#games I wrote

[smallredrobin13games]

Horse and Rider is now live!

Fancy a 2-player game about a horse and the person that’s trying to tame it? Well do I have the game for you!

Check it out here: https://crowdfundr.com/Horse-Rider

[spyres]

[aftgscenes]

It’s so funny going from Neil’s asexual pov to jeans definitely NOT asexual pov

Neil: Kevin is tall and has a tattoo

Jean: pretty boy with a soft smile and beautiful green eyes

Neil: Renee is a women and has hair

Jean: a force of hope and beauty, an anomaly in a world that’s ugly and bleak. She is the sun.

Neil: Jeremy is the captain of the Trojans and he smiles a lot for some reason

Jean: his bleach blonde hair frames his tanned freckled skin, his broad shoulders and tiny waist give way to his thicc thighs and ass

But also the reverse

Neil: Andrews strong unwavering frame and honey colored eyes

Jean: the tiny goalkeeper

[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.

[k0nstanta]

>MEOW

Play as a robot catgirl named K0tya who is trying to help her Master locate the missing lab rats (ignore the fact that said Master's forgetfulness is the reason they are missing in the first place).

Explore the research facility that you live in and find those missing critters before the morning shift starts, or your Master gets in trouble.

Contains swearing and suggestive language.

Made in RPG Maker 2003.

>>> DOWNLOAD HERE <<<

[housederiva]

Another win for Dragon Age for not making me go through a quick time water level

[aslyran]

Visions

[linkedin-offficial]

youll never guess where ive been

[shinynewmemories]

Listen to me Suzanne Collins did not have to give Katniss and Peeta a history before the games. She did NOT have to do that. She could have just had their story begin when Peeta's name was called. She could have had them be total strangers until the moment of the reaping.

Like: "And the boy tribute is... Peeta Mellark!" Katniss: Who's that? Or she could have made them vaguely familiar with each other! Peeta's name is called and Katniss just thinks, Oh, I know that name! He's in my class, actually. Poor boy... Anyway!

Either way, SC could have written the rest of the story exactly the same! I think many authors would have done that! Because if Peeta's purpose in the book was to be Gale's competition, to be one of the 3 corners of a love triangle, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE WAY TO DO IT!! But that's NOT how she did it because that's NOT what Peeta is.

And who is he? To Katniss, Peeta's someone who saved her and her family and received nothing in return except a beating. Peeta's someone she has had her eye on but has never worked up the courage to talk to. Peeta's someone she associates with kindness and hope. And all this before the start of the events of the book! Just because WE, the READERS, met Gale before Peeta and immediately felt a connection with him does NOT mean that was Katniss's experience! And that's what SC is trying to tell us!

To dismiss Katniss and Peeta's past as unimportant or inconsequential compared to whatever Katniss and Gale have in the present is to fundamentally misunderstand Katniss as a character and, as a result, condemn oneself to never fully understand the choices she makes in the future.

Suzanne Collins wrote it that way on purpose because she had something to say. And no one will ever be able to convince me that something wasn't "It was always going to be Peeta".

[purpleshadow-star]

Rick Riordan and Nora Sakavic are my two favorite authors, and it's so funny because Rick will have a bajillion amazing books out and then be like:

Rick: Hey guys, I thought of some new adventure for the characters to go on, and it seemed fun, so I'm writing three more books!

And then Nora will be MIA for years, only to one day out of the blue be like:

Nora: Hey guys. Jean's ghost wouldn't stop haunting me until I told his story, so you're getting another book.

Nora, later: Hey guys, bad news. The one book has turned into two books, but it'll ONLY be TWO I'm serious.

Nora, even later, months after book 1: Ok guys. Book two at the end of the year. Don't ask about book three's release date, or else I'll literally combust.

It's so funny because we have so much content from Rick, and he just keeps providing us with more because he's just having fun (and we absolutely love it). Meanwhile, while the story is obviously important and means a lot to Nora, she makes it seem like it's getting dragged out of the depths of her soul, and it keeps getting longer against her will.

The dichotomy is hilarious, and I absolutely love them both.

