#homicipher fanfic

[bloodblanks]

do homicipher characters experience arousal?

i want to preface this by saying that i am not in any way, shape, or form criticizing other homicipher writers and/or their headcanons. i absolutely adore the work i’ve seen from everyone and am grateful to be able to read it! this is simply my personal thoughts on this topic so i hope it doesn’t come across like i’m trying to demean anyone else’s work.

additional note: i write reader insert so i will be referring to us as the reader rather than mc, but my post should work for both interpretations ^^

this is something i’ve been thinking about a lot since i’m working on some nsfw homicipher headcanons myself. from what i’ve read, a lot of homicipher work headcanon the characters as not really experiencing and/or knowing what arousal is, at least until they meet the reader (which is extremely endearing and flattering, i love the concept, and there’s nothing wrong with it!) but i personally came to the conclusion that homicipher characters do experience arousal, and have experienced it before meeting the reader. however, i believe their perception of arousal differs from ours.

to start, the reason i think they experience arousal to begin with, is because arousal isn’t just an emotional or mental response, but also a physiological function. similar to other physical needs (ie: food, sleep, water)—which i think they also require though that’s for another post—arousal doesn’t necessarily require conscious thought or emotional processes. arousal can be merely a response to touch or certain sensory inputs, something that happens regardless of how we think or feel.

while i think arousal is a natural function for them, i don’t believe they are likely to have had sex with other homicipher characters. the reason for that is also why i say they experience arousal differently—they don’t understand attraction. this is based on both my personal bias of wanting them to ourselves, but also the in game interactions with mr. hood and mr. silvair, where they fail to grasp the concept of ‘liking’ an individual.

since they don’t experience attraction (yet!), i imagine their perception of arousal would be a mechanical or instinctual one; just something their bodies respond to. much like thoughtlessly scratching an itch, they likely address it more as a physical need to take care of, rather than associating it with any deeper desires or having it directed/related to another person.

my silly little reader insert loving self does insist that they feel some sort of attraction towards us, though, which i believe will be a newfound feeling for them that can change how they experience arousal. with them able to feel attraction towards us, their once neutral and unassuming need can become something more intimate, romantic, or even obsessive depending on the character.

tl;dr homicipher characters have always experienced arousal but only as a bodily function, as they don’t understand attraction until meeting and developing interest in the reader, which changes their perception of arousal to something more complex and intimate.

thank you everyone for reading my silly little shower thoughts. i hope this was coherent enough and made sense! (>^ω^<)

feel free to leave any of your thoughts below if you have any comments on this! and feel free to argue with me if you think i’m yapping nonsense... (･･;)

[pochipop]

＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — DWELLING, ROTTING, SURVIVING (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — speaking isn't the only way to understand, and he's oh so gentle .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical dark content + setting .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — hi, i posted, please stop bullying me in my inbox :(( - all jokes aside, thank you guys for all the nice messages and compliments! & happy pride to my lgbt followers! funnily enough, don't think i've ever "come out" on this blog, but if it's not obvious, i'm bisexual lol so there's that!

You found yourself pressed against a cold, damp wall in what you could only assume was a room close to the belly of this labyrinth-like building. Breaths came in shallow, frightened gasps as the lights overhead flickered ominously, like they were trying to warn you of impending danger. . . Danger that you felt sting your chest like needles poking through your skin. The oppressive silence surrounding you was broken only by your intakes of air and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of something —or someone— (or maybe a mixture of the two, in this God-forsaken place) nearby.

Squinting into the gloom, a familiar shape emerged from the dark hallway, slipping into the room with you and pausing in the doorway. You felt relief take hold of you.

Mr Crawling. . .

That, of course, likely wasn’t his real name, but you didn’t speak in the language of clicks, noises, and chirp-like sounds that he did, and he didn’t speak with your tongue either. It was for that reason in particular that you’d bludgeoned his head with a crowbar not long ago, to which he sulked in a corner, bleeding and whining, and you were left to feel terrible for hurting the first entity that had tried to go out of his way to show you true empathy in a way you understood.

Apologizing didn’t even begin to feel like enough. Probably because you were at least ninety percent sure he didn’t understand what you were saying anyway. Helping him with the wound perhaps made it slightly better. . . But also not really, because even now as he skims across the ground to where you are, there’s a sense of guilt that weighs heavy on your heart.

Pale, grey-skinned and moving like any non-human mammal of sorts, his face is mostly obscured by the long, stringy black hair that falls in vine-like, clumped strands all the way to the floor from his hunched position. There’s an unsettling, animalistic grace to the way he approaches, but you don’t flinch this time when he puts the flat of his cold palm against the crown of your head, as if trying to soothe your breathing. All of that initial fear has been replaced by a strange comfort of sorts, and you look up at him, thankful for his presence now more than ever.

He tilts his head, as if listening for something, and you watch him warily with the same crowbar clutched in your fist. A part of you felt bad carrying it around like that with his blood still smeared on it, but here, you knew it was foolish to venture around without a weapon of some sort. Not protecting yourself for the sake of his feelings was, unfortunately, not an option as far as you were concerned, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Mr Crawling,” you whisper softly, reaching out to take his hand into your own.

He seemed to really respond to physical touch, and if language was always going to get in the way, you figured it was best to bridge the gap in another manner. This was the next best thing you could think of.

His head raises, and you suppose he’s trying to meet your gaze, though you can’t see his eyes through the mess of his hair.

“I need to understand you,” you say.

Ironically, that’s a bit of a hopeless endeavor in this sort of environment. It’s not like you have all the time in the world to pick up a new, completely unrelated language to yours while fighting for your life. Still. . . Gesturing had been helpful previously, especially for directions. The hooded figure you ran into first was quick to point around, that severed hand that had guided you for a bit was just as poignant in that area, and the silver-haired entity with a blindfold over his eyes had also tried to communicate with you in that sense as well. So why couldn’t you do it vice-versa?

“Me,” you point to yourself, “you,” you point to him.

He stared blankly for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. His had retracted from your head to point at himself, then to you, a clicking noise coming from the back of his throat. You smile. It was a small victory amongst a series of devastating losses, but you were keen on taking it and running with it as far as you could stretch it.

“Okay,” you breathe, talking more to yourself than to him. “Let’s try this then. . .”

Feeling a surge of determination, you touch your stomach and then mime eating.

“Hungry. Eat.”

At this point, you were still too anxious to have an appetite, but you knew you’d need food eventually. You were hoping he’d be able to help you with that somehow. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen any evidence of there being food around here, —no containers, boxes, or wrappings, but he seemed to understand your gestures and mimicked you; sitting back on his knees to rub his stomach through his filthy t-shirt, then nibbling on an imaginary item.

He looks back to you, as if seeking approval. You smile, hoping he understands that to be a sign of good will, then nod your head to drive home the association. Beneath his swath of hair, he smiles too, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the curtain of black strands; dark and thoughtful.

“Good,” you murmur, feeling slightly relieved. 

If nothing else, this was progress. You spend a while longer trying to communicate basic needs and warnings: things like yes, no, stop, come, drinking, sleeping, and a thank you in the way of patting his head. You’re not sure he understood the depth of it by any means, but he did seem to enjoy it. . . Like a puppy. The thought made you smile genuinely and absentmindedly, if only for a moment. The clicks and chirps he makes are mostly lost on you, but the noises are comforting nonetheless. This rudimentary bridge of understanding soothes you just a little, and you find yourself feeling very thankful that he’s here in the first place.

He has your face cupped in his hands now, as if he’s inspecting you. . . Or perhaps admiring? That is, until you feel his body tense and all his little sounds abruptly come to a halt. A small growl reverberates from the back of his throat and his wide smile droops into a frown. Suddenly, he’s roughly dragging you along, tugging urgently on your arms, to which you comply and follow along with him, scooting across the floor until you reach a shadowed alcove. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but he seems to know his way around this place like the back of his cold, grey hand.

He covers your mouth for a moment, then shakes his head. You cover your mouth, take your hand away, then shake your head no, just to ensure to him that you’ve understood. He pats your head then crouches in front of you, using his own body as a makeshift shield for yours. His long, spindly arms cage you against the wall. Fear rises inside you once again, though not because of him and his actions. Rather, the faint, rhythmic thuds of footsteps have begun reverberating through the hall just outside, and you recognize the harrowing pattern they click in.

Mr Scarletella.

You encountered him once before and felt every hair on your body stand on end. The way he moved through the halls with a menacing flow that sounded almost eerily melodic, and the strange, unsettling red glow that seemed to exude off him that nearly drew you in like a moth to a flame. The steps echoed off the walls of the building and your heart began to hammer against your ribs. Mr Crawling moved closer as he came into view through the doorway that lacked any actual door to close, his long, black hair tickling your nose ever so softly. Dressed in scarlet and carrying his ever-present umbrella, you decide quite readily that you’ve seen enough, closing your eyes and focusing on the cool feel of Mr Crawling’s skin, on his musky scent (like mildew and a bit of rot, which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’s not like he can really help it down here.)

Though you’re no longer watching, the entity dripping in scarlet moves with an unsettling, almost predatory grace, glancing about the corridors as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

Once again, Mr Crawling presses closer to you. Now, you’re able to feel the way his body trembles with fear, and you realize that he’s just as terrified as you are, though you can’t tell if that fear is for himself, for you, or for both of you at once. And it’s not like you can ask. Still, you open your eyes just long enough to look up at him, Mr Scarletella in your peripheral as you force a smile and touch the crown of Mr Crawling’s head, offering what little comfort you can. He still quivers, but seems to appreciate the gesture, though he doesn’t risk a happy chirp.

The danger passes as the man in scarlet disappears down the hallway, then turns the corner. You let out a silent sigh of relief and Mr Crawling relaxes after several moments of continued tension, finally going limp and releasing you from against the wall. He slumps onto his knees, which seems to be his most comfortable position, and he looks at you clearly through the darkness. In that moment, it feels like you’ve understood one another perfectly. 

