riot

20 . she / they

[classygumi]

☆ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ are you real?

. masterlists. rules / tag system ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

.

⠀☆ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ am i dreaming again? ⠀⠀⠀⠀

i can never tell.

. will i wake up soon? ☆ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹

please DO NOT repost, plagiarize, modify, or translate my works. DO NOT feed my work into any AI system. ©️2025-2026 classygumi

[classygumi]

you never imagined the day that daredevil himself would be in your mortuary.

alive, to your dismay. you really wanted to cut him open—see what made him tick. maybe run samples to see how the hell he could do what he did.

but, you knew why he was here.

he had a dead man in tow, a bled-out witness who yanked a business card—yours—from his pocket and shoved it into his hands before croaking.

stupid dex, your mind conjured, an irritating fondness filling your bones. the kill was flawless, on the mark, that is, but the witness was messy. you’d taught him arteries and severe points better than that, taught him how to exsanguinate quickest—and this is what he did? blood dripped onto the floor, nothing you hadn’t experienced before, but it was annoying.

you had just cleaned.

you gnawed on the inside of your cheek, keeping your expression schooled into its usual boredness and unimpressed glamor, “can i help you?”

“following a lead,” he explained, showing you the card the victim had given him. you stayed quiet, tilting your head as if to make him go on.

“bullseye,” he spat, disdain coating his voice. you fought a grin, glancing down when he rummaged in his suit, procuring a small knife.

“i understand if this isn’t your expertise, but i was hoping you could examine it—“ daredevil, matthew, gently lowered the dead man, barely reacting to the growing pool of blood.

you raised a hand, eyes flicking to the window.

he was watching.

a 𖣠 gift

you trailed your fingers along the blade, ignoring the way matt tensed when you lifted it. you seemed indifferent to it, unaffected by the blood pooling at your shoes—familiar. he waited, patient as always, as you balanced the knife on a finger.

“you’ve seen these knives before,” he calmly spoke, and you lifted your gaze. you shrugged, flipping it in the air and catching it in the other hand, “usually say somethin’ different for me. how’d you get this?”

his head tilted, slight and quick, pondering.

“you are acquainted,” matt’s arms crossed, his suit flexing with his biceps—he was visibly angry, yet he had to keep his cool. you were a valuable lead, one that could produce worthwhile results. as you watched his body speak for him, you had to admit, he was—

swip.

you didn’t even flinch as another knife embedded itself in the wooden frame. the corner of your lips twitched, it was as if dex knew exactly what you were about to think. matt’s head jerked to the window, reaching for you and yanking you to a closed off area. you swept the knife from the bark as you went, fingers tracing the words:

try 𖣠 again

matt took the blade from you, confusedly glaring at it, “what does that mean?” you bit your lip, amused as you glanced out the barely visible window. you saw a dark outline, huge and lurking, lips curling up slightly.

“he wants you to re-guess our bond, matt.”

his head snapped up to you, disbelief shrouding his figure. “tell me where he is,” he spat angrily, and you grinned so playfully it made a stalking dex’s heart race. “he’s right here,” you cooed mockingly, fingers tracing around your heart.

matt pocketed the knives, presumably listening for dex’s heartbeat as he launched himself out of the shattered window. you lifted a hand to your ear, pressing the clear line behind it. you heard his breathing, the soft pants of air as he sprinted, “you’re real cute.”

“what? can’t let the guy think he’s got a chance.”

“could’ve let me stall a little more. needed more info,” you grumbled as your boot nudged the corpse in the room, “what to do with you…”

“i’ll clean him up, baby,” dex groaned, a loud crash making you wince, “don’t get your pretty hands dirty.”

“you just don’t want me to touch another man.”

“yeah, well,” he laughed, “that, too.”

a slow smile crept across your lips, the gentle thrum of your mutation lifting the body, “he’s dead, dexy. in case you forgot.”

“i remember, sweet thing,” he whispered, “you looked so pretty with his blood on you.”

you transported the body to the furnace, whispering a soft prayer as the flames rose to meet his flesh. you hummed quietly, boots splashing across the puddles of blood as you swayed through the room.

“gonna make it up to you when i’m home,” dex promised, “swear it.”

“mm,” you mused, “i’m having so much fun playin’ with matty, though..”

“i’ll kill him.”

you smiled, arms stretching across the metal operating table. your cheek pressed against the cool steel, a misplaced scalpel barely cutting into your skin.

“i wonder if his insides are as interesting as him, dexy.”

“thought you were gonna cut me open first?”

you laughed, visualizing your beloved boyfriend in an intense scuffle with the very man you were dying to dissect.

“you think his brain has horns, too?”

“baby.”

[classygumi]

slenderverse men (habit, tim, brian) with an invisible woman / wife! reader (except i got distracted and lost any semblance of plot in brian’s part…so…no invisible woman aspect just me thirsting basically…)

HABIT ... evan myers

mud-caked boots thudded against the floor, the broken lock of the door clinking on the hardwood. the house was dead silent, the only sound an eerie drip from the barely on faucet he'd been meaning to fix. the lights were off, the only indication that you were even home was the messily stored shoes.

he'd deal with that later.

habit hated—no, loathed—when you did this. you would, in every sense of the word, disappear. you'd be fine in the messages you sent earlier, no trace of anything being wrong—then you'd become a ghost in your own home. all because you didn’t want him to worry.

he swore beneath his breath, kicking off his boots and slinging his blood-soaked jacket to the ground.

habit was a mean man.

a bully who wore violence as a shield, a man who picked flesh from between his teeth, a guy who found bleeding out far easier than managing his emotions.

he cared little for emotional matters, fueled by animalistic cravings and cannibalistic tendencies.

but, in his defense, as your relationship progressed, he became remarkably better at comfort. well, sometimes.

he moved to storm down the hallway, in pursuit of the nook that you hid in when you were upset. the record player next to the hallway's entry flicked on, a loud song blaring from out of the blue. habit tensed, shoulders drawn taught as he slowly glared at it.

