#they be like “this and yap”

[angel-fruitcake]

[willowparkfanclub]

zeus is so bold commenting on poseidon having a forbidden kid as if he doesn't have TWO: one who is currently a tree and the other who's being raised by wolves. be serious

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[chaosdoesnotdefineme]

genuinely hate that the german wird for concise is prägnant, because whenever I want to translate it into english my brain tells me it’s pregnant

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

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

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

masterlist • ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

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

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

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

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

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

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

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

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

[samaraxmorgan]

Edging him until he’s completely delirious and when you tell him to “say the magic words” he accidentally says “I love you”

[saixria]

The sillies

When even Athena the Virgin goddess whose most intimate encounter was stabbing her bff thinks you’re cooked, you’re definitely cooked

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

return to sub level 50

[nixiecat]

I should take more pics with my sword ......

[luvlyycy]

you're sat in sukuna's lap, bum seated on his right leg, legs dangling off his left. his right arm is wrapped around your waist, letting you play with his hand.

"kuna."

"yeah?"

"why do you wear rings?" you ask, hands fiddling with sukuna's right-hand, tips of your fingers tapping on the rings on his fingers. he looks at you, yawning before staring— "iunno. i like 'em i guess. it's like askin' ya why you wear bracelets—"

you perk your head up to his, legs wiggling in his lap. "i wear them 'cause they cute." you smile, and he just stares— blinks twice, then grins, his hand reaching on the table to set down the blunt in his hand (after taking one last hit), he then grabs onto the pink robe he had gotten for you.

"so why ya think i wear rings?" you giggle as he slids his hand up your thigh, tickling you.

" 'cause theyyyy,, cute?—" you pout when he rolls his eyes, shaking his head then licking at his lip piercing— " nah, it's cause you like 'em."

[dilfosaur]

thank you as always for the support and compliments on our new july-exclusive merch!! please take these close ups as a sign of my gratitude uwu

much like last year's postcard, i sculpted little figures and painted over them to get a nice 3D effect. i got really lucky with the lighting by the time i finished the bases lmao. the poster is ofc a reference to norman rockwell's triple self portrait so i was trying a more textured painting style. i'm really happy with how it came out! also ya bobby wasn't from this past year but this rejected plush idea was

happy drawfee calendar year! and please look forward to our most unhinged merch yet in this coming year! there are some whack coals on the fire

[axoqiii]

ng+ doodles and royaltrio

[sevrinve]

bedtime

[valictini]

I’ve already said it, I’ll say it again, Mal du Pays is such a visceral and clever word to describe Siffrin’s Sadness. When I first saw it in game it genuinely made me pause like. Yes, it translates to homesickness. But it has the literal word for country in it. “Country sickness”. For a guy whose core problem is that his childhood, his culture, his country is missing. One could argue it’s a twisted pun. I’m obsessed with it.

[probablytame]

don't play around with feral dogboys. don't chain one up to the bedpost and tease it from afar, making it sit on a vibrator while you touch yourself. good lord do not make the most pretty little whimpers and noises as you do it. sooner or later that thing is going to burst out from its chains and tackle you to the ground as it sinks its teeth into your neck. snarling as it tears open your legs and rams its knot into your hole. and god forbid it's strap knot, because the only thing that's gonna stop it is exhaustion. that thing only sees you as a toy, and it's going to fuck you until you break