cw. yoru is horny horny horny, fem! reader, big cock neuvi, i wrote this in three minutes i was starving, rough fucking with our daddy neuvillette <3
neuvillette can easily determine on how you're feeling whenever he pleasures you— yet only because he's fucking you just the way you wanted it, always making sure that it's all perfect with his cock warm and snug against your clamping walls and throbbing until it brings you to helpless tears.
whenever neuvillette fucks you— you're way too drunk on his cock to properly revel in the perfection on how he's doing it.
it's because he reaches so deep and teases your pleasure spots until your thighs violently clamp around his hips, fuck— you're so desperate to cum you just want to rub your clit and pinch it hard, until it made your orgasm show up much quicker and faster.
your stomach twists and turns as he pulls you into his dripping erection— he's big, bigger than your little hole was able to take as he towers above you, slowly moving closer until you can feel his warm breath plane over your lips.
your bodies are one, sticking together with dried-up sweat and your oozing arousal, his hips never faltering in repeatedly rocking his cock into you when his lips began to run across your jawline to nibble on the skin, the lusting and quick bounces of flesh thumping in your ears each time he thrusts up.
ah, well— the hydro dragon's stamina was truly outstanding, and the arousing echoes of slap, slap, slap, of your wet cunt filthily milking him was bringing a burning ache on your hole, his base all milked and soaked, making your eyes roll back.
please don‘t send me asks with mentioning other users or accusing them of things just to stirr up drama. you need help, this behavior isn‘t normal. jealousy on here is so crazy, it‘s a strong trait yes but at least try to ignore it or work on it, how can you be so cruel just because you hate yourself? especially when none of us creators get anything from this site, we‘re just writing and interacting and honestly, you should work on your self hatred, your real life, find hobbies, go outside, a platform such as tumblr is never that deep.
could i request some cute sleepy sex with childe.. sleepy sex is all that’s on my mind rn i’m having the biggest brain rot
I took this and ran in the complete opposite direction and for that I apologize. Kind of became its own full thing, so woohoo. Sorry again for totally not following what you asked for haha, if it makes you feel better there is something in the near future including non-angsty childe sleepy sex
it was too soon (when that part of you was ripped away) PART 1 of 2
nsfw!!! mdni!!! childe x gn!reader
an attempt at angst (so sorry), hurt/comfort (partial comfort?), sleepy sex
You’re partially awake when he comes home, registering the quiet footsteps throughout your home, the distant sound of the shower running, the rustle of fabric in your bedroom. The blankets move and for a moment your back is exposed to cool air, before the mattress dips and he’s pressed up against you, solid and comforting.
“Are you awake?”
You huff. “No.”
He laughs, soft and beautiful, his breath puffing out and ticking the skin on your neck. You prepare to wiggle away from him, but you’re sluggish with exhaustion and don’t feel like moving. Plus, his lips press to that same spot on your neck, and his pestering you while you’re trying to sleep doesn’t seem so bad (you never really minded in the first place, anyway).
“You’re not going to turn around and face me?” If you were more awake you would, because you’d be rewarded with the sight of his face, illuminated by the faint moonlight glittering through the window—his hair was wet still, probably, darker from the water and pushed back out of his face—would his freckles be visible, lit up like stars and constellations, mirroring that of the night sky?
He would kiss you if you were facing him, pushing his lips against yours, molding them to fit perfectly to yours. He’d kiss you until you had no breath left, and when you pull away, he’d start kissing you again before you’d even caught your breath.
“I’m tired,” you refuse, even if the idea is appealing. You loved to kiss him, to feel him real and alive against you. Shouldn’t he be the one moving to face you? He probably knows that you’re thinking exactly that, because you can feel him smiling against you.
“That’s alright, baby.” You can sense him above you, and for a minute you think he’s going to lean all the way over to capture your lips, but he presses them against your cheek instead.
He settles back against you, supposedly going to sleep, until his hands make their way down your body and brush against your upper thigh. “Is this okay?” When you hum in response, he touches you, working you up until he can push into you. There isn’t any force or power—it will be one of those nights, where he rolls into you and the two of you are quietly breathing and moaning and for a while you are one. You liked those nights, where there was nothing to prove or say. The love always reverberated, filling the room until it was overwhelming.
