using your sweet boyfriend as your little personal dildo :(
he insists he can take it, cumming so many times he's lost track. he lies back, one hand steadily kneading the flesh of your ass, while another shaky hand sheepishly covers his burning face. he's whining, each slam of your hips against his pulling a differently pitched noise from his scratchy throat. he's spent, glistening in sweat, but this sweet, sinful overstimulation is just what he's craved for so long.
you rest your hands on his broad chest, rocking and rolling your sweet cunt over his cock, countless rounds of his cum plugging up your cute little womb. you pry his hand from his face, lacing it with your own instead, and the look he's got on his face right now, is worth every pang of exhaustion.
he's blushing so hard, strands of his hair plastered to his forehead, soaked with sweat. tears tease their way out of the corners of his glassy eyes, going unfocused at the unbelievable pleasure he's getting right now. he's shaking, poor thing, but he wouldn't let you stop until he's totally sure you're finished and satisfied.
"so good... so fuckin' good, mmhm," he slurs out.
he can't even look at you, he knows he'll just end up cumming again. he can't help but praise you, he's so obsessed with the way you're taking him nonstop. he feels the sweet press back when he hits your cervix every other thrust, when he messily and slowly meets you halfway. goosebumps start covering his body, he's so slick with sweat and stimulation that it's kicking his body into overdrive.
and the way you're taking him, tits bouncing, cunt fluttering, he swears he's seeing stars as he cums again, back arching off the bed as he clenches his jaw, filling you up with one more weak spurt of his seed.
exactly what the title says. minors do not interact.
contents: fem!reader x IFA, smut, teasing, fingering, p in v, riding + cowgirl, ifa calling reader “bro” (lol), lovey dovey romance, fluff, pet names/name calling (baby, my girl, darling, ṣlut), overstim, finishing inside
wc: 2.0k
It was already dark out, and Ifa still wasn’t home.
Sighing, you gently set down the dish you’d been drying. It’d been a while since your boyfriend had been home this late. He’d usually be home in time for dinner, save for the few days he’s running around the countrysides of Natlan, but there would occasionally be days like this.
You hesitate to begin packing dinner leftovers into the fridge for him, hoping he’ll be back soon. But glancing out the window in your kitchen, you can see the moon gently rising above the tops of the nearby buildings. You sigh again.
Click!
Your head turns sharply at the sound of the front door opening.
“Ifa!”
One glance at him and you can tell he’s exhausted: head drooped, back hunched, leaning against the doorframe as if he’s about to collapse, you immediately dart over to his side.
“Hey, you okay?” you gently touch his shoulder as he drags himself inside, and he lets out a long groan.
“You won’t believe the day I’ve had, bro,” he bemoans. You raise an eyebrow, lips quirking up in a half-grin. “Oh, yeah? How’s your day been, bro?” you tease.
Ifa huffs out a laugh. “Absolutely terrible.” He drops his bag onto the floor and staggers over to the living room, promptly collapsing onto the couch. “Had multiple big cases today, plus a ton of small ones, and that damned Granny Itzli kept pestering me about delivering stuff to Ororon. Not that I mind, though.” He sighs, tossing his hat to the side.
“Mm, sounds like a long day,” you agree, crashing onto the couch next to him. “Yeah, ‘d rather not think about it now that it’s over.” Ifa rakes a hand through his hair, head falling back on the cushions. “How’s your day been, bro?”
“Same old, just missing my lovely boyfriend- I mean, ahem- my bro,” you snicker, and Ifa groans playfully. “C’mon, you know it’s a habit! You don’t need to make fun of me every time, babe.”
“Yeah, but it’s never not funny,” you laugh, poking at his side. He pouts a little, feigning offense, before a genuine smile cracks at his features. “But in all seriousness, I missed you too.” Ifa leans over and places a gentle peck on your lips.
“Think I missed you more.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Nah, I totally think I did.”
“Oh yeah? Prove it.”
There’s a smirk on Ifa’s face, and you know all too well what he’s implying. You cock an eyebrow. “You sure? Aren’t you tired after toda- oof!”
With one swift, graceful movement, Ifa slides you onto his lap. “Yeah, I am tired after today,” he grins devilishly at you. Sitting on top of him, you feel something hard right under your crotch, and you can’t help but blush a little. “Ifa, I- mmph!”
A moan slips out as Ifa grinds up against you, still wearing that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “What is it, baby?” he coos, hips rolling into yours. You bite your lip, feeling your panties dampen as his erection rubs against your cunt.
Determined to not let him get the better of you, you grind back down against him, dragging a grunt from his lips. “You’re such a tease,” you huff out, trying not to whine at the delicious friction of your hips rutting against each other. Ifa laughs, one hand behind his head, and one hand coming down to hold your hip. “You love it though, don’t you?” He teases. “Haah, shit. You’re so pretty on top of me, baby.”
The heat coiling in your loins is tensing, and you feel your cunt flutter, aching for more friction. But you can tell Ifa feels the same way when his hand skillfully flicks open the button of your pants, hand slipping down, down, down to your hole, wet and clenching with need.
But instead of fingering you (as you desperately hoped), he teases you more, circling your clit slowly over the damp spot on your panties. You whine at the sensation, and Ifa chuckles. “Ifa! Don’t- don’t tease me, please,” you beg, pride completely dissolved. “Oh? This is all it takes for my girl to start begging?”
Ifa’s fingers slide into your panties, just grazing over your swollen clit. You nearly cry out, bucking your hips into his hand. “Ifa!”
“Haha, I know, I’m sorry baby. I’ll stop teasin’ ya.”
He stretches up to kiss at your neck, sucking and biting out red marks that would surely be visible tomorrow morning. But you barely feel the nipping sensation of his canines on your throat because-
“Hngh- right- right there, Ifa-!”
His fingers are expertly working at your cunt, scissoring and thrusting and rubbing at all your sensitive spots with ease, and you whine when his thumb comes up to rub your clit. He knows exactly what makes you tick, exactly what works you over to your orgasm so easily.
And he does exactly that.
You cry out as you cum on his fingers, thighs trembling and pussy twitching as your arousal drips down his wrist. Head thrown back, you don’t notice Ifa biting down on his lip, holding in a damn near animalistic growl as his cock twitches desperately in his pants.
“Fuck. I was gonna take it slow, but after that…”
He reaches up to tear your top clean off, much to your chagrin. “H-hey, Ifa-!” you protest weakly, smacking a shaky hand against his broad chest. “I don’t have the patience to undo all those damn buttons,” he grunts. “I’ll buy you another, I promise.”
“At least take your shirt off too,” you paw at the buttons of his shirt. “And your pants too, while we’re at it.”
You and Ifa fuck a lot. To say you fuck like bunny rabbits wouldn’t be an understatement.
So why is it that you never get used to seeing his cock? Long and thick, springing out of his pants, angry red mushroom tip twitching with need. Just the sight of it makes you drool, pussy clenching as a bead of arousal slips out.
“A picture’ll last longer, darling,” Ifa teases. You swallow, still enraptured by the sight of the pearly precum beading at the tip of his cock that’s tapping against his belly button. “U- uh huh,” you mewl out.
You’re desperate now, aching for his dick to stretch you out, your hand lining up his stiff length with your drooling entrance. “Mm, eager, arent’cha?” Ifa muses. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as desperate to fuck you, to feel your soft, wet, velvet walls clenching and fluttering around his cock.
“S-shut up,” you gasp out. Your thighs are trembling again as his tip enters you. “A-ah, shit, baby,” Ifa swears. The stretch of his tip alone almost sends you careening over the edge into your second orgasm, but you steel yourself as you slowly push his cock into your heat.
You only get about two inches in before Ifa’s hands are suddenly at your hips, gripping them harshly.
“Fuck.”
And he slams you down on his cock.
Oh, this is gonna be the death of you.
Not old age, not illness, not some tragic accident—but Ifa’s fucking cock stretching you out so deliciously, so painfully good that you feel like you’ve already ascended to heaven.
Ifa doesn’t waste any time letting you adjust to his girth. He’s already lifting your hips and slamming them back down again, his cock thrusting in and out of your swollen lips at a ruthless pace.
Slap-slap-slap!
The sound of your ass slapping against Ifa’s muscular thighs is enough to make your head spin with lust, and when you hear him start moaning, you can’t help but squeeze around his rock-hard length pistoning in and out of you.
“Hngh, I-Ifa, I- haah, unghhh, Ifa-!”
You’re sobbing on his dick, nails digging into his thighs as he ruts into you. Your dizzy eyes trail from his pecs to his lean abs to his narrow hips, where his toned v-line lead your sight to his cock covered with your slick, shining droplets dripping down his balls that are plap-plap-plapping against the bouncing flesh of your ass.
“Gooood girl,” Ifa groans out. “Look so fuckin’ good bouncing on my cock like this- haah, shit!” and you whine in response.
“Want it harder, baby? C’mon, use- use your words, pretty thing. Tell me, do you-” he thrusts up into you. “Do you want it harder? Want more?”
“Yes, yes yes yes- Ifa, please!” you blubber out. “Wan’- want your cock, d-deeper, more- hic!”
He laughs breathlessly, and with one deep, violent thrust, he slams into you, drawing a scream from your lungs. “Fuuuucking hell, baby, you- ugh, your pretty pussy feels so good,” he hisses out, nails digging into your hips.
Ifa’s tip drags tantalizingly against your dripping walls as he pulls out almost all the way, before pounding right back into you.
“Hnngh-! Ah- haaah, hngh, f-f- ungh- fuck!”
Each of your moans is broken, punctuated with one of Ifa’s brutal thrusts. His teeth are gritted, sweat sticking his snowy white hair to his temples, moisture making his lean torso glisten. The layers of muscle on his abdomen are tense, clenching and twisting with effort as each time he rams into you.
