#yapping if you will

[smoochiespup]

crazy how ppl have been dming me and just don’t even say hi or how are you, its just straight nsfw stuff…

i get your horny but please, have some manners! i specifically stated that in my intro post to not dm me nsfw without my consent!

uhhhhhhh ಥ_ಥ

[bluebeesknees]

To reduce my screen time, I have weaponised my overactive and entirely impractical levels of empathy for inanimate objects. Wym you’re picking it up again? While it was sleeping? You complete and utter monster, let it rest!!

And it works. It works like a CHARM. Silly problems require silly solutions!

[vreemdkermithebatman]

has this been done yet

[neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies]

REBLOG POSTS❗❗ COMMENT ON FICS❗❗COMPLIMENT FANART ❗❗LEAVE LITTLE NOTES IN THE TAGS❗❗ BOOKMARK FICS YOU LIKE❗❗ TELL AUTHORS WHAT YOU LIKED ABOUT THEIR FICS❗❗COMMENT ON DECADE OLD FICS ❗❗ADD YOUR OWN ANALYSIS IN LONG POSTS❗❗ENGAGE❗❗ INTERACT❗❗ BUILD A COMMUNITY ❗❗

While people don't work for engagement, it certainly doesn't do any harm..

[lobo-inu]

my cats so fuckin ugly she looks like the oblivion khajiit

[lemonfizzyy]

Another HC of mine is that Dick used joint naps as a sort of time-out for Damian since it both reinforced trust and got the kid to take a break. At first it worked as an actual punishment, because it was pretty much Damian watching Dick sleep for an hour... until Damian started to really trust Dick.

Damian has grown to love required naptime; Napping With Papa is his favorite activity now and, of course, his brain dictates Dick can never know this, so he never asks to take a nap and instead strategically acts out until Dick makes him take a nap.

Damian: "-and that is reason number twenty-four why I should be allowed to inflict bodily harm on whomever I choose. Reason number twenty five is-"

Dick: "Wow okay, I didn't know you could be this annoying."

Damian, snapping: "Do not interrupt me!"

Dick: "What has you so cranky anyway? Did you get much sleep?"

Damian, perking up: "My sleep has nothing to do with this."

Dick: "Yeah, no, it sounds like you need some sleep. Let's take a nap."

Damian, flatly: "Drat. I hate this."

Also Damian: "Just to be clear, are we using your room or mine? I'd prefer yours because the scent of your shampoo has rubbed off on the pillows and I think it has a calming effect on me. We will do your room. I will bring my Robin blanket, I think it has a calming effect on me as well. Also please hum when we are napping, it makes me feel like a kitten, not that the feeling is good. It's just a thing... A thing I have not felt since I was three years old if I recall."

Dick:

Dick: "...Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling you like taking naps with me."

Damian: "You are incorrect in that notion, I do not care for the practice." *Latches onto Dick's sleeve and starts dragging him upstairs* "Now can we please take a nap already? This was your idea after all!"

Damian, bundled in his Robin blanket, cradled by Dick: "...This is the worst. I love you."

Dick: "What was that?"

Damian: "Nothing. You're hearing things... I love you."

Dick:

Damian:

Dick: "...I love you too, kiddo."

Damian, eyes wet: "I don't recall asking."

[blended-ice]

Sure hope a god doesn’t come around and punish him for his hubris

[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.

[cod-bin]

obsessively domestic simon headcanons

-he sleeps better when you’re touching. doesn’t matter how—your ankle resting on his, your fingers tangled, your whole body draped over him like a blanket—if you’re not touching, he won’t sleep. just lies there, blinking into the dark.

-he never says “i love you” the same way twice. sometimes it’s “text me when you get home.” sometimes it’s “eat something.” sometimes it’s him holding your wrist a little too tight before he lets you walk away.

-every time you wear his hoodie, he watches you like it’s the first time. like he forgot how good it looks on you. he doesn’t say anything. just tilts his head a little. maybe bites the inside of his cheek.

-he always smells like smoke, metal, and your shampoo. he uses it when you’re not looking. swears he doesn’t. but his side of the pillow always smells like you. it’s better than that shitty 7-in-1 anyways.