It’s leisurely, a slow enough pace that you could fall back asleep. But it was pleasant, constant pressure that built ever so slowly until you were both gasping against each other and the sheets. He touches you, caressing you, feeling you like it was the last time he’d be able to.
The two of you are back to front, his chest pressed right up against your back. He grinds into you from behind, rubbing your insides in a way that has you whimpering, limp while he does all the work. It is faint but you can hear it, the noise of wet sliding, a subtle squelching each time he rolls into you a certain way. Neither of you speak, but you don’t need to, too drained to do anything but the unhurried push and pull, taking from each other what you both wanted.
His movements feel heavy, like it was taking up all his energy, and you realize that he was probably just as exhausted as you, having been away for a work trip the past week. Your heart swells painfully in your chest, big enough to burst. How much sleep had he gotten while he was away?
If only there was a way to keep him here, to keep him away from the dangers that he so willingly throws himself into. You know it would be wrong, like trapping a bird in a cage, clipping its wings and preventing it from flying. It’s impossible to keep Childe away from his line of work. He needed it the way you needed him, desperate and endless—to take him out of work would be equivalent to taking part of him away. He’d already been ripped apart all those years ago, when the ground had swallowed him whole. He clawed his way out and put himself back together the only way he knew how, forever different, tainted with some dark shadow that hung over him like storm clouds. There would be no changing him, no taking him apart and putting him back together, no carefully cutting that darkness away from the rest of his being—that was just who he was, now.
Suddenly you feel devastated. Before you really register it and can stop it, you’re crying. Tears overflow like a pot of boiling water. You hiccup and sob, and him touching your face, feeling the tears and trying to wipe them just makes you cry harder.
“Please don’t cry.”
You’re more awake than you’ve been this whole time, but you can’t see him through hazy, tear-filled eyes. He is there, though, in front of you now, apologetic and sad while you clutch him with shaking hands.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”
You want to be angry, but your anger died out to smolders and then ash long ago. There were only cold coals now, leaving you subdued. You wouldn’t scream or yell or beg him—you would not even ask. You have not cried about this since the beginning, when he’d come home bruised and banged up, acting like nothing was off at all. He had that look in his eyes, dull and lifeless but crazed—this was who he was. You loved him dearly despite tracking bloody footsteps through your house, and you loved him now. You loved him, but you feared for him, and what would one day become of him from following this path.
He comforts you until the tears have soaked your pillow and your cheeks were dried, placing light kisses over your eyelids, on your cheeks, your forehead, and your lips. Only when you finally fall asleep does he kiss you again, long and slow, whispering a final “I’m sorry” to your sleeping face.
Tomorrow, you’d wake up and he may be there, beside you in bed, looking more peaceful asleep than he’d ever look when awake. He’d wake up after you, allowing you time to drink in his presence, absorb it like rays of the sun. You would share a morning together, having breakfast and then falling back into bed, more desperate and carnal than the night before. In a perfect world, he’d stay for multiple days, and you’d have a schedule involving him, him, him. But this was not your dreams, and definitely not a perfect world.
More than likely, he’ll be gone before you wake, and it will seem like he had never come back at all. There will be no trace of him, the first aid kit in its place under your bathroom sink, none of his dirty, bloodied clothing in the laundry, no sign of the shower being used to wash away the grime of a long journey. He’d left no marks on you, not even a single hickey blooming on your skin to show you he’d been there with you. He was a ghost, and you would not see him until another night when you expected him least.
having thots…..of cockwarming puppy luc……perhaps as a punishment…..
so sorry for this, it is not great but i wanted to post something and i've been eyeing up this ask since it was first sent to me </3
if there are mistakes i am sorry
nsfw!!! puppyboy!diluc x gn!reader
cockwarming, "punishments", diluc has ears and a tail and is referred to as a "hybrid" once, PUPPY DILUC
It was a little cruel, maybe. The tight crushing heat, enveloping him in a warm, wet cocoon that set his body temperature perilously high—gods, he wouldn’t accidentally set anything on fire, would he? He always feels like he has no control over himself when he’s with you, brain gone haywire like a computer being reprogrammed; or worse, like a virus, taking over the entire system and destroying everything, devolving until all that was left was you.