“Greedy girl, you- ugh- you love it rough, don’tcha? I’m so- ” he growls, eyebrows furrowing in ecstasy. “-so lucky to have such a cock-hungry slut waitin’ for me at home, aren’t I?”
He’s panting now, perspiration sticking your hips together. Your hips stutter, bucking and grinding against him desperate for release, before-
Smack!
“Who said you could slow down?”
Ifa’s voice is almost condescending as he gives another rough smack! to your ass. The sting edges you closer and closer to your orgasm and you whimper. “ ‘m- ‘m sorry, Ifa, jus’ wanna cum already!”
He smirks, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life.”
You half-expect, half-pray for him to keep fucking you, but instead, he turns you around on his cock, your ass now facing him. The friction of the movement has you seeing stars, but more than that, the angle of his thick shaft fucking you from this newposition has you creaming all over his dick.
“IFA!”
Your voice is hoarse from the screaming. You can barely form any coherent words now that Ifa’s fucking you like this: so much rougher, so much deeper (if that was even possible), hitting that gooey spot that makes your vision go white.
“Fuck, your ass looks so good- so fuckin’ good bouncing on my dick like this,” Ifa curses. His eyes are fixed on your ass, on his stiff cock railing you so hard that the couch is creaking and straining with effort to stay in one piece.
Ifa’s hips are coming up off the cushions now as he hammers away into your puffy lips, rubbed raw and sensitive. His thighs are covered in sweat and arousal, the sticky slapping of his skin against yours ringing in your ears, but it barely registers in your brain as Ifa speeds up his thrusts, only becoming more fierce.
“I-Ifaaa- ‘m- hic! I- I can’t-” you manage to slur out.
“Ah-ah,” he growls. “Jus’- jus’ one more f’me. Just- ” Thrust. “One-” Thrust. “More-!” Thrust.
“Fuuuuck!”
His hips snap into you one final time, dick spurting thick white ribbons of cum into your overstimulated cunt. Body wobbling with overexertion, you collapse back into Ifa’s chest, his shaft still twitching and jolting in your pussy stuffed so full of his cock and cum.
There’s a long moment, filled with only the sound of panting and breathing, before Ifa smirks.
content: smut, endurance training with ifa <3, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (unrealistic amount lol), fingering (ifa rec), praise, humiliation, some cumplay, ifa is slightly out of it but it’s all consensual, (accidental) omorashi, some aftercare, just super messy & wet :p
a/n: finally wrote something under 6k again pls cheer & clap for me. i find it cute that ifa is canonically weaker than the rest of the natlan cast so u know i had to write a fic about it 🙂↕️
word count: 5.7k
Ifa was panting.
Beads of sweat trickled down his neck to form a glistening sheen over his dark skin, scarred arms flexed and strained around the stack of medical supplies he was carrying, lips parted just wide enough for him to gulp down air with the hopes of not drawing too much attention to himself.
But you noticed—you always did.
The rim of his hat had begun to fall over his eyes from all his hunching over, and a low grunt of frustration escaped him as he tried to move it back into place with a quick jerk of his head, nearly making him lose his balance and stumble backwards onto the Stadium floor in the process. With Cacucu too busy pestering Ajaw inside Chuwen Fair to help adjust Ifa’s hat for him, you took that as your cue to step in.
You could hear Ifa grumbling quietly to himself when you approached him. Shifting the full weight of the box you were carrying into one arm, you pulled the rim of his hat from over his face and brushed his messy bangs out of his eyes in the process. Droopy turquoise irises blinked at you for a moment, then softened when they processed your familiar form under the sun’s blinding rays.
He shot you a lopsided grin, half-sheepish, half-grateful. “Appreciate it. You didn’t have to, though.”
“And let everyone see what you look like without your hat?” you frowned, flicking playfully at the tassel dangling over his chest. “That’s a sight for my eyes only.”
Ifa tried to puff out a chuckle, but with how winded he was after nearly an hour of transferring supplies back and forth, it came out more like a wheeze. His arms, for all their sturdiness when calming the flapping wings of an anxious Qucusaur or holding down a stubborn Tatankasaur whelp that refused to take its medicine, were mere seconds away from collapsing under the weight of the single box he was carrying. So, you used your free hand to take it from him before he could protest and add it to the pile in your arms in one fell swoop.
“Why don’t we take a breather? Everything’s more or less set up for The Pilgrimage, anyway.”
Ifa’s gloved fingers stretched and curled, no doubt sore from the near death grip he’d had on crates that Iansan could stack up to over twice her height, sprinting across the Stadium of Sacred Flame with her haul as though they were lighter than Puffed Grainfruit. She scurried past the two of you again just seconds after you’d last spotted her, and as she did, you noticed her giving a disapproving shake of her head over the sorry state Ifa was in.
He scratched the back of his head, further abashed when his gloves came back drenched in sweat; an answer to your question in itself.
“Sure, why not,” he resigned without much of a fight, but not before doing a final scan over the clearing to find that you were telling the truth; most of your work was done for the day. “Don’t think I could grapple with another box of gauze right now even if I wanted to.”
Tempting as it was to tease him, you couldn’t bring yourself to when he really had no obligation to be helping with preparations other than out of the goodness of his heart—a goodness that kept him cutting corners of himself for others to the point you worried one day there may be nothing left of him. Instead, you shot him a sympathetic smile, carrying the remaining supplies in your arms to their designated area, then following him to take a seat on the Stadium steps under the shade of the cobalt blue banners draped overhead. He let out a heavy grunt as he sat, not bothering to mask his relief, or the toll less than an hour of physical labor had taken on his muscles.
“Man, my back’s killin’ me.”
You couldn’t help but stare as Ifa tilted his jaw up, golden sunlight catching on the droplets of sweat that adorned his skin like ore from the mines of Nanatzcayan, traveling down his neck and disappearing under his shirt collar to dampen the black fabric and stick it to his chest. The curve of his pecs was clear as day as he shrugged off his coat and rested his elbows on the steps behind him, eyes fluttering shut and spine arching with a soft crack.
He remained that way for longer than you thought was necessary—not that you didn’t thoroughly appreciate the view—but the way his mouth hung open as he tried his best to get his breathing under control was having more of an effect on you than it probably should’ve.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught the way you were staring instantly, brows furrowing.
“I know what you’re gonna say,” he huffed, the slightest bit defensive. “Spare me, please. I already hear enough nagging from Ororon and Iansan.”
You hummed, reaching out to wipe away a pearl of sweat that had gathered at the tip of his bangs before it could splatter onto his skin. “You’re cute like this.”
Ifa’s tired eyes widened, a rare sight even for you. “Cu—huh?”
It came just the slightest bit pitchier than usual, and when you kept your thumb trailing gently down his sun-baked cheek, the skin beneath it began to tint a deeper red for reasons other than how heavily he’d exerted himself.
“You heard me, pretty boy. This is a good look for you, all sweaty and hard at work.”
He bumped his broad shoulder against yours with an unconvincing click of his tongue, head ducking so that his expression was out of view under the shadow of his hat. “Tryna sweet talk me into attending those fitness classes, huh?”
“Course not. I like your healing hands just the way they are,” you replied with a softness that went directly against the nature of thoughts that were swimming in your head at that moment. As you spoke, you reached into your bag to pull out an energy drink that Iansan had offered you when you’d first started setting up earlier in the day, pleased when Ifa—despite him trying to play it cool—lit up at the sight. Fruit flavored; his favorite. Even so, he still hesitated to take the can as you pressed it into his palm, crisp and inviting, condensation seeping through the material of his gloves.
He swallowed. “Nah, I’m all good. Thanks.”
It couldn’t have been a more obvious bluff, given that he looked and sounded like he’d just crawled out of a hot spring. You shot him an incredulous look—though, privately, an odd sort of warmth blossomed in your chest when you pieced together the reason behind his rejection.
“I already had mine when we started setting up,” you reassured him. “C’mon, drink up.”
He eyed you for a moment. “Yeah?”
“Mm. Coffee flavored.” You parted your lips, tongue peeking out mischievously from between your teeth. “You're welcome to have a taste if you don’t believe me.”
At that, Ifa’s attentive gaze flickered away in a flash, hand flying out to gently shove your face back with a light cough. Still, your taunt served its purpose, because he allowed himself to accept the energy drink from you without any further qualms, humming softly to show his appreciation.
You let yourself stare without any shame as he popped open the can and gulped down the refreshment, admiring how the sharp angles of his tattoo flexed with the bob of his throat, how a stray trail of liquid dribbled past the corner of his eager mouth. If it weren’t for the fact that you were still surrounded by other volunteers in the Stadium, you would’ve leaned in and kissed the sweet droplet away, just for the satisfaction of flustering the man who was always as easygoing as Tenochtzitoc’s breeze.
Ifa let out a deep sigh of relief after downing what was practically half the energy drink in one go, leaving his lips glistening just as brilliantly as the rest of his skin. You should’ve come to expect it, but you still softened with affection when he insisted on passing the can back so you could have the rest, looking apologetic for indulging in his own needs before yours, for once.
“I told you, I already had my fill,” you urged, trying to nudge it back towards him.
“That must’ve been hours ago.” He waved his hand dismissively, and you found yourself cursing that vigilant mind of his for what was neither the first nor the last time. “Besides, half is more than enough to hit the spot. Maybe I should start carrying these around with Cacucu’s snacks.”
You relented with an exhale through your nose, pressing your cheek against the cool, wet surface of the can to ease some of the heat radiating off your face.
“If you’re interested, I can think of a few more ways to boost your endurance.”
