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1-800-adore-me · 1 month ago

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Mr. Crawling x Reader

A/N: chat i wrote my first NSFW. i have absolutely ADORED playing Homicipher this last week or so and i had to write something good for my man🙏🙏 this piece is based off of Ending 17 where he saves you from Mr. Stitch, i hope you enjoy!! (also, yes, the monster tongue is minecraft enchantment table lololol). AFAB reader, NSFW ending available on my ao3 linked at the end.

Word Count: 7.2k

Needy with Worry

***

Nearly every wall in this god-forsaken realm seemed to drip with the same mysterious, wet substance. It pooled within the valleys of the steel floor plates that lined the walkways and cultivated mold along the cove joints in offshoot rooms. No surface inside this liminal hell-hole was spared from the viscous liquid's presence. It was a sensory nightmare to look at, let alone touch. You wondered how Mr. Crawling dealt with his clothes trailing through it constantly without begging The Bride for a change.

The floor-bound specter in question blissfully followed behind you as you traversed the monster world's boundless hallways, oblivious to any discomfort that his soiled yukata might bring him.

"Your clothes," you pointed down at the man's black garment. "Water ruin. You dislike?" You tried, conveying your concern as best as you could in monster tongue.

"No ruin. Clothes good. A lot of water ruin time," Mr. Crawling replied with a stretched grin. It seems he'd gotten used to the fabric having a soaked trim all the time. The thought of it alone made you long for your bed in the overworld, warmly clad in fuzzy pajamas and safe from any cold, mystery liquid sticking to your body.

You found yourself extending your hand to pat Mr. Crawling's head fondly.

"If we ever get out of here, I'll teach you what socks are," you said wistfully.

He tilted his head curiously, not fully understanding your words. You dismissed his confusion with a brief wave and continued your trek down the dimly lit pathway.

There were a lot of things you had come to miss from the human world. Things you had taken for granted, like safety and comfort and food. God, what you wouldn't give for a hot meal. For every moment you spent lost in the underworld, the duller the pangs of hunger had grown. It was just as Mr. Silvair had hypothesized. The longer you stay in this foreign place, the more your body will change. But, even if you were losing your biological need to eat, the thought of some shitty fast food right now made your mouth water.

You'd have to teach Mr. Crawling about human food, too. The only thing you'd ever seen the man eat was ears, and you were convinced there had to be better tasting things from the human world that he could try. Surely.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of things you wanted to show Mr. Crawling from the human world. He had no reason to, and yet, ever since falling into this place, the ghostly man had made it his duty to stay by your side and protect you from the various "danger persons" lurking the underworld. He taught you his language, kept you safe, kept you happy—or as happy as the given situation allotted for. You wanted to return the favor. But, instead of showing him how to survive, you wanted to show him how to enjoy. There was so much joy to be had in the overworld. Mr. Crawling wasn't meant to stay in such a dark, violent place. He was better than the monster realm. He was kind.

Once you found that goddamn elevator again, you determined that you would bring Mr. Crawling home with you.

"Exit find, together safe place go?" you asked Mr. Crawling tentatively. You weren't sure if it was even possible for him to leave the underworld, whether he wanted to or not. But, the thought of parting from the crawling entity made your heart ache more than you cared to admit.

Your heart wasn't the only thing left aching, however, as your body collided with the hard concrete floor. Mr. Crawling hovered over you, smiling like an over-excited dog. His silky, black hair kissed your blushing cheeks as it draped down from his face.

"Me together you! Together safe place! Happy, happy!" he exclaimed. You'd never seen anyone get so excited at the prospect of simply being with you, it nearly brought tears to your eyes. You swallowed the burn in your throat with a chuckle and gently pushed the man off you.

As you neared the end of the spanning hallway, a metal door caked in rust came into view.

Finally, you thought. Even if the next room proved equally as tedious as this one had, it felt like faux progress was at least being made.

Before your hand could twist its knob, cold fingers wrapped around your ankle, bringing your movements to a halt.

"Do not. Danger." Crawling's mouth pressed into a thin line as he looked towards the door. Through the tension in the air, you noticed an eerie squelching noise coming from the other side.

But, what else could you really do? Who knows how long the two of you had been walking down this hallway, and you desperately wanted not to give up and turn back. There was nowhere else to go but forwards.

You gave Mr. Crawling a look that conveyed there was regretfully no other choice. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for whatever laid ahead.

