crust

@bloodygreenhouse on tiktok she/her eng/esp

[vanillasodapop]

✶ All Wound Up ✶

Tim Wright, Brian Thomas, and Tobias Rodgers x Reader

Pairing: !Polyamorous Tim Wright, Brian Thomas, and Tobias Rodgers x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Trigger Warnings: double penetration, gagging, praise kink, voyeurism(toby is a cuck)cunnilingus, face fucking, anal sex, fingering, rough sex, bare backing, multiple orgasms, dirty talk

Tags: Smut with plot, Dark Romance

Summary: After a month away, your lover boys are left pent up with lots of energy to spare.

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Yesterday had officially indicated the one-month mark of your boyfriends’ absence. Everyday that passed was incredibly lonely, leaving a deep mark etched into every crevice of your heart. You missed the liveliness of your home; Toby’s chaoticness, Brian’s arms around you at all times—hell, even the smell of Tim’s cigarettes had started to fade. To say you were bored was an understatement.

To get your mind off of the pang in your heart whenever you thought of your boys, you had decided to busy yourself by doing a deep cleaning of your shared home. You had originally been putting it off for weeks, but boredom had taken over. Now, you were pretty sure you had cleaned just about every surface in this house. Every crevice was shining and spotless by the tireless hours you had been working. Your hands worked religiously, mopping the floor with practiced fervor. You hummed mindlessly along with the music playing from your portable speaker. Your hips swayed with every stroke of the mop’s strings against the hardwood, avoiding the excessive use of water.

You had cleaned just about everything—with mopping being the last objective on your list. You had dusted every corner in the house, cleaned the toilet, the shower, and the bedrooms. You had even thawed out the chicken for dinner. All while your cat lay perched on one of the highest spots of the bookshelf, watching you and licking herself almost mockingly. You walked around the freshly mopped floor, looking back up at her. You were no short of a mess. Your sleeves were messily pushed past your elbows and hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. With a quick check of your watch, you confirm you had been cleaning for no short of 5 hours.

Nini, your gray tabby cat, stands and stretches. She lets out a cute little meow as she looks down at you. You sigh, opening your arms. She hops down from the bookshelf and straight into your arms. She would most likely shed her fur everywhere again, but it didn’t matter to you. After all, it was Tim’s couches she scratched up.

When you first started dating the boys, you came over to their house extremely often. And as time progressed, the days you stayed turned into weeks—until you finally moved in. And of course, you weren’t a single package. You’d had Nini for almost four years at this point. She came with you on every trip, vacation, or car ride. The two of you were inseparable. So, of course the boys allowed her to come with you. She was adjusting to the setting change well; as it had been a good 5 months since you moved in with them. Now? She wreaked havoc. She couldn’t stand Toby. Whether that was just a cat thing, or not, you had no idea. Anytime Toby would walk by, or even attempt to pet her (god forbid) he’d be met with her feline-fury.

She tolerated Tim. She hated his smell, as you had noticed. When she would get close to him, the Flehmen Response would cause her to recoil and back off. You didn’t blame her, sometimes the sheer strength of his scent overwhelmed even you. And Brian? God, she loved him more than you. More so because he was the only other one that fed her besides you. He had gentle hands, too. As he had explained to you, he grew up with animals. It was ironic, really. The cat adored him. Every night, Nini always slept on Brian. It was a bit annoying, but waking up in the morning and seeing him with your baby curled under his chin? That was something you could never forget.

Thinking about them right now made you sad. You missed them. Missed their touch, missed cuddling up when it got too cold. You missed the 3 AM snack runs, the lazy dinners, everything distinctly them. The bed always felt empty. It twisted at your gut when you woke up alone. The bed was too big to be this empty.

There was always the fear that lingered in the back of your mind—the fear that they wouldn’t come home. You knew their line of work. How shitty it was. How unfair it was. You knew their safety couldn’t be guaranteed the entire time. Your text messages would take days to get a reply; and even then, it was short and straight to the point.

Nini hopped down from your arms and onto the now clean floors. She circles your feet before meowing and prancing off. Your gaze lingers on her before you get back to cleaning.

You finish mopping and do other basic household chores. By the end, you’re bummed out and exhausted. You put your cleaning supplies away and head to take a nice shower to refreshen.

While the water drips down your bare back, you can’t help but think about your lovers. Yesterday, Brian had texted you one simple thing:

“Mission is over. We’ll be back by tomorrow night.”

Although the text was rather brief and blunt, the excitement it gave you was higher than you could count. After a month apart, you felt nothing short of touch starved. You couldn’t help but feel the longing to be near them again; to be loved on by them unrelentlessly. You were glad you decided to clean, as it made the time fly by extremely fast. After quickly washing yourself off, you change into a fresh shirt and pair of sweatpants.

You had no idea at what time that they would arrive, but you knew one thing; they’d be exhausted. You had a little system set up with them; an unspoken rule, almost. The morning they finished a mission and left for home, they would eat breakfast and then you’d help them relax by making them dinner. After tying your hair up and out of your face, you head to cook the defrosted chicken you had set out a few hours ago.

You busy yourself with dinner, aiming to prepare a nice chicken alfredo dinner. You fill a large pot and boil the water before adding in the fettuccine pasta. You let it simmer for about 10 minutes before draining the water, leaving half a cup for later. You cut the chicken breasts into precise strips, seasoning them with Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper. Next, you warm your olive oil and add the chicken breasts. You wait 6 minutes before flipping it. When the chicken is finally a perfect golden brownish color, you take it out of the skillet and set it to the side. Next, you whisk butter and cream in the same skillet. You sprinkle in some minced garlic, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until it creates a frothy, smooth sauce. Then, you add in the parmesan cheese. You stir until it’s melted.

Finally, you assemble the most mouthwatering meal you’ve ever made. You sprinkle the chicken cuts into the pasta, mixing it evenly.

You set the garlic bread in the oven and lean against the counter, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

The sun had long since went into slumber, nothing visible other than what little light the bulbs on the porch gave. A mix of fireflies, mosquitos, and other small insects buzz around the light. The TV that Toby had stolen on a particularly busy Black Friday played mindless white noise to the otherwise peaceful environment. The TV played a low quality sitcom from the 80’s as you read through a news article from

The home that you stood in had been previously abandoned. As Tim had explained, it had previously belonged to an old man—which at first had bewildered you. This home sat practically in the middle of nowhere, Alabama. The signal was shitty, and over all seemed like a very soulless life. And when he passed away, the property itself was left unclaimed. The mad had no friends, no family. An untraceable person. The items inside were left untouched. When the boys had found the home, it was still fully furnished. After a few minor adjustments, Tim, Brian, and Toby made the house their own. The interior was no short of impressive. A beautiful home, really.

Nini brushes against your legs. She meows, sniffing the air. You smile fondly as she stares right at you, big beady eyes clearly begging for something. You tuck your phone away and turn around, tearing off a small chunk of breaded chicken and tossing it to her. She eats it like she hasn’t been fed in days, which, in reality, it had only been about an hour.

Your socks pad across the floor as you bend over, checking on the garlic bread. The sudden flashing off headlights through the glass back door makes you freeze. You whip your head around, making out the shape of a familiar truck. Nini perks up, her ears twitching at the familiar sound of tires against gravel. Her tail quirks once, flicking in interest. You almost instantly stand straight, eyes squinting to make out the license plate. Your eyes soften.

Your boys. They’re home. Relief crushes you as Toby is the first to jump out of the car, wasting no time in beelining it to you. You run to the door to meet him halfway, opening it just as he slams into you. He picks you up, twirling you around and shaking. Your hands fly to grip his back, stabilizing yourself.

“Buh—baby! I missed y—you so much!” He shouts in excitement, still twirling you around. You giggle and hold onto him for dear life. Behind Toby, Brian and Tim hop out of the front seats. They begin to unload their stuff, and Tim calls out to Toby. “Kid, help us unload. ‘Smothering her, and we haven’t even unpacked yet,” He chides. Toby groans extremely loudly, looking over his shoulder as he effortlessly holds you between two of his hands on your waist, effectively dangling you. “B-but we juh—just got back!” He whines, looking at Brian for help.

Brian simply raises his hand in mock surrender, grinning with that toothy smile. He goes back to hoisting a bag over his shoulder, leaving Toby to fend for himself. Toby didn’t give in for a long moment, still holding you tightly against his chest. He twitched speratically as he inhaled your scent, grounding himself with it. He couldn’t deny the comfort he got from being around you; recharging his own battery with you in his arms.

“TOBY!” Tim’s voice crackled like thunder through the otherwise silent night, broken only by the humming of the engine. It made even Brian go stiff.

“I’m c—coming! God!” Toby says, relenting and placing you back on your feet. Your socked feet hit the ground as Toby runs outside to help unload the truck. You step out of the way as Tim walks back in first, two duffle bags braced on both of his arms.