[dipperscavern]

stark men come with a built in breeding kink send tweet

TWEET RECIEVED. LIKED & REPOSTED.

honestly, it’s genetics i’m afraid. just part of the deal. they can’t help it. you look so pretty when you’re with children, they just wanna give you some of your own :(

growing up and having his mother & father as an example, robb has always wanted a big family. the desire only increased tenfold the first time you laid together (he always finishes inside of you to ensure that happens)

jon doesn’t even know he wants it. not until he’s finally got you in his grasp, and he can’t think about anything else but giving you a child. your belly would be round & swollen and it would be all because of him.

cregan can’t help it. every time you’re around kids, the thought invades his mind. you, with little wolf pups growing in your belly (he grows hard at the thought). you see his expression grow distant, as he no doubt imagines little chunky toddlers running around winterfell. they’d have your eyes.

[morverenmaybewrites]

wait r we allowed to send these in for characters u write for? :o

cuz i’m curious abt this one “What freaks them out the most in a relationship?” for jason

Yes, please do!

"What freaks them out most in a relationship?"| Jason Todd

Honestly, I think Jason Todd is afraid to love again, simply because of the way he loves. He tends to love wholeheartedly, without reservation, often to the point of self-destruction.

Remember that this is the man who endured at least six months worth of torture just so he wouldn't betray his father. Not a lot of people are capable of that sort of loyalty. 

To add insult to injury, it's very likely that he never got to experience any sort of positive reinforcement when it comes to loving a person.

In my Arkham fanfics, Jason's father was an abusive drunk and his mother was a junkie. While he learned to avoid his father, I'd like to think that he did hold some sort of love for his mother. He tried, in his own way, to take care of her, keep her safe.

He'd put a blanket over her when she was lost in her heroine-dreams, he'd wipe the drool from the side of her mouth, he'd leave stolen food next to her sweat-stained mattress for when she woke up. And all it ever got Jason, I imagine, was an absent-minded sort of affection. Perhaps she'd give him a vague smile, her eyes bloodshot and glassy, as if she wasn’t really seeing him, perhaps she'd ruffle his hair.

And for a long time, he'd think that was love.

Something rare, something small, but something that kept him warm all the same (for East End was a cold place), and he'd sip it like rainwater between his cupped palms, because it was all he'd ever known.

But then he gets adopted, and suddenly his perspective changes. 

Love, he realizes, can be patient. It can be his father Bruce, who somehow never got angry at him during those early days, when hope had warmed the inside of his chest like a swallowed star.

Love can be easy, he learns. It can be something as simple as Alfred, waiting up for him after a long rainy night, bringing him towels that were somehow always warm. It can be warm soup on the days that he woke up with a sore throat and a fever burning through his skin (and even to this day, he marvels at the idea that in Wayne Manor, food can come so easily--without stealing, without a fight).

But, he'll also tragically learn (or so he thinks) that love has to be earned.

I've always had this idea (and I stand by it) that Bruce did love his kids, deeply. But because of his own issues, he couldn’t love them in a way that they needed to be loved (and isn’t that true of most parents?).

It is the way Bruce never smiled at him when he was Robin. 

It is long nights of training just for a hint of his father’s approval. 

It is the constant comparison to another son, one who is faster, smarter, and better in every way. 

It is the way he thinks–and becomes terrified–that if he doesn’t earn his place in Wayne Manor, if he doesn’t earn his father’s love, he will be back in that cold place in East End where nothing can ever keep him warm again. 

And then Joker happens.

And then Joker happens. 

And no matter how strong he tried to be, how silent, no matter how much he tried to endure. 

He breaks (clean in two, a crack so wide it will never heal, you can trace the fractured seam of him and find the exact place where his heart was broken). 

Even worse, Batman breaks: he leaves Jason for dead (or so he thinks).

And a part of him will always think: is it enough? Was I not enough? 

Was it not enough to endure? To stay silent? To keep his father’s secrets?

Had Jason somehow, through some fault in his won, not done enough to earn being loved, being saved?

(Is he always going to be that small child in East End, and all he will ever know of it are vague smiles through bloodshot, glassy eyes? Was this his punishment for hoping for more? He can drink and drink and it will never be enough, the rainwater will always slip through his palms). 

And then there’s you. 

And at first he thinks it’s easy (as easy as warm soup on days when he’s feeling sick, as easy as a towel after a night in the rain), because you are brave and reckless and you are quite pretty when you smile. And it has been so long since he’s had a friend. 

It’s easy because you’re easy to be with: you read into his silences, you calm him down when he falters and you are braver than he gives you credit for (and there are days when he wishes that you are less brave). 

It is easy until one day, Jason realizes what’s happening and the first thing he thinks is that he can’t go through this again. 