The first thing you noticed after entering through the door was the horrible stench. The overwhelming smell of blood and iron weighed heavy in your lungs as goose bumps raced across your skin. It wasn't a smell unfamiliar to the underworld, but nowhere else had it been so concentrated. You were hardly two full steps into the room and your determination was already wavering.

Your eyes found the source of the putrid smell inhabiting the opposite corner of the tiled room. There, someone sat hunched over, eagerly digging into what could only be described as a mass of blood, guts, and flesh on the floor. The noise they made as their hands shifted around the entrails of a mutilated carcass was nauseatingly potent, inescapable, as if it were reverberating inside your skull itself.

The person stopped their rummaging to look back at you from over their shoulder. Through the blood splattered across their face, you recognized them to be the resident you'd dubbed 'Mr. Stitch'. Every encounter with Mr. Stitch thus far had proven to be unsettling; he was certainly a monster you didn't want to stumble across whilst exploring alone. The patch-work man didn't seem to share your apprehensive sentiments whatsoever and quickly sprang up to his feet.

"Hello!" Mr. Stitch greeted enthusiastically, fresh blood and unidentifiable chunks of meat dripping from his lips. "You again! Glad!"

You noticed he had gained a new article of clothing since you last saw him wallowing about in boredom. It was a fur lined jacket, the color indecipherable underneath a wet layer of blood. As your eyes fell to the corpse on the ground, your stomach dropped in grim realization. Your meeting with the other human was brief, yet, there was an undeniable comfort in knowing someone else from the overworld shared your experience in this nightmare. Now, they were torn to unrecognizable shreds before you.

"Human," was all you could manage to squeak out as terror gripped your entirety.

Mr. Stitch pulled on the edges of his new coat proudly and nodded, "Me find they. Play together. ʖᒷᔑℸ. Take this!"

You didn't need to understand his words to piece together what had happened in this room. A sense of urgency rapidly overtook your being. The exit was currently being blocked by the murder scene and its perpetrator. Was Mr. Stitch satisfied with his kill? Would he simply let you pass, just as he'd done the other times?

Your answer came as he wiped his mouth with the back of his discolored hand and stepped towards you and Mr. Crawling.

"You play together me?"

His smile was a sickening void that threatened to swallow you whole. This monster was obviously still riding the high from his recent kill, and your frightened expression must have been like dope for him.

"No play together," you softly shook your head, trying not to convey more fear than you already let on. Mr. Stitch's smile fell for a moment, disappointment washing over his face, before it returned in full force accompanied by a whisper:

"Too bad."

A scream came from your throat as bony fingers dug into your hips. Mr. Stitch lifted you over his shoulder with paranormal ease and, leaving you no time to process the turn of events, sprinted towards the exit.

"You! Don't! Don't!"

You could barely hear Mr. Crawling cry out after you. The sound of Stitch's feet pounding the pavement bounced off the walls. Your vision shook with each step. Using one hand, you used your kidnapper's shoulder to stabilize yourself, and with the other hand began to beat against his back as hard as you could. He let out a gleeful chuckle at your feeble attempt to fight back.

"Fun, fun! They come?" Mr. Stitch laughed, momentarily glancing backwards.

You looked up as well. In the distant shadows, you could make out a visibly distraught Mr. Crawling rounding the corner on his hands and knees. You were scared, but the sight of your companion hot on your captor's heels was reassuring. He'd never let you be separated from him willingly, he'd proven that many times before.

Before you could call out to Crawling, Mr. Stitch ducked into a nearby room and slammed the door behind him. The air was expelled from your lungs as he tossed you carelessly onto the floor. While Stitch fiddled with the lock, you took a moment to observe your surroundings. The room had the same solemn emptiness of a hospital's sleeping quarters. There was a single mattress that rested on a shaky bed frame. More noticeable was the large, dirty window that peered into the hallway you had just been carried down.

You heard frantic rattling coming from the locked door Mr. Stitch held shut. It persisted for a few moments before it went completely silent. An anxious knot built in your stomach as Stitch slowly backed away, confident the door would hold against Mr. Crawling's efforts on its own.

THUD. THUD THUD THUD.

Startled, your neck snapped to the window, where Mr. Crawling was rapidly beating on the pane of glass separating you from him. His pale grey lips were turned into an angry frown.

