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*Married life playing in the background

This idea was probably funnier in my head

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King shit

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it's a bitch convincing people to like you {Evan/Reader/HABIT}

Part 4/4 // FINAL

{ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 }

Summary: HABIT doesn't do aftercare, he leaves that you for Evan to deal with in the aftermath.

Warnings: so much blood, nudity, graphic descriptions, brief flashbacks and discussions about sex, wound aftercare including use of anaesthetic and suturing, mentions of violence, consent regarding the HABIT/reader situation is still a tricky grey area but it's framed in the discussion as SA even though the reader considers it to be CNC-adjacent.

A/N: probably final emhpost in the year of our lord, 2024. end of the story. not going to extend it and get burnt out. happy with this as the ending, beyond this is just the fucked up cycle of the worst throuple you can imagine. If you liked this, you can give it a like, or even a comment, I'd be very appreciative. Or put it into a time capsule and unearth it in 50 years so those closest to you can ask you if you really chose to bury only the 4th part of a 4 part NSFW HABIT EverymanHybrid X Reader fanfiction from Tumblr dot com. If you hated it, let me know so I can flick you through my exact coordinates, and we can fist fight about it in person like rational adults.

You're not sure when you pass out, only that it was from a combination of overstimulation, and pain as HABIT had been carefully carving his name to your chest beneath your boobs. It would definitely need stitches, but it wasn't anywhere near life threatening. Just a little something to remind you of him every time you looked in the mirror, he'd said with a grin, thrusting into you particularly hard, which had you choking out a moan, arching off of the bed.

He'd actually gotten you off far more then twice, and degraded you to the point of tears each and every time. The most shameful was how turned on you were by his cruelty, even if it logically upset you.

The first thing you hear as your waking up is swearing. Evan specifically swearing. He has two fingers to your pulse point, and his voice is shaking. You've curled up on your side away from him, hands still locked up to the headboard, and the more you wake, the more pain you feel; the cuts HABIT left on you are agonizing, but the rest of you somehow still feels all foggy and euphoric. Your thighs especially are feeling sticky and sore, but they don't hurt like they've been cut like your chest had.

"Ow," you whimper hazily, and then Evan's collapsed against you in relief, his forehead pressed against your side. He's shaking, babbling how thankful he is that you're alright, how he has no idea what's going on. You groaned, trying your best to wriggle onto your back, "HABIT broke my hand," you mumbled weakly, still feeling so foggy and pained, but Evan's sat back up, going completely still and silent when he sees your front.

"Please unlock my hands," you pleaded weakly, but your boyfriend is frozen, staring at your chest, "Evan, please, it hurts." You're coming back to yourself more now, and the sharper your awareness, the sharper the pain becomes.

"Yeah," he sounds shocked and sick, but he stands, begins moving. Tilting your head, you see him by the drawer HABIT had gone through before. He looks clean and showered, wearing pyjama pants, his expression far away, almost shattered. As more and more came back to you about how you got into this state, the more guilt, the more self disgust and shame welled up within you.

The demon that possessed your wonderful boyfriend had fucked you senseless after he'd made you kill a man in cold blood, and you'd absolutely loved it. God you fucking hated yourself right now. Maybe even more than you hate HABIT.

Evan comes back with the key and immediately sits beside you, unlocking the handcuffs; your shoulders ache like a bitch, and the moment you're free you burst into tears. Evan surges forward, pulling you into his arms as you sobbed, cradling you to him, on the verge of tears himself as he whispers apologies to you.

"I love you, I'm sorry," keeps tumbling from your lips, and all he can do is reassure you softly.

He carries you to the bathroom, and finally you get a good look at yourself, at what had horrified him so much. There was blood everywhere, but mostly on your stomach, dried and dark and caked to the cuts that very clearly spelled HABIT across your ribs. But in black Sharpie, across your chest and tits, it takes you a moment to figure out in your reflection, but you realise it says 'IF FOUND RETURN TO' above his fucked up signature in your skin.

Evan promises to take care of you as he sits you beneath a gentle, warm shower. Every touch is so tender, always asking before he did anything; your arms can barely move, so sore after being restrained like that for so long, and you let him clean you up. He's so careful when he washes you, though he has to stop every few minutes to give himself a moment as the situation would overwhelm him when he thought about it too much.

When you're clean and dry, he helps you into a pair of sweatpants, and strips the bloody sheets from the bed. He haphazardly tosses a clean sheet down, not bothering to tuck it in before he rests you atop it. Again you apologise, guilty, shameful tears in your eyes, but Evan lets out a long, shakey breath. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

"I'm so glad you're alive," he whispers faintly, "you have nothing to apologise for," except enjoying yourself, you thought, lip trembling, pain and all. He gets you pain killers and a medical kit, and you're actually surprised when he pulls out a syringe and a bottle that he tells you is a local anaesthetic. When you marvel at how he's so confident when drawing up a dose to numb the cuts on your chest, he quietly tells you he doesn't want to talk about it. You still can't help but wonder; it seems like exactly something HABIT would do, give him the chance, the cruel hope of helping his victims, and snatching back control the moment that hope is finally in reach.

"I love you, Evan," you whisper as he's finished with the anaesthetic and was discarding the syringe. But he freezes, his back to you. You see his shoulders sag.

"I love you too," he murmurs, turning back around and sitting at your side; he can't look at you, "too much to keep putting you in danger like this. You know you shouldn't be with me." He's absolutely right, you shouldn't have fallen in love with a man who was occasionally possessed by a sadistic megalomaniac with supernatural powers. But you did, and you'd the price for it, but you know deep down it's a price you'd happily pay again. But you can't find the words to explain yourself in a way that doesn't make you seem like a monster in your own right.

