Can I request dog ifrit. Can I request my bb in a muzzle. My beautiful himbo dog boy. Have fun do what you wish
Ifrit's heart thuds slow and heavy in his chest, eyes wide and lips parted. He can't believe what he's seeing, what's being offered to him.
"Do you like it?"
Zephyr's voice floats through his ears, low and smooth, and Ifrit's breath hitches. He tears his gaze from the gift in his master's graceful hands to their face - Ifrit truly adores the view from his knees, it makes Zephyr's stern calm all the more tantalizing.
"The color will suit you," they continue, and a gentle clinking sounds as Zephyr pulls the thing from its box. "The hardware too."
Ifrit's steady heart leaps into his throat when Zephyr holds up the muzzle. It's beautiful, hand crafted from strips of rich burgundy leather and decorated with brushed golden rivets and buckles. It has extra space for his horns, and Ifrit knows it must have been a custom piece. Did Zephyr get Aether to make it for him? That had been the case with his collar, but that doesn't matter right now.
What does matter is the way his master pats their lap. Ifrit crawls forward without a second thought, until his bare knees touch their booted toes. He's warm all over, dressed in nothing but goosebumps while Zephyr unbuckles the back of his newest accessory. He's wanted one for ages, and the simple sight of it has him drooling like a hound.
Zephyr smiles when they've finished adjusting straps, reaching out to scratch at Ifrit's scalp until his tail starts to swish against the hardwood.
"Someone's excited."
They chuckle, raising one foot to nudge the ruddy head of Ifrit's straining cock. He shudders, whimpering, and Zephyr clicks their tounge.
"No complaining," they admonish, but the sparkle in their eye betrays their amusement at his suffering. Ifrit's balls ache. "Now be a good boy and come here."
Zephyr spreads crossed legs and pats their thigh, inviting him to curl up in his favorite spot. Ifrit obeys, always does, shuffling forward to nuzzle at the juncture of their hip. Zephyr hums, ruffles his hair, and two pats to the shoulder have Ifrit straightening right back up.
"I want you to take very good care of this," they instruct, settling the muzzle against his face. Ifrit's eyes roll at the scent of fresh leather, and again when Zephyr slides the straps around his horns. "Do you understand?"
Ifrit nods. He couldn't talk right now if he wanted to. They take their time securing it, testing the fit and making adjustments, and with every little motion Irfit dribbles onto the floor. His hips don't move an inch, a behavior long since trained out, but his cock still jumps of its own accord. He doesn't realize he's panting until Zephyr finishes the final buckle, resting a hand on his heaving chest instead, and the feel of their cool skin against his own is exquisite.
"It suits you," they praise, and it's only because of rigorous training that Ifrit doesn't blow his load all over the floor right then.
Summary: a continuation from Day 15 where Zephyr continues to sass, and Ifrit takes matters into his own hands (P-spot massage, brat taming, coming otherwise untouched, brief blood mention)
a/n: author is incapable of not making everyone madly in love with each other... and following a scheduled posting time for more than two weeks sorry y'all
The heat of the sauna clings to them both.
Ifrit, crouched between Zephyr’s parted thighs, and Zephyr, boneless and sprawled across the slats, one arm flung lazily above their head.
Their breath is shallow. Their throat glows with beading crescents of red and they’re smirking. Of course.
“Careful,” they purr. “If you keep biting me like that, people are gonna think we’re bonded.”
Ifrit snorts softly. “You think anyone’d be surprised?”
He’s still close. Still holding the back of their neck like he’s reluctant to let go. But now his free hand trails lower, skimming over the plane of their chest, then down the warm, sweat-slick slope of their belly.
Zephyr shifts, thighs spreading wider.
“Oh,” they say, delighted. “Is that how it’s gonna be?”
Ifrit doesn’t answer. Just slides his palm lower, watching every twitch of Zephyr’s breath. When his fingers find the crease where thigh meets hip, Zephyr’s smirk falters just a hair.
Ifrit notices. “Still feeling cocky?” he smirks.
Zephyr hums, tilts their head.