He cannot be that child in East End, who follows his mother for crumbs of her affection like a dog starving for scraps.

He cannot be the boy in the Batcave, practicing over and over just so he’ll finally get to see his father’s smile

He cannot be Robin in Arkham Asylum, with a bullet hole in his chest and a brand burning on his face

And yet, and yet, Jason does not know any other way to love. 

He does not know of any other way it does not end in tragedy (and hurt and pain and betrayal). 

Oh, he is terrified. He thinks he fears you more than any other living thing in Gotham. 

To love you, he thinks, is to give you the chance to destroy him all over again. 

And he can’t, he can’t go through that again. 

(But oh, there are days Jason thinks you will be worth it.). 

[cowboykate]

“i wouldn’t rather do it with anyone else” 🗡️🩸 ✦✧✦✧

(twitter: @cowboy_kate)

@amazingphil @danielhowell

[hubbaslubba]

the ‘lords of fortune make sure we dont take artefacts of cultural importance’ is wild for many reasons but IDK if youve studied even a little bit of a humanities subject like history or archaeology or anthropology (or just thought about it rly) it is easily argued that EVERYTHING they could feasibly be taking is of cultural value

its such a wishy washy statement that appears to flirt with this vague notion that colonialism is bad but doesnt actually decide to engage with this in any deep way. really just salt in the wound given how staggeringly orientalist the depiction of the rivaini and qunari are

i would love if the lords of fortune were presented as a group of people who do plunder things of important cultural value and then actually made the player engage with this idea. it could be a really confronting thing given how ‘looting’ is such a core mechanic of so many games including this one. not saying to get didactic about it but make the player think about something thats v much taken for granted

[pparadiselost]

appetite.

von lycaon x fem reader von lycaon is thoroughly dedicated when it comes to serving his lady. warning(s): nsfw, edging, squirting, slightly possessive von lycaon minors do not interact.

“my lady…,” a deep voice rumbles from between your legs, and a strong force pushes on each of your thighs to keep them from snapping shut, “you’ll make my job very difficult if you don’t cooperate with me.”

if you had even half of your mind still with you, you might have done something about everything happening to you. but there’s only so much of your sanity you can cling to, especially when there’s a handsome wolf on his knees in front of you. his tongue laps greedily at your exposed cunt, the rough texture making your legs tremble uncontrollably as he spreads his love all across your drooling slit and up to your throbbing clit. 

“‘m sorry-!” you choke out, your blown out mind scrambling to form some kind of half-baked apology. “it’s too good- so intense…”

you can see him barely bite back a well-deserved smile of satisfaction at your breathless praise, and his eyebrow quirks slightly. he hums, not bothering to give you a proper response, before his paws are clutching at the meat of your thighs again. you barely stuff down a deep breath through your mouth before he’s making out with your pussy again. your fingers curl helplessly around the table’s edge that von lycaon has you perched on, wrapped completely around his finger as he eats you out like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

you might as well be. he might be well-trained and a gentleman, but he’s still a wolf with an appetite for pretty things like you. and you look like you're having the time of your life too—your eyes are glossy with hazy pleasure, and your body’s already threatening to fall apart at the seams. it’s a job well done for von lycaon, and he likes it. he likes knowing how easily he’s getting you to crumble under his touch and just from his tongue too.

he breathes deeply against your cunt, and a moan gurgles from the back of your throat as he circles your hole. the tip of his tongue presses into you, breaking past the tight ring of muscle. your juices spread against the inside of his mouth, filling his senses with nothing but you. had he been any sloppier of a man, just your scent might have been enough to overwhelm him, but the need to pleasure you and do his duty as he should takes priority in his mind.

he thrusts his tongue slowly into you, making sure to drag the rough texture of the broad of it against your fluttering walls. you throw your head back as your walls clamp down on him, your insides twitching against the intrusion. heat shoots through you like a bullet, and it gnaws on every part of you from inside out. von lycaon has your body playing in the palm of his hand like a puppet, and you’re left at his mercy as he keeps you spread out for his perusal.

he swirls his tongue inside of you, pumping the muscle in and out, expertly imitating the motions of penetrative sex. he’s already reaching so deep inside of you, completely dominating your inner walls. it feels so good, and it’s so hot; your mind feels so hazy and cloudy as you try to make heads or tails of all the sensations flooding through you. hot flashes press against your stomach, your climax threatening to mount every part of you. 