"But I do want to be with you," you mumbled, sounding almost pathetic to even your own ears, "I know I should know better, but I..." your heart breaks at his pained expression, and you sniffle quietly, apologising again, "you're right," it's barely audible, but you can't help but concede.

"I'm sorry," he offers quietly, "about everything."

"You, Evan, have nothing to be sorry for," you told him firmly.

"Even if you don't blame me for HABIT hurting you -"

"I don't."

"I still put you in danger by being around you knowing he could take over at any time," and he threads the needle he was about to suture your wound with, "and the fucked up thing is that I know HABIT better than anyone, and this is his version of gentle." Oh, you realise, that's what's getting him, that's what he can't figure out. He thought HABIT didn't care for you, because HABIT didn't care about anyone, so why had he left you comparatively unscathed?

"I think he did it because he knows it'd mess you up," you sighed. Even gives a wry, humourless smile as he stitches you up, muttering that HABIT was very good at what he did. After a moment, you laid back, eyes closed, "can I admit something?"

"Like what?"

"The fact that the worst part was knowing it was a way to torment you," you swallowed hard, "as fucked as it is to admit, the rest I could stomach; the pain, being violated, all of it I could tough out mainly because my genuine passion for refusing to give HABIT the reaction he wants outweighs my own sense of self preservation," Evan stills, looking at you with an unreadable expression, "but I still gave it to him when I realised how you'd find me, and that he was just using me as a tool to upset you, against my will."

"You can't say stuff like that," he says weakly, eyes going glossy as it looks as though he's about to cry again.

"I know what he's done, what he can do, I'm not scared of him," you insisted, "I just really don't want you to go through this on your own; I know you have the others and you're all going through this shit, but Evan," you voice caught in your throat, giving him a pleading look, "you especially push people away for their own good, with good reason I get, but I don't want to be one of those people if I don't have to be."

"He's going to kill you."

"I keep telling him he should," you give a watery laugh, "and instead he carved his name in me because he was so mad that I don't give even a single shit about him except when it comes to you."

Evan let out a long, shaky breath, closing his eyes as he processes everything you'd just said. He looks genuinely pained.

"I'm going to get you killed if we stay together," he mumbled, "that's- Y/N you know that's a fact. Whatever fucking game HABIT is play with you only ends one way if you don't leave before it's too late," he says it like he's seen it happen too many times before. You're conflicted; you don't think you could live with yourself if you walked away, but you don't want to be used as a tool to hurt him.

"Evan, do you want me to leave?" You ask softly.

"You should."

"That wasn't my question."

It takes a long time for Evan to open his eyes. He swallows hard, gaze trained on his hands as he set back to work stitching you up. You give him the time he needs, however, letting your eyes fall closed as you fight the urge to continue pleading your case; he knows what you want, and that it's to be in his life, to be with him. Now the choice was all his.

"I love you, of course I don't want you to leave."

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too sexy 🕺🔥

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in love with the song "I remember" by bbno$ 🌸

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My pronouns are he/ because I'll never be H-I-M, the gen Z Eminem

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😉😘

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it's a bitch convincing people to like you {Evan/Reader/HABIT}

Part 3/4 // NSFW

{ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 }

Summary: In the wake of committing your first murder and high on adrenaline, HABIT tries a different approach to break you. The worst part is how hard you have to try to convince yourself that you aren't enjoying it just as much as he is.

Warnings: Violence, non-consent/reluctance/CNC, knife play, pain play, handcuffs, brief mention of necrophillia, HABIT typical behaviour & cruelty, fingering, no actual sex just the "foreplay".

A/N: if you have issues with NSFW emh content in 2024 when I am here and now reminding you that I am 100% writing about the fictionalised, adult characters, 1. maybe don't read this fic, and 2. go reconnect with nature. However, if you like this, let me know! Leave a like or a comment, or blend it up in a smoothie to give you a little extra boost for the day. If you hated it, as implied three sentences ago, touch grass, I refuse to pay rent if I live in your head just for you to be mad at. ALSO READ THE WARNINGS I BEG YOU.

The moment you register that the man is finally dead, you finally react to HABIT the way you'd been holding back from since you'd met him. Instinct kicks in and you spin around, burying the bloody blade in his shoulder, and he stumbles back, genuinely surprised. But delight blooms across his face while your head is spinning; you hadn't thought you'd even get this far. It's no surprise that he reacts quicker than you do, pulling out the knife and leveling it at you. Stumbling back, you see the maniacal look in his eyes as the fire is now consuming the house behind him. Stepping around your dead victim, you end up with your back to the cabinets.

"You fucking tricky little brat, I should leave you here for your fucking audacity!" But he's grinning, almost manic, before he slams you against the counter, one arm braced hard against your chest. In his other hand he held the bloody knife he'd just pulled from himself, ghosting the sharp tip of it along your jaw, "should keep you here and pick out your fucking brains to figure out where the fuck your nerve came from."

"I fucking wish you would," teeth bared, you try and shove forward against his arm, his weight pressing against you, but in this moment he's an immovable object. Your hands are braced on the counter; you could be attempting to fight back, but something stops you.

"God, I hate you," he hisses, eyes bright and intense as the two of you are nose to nose. You have absolutely no qualms about matching his energy. In the next moment, you've reached up, taking hold of his hand that rests the tip of the knife delicately beneath your chin. There's something almost wanting in his eyes now, something desperately excited.