"...that better be you."

silence.

he knew it was you. he heard your quiet breathing, he smelled spun sugar—and blood.

he sighed, crimson-stained hands jerking forward. he heard a soft footstep upon his action, and followed it. you flinched when he grabbed you with ease, wrangling you down on the floor. you remained in your translucent state, much to his chagrin. he heard the way your breath hitched when you moved too harshly, or when his thumb dug too much into your ribs.

"show me," he seethed, "or i’ll gut you myself.”

now, habit would be nicer, you see.

but when he's dealing with his hard-headed, irritating yet utterly intoxicating sweetheart? it’s like the miniscule nice bone in his body vanishes.

your figure flickered in view, your pretty eyes averted from him. “good girl,” he mused, lips curling into a frown upon the blood that soaked the side of your sweater. his gaze met yours, unimpressed, “where’d ya go today?”

you stayed quiet.

“ohhh, so we’re playing that game, huh?” habit snickered, “sure, sure, we can.”

a searing pain shot up your side when he barely pressed his thumb against the wound. you squirmed against the floor, hands catching his wrists. your nails dug into his skin as he let you pull them off, your eyes watery with anger, “you’re so mean.”

habit snickered, scooping you off the floor and bringing you to the bathroom. “yeah? tell me how mean i am, sweets,” he egged you on as he grabbed the medical kit from the cabinet. he slipped the sweater over your head, amusement flooding his body when you huffed and turned away. “aw, my girl poutin’?”

“can’t believe you broke the door lock.”

“you act like this ain’t my house. and it was your fault, hun.”

your wound was big, bigger than he was prepared for, but was fixable nonetheless. he handled the wound with minimal struggle, the only source of comfort he brought was the gentle sweep of his thumb against unbroken skin. he rolled his eyes when you flinched from the sting of antiseptic, he sighed when you gripped his shoulder when the gauze barely grazed your skin. “who did it?” he quietly asked, tone devoid of teasing.

“he’s dead,” you picked at the stray thread of his collar. habit hummed in approval.

he’d tease you, bully you, all the things—but god help whoever laid a hand or an eye on you.

“how y’do these missions by y’self is beyond me,” he muttered, the two of you now sprawled on the couch. he was on his back, freshly showered and clothed, and you laid between his legs, cheek squished against his chest. one of his hands was under your hoodie (his, actually), tracing your spine and the bandage that wrapped around you. his other hand was hanging off the side of the cushion, remote held lazily as he flicked through the channels.

“i do just fine,” you grumbled, “they can’t hit what they can’t see.”

the music from earlier still played, just quieter. the room was cold—habit’s preference, he liked when you sought him for warmth (but don’t tell him that)—and the lights were dim. “good one,” he dryly said, “come up with that on y’own?”

“i hate you.”

habit grinned, lips pressing against your head, “uh-huh.” you sighed, grumbling against him as your figure vanished. he felt your weight leave him, and he laughed, “where are you going?” the armchair on the opposite side of the room creaked, and began to rock slightly. the folded blanket was moved, tossed over you. he saw the outline of your knees pressed to your chest.

“you’re cute,” he mused, “my fussy girl.”

he heard you huff.

habit stayed where he was, sprawled out so invitingly. he knew you’d crawl back in his arms eventually, unable to resist the warmth and comfort nobody else saw in him. even when he was at worst, you still loved him.

and he’d rather die than admit it, but he’d grown to love you, too.

he let his eyes close, tired from the day. he kept his expression neutral when the armchair creaked, your footsteps quiet across the floor. the cushion dipped between his legs, and he felt you lay atop him. the blanket you’d carried over with you draped over you and his lower half. his hands found you, bringing you up further. your face nuzzled into his neck, and habit let his hands wander back beneath your clothes.

“…i don’t actually hate you,” you whispered.

he lazily smirked,

“yeah, i know. i’m just fond’a being mean to ya. the meanest.”

“habit.”

“poor thing,” he cooed, “y’hubby’s just the worst.” he looked down, amused at the way you became visible just to glare at him.

“shut up,” you muttered, “goodnight.”