He lifted an eyebrow as you wiggled the energy drink around enticingly, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Yeah? So long as they don’t involve me arm wrestling with Chief Acat, I’m game.”
“Nothing like that. You might have to put your back into it, though.”
“C’mon, aren’t you underestimating me a bit?” With a good-natured huff, he lifted his hat to tousle the mop of white hair underneath it, slicking back the damp strands that had already begun to stick to his forehead again. “You know I’ll always give you my best shot.”
You smiled. “I know.”
You took a swig from the energy drink—now twice as sweet after it had touched his lips—to mask the way your smirk spread into something far less innocent than the oblivious half-grin he sported.
Ifa who delivered messages back and forth from Granny Itztli’s lonely residence in the corner of Mictlan all the way to Ororon’s cabin deep in the wilderness, Ifa who carried around fresh fruit religiously just in case his neighbors may ever be in need of them, Ifa who spent what little free time he had carving toys for Saurians and the children of Tlalocan alike. Of course you knew that he would give you his all, it may as well have been carved into his nature like the ancient messages carried by Phlogiston Engravings.
And you were determined to take it—just, in a way where you could trick him into getting some enjoyment out of it, too.
Ifa was panting.
His broad chest heaved with every labored breath, skin glazed over with a pearly mixture of his sweat and seed. Drool trickled from the corners of his mouth where it hung open like he’d forgotten how to close it, each gulp of air barely managing to keep him satiated when he felt as though all the blood in his system was bypassing his brain entirely and rushing down to where your hand worked mercilessly at his sore shaft.
His head had gone foggy long ago, thoughts clouded up with nothing but you—the sensation of your gaze, two chunks of blazing hot Dracolite that set his skin on fire as they bored into him from above, the sweet lull of your voice coaxing climax after climax out of him, the curl and uncurl of your fingers stretching out his insides in a rhythm that was so methodical compared to how frenzied his body and mind had become.
“That’s—God, fuck,” he choked out. “Close. Wait, ah, gettin’ close again.”
Without a falter in your pace, you slid down to the hilt of his length and squeezed your grip around him, tight enough to make his hips surge up off the mattress, pressing your fingers harder into the ridges of his walls in the process. His cock had been all but rubbed raw, spasming with overstimulation, but still so hard and heavy in your palm. His insides were still so tight around your fingers even after being stretched open for so long, trying to feel as much of you filling him up as possible. Greedy in a way that he so rarely allowed himself to be.
Lust pooled in your core as you drank in the view of his stomach clenching wildly, load after load of his milky release splattered all over his dark skin to form a contrast that was as filthy as it was mesmerizing. Sticky droplets began to gather at the dip in his navel as his breaths grew more shallow, signaling another approaching high.
Like everything else, Ifa had long lost track of how many times you’d made him cum already; only processing the sound of your voice anymore, deceptively gentle whispers that felt almost cruel when your hands were anything but, telling him that you just wanted one more orgasm from him. Just one more.
You’d promised to improve his endurance, after all.
“Really think ‘m gonna…hah, please. Can I? ‘S alright?” he gritted out, throwing an arm over his face to ebb some of the embarrassment that crept up on him over the sound of his own begging.
It took everything in you not to coo aloud, that same patronizing sort of affection you’d feel when watching a baby deer struggling to walk for the first time. You’d pushed Ifa well beyond his usual limit by now—to the point where every untrained muscle in his body was pulsing with exhaustion, to the point where you were admittedly amazed that he still had anything left in his system each time another wave of seed managed to spurt out of him—yet even now, he still remembered to ask you for permission. Like his gratification was just an afterthought to yours.
“Got even more for me, Ifa?” you giggled. “Starting to think all your stamina’s stored down here.”
He bit down on the flesh of his forearm with a weak grunt, in no state to handle your teasing when he felt as if your fingers were molding his core into a ball of white hot phlogiston.
“C’mon. Do-don’t mess with me, please. Feel like ‘m goin’ crazy, seriously.”
You pressed down against his leaking slit for good measure, feeling it throb beneath your thumb as if echoing his plea for mercy. “You can cum, baby. Put your back into it for me.”
Ifa groaned, that low, gentle voice of his now deliciously hoarse after all the times he’d cried out as yet another climax wracked his body, too far gone to even think about holding himself back, anymore. Eyes gleaming, you watched him empty onto his abdomen with just as much fascination as the first time, relishing in how his dick twitched pitifully in your palm as a few, milky beads managed to dribble from his swollen tip, how his walls fluttered around you in a fit of hypersensitivity.
“Look at all that,” you marveled, spreading your fingers in a scissor-like motion, warm and sticky with his fresh release. “Such a little giver, aren’t you?”
Dripping with amusement as they were, your praises still nipped delightfully at Ifa’s senses, like anything you said would send him further into a daze as long as spoken in that dulcet voice. It was a sensation he could only liken to soaring through the clouds during his first Flight Trial; but even that comparison fell short when the heights you took him to were twice as exhilarating and infinitely more cathartic. Never had he wanted to stay in the sky chasing the breeze more than he did now.
Carefully, you unwrapped your fingers from around his sore length so he could at last have the chance to catch his breath, to find his way down from his high and back to you. You let his seed drip slowly from your fingers, creamy lava falling to his stomach that shuddered with every sharp inhale and exhale until he finally mustered the strength to get his panting under control again. He swallowed down the thick saliva coating his tongue and peered up at you from behind his scarred arm, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.
“How’m I doin’?” he slurred. “S’ it good for you?”
You reached out to brush his sweat-soaked hair from his face, combing through those thick white waves and soothing the near-delirium creeping up on his consciousness. “So good, baby. See how strong you are for me? You’re taking it all so well.”
Paying no mind to the mess of juices coating your hand, Ifa let his head fall into the cradle of your palm, a low hum rumbling in the back of his throat. You let him stay that way for a moment, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he basked in a touch that—unlike everything else you’d made him experience for the better part of an hour, now—didn’t knock the air out of his lungs.
His lashes fluttered shut in contentment as you traced a tender pattern along the scar that crossed over his left eye, only for them to snap back open when he felt your fingers shift suddenly inside of him, then pull out altogether. He was left clenching around nothing for just a few torturous seconds before you filled him up again, index and middle fingers lathered with a fresh coating of cum you’d scooped from his navel. His reaction was immediate, the hot ring of his entrance closing around you so reflexively, you’d think he’d forgotten what it felt like to not have you inside of him.
The comfort of your hand on his cheek was lost, and his breath hitched audibly when he registered the feeling of you flattening your palm against his stomach. A full-body shudder rippled through him as you pressed down on the muscles of his abdomen, smearing around the blend of sweat and cum around to create a sinful coating over his skin.
Everything about him was soft but sturdy, sensitive but steadfast. His flesh molded like clay under the pressure of your fingers, pliant to the touch and packed with lean muscle underneath that you could feel each time you dug your nails into his skin just hard enough to draw a breathless sound out of him. You didn’t bother to mask your delight when he began to wriggle around in the sheets, hips twisting and stomach contracting wildly as you slid your hand further up to the swell of his chest. So broad and full, spilling out from between the gaps in your fingers; you’d never guess he had trouble carrying a few supplies across the Stadium of Sacred Flame.
His pectorals flexed under your palm with every deep inhale he sucked in, and when you spread some of his release over the stiff, brown bud of his nipple, it earned a pitchy whimper from him—as sweet on your ears as the melodies he’d strum you with his guitar.
“I was right,” you drawled, shamelessly squeezing the curve of his chest to feel his heartbeat hammering away beneath the soft muscle. “This is a good look for you.”
Despite the circumstances, that of all things was what had Ifa’s ears burning a little hotter. You let yourself toy with him to your heart’s content for a bit longer, completely taken by how the sticky cocktail of fluids painted his body like graffiti on your own personal canvas. Then, you dragged your fingers back down the ridges of his ribs, scooping up another dollop of his cum before it could finish drying against his skin and bringing your hand back to his spent length.
Ifa shrank away with a wince, still far too sensitive to handle even the faintest brush of stimulation. Unfazed, you curled your fingers around him like a snake constricting its prey, spreading his own cum along his cock as though it wasn’t limp and twitching pitifully for reprieve in your palm.
“I know, baby. But I promised to boost your endurance, didn’t I?” you interjected with a quick, single pump to his shaft, fighting back a smile when he hissed through clenched teeth like you’d struck him with a bolt of lightning. “I think you’ve got one more in you. Just one more. Can you do that for me?”
His voice broke, a low whimper spilling out from between the cracks, so rife with desperation that it had you gripping down on his poor cock a bit harder than you’d intended. His walls clenched hard around you in response, still so eager to take every inch of your fingers, even when he was unsure if he could physically give you what you wanted, anymore.
“But I…isn’t it ‘bout time I do somethin’ for y—?” The words died on his tongue as you began to stroke him again with a feather-light touch, delicately trailing down from the swollen head of his dick to its base, pleased when you felt it already beginning to perk up with interest again. “O-oh, man. Please.”
“You can do it, right? You’ve been so good, pushing this big, strong body to the limit for me. I know you can take it.”
Ifa melted into the mattress, muscles going lax and eyes going half-lidded as though your words had lulled him into a trance. “Mmm. Mhm.” His drowsy voice rumbled wonderfully in your ears, honeyed gravel. “Yeah, I can do it. Anythin’. Whatever you want.”
You crooned in approval, sensing by the dreamy expression clouding over his features that his people-pleasing instincts had kicked in. It was the only method you’d found success in when it came to getting him to accept pleasure so willingly; pleasure that he would only ever accept under the guise of satisfying you.