"You're not special for that, HABIT," you sneered, giving a cruel little smile. You see the moment his intent changes, the second that switch is flipped to a twisted kind of desire, and your heartbeat is the only thing louder than the fire around you. The knife is gone in a flash, but you feel it at your back when he pulls you flush against him.

His mouth is on yours, all lips and teeth and tongue, and you have to pretend like you don't want him just to hurt him- like you don't just want him in this moment.

"The fuck is your problem?" You demand breathlessly, HABIT chuckles softly, biting at your bottom lip. You try to snarl another insult, but the minute you're leaning in to spit it at him, he kisses you again. Your body betrays you, instinct overriding you as you thigh pressed against his, sliding against his jeans, and he's suddenly grasping your thigh, hitching it up over his hip, a process her repeats until your legs are wrapped around him and he's pressed flush against you, warm, and secure, and hard.

"You fucking freak," you put a token effort in to struggle against him, only to feel how intensely hard he was through his jeans. He calls you a hypocrite, leaving hickeys and bite marks down your throat. Still, he picks you off the counter with ease, hands on your ass, and seems like he's about to drop you when suddenly there's a bed at your back and you find yourself in Evan's room with HABIT over you. Before you can even speak, there's the cold feeling of metal against your belly, and then the sudden sound of ripping clothes as HABIT cut your shirt open.

"Stop it! Get off of me, HABIT!" There's distress in your voice mostly because you think there should be. You protest because you know it's what someone in your situation is meant to do. The desperate desire burning low in your gut and bright in your mind sears with hypocrisy.

You've always thought Evan was gorgeous, your beautiful damn Adonis of a boyfriend, but there's something about the way HABIT makes him move that is deliciously feral. He's barely even touched you and you know you're wet with want in a way you've never been before. When you try to fight back, despite the blade pressed against your sternum, HABIT lights up. He threatens to tie you up, his free hand now pressing painfully against the inner thigh of the leg you'd just kicked him with, keeping it immobile and your legs now spread. You actually have to bite back the urge to beg him to follow through on it.

"You don't scare me, HABIT," the way your voice shakes as you attempt to sound defiant is as much for show as the tears in your eyes are. HABIT desperately wants to break you, and you want nothing more right now than for him to try. There's hunger in his eyes at your words.

"I'm coming to like that about you," he admits, though his tone is dangerous, setting your heartbeat on edge, "it still kind of infuriates me, I won't lie, but I'm sure I'll get there," and you feel a sting as the blade bites into your skin, though fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it - your adrenaline dulls the pain to something not only bearable, but shockingly pleasant. Or perhaps it's knowing how fucking powerful and sadistic HABIT could be, yet he was choosing to toy with you instead. You squeeze your eyes shut, nervous that he'll see something in them that will give you away.

"If I tell you I'm scared will you let me go?" You know he wont, but some sick part of you enjoys this game.

"If you're scared of me you're no better then all the other assholes on this planet; fuck no, I won't let you go, I'll kill ya', like you were anyone else," he says candidly, "and I'd still fuck ya', but I wouldn't enjoy myself," he sighed, as if disappointed by the very idea, "plus you'd be dead, so neither would you, it's really a lose-lose for everyone involved," he deliberated for a moment, finally moving the blade as he leaned down, chin resting on your chest as he looked at you with those eyes you so loved, "and I wouldn't be quick about killing you either, so it's a pretty shit escape tactic."

Finally, you open your eyes, unable to help the exasperation in them. HABIT grins broadly at that, and you try and push his face away, but he grabs your hand, suddenly over you, pinning you to the bed.

"Watch it, rabbit, I'm acting like a fucking Saint to you right now -"

"You're attempting to assault me, HABIT!"

"There's no attempting about it," a HABIT says far too easily, "but I was planning to only cut you a couple of times, and get you off at least twice," he smirks, "I've got all your boyfriend's memories, I think I can figure it out -"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snarled through your teeth, squirming, fighting back beneath him. Before your free hand even gets off the bed, HABIT presses his own against it. While thankfully he doesn't cut you with the knife he's holding, you shriek and arch in genuine pain as he applies pressure to your broken hand.

He's got a knee between your thighs now, pressing insistently against you through your jeans, grinding against you as he applies more pressure to your hand, wearing an eerily blissful smile as you scream and begin to cry. It's overwhelming to the point of almost making you sick, the pain, the guilt, the promise of pleasure you know more than anything that you shouldn't want as much as you do. Finally, however, he sits back, letting go of your hands, leaving you laying there, sobbing as you cradled your broken hand to your chest. There's no fight in you in this moment, so he makes quick work of undoing your fly and yanking down your jeans.

When you finally come back to yourself, you're left in your underwear, as is HABIT, who's through items you can't see in a drawer. Slowly, you sit up, sniffling. Trying to keep yourself quiet, you stand, even if you know in your heart that it's useless to try, despite the pain, you find yourself enjoying the rest of this game. You manage to get your hands on the doorknob before you feel an arm snake around your middle, and HABIT pressed warm and solid against you.

"Nice try, rabbit," he growled into your ear, before he spins you around to face him, still holding you tightly, "you think you can so much as breathe in this house without me knowing?" You press your lips together in a firm line, trying to still muster hatred inside of you. But you can feel how hard he is, pressed against your thigh.

"Why don't you just control me? Make sure I don't run away; you could make me do anything you want," your lip curls in disgust, but it's an act, and the way HABIT's grinning makes you think that he knows this too.