The moment he steps inside, he exhales deeply, shoulders sagging as he stops in the middle of the room. He takes a moment to decompress before he sets the bags down. He looks back at you and pulls you into a bone crushing hug. You hug him back immediately. His face presses deep into your neck, his shaved stubble tickling your shoulder. “Missed you so fuckin’ much. Those two idiots have been driving me up the wall. You don’t even know the horrors I’ve been through.” With his arms around your midriff, he sways you side to side as Brian brushes past the both of you; setting the bags he was carrying down. Toby walks back in and exasperatedly throws his arms in the air, groaning.

“O—oh, okay! Suh—so he g-gets to slack o-off?!” Toby snaps, gesturing to Tim frantically at Brian. Brian pauses midway out of the door. He shakes his head, shoulders bobbing in silent laughter. “Buh—Brian!” Toby says in utter betrayal.

“Shut it, Rodgers.” Tim berates, only burrowing deeper into the crevice of your neck. His hands squeeze on your waist tightly.

“D-dick..” Toby murmurs under his breath, kicking a stone with his boot and moving past the two of you to go and help Brian outside. Tim huffs a breath of laughter against your neck, sending sharp sensations prickling against your skin. After a few more moments, Tim finally releases you from his hold. He pats your arm affectionately before stepping back and meeting Brian at the sliding glass doors. Without a word, Tim takes the bags from Brian’s arms. Before walking away, Tim shoulder checks him, communicating internally as he places the bags onto the couch.

Brian grins and reaches into his jean pocket, fumbling with the keys to the truck. He shuts the engine off with a brief click. When Toby grabs the last few bags and slams the car door shut, Brian locks it. Brian tosses the truck’s keys into a small ceramic bowl on the kitchen peninsula. Toby stumbles back inside, kicking his boots off and fumbling with the zipper on his jacket as he yanks it off, tossing it on the coatrack. He turns back to finally have a chance to have you in his arms again, but finds you’ve already been occupied.

Brian is clinging to you like an absolute baby. His mask, if you can even call it that, is bunched up around his forehead as he peppers your face with kisses. Your arms rest idly around his neck as he continues to shower you with affection. He murmurs quiet words of love—telling you exactly how much he had missed you. Brian never failed at telling you how much he loved you.

Toby stares, eye twitching in pure impatience. If looks could kill, Brian would have approximately 47 hatchets in his back by now. Tim looks at Toby, running a hand down his face as he chuckles. He pats his shoulder as he passes him, you, and Brian. “You’ll get your turn in a moment, kid,” Tim says as he walks straight into the kitchen. He props open the fridge and immediately searches through it. He murmurs a few curses as he grabs a cold can of beer. “Shit. We’re out after this one,” he says with an exasperated groan. He pops the can open and sips like it’s the only water in a desert.

“Liquor store doesn’t close til 4 AM tonight.” Brian says, ceasing his assault on your face to look over at Tim. His hand rests on your cheek. His hand is scarred. Not greatly so, but there are enough callouses and cuts that have slowly healed, and been reopened countless times. His hands are rough—affected by the endless years of physical labor he’s done.

“Br—Brian. I swear t-to gu—god.” Toby snaps, practically itching to be in your arms.

Brian waves him off. Toby is left to silently seethe. The two of you stay conjoined, Brian ranting to you about how shitty the mission was and how much he had missed you. You eventually do have to pull away to check on the garlic bread.

Toby clings to you then, staying glued to your side and helping you serve the other boys. Tim exhales in relief when he sees the chicken alfredo. It looked amazing, and this meal with a cold beer? No short of his version of heaven.

Toby dug in as well, eating sloppily and messily. He shoves the pasta in and doesn’t even give himself time to swallow before he shovels in another bite. Through the grotesque scar on his cheek, you’re able to see him chewing down. Brian is the only one who eats at a somewhat normal pace.

The dinner is nice and quiet. Peaceful in a way you missed. It may not be as lively, but after this long away from their own home? You didn’t doubt that they were exhausted and needed a few moments to gather their thoughts and energy before actually being in the moment with you. Nini is absolutely thrilled seeing the boys back home. The entire time, she’s been brushing against their legs, begging for attention. She even let Toby touch her and scratch behind her ears. Toby was estatic. Nini usually hated him and condemned him to hell with her eyes, so seeing her be friendly to him made your heart swell deep in your chest.

The boys finish the meal in no time. Tim offers to do the dishes while Toby goes to shower first. Brian’s on unpacking duty. You choose to go lounge on the couch and catch up on a show that you like, mindlessly flicking through the TV’s streaming services to find it. It had been so long, you weren’t too sure what platform it was on.

When you find it, you let it play as you sink further into the couch cushions. Everything feels so at peace now that your boys are back home. The house isn’t silent. The sound of running water and scrubbing can be heard from behind you, while Brian passes by the couch every now and then to grab their bags. Combine that with the sound of running water? Your house was full again. Your long-term loneliness slowly stripped away as you contentedly took a deep breath in.

They were home.

But most importantly, they were safe.

Toby steps out of the restroom, brown curly hair dripping with water. He’s dressed in a plain white t-shirt and greencast denim jeans, all of his gear off of his body. He looks around the house until he sees you. That childish grin spreads across his face as he bolts toward you. You hear him coming and try to brace yourself.

He smacks right into your chest, the couch groaning in protest below you. He grins and hugs you super tight, arms locking around you as he giggles. “F-finally can have y-you all to myself…” he says through twitches and tics. He buries his face into your chest. You laugh and stroke his hair, which has now soaked your own clothes. On any other occasion, you’d be fuming. But since he had been separated from you for a month, you’d cut him some slack.

Toby stays on top of you. He tilts his head to watch the show with you, nuzzling deeper into your chest as your fingers roll his curls. It’s a peaceful moment. He’s warm—extremely warm. Probably from the scolding hot showers he took. Most of the time, Toby’s either extremely hot or extremely cold. There’s no in between. His bare hands stay on your hips. Toby’s hands, unlike Brian’s, were covered in gashes rather than cuts. His hands were rough as well, fingernails non-existent with how much he bit at them. He looked at ease for once, instead of the cocky killer who hid his nervousness behind a facade.

Eventually, the running tap water stops. You look up lazily to see Tim rounding around the couch to sit on the armchair. You smile lazily at him as Toby grumbles and tightens his grip around you. He was probably still salty about Tim hogging you for himself.

“Don’t start,” you mumble, though the smile on your face betrays you. Toby only buries his face further into the crook of your neck. Across the room, Brian is still unpacking. Or, at least, pretending to.

You can feel his eyes flick toward you every few seconds as he pulls clothes from his bag and folds them with far more attention than necessary. Tim notices, too. Of course he does.

“Brian,” Tim says.

Brian pauses.

“What?”

“You’ve folded that shirt three times.” A beat of silence passes. Tim’s face breaks out into a small grin as Brian frowns at him.

“Shut up.”

You laugh quietly, and Toby’s arms tighten around your waist again. The sound seems to do something to them. Tim’s expression changes first. The lazy amusement fades from his face, replaced by something heavier. Something that makes your smile falter. Toby notices it, too, because he finally lifts his head from your shoulder.For a moment, none of them say anything.

A month.

A month of missed calls, brief messages, restless nights, and sleeping alone in a bed that had always felt too big without them. A month of missing the weight of them beside you, their voices, their hands.. You swallow.

“…What?” you ask. Tim leans forward in the armchair, his elbows resting against his knees.

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me.” You say, feeling his eyes burning into your skull.

“Am I?” Tim asks teasingly, hands tightening on his jeans. Toby gives a quiet, humorless laugh against your skin.

“Don’t play dumb.” You deadpan.

Brian exhales from across the room. “Jesus Christ.” You turn your head slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mutters again, but this time he abandons the shirt in his hands and lets it fall back into the open bag. The room suddenly feels much smaller.

Toby’s hand drifts slowly over your stomach, almost absentmindedly. Almost. His fingers settle there, warm and possessive, while Tim watches the movement with an expression that makes heat crawl up your neck.

“Missed you,” Toby mumbles.

The words are quiet. Barely audible. Your chest tightens. You look back down at him. He’s staring right into your soul, brown eyes shimmering with pure love and adoration. You smile before replying right back. “I missed you too.”

“Yeah?” Tim asks. You look at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he watches you intently.

“Yeah.” You say just as softly.

That seems to be enough. Tim rises from the armchair. Brian sighs, his hands ceasing their folding on one of Tim’s flannels. “Don’t you dare start something before I finish unpacking.” Brian warns, face stern and pointed. His eyes narrow at Tim. Tim simply just glances at him before turning his gaze back to you.

“You’ve had 30 minutes to unpack.” Brian stares at him, absolutely deadpanned. “Right,” Brian starts, shaking his head. “Because 30 minutes is enough time to unpack 6 bags.”

“It should be,” Tim replies immediately, a small teasing smirk spreading over his lips as he glances to Brian. Brian’s hands tighten around the flannel as he scoffs. “You forget I have your favorite flannel right here. I could just rip it apart.”

“We both know you won’t.” Tim says, shrugging. Then, slowly, Tim walks toward you. Toby shifts above you, making room without ever letting go. Tim stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

“Think you can handle all three of us being home again?” he asks. Your breath catches. Brian comes to a stop behind Tim.