You failed to notice Mr. Stitch moving back towards you. A yelp escaped your lips as he harshly gripped your nape, picking you up off the floor and slamming your head against the window.

"Stop! Don't!"

You could barely hear Crawling's muffled plea through the ringing in your ears. The impact left you disoriented. A lopsided grin befell Stitch's messy face.

"They angry! Me take you, they angry!" he cackled in amusement, pressing a red fingertip against the glass to point and laugh at the poor man.

"Let me go, asshole," you growled out, struggling against the hand that dug into your neck.

Your aggressive tone only served to spur on the otherworldly monster. Mr. Stitch pushed his lean body flush against your back, squeezing your torso between himself and the cold glass that separated you from Mr. Crawling. The hand that held your head in place slowly brought its calloused fingers to cup your jaw. A horrible spark of vulnerability shot down your spine as your neck was exposed. At the same time, Stitch tilted your hips back and trailed his fingers across your abdomen in a taunting motion.

"Touch you, they dislike," his hot breath whispered into your ear. Even if you couldn't see his face, a cheshire grin was audible in his words. "Fun."

Mr. Stitch held your face at an odd angle. Looking down as much as you could, the sight on the other side of the glass made your heart skip a beat.

Mr. Crawling had stopped banging on the transparent barrier and instead, with large palms pressed flat against the panel, stared directly at Stitch, who was enjoying every single moment of his distress.

You gasped in discomfort. A wet tongue dragged itself from your ear lobe and down your jaw, lapping up any bead of fear-laced sweat it could find until stopping in the dip of your collarbone. The feeling of the monster's slimy tongue against your skin was vile; any effort to escape his touch was met with a harsh shove against the window.

"G-ah!" you cried out in pain.

Stitch's sharp teeth dug into the crook of your neck violently. Thick ripples of blood poured out from the canine indents below your throat. Your neck throbbed with hot pain. This bastard had actually bit you.

With an excited ferocity, that hungry tongue was right back against your flesh, his choppy pink hair tickling your jawline as he drank from the wound he created.

"Want consume human," he purred in desire.

Your stomach dropped, and before he could bite down again, an ear-piercing crack! came from the entrance of the room. Lost in his feeding frenzy against your neck, neither of you noticed Mr. Crawling had resumed his assault against the door—which, this time was so powerful it had splintered the door nearly in two.

"ᓭ⍑╎ℸ !" Stitch yelled in surprise. He clearly had gotten so lost in the taste of your blood that he'd forgotten to pay attention to your very angry guardian.

Cr-ack! A wooden plank flew off the door.

And back over Mr. Stitch's shoulder you went. With long strides, he bounded out of the room through the door that wasn't half wood chips and sprinted down a musty, brick-lined hallway.

The adrenaline rush was audible in his half-gasp, half-laughs as he turned down another corner in the dimly lit corridor. Stitch slowed his pace and looked back expectantly to see if the black-clad resident was still coming. He actually wanted Mr. Crawling to keep chasing him.

Coarse shuffling could be heard in the darkness. Both you and Mr. Stitch were stuck in place at the sight of Mr. Crawling, who was no longer crawling, but standing so tall he had to tilt his head so as to not hit the ceiling. His giant figure swayed slightly as he took a few slow steps towards you.

"You don't."

There was a silent fury in his smile that made even you scared, though you knew the man would never direct his anger at you. When you first met Mr. Crawling, it was true that he frightened you. The way he crawled along the ground was a bit uncanny, and the bloody stains where eyes should be was something you'd find straight out of a horror movie—hell, that went for this entire place—but the way he stood before you now was a different kind of terrifying. His presence alone felt inescapable and threatening-

That's it. He's trying to intimidate Mr. Stitch by standing upright.

"They stand! They angry!" cheered your tormenter.

Stitch was significantly smaller than Mr. Crawling, but much more agile. Crawling had told you before that he preferred not to walk. Maybe it's because he's not good at walking? His steps were slow and steady, but he was probably putting all his effort into the small movement. You couldn't really imagine the man running.

On the other hand, Mr. Stitch had turned tail and hauled you down the hallway and into a new room once again.

"Under sheet, go."

On the back end of the room was a long, white curtain that he pulled shut, concealing the two of you at a glance. Your heartbeat drummed softly in your ears, anticipating Mr. Crawling to burst into the room like your knight in shining armor and save you from the man who was itching to eat you alive. But Mr. Crawling never came.

