#Mr. Feral

[redscorpiocat]

Happy Halloween from us to you!! ^w^🧡🎃🧡🎃🧡🎃

And happy 20th birthday to me!! ^w^🧡🎃🧡🎃🧡🎃🧡🎃

[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.

[4ever-feral]

Can’t wait to see Mr.Fantastic do the slutty knee

[saturns-satellites]

TIMESKIP OSAMU

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 211

The figure looked down at Billy. Billy looked up at the figure awkwardly from where he was digging through a trash can. 

“Um… I can explain!” 

Okay he honestly couldn’t, and instead threw a bag at them and booked it like his life depended on it. Which it might! Living in Fawcett meant that there were magical entities everywhere, even if they looked human, and he wasn’t going to get stolen by some fae! 

…

And they caught him. Great. He’s going to die now or get thrown back into foster care- huh? Food? They’re offering- no no, this is some fae bullshit, isn’t it! … But he’s also hungry, so maybe it’ll be worth it…

[f1-stuff]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7cVB8qoZr5/?igsh=MXFsNW8wNm9qbWVpYg== the video of the hug! 🥹

🙃

[nyapplepie]

the way that i had to sit down for like. an hour after finishing infamous chapter 3 wdYM MOST LIGHTHEARTED???? HELLO???? sat there feeling second-hand stress for mc poor mc ;w;

[nik-the-bik]

Chapter 9: Dr. Lanyon's Narrative

I've had this meme template sitting on my computer for nearly 2 years and suddenly had divine inspiration strike

[rorah]

As they talk, Leraye seems to find a comfortable grip on the back of the horse and starts dragging it back and forth across the table, wood skidding on wood. 

"...Who was her father?" he asks slowly. "I don't know. I never got his name. We met at a tavern." "In Fhirdiad?"  "Hm...maybe?" Byleth says. Then, "Oh." "He was blond, I suppose?" Her eyes fixed on his, Byleth nods. "He was." "Caught up in his own troubles? Stumbled out afterwards without so much as asking for your name?" "Something like that," Byleth murmurs. She's pulled Leraye protectively into her lap, but she's watching him with curiosity. Interest.

A Closer Look by Ammeh LERAYE IS BACK 🙌 I am a big sucker for Long biblical fics but this 1.7 k words fic is so tasty and short I can eat up like candy anytime, anywhere, not much time invested and it's perfect. Living in my mind and heart since 2023 🫰. And of course, had to draw these scenes that has been haunting me since that year And tbh I am not done yet LOL I NEED TO DRAW MOOORE

Attaching the whole page to show the references used for this practice.

My original ideas were slightly different in color settings, but I went with the vibrant colors of the references in the end because i can't make bold decisions T__T (and also i love using EVERY COLOR / I struggle using a limited color pallet tbh C': ).

Check the first post here

[devonaeya]

A little sample of just how quick stuff escalates for Tim:

Tim's like "ah yes I shall just go to Paris to train" and then tries to help someone, then finds another person to help, gets overwhelmed and ends up learning from a deadly assassin and an undercover officer(?) instead of the marital arts master he was supposed to train under.

Oh also he went from Paris to Hong Kong on a weird road trip with said assassin and officer. How fun.

[ourfavoritetorturedwriter]

ALAN WAKE II | Scratch

[redscorpiocat]

Q and A with the Villainous trio

Y'all know what to do

[stevejobsbuysasamsung]

i took screenshots of this episode (the enemy within) that i thought were funny and it looks like spock and kirk are a couple engaged in an argument over the episode

spock's hands on hip; engaged in a domestic ooo

spock brooding in the background

gets given the dog in the divorce

giving the cold shoulder

bones as a marriage counsellor

lawl

[scootkiddo]

He couldn’t help himself. In spite of trying to remain walled off and apathetic, in spite of casting blame on Ellie for Tess’ death because he had to project the anger somewhere. Joel. Couldn’t. Help himself. He offered Ellie his jacket to keep her warm. He gave her the remaining morsels of his food. He just couldn’t resist. It’s that fatherly drive. It’s that urge to protect and provide. It’s that parental instinct that shifts into gear above all else because that is what he still is at his core. That is what makes up his being. A protector. A guardian. A caretaker. No matter how long he may try to beat sympathy into submission, no matter what guise of silence and deadpan demeanors he may attempt to exhibit, Joel is still holding on to his parental role with a white-knuckled grip. Maybe he thought that role was shattered 20 years ago, much like his watch which marked the death of both his daughter and parenthood, but he’s slowly putting back together the pieces. Maybe he’s not even conscious of it, but Joel is causing the watch to tick again. Unbroken

[adragonprinceswhore]

Ewan never beating the little freak allegations I see (affectionate)

[aunt-booty]

Today's mood