“That’s a stupid question.”

Tim’s mouth twitches. “Why?” He asks, arms crossing as he glances back at Brian, expression taught and sharp.

“Because she already looks like she’s going to say yes.” Brian says simply, a small grin playing on his lips.

Your face heats. “Maybe I am.” Toby immediately makes a pleased sound behind you. Tim’s smile widens as he slowly uncrosses his arm. Brian, however, looks entirely unimpressed.

“Unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who started unpacking,” Tim says.

“I was trying to be productive.”

“You’ve been staring at her for the past ten minutes. We all saw you fold that flannel like, 12 times!” Tim says, exasperated. Brian’s eyes flick toward you. You catch him. He doesn’t even bother denying it this time. Your smile softens.

“Missed me that much?” Brian’s expression shifts. For once, he doesn’t have a smart remark ready.

“Yeah,” he says. The simple answer hits harder than you expect. Brian’s usually more quiet about his feelings compared to the other two boys. So when he’s vulnerable, it always hits harder. Toby’s arms tighten around you again, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut for a second, leaning into the touch almost instinctively. Tim watches.

“See?” he murmurs. “She’s already spoiling you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Toby lifts his head, eager to argue right back. You sigh, tugging a bit at the curls on Toby’s head. “No fighting.” Neither of them look particularly convinced. Brian moves closer, finally abandoning his bag entirely. He reaches for your hand, his fingers sliding between yours. The gesture is quiet, almost casual, but the way he holds on makes it obvious how much he missed having you within reach. You look between them. “Seriously,” you murmur. “You guys are acting like you’ve been gone for years.”

“A month,” Toby says.

“You were gone for a month.”

“Exactly.” You laugh softly. Tim reaches out and brushes his thumb along your cheek. The touch is gentle. Too gentle, almost. The kind of touch that makes you realize just how long it has been since any of them had been able to touch you at all. Your smile fades into something softer. Tim notices. His thumb pauses. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” You say, your fingers pausing in Toby’s hair as you look up at him.

“Come here.” You barely have time to move before he pulls you toward him. You stumble off of the couch, feet planting on the ground. Toby lets out an immediate, irritated sound. He falls onto the now empty couch, eye twitching spermatically. “H-hey!” He says in pure frustration. Tim laughs quietly as you stumble forward into him.

“Relax. You’re going to get your turn.” He says, glancing at Toby before turning his attention back to you.

Brian shakes his head, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. And that’s the problem. You realize that none of them are actually trying to hide how badly they missed you anymore. Tim is standing in front of you. You are surrounded. And for the first time since they came home, the reality of it finally sinks in. They’re here. All three of them. And judging by the way Tim’s gaze keeps dropping to your mouth, Toby refuses to let go of you, and Brian hasn’t stopped touching you since he came over. The month apart is about to become a problem.

Tim wets his lips. He leans in slowly, breath fanning against your lips. His gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth. Slowly, he finally presses his lips flush against yours, closing the distance. He tastes subtle, and clean. His lips are rough, brushing against yours with fervor and devotion. He hums against you, vibrations making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Brian sneaks up behind you, hands resting on the small of your back as his fingers hook into your pants. You let out a soft gasp when his hand slides into your pants, cupping your mound. Tim pulls away for a brief moment, eyes flickering to the outline of Brian’s hand in your pants. You grip Tim’s shoulders as he leans into your neck. Tim nibbles harshly into your skin, intending on leaving marks. His tongue flicks out against every blossoming bruise. Your thighs tremble as a sharp gasp escapes from your lips.

Brian’s thick fingers peel your panties from your cunt, fingers brushing over your slit teasingly. His fingers move in small circles, gathering slick and coating his fingers with it; like some sort of perverted cotton candy machine. When he’s content with the amount he’s amassed, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you squirming. You lean your head back against Brian’s shoulder. He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks every bit of your slick. He groans in contentment. You bite your lip as Tim bites down on your shoulder, eyes half lidded as you watch Brian’s expression.

“God, I missed your taste. Tastes even better than I remember.” Brian says, grinning down at you. Your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure as Tim slides your earlobe between his teeth. Brian’s fingers hook entirely into the waistband of your sweatpants, shoving them down and letting them pool around your ankles. You step out of them quickly.

Brian steps back while Tim presses his lips back against yours aggressively. His brows furrow as he peels off his own flannel, letting it drop to the floor. His chest is toned and built, littered with scars old and new. Brian strips his hoodie off, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Toby sits on the couch, legs clenching together as he fumbles with his shirts collar.

Tim turns you around and hoists you upward, your legs locking around his waist instinctively. Your clothed cunt presses sharp against his erection. You can’t help but grind against him, hips jutting against his own. He groans lowly between kisses as he places you on the arm chair. He steps back, popping open his jeans in quick motions. He, much like everyone else, needed you now. More than anything else. He was desperate for it. For you.

Brian tugs his shirt over his head. You drool in your mouth seeing his chest. He has firm pecs; made by the years of hard, strenuous labor he did. You always appreciated seeing him shirtless. His body was rugged and handsome all in one—chest hair maintained, leading in a perfect line down to his happy trail. Tim was the same, but his hair was thicker. Less maintained.

Tim climbs over you in nothing but boxers now. He bites his bottom lip, hands moving to tug your shirt over your head. A particularly loud meow stops you all in your tracks. You glance over your shoulder and see Nini staring at you. You look at Tim.

“Absolutely not. You’re not fucking me in front of my cat,” you said exasperatedly, brows furrowing as your lips pursed. Tim paused, his hands stilling while mid-tug of your shirt. He sighed heavily before looking over his shoulder to Toby. Toby twiddled with his fingers, his neck cracking to the side. “Put ‘er in the guest bedroom, Toby,” Tim says, deadpanned. Toby snapped to attention and immediately moved to lift Nini by her waist. The cat hissed immediately. “Shhhh. U—up and at ‘eh—em.” He says, straightening his back and carrying the very pissed off Nini away.

Nini fights the entire time, scratching and clawing at Toby. Toby sets Nini down in the guest room before closing the door and coming right back.

Tim glances back down at you. “Happy now?” He asks jokingly. You huff a breath of laughter and nod at him. “Then.. may I?” He asks, gesturing to your shirt. You nod once, and the flimsy fabric is off in a millisecond.

Tim lets out a shuddering breath, hand coming to grope at your breast immediately. He squeezes the tissue in his palm through the fabric of your bra. He huffs in pure pleasure—more than overjoyed having you under him again.

Off to the side, Brian shoves his jeans down, his belt clacking against the floor as he kicks them to the side. He’s straining against his boxers so tight you’re sure they’re too small for him.

Toby’s breath gets more strained as he squirms on the couch. One of his tics causes his whole body to twitch.

Tim peppers kisses down your body. He starts at your lips, down your neckline, down your belly, and then to your cunt. You’ve soaked your panties by now, the attention Brian’s fingers had given you made you ache for more. With one hand, Tim lifts both of your legs, sliding your panties up and off of your legs. His pupils blow wide as he looks over your folds. He licks his lips.

Brian huffs. “Calm down there, loverboy. You’ve got stars in your eyes.” He says, moving to stand over you. With your head hanging over the armrest, you see him standing above you. You see his bulge straining against his boxers in full detail. Brian hooks a finger into his boxers and shoves them down as well. His cock presses flush against the side of your face. Brian’s dick was thick and girthy, flushed an angry red at the tip with pre-cum already leaking down the bottom. Thick, deep veins ran down every inch of his shaft. He let out a shaky breath as Tim looked at him from his spot near your cunt.

“You’re one to talk.” He says, face leaning in to press against your cunt. You gasp, hands flying to his hair. Your fingers tangle in his brown hair as he flicks his tongue around your clit, lapping up every bit of slick and groaning in appreciation. Your hips stutter against his face as the lewd sound of his tongue plunging into your hole echoes through the room. You moan, legs propping on his back as he tugs you closer, nose pressing against your slick.

He looks up at you, keeping eye contact while he eats you out like a starving man. He laps his tongue down your slit like a thirsty dog, flicking your clit between his lips. He seals his mouth against you and sucks harshly, making your back arch. Brian grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Focus on me, sweetheart. Think you can be good for me and suck this dick? Hmm?” Your legs tremble and threaten to clench around Tim’s head, hips meeting his face while his hands keep you pinned down. You nod shamelessly, a whimpering mess.

Brian hums in approval. He pumps himself twice before lining himself up with your mouth. He pushes past your lips and lets out a guttural groan, hips stuttering twice. You gag on his dick, the invasion of him deep in your throat causing you to tighten your hold on Tim’s hair. Your spit leaks down the side of your face while Brian thrusts against your face, hands holding both sides of your head. His tip plunges deep into your throat, making you gag around him. Your spit bubbles in your throat.

Tim continues his relentless assault on your cunt, devouring and licking every crevice on your folds. Every time his tongue pushes into your hole you swear you see stars. You writhe and moan, humping his face and chasing your sweet release. Tim’s thumb presses against your hole, moving in time with his tongue and every plunge it does. When his thick fingers split you open, your mouth falls wide open.