"He not want?" Mr. Stitch pondered, looking back and forth between the slit in the curtain and your anxious face beside him. He finally settled on watching you. "Me take you, he dislike. Why?" he asked curiously.

His blue eye stared intensely into your own, as if they held the answer as to why Mr. Crawling wanted you back so desperately. You shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, which only caused him move in closer, like a predator stalking his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Mr. Stitch's hips hovered above your own, his hands straddling your sides. You leaned your head back as far as you could manage in a pathetic attempt to distance yourself from him, but the compromising position on the floor made it difficult to do so. A devious smile stretched over his face.

"They like you?"

A soft blush painted your cheeks. Mr. Crawling had said many times before that he 'like you' and 'want together you,' but you had never really interpreted it as anything but innocent, the same way a dog would enjoy your company and want to stay by your side. At least, that was what you had kept telling yourself, that Mr. Crawling craved your companionship and not you in particular. Lately however, you weren't entirely sure. Several times had the man gone out of his way to protect you, always making sure to ask 'are you okay?' and 'hurt exist?' in the aftermath of danger. And, as much as you hated to admit it, his concern for you gave you butterflies. The way his cold hands would run through your hair to comfort you, or how he would cover your body with his much larger one to shield you from the more dangerous residents of the underworld, it always left you with a warm, tingly feeling. You chewed your lip softly.

"They like me," you affirmed. Stitch's eyes lit up with this information, filling you with dread.

"I see. They like you. They dislike you gone," he brought his hand to trace dangerously along your throat. You clenched your teeth. "You die, they dislike. They upset, they angry!"

Woosh.

"S-stop!"

Cr-unch.

You sat in shock. You had fully expected Mr. Stitch's hand to wrap around your throat and slowly squeeze the life out of you. Instead, weight was quickly thrown off your body when a grey hand shot through the curtain and pulled him away. A splatter of blood followed his cry for mercy and tainted the virgin white curtains separating you from what was most likely Mr. Stitch's obliterated corpse.

Your breath caught in your throat as that same hand gripped the stained sheet and pulled it open.

Mr. Crawling!

His hands were warm and wet as they cupped your face gently, but you didn't care one bit. It felt so good to be back in his arms.

"Are you okay? You hurt?" he asked, inspecting every inch of your face meticulously. One hand left your cheek and delicately hovered over the bloody bite mark above your collarbone. It still hurt quite a bit, but you figured the adrenaline was working to mask most of the pain.

"Please don't worry. Me good," you spoke just above a whisper, returning his gesture and cupping his face in your shaky hands.

Mr. Crawling let a deep sigh slip past his frowning lips before he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, resting his head on your non-injured shoulder.

"They take you. Me surprised," he held you tighter, "they hurt you, me angry."

He really knew how to make your heart flutter without even meaning to.

"I'm okay, really. Don't worry," you knew he couldn't understand what you were saying, but you were too exhausted to care at the moment. "Thank you," you said, wrapping your arms around him.

"Me protect you. You don't go again. Together."

You could tell the whole affair had really shaken the sweet man up quite a bit. He hated to be apart from you. He probably felt helpless watching Stitch hurt you and not being able to stop it. You stroked his hair in a sympathetic motion.

"There, there. Me nice resident go. They heal me," you reassured. After some time, your body typically healed pretty quickly on its own in the monster world, but you figured going to see Mr. Silvair about your injury couldn't hurt, and maybe it would put Mr. Crawling at ease, too.

He sat still for a second before slowly nodding his head against your shoulder. You smiled to yourself at his childlike behavior. It felt nice to hold each other like this.

Did... did you like Mr. Crawling?

You sat still, taking in the way his nose dug into your collarbone, his soft breaths tickling your skin as he exhaled. He fit so naturally against you. His huge palms rested against the curves and dips of your back in a way that made you feel small, but safe. Your face felt warm.

Shit.

. . . .

It didn't take long for the two of you to find your way back to Mr. Silvair's territory.

Mr. Chopped greeted you with his usual chipper 'hello!' but quickly squinted his eyes, hiding from the sight of blood running down your neck with a 'blood! scared, scared'!

Hearing the commotion that Mr. Chopped was causing, Mr. Silvair peeked his head out of his room with his ever-present eerie smile. You gave him a sheepish wave and pointed to your wound.

"Me hurt. You fix? Heal?" you asked.

The lanky, silver haired man nodded, happy with any opportunity to 'fix,' as he loved to do.