-he’s terrifyingly quiet when he’s angry. except with you. with you, he talks. not loud. but honest. “that scared the hell out of me.” “don’t do that again.” “i can’t lose you.”

-he doesn’t take pictures, but he has so many of you. little ones. secret ones. blurry and off-center. your hand on his thigh. your silhouette in the kitchen. your laugh mid-bite. he looks at them when he misses home.

-sometimes he just stares at you mid—conversation, like he forgot everything you were saying because your face is doing something soft. like smiling, or existing.

-when you’re sick, he’s unbearable. no one else can take care of you right. he brings you water, meds, hot tea, his hoodie, five blankets, a knife, and a death glare for anyone who even breathes near you.

-he gets shy after sex. not during—he’s dangerous during—but after, when you’re in his arms and breathing hard, he gets quiet. almost sweet. brushing hair from your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

-he doesn’t say “forever.” but when he fixes the cabinet in your bathroom without asking? when he memorizes your coffee order? when he adds your birthdate to every form he fills out? that’s him saying it.

I LOVE WRITING THESE

☆taglist☆

@little-mini-me-world @eremika104 @trixilove257 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lostintransist @avgdestitute @h0lydrag0ns @poshestpigeon @fertilise-me

join taglist in bio

[angel-fruitcake]

yeah there is no peace and we are not done as long as the official supernatural youtube admin has anything to say about it

[dead-flight]

simon "i don't get sick" riley kissing you when you're sick because kisses make everything better!

simon "i don't get sick" riley showing up on base with a runny nose and sneezing in between his commands!! + sergeant soap mactavish who can't take him seriously at all because of it...

simon "i don't get sick" riley being forced to take the day off by price, who decides he's had enough of the lieutenant's voice cracks and sparse coughing.

simon "i don't get sick" riley getting embarrassed because you're trying to coddle him into a bath, but silently enjoying how you brush your fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead.

simon "i don't get sick" riley passing out on the couch beside you, his head on your stomach, nose red from all his sniffling as he hugs to his chest one of the couch pillows!!

simon "i don't get sick" riley turning into the biggest baby once you offer him cough meds. it tastes bad! he'll get over his sickness really soon, so he doesn't need your stupid medicine!

[chloesimaginationthings]

You know William annoyed them FNAF spirits

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

return to sub level 50

[cakezzz]

Ok so maybe I do ship them

Im so weak…

[snail-day]

It’s surprisingly easy to harass your boyfriend while he’s making his after sex tea. He's practically begging for it, with how his loose dark sweatpants hang low on his hips, and how his broad, scarred chest practically begs to be groped.

You creep up behind him, cold palms sliding shamelessly up the warmth of his bare skin, fingertips brushing over old marks from fighting curses and firm muscle. You give a little squeeze, pressing your cheek against the heat of his back and whispering, "Boobies," with another squeeze to follow your giggle.

A low laugh ripples through him. "Pecs, baby," Suguru drawls, voice thick with amusement. You can practically feel the bombastic side-eye he’s giving you, even if he doesn’t turn around yet.

Still, you persist, squishing handfuls of him between your fingers, utterly unrepentant. It’s only when his warm hand closes over yours, large and calloused, that he finally turns.

He looks down at you, all sleepy-lidded affection, the ends of his messy dark hair brushing his jaw. His mouth quirks into a lazy smirk as he leans closer, crowding into your space. "Did I not already fuck you silly enough, pretty girl?" he hums, violet eyes scanning your face. "Mmm? Need me to carry you back to bed and make sure you don't even have thoughts left in that pretty little head?"

You giggle, trying to tug your hand free, but Suguru’s already lacing his long fingers with yours, tightening just enough to make you stumble into his chest.

He dips his head, brushing a kiss to your forehead with aching tenderness, the tip of his nose nuzzling lightly against your hairline. "Silly girl," he murmurs, the words almost a purr, thick with a edge of fondness. His free arm loops loosely around your waist, trapping you there against his chest, enveloping you in his warmth.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," he adds, mouth curling against your temple as he presses another kiss there. "Otherwise, I'd have no mercy."