#the scuttle chest

[artwithteggy]

The Scuttle Chest prototype print came out beautifully ❤️🦀 I found a few things that need to be tweaked but its good progress. What do you think? Is it a crab or a treasure chest? mimic?

[nuclearanomaly]

occult crescent sure does have a vice grip on my brain

[simonbrain]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[after-witch]

The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: The Grass is Greener [Yandere Shigaraki x reader]

Synopsis: Shigaraki Tomura finds something at Overhaul’s base that’s worth taking.

Word count: 7000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon sex, abuse

It’s not that Tomura Shigaraki thought the base of the once-great��he tucks the once into his molars, savoring it–Shie Hassaikai would be teeming with life. It’s that he thought some of them might have the balls to stick around and fight for the remnants of their organization.

But they must have been paying real-fucking-close attention, because there wasn’t a trace of a living person left in the entire facility. Which was a shame–while killing some stupid underlings wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as destroying the hands of a fear-stricken Overhaul, it would still be a little fun.

Well. At least the rest of the League seemed to be having a decent time sifting through the hallways, the abandoned rooms. Finding things to take home or mock or both. 

The sights of overturned chairs and abandoned posts both sickened and thrilled him. Sickened because, really, what unloyal douchebags. Thrilled because it meant they were afraid–afraid of the League. Afraid of him.

They should be. It was only a matter of time before everyone else was, too. 

Most of the rooms are what they expected, minus any signs of existing life. There’s even some kind of hospital lab–what did that creepy asshole do in there, he wonders–amidst the various bunkers, a kitchen, odds and ends.

Still, there’s one room Shigaraki wants to find–wants to sift through himself, in case there’s anything worthwhile. More money would be nice. More vials, more secrets. More, simply put. 

“Think I found it.” Dabi stares at a door that’s so irritatingly obviously the door that Shigaraki doesn’t hesitate to shove his palm against it, watching it crumble into dust with something a bit like satisfaction. 

Unlike the other doors, plain grey things, this door was a sleek black metal. Probably with some fancy lock system that didn’t matter anymore.

And unlike the other rooms with their scattered papers and overturned chairs, with signs of messy life and abandonment, this room is really fucking perfect. Prim. Proper. Utterly disgusting, really, and Shigaraki is the first one to step in and sweep his hand across a side table lined with perfectly spaced vases and send them crashing to the floor.

Lovely.

“Don’t take anything yet,” he says, glancing at the others. “But tell me if you find something worthwhile.” 

There’s murmurs of agreement that mingle with a general sense of curiosity. He soaks in the feeling in the air–the triumph. The thrill of victory thrumming through everyone’s chests, no doubt, the same way it’s making his whole body tingle. 

Overhaul’s room is just as annoying as he is; it’s entirely expected. Immaculate. Through an open doorway, he can see a bedroom with perfectly pressed black sheets. No doubt in the closet were equally perfectly pressed clothing sets. Fucker probably had perfectly shined shoes, too. 

It’s all too satisfying to plop down in Overhaul’s chair and stick his boots, dirt and mud and blood flecking off the soles, onto the meticulously organized desk. There’s probably something important on there, but Shigaraki doesn’t mind if it’s got dirt (or a boot print) on it for later.

“What’s this door for, do you think?” Toga pokes–literally–at a closed door on the side of the room. 

In the beats of silence after her question, Shigaraki hears it–they all hear it: sound. From behind the door. Shuffling and scuttling. Footsteps–

Someone’s still here.

There’s a curling little thrill inside his stomach as he stands and makes his way to the door. Toga is mid-way asking about looking for the key inside Overhaul’s desk when Shigaraki places his palm on the wood and disintegrates it with his hands. 

He expected an underling’s office. Maybe a second-in-command that had yet to show his face, stationed in some side office next to Overhaul. Probably someone just as organized, by choice or by command.

He doesn’t expect a bedroom. Not just a bedroom, actually, but one that is so clearly not Overhaul’s living space that it’s a bit disorienting. Sure, it’s got that same sort of annoying tidiness as Overhaul’s office and the glimpse of his bedroom. 

But it’s… prettier. Softer. Touches here and there, that place it distinctly away from Overhaul himself. A soft pink comforter with matching pillows. Watercolor paintings taped to the wall. A bookshelf with spines that he vaguely recognizes–some light novels and mangas, fantasies, romances, all pinks and pastels. 

And in the center of the room, a table with some scattered papers, an overturned chair… 

Like someone had heard they were coming and bolted.

There’s only one place for someone to go, and that’s the only other door remaining in the room. He gestures for the rest of the League to stand by as he watches the door turn to ash.

Behind the door is a bathroom, immaculately cleaned, with a toilet room and then beyond it, a room with a tub–and inside that tub, no doubt bleach-cleaned like mad, is you. 

Cowering, of course. Wearing a pretty white dress with pink flowers embroidered all over it–you’re all flounces and frills. Even from the doorway, he can see you trembling, can see your eyes all wide, pupils blown in fear. 

Staring at him like a victim, like a doe. Like some pretty little thing in way over your head.

And you are, aren’t you? You’re like some fish all flopped out of the water, gasping for breath on the sand.

It’s irritating, really. 

“Who are you?” He asks, none too nicely.

He sees your lips press together, and thinks, all instinct: haughty bitch.

But then he reconsiders. The pieces are put together link by link. A pretty little thing kept in a room adjacent to Overhaul’s private office, wearing nice clothes, given nice things…

“You’re Overhaul’s squeeze?”

You furrow your eyebrows, like you’re thinking way too hard. He might add “stupid” to his list of descriptors–doe, sweet, scared. Stupid.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Oh, you are sweet. You’ve got a soft, trembling voice to match your shaking form.

“His girlfriend,” Dabi drawls from behind them. The rest of the League is watching, craning their necks, eager (or indifferent) to see where this goes.

“No,” you say, then seemingly correct yourself. “Y-Yes. I… we’re…” Everything seems to confuse you, and you pull your arms tight across your chest. “Where… is he?”

Shigaraki doesn’t hide his grin. “Oh, he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

And then, odd thing you apparently are, you take a breath in. Almost in relief, he thinks. You stand up and take an unsteady step out of the tub–he finds that he likes that. Likes the way you try to straighten up a little, despite being unable to look him in the eye.

“When is he coming back?” You keep looking to the side, and tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “Did he send you?”

Shigaraki’s lips twitches. “You ask too many questions.”

You fiddle with the hem of your dress, then. And he finds he likes that, too. Likes the way you look like some sort of bizarre doll in this bunker of Overhaul’s, some little treat he left behind. 

And left behind you were–because there’s no way in hell Overhaul will be able to get you out of here himself. 

“He won’t be coming back,” Shigaraki says, easily enough. “Ever.” 

And oh, you finally look right at him and what is this? Something that looks like joy in your eyes. 

Shit, maybe you aren’t as annoying as you seem.

“Then I…” You swallow, and there’s a crack of a smile on your lips. “I can go home now?”

Go home? Ah. Another piece clicks together. Not a girlfriend, then. A toy; a kidnapped one, anyway. Overhaul wouldn’t be the first creep to resort to kidnapping to get a partner.

“He kidnapped you?” There’s no pity in his tone, and he hopes you aren’t looking for it, because you won’t find it with him. He just wants the confirmation.

You nod, looking down at the floor again. “Yes. Um. And he… I’ve been kept here a while, so…”

While your words drift away, his mind drifts, thinking of the souvenirs from this bunker that the League’s got stuffed in their bags. Remnants of Overhaul’s reign. He ought to take something besides that fucker’s hands. 

And aren’t you the perfect trophy? Some doll that Overhaul wanted and took, kept here in this stuffy bunker. You probably haven’t even seen sunlight in ages. All pretty and soft and maybe stupid, by choice or force.

Why not? He’s earned it. He has a right to anything that shitbag left behind.

Even you–especially you, with your trembling hands and flouncy dress. He thinks about the watercolors on the walls and wonders what happened if you got paint on this dress, or any other; Overhaul probably kept you in the same types of frilly things day after day.

He might, too. Or not. He doesn’t even know what he wants with you, really. He might have fun with you, might just let you go, might just keep you until you’re boring. It doesn’t matter. There’s no sense in plotting so far ahead when the real thrill is in the act of taking what he wants. And right now, in this moment, he finds that he wants you. 

It’s Shigaraki’s turn to crack a smile, but there’s not much joy to be found in it.

“How would you like to live somewhere else?”

It is, of course, a rhetorical question. 

–

What happened in between? You can’t be too sure; the memories are all blurs and fogs, snatches of conversation–a girl complimenting your dress and someone asking if you had any injuries, if he hurt you–and overwhelming noise. 

It was easy to forget how quiet your life had been, when confronted with the outside world. 

Maybe that’s why it’s all fuzzy. Your mind or your body or both went into some sort of shock, maybe, in between the bathroom to the truck to the–wherever this is. Not a bunker, exactly, like where Overhaul kept you. 

It’s a bedroom, that seems obvious enough. A messy one. The man–Shigaraki Tomura, he’d told you–dumped you in here and said simply, “Don’t do anything stupid,” before leaving. The door is surely locked, though you don’t have the nerve to try it. Where would you go, if you were brave enough to run?

It would be stupid, besides, and he told you not to do anything stupid. You’re good at following orders. Well, now you are; it took training. Will this Shigaraki Tomura want to train you? What is he going to do with you, after all? 

The question makes you cringe. 

“What am I to do with you?” Overhaul–Kai, he insisted–would ask you, when you did something wrong. The question always carried with it the thread of being remade. Literally. The threat of his hands on you and being blown to bits and put together the way he wanted. So you answered his questions by remaking yourself from the inside out; it was gentler, that way.

Overhaul–Kai?--was… gone. Dead, maybe? They didn’t say. Shigaraki told you that he wouldn’t be coming back for you. Someone else in the truck had quipped–”He’s got his hands full”--which made one person snicker, then everyone else laugh. You didn’t know why it was funny, and you didn’t want to know.

Maybe you’ll be bait. Or ransom. Or maybe he wants you to…

On this messy, unfamiliar bed, your fingers begin to pull at the dingy, faded comforter. The threads come out with a bit of work from your fingernails, and it’s satisfying, to yank on them, as you contemplate.

Maybe he wants you to… 

You know what villains might do to people they kidnap. You’ve read your romance novels. Though Overhaul took some of them away once he’d realized what they were about. Still. The thought of that is–scary, sending tingles down your back.

Overhaul never touched you like that. Sure, he looked at you sometimes. When you were asleep but when you were awake, too. Told you to stand still and ghosted his fingers just above your nightgown, until he’d pull himself away and scrub his hands raw in the bathroom.

You don’t suppose this Shigaraki Tomura will be squeamish. 

As if on cue, the door swings open, and your sort-of-rescuer-but-maybe-also-kidnapper tosses a pre-warmed bowl of noodles on the bed. They bounce against the plastic wrap, and you can see the artificial color sticking to the condensation against the plastic. A pair of chopsticks lands next to the bowl. 

“Dinner,” he says, before plopping down on an upholstered chair shoved into the corner of the room. He tears the plastic off his own bowl, and begins to eat unceremoniously. 

You scooch back on the mattress, your clean, full skirt feeling dingier by the minute on the mattress. That was dinner? The meals that Overhaul made you come to mind–not just the meals, but the dinner itself.

Dinner was meant to be at 7pm sharp. At your table, which you’d cleaned and cleared. Dinner was meticulously thought out, he told you, each element designed to give you the best nutrition possible. Protein, fat, fiber, carbs; vegetables, lean meat, rice. Sometimes a bit of chopped sweet potato as a treat. 

This–this was certainly not appropriate. And to eat it, where exactly? On the mattress? Something tingles in your chest, imagining all the germs seeping into the plastic, settling onto the noodles. 

The noodles themselves were a problem, though. 

You clear your throat. Shigaraki doesn’t notice. You clear it louder, and he sighs.

“What?”

You poke a finger at the bowl.

“I’m not allowed to eat that.” 

As if he should know. 

He blinks at you. 

“Eat it, or don’t. I don’t care.” 

Then he goes back to eating his own meal, and you’re left with something dull inside your chest. It’s not right–the meal. Or the setting. Or any of this, really. 

Some part of you, a selfish part, wishes you were back in your bed inside your clean room; wishes that you were still waiting, colored pencils and paper in hand, for him to get back and continue on with your orderly, if captive, existence. 

Well, if wishes came true, none of this would have happened in the first place. 

You can’t bring yourself to touch the noodles; the thought of them makes your stomach ache. Overhaul (Kai, you remind yourself) would be able to tell you all that was wrong with a meal like that, and you try to envision what he’d say. It becomes too tiring so you simply pull your legs up and wait to find out what this Shigaraki wants.

The answer must come, you think, when he tosses his bowl in the trash bin and shrugs off his coat. It smells of sweat and dust, or is that him? 

Without warning, he flops down on the mattress, almost sending you flying off the side. He snickers, and you feel warmth flush your chest as you try to recollect yourself. But even that brief loss of dignity gets lost when you realize what must be coming now. 

What villains do, when they take someone away.

Will it hurt? Will it take long? How often will he do it?

He props himself up on his elbow and you can feel him staring at you. Sizing you up, probably. Deciding on how and when he’ll take you. The realization makes your heart begin to race, and cold sweat beads against the back of your neck.

When will he do it? Now? Now? 

When you hesitantly glance at him, you can see he is sizing you up–looking at your dress and your socked feet and the way you’ve pulled your knees up to your chest. There’s a flash in your mind of him ripping it off, shoving you down onto the mattress, and then–then. 

But it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t move towards you, despite his leering look. 

Instead of hovering over you and pinning you down to the mattress, he simply scoffs. Then he sits up and grabs a game controller, turning on a system set-up at the far end of the room.

“Be quiet,” he says, “It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to mess up this level.”

Eventually, as your heart begins to settle, you stare at the cooling bowl of microwaved noodles on the mattress. 

Your stomach growls.

But this would make you sick; that’s what Overhaul said. 

And he’d done many things to you, but he never lied.

–

Hunger can be overcome. It can be uncomfortable, true; but you’d dealt with it before. During the days when you hadn’t been good enough yet, and Overhaul refused you anything but water, until you’d given in and behaved yourself.

So it’s not the growing hunger that’s bothering you now, as the day wears on and it must surely be nighttime.

It’s the sleepiness.

Hunger can be ignored–but this? It’s hard to ignore the way your head is starting to slap hard against your knees as you begin to micronap, unable to keep awake no matter how many times you pinch your flesh. 

It’s not a gesture you’ve had to do in so long–bedtime was, well. Bedtime. A set time with set things to do, all designed–or so Kai told you–to get you the best possible sleep so your body could rest and heal. (Heal from what, he never said.)

So sitting on a mattress and feeling your body jerk in desperation as it tries to get some sleep is something new. Something difficult. 

If this Shigaraki Tomura notices, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are glued to the news, a grin on his face, his palm slapping his thigh at the action. 

The news has him enthralled, so your fights to stay awake are probably not even on his radar. Which means you’ll have to bring it up yourself–that question that’s been pulling at you since you realized it must be well past afternoon and into the night.

“Excuse me…” You say, voice hoarse. You clear it, then realize you don’t know exactly what to call him. He gave his name, but that didn’t mean you were supposed to use it. So when you continue, you err on the side of caution. “Excuse me, sir?”

At this, he finally seems to remember that you’re in the room. He waves a hand at you, vague irritation crossing his features. “Just call me Shigaraki.” Instantly, his gaze turns back to the TV. 

Your tongue feels heavy as you swallow. “Oh. I’m sorry. Um. Shigaraki?”