"Me fix. There, wait," he said, pointing a thin finger towards the bed against the wall, and disappeared back into his private room.

You sat down just as Silvair ordered, and Mr. Crawling took his place dutifully besides you. You had a feeling he'd be more clingy than usual for some time. Which was a scary thought; he was pretty needy to begin with. But truthfully, you didn't mind his desire for attention. You enjoyed feeling needed by someone.

A few minutes later, Mr. Silvair emerged with a tray of tools and got to work mending your laceration. You grimaced in pain as he poured a cool liquid over it—some sort of disinfecting agent, you assumed.

Mr. Crawling, noticing your discomfort, grabbed your forearm and held it tightly.

"Are you okay? Want stop?" He asked with concern.

"Me good. They help," you reassured. Though, you knew from experience that the rest of the process wouldn't exactly be pain free. Mr. Silvair had tended to your injuries many times before. Truthfully, you were lucky he was one of the good residents. Between teaching you the monster tongue when you first came to the underworld and healing your body anytime you found yourself hurt, Mr. Silvair was a pretty dependable entity to have on your side.

Mr. Crawling lowered himself back down begrudgingly while Silvair continued his ministrations. After a few stitches, ointment, and some bandages, you were all fixed up and approved to go. After thanking him and waving Mr. Chopped goodbye, you and Crawling made your way back to the room you had unofficially deemed as yours.

The second your head made contact with the stiff mattress, the full weight of your exhaustion hit you in full. It had been a long day, and now that all of the adrenaline from earlier had left your body, you could feel yourself crashing.

You heard rustling next to the bed and glanced down. Mr. Crawling sat watchfully, ready to defend you from any resident that dared disturb your sleep. You smiled and patted his head gratefully, feeling safe under his guard. And with that, you let sleep take over.

. . . .

ao3 for NSFW ending ;)

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1-800-adore-me · 1 month ago

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Something I noticed... (nothing wrong with liking men boobs guys 🥺 I just find it funny JAHSJAH)

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1-800-adore-me · 1 month ago

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Mr. Crawling❌

Mr. Running✅

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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tw. dark content, brief gory descriptions, smut, size difference.

pairing. mr. crawling x fem! reader. 1k words.

- i wish there was more on blissful love life end route, wish i couldve fuck this cute little shyt until he blabberin' :p i love this gameeeeeee! sorry for suddenly writing about homicipher after months of ghosting u guys.. hehe...

The smell of death lingers in the air ever since you brought along the certain entity to the overworld. It's faint enough to let you know that he was watching.

Not that you mind, he practically latched onto you like a barnacle the first time he met you at that strange hallway. Mr. Crawling, despite the oddities that comes along his unique charms, was a pleasant companion. Maybe it's the fact that you'd noticed the dark figure, slouching at the corner of your room, or the fact that you'd woke up with him next to you, the high-pitched giggling causing you to stir awake at the darkest hour.

You wonder if Mr. Crawling gets bored at times. You can't blame him, the underworld where he is from an endless maze with sharp corners here and there, not to mention the occasional earthquakes that change the layout of the map. Comparing his world to your little apartment was laughable. Maybe that's why you started feeling his cold fingertips running underneath the thin fabric of your clothes. Not that you'd stop him, Not that you want him to anyway. You taught him a few things, mainly how humans express their love. It's nice to have someone dote on you for bringing them a bowl of fresh human flesh.

'It's better to be with Mr. Crawling,' you thought.

Being with a human means it'll increase the chance of you getting caught and you wouldn't be able to go on another killing spree. At least Mr. Crawling accepts you for who you are.

"You... like?" his croaky voice puts your running thoughts to the side as you tilt your head, your eyes looking at him before they avert down to his wandering hand. His fingers are abnormally slender with a grayish tint as he slowly brushed them on your stomach before they went lower and lower until his fingers practically hovered over your lower body. He gives you a look, "need you." he points down at your clothed pussy, your cheeks quickly warms up at his words.

"Can touch?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His fingers trembled the more he waited for your response like he itched to touch you. "Can." you give him a brief nod as his fingers slowly slipped under your shorts, spreading your folds before he pressed down on your clit causing your breath to hitches. You watched with staggered breathing as his hand moved in a circular motion, rubbing your clit slowly as your sopping hole clenched around nothing. "Good? Enjoyable?" he asked, giggling when you gasped and nodded at his words while he traced your slit, getting your juices all over his nimble digits.