“mhm. night, sweetheart.”

he felt you pinch him harshly, and he kissed your head. he was lovesick—irritated by it, too.

but he guessed you were better than being alone.

he guessed.

masky ... TIMOTHY WRIGHT

you assumed it was risky.

okay, yeah, you knew it was an insanely risky and a potential near-death experience.

but, in your defense, you needed out of the house. tim was supposed to be back from a week-long mission yesterday, and he hated it when you weren't home to greet him. he hadn't sent a message, anything.

so, when your girls messaged you late on the second night he wasn't home, you agreed. you'd gotten dressed—one of tim's favorite dresses and knee high boots—and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of his chair and headed out the door.

the only issue?

you saw headlights coming down the driveway.

you froze, purse already thrown in your car and the engine purring. the truck's wheels gritted against the gravel, and in a fit of panic, you disappeared. your car door remained unlocked as tim pulled into his usual spot. you saw him hop out, a deep groan leaving his lips as he stretched. you crouched on the opposite side of your car, eyes barely peeking over the hood as you watched him.

he didn't wear his usual jacket, the only thing he wore was a black shirt that exposed his happy trail with every lift of his arms. his jeans had dirt on the knees, bloodied handprints on the side of his thighs, his boots a muddy disaster. he rounded the truck after killing the engine, dragging his work bag from the passenger seat.

he kicked the door shut, pausing halfway to the door. tim, no matter how dull and exhausted he was, had sharp senses.

he stared at your purring vehicle, brows knitting together in confusion. he neared it, and you curled in on yourself. his hair was messy, no doubt tousled due to his hand constantly running through it, and you could smell him—nicotine, worn leather, that stupid cologne that always made your head fuzzy.

to your horror, he dropped his bag on the gravel, fingers curling around the door handle and pulling it open. tim examined your car, head tilting at your purse and keys inside it. "she goin' somewhere?" he asked beneath his breath, killing the engine and raising to his full height. he looked displeased, maybe a little sad.

you didn't have time to ponder though.

your phone blared.

you flinched violently, the device clattering against the ground. you stood, still shrouded in transparency, backing away as quietly as possible.

"sugar?" tim called, rounding the vehicle. he dismissed the ringing phone, eyes latched on the shifting gravel. you saw a dark little grin pull at his lips, "don't tell me. my girl's all dolled up to go out?"

the gravel stopped moving, and he took steps closer.

"y'hurtin' my feelings," tim cooed, "didn't you miss me? 'cause i sure missed you."

a strong whiff of your perfume flashed by.

he jerked a hand out, grazing the fabric of the jacket you wore. your phone was swept up, the call answered:

"babe! where are you? you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!" nina whined. you jumped in your car, and failed to lock it before tim got the door open. he climbed in the passenger seat, smirking low when you came into view. "my pretty thing," he muttered, finger tracing the hem of the little black dress you wore. it dug into your thighs, and he near groaned at the way his jacket fell off your shoulders.

"um..." you breathed, "i might not be able to make it..."

"huh? what happened? you were so excited to go out! wait, did tim get home?! can he hear me?" nina shouted, "timmy boy, let the girl come play with us! please?"

tim's fingers slid the phone from your hand, his other hand lifting to cup your jaw and turn your pretty face from side to side, "mm. sorry, nina. gonna need my girl all to myself tonight." you parted your lips to complain, and he covered your lips with his palm. he felt the heat wafting off your skin, eyes warm with amusement, "might need'er tomorrow, too."

"big and greedy, you are so selfish—"

"sure am," he agreed easily, thumb pressing the red button. he tossed your phone in your discarded purse with a look so intense it made you squirm. "you were just gonna go out like that?" he asked, "what’nt even gonna show a man? send me somethin' nice? i'm real hurt, sugar."

"you're late," you murmured, crossing your arms, "you were supposed to be home two nights ago."

"sure was," he replied, voice deep and unbothered, "but m'here now, yeah? gonna leave me?"

you glared at him, and tim grinned something wicked.

"gonna leave y'poor husband all alone? he's tired, sweet thing. could use some of ya, sugar. be real nice on him."

you squirmed, his hands running freely along you as he leaned closer. his lips grazed your cheek, warm breath tickling your ear, "stay with me. y'can go tomorrow."

"promise?" you warily said, unable to resist the smile tugging at your lips when he kissed you.

"won't promise that," tim mused, "y'heard nina. i'm a greedy man, sweet thing."

HOODIE ... brian thomas

the bathroom renovation was going well.

you designed what you’d envisioned, and brian got to work. he built the vanity, the sink, reworked the old and rickety pipes that the house originally came with, and now, it was in the final stretch. the space above the toilet looked empty, and you decided that a cabinet would be too cluttered.

so, a shelf was decided upon.

brian had managed to get one built and drilled into the wall before he had to leave on a job, and you assured him that you’d assist in securing the second one when he returned.

however, you did not account for the fact that your husband would look like this.

“angel, you’re not helpin’,” brian mused, sat reverse on the toilet lid as he held a shelf he’d built against the wall. as you declared, you were supposed to help him level it and figure out its position, but all you could do was stare. his white tank was slightly dirty from working in the garage, his jeans stained with oil from fixing up the truck—he looked delicious. his arms were flexed, veins in his forearms popping as he continued to hold the shelf against the wall.

“wish i was that shelf,” you muttered, hand clasping over your lips in disbelief. his eyes flicked to you, utterly amused. brian laughed at your petrified expression, “that right? y’know i can make that happen for ya. just help me get this thing on, huh?”

you moved to stand behind him, having to force your eyes to analyze the shelf instead of the way his back muscles shifted under his shirt. the way his blonde curls were messy, sweaty at the back of his neck, the sun-kissed tan of his shoulders—

“angel.”

you shook your head, steeling your nerves, “um, little higher on the—the left…”

he did as instructed, waiting for your next instruction. he wasn’t oblivious to the effect he had on you, feeling your eyes wander along him as he sat patiently. “looks level to me, what do you think?” you asked, hands reaching out and landing on his shoulders.