You can see him push his tongue against the side of his cheek, his eyes still not leaving the TV. There’s some sort of press conference footage playing, though you can’t quite focus on the words. 

“What?” he says, almost a grumble. “Don’t ask for something to eat. I already gave you dinner. Eat it cold, if you’re hungry.”

Oh, that. You’d set the bowl on the floor once you’d decided that it was best not to eat. It would have been awful if it got knocked over and the sauce seeped through the plastic rim, after all. Although given the status of the mattress, maybe it was generous to care about additional stains.

“It’s not–” Your voice is too soft, in this room, with the mess and the TV.  You try to speak up, something you haven’t done in so long. “I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to know…” Directly asking things is no longer in your nature, and your fingers find themselves playing with the hem of your skirt. 

The sound from the TV stops abruptly, and you flinch. He’s muted it. He turns fully to you now, irritation written on his face. “Can you just spit it out already?” 

A shuddering breath escapes your chest as you force the question out: “I just–I wanted to know, what time am I going to bed?” 

You do not ask the rest, though surely it must be a given: What time are you going to bathe me, what nightgown would you like me to wear, do you prefer to brush my teeth for me or can I do it myself, am I sleeping on your bed or somewhere else?

He blinks at you, not for the first time today. “Whenever you bother to fall asleep.” The words come out slow, like you’re some inept child. 

You’re starting to feel like one. Because the words hit you, the way he intends them, all hurtful and condescending. But you can’t make sense of them. Go to bed whenever? Without anything to prepare you? It doesn’t register–you don’t know what he means.

And you tell him so, as plainly as you can: 

“I don’t understand.”

He rolls his eyes, and a pit inside your stomach seems to open up, tossing each irritated expression into it and making you feel worse. 

“What’s there to understand?” He waves at the mattress. “Pick a side and go to sleep. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” 

He turns back to the TV, clearly not interested in any further conversation, and turns the sound back on. Without so much as an order or command or at the very least, an expectation from you.

What a strange man. What a strange place. What a strange world.

There is, at first, a temptation to tell him. To explain what your needs are–why you can’t simply go to sleep. But then come the thoughts about punishment. He’d already gotten annoyed with you for simply asking. What would he do if you, bold thing, insisted on it?

And so, on this new first day of what is apparently the rest of your life, you’re left to curl up on the farthest edge of the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a headache lingering at the back of your forehead, and hunger in your stomach, and it’s all so wrong.

If Kai were here–and he’s not, and you can’t deny that you don’t hate that fact even as your mind jolts from the strange turnabout the day has taken–this wouldn’t be happening. But this new one… this Shigaraki, maybe it’s too much to expect from him right now.

He just took you, after all, and it sounds like whatever group he belongs to was involved in something major today. A long day–a hard day. So he must still be thinking on the rules, how to properly manage you.

You need to be managed, after all. That is one thing you learned from Kai.

It’s surprising to you that you’re even able to fall asleep without everything that ought to be done. Without the ritual of the bath, without being handed your nightgown while Kai turns around and swears he won’t look, without your hair being tended to, without being tucked into bed…

Exhaustion doesn’t seem to care about rituals. 

So sleep, you do; and when it takes you, it takes you hard, dragging you into a heavy slumber while the TV plays on. 

–

When you wake up, it’s morning–and you are alone. 

There’s a bright light streaming in through the windows and it’s a wonder you can stand up at all, with your muscles aching and the world itself feeling topsy turvy, as you fumble for the shabby curtains with one hand over your eyes. They rip a little as you yank them over the window, but at least you don’t feel blinded now. 

There hadn’t been windows, before; in the bunker, that is. With Overhaul–with Kai. Just the overhead lights at first, and then eventually, a pretty lamp with a soft lilac-colored shade. A gift, for behaving; for being trustworthy enough to control your own light. It was nice to be able to turn on the light when you had to pee in the middle of the night, at least. 

There are no lilac lamps here. Only an overhead light that, when you peer closely, appears to have a smattering of dead flies resting inside the lamp shade. The thought brings bile to your empty stomach, and it growls in retaliation.

You hadn’t eaten in… was it almost two days, now? 

Maybe Shigaraki was getting your breakfast. That seemed right–that he’d sleep off yesterday’s havoc and spend the morning organizing his rules for you. What you should eat, and wear, and your schedule.

But what should you do in the meantime? 

You stand, stretching your worn-out muscles, and take stock of the room he’s placed you in. It’s not clean, that’s for sure. Messy, to say the least. Used clothes and food wrappers are strewn about, and the whole room has a terrible sense of neglect.

If your room isn’t clean, how could you hope to get anything done?

Kai had told you that, when you argued about his expectations for your room. Everything ought to be perfectly tidy, he’d said. And after a while, how could you disagree? It only made sense. When your room was organized, your thoughts could be organized. When your thoughts were organized, everything else simply fell into place.

And maybe–maybe that’s the trick, here. Shigaraki left you alone in the morning, because he wanted to see what you’d do. Wanted to see if you’d pick up on a classic rule–keep things clean and tidy–without being told.

Before, Kai needed to train you–but now? Now, you knew the game. 

A smile, faint and uncertain though it is, crawls across your face. 

You’d pass this test with flying colors.

–

He’s still not sure what to do with you. The thought comes to him, faintly and then stronger, as he gets closer and closer to the bedroom where you’re being kept. It’s one thing to take what you’re due, another to decide how to manage it–how to manage you. 

It’s a bit like taking in a pet, he realized over the night. You’ve got to be fed and watered and all that. Clothed, if he feels like it. He’s not sure if he does. And if you’re too much trouble, well. It might not be worth the thrill of taking what was once Overhaul’s, in the end.

He almost expects you to still be asleep when he opens the door, but as soon as he steps in, he can see you’re up and about and–

Cleaning? 

The room is almost unrecognizable. He doesn’t bother much with tidying. Not when there are far more important things going on. Yet you’ve picked up every bit of trash, folded all the dirty clothes he’s thrown here and there… even made the bed. You clearly haven’t noticed him open the door, because you’re just finishing up the folding, humming a bit to yourself. 

He can’t decide if he likes it or not. 

“What are you doing?” 

You flinch at his sudden words, and there–he likes that; the fear, the flinching, it’s familiar. He can work with it. He deepens his frown, just to see what you do. 

You swallow, timidly folding your hands in front of you. All proper and prim. 

“I–I thought you wanted me to clean.”

He snorts. He doesn’t know what he wants you to do, exactly, but “tidy up the bedroom” probably wouldn’t be at the top of the list. 

“I didn’t tell you to clean.” And maybe it comes out snarkier than he intends to be, but so what? He’s allowed to be an ass, if he wants. 

Your hands wring together, and your gaze flits down to the floor.

“But I thought… I thought…” You seem to struggle with the words, your voice getting higher, more anxious. You’re like a bird, he thinks, one afraid to fall from some carefully constructed nest in a tree. There’s an instinct to crush you until those brittle bones break–and another instinct, too. One that makes him want to scratch. 

“I thought it was… a test.”

What. 

“A test? Are you stupid, or something?” 

When you don’t answer, just bring your top teeth over your lip and wring your hands tighter, he can’t help the almost cruel warmth that spreads in his chest. This–this is more familiar territory, he thinks. 

He wonders, too, how often Overhaul made you look like that; how often he might want to make you look like that in the future. 

“What did that freak do to you, anyway?” Curiosity mixes with his existing annoyance, and it clearly takes a moment for you to realize he’s talking about Overhaul.

“Overh–” You catch the words in your mouth. “Kai,” you say, and the way you say it so sweetly feels rehearsed–and gross. “He didn’t do anything.” You shake your head, like you’ve said something awful. “No! I mean. He did everything.” He watches your throat bob as you swallow. “He taught me how to be better.”

“Better,” he says, the word coming out all slow and sticky and thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Yes,” you say, staring down at your feet. Your fingers pick at the hem of your nightgown. “How to be… organized.” You seemingly ignore his snort. “How to be clean. Things like that.”

“Why?” He can’t help the sneer in his voice, even if he’s dimly aware that he’s not fully committed to tearing you down just yet. “Were you a dirty girl?”

You frown and swallow and shake your pretty head. “No, of course not. He made me take a bath or shower twice a day.”

So much for teasing. You’re too stupid–or naive, whether it was natural or beaten into you by Overhaul–to get it, apparently.

He’s not sure how long he stares at you. Long enough that you stop worrying at the floor and start worrying at him, your eyes all wide and anxious and getting glossier by the minute. Soon enough, he’s sure tears will start spilling down.

He stops you before you start sputtering out apologies–and teardrops.

“That’s not what I meant.” A finger goes to his neck, scratching. The white dress, the teary eyes, the way you can’t really keep his gaze… it’s annoying. It’s endearing. Both are equally tiresome. 

“You’re giving me a headache,” he says, finally. An end to the conversation, he hopes. Then he digs into the pocket of his coat and tosses its contents at you–a wrapped up egg sandwich someone pilfered a while ago, shoved into the shared fridge and forgotten amidst their recent win. “Here. Breakfast.”

You barely catch the sandwich (your reflexes sure are shit, he thinks; you’d die in the wild) but the way you simply stare down at it, words apparently caught behind your teeth, brings irritation to the forefront again. 

“What?” He almost bites the words out. “Not good enough for you?” Maybe Overhaul fed you on silver platters or something equally ridiculous. 

Perhaps it’s his tone, or maybe you’re just that eager to get him un-pissed at you, but you manage to unstick your tongue and stumble out something akin to an explanation.

“I’m not allowed to have white bread. It’s too processed.” You turn the sandwich over, inspecting. “And there’s mayo… it’s got too much oil, and–”

“Not allowed.” The word becomes a sneer. “Who are you to tell me what I’m allowed to give you?” Captives–that’s what you are, at bare minimum, at least–aren’t usually so damn bold. 

And oh, the way your face seems to fall, the way your mouth perks around your words like a damn heroine in a novel.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean–it’s that–” The wrapper on the sandwich crinkles as your fingers tighten. It makes his chest tighten, too. How stupid. “It’s not safe. It’ll make me sick. Unhealthy. Kai said so–”

So that’s why you turn up your nose at food? Overhaul, of all fucking people? 

“Kai says,” he repeats, mocking your voice, the soft lilt of it, the way each word mimics the pitiful wringing of your hands. “Kai,” he continues, “isn’t here. So who gives a flying fuck what he said?”

He doesn’t wait to see what you say or what you do. He leaves without another word–he’ll relax somewhere else, without you and your pitiful self to think about–and doesn’t see you sink down onto the mattress. He doesn’t see the way you grip the sandwich until your fingers smoosh into the bread.

He doesn’t see the way you eventually, and oh it takes so long, peel back the wrapper and take a small and slow bite.

–

It’s only been a few days, and maybe you’re imagining it, but it seems like your stomach is finally beginning to settle. The food isn’t–it isn’t right, it isn’t healthy. That’s what your brain tells you, what your mouth wants to parrot. But you’re so hungry and–this is what Shigaraki wants you to eat.

So you should do what he says. You think. It’s still debatable, still churning around in your head. Kai taught you what was best, and now you’re here, where what was “best” seems to be entirely pointless. 

You’re still digesting a microwaved breakfast that definitely wouldn’t have passed Kai’s examination when the door opens. Shigaraki enters, as he always does, without bothering to acknowledge you. 

He’ll probably sit down and eat something for himself. Or start texting someone–the other people in his group, maybe. Sometimes he unwinds with video games. Or naps.

But instead, he approaches you, boots thudding on the hardwood floor. They stop right in front of you and you have just enough time to think about all the germs on the bottom of the soles before he speaks–

“Hey.”

You look up. His face is twisted today, nose screwed over, mouth turned down in a frown. You did something wrong, probably. But what? You ate breakfast, and didn’t even complain about it being wrong today. That was a good step. So what–

“You stink.”

Oh. 

Shame curls in your gut with the half-digested breakfast. It’s… true. You haven’t washed for days, and you know you’ve been sweating. Shigaraki doesn’t open the windows and the room isn’t exactly a bastion of fresh air, anyway. 

He jerks his thumb at the bathroom door. It’s a far cry from your bathroom back home–back with Overhaul. Messy, dirty; the hand towel hasn’t been changed since you’ve been here. And you doubt that Shigaraki cleans the toilet as nicely as Kai did (well, as Kai’s cleaner did, anyway) so the tub can’t be much better.

Still. Still, it’s what he wants, and that’s what should be done–and it would be nice to get under some hot water and have the sweat and grime and overall feeling of awfulness scrubbed away. 

So you dutifully follow him into the bathroom, note a change of clothes that he’s dropped into the open sink, and then–as you should–you stand in front of the tub and wait for him to undress you, so that he can give you a bath. 

But instead of ordering your arms up or having you sit on the toilet so he can peel off your socks, he simply turns away and starts to leave.

“Wait–” You can’t stop the word from coming out, can’t stop the way you stupidly reach out a hand.

He does stop. He turns around, face questioning, irritation starting to creep onto his features.

“What?” He tilts his chin towards the tub. “There’s shampoo and soap in there. Some random brand Toga stole. Is it not good enough for your highness, or what?” There’s a bit of a jeer in his tone that makes you want to sink into the floor. 

“It’s not that,” you force out. “They’re–they’re fine. It’s just…” And your fingers fiddle with your dress, the fabric feeling more thin and frayed from all your worrying it. “Aren’t you going to draw my bath?”

Because that’s how it goes. Kai draws the bath. Kai undresses you. Kai tests the water, and tells you to get in. Then he cleans you or, if you’ve been exceptionally good, lets you do it yourself while he gives the orders.

The jeer in his tone becomes a snort, an almost sneer on his lips. “You really are a princess, you know that? You can draw it yourself. You’re not that stupid.”

And oh, the way your heart pounds. He’s upset, and you’re upset, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s throwing away the natural order of things or if it’s because you’d like him to be nicer to you.

“I’m sorry.” The words feel too loud, in the bathroom, trapped in the small space with you and Shigaraki. “It’s that–Kai says I don’t clean myself up right. So he does it for me. Tells–tells me what to do, if he doesn’t scrub me himself.” 

Your fingers clench hard against your fists–and then harder, when you see the emotions registering on Shigaraki’s face. One emotion in particular–disgust. Disgust, yes, and it makes you feel awful. Makes you feel dirty and stupid, and everything Kai said you were, when you hadn’t yet listened. You can’t look at his expression anymore, so you stare at the floor. At your socked feet, at the dirt between the tiles.

It’s the floor that you see when you hear him sigh, when he steps further into the bathroom and practically pushes past you to turn the water on.

Your heart speeds up–is he going to?--but as if he’s read your mind, he crosses his arms. “I’m just filling the tub for you. You can wash yourself. You remember how to do that, right?” And maybe it’s the way the question seems earnest, no longer weighted down with a mocking tone, that makes you feel better. Not stupid–not dirty. 

So you nod, and smile–just a little. Just to show your appreciation. 

“Good.” He grabs something–a towel���from a hook on the wall and tosses it at you. He glances away when he speaks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, or if there’s really a faint hint of a flush on his cheeks. “Just… shout out when you’re done and I can help you out or whatever. If you need me to.”

He glances back at the tub, filling rapidly with hot water.

As if to burn away the flush on his cheeks, his voice turns jeering again. “I’ll leave once I turn it off. Don’t take forever in here, either, princess.” 

Jeering, sure; but with something nicer mixed in, something like a flush underneath it all that makes your skin tingle. 

Maybe Shigaraki wasn’t so bad after all. 

–

Overhaul had clearly trained you and fucking hell, you really need to be untrained. 

It’s this simple fact that helps Shigaraki decide what to do with you–that is, he’s going to keep you.