His kisses are sloppy, and the metallic taste of blood from the flesh he consumed for dinner comes in as the aftertaste when you pull back for some air. Mr Crawling quickly chases after your lips, pressing his cracked and cold ones on yours as his tongue shamelessly swirls around yours. With enough juices coating his fingers, he easily slipped it into your entrance as it squelches, his other hand holding your thigh to keep your legs spreading. “Look down,” he pulled his fingers out with a small pop, proudly showing his wet and pruney fingers to you before he slipped them into his mouth. “heh, good. Me happy!” he giggled, moving on top of you as you rested your legs on each side of his body.

“Mr. Crawling...” you whined, watching him with blurry vision as he pulled the black clothing up, just enough for his cock to peek through. It's almost as if the entity wants you to see it, wants you to see how desperate he is. His pre-cum glistens and gather at the tip of his cock, bulging vein runs on the side of his shaft as your eyes shifts to the patch of dark hair on his pelvis. His knees dig into the mattress, his hand aligning the tip of his cock into your entrance. “Me... go into you slow.” he gently prods your hole with the tip of his cock, shifting his eyes on your face and down to your pussy as he pushes his thick cock past the ring of muscles.

You wince, the girth of his cock is stretching you to the maximum. "Hurt? Pain? Desire me go out?" he asked, looking down at you before you shook your head at his question, "I'm glad." he smiled at your reaction. Your fingers holding onto his biceps as your nails left crescent marks on his skin. "Pat, pat." he rubs your head, cupping your cheek as his cock throbs inside of you when your velvety walls flutters to adjust to his size. "Pretty." he whispers, leaning down to peck your lips. He lets you roll your hips, slowly fucking yourself into his fat cock while he holds your hip. "Like this? Happy?" he asked, his hips stuttering as he thrust back into you, matching your slow rhythm.

"Like it..." you replied, breathless as he began to pick up his pace. He was consistent, the tip of his cock brushing against the spot that sends you seeing stars on your ceilings with every single thrust, your nails raking down on his back, leaving claw marks which heals up as quickly as it came. The sound of skin slapping reverberates around the walls as Mr. Crawling gasps and pants in your ear each time he desperately slammed his cock into you. His long, black locks falling over your face, tangling with your hair and sticking to your forehead and chest. “Like you... Like this..." he chants, sharp teeth nibbling on your neck and down to your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark bruises in his wake.

“Close... me close,” his thick cock throbs inside of you, rubbing furiously against your walls as he holds your hips. His breath brushing against your lips as he gasped, “Come? Need you come," he begged, slobbery tongue poking out to flicks your swollen lips as he coaxed you into cumming on his cock by sharply rutting his cock inside of you as the lewd squelches from taking his cock deeper and deeper increases.

He pushes his hips into you when you came all over his cock, he quickly pushes his cock as deep as he can before his hot seeds spill into your womb, spilling out of your whole when he pulled out to rest his cock on your pelvis. He's still cumming, spurting the strings of loads on your stomach as you panted, your chest heaving up and down as he lazily kisses your neck and up to your flushed face,

"...Pretty."

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit.

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue.

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work. “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least.

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor.

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet.

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress.

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you.

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him.

“C-Crawling?” you stammer.

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me?

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?”

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk?

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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GIVE HIM LOVE!!

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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GIVE HIM LOVE!!

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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He was an experience but she was his everything

I hate this ending, I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT, but the ANGST… [combusts]

Anyways this will be the last angst I make abt homicipher, expect full fluff and beds-and-roses from now on. I need to cheer up my ghost househusband.

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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no give friend

one of my fav scene because two of my favs in one place :DDDD

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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🧽 || Mouthwashing CCs on The Sims 4 !!

I've finally finished taking and gathering all of the mouthwashing CCs!! Thank you so much for the amazing support you guys are sending me!! ^^ I'm so glad for you all and also, for these amazing content creators made me able to recreate them on TS4!

Firstly, I will credit every content creator here for their amazing work.

