[fawnguro]

im stag/cain he him #1 habit glazer 🤤

secret sideblog, i won't follow back :( cw for dddne + some hard kinks

anons:

tags .

₊⊹ ♱ i've got a secret <- my writing ₊⊹ 💬 closer to heaven <- my demented ramblings ₊⊹ ♡ i've got your letter <- inbox/requests (send me requests!!!)

masterlist ao3

[iiinvisiblemilk]

evan is coming….(threat)

[fawnguro]

Hey 👀👀👀 evan/habit writing requests in my inbox Anyone 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 Is this thing on

[fawnguro]

psa!

leathermouthfrankismywife -> fawnguro

[melonpankos]

Been thinking about him in this ep lately

[fawnguro]

the mcr to emh (gerard way/frank iero to evan myers) pipeline is REAL by the way

[daughteroftheman]

[fawnguro]

im thinking so hard about southern/midwest evan myers. its just the way he dresses BUT I MEAN.......i know he's from new jersey but that wont stop me from picturing me on his lap as he forces me to shoot a rabbit, sitting on the porch of his grandpa's old cabin in the middle of buttfuck nowhere listening to his divorced dad rock music on a blown out radio

LIKE HE'S PUTTING SPELLS ON ME HOLY SHIT. STOP BRO STOP

[nevertrustarabbit]

the concept of ray taking pictures during sex but using all the different camera angles and techniques he learnt in school

[sporkdefender]

﹗Cue up

Some personal headcanons about Habit's behavior ⤸

I genuinely love it sooooo much when people write HABIT like a BEAST, 'cause he is one...

Ehh,, I can't decide on a title for this

In a way, I think Habit wears his emotions on his sleeve. You just have to disregard human ones for him.

He’s extremely body-language-centric in his communication. Words to him are a tool you use to manipulate someone, not to express yourself with. I don't think he'd find it useful (or want to) to say how he's feeling.

Habit’s mannerisms do that for him.

A lot of his behaviours and cues carry over from his true form. Tall posture, wide gait, a confident and cocky front that never breaks.

He adopts this slinking, slumping body posture when you scold him. It’s not quite submission, more of his metaphorical pout for when you’re angry.

Habit perks up when you say certain words or do certain actions, his back straight as if he still had a tail to wag.

He lowers his head when around you to display his trust. He doesn’t sleep like you would—not unless Evan’s body physically demands it—but he’ll lie in your bed with you and force you to curl into his side. He purrs, too, and sometimes makes these quick clicking noises that mean excitement or contentedness.

He bares his teeth at you as a warning when you cross an unknown boundry. He snaps his teeth towards you when you enter his personal space not on his terms.

Habit nips at your jawline and hands when he wants your attention and touch.

He tilts his head to the side toward you when you speak, a completely subconscious action awoken from the loss of his wolfish ears.

Eye contact is another big one. Habit rarely blinks and always stares at you with wide, usually unmoving, eyes. It’s unnerving when you think he’s zoned out only to watch his head smoothly track you from one side of the house to the other.

Like... he's not human, even if he's in the body of one. It doesn't make sense to write him human-coded. I dunno. Habit is strictly wolf-coded to me, and I can’t imagine him any other way.

𐦍 sporkdefender

[sporkdefender]

﹗Home-made Movies

Some NSFW thoughts about Habit and his love for cameras ⤸

──── ﹒♡ ﹒ ────

𓏲ꪆ This one is like... 94% nsfw. I mention somnophilia, recording without your explicit consent, and (very minor) bloodplay in here! Have something small until I finish my current Habit wip... I'll (probably) update my masterlist after I start posting actual fics again

Habit documents everything.

Some days, he feels like your own paparazzi with the way he follows you around, camera shoved towards your face. No warning, no preparation. Habit’s just there, recording. Snapping photos of all your bad angles.

He swears the photos aren't blackmail, but they might as well have been.

There are at least twenty different USB sticks lying around. All with different storage limits and all full, tucked away in a cracked Tupperware container and kept at his desk. A good 80% of them are random, and frankly horrible, photos Habit has snapped; Mid bite of your sandwich, a really zoomed in one of how you were sticking your tongue out while playing a video game—Stupid things that make you a little embarrassed when he pulls them up.