He’s impatient, always in haste to get moving, to get off. You were surprised he’s lasted as long as he had. Usually, he would be ceaseless in his squirming and whining, asking you over and over if he could have you the way he wanted. Today, he seemed caught up in the current situation, sitting hard and still beneath you, not speaking until you deliberately shifted atop him, jostling him inside slightly.
“Please,” he begs, “let me.”
“Not yet, Diluc.”
The tone of his voice twists into something frustrated, hands balling into fists, kept uselessly by his sides. You warned him when this had begun, a tsked “no touching” when he’d try to mold his hands against the smooth curve of your body. As touchy as he was, you note his restraint in not lifting his hands above his thighs, and mentally praise him, almost going to press your own hand against his face, touch his soft ears atop his head, and tell him how good he was being—no, there would be another time for that.
Still, you can’t help but admire him. His obedience was something you reveled in; knowing someone as big and powerful as he is, willing and eager to wait for your permission, work for your rewards, and live for your praise. He could overpower you quite easily, if he wanted to. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last, but despite this piece of information you are both aware of, he chooses not to. The need to be good outweighed the limited, finite pleasure he could chase for him. Though he’d been a little slow, mind lagging behind from all the time spent with the constant pressure of you around him and perched atop him, he understands that there would be consequences, ‘worse’ than that which he was being subjected to now. An unsatisfying, incomplete pleasure is more favorable than none at all.
You begin to grow suspicious of him, though, when time ticks sluggishly by and his begging does not evolve into something more desperate. With careful movements you shift again, and you hear it, the hitch in his uneven breath, like a gasp at the unexpected movement. He waits for it, anticipating each subtle gyration and adjustment and meeting it with a small noise. You realize, a little too excitedly for someone dishing out a punishment, that he was even more affected by this than you could have imagined—he would end up coming from this, from you punishing him, cockwarming him for minutes and minutes and minutes, until time felt endless and the place where the two of you joined together became a fuzzily comfortable sensation. You thought he’d cry, make his sweet, pathetic noises while trying to convince you to let him have his way, but he’d managed a way around it, phasing through the punishment as if it wasn’t one in the first place.
“You’re not supposed to be getting off on this.”
If he does hear, he doesn’t respond, too busy preparing himself for the inevitable fall that he craves so badly. He starts to tense, head tilting back ever so slightly, body arching and growing taught as the pleasure mounted and overwhelmed him. His mouth is parted a bit, just enough for him to pant out hot puffs of air while he struggled to breathe properly, and it entices you, pulling you in until your breaths were mingled. You shouldn’t kiss him, really, not when you’re supposed to be disciplining him—it wouldn’t matter much now, seeing as this is barely a punishment any longer—so you don’t, but you stay close, leaning into his space.
He whimpers a strained “’m g’nna come,” and you know that it’s too late to stop it. Pulling yourself off him would only push him there faster, the side of you slick and stimulating on his sensitive cock after being still for so long.
Despite your plans being foiled, you’re a little awed. With just the sensation from him being inside you, no movement at all, he managed to reach his end easily; almost as easily as if he was fucking you normally. You’re still while you watch it, but decide to lift up a smidge so he can grind up while he works through his slowly built orgasm, letting him have these ending moments to move. As he rides out the waves, filling you to the brim with everything he had to give, you belatedly realize that that you’ve practically rewarded him, let him get away with exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do throughout this. He would never learn at this rate, with the way each punishment turning into a reward for him, a newly developed kink that’d be crossed off the list of potential ideas of acts that could work as a form of discipline.