“That’s it. Gonna milk my pretty boy dry,” you murmured, pushing your fingers deeper inside of him and curling up into the tender flesh, right into the weak spot that made him jolt every time just as intensely as if it were the first. He choked out a moan, hands too busy clawing at the bedsheets to clasp over his mouth in time to muffle the pathetically loud sound that his ears would surely blaze red over later.
“Always taking whatever I give you, yeah? Bet I could play with you for the rest of the night if I really wanted to.”
Regardless of the fact that he was barely holding on to his last shreds of consciousness, his dick jerked at the thought, swelling up to fill out the curl of your fingers again. You gave him an experimental pump, puffing out a chuckle when his hips shot up instantly, arm veins bulging against his skin as though they might burst from the sheer arousal coursing through them. Little by little, that agonizingly good sensation began to creep back up on him, hypersensitive pangs in his cock being overtaken by the warm friction of your fist engulfing it in steady strokes, the stretch of your fingers burrowing into his walls, and the embarrassing squelching sounds his own cum made as you smeared it along his length.
Ifa’s thick thighs tensed, teeth sinking into his lower lip when you rolled your palm over his leaking head at the very same instant the pads of your fingers teased his prostate.
“Fu-fuck. Archons, that’s—” He tipped his head back, a low groan ripping from his throat that was gratifying enough to wash away the dull ache that had begun to grip your wrists after draining him over and over again. “Good, ‘s good.”
“You’re so easy, baby. Just a few touches and you’re ready to go again,” you let out a whistle of appreciation as you gave his now hardened dick a squeeze that made his chest heave with a punched-out gasp. “Think you can take another?”
He ground his lower half against the mattress in response, sucking your slick fingers deeper inside of him like his body was begging you for what his mouth was too ashamed to ask for. A garbled string of curses spilled from his lips as you wiggled your ring finger past the tight heat of his entrance, filling him to the brim and effectively making every one of his nerve endings go haywire.
There was a dangerous sort of lust glinting in your eyes as you watched him writhe around in the sheets like a fish out of water, fully enjoying the view of his body trying to adjust to the newfound stretch when two fingers had already been enough to wreck him.
“How’s that? Still good?”
Ifa couldn’t verbalize a reply even if he’d wanted to, not trusting his voice to come out as anything but a mess of stutters when he felt as though you were deep enough inside him to physically feel the pressure you’d built in his core, anyway. So, he squeezed his eyes shut instead, managing a frantic nod as his head fell back with another trembling exhale, hair splaying across the pillow in tousled white waves.
“Good boy,” you praised. “Keep it up, okay? Want you to give me every last drop.”
Slack-jawed, a tiny trail of drool started dribbling from the corner of his mouth again, mixing with the dewdrops of sweat that had beaded on his face. Spurred on by the sight of him so drowned in bliss, you curled up into the ridges of his walls with more vigor, swirling your thumb directly over his slit in a merciless rhythm.
Ifa’s death grip on the sheets finally came loose, scarred hands flying out in a blind search for you. “Ah, wa-wait. Easy, ‘m already—fuck. ‘M gettin’ close.”
His gentle features twisted into a look of pure desperation when you only hummed in acknowledgement, making no effort to slow down when, to you, his words were less of a warning and more of a promise to fulfill. Calloused fingers finally managed to find yours in all his grasping around, clammy and running so hot from all the adrenaline ripping through his system. You squinted as he tugged urgently at your wrist, unsure if you were imagining the faint, familiar gleam that was beginning to emit from his joints and bleed into his skin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Seriously not g’nna last—hah. Feels…f-feels—”
“Feels?” you echoed, sickeningly sweet giggles gracing him for just an instant before they dissolved into mist against his searing flesh.
Amidst all his barely coherent babbling, it took you a moment to process what he was trying to say, your hands going still with concern as soon as you made out his words. But it came a heartbeat too late. Flashes of brilliant light burst before your eyes as Ifa’s hips surged up so fiercely that his back curved almost entirely off the mattress, his whole body stiffening in a mesmerizing arch, forcing your fingers deeper into the spot inside him that made his brain go numb. The added pressure earned a near-sob from him, choked and raspy as his climax hit—somehow, harder than all of his previous ones combined.
You watched, awestruck, as Ifa’s Nightsoul markings began to glow, beams of turquoise and orange lighting up his ribs and spreading out over his flesh like colorful threads winding through the fibers of a woven scroll. The illuminated skeletal patterns on his hands flickered like a heartbeat as he grasped at you for purchase, neck tattoo flexing with every bob of his adam’s apple.
Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, he registered that the chorus of moans ringing in his ears was coming from him, but for once, he was too preoccupied with the intensity of what he was experiencing to care; a spasming of muscles so euphoric that it started to border on unbearable.
And he was wet.
Not just from the sheen of sweat that had coated his skin after countless orgasms, not just from the loads of his seed you’d smeared all over his body. This was something thinner, warmer—and suddenly, it was everywhere.
A chill ran up your spine as his release shot out of him with far more force than you’d expected. Clear fluid burst from between your fingers like magma, spraying all over his stomach and chest to add an extra shine to the vibrant markings adorning his skin. Some stray droplets managed to reach as far as his face, splashing against the deep flush of his cheeks, dribbling down his throat and along the swell of his pecs.
Between the activation of his Nightsoul state and the odd fluid coating his body, Ifa seemed to notice midway through that there was definitely something abnormal about the sheer extremity of his climax, because his muscular thighs squeezed tight around your wrist, frantically trying to close in on each other and put a stop to what was a sure to be a humiliating display. But what was mortifying to him had your core coiling so tight with arousal that you thought it might snap completely untouched, eyes drinking in the rivulets streaming down his muscles as though you’d been dehydrated for days.
His walls pulsed around your fingers, still clenching so erratically even once the aftershocks of his high had passed through him, like tremors rippling through Atocpan’s crust after a particularly violent volcanic eruption. As carefully as you could, you unwrapped your hand from around his length, letting it fall limp against the puddle of fluids on his stomach. Ifa’s deep, labored breaths stuttered again, a quiet whimper rising in his chest as you removed all three fingers from his slippery heat at once.
“Ifa,” you whispered. “You made a mess.”
Despite the sheer exhaustion weighing down his eyelids, they snapped open at that, a fresh wave of horror crashing over him as he blinked the blurriness from his eyes and processed the scene before him—the soiled bed, your drenched hand, the messy blend of juices covering every inch of his tan skin, and, somehow most damning of all, his Nightsoul markings that had yet to fully fade. He hadn’t thought his body could feel any hotter than it already did in that moment, but the evidence of his own filth instantly proved him wrong, engulfing him in a fiery cocoon of shame.
“Oh my God,” he groaned, burying his face in his palms. “Archons. Oh, man, this is…‘m sorry. Fuck. Real sorry.”
You ran your sticky fingers up the dimming pattern on his thigh, light as a breeze, careful not to overstimulate him any further. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. You gave me your best shot, just like you said.” Your words were half-playful, half-soothing, just enough of each to make Ifa wish he could bury his dizzy head underground like a Ruffed Pheasant.
“Y-you,” he sputtered. “C’mon, don’t tease me right now. I’m seriously…ah,” he trailed off into a miserable noise, face kept firmly hidden behind the cage of his hands. It was hard to find consolation in your reassurance when he could feel his release seeping into the mattress underneath him. So excruciatingly hot when it had spurted out of him, now growing cold as it stuck the wet sheets to his back, a cruel reminder of his complete and utter lack of control over himself. His body had never reacted like that before—he hadn’t even known it was possible for it to react like that until now.
Reluctantly, he pulled his hands from over his eye to cross one over his dripping chest in a feeble attempt to cover himself while the other scrambled around in the sheets, struggling to force himself upright when he was so disoriented. “God, th-this is…‘m sorry. I swear I’ve never—” You could barely decipher his frenzied mumbles, so rushed and riddled with nervousness, far from his usual lilt that could calm you even at your worst. “Real embarrassed right now, ha. I’ve never…oh my God. Gimme a second. I’ll clean it up, yeah?”
With a pang of sympathy, you reached out to rest your hand over his chest, catching a taste of his heart pounding away beneath your palm as you nudged him back against the bed, a task made far too easy when he’d more or less gone boneless after all the energy had been effectively sapped from his body at your hands.
“Relax, Ifa. Lie down, you’re all worn out.”
“I’m alright, just gotta…lemme…” he tried to object, but his muscles betrayed him, head falling back against the pillows with an unceremonious thump. Given how it was spinning as though he’d just gone for a joyride on the back of the Archon’s Flamestrider and his limbs had been reduced to honey, he wasn’t sure how he’d expected himself to stand, anyway, let alone clean up the pathetic scene he’d just put on for you.
His protests fizzled into a soft rumble as you gave his cheek a pat, unconcerned with the filth coating his skin. “You don’t have to move a muscle. Let me take care of you, pretty boy.”
It was a sweet command that made his face buzz pleasantly, but still firm enough to leave no room for debate. Your weight lifted from the mattress, leaving him weary and blissed out in his own mess. His embarrassment didn’t die down the entire time you’d disappeared into the other room, coursing hot and heavy through his veins and weighing him down even further to the point where even keeping his droopy eyes open became a challenge.
Just as his lashes began to flutter, you returned with a cup of water and the gentle press of a washcloth against his skin. Fuzzy and fragrant with the scent of your soap, relaxing his strained muscles and shooing away the shame that gripped his body to replace it with a comforting warmth. He sighed the instant you began dragging the cloth over his stomach, a kind of relief that was so scarce for him, one that you had to fight tooth and nail to coax out of him every time.
“You really gave me everything you had, huh?” you murmured, dabbing tenderly at the fluids drying on his abdomen and admiring the tiny, iridescent bubbles of soap glistening against his skin. “Hope I didn’t push you too far.”
