#ifa x reader

“So, uh, can I ask what happened?” Ifa gestured awkwardly to where you sat in the water. Your newfound tail completely submerged in the gently flowing water that toyed with your fins as you shifted before letting out a sigh.

“Commission gone wrong?” Your voice rose at the end, making your feeble explanation more of a question than an actual answer and Ifa paused, pressing his lips together before giving a short nod and hum in response.

You sighed, looking down at your tail and fins that fluttered in the ebb and flow of the tide. “I slipped and fell into some water near the ruins of a Dragonlord’s domain and this happened.” You paused, gesturing vaguely with one webbed hand to your tail before continuing with a frown, “Kinich found me and brought me back here, and Amina called to ask for the expertise of the Masters of the Night Wind. Citlali said that the Dragonlord of that domain had historically had a penchant for cursing things in an effort to keep any of his treasures from being stolen and that this was just one of the many curses he used.”

“Oh wow… No way, bro!” At odds with the Saurian’s energetic flapping, you simply nodded glumly in response to Cacucu’s sympathy.

It had honestly been a mess, but that was the simple explanation of what had happened. You’d been commissioned to find out if there was any valuable research material in the ruins of one of the Dragonlords, and received the surprisingly hefty payment upfront. But when you’d gotten there, the place had long since been ransacked. So, after searching for the day, you’d started to leave with little to offer for your time.

And that was when things had gone wrong. You simply mis-stepped due to some loose tiles that’d paved the ancient walkway, splashing down into the decorative pool of clear water that had been similarly paved in beautiful tiles. Almost as if it were trying to tempt unsuspecting passerbys closer.

And after that, the change had been almost instantaneous. 

It had felt like your legs had given out and gotten stuck together all at once, and you’d collapsed into the pool with a shriek. And for a brief moment after that you’d felt sick, like you were seconds away from hurling as your hands’ grown oddly sticky and your ears had warmed.

But once that feeling had faded, you’d looked down to find that your legs had been replaced with a brilliantly colored tail and that your fingers were webbed. 

Kinich was the one who’d told you that you also had finned ears when he’d found you. And you’d been beyond lucky that he’d happened across you while searching for a rogue saurian. Because otherwise there was no telling how long you’d been stuck there.

After all, it wasn’t like you could just walk back the way you came, and there was no river or stream that connected to the decorative pool.

Again, Ifa nodded. But this time there was a lilt to his hum as he peered at you from under his hat, “And that’s when Citlali recommended you get me to come and make sure nothing was wrong?”

You frowned, not liking the tone he used, but nodded nonetheless, “Yeah, she recommended you since there aren’t many doctors around. Plus she said you’d be more able to tell if something was wrong with the more… inhuman side of things, as well.”

He let out a chuckle, causing your frown to deepen even before he spoke, “Guess I’ll count myself lucky there, then.”

You felt your brows pull together in confusion, and you tilted your head so you could better look at him, “How so?”

He snorted, his lips pulling up into a smile as he glanced back up at you again as he plopped down next to you in a perfectly unbothered fashion, “ Well, it’s hardly everyday someone gets to see a merperson, much less treat them.” He paused, tilting his head with a grin that stood in stark contrast to your reaction to your transformation, “Kind of magical if you ask me.”

You felt your eyes widen slightly as you stared back at Ifa. But, in some sort of way, you supposed he was right. There was something magical about being a merperson, even if it hadn’t been a choice you’d made for yourself.

“For real now? Do you even hear yourself, bro?” 

You almost snorted at Cacucu’s judgmental interjection as Ifa gave his feathered companion a dirty look before looking back your way with a sigh. “Alright then, does anything feel off?”

You bounced your tail slightly, “Other than not having legs and having to stay in the water? Nope. I actually feel fine.”

He nodded, scanning you as if he were checking numerous things at once. And for all you knew, he probably was. “So you do dry out?”

You nodded, “Yeah, that almost happened when Kinich was carrying me here. We had to stop a few times. Ajaw said Kinich should have a fee for each break we had to take.”

Ifa snorted, giving an unsurprised shake of his head as he stood and circled around behind you, apparently checking something back there, “Unpleasant little bugger…”

You felt yourself grin at his muttering before he leaned around you, his eyebrows arched, “Do you, uh, have gills?”

You blinked before nodding, shifting to pull up your shirt to expose your side, “Yeah, I found them earlier. They’re right here.”

He blinked, his eyes briefly widening at the sight of the fluttering organ before he shook his head with a slight smile, letting out a soft chuckle, “Well, since they look good, I guess that’s everything.”

He paused, looking back up at you as you pulled your shirt back down and frowning slightly, “Did Citlali say anything about how long you might be like this?”

This time, a soft amount of worry tinged his voice and you smiled slightly, “She seemed to think I’d be back to normal by tomorrow, but I’ll be staying with the People of the Springs until then.”

He nodded, not looking terribly surprised as he settled into place beside you, letting his legs dangle into the water as his shoulder brushed yours and he looked at you sideways, “And do you think you’ll be alright until then?”

You laughed slightly, nodding as you playfully bumped him with your shoulder, “Mualani told me I would be a VIP guest for the night, so yeah. I should be fine.” You paused, glancing back down at your tail before continuing in a softer tone, “Thanks, though.”

You blinked as you felt him nudge your arm with a finger, “Hey, don’t mention it.” 

You twisted, looking his way just in time to catch sight of his teasing grin that was accompanied with a laugh from Cacucu as he finished, “After all, I gotta look after my patients. No matter how magical.”

You leaned to the side, pushing his hand away even as you grinned at him, “And hopefully, by tomorrow, I’ll be relieved of your care.”

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 to pull the rim of his hat from over his face and brushing 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 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 again just seconds after you’d last seen 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 the leather of 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 to lean back against them, 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 heated 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 flexing as his throat bobbed, 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. 

“Fuck—ah—hold up, ‘m s-still…” he rasped out, squirming. “I thought…didn’t y’say—?”

“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. 

“Good…’n weird. ‘S gettin’ weird,” he panted. “Something’s…th-think somethin’s gonna—wait. Oh, God—”

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.”