Then there are the creepy ones, the videos that you tend to watch only once to satiate your own morbid curiosity. There are three or four videos taken in the cover of the night from the treeline, camera zoomed in as far as it can go to watch you and your friends through the living room window. The only audible thing in these clips is Habit’s shaky breathing and slick, rhythmic noises. There are also clips taken in public from various locations, all consisting of you doing your daily tasks. Through the lobby window of your doctor's office, across the street from the bus stop, or in the back alley as he watches you pass by.

You don’t even want to think about the idea of hidden cameras, or if there are videos that remain secret for your own good.

Habit is a stalker, plain and simple. Somehow, that feels like the nicest crime he’s subjected you to.

The other USBs—the bigger, fancier ones—have some more… Personal things on them. They’re stored in a different location, hidden on the floor of your closet underneath old clothes you rarely wear anymore. A lot of the photos are still bad, blurry and rushed like Habit was nervous. Some of the oldest ones are of you changing, taken through the ajar closet door. Half of them are with your shirt obscuring your face, jeans pooled around your ankles. The others are more explicit, often where you’re bending down or fully naked, although most of those are shaky and smeared.

As much as you’d like to say that they’re like that because Habit was scared about getting caught, you know that it’s because he was jerking himself off and unable to keep the camera steady.

He, unsurprisingly, loves to film some home-made pornos. One of Habit’s favourites was made after you had just finished a double shift. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains, although you had just gone to bed, asleep on your back and all sprawled out in nothing but panties and one of Evan’s old band tees. The camcorder sat on the edge of the bed and angled towards your body, sitting far enough to get what Habit really cared about.

He was gentle then, only to keep from waking you. Habit had to keep one hand on your hip to stop you from rolling over, the other pinning both of your wrists down into your pillow. You’re quiet, not as silent as Habit, but he has to turn the volume way up to hear your soft whimpers and moans. Even with a slow pace, your sounds are all overshadowed by the slick sound of your cunt.

There are so many photos—like hundreds—of you covered with his cum. You don’t even remember Habit taking some of these. Some of them are facials given after a blowjob, others of your cunt on the rare occasion he decides to pull out. There are the questionable ones, like where your thighs are wet with a mixture of blood and his cum. If that blood is yours, Habit’s, or an unnamed third party is unknown and better left that way.

Habit has a special folder named ‘TABOO’. It consists of the darker stuff he’s convinced you to do—A lot of murder and mutilation, really. Maybe a few clips of him chasing you through the woods and what happens after you’re caught. He saves those videos for when he has that specific itch he can’t readily scratch.

He also likes it when you record everything, too. He even got you your very own camera, nicked from a random hiker who took too many bird photos. There’s still some blood caked into the nooks and crannies, forever stuck despite your best cleaning efforts.

There aren’t nearly as many photos of him as there are of you. Most of the time, Habit smacks the camera away or looks way too creepy for it to be usable—His smile way too wide and eyes too bright, reflecting as an animal would. A lot of them are also cut off at the neck, leaving just his body in frame. His hands or him distracted seem to be the topic of the majority of your photos.

But Habit doesn’t want to look at himself. He’s had to remind you several times that he wants you to film videos and take photos for him, not for yourself. Most of what you record are short vlogs of what you do when he’s gone. They’re exported to a drive you both have access to; one Habit only goes to when he’s away from you.

There’s something about you just yapping. He knows that you know he’s touching himself to these, but you look so… Oblivious in the videos. Habit loves it when you act ignorant to his disgusting behaviours. He loves it when you willingly indulge them, too.

If he’s lucky enough, you’ll send him some different videos. Maybe you’re in one of his button-ups, maybe you’re holding one of his knives and dragging the edge against the fat of your thigh. Consider him a happy man if you slip a nude Polaroid into his back pocket, wearing nothing but his Death-Proof cap and a grin.

He always sends something back, too. More often than not, it’s a photo, a quickly snapped pic of how hard he is through his jeans. On the off chance that Habit can send a video, it’s always in a dark location, and sometimes there’s a poorly hidden corpse in the background. The clips are quick and usually end right before he cums, groans poorly suppressed and the only thing audible aside from the slide of his hand against his cock.

Anyway, cameras have got to be one of humanity's best inventions. Habit doesn’t know what he’d do without them.

He’d surely perish without your face in his pocket.