“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely, though you know he can’t really understand you.

You’re just hoping the gratitude comes across somehow, but at the risk that it won’t, you touch your chest over top of where your heart’s still beating like a drum, then touch his chest in the same place. It dawns on you that you don’t feel a heartbeat at all, and you almost pull your hand away. . . But something stops you. Something that says even if you’re right and he’s something less (or more) than human, —it doesn’t matter as much as the kindness he’s shown you. So your hand lingers until you softly pull away.

He grabs your cheeks again and holds them delicately.

[chocopudim]

can touch you?

mr. crawling x fem ! reader, she / her pronouns, blissful love life ending, smut (masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Lately, the monster had been found constantly getting absorbed by the TV, so the human decided to spend some alone time distressing herself. She closed the bedroom door quietly, making sure Mr. Crawling wasn't nearby. Then, walked to their bed, taking small steps not to indicate where she could be.

However, the wooden floor was somewhat old, the bed was a little rusty, and Mr. Crawling seemed to have a sixth sense, telling him about all her possible locations.

She removed her clothes and carefully laid down on their bed, closing her eyes as she took a few deep breaths, trying to focus and not think too much about the possibility of Mr. Crawling suddenly walking in. She had closed the door already, there was no way the monster would appear by her side, right?

The human relaxed her body and moved her hand to her chest, circling her skin with one of her fingertips. Her heart was beating fast, still afraid of getting caught by her ghostly roommate.

She moved the other hand between her thighs, gently massaging the area. A small moan escaped her lips. She didn't care though, surely that wouldn't be enough for Mr. Crawling to hear-

_ You hurt? You pain?

She quickly stopped whatever she was doing and directed her sight to the tall man sitting next to her, worry in his voice. The woman loved him dearly but hated how silent and willing he was to follow her everywhere, even when it wasn't needed.

_ M-Me... Huh... - The blood quickly ran to her cheeks as she searched for ways to explain herself. How could one even start to do that while looking at him? Wait, why was he even here and how much did he see?! Didn't she close the door?

_ You okay?

_ Me o-okay...

_ You need help?

_ H-Help?! - The human gasped, shocked.

_ Help. Me want help. - From Mr. Crawling's perspective, the human had probably injured herself while he wasn't looking and she was now moaning in agony. He also thought she looked somewhat cute while lying down like that, but he couldn't exactly understand why.

_ Oh! - She gasped again, finally realizing the monster thought she was hurt and wanted to help with that instead, - Me not need help. Me fine.

_ You fine? Why touch body?

Damn, Mr. Crawling wasn't subtle at all, was he? He must have felt she was trying to hide something. Now, how does one explain what they were doing to him, a monster that doesn't ever need to think about pleasuring himself?

_ T-Touch body make me... V-Very happy.

Happy? Was 'happy' really the right word for that?

_ Touch body make you very happy?

_ Y-Yes... - Deep down, she was praying Mr. Crawling would get the memo and walk away. That interaction couldn't get any more awkward.

_ Why? - Mr. Crawling asked curiously. He was trying to understand his human better and didn't notice how evasive his questions were coming across or how intimate that situation was.

_ Touch... Good. - She tried explaining in the best way she could, but it was hard since their vocabulary seemed to be so limited. The embarrassment also didn't help much. All she wanted to do was to disappear at that exact moment.

_ You like touch body?

_ M-Maybe...

_ You want me touch body?

_ W-What?! - The human exclaimed under her breath.

_ Me want make you very happy. Me want help. Me can touch you?

Was that really happening?

_ T-Touch me? You want touch me?

_ Yes. Can touch you?

Her heartbeats increased and she grew even more flustered. She could feel her heart echoing inside her head as the adrenaline rushed in. And so did Mr. Crawling.

The monster quietly stared at her, patiently waiting for an answer. He was used to touching his human, but not like that... The idea of it was quite alluring to him and he was tempted to explore those new emotions a little bit more.

_ Y-Yes. - The woman panicked after realizing her words. Did she really agree with that? It's not like she didn't want to. But just because they could, should they?

Mr. Crawling smiled, excited to make his human happy. Gently, he grasped one of her breasts, giving it a soft squeeze. His icy cold hands made the human shiver, but it was nice feeling it against her burning body.

_ Cute. - He said, seeming to enjoy how her chest felt, - You like my touch?

_ Y-Y-Yes!

_ Can teach me?

Perhaps, Mr. Crawling wanted to be guided...?

_ You play... - The woman said still feeling awkward about it, but not against it. She placed her hand on top of his and slowly guided him, showing him how to squeeze, pinch, tease... - W-Want consume?

_ Consume?

_ N-Not consume... Use mouth.

For a moment, Mr. Crawling stopped touching her and just analyzed her body language, trying to understand what his human could be trying to say. Then, he smiled as if he had finally figured it out. He placed his mouth, carefully on top of her chest. Then, he opened it, biting the flesh ever so softly. The human moaned again, feeling his tongue play with her nipple.

While Mr. Crawling was busy "consuming", she moved one of her hands between her tights for the second time, slowly massaging it. Mr. Crawling noticed her legs were moving a little bit more than before and looked down, removing his mouth from her chest.

_ Me consume legs?

_ Huh? - Before she could form a proper sentence, Mr. Crawling placed himself between her legs, fascinated by how interesting the human body could be. There were so many things he didn't know about... He touched her pussy with one of his fingers, making the woman shiver again due to how sudden it was.

_ Me touch? Me consume?

_ Y-You want touch? Want c-c-consume?

_ Yes. - He smiled, the same way he usually did, before inserting one of his long fingers inside of it. The woman gasped, biting her bottom lip to not moan too loudly, - You like touch? - He asked, slowly moving his finger in and out. He didn't know what he was doing but enjoyed observing her reactions. The monster just wanted to play with her and would continue entertaining her as long as she enjoyed it.

He liked how her face moved with every touch, the small sounds she made, the way her chest bounced, how soft and warm her skin was, the way her back slightly arched, and how she would move her hips... Mr. Crawling couldn't explain why, but he was fascinated by all of it.

_ Why wet? - Mr. Crawling asked again, circling her labia with his fingertips.

_ T-Touch good...

Then, a sudden question popped up in his head. What did his human taste like? Mr. Crawling asked himself as he removed his hand from her.

He planned to use his mouth from now on.

Noticing what he was about to do, she held his silk-black hair in her hands, slightly pulling it. Wanting to return the touch, Mr. Crawling squeezed her breast between his fingers.

The human felt a slight sense of anxiety while feeling his hot breath against her skin. Then, his mouth evolved it. The human shivered at how cold his lips felt in comparison to his tongue.

The monster slowly circled his tongue around her labia, before starting to move it up and down, enjoying how her back would arche differently.

It took him a few minutes, but he eventually found the clitoris. Realizing how much more sensitive she would get every time he touched that area, he started teasing it, licking it slowly at first.

The woman's hips eventually started moving faster and faster, and Mr. Crawling tried keeping up with her. The more she moaned, the deeper Mr. Crawling tried to go.

As her legs started shaking, she instinctively pulled his face against her pussy, letting out a loud moan. Mr. Crawling held her tights, squeezing them against his face. How could someone feel so warm and soft? He also really enjoyed the taste.

Mr. Crawling pulled away from her after noticing her lack of movement. Watching the way her body slowly grew relaxed as something else grew on him...

_ Me make you happy?

_ You make me happy... Me thankful. - She replied with a small smile plastered on her face, trying to catch her breath.

_ You like me touch body? Me good?

_ Yes. - The woman laughed lightly at his silly questions. - You good. You very good. Me like you. A lot.

_ Me glad. - Mr. Crawling smiled widely. One could tell he was feeling pretty happy and even proud about it, - You good. Me like you.

_ You fine...? - She asked slightly worried, wanting to make sure Mr. Crawling was okay with what had just happened between them, - You like touch body?

_ Yes. Me like body. You cute. - The monster answered sweetly, jumping on top of her for a hug, - You fine?

_ Me fine.

The two of them closed their eyes as they hugged, simply enjoying that small intimate moment... But suddenly, Mr. Crawling broke the silence, looking completely serious.

_ Not let others touch you. Me can touch you.

[nana-mania]

"GLITCHED DESIRE" he will always chase after you.

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : mr. scarletella

࿐*ೃ fandom : homicipher

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ Flickering lights buzzed above you as you made your way through the dilapidated corridors of the building. You'd long since stopped hoping to find an easy way out—this was a mysterious building, and escape was rarely straightforward. Still, you refused to give up. Each door, each hallway, could hold a glimmer of hope. Or a trap.

Your steps echoed faintly, swallowed by the oppressive silence that surrounded you. You were focused on the cracked map in your hand, one you had drawn yourself, trying to decipher its faded markings when that familiar, unnerving sensation crept up your spine.

Someone was watching you. Someone was following you.

You turned quickly, scanning the barely lit hallway behind you. Nothing. No sign of movement, no shift in the shadows. But you felt it. You always felt it before he appeared.

With a sharp exhale, you turned back to your map, trying to focus on the task at hand. But when you did, he was there—Mr. Scarletella, mere inches from your face. His presence distorted reality, the air around him rippling like a corrupted video file. His eyes, void-like and unblinking, bore into yours, and the world felt like it had stopped.

You flinched instinctively, a shiver running down your spine. “Really? Again?” you muttered, more exasperated than afraid. You had gotten used to his tricks, his sudden appearances meant to jolt you into fear. By now, it was more annoying than terrifying.

Mr. Scarletella tilted his head, a slight smirk curling his lips. “What, you do?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

You didn’t even bother looking up as you replied casually, “Way out.” Your tone was deliberately flat, your attention divided between the map and the faint sound of a creaking door somewhere far off.

He didn’t seem deterred by your lack of interest. If anything, it only seemed to amuse him. “So focused,” he murmured, his voice almost a purr. “So serious. Why, escape?”