“i jus’ had a change of heart, angel. i think i ought to handle you before i can get this shelf on right,” you stepped back when brian stood, him lowering the shelf to lay safely on the floor. he turned to you, hands perched on his hips as he stared you down, “my needy girl ain’t lettin’ me fix anythin’ today, huh?”

your eyes fell to his chest, head utterly in the clouds.

brian smirked.

“thought so.”

he drew closer, arms coiling around your waist and lifting you up. he pressed you firmly against the cool wall of the bathroom. you shrunk beneath his intense gaze, legs tightening around him. his thumb drew circles on your waist, tongue briefly wetting his lips. his jean clad thighs flexed as he held you up, the buckle of his belt digging against you.

“this what you wanted?”

you nodded, pleased and mildly embarrassed. he grinned, tiny tooth gap proudly revealed. brian’s eyes were warm, pupils dilated as he admired you. “y’want me, angel?” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. he pressed his lips to your cheek, dragging kisses down your jaw and neck.

“please?”

“ain’t no need to beg. my lady wants me, she gets me,” he carried you to the shower, and your brows knit together. “what’s the matter?”

“shower?” you asked in confusion. brian tilted his head, expression shrouded in a degree of shyness or meekness you hadn’t seen in a while, “i’m dirty, baby. i know i ain’t smell good. figured it’d be nicer for ya.”

“don’t shower,” you whined, “i love when you’re all sweaty and dirty.”

“filthy girl,” his lips connected with yours, knee finding the wall of the living room and having you rest upon it. you gasped when his knee lifted, pressing against you.

“i’ll take y’on every wall in this house.”

[classygumi]

Haiii, are your requests open?

Also if so can I ask a question rq? Do you write for Hurt comfort (like angst but where most of the plot is comfort) more specifically hurt comfort evolving around mental health issues/relapsing?

If this question made you uncomfortable I sincerely apologize, I just wanted to understand the boundaries of your blog before I sent out a possibly triggering ask

hi sweetheart!! i’m just seeing this i’m so sorry! my fic requests aren’t open at the moment, i’m still struggling with motivation and writers block so in fear of disappointing requesters im not taking any!! however if you want to send in your idea, i can include it in a future various post im working on!!

:(( btw i love your user and you are so sweet!

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

Reader is a hybrid omega. Yes the operator takes you from the fancy breeding place. Yes it is fucked up that mfs can just “get” omegas for a high enough price.

But this is porn and I am horny. Pervert Babs is clocking in.

NO PLOT. ALLLLLLL DICKKKKKK

[classygumi]

YES GODDDDDDDDDDD

[classygumi]

my mii and habit mii have a crush on each other in tomodachi life i’ve made it

[classygumi]

slenderverse men x various scenario smau (pt 2: toby rogers, jack nyras, jeff woods)

pt 1: habit, brian thomas, tim wright

[classygumi]

slenderverse men x various scenario smau (pt 1: habit, brian thomas, tim wright)

pt 2: toby rogers, jack nyras, jeff woods

[classygumi]

PSA for upcoming slenderverse works / smaus, i have been inspired by the grand and glorious babs of @cryingintheclubdhmu to write for the slenderverse in general.

any of my writing that feels similar to theirs is simply an agreement in how the characters would act, and i very very very much encourage you to to read their spectacular writing. life altering, even.

[classygumi]

THATS ME???? MOTHER OF MAN I AM ACTUALLY BEING PERCEIVED 😭😭😭😭😭 I DIDNT EVEN CONSIDER THIS WS A POSSIBILITY

[classygumi]

slenderverse men against the setting of obsession (2026), except the one wish willow doesn’t seem to work…because they’re already obsessed with you…thoughts…

[classygumi]

yes i think majority of the slenderverse characters are southern and i will fight you on that

[classygumi]

bad habit puts his hat on you when he fucks you.

you’ll be barely lucid, hands reaching for anything to hold. your legs spread and aching, your lips glossy with his spit. the bed creaking and moaning with every push and pull of his hips.

he’ll loom over you, wicked smirk on his lips as he takes you.

the first time he did it was on a whim.

your hair kept falling over your pretty and flustered face, and he was not happy with that. so, in a fit of irritation, he yanked the hat off his head and put it on you.

it unlocked something primal in him.

you—bare, vulnerable, malleable, so sweet—crying for him while his hat rested on your head. he didn’t care if your sweat soaked the fabric, or if his hair was now getting in his face.

and when you’re riding him?

he’s all over you.

death proof cap pulled low over your face, the only visible feature was your parted lips as you bounced. his hands would dig into the plush of your thighs, groaning as he took what you gave.

and when it was over?

the two of you would breathe and bask in each other presence, and he would take his hat off you. he’d use the bill of it to lift your chin to him, kissing you before pushing it back over your hair and whispering:

“we’re goin’ again. y'look too sweet, hun."

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

𝐗𝐎𝐗𝐎 - 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫 ㅤ⋆˙⟡

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: lıllılı.ıllı.ılı Habit/Evan x GN! Reader ıılıı.lllııılı.