You gag and tremble on Brian’s cock while Tim gets you drunk on his fingers and tongue. You can feel the knot in your belly start to build up as you grind desperately against Tim’s face, his stubble tickling the bottom of your slit while he eats you out. Brian’s grip on your head gets tighter and stronger as he continues to piston his hips against your face, cock invading every inch of your throat as you gag. Tears well in your eyes as Brian lets out a loud groan. Your hips stutter when you finally let loose, cumming all over Tim’s face. He doesn’t stop licking your clit, riding through your orgasm.

Your throat tightens around Brian’s cock; your moans sending shockwaves up his length. Brian throws his head back and moans—he trembles entirely as his hips falter against your face. He spills down your throat, hot, milky sperm leaking straight down into your throat. Brian’s face contorts in pleasure as he rides out his orgasm with you.

Tim pulls back from your cunt, his chin a mess of your slick and cum. He licks his lips before smirking down at you, content. Brian pulls out of your mouth with a sharp pop. Brian tastes sweet, salty and tangy in his own distinctive way.

You come back to reality, looking over at Toby. He’s pumping his own cock pathetically, his tip hard and flushed as he jerks himself. A soft whimper escapes his lips. A hot sensation runs right back to your core. He shudders, lanky fingers moving over his length with desperation.

Tim positions himself over you. He looks over at Brian and they share a smirk. Tim lifts you by your waist, leaving you dangling above the couch. Your eyes widen when you feel Brian slide underneath you. Brian’s rough hands slide down your arms, grabbing your wrists and catching you as Tim lets you fall back against him.

With this change in position, you’re left sandwiched between Tim and Brian. Tim lines himself up with your cunt, while Brian lines himself with your ass. Tim thrusts in with a quick, brutal motion. You gasp, hands flying to his back. Your eyes roll into your skull when Brian pushes in right after.

You’ve never felt so full.

Brian pistons his hips roughly up to meet your back while Tim slides his cock in and out of your hole. You hold onto Tim’s back for dear life, nails digging deep into his skin as you try to stabilize yourself.

Their dicks were like spears, piercing into you and making you feel things you’ve never felt before. You swore you could feel them in your stomach. Your moans pierced through the night, the wet slick noise getting louder and louder as the both of them went harder and faster.

Brian’s balls slap against your ass while he fucks up into you. You gasp and cry out while Tim’s bulbous tip pistons into your g-spot over and over again.

The force of both of their lengths in you at once is something you’ve never felt before. It feels so filling and good; you can’t focus on anything but them. How it feels to be pierced over and over again. Your cunt gushes and clenches around them, eliciting a grunt from Tim and Brian’s head to fall back against the headrest.

You catch a glimpse of Toby. His lap is covered in his own cum. He jerks his own cock desperately, bucking against his own hand. He whimpers as his hand speeds up, seeing you make eye contact with him. Your legs tremble as you feel the knot in your stomach begin to tighten again.

Tim and Brian’s pace has gotten nothing but rougher—if anything—deeper. They’re both fucking into you like it’s the end of the world, like you’re the only thing that matters. After a month apart, you were sure you weren’t too far off.

Tim’s strokes are perfectly synchronized with Brian’s, both of them bruising up into your cunt at the same time. They were twins in everything—including sex apparently. Tim’s hands fly to your breasts to stabilize himself as his breathing gets rougher and more ragged. He looks like he’s close too. Brian huffs, moving more desperately and frantically.

You grind in both directions; eager to be filled by both of them at the same time. This euphoria is one of a kind. You were sure you were drooling, and an utter mess, but this was the most pleasure you had ever felt. Brian groans against your ear as his hands suddenly tighten on your waist.

Brian begins to fuck into you even harder, hips sure to leave bruises against your ass in the morning. Your back arches as you cry out, spasming and releasing on their dicks. “Fuck!” Brian cries out. His hips stutter as he spills into you once more. Your walls tighten around Tim, and he cums right after. Tim trembles, going limp against your chest. Brian falls back, hands loosening their grip on your waist. Your eyes are bleary and bleated, completely unfocused. Tim pushes up and off of you. Brian gently picks you up. “You good?” He asks. You nod after a brief moment of silence.

“Think you can be a good girl and take care of Toby now? He’s been so patient for you, sweet girl.” He gestures to Toby, who’s surely jacked off and came more times than the three of you combined. You pant and shakily nod your head. Brian grins, patting your hip as he sets you back down on the couch. “Good girl. You’re up, Toby.”

Brian says with a grin. Toby stumbles off of the couch and immediately pounces on you. He twitches violently as he leans over you. “F—fuck. You were so g-gorgeous. Muh—my pretty gi—girl.” He says, wiping your sweaty hair from your eyes.

He quietly positions himself against you, tip teasing the entrance. His tip drags along your stretched hole, watching Tim and Brian’s sperm leak out of you. He grins, biting his lower lip as his neck cracks.

He pushes inside of you in a quick, fluid motion. He fills you to the brim, cock pulsing inside of you immediately. He lets out a loud groan of appreciation. Your hands fall limply at your sides.

Toby moves faster than both Tim and Brian. He’s more aggressive, less clean in his motions. His hips smash against yours over and over again, filling you to the brim and then leaving you empty. He fucks you into the sofa, and you swear you can hear it slide across the floor ever so slightly. His cock penetrates you with an unrelenting pace.

Lewd gushing noises come from your desperate cunt as you grind down in time to meet his hips. He grips your midriff as his head lolls back. He fucks into you desperately, cock twitching inside of you at the slightest tightening of your walls.

Toby, unlike both Brian and Tim, is also way more vocal. He whimpers and moans like he’s dying and this is the only thing saving him.

“F—fuck. So good.” His words come out jumbled, a mess of himself. “S-so cuh—close.” He cries out, neck snapping to the side violently as he fucks you into the couch. You grip the cushions.

Your third orgasm hits you like a freight train. You go completely blank, a moan tearing from your throat as Toby spills into you, hips never relenting. He fucks you through your orgasm, head pressing into your neck as he continues to thrust pathetically. Your legs go limp at your sides when Toby finally looks up at you. He sides off of you, and Tim sighs, a small smile on his face as he walks over to you.

Your face is almost blank. You’re absolutely out of it. Brian lets out a small huff of laughter as he sees your face when Tim scoops you up.

“Cmon, girly. Let’s get you cleaned up. A thanks for being so good for us.”

Tim says gently while he carries you to the bathroom. He sits you on the toilet seat while he starts the water. You look at him and smile sweetly. Brian leans against the wall. You sigh as Tim takes your hand, helping you into the bath to soak. Brian motions for Tim to go first. Tim nods at him and slides into the bath after you.

You rest your forehead against his chest, letting the water wash all of the grime off of you while Toby and Brian clean the couch up outside.

You hoped this was a good welcome home to your boys.

[vanillasodapop]

⊹ ࣪ Tear Into Me˖ ໒꒱ (HABIT x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: HABIT x Reader

Character Count: 25k (16 mins ert)

Trigger Warnings: knifeplay, spitplay, degradation, slight dubcon, bloodplay, corruption kink, edgeplay, gagging, impact play

Tags: Smut with plot, Animalistic Behavior, Dark Romance, Everymanhybrid

Summary: Joking with HABIT can have its consequences. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Recommended songs: CREEP U , Tear You Apart, I’m Your Man, Breezeblocks

The house was quiet in the way you had learned to appreciate.

Now that HABIT was out doing god-knows-what, you had a significant decrease in his stupid jabber, sly remarks, and witty retorts. The days he was gone made up for the days he was here. You had peace and sanctuary for once. You could wake up in the mornings to the smell of lavender or vanilla instead of rotting corpses or stale fruits.

The sounds of your hands carefully chopping up vegetables echoed through the otherwise silent home. You busied yourself mindlessly with dinner preparations to distract your mind from your ‘boyfriend’s’ eventual return.

You had a relationship with Evan before he became HABIT. When the entity took him over, you had a hard time letting him go. That factor is what screwed you over in the end; now you were bound to him. That was one of the only reasons you stayed now. That, and the fact that if you left HABIT, you doubted you’d be safe alone. The undoubted threat of the Rake and The Operator. And either way, you had a gut feeling he wouldn’t let you leave willingly. Being with him was convenience. He tolerated you, and you tolerated him. He kept you safe. In return, you dealt with his sick-shit. You were far too deep in now to have any semblance of normality.

HABIT had been gone for almost a week at this point. You weren’t worried—as this wasn’t an unregular occurrence. He disappeared for days at a time just to come back unscathed, covered in anyone’s blood but his own.

Isabelle brushed by your feet, her fuzzy tail brushing against your bare legs and snapping you out of autopilot. You smile and place the knife on the chopping board, bending down to pet her. Isabelle purrs with the attention your hand brings her attention almost immediately. Your fingers run through her fur as you absentmindedly stroke her back.