Dropping you outside would be like putting some pampered house pet on the streets–you’d be gobbled up. And if you happened to go to the police before you were snatched up by some back-alley criminal, it would complicate things, anyway.

Besides–you’re… endearing. In a way. He likes the way you ask for his permission, likes the way you stammer and stumble over your words when you get anxious.

You’re like a pet. A pet project, that’s what you’ll be. He’ll untrain all the weird fucked up things that Overhaul taught you, and make you into something better.

Overhaul had his kinks, that’s for sure. And while he’s not going to deny that there’s something really fucking hot about imagining you being his mindless doll, letting him bathe you and eating exactly what you’re told and waiting for him to come home in a pretty white dress… it’s simply not very fun.

Or practical, truth be told. 

And more importantly–

He wants you to be his in the right way. He’s not some replacement for Overhaul, some step-in that you’ll simply pivot to because he’s there. 

Sloppy seconds aren’t his style. 

Overhaul is nothing now, a useless, handless fuckup who will rot away and forever regret tangling with him. You should forget about him, forget about what he taught you, how things were with Overhaul. (He makes a mental note: Train you to stop saying ‘Kai,’ especially so damn softly, so damn sweetly. Something Overhaul meticulously taught you to do, no doubt.)

In the end, Shigaraki is better than that failure–so you need to be better than the pet Overhaul created, too. 

–

It’s not exactly clear why Shigaraki wants to keep you–but he does keep you. And he gives you something Overhaul had taken away from you: he gives you choice. 

So much choice. Too much choice, maybe. Foods aren’t off-limits anymore, and Shigaraki doesn’t scold you for any awful table manners. Maybe because you never eat at a table. You’re allowed to watch TV, and even tentatively take up an extra controller to try (and fail) at the video game he’s currently playing.

He even–and it’s got your stomach in knots, as you make your way down the hall–lets you out of the room. To get some air and, today, meet other people. You’re meeting the League, the people you met (so to speak) on the day Shigaraki took you. 

“It’ll be better if you get to know everyone,” he says, almost muttering. “In case someone needs to keep an eye on you while I’m gone for a while.” 

The thought of Shigaraki leaving you for that long, too long, almost makes you feel sick, but you try to force it away. 

“But you won’t be somewhere else too often, will you?” The question comes out too soft. Something else you’re working on; he told you to talk louder. Less like a rabbit, more like yourself. Whoever you were before all this.

Shigaraki glances back at you, something unreadable in his expression. Did you say something wrong, or not? You’re almost bold enough to ask, when he simply snorts and turns around, gesturing for you to enter an open doorway where you can hear chatter already sifting through. 

But you stop at the threshold. At the sound, at the thought of being amongst a group of people. Eating whatever you wanted was one thing; but talking to a whole gaggle of others? 

“Are you sure…” The words are soft, but you can’t help it. It’s easier to slip back into that place from before; to be soft and quiet and let someone else take over everything for you. “Are you sure you want to let me talk to other people? Wouldn’t it be better if I only talked to you?”

And now, you did say something wrong, because his expression twists. His nose scrunches and his lip curls up, like he’s thinking about something unpleasant. “No,” he says. “That’d be weird.”

“Oh.” Something dull hits your stomach. Embarrassment and disappointment, a terrible mixture. “Sorry.” You swallow, and add, quickly. “I don’t want to be weird.”

“Too late.”

The two of you turn your head inside the doorway in time to see someone with a burnt face and dark hair watching you, arms folded, a teasing grin on his face.

It is also just in time to see a young girl playfully smack the air next to his arm–”Dabi, don’t be a jerk! She’s not weird, she’s cute!” 

There’s barely any time to decide if this is a compliment or not, before Dabi–that must be the man with the burnt face, after all–shrugs and grins. “Sorry,” but he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. The fact that the grin is edged by staples doesn’t help. 

The rest of the group is sprawled about the room. On a sofa, on the floor. There’s a card game going on. Drinks on the table, along with takeout. The room looks like it was once some sort of office break room, complete with a microwave and dinged-up fridge. 

The conversations that must have been going on are silent now, and you’re left standing awkwardly next to Shigaraki in the doorway. He nudges you forward, then takes a step out the door. There’s a strong urge to grab his sleeve and ask if you can go back to the room, but he begins walking down the hallway and doesn’t give you the chance.

“Um,” you say, and his footsteps in the hall stop for a moment. “Nice to… meet you?”

There’s a moment before there’s a burst of laughter, and the girl–Toga, you’ll learn later–grabs your hand and pulls you inside the room.

–

That night, Shigaraki climbs into bed with you and instead of turning over and keeping to his side of the mattress, he slots himself against your back for the first time.

The freeze response comes naturally, as your heart speeds up and your breath seems to slow down. Overhaul did this, too. When he thought you were sleeping, though.

Shigaraki knows you’re up and his fingers, pinky jutting to the side, ghost over your clothed side, caressing your hip. His fingers skitter underneath your shirt and rest against your stomach, before trailing up, bringing the fabric with it.

He cups your chest and you think the sound you make must startle him, because he pulls away without a word. But if he’s mad, he doesn’t tell you. Instead he stays pressed against your back, breathing.

Why was he still in bed? 

“Don’t–” And you stutter out the next words quickly, because you’re not telling him to stop touching you. You wouldn’t dare. But– “Don’t you… want to wash your hands now?”

Something between irritation and curiosity lodges itself in his tone. “Why would I wash my hands?”

You lick your lips, and fight the urge to turn around in bed and look at him while you speak. Sometimes, when you told him about–Overhaul–the disdainful expressions he made stirred something awful in your gut. Made you feel ashamed and silly. He didn’t mean to do it, you think; but that didn’t change how you felt.

“Overhaul… when he touched me like this, he always washed his hands in the bathroom after. For a long time. Because–” The word Overhaul would mutter over and over come back, like acid rain pattering on the roof. “I’m dirty.”

You don’t want to look at him, but you don’t get a choice, because he grips both of your shoulders and lifts you up, until the two of you are sitting with your backs against the wall. The curtains are open and the moonlight washes everything out, but you can see him frowning well enough.

“You’re not dirty,” he says.  “Stop saying stupid things.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, but you don’t feel sorry at all. Instead you feel–relieved. Lightened. 

He frowns. “And stop saying sorry, too.”

“Right. Sorry–”

You stop with a breath left in the word and in a single beat, the two of you burst into laughter.

That’s when you lean forward and kiss him, smashing your lips against his in a brief moment before he pushes you off.

Humiliation stings your chest and you almost start crying in an instant. The world before and the world today blur into one awful moment and you apologize for things you’re not even sure about. “I’m sorry, that was–stupid. I’m awful, I’m bad, I won’t do it again-”

“Shut up. You will do it again.”

Oh. What? 

You blink up at him, stupidly, yes, but it’s a nice kind of stupid. The syrupy kind that only gets sweeter when his hand grips your chin and pulls you in. You don’t fight. 

This time, he kisses you. His lips are chapped and so are yours, and your mouth opens awkwardly to let his tongue in. It feels wrong and right and for once, there’s nothing old that dredges itself up with the action. No ghost of Overhaul over your shoulder, no commands, no flashbacks to being locked in closets–

Just you and Shigaraki on his bed in the middle of the night, kissing. 

–

You can be annoying. Too meak, too unsure; wanting him to guide you and taking too long when he tries to give direction. 

You’re a burden, that’s for damn sure, but oh, he doesn’t want to let you go.

The thoughts of releasing you on the streets seem so dim now.

They faded every time you stumbled through eating food that wasn’t perfect by Overhaul’s stupid standards, every time you looked like a deer in headlights at the prospect of washing yourself, every time you suddenly got the ick at his room and scrubbed yourself raw until he stopped you… 

You wanted to be better, though–better for him. That’s what sealed it. Well, that, and that kiss, even though it was mostly teeth the first time. He likes you better for that, he thinks. Because that was you.

You’d once told him that you were afraid Overhaul would remake you, so you remade yourself. And now he’s remaking you. No, that’s the wrong word, isn’t it? He’s unmaking. Undo what Overhaul did and find out what’s underneath, Because what’s underneath–you, the you he’s seeing as he peels away each layer of bullshit–belongs to him.

That’s how it should have been from the beginning. Too bad he didn’t find you first. 

–

He’s been gone for longer than usual. Long enough that Toga came in with something to eat and played a round of cards with you. Long enough that daylight came and went and came back again, and the sound of morning birds does nothing but contrast with how groggy you feel. 

It was too hard to fall asleep, when your stomach was tied up with worry. 

They don’t unravel even when the door opens and he comes in, expression troubled, burdened. You know something about burdens. He smells of sweat and dust, and you long to lift it from him. He’s been… nice, hasn’t he? Nice and kinder, kinder than Overhaul, although his words are often short and he sometimes calls you stupid. 

He takes a look at you, at the darkened circles under your eyes and maybe he can see all the thoughts swirling around in your head, and snorts. “Go to bed. You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I can stay up,” you tell him, sitting up straighter on the bed. “To keep you company.” 

He pauses, drops his coat on the chair. Something in him seems to soften and harden all at once. A vulnerable question left on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see which wait it will roll. “Why? Why would you want to do that?”

Words don’t come easily to you, even now. “I… like being around you.” It’s more than that, but you don’t know how to say it, how to peel it out from your mouth.

He eyes you with something that might be suspicion. “Don’t lie.”

At this, you stand. It feels better to stand, to be on something like stronger footing. “I’m not. I–I like that you let me do things. You don’t get mad if I eat what I want, or if I read certain books, or watch movies with you…”

He doesn’t respond and maybe it’s not words you need. Maybe it’s this–

Maybe it’s you taking a step forward and gripping his shirt and kissing him, just as awkwardly as the first time. This time, when he pushes you away, he keeps his fingers curled on your shirt. His eyes search yours and you don’t know what your expression is saying, but you try to make it say: You make me feel good and I want to make you feel good, too.

“Get on the mattress,” he tells you, but it doesn’t feel like an order. Maybe you’re sugarcoating it. Maybe not. In the end, you’re okay with it; you’re okay with turning around and crawling onto the mattress, knowing what he wants now.

It’s not how you envisioned it happening with him. You remember what you thought that first day, flashes of him taking you while you struggled and squirmed, pinning you to the bed. A villain in a book that Overhaul took away from your bookshelf.

It’s slower. Slower and maybe not sweet, exactly; but there’s some tenderness there that you can’t explain. Tenderness reflected in both your tired eyes, in the smell of dust clinging to his skin, in the way you cling to him and don’t have to worry that he’ll scrub his hands raw afterward.

Tenderness that makes you forget that Overhaul took you and now he took you, and you’re never sure if you’ll ever be your own person again. 

��

When it’s over, he cleans you up. Slow but sure. It’s remarkably soft, but you don’t dare say so; if you did, you think he might push you off the mattress for good measure.

“Shigaraki–” you begin.

“Call me Tomura.” He interrupts.

“Tomura,” you say. 

Something about that makes you want to cry, so you bury your head further against his chest and blink the tears away.

Later–not this morning and not for some time–you will think about whether Overhaul would have ever fucked you. What he might have thought about the mess of it all. The sweat and panting, the warm liquid between your legs that was carefully wiped away with a warm washcloth before he hopped back into bed.

For now, all you think about is Shigaraki–no, Tomura–who doesn’t tuck you into bed like you’re some precious doll but instead wraps his leg across your own, keeping you close on the mattress as sleep begins to overtake you. 

His hand brushes against your hair as the world begins to turn into a formless buzz.

“Do you want to stay with me?” He asks.

It is, you know, a rhetorical question. 

[lordsukunas]

piggyback rides

synop: you want trueform!sukuna to give you a piggyback ride and he doesn’t know what it is. that’s it.

tags: fluffy fluff fluff, fem!reader (referred as woman once, refers to self as ‘queen’ and ‘wife’ once), ooc sukuna (only bc he’s less of an asshole), possessive behavior (kind of?), mentions of sukuna-typical violence, likely historically inaccurate, not proofread. i couldn’t determine whether or not he was actually wearing a haori or something similar - correct me if i’m wrong n i’ll change it!

notes: basic ass title ik... erm sorry! another post in two days is a miracle so i’m a little proud of myself. half-assed ending lol... anyway, this is just a silly lil drabble!! any interaction is much appreciated, enjoyyyy! :3

“what.”

the first set of crimson eyes dart down to look at you, the other set still tracking the scuttling servants. you’re situated quite snugly in his expansive lap — two thick arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his bare chest. “what the hell is that?”

you nibble the inside of your cheek to suppress a smirk. finally, you know something that sukuna does not! and it only took three years. “it’s where i get on your back and you carry me around. quite simple, truthfully.”

he snorts at the slight condescension in your voice. for something so agitating, you have quite the ego. “mm. and why should i do that for you? you can walk on your own, unless your legs are mysteriously broken all of a sudden.”

“because,” you say with a huff, “it’s fun. don’t you want to bond with your queen?”

anxious eyes of passing maids sneak glances at you, your little huff drawing their attention. sukuna shifts you in his lap, turning you to the side, and the massive sleeve of his robe moves to obscure your form from their undeserving gaze. “we have bonded enough.”

“and it would not hurt to bond some more!” you counter. sukuna’s stubbornness is something you absolutely adore about him, but not right now. “can the mighty king of curses not spare a moment of his day to entertain his wife’s wish?”

he falls silent at this, and you can practically see the gears churning in his big head. he’ll cave. if there’s one thing that’s undeniable about the sorcerer, it’s his curiosity.

“... fine,” he grunts. after scooping you up and setting you down, he stands up and gestures with his hand. “so how do we do it?”

your lips curve up into a smirk. “okay, turn around so that your back is facing me.”

sukuna turns around, folding one pair of arms over his chest.

“then, crouch down a little.”

a beat passes, and then he crouches down, back muscles flexing underneath the dark fabric of his haori.

you step up behind him and slide your arms around his neck. his adam’s apple bobs, and the other arms move to cradle your butt. “if this is an attempt to choke me, it isn’t work.”

he always thinks someone’s out to get him. you roll your eyes. “no. if i wanted to kill you, i likely would’ve attempted forever ago.” you lift your lower half onto the lower part of his back, and your legs wrap around his hips.

another beat passes. “is that it?”

“yep.”

sukuna adjusts you, his hold on you becoming more secure as he rights himself to his full height. the warmth of your breath ghosts across his ear, and he can smell the scented lotion you applied this morning.

why hadn’t he done this before?

“soooooo,” you drawl, and he can hear the smile in your beautiful voice without even having to look. you’re so close — he hears the little inhale before you speak, the nearly imperceptible huff of laughter once you finish. “what are you just standing here for? we gotta walk around, explore the estate! it’s not fun if we’re just stuck in one place.”

“i am not a servant,” he warns, voice gruff, but he starts to move towards the throne room’s exit anyway. anyone unfortunate enough bows, mutters a jumbled greeting to the both of you, and scrambles out of the way.

it’s no secret that sukuna is more... benevolent, when you’re around. but that is a double-edged sword — if someone dares to disturb your peace or inconvenience you in his presence, they’d be facing a swift death, along with their parents for giving birth to such vermin.

“apologies, my spectacular husband.” you lean forward a bit and press a kiss onto his cheek, leaving a faint lipstick stain. “now, please, venture forth.”

he rolls his eyes. “if you command me again, woman, i am going to sprint.”

the teasing lilt quickly disappears from your voice, and your arms tighten around his neck. “n-no, that isn’t necessary.”

sukuna’s pace increases, now a brisk jog instead of a leisure walk, and you can hear the gravel crunching beneath his feet. “oh? is it not?”