You ignored him, taking a step forward to investigate the faint sound. But as soon as you moved, he glitched again. One moment, he was behind you; the next, he was directly in front of you, blocking your path. His smirk widened, and his eyes sparkled with mischief—or something far darker.

“Excuse me,” you said, attempting to sidestep him.

He mirrored your movement effortlessly, leaning in just enough to invade your space. “Don't be cold.” His voice dropped to a near whisper.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I, am?” His tone shifted, playful yet persistent. “You, waste time. Not me, darling.”

The sudden endearment made you falter for a split second, your focus breaking. Where did he learn that?

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. His grin grew sharper, and he leaned closer.

“Surprise?” he teased, his voice a velvet caress. “Don't run. Stay here, with me.”

You forced yourself to look away, your heart pounding—not from fear, but from something you couldn’t quite place. Annoyance? Frustration? No. It was something more dangerous. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, so you kept walking, determined to shake him off.

But, as always, he followed. Like a shadow, like a curse, he trailed behind you, his steps unnervingly quiet. His demeanor shifted as he walked, from predatory to almost... eager. Like a puppy following its owner.

“You,” he started again, “Me, can help. But, I don't. Why?”

“Because you’re bored.”

He chuckled, a low, melodic sound that made your skin prickle. “Wrong. Me, you, interested, (Y/n)."

You sighed, stopping at a locked door and fiddling with its rusted handle. “If I’m so interesting, why don’t you do something useful for once? Open this door.”

“Hmm...” He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “What, in return?”

“Peace and quiet,” you shot back.

He laughed again, a genuine sound that caught you off guard. It was rare to hear anything from him that wasn’t dripping with menace or mockery. “Funny,” he said. "Me, like you.”

Ignoring him, you moved to another door, only to find it locked as well. He leaned against the wall beside you, watching your every move with unnerving intensity. You could feel his gaze burning into you, even when you refused to meet it.

“You enjoy, right?” he said after a moment, his voice soft, almost contemplative, “Our, little game. Me, chase you.”

You turned to glare at him, finally snapping. “Enjoy? You delusional. You’re the reason I’m stuck here in the first place!”

He shrugged, unbothered by your outburst. “Maybe. Me like you, a lot. Want you, stay here.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in an instant, his face mere inches from yours. His smile was gone, replaced by something darker. “Tell me,” he said, his voice a low murmur, “You can escape..will you, leave? Will you, miss me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You wanted to snap at him, to push him away, to deny whatever game he was playing. But his eyes, those endless voids, held you captive.

“I—” The words caught in your throat, and you turned sharply, forcing yourself to walk away. Your footsteps echoed louder this time, as if trying to drown out the sound of your racing heart.

He didn’t follow immediately, but you could feel his presence lingering, his gaze heavy on your back. And then, just as you reached the end of the hallway, his voice called out to you, soft but insistent.

“Run, darling,” he said. “You come back. Always do.”

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. But his words stayed with you, echoing in your mind long after his presence had faded.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[lilacxquartz]

breathless kisses;

the bride x gn!reader

plot: while sharing a quietly intimate moment with the bride, you show her how she can kiss you back, even if she physically couldn’t — themes: fluff, romance, gn!reader, first kiss, awkward dates — w.c: 700ish • ao3 • masterlist ♡

The ghost apartments were much quieter than usual tonight, with a distinct feeling of emptiness filling out the long and winding passageways. You walked side by side to The Bride whose hand was gently clasped in yours, with your fingers interlocked.

Tonight’s date was simple enough too, just a walk in that particular stairwell she liked. There weren’t all that many places to go otherwise, so you had to make do with what was given to you—not that you minded at all. The Bride was captivated, either way, feeling overjoyed that things were finally picking up for her.

You couldn’t deny it either—that there was something special about her.

Along the walk, the two of you came across a fresh red rose that seemed to be discarded along the side of the corridor; both the sight and placement almost seeming impossible. Still, you picked it up and offered it to her, watching as she plucked it from your fingers, gesturing that she was sniffing it despite her physical head not being there.

You were happy that she could make do, but a part of you couldn’t help but sympathise if even a little.

Her hands were very expressive and her body language betrayed no guessing, but you couldn’t help but wonder at times.

Especially as the evening wore on and you found yourself leaning forward, wanting nothing more than to show your appreciation with a kiss on her lips, and almost on autopilot, you were tempted by an impossible idea. Tiptoeing up and listening to your heart, you tried to dip your head towards where hers could have been, pausing at the sensation of nothing being there.

For you, the moment felt intimate for as long as it lasted, but then you noticed her rigid demeanour—at how she seemed frozen as if shocked, perhaps even offended by the attempt.

Immediately regretting it, you took a step back but then so did she. The Bride’s shoulders slumped down and all of a sudden, she seemed all the much more withdrawn. Her fingers fidgeted nervously, pinching and fussing over the fabric of the gloves. As a result, you panicked slightly at the sight and tried to reach out with a reassuring touch, but much to your dismay, she turned away from you.

Your mind scrambled and you knew that you had to act fast to make things right again. Without skipping a beat, you let slip of an urgent plea, “Wait!”

The Bride paused, however still seeming a little bit stiff as you approached her, but didn’t pull away that time. She watched with her demeanour still taut, as you pressed your fingertips against your lips before extending them towards her, patting the digits against her skin. You tried to convey a similar sort of gesture to a kiss, offering a compromise however you could.

“We can kiss like this?” you blurted out loud, not quite sure how else to explain it, gesturing it again. It was the sentiment that mattered, not how it was done.

It took her a moment, but then she slowly approached you on her own that time, branching out her fingers to press against your pillowed flesh, letting the touch linger for a moment. It was then a subtle change, but her body language gradually thawed to become more animated again, seeming almost delighted. She would tap your lips and then spread the sentiment elsewhere, tapping the pads of her fingers wherever else she could reach; along your forehead, cheeks, your nose and even over your hands.

From that moment on, she couldn’t stop ‘kissing’ you every single time you were nearby, with the application of such a caress growing all the more confident as time went on. Sometimes she’d give you a light ‘peck’, peppering your face with something light and casual, like a greeting—at other times—she would allow the touch to linger, leaving a lasting impression on your skin.

It might have been a spur of the moment for you to think of, but this compromise of yours was the best gift that she could have ever received because finally, she found someone who understood exactly what sort of love she wanted to give.

And she was especially lucky on that front because she also had someone who gave just as much as it back.

She had you.

[wodakoda]

“Mistake,” you repeat, just as you’d told Mr. Silvair earlier. “It was an mistake, an accident, he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Them Possible Kill You. Them See Blood, Them Hurt You. Them Unsafe,” Mr. Crawling shakes his head, his grip on your hand tightening. “Me Understand Mistake, Them Mistake Hurt You. Future Mistake Possible Kill You. Mistake Danger, Them Unsafe!” He explains, voice gradually shifting into something akin to a plead towards the end. //Chapter 3/4, 6k words... (Total 16k as of chapter 3!)

[kqzlqls]

hello tumblr fans how are you DOING🩶

while im thinking of the headlock au, i’m open for requests! i write:

• hamilton [musical] • formula one

• 21 chump street [justin] • maria clara at ibarra

• lucifer [show] • record of ragnarok

• 2 good 2 be true [show] • mashle

• call of duty

• homicipher

if you have any request/s that are not on this list, [such as the hamilton cast], you can comment it! thank youuu 🫶🏻🩶

[lavendrgremlin]

I ended up writing a smuty one shot. Albeit, it's quite violent.

Title: Between the gaps, you will find me. Ao3 link

Tags: Dubcon, oral, size difference, voyeurism, rough, blood and injury, explicit, and near death stuff.

Summary: There was a word that kept slipping from your understanding. After all, how could one explain what sexual desire was without teaching it to you?

A little self indulgent

[i90o3]

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a little scenario/fic with mr crawling and just… pampering him? cuddles? maybe set after the ending where you take him home :3 i can’t explain how but he gives me major cuteness aggression…

Pampering.

context: post blissful love ending. You take care of him <3

Homicipher. mr crawling x reader. | Anypov. Fluff.

He also gives me cuteness aggression, like sometimes I just wanna squeeze him until he pops. HES SO CUTE!!!!!!! even if I kind of slandered him in this post..

requests r open !! (read rules)

Few things you noticed about Mr. Crawling..he’s all bloody, dirty, and he SMELLS.

You couldn’t have him stinking up your house with his nasty odor, and you honestly smelt bad too since you haven’t showered..so, what’s better than a self care day? Take care and pamper your ..boyfriend? (I don’t think he understands labels..)

It was a little..complicated? first getting him out of his clothes. He was confused as to why you were taking off his clothes.. but I think after you running the bath and getting out of your own clothes he joins you.

He looovveesss the feeling of you washing his hair and massaging his scalp, literally in bliss. Your hands just feel so good! (pause-) Honestly even your hands scrubbing his body feels good—lathering him up with soap and giving him all the attention! Along with some head pats and kisses, of course. You even guide your hands and let him wash your hair and body, even if he’s a little clumsy.

After getting out of the bath and drying yourselves off, (he has to stay in his towel because you gotta wash his NASTY ASS clothes), you sit him in front of your vanity and start applying all sorts of face masks and stuff to his face, letting it sit while you brush (detangle..) his hair. Both him and his clothes are all clean! and he just smells and looks so much better. Although you really weren’t sure what to do about his eyes (or lack of therefore..), but he didn’t seem to want to wear a blind fold like Mr. Silvair..so you just let his hair cover it.

(now he’s allowed in your bed because he’s not STANK)

And for the best part of self care day, is spending the rest of the night cuddling in bed, your arms wrapped around him as he lays on your chest, your hands patting his head and kissing his face until you fall asleep, watching over you and admiring your sleeping features. His fingers will occasionally brush against your cheek or your collarbone, featherlight, not enough to wake you up. And he’ll even take your wrist and make your hand pat him on the head while you’re busy sleeping. He’s a little lonely while you sleep, but give him plenty of cuddles in the morning and he’ll be okay!!

