#I literally love this muscly man omfg

[1-800-cr33py]

Evan Myers/HABIT x Crybaby!Reader

Salty tears fell down your reddened cheeks as Evan, or what you could only think was even cackled, pinching and pulling at your face. You knew he was deriving some kind of sick pleasure from seeing you cry, and some part of you enjoyed it.

Pre-HABIT

Evan likes teasing you, even pre-HABIT, he always found some kind of sadistic pleasure in seeing your sweet tears for being your glassy eyes.

He’s always ‘so mean’ to you (in our words, but you love it), always teasing you or picking on some little thing you did but it’s all with loving intentions.

Evan finds that you crying over something as simple as stepping on an ant endearing, cute even. It’s because Evan is an asshole (a decent on) to a lot of people, so the dynamic is something new to him, fun.

Evan loves to kiss and lick your salty tears away, littering the rest of your face with kisses.

I have a general head cannon that Evan likes to manhandle you for the fun of it, so throwing you over is shoulder and carrying you is a common occurrence

He’s possessive, so someone other than hi making you cry pisses him off. Evan’s got a quick temper and he’s quick to read someone to filth for making his rabbit upset.

Evan likes making you look into a mirror while he fucks you, he’ll grab you by your hair and practically force you to watch your teary eyes roll back as his cock hits that spot inside of you.

Evan marks you, whether it be hickies, love bites, anything.

Post-HABIT (TW for HABIT himself)

HABIT is an asshole to you, always pointing something minuscule that only he could notice.

HABIT would cup your cheeks with his bloodstained hands as he forces you to look at his cackling face.

He’s like Evan but worse, HABIT sees you as an object, a plaything, prey. Evan’s affections still linger in his consciousness though, so no harm is even done upon you.

HABIT is touchy, cradling your weeping form as you watched some cheesy romance that you picked out knowing damn well that you’d be reduced to a wailing mess blubbering nonsense as you grabbed at his body for comfort. Neither HABIT nor Evan minded much, they both enjoyed your neediness and constant want for comfort.

HABIT loves to hear your whimpers, it’s like a power trip, knowing he doesn’t have to do anything for you to become a sobbing little puddle in his hands.

He loves holding your face while you cry, the feeling of tears falling into his palm soothing almost.

He loves making you cry wile he fucks you. Overstim King right here.

HABIT has become quite the fan of hearing you whimper and beg for anything.

Please send me EMH or TribeTwelve nsfw reqs i crave them

[creepycreepyspacewizard]

Ooo hoo hoo Kylux 10 and 85 🤣

10. Airport/Travel AU & 85. Innocent Physical Contact 

Fuck Southern Railway. Fuck their tiny trains, and their shitty timetables, and fuck fucking Network Rail for even thinking of running construction work today. Just... fuck!

To say that Hux was stressed this morning would be to say that water is a little bit wet. The day had started off badly when he woke up still at his desk with his face stuck to his laptop keyboard. He’d then discovered that he didn’t have time to shower, there was no coffee left in the house, and the goddamn train was late.

The first two trains of the day had already been cancelled, just like every other day this week, which was why he’d been exhausted enough to pass out at his desk. He reported directly to Snoke, and Snoke couldn’t understand why Hux didn’t just live in London like he did, so Hux was very much in the shit for arriving late as often as he had. 

He’d tried coming in earlier, but this was literally the earliest train available. One poxy little train for three trains worth of passengers. It wasn’t going to end well.

And as the icing on the cake he’d been stuck standing on the platform next to some obnoxious tourist with a huge backpack. They should be banned. Backpacks or tourists, he didn’t care which. Just so long as he didn’t keep getting whammed in the chest by something heavy and stupid he didn’t care.

The crowd erupted into grumbles. Finally, a train!

By some kind of miracle the train doors opened directly in front of him. The empty train.

Hux all but flung himself in and raced for the nearest table. 

Oh blessed leg room!! He might even get the chance to work on his lapt... A huge rucksack bounced off his shoulder.

As a proper Brit, he of course said nothing. 

He almost tutted, but glancing up at the wall of muscle that turned out to be the tourist Hux was glad he’d kept his mouth shut.

After far too much manoeuvring, and a lot of dodged straps on Hux’ part, the tourist had finally squeezed into his seat with the awful rucksack taking up most of the table in front of them. 