Ifa grunted in response, mustering up a lazy half-grin as his fatigue from the past hour finally began to get the better of him. “Nah, s’all good,” he slurred. “Like I said, I’ll do anythin’. Whatever you want.”
You smiled back down at him, knowing just how sincerely he meant it.
you like to think you possess standards. one of them being not fooling around with colleagues, especially the ones you’ve spent most of your career despising. unfortunately, ifa has never shown much respect for your standards.
✦ word count. 3.8k words
✦ content. ifa x f!reader. sauro-vet reader. attempt at humor (like. only at the start LOL). co-workers with benefits. porn without plot. kind of. okay maybe there's a bit of plot (the plot being: yearning). smut. angst. idk what else to tell you man.
✦ foreword. dog eyes closed.gif
The islands that stretched between Ochkanatlan and the Quahuacan Cliff were like a series of serrated stone teeth jutting out of the open sea. With a roaring gale and several phlogiston vents whipping through the narrow channels, it was a nightmare for anyone without a Vision or a very brave Qucusaur.
Unfortunately for you, your job sometimes requires you to be on-call in places like this.
“Hey, watch the tension on that wing-membrane!” Ifa called out, his voice straining slightly as he wrestled a thrashing Koholasaur back toward the shallow water. “You’re pinning it like a beginner, bro!”
You didn’t even look up from the Qucusaur currently nipping at your sleeve while you patch up its injuries. “I’m pinning it so he doesn’t fly off and reopen the wound, Ifa. Maybe if you spent less time gawking at me and more time dealing with your own patient, we’d be done already.”
Ifa let out a sharp huff, ducking just in time as a heavy, wet tail whistled over his head. “I’m a professional, I’ve got ‘em right where I want ‘em. Right, Cacucu?”
“Yeah! Right where it hurts, bro!” Cacucu chirped.
Perched on a nearby jagged outcrop, Chasca stood with her hands on her hips. She had spent the last hour physically prying territorial Saurians apart, only to witness the aftermath devolve into the peculiar medical comedy that followed you and Ifa like a persistent tailwind.
“I’m starting to think the brawl was quieter,” Chasca called down as she watched you deftly dodge the Qucusaur’s beak while Ifa simultaneously tried to keep that slippery Koholasaur from sliding back into the surf. “Do you two ever operate in silence, or is the constant ego-checking part of the treatment?”
“It’s called ‘verbal anesthesia’, Chasca! Distracts the patients!” Ifa shouted before turning his gaze back to you. “Though, I gotta say, your technique is looking a little... stiff today. You okay, partner?”
You finally looked up, catching the mischievous glint in his sea-green eyes. You knew exactly what he was referencing—the fact that you were sore from the “overtime” you’d spent in his clinic loft the night prior. This was supposed to be your day-off, but emergencies like this don’t really care about your schedule, or the state of your body.
“I'm fine,” you grumbled. “I just didn’t get enough sleep recently.”
Ifa’s grin widened. "Is that so? Well, as your senior—"
“We graduated in the same class.”
“—As your peer,” he corrected with a wink, “I’d say you need a thorough check-up later. Can’t have my best rival falling behind because of a little fatigue.”
“Check-up! Check-up! Can I help, bro?” Cacucu shouted, diving between the two of you.
“Absolutely not, little man,” Ifa laughed, reaching out to catch the round creature mid-air once he finally released the Koholasaur he’d been treating. “This kind of check-up wasn’t even taught to us in school! It’s a very…ah, delicate process. You’ll know when you’re older.”
Chasca cleared her throat loudly, her eyes narrowing in quiet suspicion. The air between you wasn’t just thick with the smell of medicinal salves and sea salt—it was brimming with a tension that she wasn’t quite used to dealing with as the Flower Feather Clan’s peacemaker. The sort of thing Chuychu would call a medical malpractice of the heart.
“If you’re finished consulting each other,” Chasca interjected, her tone suggesting she was starting to put the pieces together, “there’s another group of Qucusaurs by the end of the shoreline. You can both go once we’ve cleared them of any injuries.”
“Sweet!” Ifa said with a grin so boyish, it made you want to chuck a rock at his head.
The two of you had been orbiting each other since your first day of veterinary school. Back then, you’d viewed him less as a classmate and more as a giant, white-haired obstacle. Ifa was a natural—born into a lineage of sauro-vets who had his whole life ahead of him. While you spent your nights hunched over text books, memorizing every nerve ending in a Tatankasaur’s horns, Ifa would take exams after a day of fooling around, pulling top marks like a breeze.
He was gifted, well-connected, and worst of all, he was nice.
You had spent years trying to out-work his talent. You wanted to be the best, to prove that a name didn’t make the vet. But in the Flower-Feather Clan, medical paraphernalia was expensive and hard to come by unless you had a family vault to back you up. When you struggled to get your own practice off the ground, Ifa hadn’t gloated about how well-off he was.
No, what he did was much worse.
“Clinic's too big for just me and Cacucu anyway, bro. Come help me out? I'll even let you keep the 'Senior' title on Tuesdays.”
You’d accepted under the silent vow that you’d stay just long enough to save up, buy your own gear, and put his cozy little clinic out of business. But that was three years ago, and somehow, the “temporary” arrangement had turned into a life you couldn't quite imagine leaving.
You had spent years trying to maintain a cold, professional distance, constructing a mental list of all the reasons why you should resent him, but Ifa made it impossible to stay mad. He possessed a brand of genuine kindness that felt as effortless as his talent, and it chipped away at your resolve every single day.
It was hard to harbor a grudge against a man who spent his weekends giving free check-ups to the older Qucusaurs in the tribe, refusing any payment beyond a handful of honey crackers. You’d also lost count of the times you’d walked into the exam room to find him strumming his guitar, crooning custom, low-tempo songs to calm down a shivering Saurian hatchling before their vaccinations.
Worst of all, he was the one who had literally given you the sky.
Your pride had been shattered after you failed your Qucusaur flight trials twice, practically a death sentence for a member of the Flower-Feather Clan. But Ifa hadn’t let you wallow. He dragged you out to the cliffs every single morning for three weeks, guiding your movements through every sunrise with a steady hand on your back until the fear finally dissolved. Now, you banked through the clouds as effortlessly as he did, and you owed every bit of that freedom to him.
That gratitude was exactly what had landed you in trouble.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a moment of weakness fueled by a late-night study session and too much fermented fruit juice. You had told yourself it was just a way to blow off steam, a physical extension of the competitive friction that had defined your relationship for years.
But Ifa, being Ifa, had turned a casual mistake into a devastating routine.
It had started with lingering touches when passing each other things in the clinic. Then came the nights in the loft, where the academic debates about saurian digestion would inevitably devolve into breathless wrestling matches that had nothing to do with wrestling and everything to do with the way his calloused hands felt against your skin.
You learned that he was just as attentive in bed as he was with his patients, far too adept with both his fingers and his tongue in a way that made your resentment feel like a flickering candle in a hurricane.
Even now, several hours after the harrowing task Chasca had thrown at you, he still seemed to possess a surplus of that restless vigor he usually reserved for closed doors.
You were already sprawled across his narrow bed, sheets kicked down to the foot in a rumpled heap, tunic shoved up to your ribs, pants long gone somewhere on the floorboards. Ifa’s body was bracketed between your parted thighs, white hair falling forward to curtain his face as he looked down at you with those sea-green eyes that always went dark and glassy when he got like this.
His was breathing like he was trying not to lose control too fast. He had two thick fingers buried deep inside you, stroking that spot that made your hips jerk every time he dragged over it.
“Archons,” Ifa exhaled against your neck, lips brushing salt-slicked skin as he spoke. “You’re so tight tonight… still feeling me from last time?”
You tried to answer—something sharp, something to keep the upper hand—but he chose that exact moment to press the heel of his palm down hard against your clit, grinding in slow circles while his fingers stayed buried to the knuckle, pumping just enough to keep you fluttering around him.
A broken sound tore out of your throat instead.
Ifa groaned low in response. He dragged his open mouth up the column of your throat, sucking softly and leaving a fresh bruise right where your collar would barely cover it tomorrow. His tongue flicked out to soothe the sting, and you felt his cock twitch against the inside of your thigh.
“Always get so wet when I talk to you like this,” he murmured, lips trailing to nip the soft spot beneath your ear. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers every time I tell you how good you feel. You like knowing you’re wrecking me too?”
Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks on sweat-slick skin. “Ifa—”
“Yeah?” He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown so wide the green was only a thin ring. His hair stuck to his forehead; a single bead of sweat slid down his temple and dripped onto your chest. “Tell me what you need. Use your words.”
You glared up at him—or tried to. It probably looked more like a plea.
“F-Faster,” you managed to wrench out. “And—fuck—don’t stop talking.”
His grin was a sunrise coming up on a bad idea.
“Bossy even when you’re falling apart,” he rasped, but he obeyed anyway. His fingers sped up—deep, curling thrusts that hit that perfect angle over and over—while his thumb took over on your clit, rubbing firm, relentless circles that made your thighs shake. “You like that? Yeah you do. Look at you… bucking up into my hand like you can’t help it. So fucking pretty when you chase it.”
He dipped his head again, lips sealing over the pulse hammering in your throat. He sucked hard enough you’d feel it for days, while his free hand slid up under your tunic to palm your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in the same rhythm as the one between your legs.
Your back arched, pressing yourself harder into his touch. The wet sounds of his fingers working you open filled the small room, obscene and loud in the quiet night. Every time you clenched around him he let out a low, guttural sound against your skin, hips jerking forward like he was fucking into his own hand.
However, one moment, Ifa’s fingers were dragging you right to the razor’s edge. But the next, he suddenly pulled them free.
