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
habit with reader who knows he stalks them and they play into it. knowing he follows them home and leaving the door unlocked.. getting changed in front of windows purposefully.. leaving laundry out to dry within his reach. is this maybe a continuation of my anons about reader who plays into the prey role... maybe. i just like the idea of a reader whose intelligent enough to know who/what habit is, what he's done, and yet still enjoy the game of it all... it's so tasty
Ohhh Habit’s acting like you have zero clue. He’s allowed to be a little less careless in his stalking—He trails a little too close, is a little too loud in your house while you're sleeping. Stuff that would make any normal person fearful and install security cameras.
Not that he hasn’t done that for you. There’s at least one pinhole camera in every room, save for your bedroom and closet, which have several facing all directions.
And, really, you’re just so nice. Leaving everything unlocked and leftovers in the fridge for him—Sliding your window open after changing in front of the parted curtains and sleeping with no underwear on like you want him to do this. Habit’s taking his favourite pair that you so nicely always leave on the line and returning them soiled and sticky, if they’re returned at all.
I’m also thinking about Habit with someone who’s really into the occult and has researched what he is. There’s no way he’s not teasing you, calling you a super fan. Though he’d get jealous upon finding out you’re learning about other demons, and not just him.
The king of “Why read a book when you can just ask me?” knowing damn well that he’s exaggerating and embellishing all his lore.
Habit come home.... You ate the kids but I miss you
Have you ever thought of making other resident evil characters t4t with reader? Like chris or something, just curious, BTW LOVE the leon series :)
i would so be down to do other t4t characters!!! im not super confident in writing chris but i would sooooo be able to try!! i love all the resident evil men equally and i will trans any of their genders. especially karl or wesker. but yes!! please don't be afraid to request other characters!!!! i've played (nearly) every resident evil game, so i have a good understanding.
your ftm leon drabbles & hcs have inspired me in ways that i can't even imagine. i wanna say thank you from the bottom of my heart as a yearning tboy that your writing is DELICIOUS. i'm talking finger licking good. kfc secret recipe type shit. THANK YOU. you're an oasis in a sahara <33
-🍰
thank you!!! i hope to continue to spread the joys of t4t fics... theres so few good ones. also???!@:@?? first emoji anon??? squeals.
combining this plus another ask abt scissoring with t4t leon!! masculine and feminine terms used for leon and readers genitalia
the further you and leon get into dating, the more bold he gets with his ideas. although he always is careful when bringing new things into the bedroom, sort of circling around the idea until you notice he wants something. it's almost doglike in behavior, with a noticable glint in his eyes once you're able to pinpoint what he wants.
unless you aren't able to read him, then he's just going to have to do what he hates (voice his own needs). he'll do it in a messy makeout session, where you're already pinned underneath him, head pressed into the plush of your pillows, his hands roving over your arms. he tenses a bit before striking, sort of like a snake before his hands roll down to your hips. one squeeze and he moves further down, forcing your legs apart in his grip.
throughout the years of all the different holsters and belts leon's had to quickly put on and off, he's gotten a talent for undressing you and himself in record time. this skill is shown best in times like these, where he's desperate to see you in the way he's been fantasizing about for days, weeks, and probably months.
the scruff of his beard brushes over your forehead as he positions himself above you, your own pants long gone, boxers thrown to the wind. leon tugged his down enough, his cock already swollen between his folds, a mess of dark pubic hair framing it like a work of art. there's a shimmering layer of arousal over it all, and maybe some sweat too. before too much drool can collect in the back of your mouth, he's slotting himself between your legs, taking one of your own legs to put under his own, his muscles tense as he poses you just how he envisioned.
"good. yes- just like that. good boy." he'll praise, a sweet gruffness in the back of his throat, maybe even a voice crack hitting when he finally slots his cunt against yours.
he rolls his hips once, twice, thrice- and soon you stop counting, his dick pressing against your own, his hips bucking at the sensation, the closeness of it all. he can feel your hole clench with each thrust, feel you get wetter under him, a series of choked moans and whines leaving you.
it's nearly musical, the pace leon takes with you, pressing himself closer and closer, his form overtaking your own. not often does he use his size against you like this, bullying his way so you're right where he needs.
his nose wrinkles as he focuses, the wetness between your cunts mixing, a slick noise echoing through the room, "fuck. c'mon. are you close, hun?"
he doesn't look up to check his answer, but he does speed up, bucking his hips as if he was in heat. an excitement buries deep in his bones, seeing your own cock twitch and harden just like his, even moreso if it's smaller than his own, a sick sort of pride in his chest when he wins his mental dick measuring competition.
even after you cum, he keeps going. the slicker you get, the easier it gets for his cock to slide against your hole, nearly popping inside. the euphoria of fucking you stupid with his own dick has leon on cloud 9. most likely, you'll be stuck here for the next few hours.
a/n - might put a small break on other leon fics... i've had emh mindrot for a while n wanna write some habit or something... or maybe something with gojo.... ugh so many thoughts.
If you've used a muzzle, what's stopping you from something more extreme?
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𓏲ꪆ Fair warning for knife play/blood play, shock collars, and being overall NSFW. The muzzle makes a very small return... I WILL get back to posting full fics in maybe a week?? Two at the most. I'm in the middle of moving right now, so I haven't had much time to write anything besides these short things!! Said shock so much it's no longer a real word fml.