"Where's the fun in that?" He practically purrs, walking you both back towards the bed. When he sits, he pulls you with him, and to avoid falling you move on instinct, ending up straddling him as he keeps a firm grip on you, keeps you close, "besides," his face is so close now, gaze searching, his other hand on your ass, "I want you nice and complicit," and he kisses you hard. You try to remain still, fight of your urges, but he squeezes your ass and your hips move automatically, grinding against his hardness as you gasp softly. HABIT takes it as an opening to deepen the kiss, and you give in, kissing him back despite knowing better. You don't even need HABIT's encouragement, rocking in his lap in a gentle rhythm, though he hums appreciatively, and you feel shame burn through you.

Before you can even register what's happening, HABIT's reaching behind himself to the bed, and suddenly snapping a cold, metal handcuff around your wrist.

"What the fuck -?"

But he's shifted, pushing you back against the bed, hovering over you so he can slip the other handcuff around one of the bars of the ornate headboard, yanking your other wrist up, handcuffing that one too. Immobilising you. The fight in you returns, and you start kicking, start yanking on the handcuffs, but the headboard is too sturdy to even budge.

"Hey! Stop that! You fucking brat, quit it!" HABIT orders as he fights to pin your legs. You still manage to kick him in the face before he gets you under control, but he's grinning, "you're sending real mixed messages here, rabbit," his voice betrays his genuine irritation, and his nails dig into your thighs.

"The message is that I fucking hate you," you spit back, breathing ragged, but one of HABIT's hands moves up your thigh, between your legs, pushing your lacy panties to the side.

"Then what's the second message?" He gives a shark-like smile as he leans closer to you, easily slipping two fingers into your already drenched cunt, "because it feels like you're pretty fucking desperate for me, rabbit." He curls his fingers inside of you perfectly, and again, and again, and despite refusing to look at him, your hips grind against his hands. When he presses his thumb against your clit, an involuntary moan escapes you, and HABIT laughs, triumphant. You both know he's won.

Both messages are absolutely true.

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genuinely wish bbno$ was considered mainstream because i desperately want to shake my ass at the club to Two while dressed like a slut.

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it's a bitch convincing people to like you {Evan/Reader/HABIT}

Part 2/4

{ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 }

Summary: Despite all of HABITS's neon red flags, you stay with Evan. On the pros and cons list of your relationship, there's only really one, and yes it's a big one, but you decide that it's worth it. HABIT deciding to start coercing you into being complicit in his atrocities, since his ego doesn't like that you refuse to think he's special, is actually less of a down-side to you than anyone might think, though you'd take that thought to the grave.

Warnings: suturing a wound, violence, HABIT breaks a bone in your hand, arson, mind manipulation, knives, murder, mentions of torture, HABIT typical cruelty & behaviour. Unedited.

A/N: continuing to emhpost in 2024. HABIT is distressingly fun to write. I love HABIT and reader's dynamic, Alexa play No Children by The Mountain Goats. That's not the song for this chapter, but it is the song for their relationship. Hand in unlovable hand. Again, like it if you like it, if you like, or comment, or anything. Print it, shred it, grind the remains to powder that you can cut with coke, and snort it. If you hate it, tape it to a punching bag.

Evan wakes with a start, terror in his eyes, and starts apologising so much the second he sees you that he quickly becomes incoherent. As he scrambled to sit up, your cool facade breaks and you smile at him, taking his face in your hands, assuring him that everything was fine. It seems like he can't quite believe you, forehead pressed to yours as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, still apologising all the while.

The two of you stay like that, on your kitchen floor, for almost an hour until you finally convince him to shower. He spends another hour in there, emerging wrapped in a towel, and you sheepishly tell him you bought him some s sweat pants, thinking something like this would happen. Evan turns pink actually looking a little endeared at that, and he changes in the bathroom before coming back to join you in bed. You ask him if he remembers anything, he admits that he doesn't, that that's why he was terrified to wake up and see you, so scared something had happened to you. He's glad, but still genuinely shocked, to know nothing had. Well, almost nothing. He is quick to clean the shallow knife wound in your back, but grimaces when he mentions that it'll probably need stitches. Again, you hesitate but admit to going overboard with getting medical supplies after researching him and HABIT. Evan goes very quiet at that, before asking what you'd learned.

You hand him the suturing needle and medical thread, and ask if he's okay to do this. Swallowing hard, he tells you he is, that he's done it before for the guys. The rest of EverymanHYBRID, you realise. So you lay on your bed, and Evan sits beside you, taking care of your wound as you try your best to explain your research.

"I'm sorry if I come off like a creepy stalker-" you mumbled softly, but Evan, who'd finished stitching you up and was now dressing the wound, cuts you off.

"I should have told you before any of this happened," he paused, sighing deeply, "I didn't know how. I didn't-" his voice catches in his throat, and his hands still against your back, "I'm sorry," he mutters finally, "it's a fucking miracle that you're alive and it's my fault for being a coward and putting you in that position. We hadn't even been together that long, I - fuck," he hisses, "thank you for taking me in for the night despite everything, I'll get out of your hair tomorrow." Slowly, you sit, getting to your knees, regarding him with a soft smile.

"There's no way I would have believed you if you'd told me," you admitted, "I have no clue how you'd even start that conversation," you laugh softly, and Evan's just looking at you with the saddest little expression, "but believe it or not, this isn't a deal breaker for me; I care about you, Evan." You take his hand; Evan looks at your fingers laced with his like he can't quite believe it.

"You should be running far, far away from me," he mumbled, but you gave his hand a squeeze.

"HABIT, probably. You? No."