“it isn’t!” you squeak. a little embarrassing, yes, but you know how fast sukuna is — you’re positive that if he broke out into a full-speed run, you’d be sick by the end of it.

“let’s find out and see.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 4

In which you escape to paradise with the love of your life.

Warnings: nothing unless you hate happiness. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.4k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - Master List

Phulay Bay, Thailand July, 2025

yourpersonalinsta posted

456,938 likes liked by taylorswift, redbullracing, alexandrasaintmleux, and others. yourpersonalinsta out of office tagged: maxverstappen1 kikagomes omg where are yoooou? >>>yourpersonalinsta thailand! he planned literally everything. all i had to do was show up. user928 max is never beating best boyfie on the grid allegations now redbullracing bring us back a coconut! >>>yourpersonalinsta hahahaha think max can smuggle one out in his backpack??? >>>redbullracing if he tries hard enough, he can do anything!

"Max, where'd you go?" You call, voice echoing out over the empty terrace of the beach villa Max had booked for you two during F1's summer break.

Last year, the two of you had spent a few weeks on a boat off of the Amalfi coast with some of your friends but this year, it was just the two of you. This entire trip had been a complete surprise, Max having planned the entire thing. You had gotten a text one afternoon just a few days into the month long F1 break from Max telling you to pack a bag (heavy on the bikinis and lingerie, as personally requested by your boyfriend) and to be ready to leave the apartment in Monaco in an hour.

You had bustled about, a mix of excitement and anxiety twisting in your chest. To be quite honest, you had been looking forward to having some down time at home, just the two of you. It had only been a few months since you had permanently moved from New York to Monaco and you were far from settled, having spent most of the first half of the year traveling with Max.

The moment Max burst into your shared apartment though, all of your anxieties evaporated into thin air. He had never looked more relaxed than he had that morning, telling you he was taking you on a trip and to not ask any questions. You, of course, dutifully obeyed.

Which was how you found yourself at one of the most private and romantic beach resorts in Thailand, currently looking for your seemingly missing boyfriend. You'd been here for a few days now, soaking in the sand and sun and quiet peacefulness the resort had to offer. Mornings were spent slowly in bed, breakfast often skipped in favor of time spent underneath (or on top of) Max. Afternoons scuttled by slowly, spent under the sun on the beach in your bikini being oogled by Max. And nights were spent together, either in the media room of the villa watching movies or under the stars talking about anything and everything with the man that had completely stolen your heart.

It was in those quiet moments, while you sat snuggled up between Max's legs, back pressed firmly into his chest, on the beach where you were in awe of how much your life had changed in a little over a year. How quickly Max had swooped into you life, into your heart, and never left.

The villa is quiet and empty, you assume that Max has wandered down onto the beach or out near the private pool while you had taken a quick shower before your dinner reservations. Something on the bed catches your eye though and you cross the wooden planked floor to read the note that sits on top of a white linen dress.

My love, I know we had reservations at the resort's resturant tonight but I took the liberty of moving that to some place a little quieter. Put on the dress and meet me out on that little bluff where we always watch the sunset, dinner is waiting. all of the love my soul possesses, Max

Tears prick at your eyes when you finish the note. Laying on the bed is a white linen dress that you had no idea was even in the villa. It's brand new, you'd never even seen it before. The moment you pull it on over your head, you can't help but be impressed. It fits like a dream and when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you can't help but smile. The dress is cut perfectly to your figure, the neckline scooping down low to show off an extra bit of clevege and the hem hitting just below your knee. You're not quite sure how Max did it, but the dress fits you like a glove.

Your hair is still a bit damp, but you're eager to find where Max is and what he's up to tonight so you opt for a long braid down your back.

When you step out on the back veranda of the villa, the sun is hanging low in the sky, just above the sparkling blue water that stretches out in front of you. The resort sits on a little bluff overlooking the ocean, romantically tucked into the side of rolling green hills and a lush forest behind you.

Just beyond the edge of the villa's back yard is a little outcropping of land that juts over the beach below. Every night since you had arrived, Max had insisted on making a point to sit on this little private bluff and watch the sun go down. No matter what you were doing or what you had planned that evening, watching the sunset tucked deeply in Max's arms, became a tradition you wanted to continue forever.

The cool grass tickles your bare feet as you cross the lush green lawn. For a moment, you don't even look towards where you know Max is standing because you're so distracted by the crash of the ocean waves and glimmer of the sunset on the water. When you do look over though, you stop in your tracks, pupils blowing wide at the scene before you.

There, right on your little plot of paradise, stands your boyfriend. He's surrounded by what looks like hundreds and hundreds of white hydrangeas arranged in a large circle. Clusters of candles dot the edge of the circle casting a soft glow over the entire scene.

Max stands in the middle of all of this, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts. He's wearing the navy linen shirt you bought him for his birthday last year, top few buttons undone at his throat. The breeze off the water tugs a bit at his hair, long from a busy season with little time to stop and get a haircut. The fact that you liked his hair longer also had a lot to do with him refusing to cut it lately, but he'd never admit that to anyone but you.

When Max sees you walk out of the villa for the firs time, he thinks he might just pass out right there. The dress Kika and Alexandra had helped him pick out was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen you wear, besides that navy and red lacy lingerie set you had worn for his birthday last year, of course. He had been planning this for months now, much to Daniel and Lando's surprise. His two friends were the only other people who knew what this entire trip was really about. They had expressed their surprise at the plans since you hadn't even celebrated your one year anniversary when he had set all of this in motion. Max had simply replied with 'when you know you know' and no one had questioned it again.

The red and gold ring box sits heavy in his pocket, his fingers tracing anxious patterns over it's smooth surface. He wasn't nervous about what he was going to do. No, what he was about to do was the most confident and self assured decisions he had ever made. What he was nervous about was you saying no. He wasn't sure if his heart would be able to take a rejection.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you approach Max. Unsure but confident about what's about to happen all at the same time. The conflicting emotions whirl around in your stomach in a hurricane of anxiety and shock.

"Hi baby." Max murmurs as soon as you step into the circle with him. His arms reach for you and to his great relief, you melt into him eagerly.

"Hi." Your voice nothing but breathy whisper. A smile that could power most of Europe shimmers across your face. "What's all this?"

"I know I said we were going to eat dinner out here, but I wanted to talk to you first." Max buries his head in your hair, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of your shampoo, still lingering in your hair after your shower.

He takes a few moments and you are simply content to enjoy the feeling that settles over you. Outside of this little bluff, nothing else exists and you could stay here for the rest of your life and be completely content.

When Max pulls himself together, he pulls back a little so he can see you without craning his neck. "The moment you smiled at me the first time, my entire world shifted beneath my feet." His voice is rough, Dutch accent becoming more prominent the more emotional he gets. "The first time I kissed you in my drivers room in Miami, I knew I was done. I have never met a kinder, more ambitious, or more confident woman than you. Just being able to exist in your orbit has been the blessing I never knew I needed. I know it hasn't been long but I can't figure out how I ever managed to exist before you and I never want to find out what it feels like to exist after you."

Max pauses then, drawing in a shaky breath. Blood rushes past your ears as your knees threaten to buckle. You had hoped this day would come for you and Max but you had never expected it to be so quickly. Like Max, you had known pretty fast that he was it for you. You had tried to fight the growing feeling that your relationship could work its way into marriage but as you continued to settle further into life with him, you fought the feeling less and less.

He sinks to his knee then and looks up at you, those ice blue eyes that you dream about shining up at you. "I want to see you walk down the aisle towards me in a white dress. I want to see your belly grow when you carry our babies. I want to hear my children call you their mama and I want your babies to call me daddy. I want all of this and an entire lifetime of love with you and only you. Will you give me that, baby? Will you marry me?"

For a moment you're completely unable to breathe. The words Max said to you etched themselves onto your bones, words you'd never forget until your dying day. They were words that were to be written down. Words that your grandchildren would cry over one day when they stumbled upon your old journals in the attic.

Those kinds of things, those words, deserved to live in the universe alone for a bit, they're so powerful. You gave them space and respect, allowing what Max had said to you wash over your body.

"Oh my God. Of course. Yes. Please." You babble, really unable to make your mouth move in the way you want it. All you know is that you had never been so certain about anything in your entire existence.

Max slips the massive rock onto your finger before standing up to his full height. The diamond that winks up at you in dim candlelight is something that could be compared to the iceberg that sunk the titanic. Once the ring is secured on your hand, tonight's second perfect fit, Max catches your chin in his fingers to tip your head up towards him. When he kisses you, lips meeting yours so achingly tender, the entire world goes quiet. Everyone who could have possibly existed simply vanishes.

You stay like that for several moments, caught up in your boyfri- no, not boyfriend, fiance's arms and simply kiss him with every ounce of love you can wring out of your soul. His tongue licks into your mouth, eliciting a kitten like mewl of pleasure from the back of your throat. It's a sweet and tender kiss, soft and celebratory after what's just occurred.

"I love you." You say against his lips when you need a moment to breathe.

"I love you too. More than life, lifeje." Max's hand comes up to frame the side of your face, rubbing his thumb across your swollen bottom lip.

All you can do is stare up at him, pupils blown wide open. "How long have you been planning this? I can't believe you did all this...for me? Just for me?" For someone who has often gone unseen in their own family, being doted on like Max does is sometimes confusing.

"Months. I've had help. Danny and Lando helped decide where and how to do this." You can't help but chuckle at the thought of Daniel and Lando, two of Max's most unserious and unmarried friends, helping him plan a proposal.

"Alexandra and Kika too. They helped with the dress."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Those two bitches knew and didn't tell me!"

Max tilts his head back and laughs heartily. The sound sends a zing down your spine. "No, although I suspect they might have figured it out. I just told them I was taking you on a surprise date and needed help with an outfit."

"And of course I did all of this for you." Max continues, face turning serious. "I did this all for you because I wanted you to know how important you are to me. How much I need you in my life. You're my everything, baby."

Emotion clogs your throat as you fight to keep the tears from falling. "I can't wait to be your wife, Maxie."

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,293,938 likes liked by kikagomes, yourdad, danielricciardo, and others. yourpersonalinsta girlfriend < fiancé 💍 kikagomes ahhhhhhh congratulations pretty girl!!! you are going to make the most beautiful bride. WAIT OMG, is this why Max had Alex and I help buy that dress????? >>>yourpersonalinsta yes 🤭 love you kiks >>>user928 i'm sorry but am i reading this right? max had alex and kika help buy the dress that he had her wear to her own engagement. idk if i'll ever recover from this. user02938 MOM AND DAD ARE GETTING MARRIED landonorris glad he finally did it so i can stop hearing about how excited he is. >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too, lando >>>landonorris ❤️ maxverstappen1 can't wait to start calling you mrs. verstappen >>>user0283 i cannot be normal about this >>>user0029 i have no one to send this too redbullracing our favorite couple together forever!!! congrats you two (liked by author and maxverstappen1)

tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Beach Time Fun

Male Crab Drider Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, drugging, potions, oviposition, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, uncaring observers, public sex, somnophilia Word Count: 654

You dodged to the left, rolling in the sand to avoid a crushing blow from the monster’s massive claw. It was a crab drider. From the waist up it looked relatively human. Reddish skin, some naturally growing armored plates on its chest and shoulders, sharp teeth, pointed ears, and ghostly white hair… but human… ish…

What was definitely not at all human however was below the torso. The body of a massive crustacean. Complete with scuttling legs and huge claws all covered in the heavy armor of its shell.

Dodging those claws wasn’t enough, in the hands of his human half he wielded a tiny little crossbow with tiny little bolts laced with gods knew what.

He had been nicknamed The Beast of Bailey’s Bay. You had been contracted by the Monster Slaying Guild to stop him. He had not killed anyone yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Your blade seemed fairly useless against his shell and it couldn’t reach his human half. You darted away and tossed an explosive potion that would hopefully put his rampage to an end. A handy piece of equipment courtesy of the guild alchemist.

It staggered him but didn’t otherwise do much as he moved to block it with his shell instead of letting it hit his soft upper half.

For the first time since he had started his rampage he spoke.

“Haha, finally a human with some fight! You will be a fine incubator for my eggs! Not like the cowards who flee!”

At that, it was your turn to stagger.

“Wh-what the fuck!?”

He snickered and explained.

“I need a human worthy of the eggs of Kaelyx! Catch and release. I’ll let you go once they hatch. Don’t worry!”

You made a disgusted face. You weren’t going to help this abomination reproduce, that was for damn sure. Or so you thought…

You reached for another potion of explosion, this one actually slightly stronger than the one you had used before. You tossed it and it hit square on his belly. But instead of an explosion there was a cloud of pink and purple that enveloped the monstrous man.

The alchemist had mixed up the ingredients in the potions. Instead of an ignis toadstool she had used a prattlepuff mushroom. Inadvertently this had created a potion of explosive, and permanent, desire.

Kaelyx no longer wanted just an incubator, he wanted a permanent mate to fuck damn near daily and take care of until the end of their days.

The beast wasn’t visible within the cloud. But his eyes were not those of a human and he could see his target just fine. You felt a sharp pain in your neck and slumped over into the sand before losing consciousness.

The next thing you were aware of was being naked from the waist down and being pounded into the ground with a massive slimy cock writhing around your insides. You were too groggy to resist, your limbs were like jelly, and your thoughts were muddled.

“Ah, my love, sorry I just couldn’t wait! You feel so good around me cock! You were built for it~”

You tried to respond but all that came out was a series of lewd moans as you orgasmed from the treatment. He grunted, groaned, and filled you up with a natural lubricating fluid before filling you up with dozens of eggs, swelling your belly.

You lay there panting beneath him and as the drug wore off and post nut clarity kicked in you noticed that beachgoers had formed a crowd and were all watching you while either masturbating or recording you with magical devices.

As Kaelyx drug you off to his burrow under the sand they waved and thanked you for getting the crab to calm down and leave. Your pleas for help falling on deaf ears as your fellow humans got back to their lives and favorite beach activities.

[megapteraurelia]

nom nom.

“i’m gonna need my fingers back.” 

miya osamu stared at you blankly, though made no move to remove his digits. 

your tongue swirled around the tips of his fingers, teeth digging into his flesh lightly, but with enough pressure to make him give you a long look. one that made you slightly open your mouth to allow him to take his hand back. 

“spoilsport,” you pouted, “it’s not my fault you taste delicious.”

“yeah, yeah,” he hummed non-committedly, washing his fingers before going back to preparing food, wrapping another rice ball in a strip of nori. 

osamu was careful and painstaking while handling the food, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, lips slightly pressed together. 

he set down the finished food and made a second one with just as much care, just as much love, just as much attention to detail, and you watched him scuttle around the kitchen as your legs swung back and forth, heels of your feet hitting the cabinet you were sitting on lightly and with a quiet thud.

when he settled next to you again, he finished up another rice ball before holding it out to you. delightfully, you leaned forward and popped it into your mouth, allowing the rice with the filling to melt in your mouth, your lips nipping at his fingers to catch the taste of the sweet vinegar from the rice.

“cheeky,” he narrowed his eyes at you, his hand retreating from your mouth to grip your jaw tight, squishing your cheeks together. osamu’s eyes flitted over your face, the puckered lips, the teasing glint in your eyes, one of your hands sneaking to grab another rice ball from the glass cutting board. 

but before you could grab anything, he had already intertwined his fingers with yours, tugging your hand away. a scolding raise of his eyebrows at your attempt, a huff at the butterflies that erupted in the chest when you winked at him in response.

“yer lucky,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a kiss to your pursed lips, “that i love ya somethin’ mad,” before letting go, allowing you to rub your jaw with a grin.

then, osamu sighed, met your knuckles with his lips before feeding you that stray rice ball you had been eyeing, too, though this time pulling away before you can mess with his fingers some more.