Hear me out: Kaveh fucking you against the side of the house, he's so desperate and can't wait but Alhaitham's taken his keys again…
cw. semi public, needy kaveh, fem! reader
"i need you now." kaveh wasn‘t silent about his aching hankering concealed by the dark alley right next to his home, "so please— please baby." and a gentle blush— as gentle as a calming breeze, extents over his entire face, the coolness of his scarlet eyes long since gone.
kaveh was feeling impatient and could barely wait to bury his cock inside of you, until fully settled and rubbing at every inch and square of your sloppy walls, so he can brand himself into you.
as far as he was concerned— kaveh appeared to be the complete opposite. you had not seen him like this ever, so eager and pining, both restless and impatient.
he pulls your behind against his bare cock, flexing his muscles with ease, slipping into your panties to pull them aside as he lines himself up, yet not before leaning over just a bit to spit on his tip— spreading the saliva with a deep heave, he draws his length past the tight, wet opening, moaning out heavenly when you engulf around him just right.
"kaveh—" you cry out, chewing on your bottom lip, "what if— fuck! what if someone sees us?"
well, your question was justified, yet more or less ignored of the way that your boyfriend cannot think or register worrisome thoughts right now. his stiffened cock bulges in and out of your slicked up pussy, and kaveh pulls himself so far up against your back, that you were squished in between the cold wall and his warm, clothed body.
you breathe shakily, sweat stricken forehead resting against the cold wall as kaveh unfolded right from behind you, his clammed hands and strong arms curling around your figure for additional stability as he stretches your insides, the fullness of his pulsing cock eliciting a glow from each corner of your eyes, the stimulation you went through wasn't able to be put in words. he was still buried in you, fully enclosed and keeping him plugged up in your pussy.
and you knew that you wanted him to cum inside, reaching your hand behind you to pull his face towards your shoulder, so you could half way turn around and kiss him sloppily, words spoken without a tone, your sweet winces, shudders and squeals blossoming a spreading emotion of pride under his chest as kaveh fucked you through your orgasm.
could i request some cute sleepy sex with childe.. sleepy sex is all that’s on my mind rn i’m having the biggest brain rot
I took this and ran in the complete opposite direction and for that I apologize. Kind of became its own full thing, so woohoo. Sorry again for totally not following what you asked for haha, if it makes you feel better there is something in the near future including non-angsty childe sleepy sex
it was too soon (when that part of you was ripped away) PART 1 of 2
nsfw!!! mdni!!! childe x gn!reader
an attempt at angst (so sorry), hurt/comfort (partial comfort?), sleepy sex
You’re partially awake when he comes home, registering the quiet footsteps throughout your home, the distant sound of the shower running, the rustle of fabric in your bedroom. The blankets move and for a moment your back is exposed to cool air, before the mattress dips and he’s pressed up against you, solid and comforting.
“Are you awake?”
You huff. “No.”
He laughs, soft and beautiful, his breath puffing out and ticking the skin on your neck. You prepare to wiggle away from him, but you’re sluggish with exhaustion and don’t feel like moving. Plus, his lips press to that same spot on your neck, and his pestering you while you’re trying to sleep doesn’t seem so bad (you never really minded in the first place, anyway).
“You’re not going to turn around and face me?” If you were more awake you would, because you’d be rewarded with the sight of his face, illuminated by the faint moonlight glittering through the window—his hair was wet still, probably, darker from the water and pushed back out of his face—would his freckles be visible, lit up like stars and constellations, mirroring that of the night sky?
He would kiss you if you were facing him, pushing his lips against yours, molding them to fit perfectly to yours. He’d kiss you until you had no breath left, and when you pull away, he’d start kissing you again before you’d even caught your breath.
“I’m tired,” you refuse, even if the idea is appealing. You loved to kiss him, to feel him real and alive against you. Shouldn’t he be the one moving to face you? He probably knows that you’re thinking exactly that, because you can feel him smiling against you.
“That’s alright, baby.” You can sense him above you, and for a minute you think he’s going to lean all the way over to capture your lips, but he presses them against your cheek instead.
He settles back against you, supposedly going to sleep, until his hands make their way down your body and brush against your upper thigh. “Is this okay?” When you hum in response, he touches you, working you up until he can push into you. There isn’t any force or power—it will be one of those nights, where he rolls into you and the two of you are quietly breathing and moaning and for a while you are one. You liked those nights, where there was nothing to prove or say. The love always reverberated, filling the room until it was overwhelming.
