the body, you remain silent and locked in your stare; analyzing, observing, assimilating. You take a step back only when you realize you’re the only one who hasn’t, too caught up in digesting your new situation.

“Poor little rabbit number 61 was the sacrificial meat I had selected— randomly of course. Gave her a little job, and she fulfilled it. Now she’s out. Not much left for her to do, you know? You, my six lucky rabbits, are the ones who truly made it to the end round. Consider her… preliminary.” He gives an exaggerated little wow gesture with his hands as he explains, making his way up the stairs. His eyes remained locked on the group of people before him. Before, you figured he was like you; the type to analyze every little detail and soak everything in with the senses. You now realize he doesn’t look away for the same reason a wolf doesn’t look away from the flock of sheep it’s stalking. He opens the door, and it screams with a metal creak.

“Alright rabbits, you’re free to roam! Get familiar with your little enclosure! Don’t you go making a mess, now, you hear! No drawing on the walls, no balls indoors, all that jazz.” He flashes a killer grin before slamming the door shut. You note to yourself that you don’t hear the clicks of locks sliding into place; you definitely would’ve if he did bother to lock the door, because the silence that follows is stifling. It’s a heavy and tension filled thing, like a coil ready to spring.

You look down at the number seven inscribed on your skin and wordlessly hold out the marker to your group; not at anyone in particular, just to anyone bold enough to take that first step.

“You’re kidding. You’re actually gonna do what that psycho says?” The muscular man gapes at you.

“I want to live.” You reply simply, your voice steady. It’s deceptive. There’s a pit in your stomach and your heart hasn’t stopped beating fiercely. But you were never good at wearing your emotions, or putting on the correct expression; not the way normal people do, anyway.

“If you want to live, you should be trying to escape! Don’t you see what he’s doing, reducing you to a number?!” He’s practically screaming at you. You sigh, not in the mood to deal with the mansplaining or any sort of ranting. You walk up to the taller woman and hold out your hand. When she hesitantly places it in yours, you press the marker into her palm.

“You seem a little smarter. What do we call you?” You ask, staring up at her in the eye. She swallows thickly. She looks scared, but she gives a careful nod, popping the marker open and writing a number down. It’s in a smaller font than yours, probably in hopes to forget about it when it’s out of sight. You watch, and then nod.

“Fifty-two. Nice to meet you.” You say politely. The shorter woman steps forward.

“Two hundred twenty-seven.” She says. 52 passes the marker to her and she writes her number. The three of you look to the men. The lanky one purses his lips and steps forward, speaking quietly with reluctance.

“Thirteen.” He writes, joins the three of you.

“You people are fucking stupid, you should be focusing on making some sort of plan, not playing his game.” The muscular man speaks angrily. “My name is Ted and that’s what you’re gonna call me. Not some fucking number.” He spits before he stalks off.

With that, the rest of you turn to the chubbier man. He pauses before rolling his eyes, sighing. “Look, just call me Max. My number was eighty-nine but I’m not writing that shit. Ted’s right, that motherfucker just wants to get into our heads and use numbers to break us down. We can’t just let him, not if we want to get out of here. We have to remember who we are.”

He does his best to reason and get you to see his point of view, but you are unmoved. You had already decided that from now on, your name would be 7 until further notice, because you remember something HABIT said earlier.

“Almost each and every one of you will be dead by the time this week is over.”

Almost each and every one. Not all. Your chances of survival were non-zero. Of course, he could be lying, but you’re left with little choice when it comes to choosing to believe him or not. If what he’s saying is true, then that means he truly does want a competition. He truly does want to crown a winner. It could be you, and you understand that this means the rest of them will die.

You know exactly who you are; you don’t need to escape this game to prove it or constantly remind yourself to make it real. You have a lot of faults. You’ve done things you aren’t proud of. But whatever you’ve done, it’s gotten you this far in life; numb, misanthropic, but alive.

A maniac with a machete and a clear penchant for theatrics isn’t going to be the thing to fuck that up.

𖡎𓂃 𓂃✍︎

A/N: ahhhh part 1 of the new series :p i’m so unused to writing multi chapter (i usually like long form one shots better) so if anything needs revision just gently bop me on the head and correct me ty 🫶

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✍︎