"She’s My Collar - Gorillaz ft. Kali Uchis ⋅" ★

𝟶𝟷:𝟻𝟷 ━━━━━━●─── 𝟶𝟹:𝟶𝟹 ⇆ ◁ ❚❚ ▷ ↻

W/C: 4.2k // Summary: How Habit would romance you !! Both SFW & NSFW HC’s included !!

Tags: Marking, biting, canon level violence, pet play, slight dub-con, he’s manipulating you but lovingly (kind of), and Habit’s very questionable code of ethic’s

A/N: HE WONT LEAVE MY BRAIN. It’s so bad, but anyway !! ENJOYYY !! ^3^

𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐮𝐨 ➽──────────────❥

Why Do You & Him Work? ✰ .ᐟ

Habit’s view of you is… interesting, to say the least. He is sadistic and full of malice to his very core, and there is nothing on earth that could change that fact. Not even you.

However, the way he goes about it is different when it comes to you. For whatever reason, you fascinate him, enthral him in a weird, kind of useless way. And because of that, everything he does to you is increased tenfold on his behalf.

In his head, tugging your hair and hearing you yelp is equivalent to gutting someone and hearing them scream. Both acts give him the same amount of pleasure, and if they were put on a physical scale, they would be even.

Habit is basically micro-dosing on your suffering. If he wanted to chain you up somewhere, torture you with different knives, and break your spirit after months of psychological warfare- he would. It wouldn’t even make him blink, and he’d do it in a heartbeat if he had an itch that day.

The thing is, he just doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t need to. Doesn’t have to go to extremes to get that rush. He can get the same feeling that comes with stripping the humanity away from some poor civilian- from simply knocking a drink out of your hand.

Tripping you just enough to make you stumble forward, or giving you a forehead flick hard enough for you to scowl. Push his hand away with an irritated whine, and he’ll laugh. Not because this is a cute couple moment, but because you’re mad at him. You, in that moment, were irritated.

He can see it on your face, the way your expression contorts in annoyance and disdain. That is what gives him his rush.

In any other situation, you would’ve been long dead. It’s something not even he understands, whether by coincidence or sheer luck- he doesn’t get the urge to maim and slaughter when he looks at you.

And he found out with time that he couldn’t keep you constantly unhappy either.

After a period of persistently doing things that he knew you’d hate, he found himself strangely bored. Yet, he still didn’t want to kill you, even the idea of it seemed bland to him.

Therefore, hatched Habit’s Plan of trial and error.

He’d tried being consistently an asshole, so what if he was consistently decent? Well, by his standards, anyway. Weeks of him sparing you the tiniest speck of the bare minimum- and he was still bored.

He debated psychological torture, but eventually settled on trying the half-and-half method first. And that right there was his sweet spot.

He’d be good to you one day, then shove you around the next. It was a guessing game, and that’s what made it fun for him. Never going too far, because once again, he didn’t need to. It’d be pointless.

A waste of time to push you past your breaking point, and then your dynamic with him would change. Which meant your reactions would change, and he couldn’t have that, now could he?

ᯓ★

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐳𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 ➽────────❥

How Do You Fit Into His World? ✰ .ᐟ

Meeting you on a whim, he had just decided he liked you. Maybe it was your tone, or your nervous fidgets, but none of that mattered. His sights were set on you; that had to mean something. A once-in-a-millennium chance, you were his since you’d gained a heartbeat.

Habit, in no way, shape, or form, believes you are his equal. That being said, what he feels for you is as close to “fondness” as he could ever possibly get.

He doesn’t experience emotion the way humans do. Habit physically does not possess the capability to care about anything or anyone more than he cares for you. It’s simply that his “love” will always be different from what you are used to.

If everyone on earth were a bug, or critter to crush and pick apart- you would be his pet rabbit.

An animal, sure, but one that was taken care of. Chosen, in a sense. He thinks -knows- you’re not the same as him. On the same level as him, but he sort of likes that about you. It’s not your fault you were born with a stupid human brain, with your weak body and fragile mind.

The way people look at dogs. They could mourn their dogs, grieve and love their dogs- but at the end of the day. To most, they are still dogs.

You don’t really ask your puppy if he wants a blue collar; you give it to him and expect him to like it. Because he doesn’t know better, because he is an animal. And you are the one holding the leash.

Still, despite knowing he is technically useless, you keep him anyway. Throw things like cheese slices at his face, and find joy in his distress. In the grand scheme of things, it’s harmless.

He’s only panicked because he doesn’t understand. He is only a puppy, after all. It’s endearing when he does dumb things, so naive to everything, it’s as charming as it is pitiful.

That is exactly how Habit sees you, how he digests your ‘relationship.’

You’re free to call him your boyfriend- he doesn’t care. It’s a word; it means nothing to him. It just appears to please you, and he needs balance for when he inevitably pisses you off again, so have at it.

He doesn’t think about the romance aspects of it; he just does things because you’ve talked about them. And it’s not like he minds seeing you enjoy yourself; you are still his pet bunny. And that means he has to pamper you at least a little.

Just like with animals, you can’t always neglect and shun them away with cruelty. Or else they’ll turn aggressive or mute.

The choices were: withering away from mental strain far too heavy for their minds to handle, or start biting the hand that feeds.

Either way, it was incredibly stale. Repetitive and bleak, the only reason it’s fun to mess with animals is because of the change. Your empty-headed pet wobbles adorably like a newborn deer, all because you’d sprayed water on the floor. You’ll scoop the thing up and console it softly. Even though you’re the one at fault.