For a long moment, Evan just looks at you, wide eyed, disbelieving. Then, all at once, he surges forwards, kissing you frantically. He peppers you with kisses, telling you he loves you, and something eases in your chest when you finally get the chance to say it back.

Later, the two of you curled up beneath the duvet, Evan holding you securely against his chest, he asks you about what happened earlier that night with HABIT. What had you said to end up with only a bruised cheek and shallow knife wound to the back, but alive. So you recount the conversation to the best of your ability, parts of which actually startle a laugh from Evan at your boldness.

"You're actually kind of terrifying," he laughs, grin pressed to your back, "I can't believe you."

"I know I've poked the bear," you admitted softly, "I know he's going to hurt me, probably badly, probably even kill me, but..." you trailed off, "it doesn't feel scary when it feels inevitable. I know we haven't been together long, but I really, really like you, Evan, so a little bit of pain isn't the end of the world. I know your heart is good. HABIT's isn't, but he's not you."

Evan's holding you so tightly it feels like your ribs are about to crack. He has no words in this moment, so you just gently tell him to get some rest. There's more to talk about, but that can happen tomorrow.

For a long time after that, things with Evan are good. Really good. Still, he's adamant that you don't spend the night at his place even if you've been over there countless times. If HABIT wakes you up again, there's far too many weapons around for him to sleep comfortably with you in his arms.

Sometimes he will disappear for days at a time. You know it's HABIT. Sometimes he'll text you during these periods.

[what's your address again?]

[nice try habit. fuck off]

[🥺 PLEASE I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU]

[is it a weapon to injure me with?]

[YOU RUINED THE SURPRISE]

[no you're just predictable]

[YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH]

Evan is thoroughly disconcerted by these exchanges whenever he comes back to himself. He always apologises for them even though you assure him he has nothing to apologise for. You help where you can with his investigations while keeping up with your own studies and keeping tabs on HABIT out of curiosity.

Except then there comes a day where you're out with Evan at the museum, and when he disappears for a moment to look at something, HABIT is the one who comes back. You can tell just by looking at him, the way he seems kind of lost, almost confused and disgusted to be here, that it's him.

And the smile that lights up his face when he sees you is a dead giveaway. If he weren't a monster, it might actually be endearing. Instead, you begin to grow a little nauseous, but don't let it show on your face.

"Rabbit, you are a sight for sore eyes," he loops his arm in yours forcefully, voice low in your ear, "were we on a date?" He teases sharply. As you try and wrench your arm out of his grip, he just holds you tighter, tutting disapprovingly.

"I was on a date, with Evan," you spat back icily. His nails dig into your arm uncomfortably as he calls you quaint. When you cut to the chase and ask him what the hell he wants, HABIT sucks a sharp breath in between his teeth, calling you a stubborn bitch under his breath. You elbow him in response and he tells you to watch it.

"Today, you're gonna be my good, little helper, and you're gonna play along, or I'll make you play along."

"Well not to skip the foreplay but I'm not going to play along, so either posses me or piss off," you told him candidly, much to HABIT's ongoing frustration.

"You're such a buzz kill," he actually whined, and you couldn't help but smirk at that, "there's no fun in that."

"I know," you couldn't help but snort, "you should probably just kill me." HABIT is quiet for a very few long moments after that, though he's still steering you both towards the exit, "you're thinking about it, aren't you?" Your tone is teasing, and he makes an amused noise in the back of his throat.

"Making a pros and cons list in my head, except I can't find any real cons."

"So why aren't you maiming me? I know you have no problems causing a spectacle," in the sunshine, you stop, turning to him. By now you know how to play this game, you think you know the answer. It's there in the way he looks at you, like you're a puzzle he's enjoying the game of solving. Except you're surprised by how much you like the way he's looking at you.

"Call it intellectual curiosity."

"Your ego can't handle the fact that I don't think you're special for wanting to hurt or kill me," you counter. This conversation really shouldn't be this light, you really should speak with even a bit more caution than you do. But then HABIT smiles, and your heartrate picks up for all the wrong reasons.

"You are going to be so much fun to break," he murmurs, and you have to fight back your automatic response, because Jesus Christ, why is your automatic response to say something flirty? Really, what is wrong with you?

"Good luck with that," you give a cold smile, and attempt to walk away. Attempt to. HABIT grabs your hand and starts to drag you down the street; his grip is unyielding, and only grows tighter, until you yelp, tears stinging your eyes as you feel the sharp, intense pain of a delicate bone snapping in your hand.

"I didn't just mean psychologically, rabbit," HABIT offers cheerfully, giving another pointed squeeze. An involuntary sob escapes you, and you've never seen someone's attention be drawn so quickly.

"I'm in pain, I'm going to cry," you rolled your eyes, despite your wobbly voice, "the fuck did you expect, you silly bitch?"

"Did you just call me a silly bitch?" It's like he can't believe you're giving him attitude right now.

"If the clown shoes fit -" you have to bite down to muffle your whimper of pain as he squeezes your hand again. Your whole face scrunched up, tears shine on your cheeks in the sunlight, and when you open your eyes, HABIT's regarding you with the most curious expression.

"You get hotter when you cry," he comments idly, "I'm probably biased though, I might just think you get hotter when you're in pain, I think everyone does -"

"You're a sadist, shocker," you say sarcastically, "get hard on your own time; can you focus on forcing me to help you commit atrocities so we can get this over with?"

"You're sassing me right now? With a broken hand? This is like if you stepped on an ant, and when you look under your shoe the fucking ant flips you off despite his mangled ant legs."

