H-h-hey.. senpai… I was wondering if you could make more about Mr Crawling! (I LOVEDDD YOUR PREVIOUS FAN FIC ABT HIM) because he’s such a cutie tbh and I love him sm so I was wondering maybe if you could make something about how he would react to the reader spending more time with someone else (coworker preferably!)
Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to do this..!
(Can I be 🦁 anon?)
the jealous type!
His face scrunches. “Not you… smell bad. Someone else.”
‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ omg my first anon >.< ofc u can be 🦁 anon!!!!
warnings. more fluff/comfort hehe, spoilers for end04
It’s late when you return home. If it was any other day, you’d be scheming around the streets with your crowbar- but life is different now.
You have a commitment at home. Your new roommate… boyfriend? thing. It’s almost as routine as having a pet; coming home, giving him a pat on the head, giving him his completely normal legally obtained soup and ending the day snuggled up on the sofa with him at your feet.
Sure, he’s the one who came with you all the way from that other world and didn’t have any friends here, but does that mean you can’t? It’s not like you could bring Mr. Crawling with you to work, or after work drinks with your coworkers. Normal people can still see him, after all. He’s just… a little hard for other people to notice- you picked up on that when your parents dropped by on an impromptu visit one evening.
When you kick your shoes off when you come in through the front door, you feel guilty. You can tell he’s a bit down- of course, Mr. Crawling still tackled greeted you with his overzealous, unnecessarily over the top hug.
“You return!” he says, every time without fail.
“I return,” you reply, petting his head, but something feels off. He doesn’t let go immediately, and his usual enthusiasm is muted.
Mr. Crawling pauses, his face stuffed into your neck. You quirk a brow, curiously eyeing him as he takes a big sniff of your skin and clothes. His face scrunches. “Not you… smell bad. Someone else.”
Is he the jealous type? Wow, and since when was his sense of smell so good?
“You can smell my friend?” you blink at him, cringing as you feel a knot in your stomach. You try to explain, “Uhm… someone else… uhhhh… my friend.”
“Other friend?” Mr. Crawling frowns, sitting back on his feet, the space between you growing slightly colder.
You pull yourself up from the floor, careful to meet his uncertain gaze. “Other friend,” you confirm.
“Friend… same me?”
You sigh, wishing this language was more descriptive. It’s hard to explain something so complex when neither of you really understands it fully. You tap your fingers nervously against your leg, thinking. “I don’t understand…” you sigh, the weight of the misunderstanding settling on you. “They’re human.”
Mr. Crawling’s frown only grows deeper. He shakes his head, and scoots himself closer to you. He wraps his arms around your waist, his hair falling over the both of you as if trying to shield you from everything outside of your house. “Friend like this?”
Resting your head on his shoulder, you let out a content sigh. “Not like this, Crawling.”
“You one. You me two. Not like three.” His grip tightens around you, pulling you as close as he possibly can, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Me like you. Worry… not like me. Gone long time… Smell someone else.”
You pull back slightly, feeling the pressure of his arms around you. He’s not just possessive, he’s scared. You stretch your arms out. “Like you. Big like. See? This much!” You hold your hands closer together, parallel to each other. “Friend ok. Little like. Understand?”
You chuckle lightly, but the soft pang in your chest makes you pause. “You get it now, Crawling?” you mumble. You reach up and scratch his head absently, a familiar gesture that seems to soothe both of you. “Uhm… when I leave, I go to work. You know work, right?” He nuzzles into your palm, and you just assume he does, for the time being. “Work friend! Not important. You important. You, uh… you understand me?”
“Me understand,” he murmurs into your palm, his cool lips tickling the skin. “Smell bad… Me only like you. You smell good."
"I know you like me, Crawling. I like you, too."
He lets out a satisfied hum, his body relaxing again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s truly getting it—or if he just likes the idea of being yours as much as you like the idea of him being yours. He pulls your head closer to his chest, and that’s when you decide you don’t really need to build rapport with your coworkers that much, not when you have a cute ghost waiting for you back at home.
what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?
‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.
warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17
Mr. Crawling is kind.
Mr. Crawling is sweet.
Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.
Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.
He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit.
Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue.
The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.
“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work. “Why can’t you stand?”
Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.
“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least.
You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor.
“You want me stand?”
“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet.
“You like me?”
You nod.
“Me like you!”
Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.
You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!
“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress.
“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you.
“Me watch you.”
Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?
His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.
It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.
What the hell? That wasn’t like him.
You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too.
He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him.
“C-Crawling?” you stammer.
Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.
He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.
“You awake!”
You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?
His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.
“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”
Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.
“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.
Are you scared of me?
“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?”
“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.
He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?
“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”
“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.
You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”
There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.
“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.
You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.
“Want eat… you rest.”
You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.
Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.
You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.
He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.
It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.
What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk?
So... I have no idea how to use Tumblr to write fics But. Consider this my trial before it goes down :3
CONTENTS: (1) mentions & descriptions of murder, (2) kissing
Disclaimer: the part about MC being an assassin is just a hc I came up with. There are spoilers under the cut, though (at least I think I put the cut, idk tho)
So hear me out. Idk if anyone did this yet, but listen: after bringing your sweetheart (Mr. Crawling, obviously) to the real world, things went back to normal. Sort of. You were never really normal to begin with.
********
You went back to your old job, hacking and killing, keeping the bills steady with commissions, yada yada. Corporate worker on weekdays, but at night and on weekends, you're a highly sought out eliminator.