9:23 pm. 11/03/2024. @i90o3

[satori-runa]

—Pretty in color

Summary: You returned from work only to find your new boyfriend struggling with your make-up.

Tags: Established Relationship, Blissful Love Life Ending, fluff

Words: 1k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It was evening when you got home. The sky was already dark, and you had rushed all the way from work down the streets back to your flat, knowing that Mr. Crawling was waiting for you. You always felt terribly guilty whenever he couldn't come along, and you promised yourself you’d make it up to him by cuddling him all night.

But when you stepped inside, it caught you by surprise that he wasn't behind the front door, waiting as he always did. The small hallway felt strangely empty without his presence, leaving you puzzled.

"Mr. Crawling?" you called out, and before long, you heard the familiar giggle from the living room, sounding almost... proud.

You hurried in, only to step on something small. Was this... your lipstick? You lifted your foot, picking up the tube and frowning, wondering if you had dropped it this morning. But as soon as you looked up and met Mr. Crawling's face, you realized the truth.

His face was smeared with various types of makeup—lipstick messily smudged across his lips and cheeks, eyeliner drawn in strange places where it clearly didn’t belong, and streaks of your foundation unevenly spread across his pale skin. He continued to giggle, almost preening, as if showing off his new look. It was hard not to laugh, and you beckoned him over. Had he tried to copy your makeup routine from this morning? He looked ridiculous, but his effort was adorable.

"You trying to look like me?" you asked, amused, gently stroking his colorful cheek as he leaned into your touch with a pleased hum. "Would you like me to put make up on your face properly?"

You hoped he understood, because if he really wanted to imitate you, then you might as well help him.

He tilted his head, as if considering your offer. The giggle quieted, replaced by a soft hum of curiosity. You took that as a yes. Smiling, you guided him to the couch, sitting down and patting the spot beside you. He crawled over, careful not to knock anything over, and settled at your feet, looking up at you with what you could only assume was anticipation.

You reached for your makeup bag, pulling out a few items. "Alright, let’s clean this up a bit first," you said gently, grabbing a makeup remover wipe. You softly dabbed at his cheeks, wiping away the smudged colors. He sat still, surprisingly patient, his tall form hunched close to you, almost like a child getting pampered by a parent.

"There we go," you murmured, smiling as his face was slowly revealed. It was an odd comfort to see him like this—so unguarded, so willing to trust you. You believed that he had no eyes, yet you felt as if he was looking at you, his head tilted slightly, his expression almost tender in its strange way. You knew how easily he could frighten people, with his twisted, lanky form and the way he moved, yet here he was, letting you paint his face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You leaned in closer, applying a light layer of foundation. "This will feel a little cold," you warned him, and he flinched ever so slightly before settling down again, his giggle returning, this time quieter, like he was enjoying the cool sensation on his skin. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, brushing your fingers against his jaw as you blended the makeup in.

"You really are beautiful, you know," you whispered without thinking, and he giggles once more for a moment before pressing his head against your hand, making a soft, contented noise like a purr. You had never seen him like this before, so vulnerable and sweet. It made your heart squeeze with affection.

Next, you picked up the lipstick. "This time, let me do it for you," you said, smiling. You carefully applied the color to his lips, smoothing it out with your thumb. He leaned forward as you did, pressing closer, almost nuzzling your hand. When you pulled back to look at your work, his lips curled into a smile—soft, genuine, as if he was pleased with how he looked.

"Me… like," he murmured, his voice hoarse and crackling like broken glass, but the words were clear enough. It was rare for him to speak in your language, and the sound of it made your eyes soften.

"You do?" you asked quietly, and he nodded, his tall form curling around you protectively, like he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. You reached up, cupping his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm, his smile widening.

"I like you too," you said, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. "You don’t need makeup to be beautiful, Mr. Crawling. You already are." You glanced at him full of love. “Me like you. You cute. You pretty.”

He let out a breath, almost like a sigh of relief, and leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. You closed your eyes, resting there with him, feeling the cool press of his skin against yours, the way his form seemed to wrap around you like a shelter. He didn't speak, but there was no need to. His touch said it all—the way he held you so gently, like you were something precious, the way he stayed close, even though he could easily rise and tower above you.

"Rest together," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. He let out another quiet giggle, nodding, his agreement clear without words. He shifted, curling up beside you on the couch, resting his head against your lap.

You stroked his hair, watching as his body relaxed, his tall form folding in on itself until he seemed almost small, almost vulnerable. He nuzzled into your touch, letting out a contented hum, and you couldn’t help but smile.

"Goodnight, Mr. Crawling," you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. He let out a soft, happy sound, cuddling closer as he drifted off. You stayed like that, holding him close.

Maybe he couldn’t come with you during the day, but you knew he’d always be there, waiting for you to come home. And that was enough.

[j-helen]

NAME: Your first sex

warnings: fem читательница, первый раз, посасывание груди, неопытность, монстр, плохое знание языка, "NSFW"

Все закончилось хорошо. Ты б��ла дома. Ты смогла вернуться. Смогла сохранить жизнь, и не было ничего важнее этого. Но кое-что изменилось, верно? Ты забрала из потустороннего изменения того, кого в мире живых быть не должно. Мистер Ползующий сидел рядом, цепляясь за твои ноги. - Никаких монстров? – смогла разобрать ты тихий говор. Сложно понять, сколько времени ты там провела, но язык немного сумела выучить. Ваша коммуникация с призраком больше не состояла из простых жестов.

- Нет, никакой опасности, - отвечаешь ты, поглаживая парня по волосам. Тот, наконец, оторвавшись от тебя, проползает вперед, начиная исследовать коридор квартиры. Его движения неторопливы, словно огромный монстр может испугаться чего-либо. А он может в этом огромном и непонятном ему мире. В твоей груди что-то сжалось, и ты ощутила прилив тепла. Ползунчик заботился о тебе, и теперь твоя очередь позаботиться о нем.

Призрак уже быстро прополз две комнаты, возвращаясь к тебе. Его фигура в темном коридоре все еще выглядела жутко, но бояться было нечего – привычный  хихикающий звук разрезает тишину. Привычный?

- Весело. Мне нравится. Красиво, – монстр активно выражал свои эмоции, широко улыбаясь, видимо, находя твое место жительство очень милым. Ты не сдерживаешь улыбки в ответ, присаживаясь на корточки перед ним.

- Да, ты можешь оставаться, сколько захочешь, - пытаешься объяснить ты, поглаживая Мистера Ползующего по голове, на что тот только льнет  к прикосновению. Подставляется под твою ладонь.

Какими были ваши отношения? Да ты и сама не знала. Но они определенно развивались стараниями обоих. Медленно, старательно границы между вами стирались. Ты учила призрака своему языку, обстановке и другим навыкам. И хоть, квартиру ему покидать не разрешалось, а без тебя он очень скучал, Ползунчик научился радовать тебя деталями или другими знаками внимания  – то полы чистые, то в квартире пы��ь протерта или на столе лежит маленькое оригами. Это было приятно – получать такие подарки.

Первый поцелуй вышел слегка неловким, но таким чувственным, что подкашивались ноги.

Тебе пришлось ухватиться за его плечи, сжать ткань одежды, отвечая на мягкие и неуверенные движения губами. Это получилось неожиданно, призрак сам стал инициатором. Он только учился, но получалось все так невинно и искренне, что ты с головой погрузилась в момент. И такая практика стала ежедневной. Мужчине нравились твои губы, нравились поцелуи с тобой и тепло твоего тела. Ты вся была мягкой  и теплой. Это будоражило. Будоражило то, чего, казалось, не может испытывать призрак. И ваши отношения стали только крепче, хоть ты порой и сомневалась в правильности происходящего. В один из дней ты просто потеряла счет времени в делах, утопая после работы в море других обязательств. Когда через сутки ты вернулась домой, чтобы насладиться заслуженным выходным, то даже не ожидала, что в коридоре тебя встретит огромная фигура. Ты только успела снять кроссовки, как чуть ли не вскрикиваешь, выронив сумку: в коридоре стоял Мистер Ползующий, оперевшись руками о стену. Он выглядел хмурым. И ты даже не успеваешь что-либо произнести, как монстр стремительно оказывается около тебя, начиная проверять все ли в порядке. Не пострадала ли ты, не причинил ли тебе кто-то боль. Он волновался.  –  Я думать, ты меня бросить, –  тихо произносит призрак, обнимая тебя. Ты впервые видела его на ногах – он выглядел просто огромным по сравнению с тобой. Ты казалась маленькой и хрупкой в сравнении с его габаритами. И стыд в секунду захлестнул с головой, стоило услышать расстроенный тихий голос, а осознанию того, что ты даже не предупредила как-то своего «сожителя», что задержишься, ударило в голову. – Прости, что не предупредила. Я забыла, это не специально, – как можно осторожнее говоришь, обнимая мужчину, - это было безответственно с моей стороны. – Ты отводишь взгляд, чувствуя, что краснеешь.

С минуту Ползунчик молчит, прежде чем хихикнуть в тишине.

– Я волноваться за тебя. Все хорошо? – он наклоняется ближе, соприкасаясь носом с твоей щекой. Вдыхает запах.

– Да, просто было много работы, – ты с облегчением выдыхаешь. Позволяешь себе улыбнуться. Твои ладони скользят выше, обвивая его шею. Стоять вот так с ним было удивительно приятно, особенно из-за разницы в росте.

– Я рад. Ты больше не делать так?  - монстр хмурится на секунду, осторожно сжимая твою талию. Пряди длинных черных волос ниспадают на твое лицо, немного щекоча.