𖹭 sporkdefender

[i3un]

habit fucks like an animal n he reminds you daily (ftm! reader :3) slight freeuse implied, masc and fem terms used for readers genitalia. usual habit behavior

maybe you're at the kitchen counter, attempting to forage some food for yourself in the frankly, hellish home habit lives in. maybe you're still in bed- his bed- or nest, considering how messy it consistently is. either way, he finds you. maybe it's after a killing, or he's just bored and hungry. best case, evan's body is finally starting to shut itself down from lack of sleep, and he's trying to get out any last bursts of energy before he hibernates on top of you.

he's almost soft at first, the moment of contact between the tips of his fingers and the skin under your shirt. you only have that fleeting second to cling to before his nails dig at the suppleness of your flesh, jagged and sharp from how much he's dragged then against just about every surface, including yourself. they'll find themselves at the waistband of your sweatpants, testing at the elastic with a few harsh pulls. don't complain too loud about it- he'll gladly break it just to see you in less clothes.

in the end, you'll always find yourself on the mattress of his aforementioned bed, the frame squealing under the sudden drop. in that same mess of pillows and blankets, you'll be writhing underneath him, having to adjust to the sudden darkness that habit keeps his room in.

"be a good fucking rabbit, yeah?" he'll goad, forcing your legs apart and rubbing half-interested at the damp fabric between your legs, whether it's sweat or arousal.

no matter how large you are, he's manhandling you down until you're pressed stomach down against the bed, struggling for air against the sheets. he'll laugh in your face if you cough even slightly, or even choke out some pathetic little squeals and squeaks. habit loves it though, anything to further push you into the mindset of his prey. maybe one day he'll fuck you in the claustrophobic attic where the dried bloodstains of past encounters still soak into the wood. god knows he's thought about it, probably jerked off about it to.

a small token of his appreciation comes in how he preps you, tearing off your pants and underwear without a second thought- throwing them out somewhere else. his hands come around your ass, squeezing and groping- forcing your back to arch when he lifts it. your legs are still gummy and unresponsive under the overwhelming heat pushing itself into your cunt. his tongue laps at you, more focused on taste than your pleasure. although, he does find a sick fascination with your tdick, especially if he's gotten to see it as it grows. he'll tug and toy at it, intent on stroking it just like he would a cock.

"what?" he'll tilt his head like a confused dog if you complain, attempting to (badly) hold back a perverse grin, his yellowed teeth gritting with excitement "it's a dick, isn't it? don't be fucking stupid."

his fingers finally drop to your folds, spreading them open so he can stare with an almost adoring glint in his eyes as your hole clenches, vibrant and soaked- both from his sticky saliva and your own slick. and yes, he'll call it slick- especially if it makes you squirm. he might even pull out a 'juices' if it gets you embarrassed enough. at the end of the day, sex is both for pleasure and power with habit.

once he decides you're ready, and yes- he decides. maybe it's just after edging you till tears, or he'll make you cum a near uncountable number of times till the idea of anything else makes your stomach twist. once that random decision has been made- he's undoing his belt, clawing at the buckle with something that almost looks like desperation.

if you're particularly squirmy today, he's using that same belt to tie your hands together behind your back, infact- it's more than likely he'll find any good excuse to see you bound up. especially when it stretches your muscles just enough to burn under your skin, an erotic prickling melting down with it.

his dick is out before you realize, not that you can look back- or anywhere really. you feel it, though. heavy and thick- a few angry veins you can picture that run down the shaft to the tip. behind your eyes, you're just able to imagine it from all the times he's forced you to your knees and had his fingers locking your jaw open. don't try to pull away, or get all whiny, his hands will find your waist in seconds and dig in to bring you right back to him.

and he uses you. again and again and again. something in his animalistic brain clicks in the best way each time he can see his cum leak out of your puffy cunt, each time you twitch and go limp. he doesn't stop until he gets bored, or until he crashes. in the latter scenario, he (slightly unintentionally) forces you to cockwarm him, keeping you full until he wakes up hours later and leaves to go do... whatever it is he does (or maybe just resume fucking you.)

a/n - face to the floor by chevelle, in my mouth by black dresses, n closer by nine in nails were blaring for this one... if anyone has anymore songs like that lemme know!! i love love love songs like that... so yummy. this was meant to be much shorter.... but i've been yearning okay leave me alone

[swaglegendwolfgirl]

⋅˚₊‧ଳ‧₊˚⋅ᝰ.ᐟ

[fawnguro]

i love getting asks about literally anything it makes my day

[clitache]

toxic boyfriend gerard way, it’s 2004, he’s in the worst of his addiction and somehow he still has you at his side. his beautiful girlfriend, you’re so pretty it makes him sick, you were too good for him and it was fucking with his brain. he hated the idea of you finding out you deserved better than him, and that would come out in bouts of all consuming jealousy rooted deeply in his insecurities. he would argue with you constantly, yelling, insulting, yet when you tried to step away he would collapse. tears filling his big eyes, he would say things like “you’re the only reason i’m still alive.” placing the weight of his suicide ideation on your shoulders to keep you planted at his side. and it worked. because you loved him.