This busy schedule didn't sit right for Mr. Crawling, though. Every time you came back, you noticed that he sat before the door, already waiting for you to twist the knob and push. You installed cameras to try to keep your eyes on what he did, only to find out that if his presence was caught on camera, the film would glitch and blur and static would pepper across your screen. Still, you were able to decipher what he did through the choppy feed.
He stood his ground in front of the door with that small, anticipating grin on his grey face. Your heart ached at the sight, cooing aloud right in front of your victim before you slammed your crowbar into their skull.
That's when you realised you didn't like leaving him for hours on end. You didn't want to make him wait like that.
An idea sparked in your head when you were getting ready for your morning job. Mr. Crawling was still lying on his spot next to yours on your shared bed. You couldn't tell if he was sleeping or spacing out. Did he even need sleep?
You shrugged that thought off and quietly tip-toed your way into your living room. You switched on the TV—which you never used until now—and left the volume at a moderate level before leaving for work.
Truly enough, the sweetheart confusedly crawled over to sit at the front of the screen, watching the rom-com show that just got aired.
You smiled, leaving the monitoring app as you sipped from your favourite morning tea. You checked in on him around every five hours, and he never moved from his spot, not until you were already at your front door, though. The humanoid man seemed to hit a realization and crawled to the front door once again. It's like he already knew when you usually arrived.
He just sat there with that same thin smile on his face, waiting for your return. If he had a tail, it'd be swaying slowly. Patient and hopeful, like a dog.
You pushed the door open, and his chipper laughter rang through the air.
"You home! You home!"
He pushed a chuckle out of your lips, embracing you by the hips as you locked your front door with shaky hands due to his movement.
"Home, home," you nodded, sighing, yet you still smiled. "Hungry? Want eat?"
He giggled again, his smile practically cutting from ear to ear.
You served him his red soup—it wasn't tomatoes, but it was the chunks and blood of your victim last night.
"You enjoy?" You asked, leaning on your palm as you watched him eat. "Thing," you pointed at the TV in the nearby room. "Thing fun?"
Mr. Crawling wiped the leftover soup from his lips, pitch black tongue licking over where the blood was on his hand.
"Thing fun," he agreed. "You more fun. Many more."
You laughed. Thank goodness for all the language lessons you took on his dialect because these little gems that left his cold lips would've flown last your head.
Suddenly, Mr. Crawling paused.
"Want... try something."
"Try?" You tilted your head in confusion, and he mirrored your expression as you uttered a word in English. "More eat? Eat another?"
He giggled. "No!"
Your brows knitted together, and your lips pursed as you pondered. "Try what?"
Mr. Crawling crawled around the chabudai table, already hovering over your lap. His lips formed that same loveable (and slightly uncanny) smile. "You, me..." he gestured between you two with one hand. You nodded along, hoping to understand. "Me, you," you said.
He gestured again. "Not the same. Me, you, different. I saw other—other like you," he pointed at the TV. "Saw many like you. They say love, but they not show. Why?"
"...?" You had to process that for a second. Lengthy sentences in his language were harder to decode. "Er... um," you sighed. "They not ready? Love big, but they know small."
He watched you expectantly, so you continued.
"Uh... love big. Yes. Many meaning. Few word, few say."
"You love me?"
This was a question you got daily. It didn't hurt to answer repetively, but now that you thought of it....
Your hesitation made Mr. Crawling shrink back, his smile slowly turning into pouting.
"No no," you quickly added. "Me love you. You kind. You rescue."
He perked up, his joy bouncing right back. "Me love you!" He chirped.
You sighed, but your breath of relief didn't last long. He took you by the chin, his cold and calloused hands as gentle as he always was, and he poked his lips against yours in a brief kiss.
.
.
.
"You cute," he giggled, and you realised your face went red. "Cute, cute."
"Where did you learn to do that?" You blurted out, confusion and fluttering shyness grasping your stomach like a ruthless vine. "I mean—" you snapped out of it, seeing his confusion. "—how... how you know... do that?"
He pointed at the TV again. "Saw many like you. Say they love they, then they do!"
.
.
.
He saw people kiss?
"You—"
He kissed you again. Did it even count as a kiss? It was more like tapping lips together than a kiss.
"Cute!" He chirped and kissed you again. It didn't take much for you to know that he was pleased with your reddened cheeks and wanted to see it over and over. You counted twenty times before you stopped him, which made him frown.
"I teach," you sighed, your shyness wearing off. He practically bounced at your words. "I teach you how. My language, I call 'kiss'."
He tilted his head.
You said it again. "Kiss."
"....Ck...ck..."
"Kiss." You nodded.
"Ki...iss?"
You patted his head in approval. "Kiss."
He giggled. "Kiss! Kiss! Me kiss you!"
You couldn't help but laugh. "I teach you how. Don't move."
He didn't.
When you leaned in for a kiss, he stiffened, but he didn't move away. You held his hands and brought them to your waist, and then you held the sides of his head, pressing on.
You didn't take it too far, no—he wasn't really ready for English yet, let alone French if you know what I mean.
"....Me kiss you," you said.
It was almost as if steam was blowing out of his ears. The place around his cheeks darkened into a deeper grey, and you laughed. Before you could comment, however, he pounced at the chance to kiss you again before you changed your mind.
********
Erm so this was kinda ass LMAO
It's just practice anyway 😞 didn't proofread either so I guess that'll be my bad when I wake up tomorrow to see a bajillion of mistakes