It’s leisurely, a slow enough pace that you could fall back asleep. But it was pleasant, constant pressure that built ever so slowly until you were both gasping against each other and the sheets. He touches you, caressing you, feeling you like it was the last time he’d be able to.
The two of you are back to front, his chest pressed right up against your back. He grinds into you from behind, rubbing your insides in a way that has you whimpering, limp while he does all the work. It is faint but you can hear it, the noise of wet sliding, a subtle squelching each time he rolls into you a certain way. Neither of you speak, but you don’t need to, too drained to do anything but the unhurried push and pull, taking from each other what you both wanted.
His movements feel heavy, like it was taking up all his energy, and you realize that he was probably just as exhausted as you, having been away for a work trip the past week. Your heart swells painfully in your chest, big enough to burst. How much sleep had he gotten while he was away?
If only there was a way to keep him here, to keep him away from the dangers that he so willingly throws himself into. You know it would be wrong, like trapping a bird in a cage, clipping its wings and preventing it from flying. It’s impossible to keep Childe away from his line of work. He needed it the way you needed him, desperate and endless—to take him out of work would be equivalent to taking part of him away. He’d already been ripped apart all those years ago, when the ground had swallowed him whole. He clawed his way out and put himself back together the only way he knew how, forever different, tainted with some dark shadow that hung over him like storm clouds. There would be no changing him, no taking him apart and putting him back together, no carefully cutting that darkness away from the rest of his being—that was just who he was, now.
Suddenly you feel devastated. Before you really register it and can stop it, you’re crying. Tears overflow like a pot of boiling water. You hiccup and sob, and him touching your face, feeling the tears and trying to wipe them just makes you cry harder.
“Please don’t cry.”
You’re more awake than you’ve been this whole time, but you can’t see him through hazy, tear-filled eyes. He is there, though, in front of you now, apologetic and sad while you clutch him with shaking hands.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”
You want to be angry, but your anger died out to smolders and then ash long ago. There were only cold coals now, leaving you subdued. You wouldn’t scream or yell or beg him—you would not even ask. You have not cried about this since the beginning, when he’d come home bruised and banged up, acting like nothing was off at all. He had that look in his eyes, dull and lifeless but crazed—this was who he was. You loved him dearly despite tracking bloody footsteps through your house, and you loved him now. You loved him, but you feared for him, and what would one day become of him from following this path.
He comforts you until the tears have soaked your pillow and your cheeks were dried, placing light kisses over your eyelids, on your cheeks, your forehead, and your lips. Only when you finally fall asleep does he kiss you again, long and slow, whispering a final “I’m sorry” to your sleeping face.
Tomorrow, you’d wake up and he may be there, beside you in bed, looking more peaceful asleep than he’d ever look when awake. He’d wake up after you, allowing you time to drink in his presence, absorb it like rays of the sun. You would share a morning together, having breakfast and then falling back into bed, more desperate and carnal than the night before. In a perfect world, he’d stay for multiple days, and you’d have a schedule involving him, him, him. But this was not your dreams, and definitely not a perfect world.
More than likely, he’ll be gone before you wake, and it will seem like he had never come back at all. There will be no trace of him, the first aid kit in its place under your bathroom sink, none of his dirty, bloodied clothing in the laundry, no sign of the shower being used to wash away the grime of a long journey. He’d left no marks on you, not even a single hickey blooming on your skin to show you he’d been there with you. He was a ghost, and you would not see him until another night when you expected him least.
fhfhfghfjs instead of brain there is tummy bulge xiao,,, just fucking him and seeing the bulge of your dick in his stomach <33
this ask . . . whoever you are just know this changed me
nsfw!!! mdni!!! xiao x m!reader
bottom xiao, sub xiao, tummy bulge, size kink, pet names (baby & good boy)
“Are you ready?” You ask Xiao, sprawled out beneath you, as you remove your fingers from inside him. He’s flushed, skin rosy and damp with a sheen of perspiration—his hair is unruly, and strands are sticking to the sweat his forehead. You sweep your other hand across it, moving the hair out of his face to see his expression clearer.