[artwithteggy]

The Scuttle Chest is printed and oh lord she's a bit fun to play with 😀👍🏼 I think I might print a blue one 💙🦀 next. Blue, silver, and sandy colour scheme. What do you think?

[colouredbyd]

The Secret Life Of Pets (Hogwarts edition)

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: After a transformation gone wrong, Flicker is trapped in red panda form for a week. The Marauders pass her off as their pet, but curious hands and lingering eyes make staying hidden far more complicated.

warnings: fluff, animagus secrecy, fluffy moments, stuck in animagi, mention of animal torture a few times? also mentions of being displayed and coming from a zoo? technically part of a blurb series but can be read alone

w/c: 7k (im not sorry)

a/n: i absolutely adore this oh my god </3

part of my mini blurb series Flicker's Secret Adventures

masterlist

You never thought you would end up like this, tangled in the strange magic of your own making, a flicker of crimson fur and wide eyes peering up at the towering figures of your three Marauder boyfriends. 

One moment, you were caught in the chaotic swell of transformation—magic thrumming hot and wild through your veins—and the next, you were stuck, bound in the soft body of your Animagus form, the world towering and unfamiliar. 

It was James who first noticed, sharp-eyed and impossibly intuitive despite the chaos that always seemed to linger around him like a second skin. He had been the one to throw a piece of parchment at you as you scuttled across the common room floor, your tiny paws stumbling over the worn wood, claws clicking helplessly against it. 

He watched with brows knit together as you stumbled, tripping gracelessly before collapsing into a heap of plush fur, your tail flicking in embarrassment. He knelt down beside you, the smile he wore warm and familiar, but his eyes gave him away—there was panic there, a thread of worry woven deep.

"Alright, love," he started gently, voice coaxing, his thumb brushing soothingly over your head like it was second nature. 

"Enough playing around. Time to come back, yeah? We promised a proper cuddle pile tonight, remember?" He made a little gesture with his hands, as if that would draw you out of your Animagus form like a conjuring spell.

You blinked up at him, round eyes wide and glimmering with something you couldn’t quite voice. You willed the magic to reverse, to flood back through your veins and pull you upright, human and steady. 

But nothing happened. Your heart thudded heavy in your tiny chest, and you shuffled back slightly, paws scrabbling against the floor as a flicker of panic seized you.

James frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "Oi, Moony, is she...is she stuck?"

Remus was already rifling through the scattered parchment on the table, lips pressed thin as he skimmed the text. "It shouldn’t be possible," he murmured, flipping through the spellwork with a focused intensity. 

His eyes softened when he looked up, offering you the kind of smile that always made you feel like everything would be alright. "You’ve done it a hundred times before, darling."

"Well," Sirius drawled from the edge of the sofa, one brow arched as he twirled his wand between long fingers, "seems like she’s a bit more attached to the fur than she thought. Maybe she just wants to be spoiled."

"Wouldn’t blame her," James chuckled, his hand still cradling you gently, fingers brushing through the soft fur on your back. "She knows we’re all absolute suckers for her."

You huffed indignantly, your tiny form shivering with the effort of it, and Sirius just laughed harder, throwing his head back as the sound filled the room. 

"Look! She’s got attitude even now," he cackled, and you darted towards him, tiny paws skittering across the floor as you leapt onto his boot with a defiant squeak. He leaned down, scooping you up with surprising gentleness, his hands firm but soft against your fur. "Alright, alright, I get it," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before passing you back to James. "Can’t help herself."

James chuckled, though the edge of concern hadn’t quite left his eyes. He reached down, scooping you up gently until you were cradled in his hands, your tiny claws pricking slightly against his palms. "Come on, Flicker. Try again. Give it a go, just for us." His voice softened, thumb brushing over your ears. "I know you can do it, love."

You closed your eyes, focusing as hard as you could, willing the magic to turn like a tide—but again, you remained right there, soft and curled up in James’s hands, your ears flicking in frustration.

Remus looked up from the parchment, his eyes sharp with realization. "Wait," he began slowly, his voice dropping to a hush, "I think...I think I found something."

Sirius perked up instantly, leaning forward, boots hitting the floor with a solid thud. "Go on, then. Spill it, Moony."

Remus’s fingers traced over the ink, his brow furrowing. "There’s a note here...something about prolonged Animagus form in times of heightened emotion. If the caster experiences..." he squinted, bringing the paper closer. "—if they experience emotional distress during transformation, it can...lock them in place."

James’s eyes shot back to you, still curled in his hands. "Well, that would’ve been nice to know..." he muttered, brushing a thumb over your head. "Alright, Flicker. What’s got you all tied up, then?"

Sirius leaned back, arms stretched behind his head, his grin lazy and amused. "Maybe she’s just desperate for all the attention." They all laughed thinking what Remus said was just some joke.

But then the whole day had slipped by, melting into hours of failed attempts and frustrated huffs, the clock ticking away with no change, and you were still stuck, a permanent fixture of fur and twitching ears in their lives. 

Remus had read over the spellwork a hundred times, murmuring incantations under his breath while you tried—again and again—to shift back. When it became clear that you weren’t going to change anytime soon, they devised a plan.

"We’ll just tell everyone you went home," James said confidently, lounging back on the common room couch. "Emergency family business. Your brother’s sick or something."

"And the red panda?" Remus asked, arching a brow.

Sirius smirked. "She’s our pet now. I’ll get her a collar and everything."

You growled, ears flattening, but Sirius only chuckled, leaning down to scratch your head. "Oh, come on, love. You’ll be the most spoiled pet in all of Hogwarts."

"Absolutely," Remus replied dryly, sitting back and watching you with his usual quiet amusement. He glanced at the other Marauders. "We can’t exactly have her wandering around the castle like this, can we? People are going to notice."

And so, it was on that crisp morning, with the first rays of sunlight streaming weakly through the ancient windows of Hogwarts, that you found yourself tucked away inside the magical bag James had conjured for you. 

It was a rather unconventional hiding spot, to say the least, yet it was the kind of place no one would think to look. After all, who would expect a mischievous red panda to be snugly nestled inside the confines of a student's seemingly ordinary backpack? 

Yet, despite the secrecy of your hiding place, you were far from being quiet or still. Every so often, you would stir within the bag, your little paws batting at the fabric in an attempt to make your presence known. It was as though you couldn't resist the pull of the chaos unfolding outside, the energy of the bustling hallways of Hogwarts spilling into your cramped sanctuary.

You poked your head out from beneath the folds, watching, curious, as the swirl of students passed by, their hurried footsteps and muffled voices blending into a symphony of uncertainty. 

The air around the entrance to the Great Hall felt thick with tension, the kind that only comes with the unexpected—something was happening, though you couldn’t quite make sense of it. From your hidden position, the sights and sounds made it impossible for you to remain still for too long.

"Shh, Flicker," came James's voice, low and urgent, as he gently pressed you further into the bag, his hands cool against your fur. "No one can see you. You need to stay hidden."

You weren’t sure if James had truly grasped the depths of your mischief, or if it was the sheer amount of chaos that had taken root in the hallways that made him think a red panda could remain unnoticed for long. Either way, you weren’t inclined to cooperate because why would you when you were a panda? 

You wriggled, your small body twisting inside the bag as you tried to free yourself from its confines. A determined paw snaked out from the edges, batting at his fingers, your silent protest unmistakable.

"Hey, Jamie," came Sirius's familiar drawl from somewhere above you, lazy and dripping with amusement. "You torturing the poor thing in there? Flicker deserves better than your clumsy handling, don't you, darling?"

"Clumsy?!" James shot back, sounding almost wounded as he gave the bag an indignant shake—enough to make you squeak in protest. 

"I’m keeping her from getting caught, which is more than I can say for your brilliant ideas. Remember last week? With the broom closet and the Filibuster Fireworks? Nearly had her tail singed off."

You shoved your little paws through the gap, reaching for the space outside, your claws scraping lightly against the soft edges of the bag as you sought freedom. 

Sirius chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you could hear the shift of his footsteps as he came closer. "C'mon then, give her here. You’re going to smother her with all your hovering."

There was a brief shuffle before you felt the bag open slightly, the light pouring in bright and blinding for a moment before you blinked up and saw Sirius grinning down at you.

"Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes," he murmured, his hands reaching in and scooping you up with surprising gentleness. The moment you were free, you leaped instinctively, scrambling up his arm and curling up in his embrace, your fur brushing against the soft wool of his sweater as you buried your head against his chest.

"You spoil her," James muttered, crossing his arms with a huff as Sirius cradled you like something precious. "One of these days, she’s going to run straight past me and head right for you."

"Already does," Sirius replied with a smirk, settling down onto the nearest bench and letting you curl up in his lap. His fingers scratched idly behind your ears, and you couldn’t help the little chirrup of delight that escaped you. "She knows quality when she sees it. Right, Flicker?"

"I think you mean reckless idiocy," came Remus’s soft voice from behind you, his presence as familiar as sunlight. He slipped onto the bench beside Sirius, his gaze flickering to you with a fondness that made your heart squeeze. "Honestly, I’m surprised she even tolerates the two of you."

"That’s because you bribe her with chocolate," James quipped, dropping into the seat across from them and kicking his feet up onto the table with a satisfied sigh. "I saw you slipping her some last week. Traitorous, really."

"Not traitorous if she’s mine," Remus replied smoothly, reaching over to give you a gentle scratch under the chin. "You always come back to me, don’t you, sweetheart?"

You chirped in response, stretching out your paws to brush against his hand, and he chuckled softly. Sirius snorted, leaning back and watching with a grin. "Alright, alright, no need to start a custody battle over Flicker. We all know she prefers me."

"Oh, do we?" James raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a grin. "I think it’s about time we test that theory."

Sirius's grin widened, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. "What do you say, Flicker? Should we make this interesting?" His fingers danced along your back, and you leaned into the touch instinctively. "Winner gets you for the whole weekend. No interruptions. No distractions. Just us."

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "Merlin help us," he muttered, but there was a smile tugging at his lips, a rare softness that lingered in his eyes as he watched you snuggle deeper into Sirius's lap. "Just don’t blame me when she leaves you both behind and comes straight back to me."

"Dream on, Moony," Sirius drawled, his fingers brushing through your fur in soft, gentle strokes. "She’s ours, and she knows it."

And with that, you settled comfortably into Sirius's arms, soothed by the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the sound of their banter a lullaby in the chaotic world of Hogwarts. For a moment, the rest of the castle faded away, and it was just the four of you—tangled in playful arguments and whispered promises, hidden away from the madness of it all.

It was only a few moments later when the familiar swish of footsteps signaled Lily’s approach, her confident stride cutting through the lingering haze of morning chatter. 

She walked past with the kind of purposeful elegance only she seemed to possess, her crimson hair catching the light like flames against the stone walls of the Great Hall. But then she stopped, her gaze snagging on the peculiar sight before her—Sirius lounging on the bench with you curled up cozily in his lap, Remus settled comfortably beside him, and James looking far too pleased with himself across the table.

Lily raised an eyebrow, her emerald eyes sharp with curiosity as they flickered to you, nestled snugly in Sirius's arms. "What," she began slowly, her tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and faint amusement, "is that?"

Sirius barely flinched, his grin widening as he lifted you up slightly, your tiny, fuzzy form wriggling a bit in his hands as you blinked up at her. 

"Oh, this?" he replied smoothly, as if he had been waiting for the question all morning. "Just our new class mascot. Her name’s Flicker." He cradled you a bit closer, his fingers brushing gently over your fur as if to demonstrate just how harmless and adorable you were.

Lily's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring in their depths as she crossed her arms over her chest. "A red panda?" she repeated, voice laden with disbelief. "Since when does Hogwarts allow exotic animals as mascots?"

"Since we decided it," James cut in cheerfully, leaning forward with a grin that was just shy of conspiratorial. His elbow hit the table with a soft thud as he propped his chin on his hand, completely unbothered by Lily's incredulity. "You know how it is, Evans. We like to keep things interesting around here."

"Interesting?" she echoed, glancing between the three of them as if waiting for one to crack. "Is that what you’re calling it now? And what exactly are you planning to do if McGonagall finds out?"

Sirius waved a hand dismissively, the motion causing you to bounce slightly in his lap, though he steadied you almost immediately with a gentle pat. "Oh, come on, Lil. When has McGonagall ever caught us doing anything before?" His grin was wolfish, all sharp teeth and reckless confidence. "Flicker here is very well-behaved, don’t worry. You won’t even know she’s around."

Lily's gaze lingered on you, her eyes tracing the soft tuft of fur on your head, the flick of your tail, the way your paws settled so comfortably against Sirius's arm. "Very well-behaved?" she questioned, her voice softening just slightly, almost as if she were addressing you rather than them. "You lot can barely keep yourselves out of trouble. What makes you think you can manage...this?"

"Because she loves us," James interjected confidently, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression plastered across his face. "We’ve got it all figured out. Flicker’s part of the family now, aren’t you, darling?"

You chirped softly, nuzzling further into Sirius's lap as if in agreement, and he chuckled, his hand resting warmly on your back. "See? Practically domesticated," he added with a grin, scratching just behind your ears. "And if you must know, I’m a very responsible pet owner."

Remus snorted softly, turning the page of the book in his lap with a flick of his wrist. "Responsible isn’t exactly the word I’d use," he murmured under his breath, though his eyes were alight with amusement.

Sirius feigned offense, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Moony, you wound me. I’m an excellent caretaker." He glanced down at you, eyebrows raised as if prompting you to confirm his statement.

You looked up at him, blinking innocently before pressing your head against his hand, and he beamed with triumph. "See? She agrees."

Lily sighed, though you could see the smile threatening to break free at the edges of her mouth. "You three are absolutely ridiculous," she said finally, shaking her head as though she could hardly believe the scene before her. "I hope you know that."

"And yet," Remus said mildly, his eyes not leaving his book, "you still show up every morning to watch the show."

Her cheeks flushed just slightly, and she glanced away. "Only because someone has to make sure you don’t blow up the Great Hall."

Sirius smirked, leaning back against the bench and stretching his legs out comfortably. "Admit it, Evans. You’d miss us if we weren’t around to cause a bit of chaos."

Lily rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "Right. Just try not to get her caught," she said finally, casting one last look at you, her expression softening just slightly. "She’s...cute."

"She’s perfect," Sirius replied, and his voice held just the faintest hint of affection as he gave you a gentle scratch behind the ears. "Don’t worry. We’ll keep her safe."

You chirped again, nestling deeper into his lap, and the three of them fell into easy banter, voices overlapping in the kind of harmony only they seemed to possess.

Breakfast was winding down, students rising from their seats in clusters, the dull roar of chatter punctuated by bursts of laughter. You were still nestled comfortably in Sirius’s lap, his hands absently scratching behind your ears as if you were a particularly affectionate house cat. 

Remus was pouring over the Daily Prophet, brow furrowed in concentration, while James had taken to balancing toast crusts on his wand tip, much to the annoyance of a few first-years watching with wide eyes.

It was almost peaceful—until the heavy oak doors swung open with a theatrical flair, and Professor Slughorn strode in like he owned the place.

"My, my, my!" his voice boomed, catching not just your attention but the entirety of the Great Hall’s. Heads turned, whispers sparked like kindling, and you instinctively curled tighter against Sirius, your tiny paws gripping his robes with desperate urgency. He just chuckled, patting your side. "Easy there, Flicker. It’s just Sluggy. Probably heard about our little secret."

James muttered under his breath, "If he did, we’re finished. Think he knows about the fireworks last week?"