The sudden emptiness hit like a slap. Your hips chased after his hand on pure instinct, a desperate, broken whine tearing out of your throat before you could stop it. Your walls clenched around nothing, and the ache that bloomed low in your belly was so sharp it brought actual tears to the corners of your eyes.
“N-no, Ifa, please—” Your voice cracked pathetically. You were trembling, thighs shaking, slick dripping down the crease of your ass onto the sheets.
“Shh, shh. I’ve got you,” Ifa shushed you immediately. “I just want to feel you come around my cock this time. You can do that for me, yeah?”
He shifted his weight, broad shoulders blocking out the lamplight, and you felt the blunt, hot head of him nudge against your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Instead he dragged the length of himself through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every ridged vein that made your hips twitch.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
You did—because how could you not?—and found him watching you like you were the only thing left in the world that mattered. Sweat beaded along his collarbones, white hair plastered to his temples, lips parted around harsh breaths. The boyish, easygoing Ifa who strummed lullabies to hatchlings and handed out free check-ups was gone. In his place was this man whose eyes were alight with something dark and consuming that threatened to burn you both alive.
He lined himself up properly, then sank in with one long stroke.
Your back bowed off the bed, mouth falling open on a silent cry. He was so thick, so deep, stretching you open in a way that bordered on too much and still wasn’t enough. You felt every inch of him drag against your walls, how your body tried to pull him deeper even as he bottomed out, hips flush to yours.
“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “So perfect for me.”
Ifa didn’t give you time to adjust.
He pulled back almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt again. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails he’d feel tomorrow. He hissed through his teeth as his hips stuttered before he found a steady, brutal rhythm.
You couldn’t think. You could barely even breathe. You could only cling to him as he shoved your knees up toward your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders, opening you wider so he could drive even deeper. The new angle had him hitting that spot inside you with devastating accuracy, over and over, until your vision blurred at the edges.
And through it all, Ifa never stopped looking at you.
Eyes locked on yours, drinking in every pretty little sound that left your lips. He was relentless, yet somehow still so attentive, still cataloging every reaction like you were one of his patients he refused to lose.
You remembered, in fractured flashes between thrusts, the Ifa from school: the golden boy who aced every exam without breaking a sweat, who offered help you didn’t want because he knew you’d hate needing it. You’d hated him for it—hated how effortless he made everything look, how kind he was even when you tried to freeze him out.
Now that same man was folding you in half on his bed, cock splitting you open, growling filthy praise against your mouth while he fucked you like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and live there.
Ifa’s rhythm never faltered, even as your body started to tighten around him in warning. His thrusts slowed just enough to keep the pressure building without tipping you over too soon, letting you feel every thick inch dragging out and plunging back wetly into your sopping cunt.
“That’s it,” he rasped, lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss. “You’re getting so close, aren’t you? Can feel you squeezing me so tight.”
Your nails scored down his shoulders again, anchoring yourself as the heat coiled tighter and tighter in your core. Every snap of his hips punched a broken sound out of you and he drank them down like they were oxygen.
“Look at me,” Ifa whispered. “Let me see it when you fall apart.”
You tried to nod, tried to hold his gaze, but the angle was merciless. Your legs shook violently over his shoulders, toes curling, and the first real tremor ripped through you.
“There you go.” A deep-seated laugh. “Let it happen—don’t fight it. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
He kept the pace steady, grinding in tight circles at the end of every thrust so the base of him rubbed against your clit while he filled you completely. Your breath hitched into sharp, helpless whimpers; tears slipped free again, streaking down your temples into your hair.
“Feel that?” he murmured against the corner of your mouth. “That’s all for me. Come on, sweetheart, give it to me. You know you want it as badly as I do.”
The words tipped you over.
Your whole body seized—your mouth falling open on a raw, shattered cry as pleasure crashed through you in shuddering waves. Your walls clamped down around him in violent spasms, milking him so hard his rhythm stuttered for the first time, hips jerking once, twice, as he groaned low in his throat like the sensation physically hurt him in the best way.
Ifa talked you through every second of it.
“That’s it—fuck, yes, just like that. Squeeze me again—gods, you feel so good. Ride it out, I’ve got you. Let it all go.”
You were shaking, sobbing softly into his mouth as the aftershocks rolled through you, each one making your cunt flutter around his still-thrusting cock. He slowed but didn’t stop, drawing it out until you were whimpering from overstimulation, thighs quivering uncontrollably.
When your cries finally turned soft and broken, he eased up just enough to let you breathe. His lips found yours again before he pulled back barely an inch.
“Where do you want me?” he asked quietly, his breath hot against your swollen mouth. “Inside? On your stomach? Tell me.”
“Inside,” you managed. “Please… Want to feel you.”
Without another word he shifted—pulling out just long enough to ease your legs down from his shoulders. You immediately wrapped them around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back to pull him back in with a needy tug that made him hiss.
He sank back inside you in one smooth glide, both of you groaning at the new angle. Your arms looped around his neck, fingers knotting in damp white hair as he braced himself on his forearms, caging you beneath him.
“Like this?” he murmured, starting to move again. “Want me to fill you up?”
You nodded frantically, broken little sounds spilling out every time he bottomed out and made you surge forward on the mattress. “Yes—please—Ifa—”
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing skin as his pace quickened again, chasing his own edge now that he’d gotten you there first.
“Gonna give it to you,” he panted against your throat. “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel me for days. Fuck… Can’t hold it— ‘m gonna—”
One last, grinding thrust and he stilled, hips flush to yours as he came with a low, guttural groan. You felt him pulse inside you—hot, thick, spilling deep until it leaked out around the base of him, slicking your thighs. He kept rocking gently through it, milking every last shudder from both of you, until he finally went still.
For long moments neither of you moved. Just heavy breathing, sweat-slick skin pressed together, and hearts hammering against each other.
Even in the haze of his own release, Ifa remained the doctor who knew that every high-intensity event required a proper cooling-down period. He shifted his weight, bracing himself on his elbows to keep from crushing you, and pressed a lingering, salt-flecked kiss to your forehead.
“Hey, easy.” He pulled out slowly, the wet sound of his departure loud in the quiet room, and immediately tucked the rumpled sheets around your shivering frame.
Ifa disappeared for a moment before returning with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth. He cleaned you with a gentleness that was almost painful, his large, calloused hands moving over your thighs and stomach with a reverence that felt too much like love to be casual.
When he was done, he reached into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a small, amber vial. It was a potent contraceptive tonic from the Masters of the Night-Wind, something he always kept stocked. He uncorked it and handed it to you.
“Drink up, partner.”
You took the vial, the bitter herbal liquid coating your tongue as you swallowed. You wanted to lean into him, to tuck your head under his chin and stay in the quiet safety of the blankets. But as you set the empty vial down, a familiar, melancholic weight began to settle in your chest.
This afterglow had a shelf life, and Ifa was the master of timing.
“Man, I really gotta head out soon,” Ifa grumbled as he started pulling on his pants. “I think my neighbor is starting to get suspicious. She keeps asking why I have so many 'emergency consultations' that require me to leave Cacucu with her until midnight.”
You forced a nod, pulling the sheet tighter around your chest. “I’m sure she understands.”
He chuckled, shrugging on a black button-up that hugged his rippling muscles as he shook out his white hair. He looked back at you, flashing that boyish grin that made everyone in the Flower-Feather Clan adore him. “Probably. She even tried to give me some food for the 'stress.' If only she knew the kind of workout I was actually getting, right?”
“Yeah. A workout…”
Ifa didn't notice the hollowness in your voice—or if he did, he was too polite to comment on it. He launched into a story about a Tepetlisaurus with a broken horn he’d seen earlier this week, gesturing with his hands as he described the way it had tried to eat his stethoscope. He was animated, charming, and entirely detached from the intimacy that had just occurred.
To Ifa, this was a perfect arrangement. Two rival colleagues blowing off steam in the most efficient way possible. He drew his boundaries with the same precision he used for surgery—never cutting too deep, never leaving a scar.
Watching him button his cuffs, you realized with a sharp, quiet pang that you were content. Or, at least, you had convinced yourself you were. You had him like this—in the dark, in the sweat-slicked sheets. You had the version of Ifa that no one else saw, even if it came with a disclaimer that it didn't mean anything.
The alternative—confessing that your “hatred” had long since curdled into a desperate, aching need for him to let you stay until morning—was a risk you weren't brave enough to take. If you asked for more, he might withdraw the offer entirely, and you couldn't go back to a sky without him in it.
“Alright, I'm off,” Ifa said, leaning over one last time to catch your chin in his hand. He gave you a quick, firm kiss—the kind a friend might give, if that friend had just spent an hour inside you. “Take as long as you need to rest before you head home! I might have to drop by the Children of Echoes before I hit the hay.”
You nodded, watching him head for the door. “Sure thing.”
As the door clicked shut and the silence of the room rushed back in, you curled into the space where he had been, breathing in the fading scent of mint and sea salt. You had him without really having him. He was yours, but not yours.
But you’ve already gotten used to that.