Clothes:

@solistair (werewolves add-on pack part 2)

Hair:

@imvikai (astrid hair)

@monharicot (rip-off hair)

@okruee (max hair)

Face in general features (details etc)

@ghostputty (skinblend)

@kismet-sims (skin details)

@okruee (misc face details)

@sammi-xox (skin details)

@obscurus-sims (skin n4 overlay)

@northernsiberiawinds (cartoon style skin)

@nesurii (face highlights)

@wildlyminiaturesandwich (freckles and moles)

Eye/eyebrow/liner/lashes

@poyopoyosim (eye contact n6)

@simandy (blush/skinblend)

@ddarkstonee (eyeliner n616)

@miikocc (eyebrow slider)

@kijiko-sims (uncurled eyelashes)

Teeth

@uxuie (more teeth)

@golyhawhaw (enhanced teeth & lancer eyebrows)

The doc for the entire list and direct links + some bonuses/process:

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1-800-adore-me · 2 months ago

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—Come and love me

Summary: Mr.Crawling has different ways to love you.

Tags: Smut, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Body Worship, Mutual Mastubation, Female reader, fluff, Spoilers for ENDING 04

Words: 1,8k

MDNI, ADULT CONTENT UNDER CUT

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mr. Crawling is someone who craves the comfort of human touch, but he’s always considerate of your boundaries. No matter how much he yearns for affection, he puts your comfort first, often suppressing his own desires to ensure you’re at ease.

Still, he can’t help but get a bit whiny when you return after a long day outside. On the days when you ask him to stay home, he becomes lonely and restless, waiting impatiently for you. He often lies on your bed with his head nestled on your pillow, inhaling your scent to soothe himself until he hears your footsteps approaching the front door.

The moment you step inside and praise him for being well-behaved, he lights up completely. Mr. Crawling has a serious praise kink, and it’s evident. Mr. Crawling is practically addicted to your praise; it’s like his own personal drug. The second you open your mouth and let a sweet, honeyed word slip out, he’s already trembling with delight. He reacts instantly, a visible shiver of pleasure rolling through his body, mouth going wide as he drinks in every syllable. It’s not just about the words themselves but the way you say them—soft and genuine, like you really mean it. It makes him feel so loved, so needed.

He can’t hide how badly he wants it, how desperate he is for your approval. Even the smallest bit of praise, like a simple "Good boy," can have him biting his lip, his breath hitching as if you’ve touched him in the most intimate way. The effect is almost comical; his face flushes, and he looks like he’s on cloud nine, squirming slightly like he can’t quite contain himself. He craves it so deeply that he actively seeks it out, doing whatever he can to earn your compliments. Of course he deserves a treat for his good behavior.

The treat he prefers most is one he chose himself. Nothing satisfies him more than when you settle into his lap and cockwarm him, taking him by surprise as you sink down onto his length. The sudden feeling of you enveloping him never fails to draw out a choked gasp, his hips twitching up instinctively as he tries to control himself. He loves this position more than anything—the closeness, the intimacy of it. He holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his arms wrapped tightly around you, clinging as if you might slip away if he lets go. He’s reluctant to release you unless you explicitly ask him to; he’d keep you there forever if he could.

He savors the way your body fits perfectly against his, the softness of your skin against his cooler touch. He buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, his lips grazing your pulse as he shudders at the feeling of your warmth surrounding his cock.

He tries so hard to stay still, knowing you need this quiet moment of comfort, but it’s almost impossible for him. His hips shift ever so slightly, his cock throbbing inside you, and he can’t help the tiny, desperate movements he makes, even if they’re unintentional.

He can’t keep his hands to himself either. His fingers are restless, wandering across your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. He takes moments to worship you, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your shoulders, any spot he can reach. His kisses are soft but hungry, lips parting as he drags his tongue over your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat. He lets out a needy, broken moan as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He’s inexperienced, a little clumsy with his movements, but the eagerness behind it is undeniable. He’s trying so hard to make you feel good, his breath coming out in hot, ragged pants as he watches your reactions intently.

It’s not always sexual, at least not in the way he intends. Sometimes he just wants to feel you, to savor the heat of your body pressed against his, to revel in the way your warmth spreads through him. He loves the sensation of your skin against his own, the soft give of your flesh under his fingertips. But he can’t help himself; even when he’s just trying to hold you, he ends up teasing you without realizing it. His hips roll up slightly, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your chest. He’s so sensitive, so easily overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him, that every little movement you make drives him wild.

He’s not practiced or skilled, and it shows in the way he fumbles, his touches uncoordinated but full of raw desire. He pinches your nipples a little too hard, a whimper escaping his lips when he realizes it, but instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, mouthing at the swell of your breast like he’s making up for it. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to keep himself from thrusting up into you. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to savor the moment or chase after more, and it leaves him caught in this desperate, needy place that only you can pull him out of.