Remus didn’t look up from his paper. "If he did, we’d be scrubbing cauldrons for Filch by now."

Slughorn approached with that characteristic bounce in his step, velvet robes swishing dramatically behind him. His eyes locked onto you with the kind of delight usually reserved for crystallized pineapple or rare potions ingredients. 

"A red panda?" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Tell me, boys—where did you get such an exotic creature?"

You could feel the collective freeze of the Marauders, like time itself had stopped to watch them scramble for an answer. Your heart thudded painfully in your tiny chest, eyes darting wildly between their faces, as if silently begging them to think of something—anything—to explain your presence.

But Sirius, ever the performer, broke into a grin so wide it was almost dazzling. "Ah, Professor," he began smoothly, lifting you up a little, your paws dangling over his arm. "This is Flicker. Our new mascot."

You squeaked. Actually squeaked. Sirius’s hands were firm beneath your belly, holding you up as if you were some sort of prize he’d won at the fair, and you could feel the rush of blood pounding in your ears. Mascot? You twisted slightly, little paws swatting at Sirius’s fingers in protest, but he held fast, his grin never faltering.

James nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Our what?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, but Sirius ignored him, flashing Slughorn that perfect Black family smile, all charm and effortless grace.

Slughorn’s eyes widened with delight, his hands clapping together again. "Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" he exclaimed, leaning in so close you could smell the sharp tang of peppermint on his breath.

 "I’ve always said that Hogwarts could use more practical demonstrations. And what better way to teach students about magical creatures than by introducing a live one to them? A red panda! I’ve never seen one in person—oh, Kettleburn will be thrilled! I’ll send word immediately!"

Your tiny heart skipped several beats, panic creeping in like ice water down your spine. Kettleburn? you thought frantically, memories of his wild-eyed enthusiasm for anything remotely dangerous flickering in your mind. 

You squirmed harder, your claws catching on the soft wool of Sirius’s robe, but he just chuckled under his breath, patting your head. "Settle down, Flicker," he whispered, too low for Slughorn to hear. "We’ll sort this out."

But his eyes told a different story. There was a glimmer of worry there, barely masked by the confidence in his grin.

"Professor," Remus interjected gently, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "She’s... well, she’s not exactly trained for... public appearances." He shot you a pointed look as if trying to convey something reassuring, but all you could think of was the horror of being paraded in front of a crowd of wide-eyed students, poking and prodding at you with eager hands.

You whimpered. The sound was soft, barely audible, but Sirius’s grip tightened just slightly in response. His hand rubbed soothing circles into your fur, but it did nothing to still the trembling in your tiny frame.

"Nonsense!" Slughorn exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively. "What better way to teach the students about magical creatures than by introducing a live one to them? A bit of hands-on experience! Why, I bet Hagrid would love to assist!" His eyes sparkled even more.

"I’ll have word sent to Kettleburn today! We’ll feature her by next week’s lesson—oh, just imagine the students’ faces!"

Your ears flattened, and you shoved your little head into Sirius’s chest, burrowing as deep as you could. His hand cupped around you protectively, but the panic was setting in fast, thoughts racing through your mind faster than you could grasp them. 

What if they find out? What if I can’t change back? What if I get stuck in some sort of magical creature sanctuary, away from all of them—away from—

Sirius’s voice rumbled through his chest, grounding you just a little. "Professor," he started, his voice uncharacteristically firm, "I’m afraid Flicker’s a bit... delicate. Not really suited for large crowds."

Slughorn chuckled heartily. "That’s what lessons are for, Mr. Black! Handling delicate creatures with care and understanding. I’ll speak with Kettleburn—oh, it’s going to be marvelous!" He clapped Sirius on the shoulder before turning on his heel, humming some sort of jovial tune as he strode out of the Great Hall, velvet robes swishing grandly behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Finally, James broke it. "We’re doomed," he said flatly, leaning back in his chair with a look of pure resignation.

Remus ran a hand down his face. "Paraded in front of the entire school. Kettleburn. Hagrid. Merlin knows who else. This is a disaster."

You whimpered again, burrowing deeper into Sirius’s lap, and his hands came up to cradle you instinctively. "Shh, shh," he whispered, voice softer now, soothing. "We’ll fix it. Won’t we, Prongs?"

James straightened, though his expression was still somewhere between disbelief and reluctant determination. "We have to. If Slughorn sends word to Kettleburn... we’re out of options."

You peeked out from the crook of his arm, eyes wide and unblinking, searching their faces for something—anything—that resembled a plan. But there was only grim silence and the occasional fidget of hands nervously tapping against the table.

Remus met your gaze, his eyes softening. "We won’t let anything happen to you, Flicker. I promise."

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the echo of Slughorn’s cheerful humming still lingered in the air, and all you could think about was Kettleburn’s wild grin as he prepared the next "practical lesson."

As the day stretched on, time seemed to move both too quickly and impossibly slow, each tick of the clock echoing louder in your ears. It wasn’t long before you were being passed around like some kind of peculiar trinket, hidden beneath folds of cloaks and tucked carefully into backpacks. 

When Sirius had you, you were draped across his lap, his long fingers running absently through your fur as if you were merely a luxurious accessory, a living piece of velvet that purred and nestled against his hands. He would lean back in his chair during Transfiguration, feet kicked up on the desk, and idly scratch behind your ears as McGonagall’s voice droned on about advanced transformation techniques.

"Comfortable, Flicker?" he’d whisper, voice low enough that only you could hear. His grin would spread slow and lazy, eyes glimmering with mischief. "Not a bad life, is it? Carried around by the handsomest bloke in school, pampered and adored... could be worse."

You would huff in response, pawing at his chest in protest, though you had to admit there was some comfort in the warmth of his lap and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your paws. 

Sirius would chuckle at your weak protests, smoothing his hand down your back as if to coax the tension from your little frame. "There, there," he’d murmur. "You’re safe with me."

But when classes changed and the halls began to flood with students, you were hastily scooped up and deposited into James's arms. He’d cradle you close, barely breaking stride as he navigated the bustling corridors with effortless confidence. 

His arms were strong and sure, and you had to admit there was something oddly reassuring about the way he held you—like you were something precious, something that needed protecting.

"All right there, Flicker?" he’d ask with a grin, glancing down at you nestled against his chest. You’d blink up at him, wide-eyed and a little dazed from the constant shuffling, and he’d laugh, that bright, boyish sound that echoed down the stone hallways. "Didn’t think you’d be having such an eventful week, did you?"

You wanted to snort, to roll your eyes, but the movement would draw attention, so instead, you nestled deeper into his arms, hiding your face beneath your tiny paws. He just chuckled, reaching up to brush a thumb along your head. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Just a little longer. Promise."

And so it went. Hour by hour, class by class, you were shuffled between them like some bizarre game of pass-the-parcel. In Charms, Remus would tuck you neatly into his satchel, a flap left carefully open so you could poke your head out and watch Flitwick wave his wand with enthusiastic little bursts of sparks. 

You would feel the rumble of Remus’s voice as he answered questions with that effortless intelligence of his, and every so often, his hand would dip into the bag to scratch behind your ears absentmindedly.

"Don’t worry," he’d whisper to you when Flitwick’s back was turned. "We won’t let anyone see. You’re safe." His eyes would soften, the kind of warmth there that made your tiny heart stutter.

But the worst was yet to come.

The days passed in a blur of stolen glances and whispered reassurances, the Marauders seamlessly passing you between them with the kind of practiced ease that made it almost feel natural. 

You were hidden in the folds of Sirius’s cloak during Transfiguration, nestled in Remus's satchel during Charms, and cradled against James’s chest as he barreled through the hallways with his usual reckless enthusiasm. It was strange, existing as something fragile and small, something to be protected—but it was safe, and for now, that was enough.

By the third day, you had almost begun to relax, lulled into a fragile sense of security by their careful handling and the way they always seemed to know just where to tuck you away from prying eyes. They joked and laughed like it was all a grand adventure, and for fleeting moments, you almost believed it too.

But the fourth day—the fourth day came with a sense of foreboding that settled in your bones the moment the morning sun filtered through the high windows of the common room. You woke curled up in Sirius’s lap, his hands gently combing through your fur as he murmured nonsense to you, the flicker of the fire casting warm shadows across his face.

“Big day today, Flicker,” he whispered, his voice too soft, too careful. He was trying to hide it, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers faltered just slightly as they traced gentle circles behind your ears. You poked your head up, blinking sleepily at him, and he gave you a grin that was just a little too wide. “Slughorn’s got a bit of a surprise for us.”

James snorted from across the room, lacing up his shoes with quick, efficient movements. “More like a surprise for you, Pads. You’re the one who decided to parade her around like a trophy.”

Sirius shot him a look, one hand curling protectively around your back. “Oh, come off it. It’s not like I planned for him to catch sight of her.” He glanced back down at you, his grin softening. “Besides, Flicker here’s tougher than she looks. Right, love?”

You squeaked in response, pressing your paws against his chest as if to say I am most definitely not tougher than I look. Remus chuckled from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and expression wry. “Pretty sure she just called you a liar, Pads.”

“Oh, she’s always dramatic.” Sirius leaned back, letting you nestle into the crook of his arm. “She’ll be fine. We’ll be right there with her.”

But his words did little to ease the gnawing pit of anxiety growing in your stomach. You tried to curl up tighter, burying your head beneath your paws, but Sirius only scooped you up and set you gently into James’s waiting hands. “C’mon, Flicker. Time to be brave.”

You weren’t sure if bravery was something you could muster, but you had no choice. They bundled you up carefully, wrapped in Sirius’s scarf and tucked against James’s chest as they made their way through the winding corridors of the castle. 

Students bustled past, chattering and laughing, completely oblivious to the small red panda being smuggled through the halls. For a moment, you almost wished you were one of them—unbothered, unaware, living in blissful ignorance of the chaos waiting just beyond the classroom door.

But when the heavy wooden doors to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom creaked open, all that false security crumbled into dust.

By the time Thursday morning rolled around, the anxiety had settled deep in your bones. You'd been shuffled from one Marauder to the next all week, crammed into bags, hidden under cloaks, and even smuggled into the dorms when Filch wasn't looking. But none of that compared to what awaited you in Care of Magical Creatures.

Slughorn was practically vibrating with excitement as students gathered around. He stood at the front of the room, his arms spread wide as if he were introducing a royal guest.

"Alright, class!" he bellowed, clapping his hands together with a flourish. "Today is a rather special occasion! We have a guest!"

You felt Sirius’s hand tighten around you as you sat curled up in his arms. “Alright, Star of the Show,” he murmured with a grin. “Ready to steal the spotlight?”

James leaned over, barely hiding his excitement. “She’s gonna make history. Hogwarts’ first red panda mascot.”

Remus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Or Hogwarts’ first red panda incident. Either way, it’s going to be memorable.”

Slughorn gestured grandly to where you were very much not trying to escape Sirius's grip. "Everyone, gather 'round! Today, we are honored—absolutely honored—to be introduced to Flicker, the Marauders' very own red panda!"

A ripple of whispers spread through the class, heads craning and eyes widening as Sirius, looking like he’d just won the lottery, sauntered forward and placed you on the front desk. You immediately flattened yourself against the surface, eyes darting nervously as dozens of faces leaned in.

“Blimey,” Marlene whispered, nudging Mary. “Did they actually steal it from a zoo?”

Sirius smirked. “Rescued. We like to think of it as a noble cause.”

James nodded solemnly. “She was in dire need of Marauder protection. A proper adoption, really.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And what exactly does a red panda need protecting from?”

“Everything,” Remus replied dryly. “Including this class, apparently.”

Slughorn looked positively enchanted, his eyes practically twinkling as he leaned down to inspect you. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! Such an exotic creature! And so tame! Have you named her?”

“Flicker,” Sirius announced proudly.

“Flicker,” Slughorn repeated, beaming. “How charming! I must say, I’ve never seen one so calm in captivity before.”

James bit back a laugh. “Calm. Right. Definitely calm.”

Slughorn, oblivious to the chaos that usually followed you, straightened up and addressed the class. “Now, students, let’s observe her behavior. Does anyone know what red pandas usually eat?”

Sirius shot a sly look at James. “Mostly biscuits and James’s Transfiguration notes.”

James looked affronted. “Oi! That was one time!”

Remus cleared his throat. “Twice. She ate your notes on Animagus transformations too.”

Slughorn clapped his hands again. “Well, we certainly don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Let’s see how she behaves if we give her some space. Mr. Black, would you mind setting her on the floor?”

You tensed immediately, looking up at Sirius in pure betrayal. Set you down? In a classroom full of curious students?

Sirius patted your head gently. “It’s alright, love. Go on, show them how well-behaved you are.”

He placed you carefully on the floor, and immediately, you froze, unsure whether to bolt or hide. The entire class was watching you expectantly, and you could feel your little heart pounding.

“Well...go on, then!” Slughorn encouraged. “Let’s see her move around!”

Marlene whispered, “Is she supposed to do something?”

Sirius leaned back, all confidence. “She’s planning. A strategic genius, our Flicker. You’ll see.”

James nodded sagely. “Yeah, you have to give her a minute to assess her surroundings. Very methodical.”

Remus hid a smile. “Or she’s just terrified of Slughorn’s cologne.”

Finally, you took a cautious step forward, sniffing the air. A girl giggled. “She’s so tiny! I didn’t know red pandas were this small.”

Sirius shot her a wink. “She’s compact. Portable chaos.”

Just then, Slughorn leaned down a bit too close for comfort, and you did the only reasonable thing for a red panda—darted between his legs and made a break for the nearest table.

“Oh!” Slughorn exclaimed, nearly toppling over. “Quick! Someone—”

James casually leaned against the desk. “Nah, she’s fine. Probably just checking for treats.”

Lily couldn’t help but snort. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

You finally settled under one of the desks, peeking out from behind a leg as if daring anyone to come closer. Sirius just grinned proudly. “Look at her. Master of stealth.”

Slughorn, now slightly disheveled, composed himself. “Well! It appears she’s rather spirited indeed! Perhaps we can use this opportunity to discuss animal behavior and instincts.”

James raised his hand, overly enthusiastic. “Oh, I know! She’s exhibiting classic...uh...panda instincts. You know, finding small, enclosed spaces to...strategize.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “James, that’s not a thing.”

Sirius was already heading over to coax you out, crouching down with a biscuit in his hand. “Alright, Flicker. C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging here. Be a good girl.”

With a huff, you slowly edged forward, cautiously nibbling on the offered treat while keeping a wary eye on Slughorn.

Slughorn seemed satisfied, nodding wisely. “A fascinating creature, indeed. I shall have to look into care instructions for next week. Perhaps even arrange a guest lecture with Professor Kettleburn!”

You froze mid-chew, and Sirius shot James a look of pure panic. “Next week?”

James mouthed back, You deal with it.

Remus just sighed, already making mental notes on how to stage a panda disappearance before the next class.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, the entire castle seemed to sigh with relief. You had survived a week of smuggling, hiding, and narrowly avoiding catastrophe as a very chaotic red panda, and now the Marauders had one final mission: turning you back.

The Room of Requirement was dimly lit with soft, golden light, the enchanted ceiling glittering with stars that twinkled like distant, gentle promises. 

You sat in the center of the room, curled up comfortably on a cushion Sirius had insisted you have. Around you, the boys were gathered—James with his wand out, Sirius cross-legged and practically vibrating with anticipation, and Remus standing just in front of you, wand poised but gaze soft and steady.

“Well,” Sirius began, drumming his fingers against his knees, “It’s been a good run, Flicker. I daresay you’re the best-looking red panda Hogwarts has ever seen.”