Habit talks a lot of shit. This isn’t breaking news—Or hardly news at all. Insult after vulgar insult, taunt after crude taunt. He’s rarely quiet.
If your original body couldn’t speak, you’d be talking a lot, too.
Or, that’s at least what Habit told you one night after going on several tangents about how historians got it all wrong, and how they should be asking him how it really went down.
Just like his biting, there are periods of time where he doesn’t speak much, if at all. And, really, this whole thing started exactly how it did with the muzzle. After (politely) asking Habit to shut the fuck up, his efforts doubled down just to piss you off. What are you going to do? Slap the muzzle on him? He’ll just talk through the thing, you know.
And know you did. You walked right down to the hardware store and bought a shock collar. The thing was one of the fancy ones, made of leather and automatic, activating above a certain decibel. It also came with a remote to adjust the strength and with a shiny red button for when the programmed shocks aren’t enough.
Unlike the muzzle, which can be ripped off at Habit’s will, this thing locks and is sturdy enough not to be cut through. After he gets past the fact that you just collared him, Habit goes back to spouting nonsense. He yells first, only to hiss, hands flying up to tug at the thing.
You probably should’ve put the shock level a bit lower. It’s at the strongest one, and undoubtedly painful, if that test trial you did on your arm was anything to go by. But you enjoy his discomfort. Habit is muttering to himself, fingers curling under the band to try and pry it off.
He can’t even make noises. The sensitivity on the collar was insane. At one point, Habit genuinely thought that breathing set it off, only to look behind him and find you in the archway, remote in hand. He’s tried violence, yelling, arguing—He even tried to play his sorry card; A pout on his face as he rubs the side of it against your stomach. Habit makes the noises that make you feel bad, the whines and purrs and trills that usually have you opening the door to let him in.
It’s all useless.
He gets the idea that he can do nothing to get the collar removed. Not to say he won’t try to escape—Habit’s tried everything there, too. He’s nearly sliced his jugular open trying to cut the band apart, and almost choked himself to death trying to tear it off. In the end, when he’s accepted that he has to see this one through, he’ll resort to glaring. Maybe even a threat or two, but they’re all lacking their usual intimidation in his whispered tone.
Without words and not many sounds left, there’s little Habit can do to express himself besides biting and being rough. His teething doesn’t last long when he sees you glance in the direction of where the muzzle is stored. And after being shocked every time Habit tries to harm you, he now just slinks off into the corner to avoid being electrocuted constantly.
The muzzle was bad, yes, but this is on a completely different level. You were getting power hungry in this form of inhuman torture. A feeling that Habit loathed and found himself just a tad jealous of. He’d whine in a hushed tone that it’s not fair, that you’re cruel for this, that only he’s allowed to do these things to you.
It’s a lie. Even if it frustrated Habit, being dealt with like the animal he was made him feral.
Get treated like one, act like one, works the same as act like one, get treated like one. Habit loves that you aren’t all bark, and that there is some bite deep down.
Even if that bite is shocking the shit out of him.
Habit’s good at keeping sounds of pain down. Still, he makes small, breathy whimpers when the edge of a blade is pressed against his flesh. Slicing deep enough—so deep that if Habit didn’t have fast healing, he’d be needing some pretty hefty stitches—always makes him hiss, though. Running the edge over already split flesh often makes him groan loud enough to set the collar off, whole body tensing. You pull away, then, blade and body, only to watch the increased flow of blood pour from his arm after he relaxes.
Then, there’s the closest you’ve seen Habit to submission. He’s gripping your thighs, leaving scratch marks that raise after the pass of his nails. In one hand is the remote, and the other is braced against the headboard, there to keep yourself steady as you grind against his face. Habit’s sloppy with it, mostly because you don’t give him the chance to be anything else. His tongue is laving over every inch of your cunt, but he’s ultimately silent aside from small hums and slurping.
When Habit pulls away from your cunt to drag his teeth along the inside of your thigh, he’s shocked. He wasn’t expecting it at first—he always goes to bite at your thigh, regardless of his current punishment. There’s a second where he’s frozen, but he immediately sparked back into motion once he sees you’re about to use the remote’s button again.
When he stops sucking or doesn’t curl his fingers towards the right spot, you’re electrocuting him again. If he looks at you wrong, moans a little too loudly, grabs a little too hard, gets a little too handsy, he’s shocked. Even something as soft as lingering his lips in one spot for too long gets him zapped. It’s gotten to a point where he doesn’t notice the electricity anymore, the sharp pain now normal and no more than a few-second-long cramp.
When you finally take it off, the pale skin around the two prongs has been burned. It's red and would probably need antibiotics, knowing Habit's discontentment with self-care. The band left a dark welt that circled his entire neck, and the buckle had made a small wound from the collar being tugged at so often. It looked like it hurt, and it did. Habit didn’t mind. He’d heal, and then he’d yap some more.
He likes the pain of this one. Habit likes the fact that its consequences are more substantial than the muzzle.
He likes that you get all soft and apologetic afterwards, only to get just as ruthless and angry at his behaviour a day or so later.
Habit can’t stray very far from your attention, good or bad, for very long after all.
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