It was awful- too bulky to go in the overhead racks and too tall to fit under the table. It smelled vaguely of sweat and Tiger Balm.

Hux barely noticed the smell though, because the man was wearing only a muscle shirt and therefore his bare arm was pressed very intimately against Hux’ own. 

Usually Hux hated it when people got too close on trains. He was a thin man and able to fold into a relatively small amount of space when he had to, but this guy was built- there was no where else for him to go. His shoulders were massive, his biceps were definitely thicker than Hux’ thighs, and his pecs looked like small hillocks. 

Every time someone else shuffled onto the train the tourist was pushed more firmly against Hux’ arm. It was worse than that though. He’d had his arms crossed when the man sat down, which meant the back of his fingers were right up against this guy’s pec.

Oh god, was that a nipple piercing?

He couldn’t move. That would draw attention to the situation. It might make the tourist uncomfortable. 

It was just an hour on the train. He could survive the indignity.

The tourist yawned, which made his muscles flex.

Suddenly Hux was very, very glad he had his briefcase in his lap because that sensation part of his own anatomy flex in turn.

He was going to expire from discomfort of the situation.

The train was far too warm. As well as containing too many passengers, and the summer sun beating on the windows, the heating appeared to have been left on. 

Hux could feel the sweat forming on his own brow- and everywhere that he was in contact with the tourist. A bead of sweat ran down the side of the man’s chest to pool against his fingers.

Part of him wanted to gag at the thought of some strangers sweat on his hand but some quiet treacherous little voice thought ‘mmm slippery’. He had to bite his lip to keep from giggling. 

It really was far too fucking hot. 

Hux looked up at the windows, but they weren’t the kind that opened. In lowering his gaze he caught sight of the stranger’s reflection. 

Holy fuck he was pretty. All dark eyes and pouty lips and muscles. Hux very much had a type and that type was pressed up against him right now.

The tourist yawned again, and this time Hux involuntarily copied him.

It was too warm, and he was too tired.

His phone buzzed in his trouser pocket, far too close to his trouser situation for comfort -thank you very much eighteen months without a decent lay- but fortunately on the side away from the stranger. Fortunately because he didn’t need to move his hand to retrieve it.

[Dopheld]: Are Southern holding you hostage again? I had to sleep in the office last night but Snoke is on the warpath. Where are you?

Hux smirked to himself as he angled the phone away from the tourist and replied ‘I think I’m going to boil to death on this train, but at least I get to go out the way I always dreamed - under a beautiful mountain of muscle.’

He yawned again when he pressed send. Beside him the tourist yawned too.

He really was very, very tired. What a shame that he could never sleep on trains, because he could really do with a nap right now. He closed his eyes for a second only to jolt a little when the phone buzzed in his hand again.

[Dopheld]: Eww. TMI. What station are you at now?

Hux turned his face towards the window, wondering if he could work out the answer from landmarks instead of spending his data on google maps. Wow the sun was bright. He instinctively closed his eyes, then yawned again.

The stranger next to him was really warm.

Hux was very sleepy.

Go on, said his subconscious, you know you want to rest your cheek on that lovely muscly shoulder... go on...

Hux woke up an hour later with a crick in his neck to the announcement that the train was arriving at London Victoria station.

The seat beside him was empty, the tourist and his terrible bag gone from his life. For a second he panicked, paranoia half convinced that he’d been robbed in his sleep; but he still had his briefcase in his lap, his wallet in his pocket and his phone in his hands.

There was a text message on the lock screen-

[Dopheld]: OMFG!!!

Hux frowned at it. There wasn’t anything else beyond those four letters. He unlocked his phone as he made his way to the carriage doors, then almost dropped it when he saw the last message sent from his own phone-

“Your friend fell asleep on me. We’ve just gone through Hove station. Tell him he owes me dinner for drooling all over my ‘mountain of muscles’. Tell him I’m Kylo and he can call me on [number] to make up for it.”

The message was followed by a selfie. The tourist- Kylo apparently, though that might be an autocorrect fail- was grinning at the camera while Hux was asleep half on his shoulder, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and the guy’s nipple piercing right fucking there.

How could he ever live this down?!

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