  – Не буду. Впредь буду предупреждать, – ты согласно киваешь, после чего призрак почти голодно прижимается своими губами к твоим. Он удивительно пристрастился к подобному проявлению чувств, а еще соскучился по твоему теплу. Податливо сминает твои губы, прикусывая за нижнюю, от чего ты непроизвольно стонешь. Мистер Ползующий разрывает поцелуй и тащит в спальню, все еще оставаясь на ногах. Его шаги достаточно уверенные, несмотря на боль, которую ему доставляет ходьба.

Тебя толкают на кровать, после чего мужчина оказывается сверху, накрывая всем своим телом. Кровать издает жалобный скрип под вашим весом. Прильнув губами к твоей шее, он принялся стягивать верхнюю часть одежды, проскальзывая холодными руками под ткань. Ты вздрагиваешь, не успевая реагировать на происходящее, как прохладный воздух касается оголенной кожи. Лонгслив оказывается скомканным на полу, а то, как ты сглатываешь, казалось, можно было услышать за соседней стеной.

–  Стой. Откуда ты…–  но не успеваешь закончить фразу, как требовательный поцелуй тебя прерывает. И откуда призрак узнал о подобном, если ты его не учила? Сейчас кажется совсем не важным, ведь приходится откинуть все эти мысли назад, отдаваясь приятной неге.

Ты теряешься в сильных руках и нежных, одновременно требовательных прикосновениях. Совершенно не уследив за моментом, как джинсовая ткань проскользила по ногам вниз, позволяешь мужчине устроиться между бедер. Ползунчик ни на секунду не отрывался от тебя, словно его целью было покрыть прохладными поцелуями каждый дюйм. Крепкие руки очерчивают каждый изгиб, пытаясь найти самые чувствительные и уязвимые участки. Кончиками пальцев еле ощутимо проводит по животу, щекочет, после по-собственнически сжимая мягкую кожу на бедрах. Сдавливает сильными пальцами, оставляя красные  отпечатки.

И, может, у призрака не было глаз, но он мог видеть по-своему, ориентироваться в пространстве и слышать, как и подобает существу из иного мира.

– Ты красивая, - у него выходит сказать даже без акцента, что ты даже не веришь первые пару секунд. Топишь себя в нежности к этому мужчине, что ��зменил свою жизнь ради тебя и пленил твое сердце. Без промедления обхватываешь лицо, притягивая к себе для глубокого и мокрого поцелуя. Длинный язык скользит тебе в рот, и ты несдержанно стонешь. Мистер Ползующий даже немного нетерпеливо стягивает лямки бюстгальтера, мягко обхватывая упругую грудь. Кажется, тебе нравится, кажется, ты чувствительна. Здесь. До недавнего времени, мужчина был уверен, что не помнит и не нуждается в подобных вещах. Не нуждается в близости, но, похоже, ошибся. В этом месте? Нет. Здесь.  Губы монстра растягиваются в улыбке, стоит ему уловить твою дрожь, когда он потирает один из твоих сосков. Повторив манипуляцию со вторым и убедившись в правильности своих действий, Ползунчик прильнул к бархатной коже, покусывая и посасывая чувствительные ореолы. Он не хотел сделать тебе больно, поэтому так осторожно ласкал грудь языком и большими пальцами, заставляя тебя прикусить ладонь, чтобы сдержать стоны. Иногда поднимал голову,  проверяя по твоей реакции, все ли тебе нравится.

Ты даже не ожидала, что призрак способен подойти к вопросу столько основательно, уделяя тебе все внимание. Очевидно, для него твое удовольствие стояло на первом месте. Он даже не прикоснулся к себе и ничем не выдал свой дискомфорт, полностью поглощенный прелюдиями и тобой. Отводил ласкам столько времени, чтобы ты почувствовала себя достаточно разогретой и подготовленной для следующего этапа.

–  Хэй, ты можешь…- твой голос хрипит от возбуждения, казалось, его можно было даже почувствовать в воздухе. Ты поглаживаешь мужчину по плечам и распахиваешь халат, оголяя подтянутый торс. Гулко сглатываешь, проводя по мышцам ладонью. Чувствуешь под подушечками пальцев, как все мышцы Мистера Ползующего напрягаются. Монстр выдыхает, но не перехватывает твои руки, позволяя изучить. Его длинные темные волосы оказываются в полном беспорядке, ложась на оголенные плечи, когда ты стягиваешь ткань с плеч. Он сам слегка ослабляет пояс, видимо, не планируя полноценно избавиться от одежды.

–  Я могу, – улыбка и привычный смех, заставляют усмехнуться и тебя саму. Тонкие пальцы аккуратно очерчивают край нижнего белья и тянут его вниз. Ты не пытаешься свести ноги, наоборот, даешь насладиться видом, пока Ползунчик ощупывает тебя.

Тонкие пальцы подцепляют смазку и размазывают между собой. Призрак изучающее облизывает свои пальцы, пробуя тебя на вкус, и боже, ему нравится. Мужчина вновь опускает руку, поглаживая твои складочки и клитор, пока ты наблюдаешь, затаив дыхание. Он без стеснения проталкивает сначала один палец, а затем и второй, выбивая из тебя стоны. Медленно двиг��ет и ощупывает все изнутри, чтобы подготовить. Это вызывало некое извращенное удовольствие, несмотря на всю любовь к тебе, наблюдать, как ты извиваешься и хнычешь, пытаясь получить больше. Ты так течешь, что прозрачная жидкость размазывается по внутренней стороне твоих бедер.

Когда монстр оказывается  удовлетворен скольжением и твоим непрерываемыми мольбами: «Пожалуйста-пожалуйста. Я больше не могу!». А в уголках твоих глаз скапливаются слезы, ведь ты просто не способна унять дрожь во всем теле – он с негромких хлюпом вытаскивает пальцы, заставляя тебя разочарованно простонать. Твоя дырочка неконтролируемо сжимается вокруг пустоты, и ты невероятно нуждаешься в том, чтобы тебя наполнили до отказа.

Твои дрожащие руки тянутся к его паху, вытаскивая из-под ткани пульсирующий член. Он длинный и слегка темноват, с капелькой предэякулянта на головке. Проводишь рукой вверх-вниз, сжимая и дразня прикосновениями, что заставляет Ползунчика опереться одной рукой назад о кровать и бедрами непроизвольно качнуться тебе навстречу. Он готов позволять тебе делать тебе все, что угодно, но не когда ты вся раскрытая, лежишь под ним, чтобы он тебя трахнул.

Черноволосый мягко отстраняет твою руку с немым вопросом: «Можно?», и во всем его теле читается этот вопрос. Словно ты можешь не разрешить, откажешь ему, и он действительно прекратит. Он никогда не сделает ничего против твоей воли. Не сделает больно.

–  Можно, - ты киваешь, на что сразу получаешь счастливую улыбку. Да, и как ты раньше могла подумать о том, чтобы не взять это существо с собой?

–  Весело! – призрак притягивает тебя ближе за бедра и целует, позволяя обвить его торс ногами для удобства. Слегка торопится, пытаясь приставить головку члена к входу, и тебе приходится ему помочь, чтобы не расстраивать. Он облегченно выдыхает, когда ты раскрываешься для него, обволакивая горячим и мокрым пространством. Такие забытые и далекие ощущения сейчас вспыхивают в ином свете. Все кажется иначе с любимым человеком.

Мужчина медленно толкается, заполняя тебя миллиметр за миллиметром, что срывает с твоих губ соблазнительное и томное «ох». Этот звук только заставляет Мистера Ползующего самого захныкать и уткнуться тебе в изгиб шеи, пока ты поглаживаешь его по волосам. Внутри тебя так тесно, что призрак не уверен, что его хватит даже на пару толчков. Он входит по основание, наконец, полноценно растягивая тебя вокруг своего члена, и, черт, это ощущается просто великолепно. Ты подходила идеально. Медленно и нежно, постепенно наращивая темп.

Монстр сжимает твою талию, а затем и бедра и толкается. Глубоко настолько, что задевает  матку, и ты несдержанно стонешь: развратно и желанно. Ползунчик совсем теряет от тебя голову, начиная втрахивать в матрас глубокими толчками. И он ни на секунду не прекращал заботиться о тебе: вот его пальцы, переплетаются с твоими, пока он тяжело дышит, двигая тазом, а вот уже расцеловывает твое лицо, хаотично промахиваясь из-за толчков.

Проходит несколько часов, за которые ты успеваешь пару раз кончить, а сейчас устало и умиротворенно нежишься в объятиях призрака. Заслуженно, прижимаешь его голову к груди, пока он сам несвязанно что-то говорит и выводит узоры на твоей обнаженной кожи. Ты вся прекрасна в его отметинах и небольших следах. Другие должны знать, кому ты принадлежишь, ведь он убьет любого, кто посмеет прикоснуться или попытаться отобрать тебя у него.

–  Ты нравишься мне, – не скрывая обожания, говорит Мистер Ползующий, крепче обвивая руки вокруг тебя. Теснее прижимает к себе.

–  Правильно говорить: Я тебя люблю, - поправляешь ты мужчину, перебирая пряди волос. И, кажется, впервые за долгое время испытываешь счастье.

–  Я люблю тебя, - повторяет за тобой монстр, словно пробуя эти слова на вкус. И снова его фирменная улыбка.

–  Я тебя тоже, - отвечаешь с придыханием, нежно целуя Ползунчика. Он почти задерживает дыхание, прежде чем ответить, а в следующую секунду хихикнуть.

–  Весело! Весело! – Мистер Ползующий смеется, прижимаясь к тебе лбом, и ты готова провести так вечность.

Арт принадлежит художнице:

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter vii.

Your interactions with the entity holding you captive begin to escalate.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

My human.

From the very second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were his. While you were gifted to him by the woman in a raincoat, that fact alone had little influence on and could not even begin to encapsulate his desire for you.