She meowed loudly at you, and you understood her immediately. She was most definitely hungry. Isabelle, as HABIT told you himself, never skipped a meal. And she looked the part, as well. You swore that HABIT cared more about her than most people at times, and it showed through the lack of care or respect he gave his victims before mauling them brutally. You straightened back up and looked off to the side—checking the cat-shaped clock, and your suspicions were confirmed. 7:34 PM. Just a little bit past her regular dinner time. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Isabelle, it’s only been 4 minutes. There’s no way you’re starving. I gave you an extra treat this morning!” You chided, unserious. She meowed louder, stepping on your feet with her own small paws. Her tail swished rapidly. With a small grin and reluctant shake of your head, you padded off to her bowl of food and water. Isabelle followed you, the furry creature prancing around your legs and swishing her tail against you as if it’d make you go any faster. You swore this was the only time she moved with haste anywhere, much less did anything strenuous. You bent to your knees and opened a bag of cat food, carefully filling the bowl with just enough to keep the needy cat satisfied.

Your afternoon peace was short lived when you heard the back door swing open. You let out a huff of air from your nose and turned around. There, in all of his glory, stood HABIT. He grinned and waved at you. “Ahh, there’s my favorite human! Tell me, did cha’ miss me?” He asks, gesturing to himself. You raise a brow, looking him over. One of the band shirts you had gotten him was stained and wrecked with blood, the singers face grotesquely covered in the crimson. His jeans were just as soaked—practically a new shade of blue. His ‘Death Proof’ cap was untouched. He loved the thing. Wouldn’t get blood on it unless actually accidental.

As you expected, he was covered in blood. Your nose wrinkled as the smell of metallic and rotting corpses stunk up your safe haven immediately. Goodbye, vanilla coconut air freshener. You almost facepalmed when you saw the bloodied footsteps soaking into the floor. “Absolutely not. Leave those shoes outside. Go shower. You’re not coming in like that.” You said immediately, raising your finger and pointing down the hallway.

He only grinned wider, tilting his head at you. He did as you asked, throwing his boots off somewhere outside. For showering, however, he did not listen. He strolled right past you, shrugging his rifle off his shoulder. He hung it right above the front door, where his assortment of other weapons were mounted. You rubbed the bridge of your nose. At least he had taken off his boots. The other spots of blood on him seemed to be dry, so he wouldn’t leave any stains. Better than nothing, you supposed. “Relax, babe. It’s not like you haven’t had to clean this up before,” he says in a sing-song tone. He slides his hunting knives out of his pockets and places them on his weapon rack as well.

A long stretch of silence between the two of you is broken when Isabelle chows on her food rather loudly. You shake your head and decide to go back to cooking. You walk back from Isabelle’s bowl and presume chopping up the last bit of vegetables. You grab a bowl and start arranging a salad for yourself.

You can feel his eyes boring holes into your back, and it almost sends a chill down your spine. You swallow as you walk to the fridge, reaching in and grabbing a bottle of seasoning. He breaks the silence as he strolls over to the kitchen, leaning on the island’s counter. “You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart,” he says teasingly. He smirks and leans his head on his palm. His eyes narrow while he looks you head to toe.

“You were asking if I missed you, right? Then.. honestly no. It felt nice to not smell guts and your latest victims spinal fluid.” You leave your back to him as you arrange your salad. He sniffs the air.

His grin doesn’t leave his face. That stupid, dopey show of his sharp canines. His pupils blow wide. “Well, I certainly didn’t miss that attitude. And I had a gift for you! Shame you’re being so moody, I would’ve given it to you. But nooo, it’s another one of those ‘I hate HABIT’ days. So, oh well!” He says, shrugging.

A hint of intrigue hits you. You stir the salad and look over your shoulder once. “Please don’t tell me it’s another one of those decomposing rats. You know those stink after a few days.” You chide softly, recoiling internally at the memory. One of his sick ‘gifts’ to you on yours and Evan’s anniversary was a half eaten rat he had caught with an old mouse trap. How he even found out it was your dating anniversary was a mystery. You look back at your bowl as he lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

“No, no. It’s much, much better, sweetheart. I promise.” He drawls out, pushing himself up from his spot on the counter. He moves around the island. You, finally finished with preparing your salad, turn around and set it down at the island. You grab a disposal fork from a small bowl in the middle of the table and sit.

You wince as he plops down across from you on a stool at the kitchen’s island. The blood on him would definitely leave the metallic smell you worked so hard to get rid of again. You opened your mouth, but shut it quickly. There would be no reasoning with HABIT. He was impossible to have a normal conversation with anyway. It was quite literally woven in his DNA.

“Really now? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is a step closer to domesticating you. You’re acting much more like a—“

A sharp laugh cuts you off before you can speak. “Eck-fucking ‘xcuse me? Did I just hear that right? ‘Domesticating?’” He asks sharply, rising to his feet in an instant. The stool he had been sitting off launches back, screeching against the marble kitchen floors. “Hah! Thats cute,” A small twitch in his left eye betrays himself.

“No, no, really!” The tension in the room spikes to a million as he takes slow, tantalizing steps toward you. Dark shadows cast over his face, his hat tilted at just the right angle to hide his eyes. You push up from your seat as well, a frown spreading on your face. He corners you, the sly smirk on his face abruptly dropping as his hand shoots out. His hands, covered in dried blood, grip your chin roughly as forces you to look at his eyes. He scoffs. “I think I’ve been feeding your ego way too much as of late. Wouldn’t you agree?” He asks, cooing at you mockingly. His brows furrow slightly as his fingers dig into the fat of your face. “You’re starting to forget who you’re dealing with. I’ve ripped limbs from men triple your size. And here you are. I’m letting you live, and you think that because I am, you can walk all over me,” He snarls out.

You shove him back harshly. He doesn’t budge. His grip only gets tighter. “I was joking! Gods!” You snap at him. His free hand flies to his pocket. After fumbling for a few moments, It is then you realize exactly what his gift was. A shiny, freshly sharpened butterfly knife. The metal glints under the yellowish lighting from the kitchen’s bulbs. The handle of the knife is a soft shade of mulberry, with small intricate designs welded into it. Your eyes blow wide as he stares at you, his eyes filled with a thirst for a reaction. Straight faced, pupils blown so wide you swear his eyes are pure black. To see you squirm under his gaze was everything. “Pretty girl, ain’t she? Stole ‘er from that 7/11 down the road,” he admits. No suprise to you. What in this house that did belong to him hadn’t been stolen? A gasp rips from your throat as he presses the cool metal against your cheek. He taps it against your skin twice. “Such a pretty little face. Would be a shame if I I just..” He trails off, letting his actions do the talking. The knife sinks in just enough to open a small enough wound to let a tiny droplet of blood leak. The pain is instant. Small, but definitely there. You inhale sharply, eyes squeezing shut. His warm breath fans against your face as he leans in. His tongue licks a clean stripe up the side of your face, lapping up the small droplets that came from your cheek. When he’s satisfied, he pulls back. Your cheek is left wet and warm, your own skin still tingling with the feeling of his rough tongue against your flesh.

“You really want to see what I’m capable of when I stop pretending to be nice, sweetheart?” He asks. He tilts his head as he studies your expression. The hairs on the back of your neck rise as your shoulders square; body tensed. He almost shivers in delight at your reaction. He can smell your fear. He thrives in it. The power trip it gives him is no short of his version of heaven. The knife goes to rest as his hand falls to his side idly. His regular, cocky smirk returns to his face. “Open.” He demands lowly, tapping your chin twice. You swallow as you hesitantly pop your mouth open. He hums in contentment as his fingers pry your mouth open even wider.

Your legs clench together instantly. He grins and spits into your mouth. His saliva mixes with your own, tastebuds thriving with his taste. His saliva is something distinctly him. Salty, tangy, and slightly bitter. “Swallow.” He commands, eyes watching every single move you make—down to the way you breathe. You follow his directions immediately, swallowing his saliva. His taste lingers in your mouth as he tucks the butterfly knife back into his pocket. The handle juts out from its position as his knee slots between your thighs.

“Nothing smart to say to me now, huh, sweetheart? A shame. That silver tongue of yours can get you in trouble, you know,” He says. A gasp admits from your throat as your hands fly out to grip the counter behind you, trying to grasp onto anything to keep you upright. “It’s not often that I see you with that fire. A spark every once in a while is unavoidable. But I’ve been letting it grow for far too long,” his hand finally releases your chin. You exhale for the first time in what felt like ages, but his knee grinding against your core tenses you right back up. A small, barely audible whimper slips from your mouth. Habits hands fly up to grip your waist, feeling you up. Your hands fly to the back of his shoulders. He groans lowly as he leans in, eyes meeting yours. His eyes search your own before he smashes his lips against yours, giving you no time to breathe in between kisses. The wet sound of your lips is the only thing you’re given time to focus on. Just as abruptly, he pulls away. He licks the sharp edge of his fang briefly before moving to lather your neck. He licks long, careful stripes down the side of your neck.

A sudden chomp elicits a deep moan from you. His teeth dig into your flesh, puncturing just enough to draw a tiny bit of blood. He hums lowly in appreciation as he laps it all up. Not a single drop escapes. “I’ve tasted so many other people, yet, none of them ever compare to you. God, your blood is fuckin’… addicting.” He says with a laugh. Your hands tighten on his shoulders.