Habit does the same with you, and it works without fail every time. He’ll yank on your hair, pinch your ass as you walk past, or randomly insult you vaguely. Then, when you turn around to yell at him or cry- he’ll kiss you.

The rare display of initiated affection stuns you, and you get that stupid little expression on your face. Lips parted, with your pupils dilated. Hands pawing at his chest with your dumb doe eyes. He has so much power over your subconscious, it’s comical. He finds it almost… cute. Almost.

ᯓ★

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ➽────────────❥

Love Languages & What They Mean To Him ✰ .ᐟ

Technically, he doesn’t have one. He more so just adapts to be whatever to appease you. But if we get down to the nitty-gritty, it’s acts of service and physical touch.

Habit would never vocalize what he wanted from you in your non-typical relationship; he simply takes things and expects you to memorize why.

Acts of service for him work slightly differently. Usually, people do these meaningful services for their partners without them having to ask, but with Habit’s “lifestyle.” That has often proven itself to be quite difficult; on top of that, he’d rather tell you what to do straight up.

If you want to be a good little bunny, you’ll wait for him to give you a direct order. It’s easier that way, then you can do your stupid couple shit, and he gets what he wants.

In return, you get affection.

He’s not cuddly, but head pats are decently frequent. They’re fast and require little to no effort, and they also seem to boost your mood quite quickly. So, win-win.

If you’re too down in the dumps for his liking- bad day and you are not giving him the right reactions, he knows he has to replenish your brain before doing what he wants to do. Pets are so fickle.

You’re sleepy, and sad, and not looking at him because you’re too busy being boring. He’ll slide up next to you on the couch, tutting under his breath, annoyed. Why aren’t you being all weird and touchy like usual?

Then it hits him- rabbits are fucking stupid. And can never solve their own problems. Which means he has to use his secret weapon, his never-failing, mighty trump card.

Bringing up a hand, he’ll start by brushing back the strays covering your face. Running his fingers through the strands before settling a large palm on your head. Ruffle your hair, and like the simple-minded thing you are, you’ll giggle. Does it with a straight face, too. He already knows it’ll work.

As expected, you throw yourself at him with a whine of his name. Start clinging to him as you usually do, and he’ll groan like you’ve burdened him. That’s a part of the act, though. All to see how your face twists up this time.

Habit doesn’t initiate domestic affection unless it’s strategic. However, he won’t stop you if you do.

If he’s not busy, you’re free to hold his hand, hang off of his arm, or hug him from behind. He isn’t excited, exactly, but he knows you need it.

That your little bunny brain will get sulky if he doesn’t let you cling to him, so he’ll roll his eyes and keep you close. For the sake of balance, your low can’t really be a low unless you’ve soared, right?

He doesn’t need rest the way you do. Your problem? You loved to nap and sleep.

Curl up in a sunspot under the windowsill, snoring the day away. That made it easy to keep you satisfied, though. So really, he couldn't complain.

Habit also has a habit of pinching your cheeks. A drive-by face squish, and he’ll walk off like he was never there to begin with. It worsens when you’re sappy or you’ve dressed up for him. Rambling about some cheesy date you planned.

It makes his hands twitch. Initially, he thought you’d invoked wrath in him the way everyone else did- but picturing it didn’t feel as good as he’d thought. He grabbed your head like a basketball. Shaking you a little seemed to do the trick.

That feeling is recurrent, though, much to his chagrin. When your eyes get big, and you stare at him like he’s hung the stars in your name. How foolish of you to believe he could ever love at all.

You’ll cuddle up to him, kiss his jaw, and laugh. He doesn’t know why you get away with doing these things; to this day, he still hasn’t figured it out.

But he’ll let you anyway, and he’ll keep letting you until you leave this earth once and for all.

Just because.

ᯓ★

𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐦 ➽──────────────❥

The Down & Dirty ✰ .ᐟ

Kinks on kinks, you think he has a problem. When you had told him you were ready for sex- his entire face lit up like a child on Christmas day. Running his tongue along his teeth as he pinned you beneath him, chuckling at every sound you made.

“What? Somethin’ bothering you? Don’t tell me you’re brain dead already.”

Mocking, while he pounded roughly into you. Habit degrades like no one's business, calling you a dumb whore for letting him have you like this. His hips are even meaner than he is, snapping against your ass, his hand pressing your back into a crystalline arch.

Spits on your tongue when you open your mouth to beg for mercy. A real nasty bastard too, thumb digging into the fat of your ass and fucking you from behind. He’ll spread you, roar with laughter when you whine about being embarrassed.

Tell him not to look, and he’ll make you take it over the mirror. Thrives off your humiliation, when you’re so far gone you can’t even speak. Leaving welts on your thighs, bruises in the shape of his hands- he loves it all. Branding you to the point it’s undeniable.

“Keep it in your mouth or I’ll break you, understand?”

Control, control, control. Habit gets off on authority, being able to see step by step how you submit is one of his favourite parts. That being said, he’ll make you do nearly gross and impossible tasks, and half the time, he knows you’ll lose.

Uses your throat and orders you not to swallow, and he’ll edge you for hours. Expects you to keep your mouth shut, hold his cum on your tongue while he plays with you to his heart's content. He’ll flip you suddenly, press your ankles by your ears, and fuck his whole weight into you.