He had a clear recollection of the moment he found you. You had been injured by the aforementioned woman, sanguine, exquisitely oozing out of the wound on your head. The sight of blood spilling down your delicate features was one he’d never forget, the image having been seared into his mind. You were so, so lovely. A hint of colour against the dull monochrome building; a singular rose blossoming in the dead of winter.

Pretty.

You were just as beautiful now as you had been upon your first meeting, if he could call it that. Though he had adored the way the fresh steaks of red glistened on your skin, he did not find you any less enchanting, even with the blood having dried and crumbled away.

You were truly a gift for him, and he’d cherish you as such.

Which is why he failed to understand your reaction, disagreeing and arguing with him about not having been given to him.

Despite his mild frustration at your incomprehensible response, he wouldn’t get angry with you. You were already afraid of him for some unknown reason, and he didn’t want to exacerbate that fear. Instead, he’d try his best to explain to you the situation. You had no reason to be frightful of him; he’d take good care of you.

Human not communicate. Me worry.

For a moment, you were unresponsive, leading him to worry that you would continue to protest. But then you slowly nodded your head at him.

Human understand. You understand me.

Me happy, he thought. Grateful.

He was unable to do anything but smile, grinning widely from cheek to cheek at your acceptance. You had accepted his desire to take care of you. You had accepted being his gift. You had accepted him.

“You want me.” His statement came out plain and simple, uttered more to himself than to you.

Eyes pretty.

You didn’t refuse him, however. You merely glanced at him with wide eyes, eyes that reflected away all the dreariness of this place with the utmost brilliance. He simply allowed himself a moment to gaze into them, admiring the way they glimmered.

You nodded once again, such a small, slow tilt of your head that he almost failed to catch it.

Human want me. You want me.

“You want me,” his smile widened. “You want me, you want me...”

He feverishly chanted those words, as if each repetition was a stronger confirmation of your feelings than the last.

His heart throbbed, an aching pulse that pulverized him from the inside. While the words existed in his language, he never understood them—not until now. What was once a foreign concept to him now became all too present and all too real.

He craved you with a primal need that swirled deep in his viscera, longing for you in ways he only just now began to comprehend.

And you wanted him too.

Want me.

Just that simple fact was enough for his chest to rumble with tremendous force, the world inside his heart shifting much like the larger expanse he resided in.

Want have human. Want touch.

You were here looking at him still with doe eyes, the sight only further amplifying his desire. As the urge to have you filled his mind, he reacted accordingly by reaching out to you. His fingers brushed against your hair with the intention of stroking it, but you instantly flinched away from him.

Head damaged, head hurt, he suddenly remembered.

He couldn’t run his fingers through your hair, but that did little to diminish his coveting for you. Instead, he settled for touching your face, his fingers tracing along your forehead, your cheeks, your jawline. When they trailed over your lips, he realized he preferred touching them over the rest of your face.

He brushed his fingers over your lips a few more times and each time he did, he yearned for you a bit more than the last.

Want mouth touch.

He wasn’t sure where that thought came from. It was unfamiliar, yet somehow, it felt natural. There was an aspect about the gesture of touching your mouth with his that made it seem different from doing so with his hands. He wasn’t sure why that was, but it was intriguing, this newfound concept.

Slowly, he moved his index finger between your lips, gently pushing them apart. Your lips were a bit damp there, something he found strangely inviting. He wanted to bring his mouth to yours, he wanted to feel your lips against his—and you wanted him, so you wanted this too.

“Want you,” he said, his voice softer than usual, yet filled with fervour.

Want you. He looked at you for a moment longer, before he followed his instincts, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

Pleasant.

Your mouth was astonishingly warm, all molten heat and liquid velvet against his own. So soft, so alluring, so inviting. It was a sensation that felt oddly familiar, stirring up something in his chest that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He didn’t pay it much mind, instead enjoying the feeling of your mouths touching in a way that was all too intoxicating.

Me you together.

In that very moment, with his lips encapsulating yours, the two of you were connected. He liked that.

He liked the togetherness, wanted more of it as he tried moving his lips against yours, hoping you’d do the same. To his own surprise, he found himself disappointed at your lack of reaction. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he wanted more than just this. He craved you with an aching need, desperately longed for more of you. He wanted to feel you against him, he wanted you.

Still, you were inanimate, leading him to wonder why. He reasoned that you were likely new to this, much like he was. Perhaps you didn’t know what to do, or maybe humans had a different way of expressing desire. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he should be patient with you and give you time to get accustomed to this. He would be gentle with you. He would take good care of you and show you that you had no reason to fear him. He would treasure you as his gift. He would express how much he craves you.

He pulled away briefly so he could speak.

“Together,” he mumbled. “Me like.”

Your eyebrows scrunched slightly, your parted lips—now faintly glistening—pressing together into a frown. His own eyes widened in shock; was there something wrong?

“You hurt?” he tentatively asked, a myriad of concerns welling up in his chest. “You okay?”

Human upset. Not know why.

Your frown seemed to deepen, your eyes glazing over with moisture that confused him greatly. He waited patiently for you to respond. After a long moment of silence, you finally uttered a singular word.

“Hurt,” you reluctantly stated.

“Why?” His response was instant. He had been so careful with you. He was aware you were fragile, and he treated you like such. It was hard to imagine he had hurt you in some way.

“Hungry,” you answered. He briefly wondered if there was more to it than just hunger, but he realized then that you had told him about needing food quite some time ago. It made sense. It made sense, but he found himself wishing that wasn’t the case. He wanted to continue what he was doing with you; he wanted to keep enjoying the feeling of togetherness that he experienced with you. But he said he’d take care of you, and that meant ensuring you didn’t go hungry.

He nodded his head, pulling back from you and reaching over to give you the box that you claimed was consumable. You gingerly took it from him, pausing for a moment before a small smile formed on your face.

Human happy. Me like.

“Thank you,” you said. For a second, he was awestruck—the way your lips curved upwards made his heart throb tenderly in his chest. He instinctively put a hand on his own chest, though nothing about it felt different.

Heart change? Not know.

“Welcome,” he muttered, his voice almost breathy.

—

As you chewed on the granola, you found a variety of thoughts coming to mind. At the forefront, you found yourself thinking the granola was extremely delicious. You had not had granola this tasty before. That’s what hunger does to people, you supposed.

In the back of your mind, you found yourself wondering just where exactly your current circumstances would place as far as the misfortune side of the misfortune-complaining matrix went. You had thought being kidnapped and held captive by a ghostly entity was a seven. Being kidnapped, held captive, and kissed by said monster, however—that should probably rank higher, right?

The concerning part was your uncertainty about that point. It should rank higher. In anyone’s sane mind, it would be worse. But somewhere in the very back of your mind, hiding in the shadowy, dark recesses, was the realization that you didn’t find it repulsive.

It was most definitely strange; there was no doubt about that. No matter how you looked at or thought about it, kissing an inhuman creature was an abnormal thing. The very experience was bizarre, from the coldness of his lips, to the stiffness of his movements, and to, well, the fact that he wasn’t human.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate it. If you were being fully honest with yourself, the kiss was... fine. Not how you would imagine a kiss to happen, but nonetheless not displeasing.

Perhaps you had gone insane in the short time span of being here—you weren’t sure. You most definitely felt like you were losing your mind as you ruminated over the kiss.

You had only gone along with it because you didn’t want to upset him, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel extremely flustered about it.

It’s just a kiss, you told yourself. He probably doesn’t even understand how it works.

Your thoughts did little to convince yourself that you were not becoming mad. The ever watchful gaze of the red umbrella man was still on you, increasing the discomfort and awkwardness that you felt. You found yourself shying away, eyes fixated on your lap, on the granola bar that you had stopped chewing, on everything besides him.

“You okay?” He suddenly interrupted your thoughts to ask a question.

“C-Correct,” you stammered, slightly caught off guard. You didn’t know how exactly to say you were okay, so you settled for the closest word you knew. The language barrier still proved to be endlessly frustrating, even with the help you received from Mr. Silvair.

The red umbrella man touched his hand to your cheek, the unexpected movement causing a startled jump.

“Face hurt?” he questioned. You thought his question over before responding.

“Face hurt,” you agreed, lying through your teeth much like you did earlier. You hoped he wouldn’t notice; the sparseness of the language should be enough to cover for any unusualness on your part.

“You ▮▮▮▮?”

You knew Mr. Silvair used that word when speaking to the red umbrella man, but you didn’t quite know what it meant.

“Not understand,” you replied. You weren’t as hungry anymore, but you chewed on your granola bar anyway, hoping it would save you from further conversation.

He didn’t talk after that. You finished your granola bar in silence, its wrapper soon joining the other packaging that you had discarded into the box, using it as a temporary trash can.

A wave of exhaustion washed over your body all at once, the adrenaline from the day’s events finally all wearing off. You could feel a mild ache in your head still, causing you to frown.

You glanced at the red umbrella man, who had been soundlessly observing you—very much unsettling behaviour—and back at the bed, where a small pillow was. It didn’t appear that he planned on letting you go anytime soon. You decided that you might as well rest now. Maybe once you recover some energy, you would be able to find a way out, though having to go through those terrifying rooms again was not something you looked forward to.

You let out another vexed exhale before sliding your shoes off and crawling into bed.

“You ▮▮▮▮?” The red umbrella man—which you were getting tired of mentally using—asked again. The word must mean ‘rest.’

“Correct,” you nodded. “Me rest.”

—

Human need rest. Human weak. Cute.

He didn’t understand the exact sleeping needs of a human yet, but considering how you woke up not long ago, you needed to sleep much more than he did.

His needs for rest were mostly limited to his mind. His body rarely needed any fuel; besides the occasional meal and fluid, he required little else. However, silencing his mind was a different matter.

It wasn’t a thing he needed often, but it was more constant than his need for consumption and physical rest. Every here and there, he slept in order to give his mind a break. Continuous thinking proved to be bothersome after a lengthy enough period, and so he would refresh himself by shutting down temporarily.