Using his knee as leverage, he hoists you onto the kitchen island. The cool marble beneath your back makes you writhe. Your salad bowl, left untouched, skitters off to the floor. You have no time to grieve it as HABIT hooks his fingers into the elastic of your shorts. He lets one side snap harshly against your waist before he tugs it down—leaving you in nothing but your soaked underwear. His breathing turns heavy. Erratic. He climbs onto the island right after you—sending even more kitchen necessities off to the side. He looms over you, on his knees, expression nothing short of erratic and desperate. He throws his cap off to the side before diving in. He shoves his nose into your clothed slit, breathing your smell in. His tongue jots out, teasing you as he does small kitten licks. He tastes you; your sweat and slick. It’s addictive. It’s something worth worshipping.

Soft, broken little noises escape from your lips as you grip his hair, tugging at it in tufts. He groans against you, vibrations running up your spine and making you shiver in delight. On instinct, your thighs try to snap shut, but his hands wrap around your ankles and keep them dangling off the island. He looks up at you as he licks down your slit particularly slowly. He lets out a teasing chuckle. “What a fuckin’ mess. Nothing smart to say now, eh?” He coos. He retracts from your slit, hands flying up to strip your shirt off. He tugs it up and off in no time, throwing it off to the side with the other discarded clothes. His hands fly around your back, tugging the flimsy bra open. He would’ve cut it off if it had taken even just a bit longer.

HABIT gropes your tit, thumb rubbing small, teasing circles on your nipple. You moan as the small touch turns rough and ragged. He tugs on the bud, rolling it roughly between two of his fingers. Your back arches—but his hand flies to your stomach to keep you pinned. He tugs on the sensitive ball of nerves for a moment longer before pulling back. You’re barely allowed to get your gatherings before the sound of a belt unbuckling reaches your ears. Metal clanks beside your head; the familiar shape of the butterfly knife unmistakable in your peripheral vision.

You look up just in time to see him shoving his dirty jeans down his legs. His bulge is straining extremely tightly against his boxers; you can even make out his shape from here. You swallow roughly. He tugs his shirt over his head, revealing his bare chest and back to the cold kitchen air. His chest is littered with scars, old and new. The oldest ones are the smallest; skin already as healed as it can get.

He yanks his boxers down. His length jolts out, his tip already flushed an unnatural red, pre-cum leaking at the tip. He bites his lower lip as he smirks, his hand sliding down from your stomach to your soaked panties.

With a quick tug, he yanks them off of you—exposing your slit to the cold, kitchen air. Your toes curl. He gives you zero processing time. His hand slaps roughly against your mound, sending slick to fly in different directions. The sensation is stinging, rough, and harsh. But you can’t help the rush of warmth it brings you. “Look at you.. so fuckin’ soaked. Barely even touched you. What a slut.” His free hand moves to roughly grip your chin once more, forcing you to look at your twitching folds. His unoccupied hand snaps out, flying in a punishing slap once more. His palm connects with your folds, sending shockwaves of both pain and pleasure through your body. A sharp moan escapes from your lips. His hand continues to deliver the punishing slaps until he’s satisfied. Each one is rougher than the last, eliciting the same desperate, needy moans from your lips. By the time he’s content, your mound is flushed a soft red color, the skin irritated and roseate.

He finally lets go of your face, letting your head loll against the island’s marble surface. He hoists your legs over his shoulders, pressing you flush against him. On instinct, your legs lock around his neck for stability. He slaps his length against your slit multiple times, making a mess of your slit. He teases his tip against your hole, not yet letting you have your fill. He licks over his fang as he grins down at you. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give it to you, nice and easy. All you’ve gotta do is ask,” he says, mockingly soft. He stares down at you with mock fondness. You grind against him desperately, craving the sweet, sweet friction. You let out a needy little moan. He’s torturing you; drawing this out for as long as he can. “F-fuck.. Habit, I need you. Need your cock. Please.” You beg. That seems to satisfy him, as it elicits a sharp laugh from him.

“Jesus, you’re fucking pathetic.” In a singular motion, he fills you to the hilt with his length. You gasp, hands flying out to grip whatever you can for stability. HABIT wastes no time. He drills into you, fucking you into oblivion. The bulge of his cock outlines against your stomach. He pants, hips slapping against yours with ferocity. You gush around him, your body trying to accommodate his size. He’s thick—and your body wasn’t given any prep time.

It feels like he’s splitting you open from the inside. You try to speak, but the sensations overwhelm you. He watches your legs fall limply to the side as he penetrates your hole over and over again. He shifts, his chest pressed flush against your own. He laughs at your fucked out face, his pace only getting rougher and quicker. “You’re gonna take every drop I give you, aren’t you? Look at you. Can’t even speak. So drunk on my cock.” He punctuates every word with a rough thrust, skin slapping against your own.

You can feel a familiar knot building up in your stomach. HABIT only goes harder. His thrusts are rough; harsh with no exceptions. The position change allowed him to explore more spots in your hole. One thrust in particular makes you see stars, letting out a loud mewl. HABIT picks up on this. He immediately shifts to that spot, pummeling into that sweet area. You squeeze around his length, and he growls lowly.

“Letting me fuck you while I’m covered in the shit from my victims. I’m tainting you, you know that? And you still let me fuck you, and this tight—shit,—hole.” He degrades, his face shoving into the spot between your shoulder and neck. He nibbles the skin roughly between his teeth, hips continuing their punishing pace.

His balls slap roughly against your ass as he drills into you over and over again, never letting up for even a second. Repeatedly, he fills you completely, pounding into that sweet spot that made you see stars. The dam that was your cunt came closer to gushing with each snap of his hips. And suddenly, your eyes flew wide, back arching as you came around his cock. You tightened around him like you were trying to milk him. His hips stuttered as he grunted loudly, spilling his own into you. His pace didn’t slow—no, if anything, he went just as fast, fucking you through your orgasm. Your arms fell limply against the island as your whole body shook with your release. His seed dripped down between your thighs as he took a moment to compose himself.

He grinned, his hand moving beside your head. His hand settled on the butterfly knife. In record time, you could feel him hardening again inside of you. You opened your eyes, looking down at your chest. He tilted his head at you, the cool metal running down your breast, knife running over your nipple teasingly. Fear shot through you. He licked his lips. He traced the outline of your breasts with the knife, drinking up every reaction you gave him. “Scared of me now? That’s a surprise. You weren’t scared when you were cumming around my cock,” He scoffs. “So what changed, hmm? So desperate to get your fill.” Guilt swirled in your gut, but it was quickly overshadowed by the thrill. You couldn’t help the rush of excitement that came with the adrenaline rush. HABIT noticed. Of course he did. He picked up on every little motion you’d make. Every reaction—every emotion, every change in your scent.

He hadn’t pulled out. Not yet. His cock was twitching inside you; craving the friction your walls gave him. He spit roughly onto your clit, saliva leaking down onto where his own cock had speared your hole open. He rubbed slow circles over the delicate pearl, teasing you with each motion. “Habit, please. Please. I’ve been so good. Please—give it to me,” you beg. One of his eyebrows quirk up. He smirks.

“Since you asked so nicely, what kind of guy would I be if I didn’t give you what you wanted?” He says in a faux-loving tone. He picks up his pace right where he left off. His hips drill right back into you, your folds greedily sucking him right back in. You moan loudly as he glides the knife back over your breast. The knife slides down your bare stomach, the metal sending small shockwaves down your spine as he reaches your clit. His thrusts slow. If anything, they turn deeper, like he’s trying to fill your stomach. He shivers in pure delight watching the metal flick against your clit. Fear and excitement rush through your veins, heart pounding with a mix of emotions. He uses the edge of the knife to tease the bundle of nerves.

He laughs, you look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide—more than earlier. He wets his lips again. You moan as his hips drill harder into your hole. HABIT finally relents with the knife, letting it slide off to the side. He focuses on his punishing thrusts, picking up in speed every second.

You can feel your second orgasm building up. The sweet release comes closer and closer, finally knotting up into your stomach. Your eyes roll back into your skull as he pierced his cock into you over and over. He was so good; he made you feel so full. So complete. So intoxicating. And then, he pops right out, leaving you feel empty and desperate. Your eyes fly open, and you look at him. He bares his teeth, smirking.

“You want to cum? Be good for me,” He says, two of his fingers gliding up to your face and pushing past your lips. Without much thought, you swirled your tongue around his fingers, sucking on them with haste. He hums in contentment. He tastes salty—and something distinctly metallic. You grind against him, desperately chasing release. A sharp slap to your mound ceases you immediately. You whimper against his fingers, the sound sending vibrations up his arms. “No, no. You’ll cum when I let you. Understand me?” He asks, his fingers shoving down your throat. You gag at the intrusion, but he only curls his fingers. You nod vigorously. He pulls his fingers from your throat, now resting on your tongue. He thrusts the indexes down your throat over and over again, making you gag nonstop.