[relapserehabrecovery]

[fawnguro]

Ray....,.... Catholic imagery... older ray......

heyyy im back 👀 i just wrote some bullshit honestly

WE FOUND EACH OTHER ON A DIRTY MATTRESS

݁ ˖₊⊹ summary: a house by the prarie that god turns a blind eye to.

. ✦ ݁ ˖₊⊹ what's inside?: drabble, nsfw, fem reader, priest ray, established relationship, /implied/ power dynamic, catholic imagery, catholic guilt, age gap, size difference, riding, pregnancy kink, coming inside.

father toro was never a talkative man. the town spoke of you in hushed breaths when you walked by. the two of you met somewhere in the middle of all of it. when you tried to seek sanctity, he was there to listen.

you were so young and pretty, and his calloused hands could handle you so gently. strongly. violently, if you needed it.

you knew what you were. a whore, a daughter. you were as good as a drugged out city prostitute to your family.

it was different with him. to him, you were his swan. an angel, if he was feeling especially guilty.

he asked you to call him 'ray' when he met you out of church and out of his neat robes. sometimes you called him sir, just to remind him of the fucked up dynamic you two had. being a priest, he had no business in messing around with you for this long. you were a good, god-fearing, and malleable girl that hung onto his every word. you also got a kick at seeing him blush in shame.

you wrapped your arms around ray's broad shoulders as you bounced your knees against the squeaking mattress. he held his palms against the small of your back. you hovered above him, panting and gasping each time his cock sheathed itself in your heat.

as you bumped your forehead against his cheek, feeling the expanse of his breathing from his sweaty back, all you could think of was:

"we should have a baby."

"what?" ray sputtered, suddenly gripping onto your waist to slow you down.

you complied, gradually settling down while warming his cock. "w-we should try for a baby."

"now?"

"yes- fuck-"

ray tsked. "language, sweetheart."

"sorry. yes. i want your baby." you said, tilting your head as a way to say 'and what about it?'.

ray flushed. "i-i can't. you know that."

"why not?" frowning, you pressed on. "you're always rubbing my stomach. always talking about renovating this house and making it bigger even if it's just the two of us. you're in me and you don't even have a condom on."

"i mean, y-you're barely old enough to drink."

you inch closer. "i'm old enough for you to fuck me, father."

there's a crick in his brow. he didn't like that nickname being used in the bedroom, but you liked to press his buttons sometimes. "alright. what about the church? what will they think when they see the girl who was practically my mentee, my student, pregnant? think, angel."

the two of you sit in silence, until you lunged forward and pressed your soft lips to his. your lips move in tandem, and you grind down on his cock--- elliciting a soft groan from ray. he moves his hand up your body, squeezing down on the side of your neck, your pulse point. a small flicker of possesion.

you pulled away first, leaving him warm and flush and hungry. "i don't care what the church thinks. at this point, do you?"

"i... don't think of what god thinks of us often. not anymore." ray whispered, giving in. he always had a bit of a weak spine for you.

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. you start to ride him again, untangling your arms from his shoulders and brace your hands behind you, against his knee. ray grabs your thighs, tight enough so that you'll know it'll leave a mark the next morning. you start bouncing up and down shortly after, motivated by the promise of him breeding you.

ray could hardly keep his thoughts contained.

"y-you're doing so good for me. keep stretching yourself out on my dick. can't wait to see your cute belly get all big. yeah- yeah- my little angel, my dove, my broken thing- i'm almost-"

ray came inside of you with his cock throbbing in you as he buried himself to a hilt, cumming with a long groan and a slack jaw. you came at the feeling of his cum finally spilling inside your womb--- warm and splattered against your walls.

your squirt lands on his stomach, next to his tattoo of a lamb pierced on a cross.