Human rest. Me take care.

As you made yourself comfortable in bed and lied down, you reached to pull the covers over yourself. The covers were just slightly too far away, which he noticed when you were about to sit up again.

Quickly, he reached for the covers himself, gently tugging it over your body. Your eyes opened in surprise, but as he rested the fabric on your shoulders, you seemed to relax.

Human happy. Me like. A lot like.

You raised your head slightly to look at him before smiling, seemingly content. The organ in his chest fluttered once again, an unsettling sensation. He looked down to examine his torso—nothing was wrong.

Not understand, he thought.

It didn’t matter too much, however. Your mouth was curved upwards in the most delightful way, and he felt the urge to touch it with his own, but refrained. He would take care of you and allow you to sleep first.

“Goodnight,” he couldn’t help returning your smile. Yours faltered for a slight second before you let out a nervous laugh.

Pleasant.

“Goodnight,” you repeated back to him.

You snuggled into the pillow, seemingly comfortable in the bed. He felt proud of having taken good care of you, like he decided he would.

Your eyelids fluttered briefly, but just when he thought you’d fallen asleep, you abruptly opened them.

“You have name?” you unexpectedly inquired.

He opened his mouth, about to tell you that he didn’t, when a sharp, buzzing static pierced through his skull. 

next chapter ->

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[neoameba]

I kind of found a really interesting game called "Homicipher" through tiktok and now I'm COMPLETELY OBSESSED with this thing.

New things are coming. ⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙

[topzsun]

AM I NO GOOD?

── ♡ MR CRAWLING

from the abyss of your mind, he crawls in. your last remnants of humanity. cw: familial death, suicide idolisation

Your ceiling fan has a creek in it. It groans melancholy as it slowly spins, barely giving enough breeze in your poorly ventilated, dingy apartment. Despite how the sound tempts you to rip your ears off, it still stays on as you lay in bed, vacantly staring at the ceiling as it rotates until you can’t bear hearing it anymore.

Your room is dimly lit, curtains drawn and your lightbulb a mess of shards that you haphazardly brushed aside. You haven’t had the energy to buy a replacement bulb, fix it, and carefully throw away the remains of your old one. The process felt long and arduous, like most things these days. It was taking you a Herculean amount of strength to get up for work, but it’s not what your co-workers or managers see when they cast judging glances at your sunken eyes and unstyled hair. Perhaps, if you had always been this sloppy, their stares wouldn’t have burned holes into you as much. There was a time when you had cared for yourself, your work clothes iron-pressed, hair carefully decorated, and skin glowing. Now, it felt like a distant memory concealed by thick fog in the crevices of your mind.

People were hardly the same after burying their mother.

There is shuffling underneath your bed. Once, the sound had scared you. Now, it’s welcomed. It gives you a faint flutter in your stomach when you see a grey-tinted hand, marred in grime, reach outwards. Reach for you. You lift yourself into a sitting position, and a genuine smile graces your lips when you see him crawl from the space. Appropriately, you named him Mr Crawling. A man with long, dark tresses that fall over his shoulders, concealing his face like a curtain. From the bridge of the nose, in replacement of his eyes, is a wide red slash caked with what you assume is dried blood. His unnerving, foreboding appearance should predictably scare you. Yet, it doesn’t. He is born from the rubble of your mind, how can you hate the only friend you have left?

You have severely outgrown the age of having an imaginary companion, and yet he is an anchor, even if communication is hard and there isn’t much for you both to speak on. You weren’t aching for conversation anymore, anyway.

“Hi Mr Crawling,” You greet him, almost affectionately, and while you know he doesn’t understand your tongue, he seems to have grown used to the syllables that leave your lips and the tone of your voice, a toothless grin stretches across his face as a result. You flop from the bed to the floor, sitting beside him as he perks up straighter, supporting the weight of his body with his arms. He lets you lean into his side, strands of hair tickling your cheek. The gown draped over his body is raggedy, stained and tattered, and yet he seemed the most put-together inside the mess of your home. If you had the energy, you would have laughed.

Your fingers graze his skin and he is ice-cold, like the dead. Yet beside him was the warmest you have been in a long while and you savour it. It’s the closest you have got to another person’s loving touch.

“Work was tough today,” You mumble under your breath, and he stiffens when you speak in his vernacular, or whatever you managed to pick up over the months. “It’s difficult.”

He garbles something close to “Leave” and a breathy, humourless laugh leaves you, hoarse against your dry throat.

“I can’t. I’ll die without money,” Your fingers twirl the end of his hair and he takes it as an invite to drop his head on top of yours, becoming bolder at your contact. “Maybe it won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

He doesn’t reply, and you aren’t sure if it’s because he didn’t understand or if he’s displeased by what you said, seeing as his grin has left and been replaced with the neutral press of his chapped lips. You felt a kick at his reaction, disgusting but innate, pleased that someone cared enough if you died, and guilty that you wanted to put him through the same cycle of grief.

Mr Crawling was kinder than most people you have met, and somehow you felt that even a being curated from your imagination deserved better than you.

You blearily sit up, hit with a sudden wave of nausea and inertion that makes your head spin. However, you attempt to fix yourself upright quickly, even when Mr Crawling asks if you are sick, reaching with a single hand at a poor attempt at breaking any sudden fall. You weakly smile at him as reassurance. You crouch over to the TV positioned at the end of your room. It was incredibly old, evident by the boxed screen and antennas sitting on top of the plastic frame. However, it was your mother’s, recalling nights when she would lay in her bed watching the jittering coloured shows as you blundered through making yourself dinner. You had rolled it into your room shortly after your impromptu burial of her. Your clothes had still been stained with dirt, a shovel tossed to the ground as you clumsily attempted to fix the device. When you laid in bed that night and flipped through channels much like she once did, you didn’t understand the appeal.

However, Mr Crawling was utterly fascinated by the moving pictures on the screen, so for him, you turned the old thing on. When it flickered to life, his grin returned, much to your relief. You took your place next to him again, pressing your knees to your chest as a soap drama whose title you were unfamiliar with played. Honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. Mindless entertainment lost its appeal around two months ago, with you spending your time after work lying motionlessly in bed or sitting around with your new companion. You had already tuned out the show, blankly staring at the eye-straining colours with disinterest, your mind already wandering. The floor beneath you, the chipped walls, and even Mr Crawling beside you felt as if they were worlds away. The soil from the plot of land next door, visible from your bedroom window, curls within itself. It shakes. She is desperately clawing away and reaching out when you—

He makes a confused sound next to you, and you snap your head away to meet the tilt of his head. Once again, he’s not smiling and your heart seizes. You begin to stammer out an excuse when he points at the screen and you follow his finger to the television screen. There is a bright wedding scene playing, two characters standing at the alter as they exchange vows, the male actor’s hand encased around his pretend bride’s as he beams at her. Carefully scripted lines, perfectly painted masks and flawless costumes. You could almost admire the craft.

However, Mr. Crawling isn’t of the same opinion as you, unable to understand what was happening outside of the funny laugh tracks and comical acting. His confusion is almost cute, though you don’t voice this out loud.

“That’s a wedding,” You say and when his expression doesn’t change, you switch to your shoddy understanding of his language. “It’s a party. For love. Love between two people.”

He sits up a bit straighter and you assume he’s starting to comprehend what’s happening and he fixes his gaze back to the screen where the scene has now moved onto what seems to be the after-party. He seems pleased that the show has gotten back to the humour and repetitive laugh tracks he likes as opposed to the more emotionally heavy wedding he is unfamiliar with. However, not long after he momentarily turns his attention back to you.

“Me,” He points to himself. “You,” He points to you. “Love,” and finally he points to the screen. “Party.”

This stupifies you into silence, your eyes widening as you digest the confession. You are sure the meaning of love varies for him, just like it does for people here. He doesn’t understand the type of love that is involved in marriage, perhaps him meaning something akin to the care between two friends.

“One day,” You reply flippantly, but you lean into his shoulder anyway, letting his long tresses conceal your line of vision as if it were a curtain between you and the damn window. “If only you were real, Mr. Crawling.”

Unable to see from where you have hidden yourself at his side, his smile drops into something more contemplative. How odd humans are. They could be holding someone in their arms, and still not believe they exist.

[nana-mania]

"PAIN FORGET?" he helps you forget your pain..

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : mr. chopped

࿐*ೃ fandom : homicipher

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff to nsfw

࿐*ೃ trigger warning : nsfw content ahead!

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ THE weight on your stomach woke you, along with the faint sensation of something wet trickling through your shirt. Groggy from days of fever, you blinked away your sleepiness. Your throat ached, and your limbs felt like lead, but none of that mattered when you opened your eyes and found yourself face-to-face with a familiar sight.

Mr. Chopped was set on your tummy, his round head tilted forward, and—oh. He was crying. Actual tears streamed down his cheeks, his hair slightly dishevelled, as though he'd been too distraught to fix it before coming here.

“Ah-” he wailed dramatically, his voice high-pitched as if relieved. “You wake—” His lips trembled, and he broke into loud, theatrical sobs. “Miss you!”

“Mr. Chopped?” Your voice came out hoarse. You reached up to rub your eyes, as though that might make the absurd sight before you make more sense. But no—he was still there, his tiny form as vibrant and unsettling as ever. “How...you come up?”

Instead of answering, he scooted closer—well, as much as a head sitting on your stomach could scoot—and nudged his face against your hand. His skin was cool to the touch, smooth but eerily lifelike, and the sensation made you shiver. “You left me!” he accused, voice muffled by another sniffle. “Gone long. Me worried..”

“I—I was sick,” you croaked, still processing the situation. Your hand instinctively moved to cradle his face, lifting him from your stomach. “I’m sorry. Never want worry you.”

His eyes gleamed with tears as he stared up at you. “I cried, a lot. Many nights. Miss you so much.” He sniffled again, dramatic as ever, and buried his face in your chest.