Ifrit kisses the mark at their throat once and then starts down, mouth trailing heat. His fingers press more firmly now, coaxing.
“You gonna let me touch you?” he murmurs. “Let me make you feel good?”
Zephyr's eyes flutter. “Didn’t realize I had a choice.”
“Oh, you do,” Ifrit purrs. “You can beg. Or you can ask nicely.”
Zephyr’s laugh is breathy, a little shaky now. “Fuck you.”
“Later,” he says, and he slides two fingers deep and slow.
The kind of slow that says he’s not in any rush. That he plans to feel everything. That he wants Zephyr to feel it too. Down to the curl of his fingers, the press of his palm, the pulse of heat riding just beneath their skin.
Zephyr breathes out sharp and quick.
Their body shifts around him, loose and pliant from the sauna’s lull, but Ifrit can feel the tension winding — the tremble in their thighs, the flutter beneath their ribs. They want it. They want him. But they're not about to make it easy.
“Lucifer,” Zephyr huffs, fingers flexing against the bench. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna be gentle.”
Ifrit laughs low and dangerous. Crooks his fingers just enough to press against the spot that makes Zephyr's hips jerk.
“There we go,” he hums.
Zephyr gasps and bites their lip. Hard.
Their head tips back against the slats with a quiet thunk, and their mouth parts around a stuttered inhale. They look flushed. Glorious. Almost ruined from just that press alone.
And yet —
“Lucky guess,” they manage, voice breathless. “Try again.”
Ifrit curls his fingers again. Gentle pressure, deliberate aim. Enough to make Zephyr’s thighs tense, breath catch, hips try to lift before they’re met with the firm weight of Ifrit’s palm on their lower belly.
“Easy,” he murmurs, wicked-soft. “You like it slow, don't you?”
“I like it good,” Zephyr bites out, but it’s thin now, stretched over the tremble in their voice.
Ifrit hums like he’s thinking it over. Then shifts his hand just a little. Presses in again, perfect angle, perfect pressure.
He keeps it there.
Holds them like a secret. Like a promise. Like he knows exactly how good it is and he's going to make them say it.
Zephyr twitches.
Their fingers claw at the bench again, and they make a soft, betrayed little sound that they try to swallow. It slips out between their teeth anyway.
“Fuck—”
“Shh,” Ifrit croons, leaning over them, heat draping down. His breath ghosts over Zephyr’s temple. “Know just how you like it, don't I?”
Zephyr glares at him. Or tries to. It's hard to accomplish with the way their pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted and wet.
Ifrit pulses his fingers once more, so slight it shouldn’t count—
Zephyr shudder anyways.
They gasp and their hips jump before Ifrit’s palm steadies them again.
“Where's all that bravado now, huh?”
Any retort Zephyr might have is dead on arrival with the way Ifrit’s moving now.
Each thrust of his fingers is steady and deliberate, angling just right, dragging against that same spot. He keeps his other hand low on their belly, grounding.
Every motion drags another sound out of Zephyr’s throat.
Whimpers, gasps, broken little sighs.
They’re trying to keep it together, chin lifted, eyes fluttering, lips bitten to hell, but Ifrit’s watching them fall apart in real time. Loving every second of it.
“C’mon,” he coaxes, breath hot by their ear. “Give it to me.”
Zephyr chokes on their breath. Their thighs spasm, muscles jumping. They're soaked; hot and clenching and trembling around his fingers.
“Fuck, Ifrit—”
“That’s it,” he growls, grinning. “That’s what I want.”
His thumb brushes lower and the noise they make punches right out of them. Needy and loud and desperate.
“Good,” Ifrit purrs, curling his fingers again. “That’s real good, baby. Let me hear you.”
They’re panting, arching, fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the bench as he works them open
“Let me hear you,” he purrs again, mouth brushing just under their ear. “C’mon, darling. I know you like showing off.”
Zephyr makes a choked sound but it dissolves instantly as Ifrit thrusts again, a little harder this time.
The angle is merciless.