Habit will shove his fingers under your tongue, mixing the saliva and seed together with a smile on his face. Prodding around your mouth, toying with you just so you gag- it feels borderline violating.

If you succeed, he’ll throw your legs over his shoulders, fill you to the brim as you claw at the sheets. Going until you pass out, round after round, you barely remember your own name by the end. The pleasure is ruthless and never-ending, you cum so hard it hurts, and he’s still not done.

If you fail, well. Better pray you don’t, because the sadistic side he hides (well enough) from you finally has the chance to shine. He’ll force you to ride him, refusing to lift a finger while you do the work. Pinching you hard enough to bruise, and he’s very cruel about it.

Buys you plugs to tug on, accessories, and collars for you to crawl around in.

“Move your hips, cotton tail- you wanna’ see what happens if I have to tell you again?”

Watches you bounce, desperately chasing your release. Salt streaming down your cheeks as you hiccup, you’ll claw at his bare chest, pleading for anything. It’s been over four hours, and he hasn’t let you cum once.

Making you rock your hips on shaky legs, and he’s lying comfortably below you. Arms over his head and tucked under the pillow.

Then he’ll abruptly plant his feet firm and slam you down. The pace he sets whites out your vision entirely, you’re drooling so much it dribbles onto his skin. You can’t talk, can’t think, letting out nothing but breathy little “Ah-ah-ah-”s. Your limbs go limp, and you collapse; it makes him snort.

Body jolting with each thrust, all you can do is lie there and take it. Being stretched open on his cock over and over again. It’s not his fault, you just look best when you’re crying, pretty with fat tears collecting at your lashes.

Ripe enough to eat.

ᯓ★

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 ➽──────────────❥

The Aftercare ✰ .ᐟ

Surprising everyone, Habit does not just throw a rag at you and call it a day. He’s not the most tender lover, but he is aware enough to understand the toll that it would take on your psyche. After he nearly kills you with his dick, he’ll groom you the way kittens do.

That’s how he justifies the care in his head. He is being a good owner and fulfilling his role well. If he doesn’t, he’ll have broken you beyond repair, and that would make him irresponsible.

The mortal mind is pathetically weak; if he doesn’t offer you at least something to hold onto, you’ll freeze up.

Retreat into your thoughts and dissociate more and more with time. Then he’d lose you, no more reactions, no more fun. You’d be a walking corpse with no purpose. Useless to him, and he was very doubtful that he’d find another “You.”

Wiping down your legs half-heartedly, just enough that your skin is less sticky. And he almost one-hundred-percent made you cry, making the chemicals in your brain swan dive when he got off of you.

This is when you’re the most fragile. The most moldable, which means he has to be careful. Skin on skin is an easy option, in his opinion; he doesn’t need to do much except lie you down on his chest. It also works the fastest when he pushes you slightly too far.

Your full body trembles, not fading completely when he finishes cleaning you- and he knows he’s overwhelmed you. That he’s been too mean.

Still hiccuping quietly, he’ll gather you up in his arms, holding you flush. Have you listen to his heartbeat till your breathing evens out.

Habit isn’t the greatest at comfort; the best you’ll get is a mumbled “Stop crying, you’re acting like I fucking hate you or something.” Or “I’m here, you’re fine.” As he trails his touch over the purple that blooms across your flesh.

It’s the softest he’ll ever get. The most genuine he’ll ever be.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Now Playing: Friday, March 28th. Approximately 12:48 AM. ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

On his third victim of the night, with dark red splattered up his forearms, when you knock on the basement door. It was almost one in the morning, so why the fuck were you awake?

Straightening up, he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. Sighing, “Sorry, I gotta’ get that- would you mind holding on?” And he’s sure the guy would respond if he could.

Tied to a chair, with a hunting knife, struck right through his left thigh. His mouth duct-taped as he sobbed, pathetic. Not your kind of pathetic, yours was easy on the eyes- and this fucker was one unfortunate-looking son of a bitch.

Made him miss you just a little.

Snickering, he raises his leg, bringing it down with a hard stomp on the handle of the blade. The metal pierces bone with a grotesque crunch, and the guy wails. Choking on his own tears and vomit. Ah, like music to his ears, can life really get better than this?

Upstairs, on the other side of the door, you shifted weight from foot to foot, the cold of the hardwood seeping through your fuzzy socks. A soft pout on your lips when you hear the latch click. Glancing up, you met eyes.

Habit slouched against the frame, his black tee slightly damp from exertion. With his cap still on, and scarlet flicked across his face, you’ve never wanted to cuddle more.

He always looked so silly after his weird Halloween stunts that were never on Halloween.

Your boyfriend was a weird guy. He had the strangest hobbies, with a taste for fake blood and getting on your nerves. But you still loved him; his gnarled appearance had grown on you over time.

Mysterious as ever, he cocked his head to the side with a grin. Canines gleaming in the low light of the hall, he reminded you of a wolf. “Hey, cotton tail, whatcha’ doin’ out of bed?” And his nicknames were pretty funny too, always a different variety of the bunny category when he addressed you.

Rubbing your eye, you yawned. “I got cold, and I missed you. Are you almost done with your project? I wanna cuddle tonight.”

So naive, idiotic even. He liked to test you, walk the line of your trust. See how far he could go with this “eccentric hobbiest” act.