You hesitated for a moment before hugging him close. The weight of his head in your arms was bizarre—heavy, yet not quite solid. His hair tickled your chin as you murmured, “I’m here now. I’m fine.”

“Don't leave again. Me sad.” he demanded, pulling back just enough to glare at you.

“I promise,” you said softly, stroking his hair to soothe him. “Me won't leave you. But.. how you come here?”

He sniffed, then brightened. “White hair help.” He grinned proudly, the motion somehow unsettling without a neck to support it. “He kind. Ask me, take care of you.”

“Mr. Silvair?” You smiled. You forgot how oddly close these two were.

“No more white hair. Me, only me here!” Mr. Chopped interrupted, puffing up his cheeks since you were smiling while thinking of Mr. Silvair.

You bit back a laugh at his sudden shift in mood. “Why? Jealous?”

“Yes. I want comfort from you.”

Smiling despite yourself, you brushed your thumb against his cheek. His skin felt startlingly real. “Alright, Mr. Chopped. How make you happy?”

His eyes widened, glinting with childlike delight. “Oh, oh!” He leaned in, practically pressing his face to yours. “Head pets, kisses, carry me— anything!”

You laughed. “Demanding as always.” Though, you couldn’t help but oblige, pulling him close once more. His hair was soft beneath your fingers, a startling contrast to the macabre reality of his existence. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, murmuring, “Sorry for worry you.”

For a moment, he melted against you, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss. But then he wriggled again, his lips pulling into a pout. “Not enough. More, more.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What more?”

He huffed, his cheeks puffing out. "Kiss - Here.” He tilted his head—literally—toward you, puckering up his lips.

You hesitated, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. But the earnestness in his gaze—however absurd—made your decision for you. With a soft chuckle, you leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. They were unexpectedly warm, softer than you expected, and the sensation left you both amused and slightly flustered.

When you pulled back, his entire face was flushed, his eyes wide with giddy delight. “Perfect! Me, so happy!” he squealed.

“I'm glad,” you said, watching him affectionately.

You set Mr. Chopped down back to your lap, grinning from ear to ear. “You feel better?" The question caught you off guard, his inquisitive gaze locking onto yours.

You nodded, but a wry smile tugged at your lips. “Still tired, though.” 

He stayed quiet for a moment, his expression shifting as if deep in thought. Then, out of nowhere, a mischievous smirk curled onto his lips—a grin that sent a jolt of both intrigue and caution through you. 

“Me, can help. Pain forget.” he declared, his tone playful yet laced with an odd seriousness that made you raise an eyebrow. 

“Forget...?” you echoed, blinking at him. “What do you mean?” 

His smirk widened, and he shifted in your lap, his round frame wobbling slightly as he leaned closer. “Trust me.” His voice was sing-song, a hint of giddiness creeping into it. “Spread legs.” 

The request made you freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What?” 

“You heard!” he chirped, tilting his head with an almost innocent air, though his grin betrayed him. “Spread legs. Trust.” 

Caught between embarrassment and curiosity, you could guess what he was planning but kept quiet. Finally, with a shy nod, you shifted on the bed, moving your legs slightly apart. 

“There,” you said. “But...what are you—” 

He had positioned himself between your legs so his face was directly in front of you; your heat especially. His grin widened. 

“You trust me,” he said, his tone oddly sweet. “Good. Now...relax.” 

Your pulse quickened as you watched him. Mr. Chopped ripped apart your panties with his teeth, eating the fabric in process. You gasped when the cold air brushed against your sensitive folds.

"Ah- hah-" you covered your mouth in embarrassment as you felt a tongue caressing your clit. Tilting your head up, you stared at the ceiling, face heating up. 

Mr. Chopped was too curious and adventurous for his own good. The first time he discovered he could pleasure you despite lacking a body, he took every chance he could to fulfill his sinful desire.

"Mhm," the noise escaped your mouth, fingers tangling in his locks. He chuckled, enjoying the noise you made because of him. He nibbled on your clit, making you bit back a moan.

"Taste good," Mr. Chopped murmured in fascination. "You taste good. Want taste you everyday."

"Everyday is a bit-- Oh, God." You were unable to finish your sentence as his tongue already entered your wet folds, your slick walls clenching around him. He hummed when you bucked up your hips, desperate for more from him.

"Please, I can't." You begged, tears rolling down your face. "More, more."

The wet sounds of him eating you out echoed in the room, so loud that it turned you on, making it harder for you to control yourself. You could feel the climax nearing close. Gripping his hair, you moaned loudly before experiencing your release, fluid oozing out of you.

Mr. Chopped hummed in delightfulness, drinking your fluid to his heart's content (as if he had one). He pulled out his tongue, giving your clit one quick kiss before he tilted his head up, staring at you with his cute eyes.

"Pain forget?" He asked excitedly, like a puppy expecting a praise or reward. You managed a smile after you calmed down, cupping the back of his head and nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'm glad!" His smile brightened, imaginary flowers floating around his head. You chuckled, ruffling his hair that was surprisingly soft and silky, despite the condition you both lived in.

"You love me?"

"Always, love you."

"Yay!"

Picking up Mr. Chopped, he nuzzled his face in your chest, blissfulness evident in the purr escaping his lips

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[lilacxquartz]

a touch apart;

mr. crawling x f!reader

plot: allowing mr. crawling to get closer, he tries his best to make you happy, trying all sorts of things — themes: oral (receiving), touching, smut, limited dialogue as i tried to keep it how it is in the game — w.c: 0.9k

masterlist • ao3

On the rare occasion that bedrest wouldn’t help you recover, Mr. Crawling would grow equally restless along with you, although more so just confused. In his mind, it would be his fault for not being safe enough for you. He watched over you as you rested, and kept his height to a minimum to ensure your comfort, and yet, you could never relax fully in this place.

In recent times however, you had been allowing him to get closer than usual—more than ever before, in fact. No longer did you react to his spontaneous hugs and head pats by pushing him away, and instead allowed for him to close whatever brief distance you both had. No longer did you also feel surprised to see him there all of the time, doting on you and waiting for you—instead rather, expecting him to be there.

So, when you again, didn’t quite turn him away, he crept closer towards you with a different sort of intention in mind.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he knew that he wanted to be closer to you, any other sort of reaction was almost unacceptable in his mind.

He reeled you in close, feeling your frame mould to his own like the missing part of a puzzle that he never knew he was missing, finding solace in completing each other.

You sat on the bed, watching as he crawled towards you, stopping right where you sat. His hands wrapped around your legs in a needy hug, resting his head against your thighs. In return, you tried to offer a head pat back, offering soft and soothing languid gestures over his silky black hair.

Mr Crawling’s touches weren’t immediately invasive right away, although his touch dabbled on something slightly beyond just explorative, reaching further beyond than he perhaps meant to go. His ghostly palms slid over your thighs, brushing milky-smooth languid touches along your supple skin. However, immediately retracting his caressing from the moment you tensed up, fearing that he had done something wrong.

In a curious tone, he tried to assess the situation, “Pain here?”

You shook your head, hoping to shake off the creeping blush that settled over your complexion too. You weren’t entirely opposed to him exploring your body in that way, but you also wanted him to understand what he was doing.

Mr. Crawling then paused for a moment before returning his hands to the area once more, intently studying your reaction as he went along. As if mentally logging that your state was flustered, he seemed to register a certain thought in mind, his expression changing from cautious to curious.

“Happy?” he asked instead, his voice very soft.

Stifling your need, you nodded while chewing on your bottom lip.

Understanding the memo, Mr. Crawling carefully slipped his fingers just below your concealed sex, poking a finger inside to study your potential reactions. He seemed to successfully register that touching certain parts of your body meant for unique reactions, which made him feel excited in return, so this was a reaction that he definitely wanted to explore.

Moving forward with a tentative touch, he eventually let you wiggle out of your underwear, dropping the pair to gather right at your ankles. He then moved his fingers a little closer on one hand, using his other palm to spread your legs further apart with an idea in mind.

Slowly, he moved his head forward, propping his tongue out and licking where his fingers parted away at the folded area of your heat, seeking out the area where you were the most responsive. Your clit tingled as he successfully connected to it, biting back a barely contained whimper. Mr. Crawling took note of your flushed state, understanding that this must have been your body’s happy zone, before lapping at it in all sorts of various ways, only repeating the motions that seemed to gather the strongest response.

Such feelings were greatly reciprocated by you as you involuntarily anchored your hand over his raven locks, clawing—grappling tight against his hair—reeling in whatever you could in a fit of feverish need. Mr. Crawling all the while continued to flick his tongue against your sensitive bud, letting your pleasure rise to an almost burning peak—yet only teasingly so. Mr. Crawling, unbeknownst to his fleeting spurs of your own received pleasure, kept pulling back to catch glimpses of your flustered state.

Slowly but surely, you grew closer to your anticipated end, which he seemed to catch onto. Changing things up slightly to keep up with you, Mr. Crawling sped up the motions towards an almost hectic fervour, wanting nothing more than to give you as much of his ‘help’ as he possibly could physically accomplish.

Your thighs soon tightened and clamped shut from such searing anticipation; your fingernails clawing against his scalp as the rolling bliss finally mounted, until at last, the coiling warmth from within the confines of your stomach had at last constricted beyond the point of no return, uncoiling radiating sweeps of pooling pleasure flooded your core, so desperately pent-up, coming undone at long, long last.

Noticing such a reaction, Mr. Crawling appeared to be both happy and confused at your ruffled state, bringing you closer towards him right away, sitting you on the ground with his arms wrapped right around you in a tight hug. He seemed to understand that you greatly enjoyed such a thing but remained confused as to why you looked so distressed—so agitated, almost.

“Happy?” he asked again, his chin resting atop your head.

You breathlessly nodded, leaning into his chest, taking note of his obvious arousal now evidently pressing against you.

A thought entered your mind as you slowly caught your breath again.

Maybe you should return the favour?