"You'll get over it."

"I don't know if I will, rabbit; you wound me," he presses his free hand over his heart, but his smile is wide and incredulous.

"I should be so lucky."

HABIT's smile turns dangerous once more, but the conversation drops, and he leads you on. As you continue on, he tells you about his victim, a conspiracy theorist getting too close to the truth and had to be silenced. When you ask what truth, HABIT's grin is cruel.

"Doesn't matter, not like any of his findings 'll ever see the light of day."

When you ask how he plans to kill him, HABIT sounds almost dreamy when he says he's still figuring that out. Turning down a street in nearby suburbia, HABIT looks over his shoulder at you.

"You're gonna get us inside."

"The hell I am."

"Its not a choice kind of situation, rabbit," he says flatly, but he perks up again, "though I am curious about how your mind works, so I'm gonna nudge you into obeying, but the details are up to you,"

There is suddenly an ice cold presence in the back of your mind, a voice you know is HABIT's true voice, not the one he manages to coax from Evan's throat. It orders you to say thank you, and you do so with a scowl, through gritted teeth. He sighs, shaking his head as if terribly disappointed, and just asks that you at least try and be believable with the victim. Then, he's in your mind again.

HABIT's presence in your mind is sweet, almost eerily seductive as he murmurs for you to figure out how to get them into the house you'd both stopped in front of. The voice is cold but ultimately smooth as it adds, be good for me, rabbit, be believable. It's like your mind and your body are two seperate entities, one desperately trying to revolt while the other turns to HABIT. You ask him to squeeze your hand again; he seems surprised and delighted by this turn of events, and complies. Immediately you burst into tears, and he seems taken aback, but you furiously hiss for him to put his arm around you as you both stumble to the door.

"Hello? Hello is anyone in there? Please help, please- we need help," you sobbed loudly, leaning into HABIT's arms, half collapsed against him.

"Who are you?" Comes a terse, nervous voice from behind the door.

"I- my name's Amelia, sir, please, I tripped and hurt myself, there's something following us," she whimpered, dissolving into tears.

"Someone?" The voice behind the door asks sharply, but before she can answer, HABIT plays along.

"Someone maybe, but it- I don't know how to describe it, sir, it was so tall-" the door opens swiftly, and they're ushered inside. HABIT holds you tightly, even as the man ushers you both into his living room. Locking the door, you both hear several chains being locked after, and he mutters something irritated about Chinese security cameras and shipping time. You're curled up, mostly in HABIT's lap, his arms around you. He's murmuring softly to you, lips against your forehead, telling you it's going to be okay. It's sickening the part of you locked away and still capable of free thought. He rubs circles against your back as you tearfully apologise to the man, babbling weakly about how it could have all been a misunderstanding, but there was something unsettling about the tall figure in the suit you swear was following you. The man goes very quiet, drilling you for any details you remember, interrogating you both. Finally, he asks if you were okay.

"I think I did something to my hand," you sniffled, still holding it to your chest. Nervously, when the man asks to take a look and check, you offer it, but before he can even touch you, every part of you recoiled, burying your sobbing face into HABIT's chest as he curls his arms around you and apologises for how skittish you were. He sounds so much like Evan in this moment you can't help but genuinely start to cry harder.

The victim asks if you're sure you were being followed, and you and HABIT quietly nod. In the next moment, he disappears back down the hall, and you feel HABIT's grin turn wicked against your temple.

"So you do know how to act scared," he muttered. You his for him to shut up, but he just laughs under his breath. The have that had been wrapped around your shoulders moves to your face, fingertips gently caressing your jaw, your cheek, even once stopping with his fingers beneath your chin so he could run his thumb along your bottom lip. It's so bloody innocuous, so why did it all feel so strangely possessive? It's also surprisingly soothing, and despite all odds, you find yourself relaxing somewhat against him as he rambles, "it wasn't exactly a creative solution, but he folded like a sheet. I told you, you get hotter when you cry."

"You're an asshole," you whimpered, "I hate you." With a softness you hadn't realised he was capable of, HABIT holds your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his gaze. He's so much closer than you'd expected, even if you know, logically, that it makes sense since you're all but in his lap.

"Yeah, clearly," he sees fit to mock you, considering the circumstances, how close you still seem to insist on being. How you're looking at him now. Something about the way he's looking at you, the affection in his eyes, it almost reminds you of Evan. If not for the way his gaze burns behind it all. Behind his mask of humanity, HABIT is all razor sharp intensity, trapped inside the visage of your boyfriend. You wonder how many people have gotten this close and lived to tell the tale.

HABIT makes short work of tying the victim up when he gets back, bored of the facade, he explains. Still he assures him that he won't draw this out like he usually would.

"It's rabbit's first murder, I'm still trying to ease her into it -" he explains, and the crying victim now looks to you in a panic.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out; while HABIT hasn't forced you to continue playing along and deceiving the man, he has kept you frozen in place, watching, helpless.

"No she's not," HABIT laughs, undercutting you immediately.

"I am!" You tried to insist, "I don't want this to happen, I don't want to do this -"

"It's like you keep finding new ways to get on my nerves," HABIT snapped suddenly, "go be useful; start as many fires as you can." And your body obeys without your consent, picking up the lightest from the stove. All you can do is disconnect from the process, squeezing your eyes shut while you're body moves around like a puppet, going through the house room by room and clicking the lighter to life every time.

The fire is beginning to chew through the house by the time you get to HABIT, and his praise makes you feel a little ill. The feeling only grows when he asks you to open your eyes, and he's standing before you, knife in hand, covered in blood.