Once already you’d brought him close the edge, but selfishly stopped before he could go over. He often gets tired after just one orgasm, falling asleep before you even get a chance to properly clean him up, but you crave him so vehemently, so desperately that you keep him from coming until you’ve had your fill. He never seems to mind it, though, staying pliant and moaning hushed and sweet while you play with him.
It’s a bit of a struggle to get inside him, initially. The heavy amount of prep helps you, but his small frame has a hard time welcoming your cock, always squeezing so tight it borders on painful. You guide yourself to him, his body growing tight as soon as he feels your cock bump against his ass, an unconscious action that you diffuse through gentle touches and words.
“Just relax, baby.” You see his lips part, as though attempting to shoot back a small “I’m trying” but you find yourself leaning into him before he has the chance, sealing your mouth over his. He reciprocates as easily as ever, kissing you back like he’d been waiting for it and there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing.
There’s nothing that relaxes him quite like the pressure of your lips against his, and you find that he starts to open up beautifully after getting the chance to kiss you. It’s still suffocating inside, but it’s perfect, and you groan at every inch you’re able to get inside him.
“That’s it,” you praise, “that’s a good boy.”
He inhales, a wet, pathetic little breath, hands clutching onto your arms for dear life while you presume your task, pushing yourself deeper, deeper until you can see the little bulge in his stomach from your cock.
You rub your hand over the bump—always a little mesmerized by how visible it is, how small he is for it to show through—and press down on it the way you know he likes. His body jerks and he makes a noise akin to a sob. It’s the type of noise he’d be embarrassed to hear himself make, one that he would normally try to cover or stifle. Luckily for you, he is at the stage where his awareness is dulled, too drunk on you to notice any sound you pull from him.
Even better is when you start moving, beginning that intoxicating pull and push that makes Xiao tremble. You hold his waist to prevent him from shifting too much, and fuck him a little harder, a little faster, setting a rhythm that sets him off. He’s never truly loud, always quiet in his whimpers and cries, but he never stays quiet. Being as close as possible offers the best access to these soft noises of pleasure, so you always try to keep your face near his to hear them.
Each time you thrust in and your cock bulges through his stomach, he makes a hiccupped moan. He can’t look at it, eyes screwed shut while you hammer in and out of him; he can’t look, but you do, feeling a little possessive over him and how pretty he looks, how nicely he takes your cock, how big you are compared to him. You press down over the spot on his stomach again, keeping it there and feeling your cock against your hand while you fill him.
having majorrrrrr itto brainrot …. thinking about size difference because you know this man is fucking huge …. he knows u r smaller than him and he tries to b gentle at first but he can’t for long!!!! he goes crazy rough like balls deep ….. and he’s so vocal, like babbling almost, just constantly telling u how good ur pussy feels on his cock while noting how good he’s fucking u….. mmmmmmmmmm i want this man SO BADLY LOLLLL
golly
nsfw!!! itto x gn!reader
giant cock itto, dirty talk?
You knew it would be like this—Itto was huge, towering over every single person he’s ever crossed paths with—and yet you still can’t believe just how big he really is. Despite having been fucked before, you felt like you were in the midst of your first time; unfamiliar, daunting territory.
“There’s no way.” You scramble back on the bed, sheets bunching uncomfortably beneath you. Itto rubs his cock against you, pressing the head just until you gasp from the pressure. There would be no amount of prepping or foreplay to ever prepare you for this—he'd tried to train you to take more, first fucking one, two, three fingers in until you were squirming and needy, but comfortable. He was so big, though, so long and thick and intimidating in size that there would be nothing that could properly amount to it; he would carve out his own space inside you, fill you so deep that you’ll be able to feel him in your stomach.
“Come on,” he encourages, voice taking on a desperate note, as though he couldn’t handle another second being outside you. He’s restrained himself well until this point, taking things slowly in fear of hurting you, lasting with only fevered grinding, touching, and kissing. This would open a door, a flood gate that would release all his built-up desires of bending you over any surface he can find, fucking you, breeding you.
