#≡after hours

[star2fishmeg]

[03:23|ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡʀᴀᴘs]

A heartfelt conversation about life and missing out on sexual experiences has you sat between Luke’s legs under a blanket one night, watching a movie with his brothers and friends, his fingers buried deep into your cunt, pumping slowly and curling at your g-spot until your nails dig deep enough into his thigh to leave crescent shapes on the skin and relying on chewing sweets to suppress the moans that threaten to tear through you. His breathing deep and heart hammering in his chest, struggling to keep his face nonchalant and jaw tight like his cock isn't throbbing and straining in his shorts

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[oflights]

the main problem with this time of year is the irresistible urge to get fully into bed at like 5:34 pm and outside is like yesss, yesss do it, it's what you deserve yesss. like is it depression or is it just november

[thesapphiccrytid]

Falin?

[crustaceousfaggot]

No nuance allowed. Put your nuance in the tags, I just want a yes or no answer

[lazylittledragon]

some beach babes i started while i was on holiday <3

[flowersforvax]

vanilla extract might be my favorite new meme

[millidew]

his change in career has captivated me

bonus:

[spacespacespace]

Dick: so if it’s you or the laptop-

Tim: me. 100%.

Dick: …your not even gonna pretend to think?

Tim: about what? I can always just rise from the dead but my laptop-

Dick: what?

Tim: what?

Dick: what made u think you can rise from the dead?

Tim: well Jason did it so it’s obviously not difficult

——

Jason, in his safe house reading a book: I feel a chill or disrespectful in the air.

——

Dick: alr can you at least lie abt it

Tim: ughhhh

Dick: for me *flutters eyelashes*

Tim: Fine. *says in monotone voice* If it were either me or my laptop to be destroyed I would choose … the laptop.

Dick: thank you Timmy

Damian, walking past: Richard even you know that’s an outright lie.

[adaki]

Sry I’m late, I was being held in a maximum security prison on a secluded island and they had no wifi.

[star2fishmeg]

[22:40|sɴᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ]

Sneaking into Quinn's room at the lake house just to, once again, make out with him without his family knowing. Best friends weren't supposed to roll their hips into each other. You weren't supposed to tug the curls on the nape of his neck while his tongue lapped yours. He wasn't supposed to knead at the plush flesh of your arse like it would slip away if he let go. You both weren't supposed to enjoy it the way you did and come back for more almost every night. It wasn't supposed to go this far.

lmfao kinda wanna make this a fic but it would be my first quinn fic so I'm not sure

[wizard0rb]

there was a florida trucker god forgot about

[cataclysmcrows]

big fan of when grief drives characters to do fucked up things that are ultimately pointless and do more harm than good rather than just like. going to therapy

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[monkesupreme]

Making Bruce the kind of guy to work through his thoughts out loud when he knows hes allowed to. This leads to him rubberducking off of anyone who will let him, including, but not limited to his boys and assorted JL members. He latches on, and suddenly, this is not Bruce's Case, its Our case.

Despite him doing this to anyone that will listen, Clark tends to be the most available victim due to his extreme patience, his investigative skills, and love of listening to people ramble at him <3

[disteal]

I hate gay people so much. I haven’t been able to hear an imagine dragons song on the radio or in a shop without my brain just IMMEDIATELY being flooded with ‘Okay im imagining his dragon’. People think i just rly hate imagine dragons with the way my face reacts but i don’t im literally fighting such a personal battle against saying something fruity abt mr dragons out of nowhere because the shit gay people say online is so funny