James snorted, flicking a stray leaf out of your fur. “I mean, she’s also the only red panda Hogwarts has ever seen.” He paused, grinning. “But still. You wore it well.”

Remus crouched down to meet your eyes, his expression gentle. “You ready?” he asked softly, his hand coming to rest on the top of your head. His touch was soothing, his palm warm against your fur.

You stared up at him, your little heart beating just a bit faster, and then you nodded—or, well, you thought you nodded. Sirius gasped. “Did you see that? She nodded! Merlin, she’s even cute when she’s agreeing to get zapped.”

James elbowed him. “It’s not zapping, Padfoot. It’s reversing. There’s a difference.”

“Both involve magic and potential explosions,” Sirius replied cheerfully.

“Enough,” Remus said, shaking his head with a fond smile. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

You held your breath as he raised his wand, his voice steady and clear. “Reverto Corpus.”

A warm, glowing light shot from the tip of his wand, enveloping you in a shimmering haze. It wasn’t like the last time—this time, it was gentle, like sunlight filtering through autumn leaves. You could feel the shift, your bones stretching, your fur retreating, and for a moment, everything was weightless and light.

When the magic faded, you were there, back to your human form, sitting in the center of the cushion with your hair tousled and your eyes wide with surprise. 

You blinked once, twice—then looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers as if you couldn’t quite believe they were back.

For a heartbeat, the room was silent, the boys staring at you as if you were some sort of mirage. And then, all at once—

“Y/N!” they shouted in unison, voices overlapping with pure, unrestrained joy.

Before you could even catch your breath, you were pulled to your feet and swallowed in a blur of arms and warmth. James reached you first, nearly lifting you off your feet as he wrapped you in a bear hug, squeezing so tightly you almost forgot how to breathe. “You’re back!” he exclaimed, voice muffled against your hair. “Properly back! Merlin, I missed your stupid face.”

“You missed my face?” you wheezed, squished against his chest. “I missed my hands! You have no idea how annoying it is to eat with paws!”

James laughed, pulling back just enough to beam down at you, his glasses slightly askew and eyes bright with happiness. “You did look pretty adorable, though. All fuzzy and helpless.”

“Helpless?” you echoed, incredulous. “I bit Sirius twice!”

“And I still have the scar,” Sirius announced proudly, shoving James aside with a dramatic flourish. His hands cupped your face, eyes raking over you like he was memorizing every feature. “There she is,” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “There’s my favorite troublemaker.”

You grinned up at him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Missed me, huh? You only wanted me back so I wouldn’t chew up your shoes again.”

“Hey!” Sirius scoffed, lips curving into a grin. “That was one time, and they were brand new!”

You laughed, bright and unrestrained, and Sirius leaned down without warning to press a loud, smacking kiss to your forehead. “There,” he said, his grin widening. “Just in case you missed those too.”

“Absolutely didn’t,” you replied, wiping your forehead dramatically. “Ugh, now I’m probably cursed.”

“Oi!” he laughed, shoving you gently. “I’ll have you know I’m very hygienic.”

“Right,” you teased. “That’s why Remus has to confiscate your cologne every week.”

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest. “Et tu, Flicker?”

Remus was next, his approach softer, his eyes searching yours with a kind of disbelief. He stepped forward slowly, like you might disappear if he moved too fast. 

His hands came up to cradle your face gently, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re alright?” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “No lingering side effects? No sudden urges to climb trees?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I make no promises about the trees.”

His smile grew wider, and before you could say another word, his arms were around you, pulling you close. His chin rested on your shoulder, and his voice was softer, just for you. “Missed you so so much, dovey” he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity.

You held him just as tightly, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathed him in. “I missed you too, Remmy” you whispered. “Even if you did laugh when I fell off the bookshelf.”

“That was objectively funny,” he murmured against your hair, and you could feel him smiling.

You swatted his shoulder playfully as you pulled back. “Next time I’m a red panda, I’m clawing your jumper.”

James clapped his hands together, practically bouncing on his feet. “Alright, I say we celebrate! Three butterbeers, on me!”

“You mean on my tab,” Sirius corrected, raising an eyebrow.

James waved him off. “Details.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room and spilling into the walls like sunlight. You hadn’t realized how much you missed your own voice until it was back. Until they were all here, crowding around you with so much love and warmth you almost couldn’t breathe.

Sirius draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like you belonged there. “Well, now that you’re back, I guess we have to start sneaking you properly into the common room again.”

“Please don’t suggest a disguise,” Remus groaned. “I’m not turning her back into a panda just so you can live out your fantasy of owning an exotic pet.”

Sirius grinned, entirely unbothered. “Admit it, you miss her climbing into your lap.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

James raised his hands dramatically. “A toast! To Flicker—who lives on forever in our hearts, even though she was rubbish at staying hidden.”

“Hey!” you cried, laughing. “I was stealthy! You lot just dragged me everywhere!”

“Semantics,” Sirius said with a wink.

And as they led you out of the Room of Requirement, arms draped around your shoulders and laughter filling the halls, you couldn’t help but think—there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[akisteahouse]

FALLING FOR YA! featuring your quaint neighbourhood’s boys ACE TRAPPOLA, DEUCE SPADE, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS and TREY CLOVER…

Ace Trappola! Who’d been your next-door neighbour and annoyance ever since you were born in the Queendom of Roses, after the fateful day where he threw his basketball over your backyard's fence. Self-proclaimed ‘childhood best friend’ of yours, hanging out with you for the next years many, many blisteringly hot summers - riding your bikes together at the beach(he’d fallen off so many times while learning, always averting his eyes whenever you bent down to put a bandaid on his scraped knees), stealing licks off each others rapidly melting ice cream(nevermind his pink-tipped ears, or how he didn’t seem to really mind at all), getting kicked out of the town’s movie theatre one too many times after giggling and nudging each other at lovey-dovey couples a little too hard(couples…psh, he could never, right?)… fun times, fun times. Lunch and dinner at the Trappola’s becoming an almost daily tradition, with Mrs Trappola fussing about second and third servings, before insisting you stay the night… but it was alright, your parents were too close with the Trappola’s to care, and Ace most certainly didn’t mind sharing a bed anyway - you’d just have to deal with his playfully kicking feet and his not-so-slick longing glances, but it wasn’t not like you’d mind too much - he was your best friend, after all, and what would he do without you? ;)

Deuce Spade! Who everyone knew as the resident problem-causing delinquent, and not for the sweet boy you’d seen tinkering away at his mom’s broken appliances at the blast cycle workshop next to your apartment, brows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip adorably sticking out as he worked. You’d found him doubled over in the park once, knuckles battered and bruised, blood streaming down his nose, and who were you to leave him behind? Deuce, who incessantly refused for help, but softened at the mention of his mother seeing him like that, begrudgingly letting you patch up with the cheap med-kit you’d gotten from the corner store nearby, grumbling a ‘thanks’ under his breath as you worked, offering to pay you back with fixing any broken machinery you had lying around, blue eyes firmly focused on the stray leaf on the concrete rather than your eyes, before leaving. Perking up like a stray cat when you found him the next day with a broken clock, and then a watch, and then a radio - nevermind how his eyes brightened when he saw you walk up to him on the very first day, how he looked at you like you were too good to be true, how he waited for you to come again to retrieve your fixed item, nevermind it at all. And oh, the day he vowed to change for the better, he vowed to change not only for his mother, but for you too - the one who’d treated him like a normal person. You would accept his diligent efforts, right? ;)

Riddle Rosehearts! Who’d always been a bit of a neighbourhood enigma, well, at least to the children, of course - the strange, quiet boy who never left his house. What child wouldn’t be curious? Well, your middle school friends were, for one, and on the night of Halloween, had dared you to visit the boy. And so, you did - hurling small pebbles onto the window where the redhead was currently studying, head bowed and nose deep into impossibly thick books, before he’d finally noticed your unceasing efforts. Chest puffing out and face red from anger as you scuttled closer to the window, berating something about how ‘rule 672 clearly states that no stone shall be thrown past eight lest it be a romantic intervention!’…oh? Romantic? You could certainly work with that >:)))))) Face red now for a different reason after you decided to declare that yes, this was a romantic intervention, blubbering about how ‘certain courtship rituals had to be done’… cute. Secretly visiting the redhead at night like he was a princess locked away in a tower, always throwing pebbles to alert him of your presence, all the while actually doing the courtship ritual he’d seemed so insistent about… sliding in love letters(each of which he’d kept neatly tucked away in one of his many books), poetry(face burning red as he read your sonnets, so obviously full of romantic mush he didn’t know what to do other than to shove his flushed face onto his hands), and of course, small gifts(all of which he kept secretly underneath his bed). Poor Riddle Rosehearts, who’d been struck with an ailment of the heart, one that even the most skilled doctors couldn’t undo - love, with you as the main cause. Oh well, it wasn’t like you or him particularly minded anyways, no? ;)

Trey Clover! Who you’d always seen manning the cashier at his family’s bakery, flashing a smile whenever someone walked in or out - you’d know this by now, as a regular of theirs. He seemed to know you too, waving and greeting you with a particularly bright smile whenever you walked in, even if you came in during bustling rush hours - yeah, he wasn’t particularly shy with his affections, to the point that the entire Clover family were well aware of his not-so little affection for you. Mrs Clover dropping some not-subtle-at-all hints about what a great son-in-law Trey would be to your parents, Mr Clover oftentimes joking(lie) about how you hung around the bakery so much that you were practically family at this point, Trey’s younger siblings very loudly complaining about how Trey talked too much about you at home(before being swiftly repressed by the man himself, saying that they were just playing around). You’d have to be a fool to not notice the wistful sighs he’d emit in your direction, the too-long-to-be-platonic gazes across the bakery from him, the way his fingers brushed against yours for a bit too long when handing you your orders…and maybe you were a fool, because you hadn’t responded to his actions, not one bit - but it was fine. Trey was a patient man, and he wouldn’t mind playing the long game, as long as the final prize was your heart ;)

[inkdrinkerworld]

pillow fights — "you can sleep in my bed, if it'd be of any help." with bucky!!!!

𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝! 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭۶ৎ ㅤꨄ︎ㅤᐟ

You’re ready for bed. A cup of decaf tea in hand along with a few chocolates on a plate as you snuggle under your covers. You’ve done your skincare, and you’re all ready for your nighttime routine to finally begin in bed.

That’s when you hear it. 

It’s a little scuttle, but it’s enough to make you pause with your mug halfway to your lips. You strain your ears to see if you hear it again, but when a full minute passes, you finally take a sip. 

You’re about to turn on your tv to get your favourite sit com on when you hear it again. 

The scuttling is faster this time, and your eyes scan your entire bedroom before you see it on the hardwood floor. 

There’s a huge cockroach on your bedroom floor and you can’t help but squeal a little more loudly than you’d ever admit to when it starts for your bedposts. 

Bucky’s in your bedroom in a flash.

The tower is weird, in that yours and Bucky’s rooms are connected, a thin wall between you; which is how you suspect that he heard you. 

Not that Bucky’s been listening intently to your night routine because sometimes you have terrible nightmares.

That wouldn’t even cross your mind, no matter how quickly Bucky comes to your aide on nights where your past haunts you. 

Being a super soldier has its perks, you think to yourself to dispel the thought that Bucky could have feelings that are a matching set to yours. 

“Doll?”

“There’s a roach Bucky,” you squeal, knees up to your chest as Bucky turns his head to the floor. You hear its legs scurrying across your floor, squealing again before standing on your bed and nearly sloshing hot tea over the rim of your mug in the process. 

“Doll,” he sighs, stepping forward and squashing it under his boot in one fell swoop. “It’s dead now.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief, watching as he picks up the dead cockroach and walks out of your bedroom.

“Thanks Bucky,” you say when he comes back, his shoulders eating up all the space of your doorframe. 

“It’s no problem honey,” Bucky watches you look around your room in mild panic. “Will you be okay in here tonight?”

You take a sip of your tea, trying to act nonchalant as you look around the room for a second time. “Um, I think so?”

It comes as more of a question which makes Bucky chuckle. 

“Well, you can sleep in my bed tonight,” when your eyes widen, Bucky explains with slightly red ears, “Only if it’d be of any help. I don’t want you to stay up all night because you’re scared more are going to be in here.”

“Do you really think there’ll be more?” Bucky neglects to answer; not wanting to spook you further.

Your stomach flips and dips at the same time as he tilts his head towards his side of the wall, “Are you sure?”

Bucky rolls his eyes then. This wouldn’t be the first time you shared a bed, but probably the first time you’re both conscious before falling asleep. 

“Only if you’re sure, Bucky.” Your voice is soft as you step down from your bed on careful feet. You grab your plate of chocolates as Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Grab your blanket too, doll. I’ll turn down the heating.” 

You giggle happily when Bucky grabs it for you seeing as your hands are full. “Can we look at something? Just until I fall asleep?”

Bucky nods in front of you, looking over his shoulder to spot you taking a sip of your tea. “We can do whatever you like, honey.”

[comatosebunny09]

Neighbor Sylus, coming back from an event or meeting, all dressed up, hair slicked back, smelling delightful. 

He’s at his door, about to unlock it, when he hears a car pull up in the rain-laden parking lot. He peers over the balcony of the breezeway through the silver torrents coming down. The driver cuts the lights, and he recognizes that car instantly. It’s yours. 

You’ve been avoiding him since the night you kissed him when you were shit-faced drunk. As long as he’s waited to ruin your friendship (in a good way), he didn’t want to take advantage of you that night. Not when you wouldn’t remember what happened the following day.

But you did remember, and that’s where all this mess stems from. Why you’d been playing keep-away with him, avoiding him like a sickness, brief with your exchanges as if you were afraid he’d eat you. 

He’s missed your daily texts. Your phone calls. Your impromptu visits to his apartment, or his to yours. You filled a hole in his life he didn’t realize needed filling. 

He’s given you your space. Didn’t want to exacerbate things, as he thought, maybe you only kissed him because you were drunk. Maybe there was no meaning behind it, and he was reading too much into things. 

Regardless of how you feel about him, he doesn’t like this awkwardness stewing between you. You’re like sunshine breaking through grey clouds after a week of rain—and that’s saying a lot, because he typically abhors the sun.

He gets out of his head when your car door slams shut. You’re scuttling about, trying to grab something from the backseat. You’re donned in something casual, loose-fitting, but it’s not enough to protect you from the downpour. What is he going to do with you? Are you trying to get sick?

Without a second thought, he pushes into his apartment to snatch an umbrella from his entryway. He takes the steps leading down to the parking lot two by two, strolling up to your frantic form. Your proverbial knight in matte-black armor.

You look up at him when the rain ceases pelting down on you, reminiscent of a sad, wet puppy, clutching a stack of papers to your chest. For a moment, tension swells. You’re so god damn adorable, all pouty with your hair sticking to your face. He tries to keep cool, like you don’t take his breath away, make his throat dry. Like he doesn’t want to tug you into his arms and kiss you, all romantic like one of those scenes in a romcom, taking place in the rain.

You break the silence first, sighing something relieved, a wobbly smile cresting over your lips. “Thanks,” you simply state, voice so small, it contends with the pitter-patter of the rainfall against his umbrella. 

His lips twitch into a semblance of a smile, eyes soft, fond. He tilts his head towards your complex, saying, “We should get inside before the rain kicks up.” 

You nod, following beside without another word, clinging to those papers for dear life. He studies you in his peripheral vision. Hopes your dryer still works. And if it doesn’t, he’s more than happy to take a look at it for you again.

You get up the steps to your apartment, and he feels his gut churning like it’s empty. He doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want to relinquish this small pocket of time where he’s been closer to you in a matter of seconds than he’s been in the past two weeks. You turn to him after unlocking your door, awkwardly looking every which way but at him.

