Why Does Yingxing Have So Little Content About Him? - Tumblr Posts

his songbird

contents!! yingxing x female reader. prone bone turned missionary. reader is shy :3 dirty talk. lots of teasing!!! sliight dacriphilia. edging. tummy bulge mmmm. petnames: angel, baobei, darling, good girl(?). you call him gege!! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა

my clit wrote this so this def sucks & not proofread & kinda selfship-coded . . ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა *runs away*

it's endearing, the way you tighten your hold on the silk sheets, buries the sweet face he's missed so badly into the feather-filled pillow, as if that'd help you to tone down the loud and obscene noises that escape your lungs.

"still so shy, hm?" he coos, slotting himself deeper into your aching cunt, "'s not like this is the first time we've done this, angel,"

too exhausted to form a coherent reply, a whine escapes your lips instead, giving yingxing all the answers he needs. the craftsman reads you like an open book. no matter how much you seldom admit to it, deep down you know that it's the truth—that he always knows what to do with you; the things you'd love to hear and feel, and all the right ways to turn you into putty for him with masterful ease.

such as right now; the way he brings one rough hand down from your breast to your hips, pressing down on the plush skin to stop you from squirming too much, pushing you into the edge and humming in satisfaction at each one of your adorable reaction. it fuels his ego to know that he's the only one who can mold and shape you into such a perfect doll for him to use and fold into any position he'd like.

"i can tell you're loving this. would you like me to go harder, baobei?"

from the mirth oozing from his words, you can already picture him wearing the cheekiest smirk that you so despise to see, waiting for any kind of response—which he's 100% sure will not be a comprehensible one.

"gege, i—please—nghh... i-if you do tha—haaah!" you cried out, hiccuping out little incoherent babbles and dragging your nails across the soaked sheets, seeking for any semblance of relief.

so predictable, he thinks. his lips curl further upward, grinning at your reaction, finding it difficult to resist teasing you further, "use your words, baobei, c'mon—or are you telling me that this is enough to break you?"

and as if to make it worse for you, yingxing rolls his hips up, pushing his pelvic bone flush against the swell of your butt until his leaky cockhead manage to kiss that soft spongy spot inside you, and your back arches alluringly in return, lips quivering in a struggle to keep your voice down—fearing the possibility of alerting the entire neighborhood of the debauched activities you two are engaged in.

your lover presses a series of chaste kisses on your shoulder blade like you are his revered goddess, seemingly unbothered by the sound of your wails and whines bouncing off the walls. if anything, he wants to show you off—after all, not everyone is lucky enough to have such precious songbird in their bed.

"still no answer, huh... need me to stop?" he queried, halting all movements as broad shoulders hunched down to loom over your smaller body, silver strands of hair cascading over your back—perhaps to purposely tickle the sensitive column of your neck, adding more stimulation and drawing out more of your sugary sweet voice he'd swallow like the wine he often shares with the quintet.

(your lover can be quite cruel sometimes.)

"g-gege!" you yelp, using the little energy you have left to find purchase in his arm and spoke between gasps, "no, nonono—don'... don't stop, gege, please... wan' you to go harder..."

(but he's never immune to your adorable pleas.)

he cannot help the chuckle that escapes his lungs, because finally, "that's my good girl—see, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" he croons, large hands finding purchase on your sides to maneuver you on your back, and you swore you felt his length twitches at the mere sight of you—mouth agape with a trail of drool running down the side of your mouth, tears clinging to your lashes and the apple of your cheeks, and—oh.

was that a little bump he's seeing on your tummy?

yingxing went silent for a few seconds, before he slowly—painfully so—slides his palm from down your torso, stopping atop your abdomen and pressing down on the slightly protruding flesh, successfully drawing out the most darling squeal out of your spit-slicked lips, followed by a subtle shudder of your body, "gege—! w-wait..."

the blacksmith pays you no mind as he begins moving again, battering your insides with renewed vigor, thrusting faster and shoving his girth deeper, relishing the sight of the bulge disappearing and reappearing with each jerk of his hips. you did beg for him for this, after all—he's just being a good husband and doing what his beloved wife wants him to do!

he gently cups your cheeks, admiring the cockdrunk look you have on your face before he shushes you with a light press of his lips against yours, "sshh, 's okay... cum for me, baobei—be a good girl and cum on my cock, will you?" the teasing lilt in his voice falters into a guttural groan as your walls constrict and gushes around his girth and triggering his orgasm. seeing how hard you're clamping down on him, it's safe to assume that you're trying to milk him dry, knocking the cockiness off his face as he pant on top of you.

once the blacksmith regained his composure, he brings his thumb down, rubbing hearts over your throbbing nub as he stills himself, gazing down at your juices mixed with his milky seed drivelling down your thighs and webbing his pubes. it's a sight awfully lewd and he can't stop the little aww it pulls from his lungs.

(you look your best when he's laid his claim on you.)

"are you alright?" he asks, keeping a close eye on your trembling form before he slather your smaller frame with his warmth, the plane of muscles serving as a shield and a reminder that you're safe with him, that he is here to take care of you.

you nod, dewed lashes fluttering up to meet his, "k-kiss—w'nna kiss, gege, please...?"

and of course he'd comply—when you're asking so politely even in this fucked-out state, colliding his lips with yours to devour the cherry-flavored drool that mingles with his own, eliciting a rather juvenile wish from the old man's heart; to stay this close for as long as forever.