✦ afterword. i have nothing to say for myself aside from the fact that i've known this guy for months now but the ifa superbug has only infected me now. cest la vie. hope you enjoyed bc i wrote this in a sad horny haze LMFAO
tags: female!reader, modern au, established relationship, use of petnames, not proofread, riding, boob sucking, i don't know how to write smut .. ?
after a long and hard day at work, all he wanted to do was... you. was he a little mean for taking his stress out on you? maybe. but as his hands guide your movements on his twitching cock, eliciting soft moans from you, he thinks it's vindication enough. "so pretty for me, baby," he whispers in your ear, smirking at the whimper that escapes your throat.
you hate how he always bottom outs in you in this position, but the pleasure it brings was too good to resist. especially when he takes one of your tits in his mouth and looks up at you while he does it. his smug expression is what drives you over. both hands still on your hips, he bounces you a little faster each time you slam down on him.
in between his thrusts and his sucking, he'll mumble out 'i love you's and a few apologies for his lack of self-control. he feels bad that he's being so hard on you, but that doesn't mean he'll stop. his job is difficult, you know. and what better stress reliever is there than his cute lover?
ifa is definitely the type to call you his little champ when he fucks you.
he could be fucking you into next week, cock so deep in your insides that you feel like your whole brain has melted into mush. your walls have taken the shape of him, and now you’re just a babbling little mess for him, so far beyond the capacity of full coherence. you’re doing so good for him and taking him so well despite the way he crowds every bit of space in the depths of you until all you can feel is him. at this point he won’t bother to tease you, but instead will shower you in praises while you continue to ride him; your body is swaying from the exertion and the pleasure, so he cradles your hips while a pleased smirk rests atop his dashingly handsome face.
“atta girl, such a little champ for me. riding me so good. you gonna cum, yeah?” a low laugh and rut upwards, effectively driving his cock even deeper until you’re folding over him with a shudder and a sob.
One, Two, Three Braincells [Minors Do Not Interact] Ororon x Ifa x Fem!Reader Smut
Note: So........ I don't usually write smut as you all know. I rarely do, but there are instances where I do kind of want to practice the craft. This is one of them. I was very intrigued by the idea of threesomes in the Genshin world. There are just so many potential pairs to make a group of three. Ayato and Thoma? Cyno and Tighnari? Alhaitham and Kaveh? And listen to this: Harbinger Tartaglia and Harbinger Scaramouche. I was actually more into challenging myself on how I can characterize even when there were three people involved in the relationship. I wanted to experiment on how I can write in order not to focus on two individuals only, but three, without drowning out the other two too much. Anyway... here it is.
Warnings: No actual sex, just mentions of it. Other Genshin females are sexualized. smut with a plot kind of. threesome. lots of breast play. childhood friendships turned sexual. humorous in some parts. first timers. lots of exploring. you cum easily I guess. I AM planning on writing the rest of it later on but only if I feel like it. Please don't ask where Cacucu went. May not strictly follow Genshin lore.
Pairing: Ororon x Ifa x Fem!Reader
Summary: People always thought that Ifa and Ororon were a strange pair. In reality, they complemented each other's absurdity pretty well. Enter you, the third person in their group and their childhood best friend. You've grown up together, surely there was nothing wrong with learning about your bodies together too?
“Have you ever wondered what they felt like?” Ororon muttered under his breath. He stood next to Ifa who had a plate of Tatacos piled on high.
“What what feels like?” Ifa said in between chews, loud music and splashes almost drowning him out.
The People of Springs loved their parties and celebrations. It just so happened that Mualani invited everyone she knew to this one. Ifa and Ororon stood a bit ways off from everybody else. Far enough so that no one else would hear them but close enough to see the girls—Mualani, Varesa, You and a bunch of others—in their swimwear.
“You know, those,” Ororon was quite vague. Ifa furrowed his brows at his friend and grunted out a response.
“What those?”
“Those! What d’you call them… Squishy watermelons,”
Ifa choked on a piece of meat, he hacked, he coughed, and coughed once more. He started beating on his chest. Ororon glanced at him and landed a hard and resounding smack on the doctor’s back, that was the only time Ifa could breathe and talk properly again.
“You guys okay?” You called for them while relaxing in the hot springs, noticing the small commotion.
Ifa waved his hand frantically, “Yeah! Yeah, all fine,” he laughed nervously, then glared at Ororon who looked as if he hadn’t said anything wrong.
“Keep it down you idiot,” Ifa hissed, Cacucu piped up next to him “What’re you on about bro?” to which Ifa ignored and continued “I call them squishy for a reason! Because they are! Now stop thinking about it,”
“Are they though?” Ororon tilted his head in wonder, hand going up to his chin as if contemplating the world’s philosophy. “If they really are squishy, why do they hold up so well? They’re bouncy, but they also look really firm…”
Ifa could not believe his ears. Ororon was seriously thinking about this and once this guy had something on his mind, sometimes he just wouldn’t stop getting to an answer.
“Reminds me of those Flamegranates I grew last year. Kinda bouncy, kinda wobbly but also really sturdy!” Ororon has a proud smile on his face, he had just discovered the best analogy. Boobs is to Flamegranates. “Whose is your favourite?”
“Are you asking what I think you’re asking? Youre asking me whose… Flamegranates are my favourite?!”
“Yeah?”
Ifa’s jaw slacked. Just when he thought he knew Ororon well enough not to get dumbfounded by his ideads, but here they were. “I’m not answering that—”
“Y/N’s right?”
Ifa’s lips pressed into a thin line, Cacucu flies around Ifa’s head “Y/N! Y/N!”
You thought you hear your name being called, but amidst the music, the chatter and the splashing water, you quickly dismiss the thought.
“No need to be shy about it, I like hers too!”
And that, took them here.
Sitting on your couch, eating snacks in comfortable silence.
The three of you frequently hung out at your home.
When you were kids up until you were teenagers, it was also always the three of you scaling small mountains, running after saurian friends, picking the carrots and radishes that Ororon grew.
For the longest time the three of you stuck together like peas in a pod.
There’d been an incident when you were younger where another village boy made you cry and broke your favourite necklace. That necklace had been given to you by Ororon and Ifa, their tiny little hands made it out of golden Dracolites and royal blue Sprayfeather Gills.
You were gutted when it all fell into pieces on the ground.
Hours later the two guys would find you upset outside of your childhood home, still crying over the necklace.
“I’m sorry Ifa! I’m sorry Ororon!”
They didn’t think the apology was warranted.
A week later you had a new necklace made from the same materials hanging around your neck. And that boy who made you cry? Whenever you saw him he would strangely turn around and go back the other way, like he was avoiding you. You never really found out what made him so scared of interacting with you again.
Ifa took a deep breath in, “Hey Y/N…” he started, voice almost trembling. Ororon looked quite relaxed for what they were about to say, probably feeling nonchalant because it wasn’t him who had to do the asking.
“Hm…?” You turn your head towards him after taking a bite of the grainfruit wrap in your hand, the leaf of it sagging downwards.
“I-I-I,” Ifa stutters then changes his mind, “I mean WE, not just me,” his hand frantically waves to Ororon and himself, as if to emphasize that this was a collective decision. “We were wondering…” His eyes clearly trail down to your chest. By no means were you well-endowed, but Ifa thought that you were just the perfect middle between Mualani and Varesa. Not too big, not too flat, still looking plump and perky and… “Y-You know, we don’t have those,”
You blink at him, still chewing the piece of grainfruit in your mouth, voice muffled. “Jon’t haf wha?”
“You know… Those,” Ifa pointedly stares at your chest, then back to your eyes.
You’re still confused and Ororon sees this. He decides to step in and points a finger at one of your boobs, clearly gazing at it. “He means those, Y/N,”
“Ororon!!!” Ifa bellows, turning towards him as if he was crazy. And yet, Ororon looked like he was just having an every day normal conversation.
“…Yeah? Duh.” You exclaim as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, taking the last bite of grainfruit into your mouth. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m female and you’re male, dumbasses,”
You were actually a lot more forgiving than Ifa thought you would be, maybe he should let Ororon do the talking. “Yeah, so, we just wanted to know how it... feels,”
Ifa yet again tensed up at Ororon’s straightforward way of conversation. Seriously, either he was really stupid or really honest with a straight face.
“Huh? Whadd’you mean? Like…” you tilt your head sideways, “…like you wanna touch it?”
Ifa steps up, putting an arm out to stop Ororon from talking first, “See, cause we can’t ask anyone else…” he feels heat creep up on his cheeks now, but it was probably not noticeable with his complexion. “…and Ororon and I’ve been talking about how we really wanna… just once and for all, stop thinking about how they feel like and finally just find out for ourselves!”
These idiots, you think to yourself.
These bumbling fools.
What were you supposed to say to your two childhood friends?
You sit there, looking at their faces. Ororon was still relaxed. Ifa was beside himself and looked like he was about to run out but he actually continued talking. “A-And, it’s not like we can ask anyone else, you—you’re the closest thing we have to a girlfriend so…” you see his face change from hesitant, to embarrassed, then to disbelief. “Okay, you know what, forget we said anything. We just—”
“Alright,” you say after swallowing the last piece of grainfruit in your mouth.
There’s a deep silence that follows.
“Excuse me?” Ifa asks again, but Ororon was already up and situating himself on the other side of you so that Ifa was on your left and he was on your right.
“She said yes, Ifa,” Ororon said, “…Do you need to get your ears checked?”
Ifa snaps out of it and looks at you with his mouth agape. You agreed. Just like that. This outcome was probably something that he could only imagine in his dreams. He wanted to pinch himself, but Archons, if he was just dreaming, he didn’t want to wake up just yet. "S-So..."
You threw the grainfruit wrap on the table in front of you, leaned back on the sofa and got comfy. “Go on, before I change my mind. I’m timing you guys, just one minute and no more,” You averted your gaze away from the two of them, looking away to where your eyes just lands on one of the lamps on the side-table. If you looked closely, there was the slightest tint of pink shading your cheeks.
“!!!” You jump a little at Ororon’s touch. His hand was first, cupping your still clothed right breast. He had taken his gloves off and was really trying to get used to the shape of it. He genuinely looked as if he was studying a piece of artefact.
“Hmm…” he hummed, liking the feel and how plump it was in his hand. He suddenly squeezes from under your breast, making it squish up like a water balloon.