They arch with a cry, thighs twitching, hips trying to chase the rhythm even as he holds them steady.
“Yeah?” he smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
His thumb rubs in slow, maddening circles.
His fingers curl just right. Zephyr shudders like they’re going to break.
“Tell me how it feels,” he says, voice velvet now. “Tell me what I’m doing to you.”
Zephyr moans.
Their head rolls to the side, throat bared and trembling. “Fuck—Ifrit—”
They’re losing it. Falling into the heat, the stretch, the pace. Any pretense of composure is long gone, their breaths high and ragged with every thrust.
“You're close,” Ifrit says, dragging his tongue along the shell of their ear. “You gonna come like this? Just from my fingers?"
Zephyr whimpers. Nods.
“Where's that mouth now?” he breathes.
“I—I’m—fuck—” They gasp, lips parting again around a shattered little cry. “I’m gonna come—”
Ifrit growls low and satisfied, working them harder now, fingers relentless.
“Good. Let me feel it.”
Zephyr jerks, a strangled noise ripping from their throat as their body arches hard into his hand.
But Ifrit doesn’t stop.
His fingers work them through it, relentless and sure, working that spot like he’s coaxing a moan straight from their soul. He keeps circling, slow and tight, drawing every last tremble out of them.
“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” he growls against their throat. “Come on my fingers, just like that. Pretty little thing—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Zephyr wails.
Their thighs spasm, whole body shivering as they come hard, dripping and clenched and shaking with it. Their hands scramble for purchase, his wrist, the bench, anything, but Ifrit just pins them open and watches.
Zephyr gasps, twitching and overwhelmed.
Ifrit doesn’t stop. He guides them through it, coaxing every last ripple out of their body, every last sweet sound.
When he finally slows his hand, Zephyr collapses back against the bench, dazed and sweat-slick and flushed to their ears. Their chest heaves. Their fingers twitch. Their pupils are blown wide, lashes damp with the force of it.
Ifrit kisses their cheek, hot lips like a brand.
“Good job.” He grins like the devil. “Pretty when you’re loud.”
Notes: Disabled Zeph with chronic pain and Ifrit absolutely doting on them
Word Count: 357
Read on AO3 or below the cut
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“C’mere Birdy. Up on the bed.” Ifrit takes one look at his mate and pats the bedspread. The tension is clear in Zephyr’s shoulders and their barely masked grimace. They tiredly flop face first onto the bed and Ifrit helps them get their legs fully up onto the mattress as well.
“Mm, fucking back is acting up.”
“I’ve gotcha. Let's get your uniform off so nothing is stressing your shoulders.”
Ifrit helps them strip their shirt and binder as they grumble about how the meeting they’d been called to attend with the clergy really should have been a letter.
“So full of themselves. Have to jaw on for an hour just to say they’re remodeling Frater’s office.” The rub their temples, a headache coming on on top of everything else.
“I’m sorry Birdie. We’ve got the rest of the day off now though. Let me just help you relax.”
Zephyr huffs but gives Ifrit a peck on the cheek.
“What lotion flavor you want today?”
“Mmm, lavender. It tastes the best.”
Ifrit chuckles at the joke and retrieves the requested bottle. He squirts some into his hands and warms it as Zephyr gets settled on their stomach. He starts by rubbing their shoulders and the back of their neck just to warm them up to his touch before moving to long warm and soothing passes over their back. At their shoulders he does knead, working out the almost perpetual knots and tension there. Zephyr’s lower back however, Ifrit is careful to only lightly caress to avoid causing any more pain.
The gentle repetitive motions and the lavender scent soothe the ache behind Zephyr’s eyes and they finally unclench their jaw. By the time Ifrit is working the excess lotion over the air ghoul’s tail in the name of pampering, Zephyr's eyes are heavy. It takes Ifrit a bit to realize they’ve drifted off. When he does notice, he chuckles.
As gently as possible, Ifrit curls up on the bed next to Zephyr, still rubbing their back, but now spooning them as well. Zephyr churrs in their sleep and Ifrit smiles fondly.