“von lycaon!” you mewl out, toes curling as he repeatedly fucks his tongue into you. the wet sounds of him going down on you reverberate against your ears, and your gut coils in on itself. “ohhhhhhh fuck- fuck, you’re so deep inside me… fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum…!”

you shudder when he yanks his tongue out of you in one fell swoop, only to swirl it around your clit provocatively. despite how gentle and sympathetic he is in his mannerisms, the way he touches you is almost like he’s trying to tease you, like he finds some kind of twisted satisfaction in seeing the way you respond to him. he’s awfully perceptive, and his eyes narrow slightly as he looks up at you.

“such profanities…,” he breathes. your breathing stalls when his tongue laps at his lips. strands of your arousal coat his snout, and you can see his throat visibly bob as he swallows your wetness down. he hums again, the sound akin to that of a happy purr. “and in your sweet voice too. you’ll break my heart, my lady.”

his voice is hushed, deep, and it makes your stomach lurch with need. “‘m sorry- please, i can’t think… felt so good inside me, your tongue felt good inside me.”

“ah?” he nears you again. “would you mind indulging me for a second then? which do you prefer? when i do this-?”

-he leans close to your pussy, and you moan out his name as his tongue delves inside of you again. his tongue swirls around your insides, and he toys with your arousal. you’re practically leaking on his tongue, struggling against his tight grip on your thighs as you desperately buck your hips into his mouth. he’s stretching you out on his tongue again, fucking deep into you and leaving you breathless and crying out. 

just when you’re starting to get used to having him buried inside of you again, he pulls away from you with an affectionately wolf-like smile on his handsome face. “-or when i do this?”

you blink up numbly at him before he latches onto your clit. you grit your teeth together, clenching your jaw as he flicks the tip of his tongue over your swollen nub. he keeps attacking your clit without a moment for you to regain your stream of consciousness, plunging you relentlessly into another cycle of heat and electricity clawing at your skin. your senses are working overtime to keep up with the way he stimulates your clit. his sharp teeth ghosts over your engorged bud, only to soothe it over with a sticky kiss and pressing it fully against the broad of his tongue.

there’s a second pulse building dangerously inside of your gut, the tightness welling up and feeling as if it’s going to suffocate you from the inside out. you’re really not going to last too long with him teasing you like this, alternating his technique as if he isn’t doing this just to watch you fall apart on his long tongue. he’s so attentive, so keen and sharp-witted, and everything he does is to ensure nothing but the utmost pleasure to you.

“i-i don’t know-,” you slur out, your brain hazing over. he hums against your cunt, alternating quickly between showering your clit with attention versus stretching you out on his tongue. it’s too much to keep up with, feeling him attacking your g-spot inside of you to torturing your sensitive bud, and you’re shaking under his touch. “von lycaon, i can’t take it- can’t take much more, it’s too much!”

“my, such an impatient lady… is it so wrong of me to want to take my time with you?” he swallows down more of your slick, sighing blissfully as if he can’t get enough of your taste. he really can’t, not when he’s enjoying the sight in front of him this much. a pristinely pretty girl, reduced to a thoughtless trembling mess, all because he decided to have a taste? all of this was more of a reward to the wolf than it was duty, but your pleasure always came before everything else.

“you’re edging me-,” you gasp out as if he’s hurting you. “you’re going to edge me.”

“and you’re going to take it for me. won’t you be good for me?” he’s messing with the pulsing inside of your stomach. every time your walls twitched just too much or your voice got too panicked, he’d slow his pace down, and you’d be left to helplessly bury your fingers into his fur and try to grind down more of your glistening cunt against his mouth. it’s unfair that he can do this to you without batting an eye, but you can’t do anything other than to cry out. 

your begging is such a delightfully melodic sound to the starved wolf, but it falls on deaf ears. he’s intent on making you feel good, but you’re going to have to abide by his rhythm.

“oh fuck- wanna cum- please- don’t tease me like this…!” you’re crying and squirming, and the whole thing just feels so good. you’re melting away like nothing under his touches, and your whole body’s being consumed and eaten from the inside out by the stiflingly hot pleasure. he expertly swirls his tongue against you the way you like it best only to pull away when you need it most, and the satisfied glimmer in his narrowed eyes tells you everything you need to know without a single word from him.