"I've made it easy for you, little rabbit," there's something so sinister about his sweet tone. HABIT places the handle of the knife in your hands, curling your fingers over it, holding your hand steady in his own grip, "at this point, it'd be crueler to let him live," and stepping aside to reveal the horror show he'd made of the victim in that sort time; you feel like you're about to throw up, but you can't move. Except then he's behind you, his chest firm against his back as he wraps one arm around you to keep you secure, while the other once again holds yours as it holds the knife, guiding you.

"Don't make me do this," you whispered, even as the man before you begged for it all to end. HABIT's laughter is warm against your ear.

"There's very few ways to die that are more painful than burning alive," he mutters against the shell of your ear, voice turning into a low, almost pleased growl, "you're a fucking monster."

"I'm not a monster for not wanting to kill someone."

"You're a monster for being too selfish to put this guy out of his misery, making him suffer like that,* but HABIT sounds downright appreciative, and he holds you a little tighter against him. A traitorous, pleased shiver runs down your spine.

The bound man is downright unrecognisable, clearly suffering, praying for you to provide him a swift and merciful end. Honestly, to help him escape enduring another moment with HABIT, even through death, would make you something of a saviour to him in his final minutes, you tried to reason.

But HABIT's no longer in your mind, and the dark little voice that whispers insistently that you'll never get a chance like this again, is entirely your own. An eldritch abomination has decided that you were intriguing, that you were worth the effort of corrupting; HABIT is acting like you're special because you told him he wasn't. Despite your better judgement, you do really find him fascinating.

You tell yourself a million different things to try and rationalise what you're about to do, even lying to yourself that you can still feel the last of HABIT'S supernatural influence curling at the edges of your free will. It's not. HABIT's hands on yours, still holding the knife, is firm but still, he doesn't puppet you into this act of cruel mercy, all he does is still the shaking of your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles almost tenderly; you close your eyes.

"I'm so so sorry," you murmur to your poor victim, steeling your resolve. HABIT just laughs.

[duelacadatoolshed]

it's a bitch convincing people to like you {Evan/Reader/HABIT}

Part 1/4

{ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 }

Summary: You really, really love your boyfriend, but you also really wish he'd told you he was occasionally, and very literally, possessed by the most irritating murder-goblin you could ever imagine before HABIT woke you up instead of Evan one morning. Except how would he have even started that conversation?

Warnings: violence, brief graphic imagery (like a sentence, courtesy of HABIT, naturally), knives, implied HABIT cruelty & behaviour. Unedited.

A/N: emhposting in 2024. based on this post if U wanna see the full fic concept. I have like 4 chapters locked and loaded but I can't promise anything beyond that. Future chapters do contain darker themes and sexual content. but I love writing HABIT and I like his dynamic with the reader here. like it if you like it, or comment, or anything. Print it out and eat it. If you hated it send it to your enemies.

The only thing worse than enduring HABIT was the thought of letting Evan suffer him alone. That's what you'd remind yourself when it's the middle of the night and your Advil is wearing off and the wounds along your body have started to ache again. Evan was sleeping soundly next to you, arm across you, holding you tightly, which he tends to do now more than he doesn't on the nights that he's home. Sometimes you wonder how the hell he even gets to sleep; you know he's not faking it because he always wakes up screaming. Still, you prefer those nights to the ones where HABIT wakes instead. That was how you'd meet him that first night.

The feeling of nails digging into your side wakes you.

"You're new," you hear the incredulous, raspy voice of what you think is your boyfriend, and you try to shove his hand away, mumbling that that hurt. Like a lightning flash, however, your hands were pinned to the bed either side of your head, as the creature wearing your boyfriend's face straddles your hips. But you don't notice the malevolent grin, nor the cruel glint of intrigue in his eyes, still waking up. You actually were a little excited by this unexpected show of dominance, and couldn't help the sleepy, flirty grin that spread across your lips.

"Oh, it's like that?" You purred, hips shifting beneath him, "good morning."

For a moment he seems caught up in you, then he looks around.

"Where the fuck are we?"

"Evan," you start to grow more confused, watching him, noticing more and more how out of character he was behaving, "we're at my place, remember?" He looks around again, slower this time, then back at you. There's no missing the malevolence in his eyes this time. This time, when you whisper his name with concern, he grins.

"Not quite."

He calls himself Evan's worse half. He calls himself HABIT. He calls you Little Rabbit with a dark grin.

HABIT talks more than he doesn't. That first night he paces your room, tearing things apart looking for some sort of weapon even as you insist you don't have -

"Not even a box cutter for arts and fuckin' crafts? What the fuck is wrong with you, don't you have a fucking hobby?" He bites out, and you, still utterly confused and now downright terrified, tremble in the corner of your bed. He bemoans not being able to stay and have fun, says he's got a schedule to keep, but before he leaves, he approaches you. When your foot lashes out, kicks him, he snags your ankle. His grip is so fucking strong, so tight; your lip wobbles, there's tears in your eyes.

"I'm gonna go, because I'm a busy man, but I promise you - I promise," and he grabs your chin forcefully, making sure you're looking him in the eyes when you start to cry, "I'll be back for you." He watches the first of the tears trail down your cheeks, looking almost hungry as he does so, "I can see why he likes you," he muses, "fuckin' soft little rabbit," he wets his lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut, quietly asking why this is happening, but all he does is laugh, "I'm gonna have fun with you." But it makes your blood turn to ice in your veins.