He brings his hand to your side, touch hot but reassuring, and you try your best to relax your body. When the tip pushes in you let out a curse, and a small, relieved whimper. He’s so thick, wide enough to make you feel like you were being split in two, but he doesn’t stop, not when he finally has you around him, smooth and inviting and tight around the new intrusion.
“Almost all the way in,” he comments, eyes trained on the spot where he’s stretching you open. Inch by inch, until you can feel the presence of his hips close behind you, just shy of meeting the plush of your ass.
“Shit, you’re-” He heaves out a breath, unable to find the words as his hand grabs the flesh of your cheek to spread it, “Shit.”
Everything is still for a moment. He stays seated inside you, letting you grow used to the feeling of him, body clenching around him, brain fogged up from him around you, behind you, inside you. Through the haze, you hear his voice, and you’re sure that he’s ready to absolutely destroy you, as soon as you say to.
“Look at that. I told you it would fit.” His large hand slips along your stomach, pressing down slightly. “Do you feel me in here?”
You aren’t sure you can speak, so overwhelmed by him and all he was giving you. Itto doesn’t mind though, never minds having to fill the quiet with his talking, his hushed rambles and loud babbles of pleasure. He loved to talk, and he knew you loved to listen, so he talks, telling you how good you were, how perfect you felt, how he would fuck you next; all while slowly shifting his body, pulling out of you to then push back in, forming a steady, leisurely pace.
“You’re never going to need anyone else after this,” he grunts, “only I will be able to satisfy you.”
He tries to keep his thrusts gentle, but at the first show of movement from you, relaxing into your space below him and moaning with every stroke, he gives up restraint, letting himself fall into a frenzy. It was only a matter of time before he’d finally get to have you just how he wanted, and now that it’s here, you relish in it, letting him dig his nails into your hips and fuck you until your body felt like it was buzzing with electricity, each meeting of your hips a shock.
Grown weak and shaky, your arms give out from under you, chest collapsing into the bed. As your body sinks further into the mattress, melting with the touch of his hands against you, your knees slip further apart, back arching further. Itto makes a desperate noise and doubles down on you, a silent promise to take you apart.
“Perfect,” he growls. His voice paired with the wet squelch and the slap of skin on skin is an erotic dream come true, a symphony of sounds that you wish you could bottle and keep forever. How many times would you come before he reached his end? He didn’t seem the least bit tired, but you were already reaching that peak that you’ve been wanting, been waiting for. You would come soon, and he knew it, not letting up for even a moment, allowing you no time to think or speak or breathe.
When he leans forward into your space you choke out a moan, a demonic sound that gets ripped from your throat as he brings himself closer to you. The angle changes, movement changing to a harsh rolling jerk of his hips, pressing deep inside over and over again. His hot panting breath can be felt against your hair and the side of your face, and you suddenly wish he had taken you on your back so you would have unrestricted access to his face; you want to see his face, what expression he was wearing as he fucked you into the mattress, and you wanted to kiss him, to let him claim your mouth with the same animalistic force he fucks you with.
“Are you going to come like this? I know you’re getting close,” he speaks in a hurried voice, as if the words will run away if he doesn’t say them quick enough. “I can feel it. You're so perfect, the best fuck I’ve ever had. I knew you would feel this good; I’ve fucked my hand so many times while thinking of this.”
There’s no way you’d make it out of this alive, not with him crowding close, hitting you so deep inside, murmuring filth while he does it. You’ll die from the heat, the molten lava flowing through you, burning you from the inside out. His voice gets garbled while you burst and melt away, nerves alight and body shaking; he talks you through it still, voice shaky while he says everything he thinks of, filter nonexistent. He tells you that he needs to see it again, to witness you coming on his cock, feel you shivering with the aftershocks of it. He won’t stop—can't stop—until he’s had his fill, and until you have nothing more to give.
i love when random tumblr users find my blog and go through it liking and reblogging everything in a frenzy, it feels like i’ve been cultivating a nice backyard with a lovely birdbath and feeder and i’ve glanced out the window to see a bird going absolutely wild with it
having thots…..of cockwarming puppy luc……perhaps as a punishment…..
so sorry for this, it is not great but i wanted to post something and i've been eyeing up this ask since it was first sent to me </3
if there are mistakes i am sorry
nsfw!!! puppyboy!diluc x gn!reader
cockwarming, "punishments", diluc has ears and a tail and is referred to as a "hybrid" once, PUPPY DILUC
It was a little cruel, maybe. The tight crushing heat, enveloping him in a warm, wet cocoon that set his body temperature perilously high—gods, he wouldn’t accidentally set anything on fire, would he? He always feels like he has no control over himself when he’s with you, brain gone haywire like a computer being reprogrammed; or worse, like a virus, taking over the entire system and destroying everything, devolving until all that was left was you.