Humming, he tapped his chin in thought, “Oh, I don’t know... Mm, give me five minutes, and I’ll show you something really fun, how’s that?” Cheerful, and you nodded, a gentle smile on your lips. God, he could squeeze you to death.

Closing the cellar door, he descended the steps, whistling. The other man seemed somehow even more distraught. Apparently, knowing “help” was just out of reach could really sadden a guy, you know?

Crouching down in front of the chair, he yanked out the serrated knife in one move. His victim flailed in agony, and he laughed. “My baby loves props, so I gotta’ bring out the good stuff- you get it.” Shrugging, he rose, gripping the man's jaw firmly.

Blade in the other hand, Habit aimed the pointed edge right under his brow. Sinking the metal in, the flesh pierced with a pop. Muscles and veins snapping as he carved around the socket, finally letting the knife clatter to the ground when the organ had sufficiently loosened.

He pushes his thumb into the weeping cavern and hooks it beneath the optic nerve. Pulling the eyeball out with a swift tug. The tendons ripped easily, and he’d successfully removed the damn thing.

“Would you look at that, clean cut and everything. You’re lucky I’m fucking good at this.” Waving the gory sphere in front of the man's face, Habit reclined to admire his handy work.

Tossing it in the air, he spun on his heel, hopping back up the steps two at a time. And when he opened the door, you were still there. Now, sitting with your legs crossed on the floor, blanket tossed over your shoulders.

You were such a fascinating pet, he technically didn’t ask you to stay- yet you did. You always did make it easier for him; maybe he should reward you tonight. Kneeling before you, Habit held his hands behind his back. “You ready, bonbon?” Excitement oozed off of him, antsy to see if you’d splinter.

“Mhm.” With that, he whips a hand out, holding it up to you.

An insanely detailed and realistic eyeball was not what you were expecting.

Grimacing, you whined, pushing his arm away. “Habit- I know you think it’s super cool, and I think you’re really talented. But it’s so real looking, and it’s creeping me out.” You wrapped the fluffy duvet tighter around you.

Sometimes, you felt mean about not being that into it- it’s just that gore made your stomach queasy.

You were endlessly entertaining, he thinks. Continuing to shove it near you until you squeaked, cringing and swatting at his hand. Only letting up when you pouted, dropping your fists to your sides.

His face lit up with glee, and he snickered. “Such a baby, fine.” Rolling his eyes playfully, he stood. You really did trust him, huh?

Your mental so delicate, the idea of violence had your gut churning. He’s doing you a favour by sticking around; you literally wouldn’t last a second out there.

He finishes up quickly, dumping the carcass into a large freezer to deal with another day. And when he finally reached his bedroom, you were already snug as a bug. Blinking at him innocently from above the covers.

Such a stupid rabbit, yet his all the same.

Throwing on a fresh t-shirt, he crawled on top of you. The sheets pushed down along the way, so you could “Feel him.” You’d complained about it prior, and you had been good today. Habit was feeling generous.

Shifting, he slipped his arms under you, lying on you, and enveloping your entire frame. He felt like a weight blanket. You exhaled, content and warm. While you slept in his bed often, he was usually up and about. Tinkering with his assortment of weapons he’d collected, or spending his night in the basement.

You’ve never been down there; apparently, it was way too dangerous. Sharp objects and gadgets astray, it was simply too risky, he’d told you. He may have been different than the average lover, but he took care of you, and that was enough. Paid attention to little details, doing things without ever bringing them up.

Breathing in deeply, he nosed at your throat. The sensation had you huffing out a quiet laugh- the soft moment ruined when he bit down. Hard.

You yelped, jolting from the sharp pain. “Habit!” And he kisses the spot to soothe you.

Sniggering, “What? You gonna’ cry?” Sometimes, -and you don’t know how- you forget how much of an asshole he is. “You’re so mean to me.”

That had him pulling back, his arms caging your head. “Nah, I’m not. Trust me, because if I were-” dipping lower, he rested his forehead on yours.

“You wouldn’t be here, bonbon.”

Grin just a tad too sharp, he stared at you. Whatever that means. Raising a brow at him, you smacked your lips together. “Right?” He doesn’t know how you do it, so mundane, yet he can’t get enough. Perhaps it’s because he knows that you’re unaware, or that you’re moronic enough to brush off his threats. Either way, how fun.

He snorts, burying his face back into your neck. You’ve entertained him plenty, so he’ll let you rest, gifting you his intimacy. As close as he could get to it, anyway. This wasn’t awful; you were soft, weak. Comfortable to lie on, and completely vulnerable in this state. Unguarded, and leaving him to protect you.

Like a plush bear with feelings, how quaint. Far too giving, far too gentle, and faithful to the very end.

Yes, what a perfect rabbit to keep.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

➽──────────────❥

A/N: OMFG all I do is think about him it’s so TERRIBLE T3T but babygirl Habit #canon :ppp

[classygumi]

sweet mother of mankind i have rekindled my love and obsession for creepypasta and who in the ever living world is BAD HABIT AND WHY HAVE I NEVER HEARD OF HIM BEFORE???? HELLO??? WHO SHOULD I SUE FOR NOT TELLING ME ABOUT HIM???????

MOTHER OF GOD I NEED HIM SO BAD #THINKING

[fawnpalmer]

quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog

[classygumi]

YOU GUYS ARE KILLING ME