This wasn't normal, this wasn't the man you'd been falling for in these past few months, this wasn't a side of him you'd seen before, or even felt he was capable of having. Part of you thinks you should break up with him, terrified of what this could all mean, what he could be capable of, but another part has begun to love him, and wants answers.

It takes a bit of online investigation, but soon you come across EverymanHYBRID and The Seven Trials of HABIT. Things... start to make a lot more sense after that. Days later, there's a banging at your apartment door in the dead of night. You know it's not your boyfriend, not really.

"Go away, HABIT," you tried feebly, yawning. He shouts that he'll make a scene if he has to, and it'll be all your fault. If your research proved anything it was that HABIT making a scene usually ended with bloodshed. You didn't want that on your conscience.

You open the door. HABIT's laughter is mean when he calls you obedient.

You don't ask if he's okay, or why he's covered in blood, or whose blood it is, you really would prefer not to know. He seems surprised that you're not, almost gleeful at how nonplussed you appeared as you looked him over, gaze only pausing to linger on the knife in his hand.

"Are you going to kill me now?" You sighed, as if resigned to your fate. HABIT cocks his head to the side, regarding you curiously.

"What, no response? No fear?" He passes the knife back and forth between his hands. You simply ask him to close the door, turning your back on him as you head back into the apartment, "this isn't how this is meant to go," HABIT says, sounding almost annoyed, but he at least closes the door.

"I'm not going to scream in terror just because it gets you hard," you sniped back, heading to the refrigerator, "you want a drink? How long since you've eaten - fucking ow!" You felt the blade against your back barely a second before it bit into your skin. It's only a shallow wound, enough to sting, but he holds the blade there like it's a threat, hand around you throat, pulling you against him.

"You have a lot of fucking nerve, rabbit," he snarls in your ear, and your traitorous body is unfortunately kind of into it in this moment. Whatever fucked up fantasies you may or may not have were much healthier staying just that. So you just try and focus on all of the awful shit you know he's done, and how he's covered in someone else's blood - actually not that, he's kind of hot covered in blood.

"So do you," you bit back, not fighting his hold, refusing to struggle or give the kind of reaction he was hoping for, "kill me or piss off, HABIT, do you want a drink or not?" Before he can even properly answer, you turned your face to his for a moment - wow he's closer than you were expecting, "and if you say some edgelord shit like you want to drink my blood, I'm gonna kill myself."

For a few seconds the two of you are locked in a starting contest; you bored, HABIT scowling. He twists the tip of the knife in your back, but you force yourself to remain stonefaced, simply muttering a deadpan 'ow'.

"Have you restocked your fridge since I left?"

"Went shopping this morning."

"What do you have?"

"Get the fucking knife out of my back and I'll tell you."

You wonder if HABIT knows you're bluffing, knows that you're terrified of how he could snap at any minute and hurt you. He's playing along, sitting at your tiny kitchen table, carving something into it with his knife as you make you both hot chocolates.

"There is something fucking wrong with you, rabbit," HABIT laughs as you set down the mug in front of him and take the opposite seat.

"I care about the guy you stole the steering wheel from," you answered simply with a shrug. HABIT begins to smile again, to laugh all mean and cruel.

"Fucking hell, despite all of me you're still interested in him? Seriously you're out of your fucking mind; earlier today I gouged out a woman's eyes and made her husband eat them -"

"Sounds like your kind of party."

The realisation hits him very suddenly. You watch as it occurs. Still, you continue, rolling your eyes as you explain that you're dating Evan, not him, and every relationship has issues.

"Issues?!" HABIT gets to his feet, indignant, "I'm just a fucking relationship issue to you? Do you know how much pain I'm going to put you in?!"

"So much, I'm sure," you give him a thin, mean smile of your own, "and I'll scream and I'll cry and I'll beg for it to stop, but that's because that's the natural human reaction to tremendous amounts of pain, not because I'm actually scared of you, HABIT."

HABIT slaps you so hard you crash out of your chair and to the ground. Your face smacks into a low cabinet and there's the metallic taste of blood in your mouth as you find yourself reeling. No normal human should be able to hit you that hard. It will undoubtedly bruise. HABIT's ranting now, about how your so stupid for not fearing him, pacing and gesturing with his knife.

"Eight," you interrupt him, not bothering to get up off the floor.

"Eight what?"

"Out of ten."

"On what? The pain scale? Jesus fucking Christ you people are soft -"

"On the quality of the slap, HABIT," your self preservation skills are shocking; he's definitely going to kill you.

"Why are you like this?" He asks flatly, deflating as his anger leaves him. You sit up, cross legged, leaning against the cupboard.

"Like I said, I'm not gonna scream in terror just because it gets you hard. You're not getting a proper reaction from me because you're not the one in that body who deserves to get the satisfaction from me."

HABIT stares at you for several long moments, just wearing that eerie smile. Slowly, he approached you, squatting down to be at your level, before he reaches out, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. It comes away red and slick, and neither of you break eye contact as he sticks his thumb into his mouth to taste your blood.

"I'll get you, little rabbit," he threatens lowly and you have to pretend like he's not turning you on right now.

"I look forward to it," you give him a cold smile, "can I have my boyfriend back now?"

HABIT groans loudly, like a petulant child, but concedes, and in the next instance he's gone, leaving Evan's body collapsed on your kitchen floor beside you.

Finally you feel like you can breathe again.

[duelacadatoolshed]

jigsaw couldn’t run total drama for shit but if Chris McLean got a hold of the saw traps I don’t think anyone would be alive in the franchise

[duelacadatoolshed]

aizawa watching izuku enter the staffroom as his coworker