You whimper and moan. He doesn’t relent. He continues to drill his fingers down your throat, thriving in the way your spit glides down your chin and into a puddle on your breast. HABIT’s eyes are bleary and lust stricken. When he’s satisfied, he pops his finger from your mouth, licking them clean.

He finally pushes back inside you. He groans at the sensation, and you grip his shoulders. He drills into you violently, chasing his own release that had been building up incredibly fast. He fucks into you like it’s the end of the world. His cock intrudes and prods at every sensitive spot in your body, splitting you open with every thrust. You moan and mewl, hands clawing down his back as you try and stabilize your self. He pounds. Faster and faster every second. You hardly have time to even breathe, because every thrust knocks the air right out of you. He fucks you dumb, rendering you numb and drunk on him. He’s the only thing you can focus on. The only thing you remember.

He feels you clench around him, and he spills his hot, bubbling sperm deep into your womb. You let loose as well, gushing around his cock. You cry out, trembling as you ride out your orgasm. He pulls out, panting. His hair is sweat-stricken, sticking to his forehead. Your both messes of cum, sweat and spit.

He leans down, smashing his lips against yours. You kiss him right back. When the two of you finally pull back for air, he pants softly and teases you. “Not domesticated now, am I?” He asks, that infuriating teasing smirk never leaving his face. You almost facepalm, head falling back against the marble island.

“God, Habit. You’re so fucking annoying.” You say with mock annoyance. He laughs.

He slides off of you, walking over to the kitchen sink. He grabs a towel and cleans you off. Just enough to keep you happy.

Making jokes with HABIT can have its consequences. You know that now.

I was tired of bitty & bonbon shit so I wrote my own^^.. hope this is good! this is my like second time in 6 years writing smut lol.

[vanillasodapop]

All The “Would That I’d Love” Is Long Ago

—Would That I, Hozier

Ticci Toby x Reader Oneshot

20k characters

TW: gore, brief mentions of bones/skeletons

Summary : After a mission gone wrong, you finally get to see your boyfriend again.

Fate had decided to smother its grimy, greedy hands on your life once more a week ago, when you barely escaped a failed mission.

It was a simple objective, eliminate the target and get out undetected. But when the target ended up catching you and almost shooting you down, it proved to be way more difficult than you anticipated. When you had originally arrived at the missions location, the eerieness of the target’s cabin had unsettled you even before the guy had blown bullets into your body. The stillness of the house alone gave you a sense of unease while you debated whether the man was some sort of psycho, or a hardcore hunter. Weird tapestry had been tattered all over the wooden walls, the skulls of various animals mounted like some sort of mockery, the lines of weaponry presumably used to skin said animals aligned like a cruel show beside the skeletons. You had been staring at a deer skull mounted above the stairwell. There were words woven into the hard cartilage of bone. The embroidered words were hard to make out in the darkness of the space.

A loud bang and sudden searing, hot pain broke you from your thoughts. You had no time to react before another bang rang out, shooting right into what you presumed was your stomach as your knees hit the ground. Your vision blurred as you cocked your own pistol, gurgling on your blood as it dripped into the hardwood below you. Pain bubbled over every inch of your body, giving you the sensation that you were ablaze with burning tar leaking out of your body. You couldn’t make out the curses that the man screamed as he shot aimlessly, almost carelessly. Adrenaline pumped through your veins to as you wasted not even a moments time to take him down. With shaky, crimson soaked fingers, you didn’t hesitate pulling the trigger. When he collapsed, you stumbled to your feet, pressing your hands against your abdomen as blood soaked your shirt and bled through your fingers.

Death had seemingly creeped its corner, as you yourself barely made it back to Tim’s beat down truck before almost bleeding out. Your own blood had made a cruel breadcrumb trail right to the truck. As you palmed at the doorhandle to the truck, you smeared the gore all over the metal. When you finally made it somewhat inside and far enough to reach your phone, your shaky, bloodied hands typed out an SOS response before completely passing out in the drivers seat. Tim could get pissed at you later for leaking blood everywhere in his truck.

When you had eventually awoken, you found yourself alone in the isolated makeshift medical bay of the manor. You were stripped to the basic light blue medical gown with bandages covering almost every inch of your body; particularly heavier around your midriff. The soft, solacing covers of the bed sat beneath you as a thin, ivory blanket covered your upper half. Sitting up slowly with a wince, you took into account your surroundings. Beside your bed lie a small metal tray with a few bloodied cotton balls and medical equipment. The assortment of surgical tools was astounding and unreal. It was impressive, really; the surgeries that Jack could do on his own proved to be life-saving multiple times.

On the wall to your right was a small calendar. It indicated that approximately two days had passed since your failed mission. You had been unconscious for two whole days. Memories rushed back to you. Memories of your shaky, blood-ridden fingers trying to call for help. The feeling of dread creeping over your spine as Toby and Tim blew up your phone. The flash of headlights to what you presumed was Brian’s truck after waiting no more than 20 minutes. You remembered your head lolling against the dashboard was the last thing you felt before completely blacking out. You were alive. Even after being shot what felt like 5 times. The quiet padding of feet startled you out of your train of thought as you whipped your head around. Standing in the open doorway was Jack, carrying a small plastic cup in his left hand. His head tilted to the side as he studied your form.

He was wearing his regular black hoodie with scrub pants, black boots, and latex gloves. His pitch-black eyes blinked once at you before he spoke up quietly. “You’re awake. That’s.. already great progress, I suppose. Well then, I’ll need you to start taking these pills daily. The white ones are for your pain, and the yellow-ish ones are to avoid an infection in your bullet wounds. Two 650 milligrams of Tylenol pills every day, and some standard antibiotics,” He explained simply. His straightforwardness and bluntness was surprising to you. You had heard he was effective and precise, and now you got to see him as something other than the bloodthirsty killer you saw on missions. This was him at work—which, was endearing in its own way. “Also, for future reference, try not to sit up as much. It’s fine for now, but we don’t want any unnecessary strain with those wounds. Won’t heal properly with the muscle stretch.” He commented with an idle flick of his pointed ear.

His black boots thudded against the marble floor as he placed the small plastic cup on the metal tray. He turned around just as quickly, filling up another one of the small containers with water and placing it beside the one with pills. You swallowed the water and pills without a moment of hesitation. You held a lot of faith in Jack’s ability.

The process of Jack delivering you your meds continued daily for what felt like centuries. You were completely isolated because, as Jack explained, ‘people tend to stress the body out more’, or whatever that meant. The hours alone were agonizing, as Jack often spent his time in different sections of the medical bay tending to other patients. And even when he was around, he didn’t converse much. He hadn’t exactly been cold to you, but you could tell he didn’t care much for small talk. But now you saw his lack of care for it in all of its glory. With each day that passed by, it felt like a chip at your mental sanity. Not to even mention the agonizing, burning pain that came every time Jack replaced your bandages.

There finally came a day after three whole weeks where you were given a discharge date by Jack. Two weeks from today. It was still a bit away, but you couldn’t help but be overjoyed. You had seen anyone other than Jack since you were brought here. And you knew there was a certain someone definitely worried out of his mind for you. From what you heard from Jack, Toby and Brian had brought you in. And by then, Brian was having to keep Toby from passing out himself while also trying to steady you in his arms.

Your relationship with Toby had been.. tough, to say the least. Being a Proxy meant giving up certain social liberties. Since Toby had been so accustomed to the loner life, he didn’t have the relationship skills that most would. He struggled with his own feelings as much as he did trying to understand yours. The relationship between you two was rocky at its points. Messy, complicated, and most of all, difficult. Despite all of the mess, there was a deep sense of care you both harbored toward each other. No matter the arguments or the petty words. You both knew you couldn’t live without each other. Toby had his moments, and you did too. But in the end, you both loved each other more than words could ever describe. Stress was practically woven into the fibers of this job, and any relationship was bound to be messy and unpredictable. Even after frustrating and exhausting arguments, the two of you found a way to make it work, and be as healthy as possible in this shitty enough environment.

The very few times that Toby did open up to you however, you were informed of the guilt of his past. The guilt he expressed for not being able to do more for his sister while she was still alive. The nights he felt the most vulnerable were the nights he would share the most about his older sister.

You knew from him that her favorite color was yellow. That she had only been 18 when that stupid driver drove them off the road. That the yellow shirt she loved so much had been tattered and ruined by the metal chunk that had driven between her chest as a result of the crash. And no matter how happy he was when he fell asleep, her severed jaw still haunted him in his tamest of nightmares.

The next two weeks proved to be antagonizing and grueling. Physical therapy was hell on earth, you swore. Sometimes it quite literally felt like Jack was stretching your sore muscles to oblivion. Walking was especially harder, as it sometimes felt like rocks were weighing you down with each and every step. Even when you shifted, it felt like a bullet had pierced you all over again. With each time it all became too much for you, determination would fuel you; knowing that the faster you got this over with, the faster you could see your lover again. And as the days passed, the therapy proved to be effective, as your muscles no longer ached as badly with basic exercises. And soon enough, you were able to walk without problem again.

As Jack explained, Proxies are able to heal much faster than the regular human. Not so much at a superhuman level, but close enough to bounce back from wounds with as high severity as the ones you endured. With that in mind, the healing process didn’t take as long as you thought it would.