“tell me then,” he whispers after what feels like an eternity of being edged and brought to the brink, over and over again only to be met with crushing disappointment. your womb pulses almost painfully inside of you with how much your climax has been built up to be denied, empty and tight and so sensitive to even the smallest of touches from the wolf. he kisses your clit chastely, the touch sticky and so pure despite the absolutely obscenity before him. “who was it that took care of you tonight? who was it that held you so dearly and worshiped you? who was it that made you feel so good that you let go of all of your pride as a dear patron of victoria housekeeping?”

it’s shallow, he knows that, but the possessive part inside of him that loves seeing you reduced to this sniffling mess of skin and bones, captive to everything he has to give you, revels in your fall. your voice is so weak and hoarse, yet the desperation that drips from him only makes him want to push you until you break.

but no, von lycaon is a gentleman with a purpose. he’s kind, only if it means you’ll come crawling right back to him. maybe it’s like a master plan, but he likes to think of it as a form of love.

you blink through the tears clumping up at your waterline, hot and threatening to fall onto your unmarred face. you don’t need to be told twice: the firm edge to the wolf’s voice is enough to cling to. “it’s you- it’s always you! please, von lycaon, i can’t take this anymore…! let me cum, let me cum, please! you’re the only one that makes me feel good- you’re all i need-”

your senseless, sex-drunk babbling has his heart feeling warm. he likes it when you tug impatiently at the fur on his head, the gray hairs like in between against your knuckles. he thinks there isn’t a more perfect lady for him to serve, and he’s sure to come running at a moment’s notice if you need someone to quell your loneliness again. he’s a devoted servant, a compassionate gentleman, and an unforgiving lover.

“good, good,” he purrs, and you shudder when his tongue laps at your drenched and abused hole. “i had faith that you would remember, but i want to make sure you would never forget. after all, i am your dedicated personal attendant, aren’t i? i want nothing but the best for my lady, and that means being the one at your side closer than anyone else. surely you understand?”

“yes- yes, of course- all yours, von lycaon!” you nod feverishly. heat blooms in your core like a repeated strain, and you groan. he’s at it again, rubbing circles into your clit with his deft fingers and fucking you out on his tongue. your insides keep rubbing up against him, clamping down on the wet muscle as if they’re starved of any and all stimulation, dragging your poor battered body back to the precipice like you’re addicted fiend you can’t seem to get enough.  

it doesn’t take much for you to fall apart. you’re already so sensitive, wound up and ready for him like a pretty doll hidden inside of a music box, the perfect vision of ecstasy for von lycaon’s hungry eyes. you cum all over his mouth with a strangled cry, and his big fingers keep pressing and circling your clit. you’re not just cumming for him: you can feel something warm and wet gush from between your thighs, but all you can register is just how good it feels for the heat and the tightness in your stomach to finally, finally release.

you can’t fully form any coherent words, only broken sobs and cries. pleasure consumes you wholly, enveloping you like a starved monster. you’re only vaguely aware that you squirted all over his face because something feels different. your body feels lighter, happier, like there’s cotton stuffed in your ears and something akin to an otherworldly bliss makes your limbs feel like they’ve turned into dust. you’re melting away as von lycaon drinks up the sight of your fucked out face, obscured with mind-blowing pleasure all because of something he did. 

your thighs are drenched, and so is the lower half of his face. he eats up your juices like he had been without question this entire time, but knowing that he made you feel so good that you ended up squirting makes you taste different in his mouth. there’s a sticky sweetness that clings to the inside of his mouth, and while he might have had his fill for now, the wolf knows that he’s going to be craving that taste again very soon. your legs shake uncontrollably around his head, and you’re practically collapsed against the table. you look almost happy with your eyes glossed over and sweat beading like pearls on your forehead. 

it’s a job well done for him. he takes just a breath’s amount of time to admire his handiwork, just how easily he can make your body succumb to him with some practice and patience. it’s good knowledge, knowledge that he’s bound to keep tucked away somewhere deep inside of his heart.

but his task is far from over. he’s going to clean you up and wish you a good night before disappearing, the line between love and duty a thin but far one. if it’s any consolation to him though, he knows that you’ll call victoria housekeeping within a few weeks again, with that pitifully lonely tinge to your voice as you politely request him to come keep you company for a little while. and each time, he’s going to show up at your door with a disarmingly saccharine smile. it’s a song and dance that has no end, but if this is the best way for him to get closer to his beloved lady, then von lycaon can learn to enjoy it as much as you do.

you’re always the first to give in, and with time, the wolf is sure that’ll remain true in the long run.

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[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A fierce duel commences!