“O-Ororon!” You warn him, half squirming half trying to bury yourself further into your couch.
It seems like he didn’t hear you.
Ifa watches this intently, he could definitely feel himself hardening and he curses under his breath at the display. He takes his gloves off too, and starts to work on your left.
The two of them fondle, grasp, pinch and squeeze at you all in different places. You try to keep your breathing steady but fail miserably. Throughout the living room all one could hear was your beathing getting huskier and huskier. They were touching you through your clothes. What more if you were bare and naked in front of them?
The one minute mark had definitely passed and yet they continued. You make no move to stop them, trapped in a dilemma of wanting to be touched more versus your morals of ‘doing things right’.
Your desire won over.
“D-Do you wanna look at them?” You mumble, peering up at both of their shocked faces. They stop in unison, glance at each other, then back at you.
“…Do you want us to look at them?” Ifa asked, cautious.
Your face heats up more at the blatant question. “I-I mean, you’ve never seen one before, right?” like it was some kind of rare animal.
They both shook their heads. They’ve never been intimate with anyone else other than their own selves.
You stay silent as you peel your shirt away up and above your head, leaving you in your undergarments. Ororon’s mouth opens in awe at the bouncy flesh bursting forth, and his breath gets stuck in his throat as you undo your breast support garments, leaving two beautiful, fleshy fruits with nubs staring at his face.
Well, beautiful to Ororon, at least. To you, they were embarassingly unsymmetrical and small.
“Holy shit,” You hear Ifa whisper under his breath. If he wasn’t hard before, he definitely was now. He looked carefully at how your breasts held themselves up, and how the nipples were hard and pointed. He looked intently as you breathed in and out, your breasts going up and down.
Just from the sight of that, Ifa thought he was going to cream his pants, but he swallowed the lump in his throat hard and steeled himself to be stronger.
Ororon did not hold back on his intrusive thoughts. His head goes right up to your right breast and his mouth opens to latch on to your nipple, giving it a gentle experimental suck.
“WAIT—” you squeal, eyes gluing shut at the sudden sensation, “I’m not—” ready you wanted to say, but Ifa had followed suit, jealous that Ororon always had the first pick.
Your soft whimpers and cries fill the room, head pressed back hard on the sofa as the two suck and tongue at your nipple. A heat was beginning in your belly and gradually spreading through your body. This feeling was familiar, but like them, you had only explored by yourself and never with anyone else.
“Ifa—Ororon…” Your hands shoot up to grasp at each of their shoulders. They don’t dislatch, engrossed in the feeling of your hard nipple in their tongues, in fact your grip on them seems to send them further into their now ignited desire.
“Mmm…” Ororon mumbles, sending vibrations through your chest. His tongue is surprisingly gentler, you could tell he was mostly in this for his own experimental needs. His tongue swabs at your nipple up and down, then changes to a side to side motion, like a kitten drinking water.
Ifa, on the other hand, oh Ifa.
You didn’t think he had it in him to be the rougher type. He was always so considerate of you and of others that the hard sucking motion he was giving your nipple didn’t seem like him at all. He was hungry, and he was hungry for more. His tongue pressed harder on your nipple than Ororon’s did. When he licked, he licked with all his might, tongue dragging on your nipple all the way up then back down again.
Your legs suddenly clamped together, the heat was pulsing through you now, pleasure throbbing at your very core just from your best friends sucking your tits. “G-Guys—” You moan. A sound that yet again doesn’t stop them and instead spurs them on.
“I-I’m…” they press their faces into your tits more, giving it all their attention. Each swipe of their tongue sends jolts of bliss that start to gather in your nether regions. “I can’t—” You whine, unable to speak in proper sentences.
The vulgar sucking sounds fill your ears, your senses start to go haywire, your legs still pressed shut together as if trying to stop the sensation. “It’s coming—I’m cumming! I’m—Fuuuuuck!” You whisper out in a half wail half sigh.
Ororon suddenly biting on your nipple sends you tumbling over the edge. Your moan resounds through the room, they continue their ministrations as you squeal through the high of your orgasm, stiffening with a stilted moan and then coming down from it panting like a dog, legs now relaxed and the two guys—now unlatched—watching you intently through your climax.
You could not believe that was all it took.
Doing it by yourself was so different from doing it with others. You try to catch your breath, half glaring at your best friends “H-Happy now?”
They look at each other, no words were spoken, but they looked away all bashful. With your bottom half still clothed, you push yourself up from the couch leaving them looking up at you as you stand. Your face was still heavily flushed, breasts glistening and forehead sticky with sweat, but what you did next surprised the two of them.
You knelt down in front of the sofa, hands on your lap and glared up at them. You see their pants seem tighter than before and they look incredibly uncomfortable in their pent up, sitting positions.
“…I’ve never seen yours before too, nor anyone else’s…” You mumble, fidgeting with your fingers. “It’s only fair that I have my turn to see yours now!” you argue like a child.
Ifa shudders in excitement. Was this really happening? Sure they were pretty bold to ask you if you could let them touch your boobs in the first place, but he didn’t think it was actually going to lead to…this.
He took a shaky breath in, wondering how far the three of you were going to push this.
Ororon, surprisingly, refuses. “I think we’re done for the day,”
“What?!” both you and Ifa bellow at the same time. He couldn’t possibly be refusing this.
“I mean, I really want to, but I haven’t watered the radishes today and—”
“Oh shut up,” you cut him off, pushing him down onto the sofa and undoing his pants. Ifa, yet again, groans at the thought that Ororon gets to go first.
He swore to himself that if it ever came to it, he would fuck you first, Ororon would have to line up.
Your hydro vision allows you to skip the expenses of bottom surgery with a fully functional hydro dick, you can get all the pleasure you need from that mimic alone
Top!FTM Reader x Ajax, Ifa, Diluc, Wriothesley
No AFAB Language Used
Send Kinktober reqs [Here!]
This is semi-related to a future Lyney fic i'm working on ^^
Ajax
🌊 On the night you and Ajax were going to spend your first time together, he showed you his closet full of the most insane sets of dildos, all eligible to be used as strap-ons.
He's a size king and you were more than happy to give him whatever he wanted. His face turned a dark shade of red as you explained your mastery of hydro mimics. You could tell he was getting excited about all the possibilities
Ajax grins with tears falling down his cheeks. Your hand is wrapped around his throat and his nipples are receiving love from your hydro tentacles. His hole is being stretched out beyond compare by your massive octopus inspired hydro cock. He's had so many orgasms at this point but he's still begging for more. He has more stamina than you do but seeing him like this, with his messy hair and his ungodly sexy masochistic expression, is giving you more than enough energy to keep him satisfied.
Diluc
CW: Public Sex
🔥 Diluc told you about one of his kinks and, very shyly, asked you to fuck him at work during the monthly age restricted event where the rules are little more lax than usual. Although, nothing the two of you are planning to do is allowed
Thanks to the help of another employee, all the guests are able to order drinks straight to their tables. There's rarely been anyone who decided to sit at the bar and those who did, were quickly dragged away by the music and the lively crowd. Nobody has any idea that Diluc has a hydro dick up his cunt or that your decision to sit behind the bar as Diluc worked was done with the intention to inconspicuously use your hydro mimic.
Diluc grips the end of the counter and does his best to appear normal as you roughly thrust your cock inside him. You lick your lips and smirk when you hit his sweet spot. His legs tremble dramatically. He looks around before falling to his knees, unable to stop himself from having an orgasm. He could barely last five minutes but you didn't stop until you came.
Ifa
🪶 If there's one thing everyone in Ifa's life can agree with, it's that he works too hard. As his loving boyfriend, it's your job to make sure he doesn't overwork himself.
"I was just gonna go for a walk--" He moans. He's on your lap with his wrists tied behind his back and his legs spread. Your hydro cock is pressing against his stomach while your hands are twisting his nipples. You hum with a "yeah right" tone to your voice. You know he was attempting to get to work early. You knew this would happen, he agreed to your plan way too easily. You got a well loved vet to work as a substitute so Ifa could take a break without worrying about all the animals that need help but you figured he'd try to escape anyway.
"You're going to stay home and let me pamper you. Got it?" You kiss his cheek. Seeing and feeling your dick is more than enough to get him to stay. Ifa nods, rolling his hips to grind against your length. You praise him and give him explicit permission to order you around today. The only thing that's off the table is leaving the house. His first request is to have you inside him while you use your element to create a mimic of your tongue to lick and suck him off. There's nothing you'd rather be doing right now.
Wriothesley
❄️ Wriothesley isn't the type to place importance on his partner's genitalia, he loves anything that belongs to his lover. He's much more interested in making sure they feel just as good as he does. He prefers to bottom but he worried you wouldn't feel satisfied topping him with a plastic strap-on. You reassured him by telling him about your ability and even demonstrated how realistic your mimic is. There was obvious excitement growing on his face and he almost begged you to let him suck you off
He asked a handful of questions, how big it can be, how it feels, what happens with you come. When you told him about your size kink, he was even more excited to try out different sizes with you. His hot, bright red cheeks could've rivaled his cold cryo vision.
His eyes are trained on you to watch your reactions as he drags his tongue up your watery shaft. It's connected to your real dick, allowing you to feel every loving lick of his tongue. He presses a sexy kiss against your tip then wraps his lips around it. He gently bobs his head to make shallow movements, thoroughly enjoying your pre cum. You wish you could've taken a photo and framed his face when you told him you could mimic semen as well. "I love your cock–" He says in between kisses and sucking. "So much– so fucking much~" He groans. He doesn't stop looking at you while the corners of his mouth stretch to accommodate the rest of your girth. You're sure you'll be here for a while.