Before you knew it, freedom had finally come. The rehabilitation process was over, and your time to rot in bed was completed. The morning of, Jack stopped by to sign you out and bring you a change of clothes Tim had dropped off a while ago. After changing, you listened to Jack ramble about pills and what meds you’d need to take daily. When he finished, he handed you three bottles. One, you identified by the label—the Tylenol you had already been taking. The other two were different antibiotics. Before you left the med bay, Jack stopped you one final time. “Make sure you take it easy. No running or any strenuous activity for at least another two months, just to give your body time to heal.” He warned. He waved you off and turned around, busying himself with something else. With a small nod, you thanked him for everything and left without another word.

As you rounded up the stairs and toward the exit of the medical bay, excitement and anticipation bubbled in your gut. The warm air of the manor hit you like a freight train. The air was comforting—freeing in a way you had definitely been craving for weeks.

Being careful not to walk too fast or put unnecessary pressure on your body, you took your time making your way to Toby’s room. The pills clacked against their container in your pocket as you took your time rounding up the impossibly long stairwell.

After walking for what felt like forever, you finally made it to Toby’s room. You took a deep breath in before raising your hand and rapping against the large wooden door. After only a moment or so, the door creaked open, revealing Toby in all of his glory. He was wearing nothing but boxers and a rather old and tattered Linkin Park shirt. He peered at you lazily, not even registering the fact that you were in front of him after all this time. His regularly curly hair was now rumpled with what you assumed was sleep. He blinked once before his eyes slowly widened in recognition. “H—Hoollly Shh—Shit! Y-you’re buh-back!” He said, pushing the door wide open as he wrapped you up into a bundle in his arms. His body pressed against your own was cold and familiar. He was home. You were finally home. Safe, guarded in his arms after what felt like years apart.

You choked out a gasp and laughed, beating your fist against his back once. “Toby! Not so hard! My stomach is still healing!” You said, mock scolding him. He pulled away and scratched the back of his neck, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a grin. The grotesque scar on the side of his cheek flexed as he spoke apologetically. “Suh—Sorry. Cuh—Come in. Missed y—you a fuh—fucking lot.” He said, practically vibrating as he stepped aside to let you in. His neck cracked to the side violently as his fingers flexed on the doorknob. “I missed you more,” You said as you walked past him. You felt your muscles relax at the familiar, comforting smell of his room. His space was something you found yourself quite acquainted with over time. It was nothing special. A few scuffed, stolen posters of older rock bands plastered messily on his walls, and an older guitar mounted on his wall. It was a worn-down shade of red. Brian had token (or stolen) it and tuned it back properly for his 19th birthday. That guitar was his pride and joy. With some of Tim’s help, he’d become somewhat of a natural within a few months.

He watched you with hardly concealed fondness, overjoyed at the idea of having you in his arms again.

His room smelled of the mahogany incense you had bought him on a trip to Louisiana with Brian. After a long second, he broke the silence. “Su—so it’s okay f-for me to h—hold y-you?” He asks, tilting his head.

You paused in consideration. “It.. should be okay. As long as you don’t squeeze me or stretch me.” Toby was absolutely thrilled by your response. He wasted almost no time in launching himself at you.

He grinned and flopped onto his bed, tugging you down with him. You grinned right back, your arms settling around his neck almost naturally as he settled back into the pillows. Your hips fit almost naturally against his as he held your face between palms, looking over your expression. He let out a deep sigh as you moved to rest the bridge of your nose against his own. Peace. Clarity. Familiarity. Both of you were home, together at last. After divinity itself tried to tear your paths for the billionth time. Toby wouldn’t let the world tear you from his hands, not ever. You were stuck with him through thick and thin.

The two of you took a moment to bask in each other’s presence. Toby himself had been half terrified to death at the thought of loosing you. He couldn’t. Not after Lyra. He just wouldn’t be able to bear it. You made his hell more livable. Tim, Brian, and Kate made it tolerable. You made him feel like he didn’t have to blow his head off after every minor inconvenience. You were the reason he fought so hard. You were the reason he gave a damn about his own wellbeing. You, his everything and more. The rays of sunshine on his cloudy days.

He couldn’t live in a world without you.

He wouldn’t live in a world without you.

Which is why that night, when his phone pinged with your rather vague text to a group chat with him and a few other Proxies, he freaked out. Toby remembers that he had thrown himself into the passenger seat beside Brian. He was practically hyperventilating as Brian sped through the starry night in his own truck. His fingers were doing something different the whole time, and he couldn’t be still for even a millisecond. His fingers would tug at his own dirty jeans or even dig into his gloved palms. His body flared with sudden twitches and tics. He felt like combusting at the thought of seeing you hurt. Or even worse, having to bury you. He had already lost his sister. He couldn’t loose you too.

Of course, while you were healing in the med bay, he couldn’t be patient on the idea of seeing you. He went back and forth with Jack almost every day, trying to at least talk to you or even see that you were okay. But him and Jack were alike in one way—stubborn pricks. Nothing productive ever came out of his pleas. And Toby was left as broken-hearted as the day before, sulking in his room alone.

Some of his old habits had picked up as well, like absentmindedly picking at the skin around his fingers until he bled. Hence the bandages around the pads of his fingers now. He wouldn’t notice it some days, simply just zoning off and wondering what you were doing. And before he knew it, Kate was poking at him to get him to stop.

With Kate’s somewhat moral support, Toby was able to somewhat function without worrying about you or staring off into space; or trying to save you from the situation that put you in danger in the first place with his mind. The weeks that you had spent away had been grueling for him in his own way, as he couldn’t focus as hard on the goal of the missions he was sent on because he was thinking about you. He’d never admit it anyway, his pride was as big as his ego. Tim quite literally had to shake sense into him more times than he could count.

He sighed against your face, warm breath puffing against your lips as he soaked you in like a greedy sponge. You smelt of antiseptic and something strangely you. He pressed a small kiss to the tip of your nose before he twitched violently. He spoke again.

“Y-you know..” He began, his eye twitching and fingers flexing from where they were settled on your hips. “W-when me and B—Buh Brian found you slumped o-over in Tim’s truck,” He paused, his head tilting over to face you. His brown eyes searched your own as he twitched. “A-aaall I could t-think about was Luh—Lyra,” He said, voice cracking as one of his hands moved to play with a strand of your hair. Your stomach twisted violently as you peered right back into those honey-like orbs, attempting to gauge his emotions through his features. “Y—your bl—blood was ev-everywhere. It.. smuh—smelled jus’ like o—our wreck.” He admits.

Toby had told you a lot of his past; much more of Lyra and his mom. He never mentioned his dad. Only tad bits here and there, but you could tell from those pieces alone that he wasn’t even worth mentioning. He had told you about the bullying, how he even got the name ‘Ticci Toby’. But, even then, it took him time. You two had been dating coming on two years, and he had still yet to admit some parts of his past. It took a lot for him to open up with you. He had been so used to dealing with his own shit that being vulnerable became harder.

You slid off his lap and onto the bed beside him, being careful to not hurt yourself in the process. When your head finally rested comfortably against the pillow, you turned and faced him. “I wouldn’t leave you like that. I won’t die that easily,” You said softly, moving up to gently grab his wrist. Your fingers carefully drag his hand up to your lips, where you place gentle kisses against his knuckles. He laughs. His right hand slides up from your hip and moves to cup your cheek. “I kn—know you w—wouldn’t. Buh—but it didn’t s-stop me from f—freakin’ out.” He says through a huff of breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he scoots closer. He rests his chin on your chest, hand leaving your face to settle back on your hip.

You knew what he was feeling. The rush of ‘What If’s’ and regrets. Hell, you’d felt it more for him. He could be reckless and stubborn and ignorant all at once, and that often led to very stressful missions, or him on the brink of death.

Your hand slid up to tangle in his strands of curly, messy hair. He pressed even deeper into your chest, inhaling your scent as his nose tickled your collarbone. “I s-still don’t kn—know what I would’ve duh—done if I had lost you.” He murmurs against your skin. With each word, a small vibration beads against your skin. Your hands never slow in his hair, tracing small symbols into his scalp.

“Toby. I can promise you that I won’t die on you. I didn’t now, and I won’t later. That’s a guarantee.” You say. He hums in contentment as his fingers twitch against your hips. He feels the bandages up and sighs. “I l—love you. So f—fuckin’ much. Suh—sorry if I don’t say it en—enough,” he confesses lowly. He looks up at you from where he had probably tried burying into your skin. You smile tiredly at him and reply simply.

“I love you too, Toby. I always will.”

“Tuh—Till The Operator d—does us puh-part?” He asks, grinning at you.

You cringe, but laugh.

“Til The Operator does us part. Now let me sleep, I haven’t slept in a real bed in at least a month,”

“Ffff—fine. See if I—I’m ever suh—sappy again!” He chides, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobes.” You say, settling into the bed. For the first time in what felt like a millennium apart, you’ll get a full nights rest.

And you know he will, too. He’ll sleep at ease for the first time since you were put in that damn room.