He’s impatient, always in haste to get moving, to get off. You were surprised he’s lasted as long as he had. Usually, he would be ceaseless in his squirming and whining, asking you over and over if he could have you the way he wanted. Today, he seemed caught up in the current situation, sitting hard and still beneath you, not speaking until you deliberately shifted atop him, jostling him inside slightly.
“Please,” he begs, “let me.”
“Not yet, Diluc.”
The tone of his voice twists into something frustrated, hands balling into fists, kept uselessly by his sides. You warned him when this had begun, a tsked “no touching” when he’d try to mold his hands against the smooth curve of your body. As touchy as he was, you note his restraint in not lifting his hands above his thighs, and mentally praise him, almost going to press your own hand against his face, touch his soft ears atop his head, and tell him how good he was being—no, there would be another time for that.
Still, you can’t help but admire him. His obedience was something you reveled in; knowing someone as big and powerful as he is, willing and eager to wait for your permission, work for your rewards, and live for your praise. He could overpower you quite easily, if he wanted to. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last, but despite this piece of information you are both aware of, he chooses not to. The need to be good outweighed the limited, finite pleasure he could chase for him. Though he’d been a little slow, mind lagging behind from all the time spent with the constant pressure of you around him and perched atop him, he understands that there would be consequences, ‘worse’ than that which he was being subjected to now. An unsatisfying, incomplete pleasure is more favorable than none at all.
You begin to grow suspicious of him, though, when time ticks sluggishly by and his begging does not evolve into something more desperate. With careful movements you shift again, and you hear it, the hitch in his uneven breath, like a gasp at the unexpected movement. He waits for it, anticipating each subtle gyration and adjustment and meeting it with a small noise. You realize, a little too excitedly for someone dishing out a punishment, that he was even more affected by this than you could have imagined—he would end up coming from this, from you punishing him, cockwarming him for minutes and minutes and minutes, until time felt endless and the place where the two of you joined together became a fuzzily comfortable sensation. You thought he’d cry, make his sweet, pathetic noises while trying to convince you to let him have his way, but he’d managed a way around it, phasing through the punishment as if it wasn’t one in the first place.
“You’re not supposed to be getting off on this.”
If he does hear, he doesn’t respond, too busy preparing himself for the inevitable fall that he craves so badly. He starts to tense, head tilting back ever so slightly, body arching and growing taught as the pleasure mounted and overwhelmed him. His mouth is parted a bit, just enough for him to pant out hot puffs of air while he struggled to breathe properly, and it entices you, pulling you in until your breaths were mingled. You shouldn’t kiss him, really, not when you’re supposed to be disciplining him—it wouldn’t matter much now, seeing as this is barely a punishment any longer—so you don’t, but you stay close, leaning into his space.
He whimpers a strained “’m g’nna come,” and you know that it’s too late to stop it. Pulling yourself off him would only push him there faster, the side of you slick and stimulating on his sensitive cock after being still for so long.
Despite your plans being foiled, you’re a little awed. With just the sensation from him being inside you, no movement at all, he managed to reach his end easily; almost as easily as if he was fucking you normally. You’re still while you watch it, but decide to lift up a smidge so he can grind up while he works through his slowly built orgasm, letting him have these ending moments to move. As he rides out the waves, filling you to the brim with everything he had to give, you belatedly realize that that you’ve practically rewarded him, let him get away with exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do throughout this. He would never learn at this rate, with the way each punishment turning into a reward for him, a newly developed kink that’d be crossed off the list of potential ideas of acts that could work as a form of discipline.
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