When it comes to mutual masturbation, it’s a different kind of intimacy, one that he’s hesitant about at first but quickly grows to crave. He hates touching himself when he’s alone, but with you, it’s different. You’re right there with him, your hand entwined with his, guiding him through the motions. He watches you, excited and breathless, his own hand trembling as he mirrors your movements. There’s something incredibly intimate about the way you both touch yourselves together, a shared vulnerability that makes his heart race.

He loves it when you talk to him through it, whispering sweet nothings, telling him how good he looks, how well he’s doing. It makes the experience bearable—no, more than that—it makes it beautiful. He’s not embarrassed when he’s with you: he’s not self-conscious or insecure. He’s just caught up in the moment, in the way your bodies move together, the way your breath hitches and syncs up with his.

When your hand finds his, coaxing him to stroke himself while you do the same, he whimpers softly, his fingers twitching against your palm. It’s overwhelming for him, the sensation of his own touch combined with the sight of you doing the same. He can’t stop himself from moaning, a needy, broken sound that escapes his lips as he watches you, completely captivated by the sight. "Me like you." You might whisper, and it takes everything in him to comply, the combination of your voice and your gaze making his whole body tremble.

You can tell how much he loves it by the way he leans into you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he touches himself with your guidance, whimpering in between. He’s panting, mouth open, like he’s too lost in the pleasure to look at anything else. The moment you reach out and wrap your hand around his, helping him stroke himself, he lets out a desperate moan, his entire body shivering as he clutches onto you. He’s a mess, but he’s your mess, completely undone by the shared pleasure and the feeling of your touch.

Mr. Crawling can be so eager when it comes to pleasuring you in return, that it borders on frantic. He doesn’t always take his time—sometimes, when he’s overwhelmed with excitement and craving you desperately, all of his usual patience flies out the window. He’ll drop between your legs, pulling you closer with a roughness that’s uncharacteristic for him, but it’s not out of aggression: it’s pure, unfiltered need. His hands are trembling as they grip your thighs, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. He’s already panting, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, and it makes him that much more impatient.

He dives in without hesitation, his mouth pressing against you hungrily, almost clumsily, as if he can’t bear to wait a second longer. His tongue flicks out, sloppy and uncoordinated at first, but it’s the urgency behind it that makes it so intoxicating. He’s lapping at you like a man starved, the sounds he makes—soft whimpers and desperate groans—filling the room. He’s inexperienced, but there’s something endearing about the way he tries so hard, so eager to please you even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. He’s guided more by instinct than skill, following your reactions like they’re the only thing that matters.

He keeps glancing up at you, his face excited and yet almost pleading, as if he’s searching for reassurance that he’s doing it right. When he sees your pleasure written across your face, it only spurs him on. He loses himself in it, licking at you with a feverish intensity that makes it clear just how badly he needs this. He doesn’t bother with precision: he’s messy, licking you with broad, hurried strokes, his lips sucking at your clit with a desperate fervor. He moans into you, the vibrations sending little shocks of pleasure through your body, and you can tell he’s getting off on this as much as you are.

His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, like he’s afraid you might pull away. He’s whimpering into you, his tongue moving erratically, like he’s trying everything at once, too caught up in his own excitement to settle into any kind of rhythm. It’s overwhelming for him—the taste of you, the feel of your skin under his hands, the sounds you make when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. He’s panting between licks, his mouth never straying far from you, desperate to keep going even when he’s gasping for breath.

He’s a little too rough at times, sucking at your clit with a bit too much pressure, but the enthusiasm in his actions makes it hard to fault him for it. He’s learning from your reactions, his own inexperience showing through in the way he fumbles a bit, but it only adds to the intensity of the moment. When you tug on his hair, moaning out his name, he practically whines, grinding his face into you with renewed fervor. He’s almost overwhelmed by his own need, licking and sucking like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you with his mouth.

If you try to guide him, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently to slow him down, he lets out a frustrated, needy sound, shaking his head as if to tell you he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to pace himself. He’s too lost in the moment, too eager to please, to care about taking his time. He’s devouring you like he’s afraid this is his only chance, like he’s desperate to prove how much he wants you, how much he loves being here, between your legs, giving you everything he can.

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