“Thanks,” you mutter once more as if it burns. 

It pains him, this cold unease, but he understands. He got his hopes a little too high. With a hand stuffed in his pocket, he offers you a smile and a casual wave. Prepares to step across the hall to retreat into his home, but you stop him with that unsure little voice at his back.

“Um…”

He peers over his shoulder, brows shooting up in question. Hopefulness. He watches you grapple with words, shifting your weight between your feet. Finally, you look at him, and it’s like being struck by lightning.

“You wanna…come inside for a bit? Dry off? Feel kinda bad. Your shoulder got wet.”

He subconsciously feels the dampness bleeding into his skin. The fact that you would use something so insignificant as an excuse to stay around him makes his heart pull. Maybe you missed him as much as he missed you. 

“Sure,” he remarks, unable to contain the whisper of a smile breaking out on his lips. 

He follows you inside, and the familiar aroma of lavender and line-dried linen wafting from within rushes over him like a soothing balm. It’s dark inside. A little cool from your AC. He watches you shuffle through the inkiness, navigating around your furniture to switch on a light. 

“You can use the dryer if you want,” you offer, sifting through your wet hair after dropping those papers on your coffee table.

He stands rigid in the entryway, tight-lipped and thoughtful. Watches how your shirt hugs your torso, how your sweats droop, bogged down by the rain. He gets a little view of the warm skin at your back, and his body feels like he’s submerged in ice.

He doesn’t know what takes over. What exactly propels him forward. Doesn’t take the time to kick off his shoes—you can yell at him for it later. But he’s moving before he can fully process things, tearing through the stillness of your apartment with the finesse of a jaguar. He switches off the light before you fully turn around, immersing your living room in murkiness again. And he’s reaching for your hips, roosting his hands on them, tugging you close until your breath abandons you in a gasp.

He makes out that doe-eyed, confused look, the want coloring the edges, the way your lips part and quiver. He studies your mouth for a beat longer before angling himself down to graze over your lips with his. 

“Why don’t we try this again?” he breathes, drunk and out of his mind. 

Your throat swells with words, but he’s kissing you before you can get them out. Ardent, tender, desperate, cautious. He breaks the seal of your lips with his tongue after your surprise ebbs, and you sigh something relieved into his mouth, your hands coming up to cup his jaw as you lean more into him.

He’s dizzy with need, caught up in the pressure of your lips, the warmth, how right it feels to kiss you, those cute little sounds you make as he leaves no part of your mouth unscathed by his tongue. He doesn’t realize he’s backed you up against a wall until you push out a breath from the collision, but he doesn’t let up. Not when you’re just as eager for this, your fingers sifting through his hair, your body hot and pliant like wax under warmed palms, pushing against his.

He’s not sure what he’s thinking when he hikes your legs up to wrap them around his waist. But judging by how your ankles instinctively lock at the small of his back and how you drag him impossibly closer, he hasn’t crossed a line. Not yet. He cups your ass in his palms, peeling you from the wall to effortlessly walk you into your bedroom. He remembers the layout of your apartment like the back of his hand, he’s been here so frequently. 

He’s missed this; missed you. And maybe you’ve missed him too, giggling between kisses with the prettiest little smile on your face like you’ve been waiting for him to ruin your friendship, too.

[peachesofteal]

Tip of my Tongue - single mom fic Azriel/female reader

Original musing - based on/rewritten for this anthology

He hears the beginning of the conversation before he sees it.

"Eight copper marks." The merchant drawls, tone half soaked in disdain.

"Eight for five ... ? That's robbery."

"You're either good for it, or you can move along." Azriel's brow furrows. You're not wrong, it is robbery to charge that much for a measly five apples. The going rate is one for four, at the most. One copper mark is usually enough to buy a loaf of bread.

He shakes it off. Market value and bartering is not within his scope of interest. 

None of his business. 

"I can give you four."

"Not interested." He turns at that, looking over his shoulder to find the source of the back and forth, curious to see who the merchant is, the one gutsy enough to rip someone off. He expects to see some pompous High or Lesser Fae, a male with his nose in the air, a sneer scrawled across his lips. 

Instead, all he sees is you.

An Illyrian? You're rigid in your stance, a half stride away from the stall, hair and skin glowing in the midday sun, trying to face off with the extorter. The shadows make a rare daylight appearance, peering curiously through the crowd, assessing you with interest, and he cocks his head. You look like an Illyrian, almost, but... no wings, shorter stature. Why? 

Above all, you're beautiful, but it's marred with a bone deep exhaustion, expression kind but grim at the same time, impatience and stress battling for the brilliance shining in your eyes. His muscles tense as he sweeps the market looking for another, a male, shadows on high alert. It's not that Illyrians are forbidden from entering Velaris since its existence was exposed, it's just that they choose not to.

An Illyrian in the city could be cause for alarm, or at least, suspicion.

His breath catches in his chest when you shift your weight. 

There's a baby on your hip. A baby... with wings. Tiny, delicate, claw tipped wings. Membranes so thin, so fragile they're almost see through, flexing and fluttering while also trying to stay tucked together. 

The sight of them does something to him. Scrambles his mind, distracts him, nearly blackens his vision. He's not sure he understands what he's seeing at all.

What're you doing here? Are you alone? Is that your baby?

And why do you look so damn exhausted? Are you sick? Is there something wrong with you? 

It becomes abundantly clear why the merchant is trying to jack the price up on the produce.

Instinct takes over and he closes the distance between himself and the situation, coming to stand to your left, blackened tendrils snaking towards the merchant, and his face drains of color. He looms over you, lethal edge in his voice cutting to the quick. "She'll pay you the standard market price of one." You stiffen into stone, glancing at him once before looking down, and he doesn't miss how you curl your arms around the baby like you're trying to hide them. Protect them. He wonders if he should say something to put you at ease, but he can't find the words.

"O-of course, of course. Here," he scoops them into a net as quickly as possible, and shoves them across the counter, eyes still fixed on Azriel as he practically shakes behind the stall. It's the right thing to do, he assures himself, intervening. This male and his prices are predatory. He'll need to be reported to Rhys, probably looked into. 

It’s not his standard practice, the shadows hiss, he’s fair to others. 

Anger burns in the pit of his stomach. 

You’re still frozen, avoiding his attention, and the male glances at him hesitantly. "Your mark." Azriel murmurs, trying for an encouraging tone, but it comes out jagged, as his nature. For some reason, he has an urge to touch you, place his palm on your lower back for support, for comfort, for… he doesn’t know. 

It was none of his business. 

The merchant scuttles away, grumbling something about restocking under his breath, and shadow slowly dissipates, fanning out, following him, collecting all the necessary information. For another day. 

You don't turn to face Azriel. Shoulders bunched high beneath your ears, you're vibrating with tension. He’s rarely at a loss but something about this, you, is unsettling. "Are you alr-"

"I'm fine, thanks for... thanks for that." You shrug in the direction of the stall, but you still won't look at him. You stare at your feet, hand cupping the back of the baby's head, arm partially blocking them from view, though they twist in your grip, trying to track the sound of his voice.

"Do you-“

"I should get going." You cut him off, again, and physically turn away, half nodding over your shoulder. "Thanks again." The evasion catches him off guard but before he can say anything else, you're gone. Vanished into the crowd, easily lost among the sea of others.

Rose and pink pepper lingers on the wind in your wake, floral and sharp, sweet.

Hel.

[unknownati]

xi. slow morning

a/n: from my draftz if theres typos dont tell me im blind and proud... as a side note i feel like i write intimacy better than anything else AM I TWEAKING.

warnings/tags: gn!reader, no use of y/n, no desc of reader's physical features, fluff and smut, short, handjob (e! recieving—very ekko focused), intimacy (both nonsexual and sexual), cuddling, morning sex, modern!ekko, slight sub!ekko, hoping this position is understandable lol, no morning breath mentions y'all arent in each others face, half-proofread...meaning i gave up halfway thru. goodnight! 🙋🏾‍♀️

_______________________________________________

warm slivers of sunlight seep through cracks in the curtains, spilling on your face as your eyes fluttered open, making a slow ascent into consciousness.

you're met with a phone screen, a pair of hands framing the device. ekko's. a thumb swipes along the screen, transitioning into the next video. two cats cuddling. you watch him hover over the send button, tap it, choose your profile, and type the message 'us :)' before sending it to you. your phone buzzes faintly on the nightstand, though you don't reach for it.

gentle breaths seep into your ears from behind you, relaxed and steady. a shift in movement, warmth enveloping your figure—his arms, which you reach up to stroke. his hold is protective and grounded.

he was long awake before you, you can tell from the way his voice sounds, smooth and airy.

"morning, angel."

it's a stark contrast from when he first wakes up. he sounds more gruff. more miserable. much like how you sound now.

you groan, soft. you stretch to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "g'morning."

you don't feel miserable, though. far from it. waking up in his arms is the only way you've ever liked waking up.

neither of you will be getting up any time soon. not with the way your legs are tangled together, the way he presses a tender kiss against the shell of your ear as a secondary greeting, it's all too...weighted. too comfortable to just brush past. it's the weekend, anyway.

you turn, neck slightly craned, forehead pressing into his clavicle. his scent clings to him, as intoxicating and heavenly as ever. the faint traces of last night's shower linger. you know he used your body wash—he always did. shea butter lied above a layer of his basic lotion (eucerin, you put him on since he has drier skin), completed with that divine cologne he uses. forest-y, notes of pine and bergamot.

your fingertips drag along the bare skin of his side, and he twitches away from your touch. a breathy laugh exits him.

"that tickles."

you stop, moving down to his core. "sorry," you murmur. it's half-sincere.

your digits dance across the surface of his stomach, quite literally. you create legs with your pointer and middle finger, making your little hand-person do twirls and jumps. his laughs bubbles again.

"that tickles worse," his chin meets the crown of your head when he looks down, unable to catch your expression. a hand meets your nape, mimicking your movements.

it's featherlight and playful, as if bugs are scuttling along your skin. you laugh the same as he does, shoulders shrugging up in discomfort.

"okay, okay! i'm sorry."

his hand settles at the bottom of your back, right where your spine curves inward. it's relaxed at first, but then it presses. pulls you closer. as if there's even any more space to close.

your legs wrap around his waist, the leg which you lay on pushing beneath his hip to raise it. it's only uncomfortable for a second, then it's like you're slowly melting into each other's forms. bare chest to bare chest, chins resting on the other's shoulder, hearts swelling at the same speed. you know your leg will fall asleep soon, but you don't care.

yet, he's not paying enough attention to you. not as much as you'd like. sure, his hand is stroking your back. sure, he still seems like he's trying to find ways to pull you closer. but his focus strays. it's all on his phone, undeserving.

his eyes stay glued to the screen, darting around. some video about owls. his hand was beginning to falter, his affection slowing.

greedy. you need more. you know how to get it.

you shift away and your hand meets his side again. he flinches, assuming you're continuing with your ticklish movements. he settles once realizing you won't. then it trails, a slow drag down towards the front of his boxers—a light blue pair with snoopy and woodstock printed in an even pattern. you bought them for him a while back, and he was never one to complain. plus, they were comfy.

only when your fingers breach the elastic band did he notice what you were doing. he doesn't stop you.

he wasn't soft for very long after you reveal his length. feeling it grow stiff in your hands made your heart rate pick up.

"i've barely even touched you yet," you murmur, turning to litter his neck with open-mouthed kisses. he groans in response.

his tip prods at your naval once his dick is standing at full attention. an airy chuckle flows from you into his ears. your fist closes just below the head, thumb reaching to rub along the sensitive underside. each vein, each ridge that you trace over elicits a whine—ones that are close to melodic, satisfying hums to your ears.

your hand moves agonizingly slow, long strokes that leave his mind going fuzzy. it's not long until his tip starts crying, which you happily collect as lubricant. his brows knit together, delicate gasps overlapping the video in the background.

ekko's face nuzzles into the junction connecting your neck and shoulder, plump lips pressing into the end of your collarbone. his moans muffle against your skin.

"hidin'?" you ask, your free hand reaching to run through his locs. he nods, slowly thrusting his hips up into your fist, meeting your movements halfway.

a small noise clicks behind you, and whatever video he was watching stopped. then a thud against the mattress. he dropped his phone. another arm clamps around you, and you know you've got him good.

finally, the attention is on you. his grasp on your body is tight, the sweet desperate nothings he whispers into your ears as he curses and begs you not to stop are angelic.

"fuck...don't stop. please, you make me feel s-so good. god, baby—"

you loosely echo his words back to him, voice sultry and raspy. "yeah?" you purr. "feels good?"

your wrist flicks faster, too quick for his lazy hips to keep up with. he loses rhythm, his pants stutter. he murmurs something, too shyly for you to hear, yet you can only assume he's coming undone. your theory is quickly confirmed, his movements slowing to a stop as he releases all over your hand and tummy, fingertips pressing into your back.

if only you could hear his pretty cries better. against your skin, they're low and subdued, but you can hear the incantations of your name paired with his voice breaking off at the peak of his climax.

neither of you realized how tense his body had become until he relaxes against you, hand still weakly skimming along your lower back.

still, your bodies were heavy. neither of you wanted to move. but the cum dripping off you was starting to feel weird, and you want it off.

you barely even get to think about moving before his arms squeeze tighter around you. "ekko, i wanna go wipe this off."

"not yet," he whispers shakily. "just...a few more minutes. can't be done with you yet."

you've definitely won his attention. for a few hours.

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; male!reader

sukuna loves to pull his boyfriend down onto his lap.

whenever you guys are out at a party, he wants everybody to know that you're his. he's staring at you with the most smitten look ever as you push your glasses up your nose, his hand resting on the small of your back. his fingers find their way under your shirt and the touch sends shivers up your spine; you squirm on top of his sculpted thighs and a dark chuckle falls from his lips, followed by a tease.

"stop movin' s'much, pretty boy." he presses his palm against your skin and your whole body lights on fire. and then he's leaning in closer and his lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks. "or m'gonna pop a boner and m'gonna make you take it all the way right here and now, yeah?"

and then he bites down on your earlobe, his hot saliva coating the most sensitive part of your body in front of a room full of people. you push at his chest, feeling flustered because of his actions but freeze up when you feel the growing bulge poking at your ass. the thought of him already getting hard, the thought of him going through with what he said is making you burn in the best way possible.

using his other hand, sukuna cradles the side of your face, pulling you even closer so he can trace the sharp edge of your jawline with his tongue. he can almost hear your adam's apple bob, the excitement running through your veins and he can't help but push you even further.

"oh, but you'd like that, huh?" he spreads his legs a little wider, his hard-on now even more evident. his scent is intoxicating – it's so strong and addicting, you can't get enough of him. you already feel so dizzy so when you make eye-contact with some random guy across the dark room just when kuna's hand falls from your cheek and down to your own bulge. your lips part in surprise, a quiet gasp spilling from you before you can even think about stopping it.

the other man can't take his eyes off of the sight and it makes you so much more embarrassed, so you seek solace in sukuna's neck. you paw at his chest like a needy puppy, tugging at his shirt and begging for more. you feel so hot all over – his touch, the unfamiliar eyes, the tense air around you, it's all just so much.

but while you're hiding in the crook of your boyfriend's neck, panting into his skin as his hand keeps massaging your cock through the material of your pants, sukuna scans the room.

there's this weird sense of desire to show you off and keep you all to himself at the same time. the idea of taking you right here and now is heavenly but the idea of other people getting to tease the pleasure on your face, the expressions that are only meant to be saved for him are making him sick to his stomach. he'd rather have you cockwarming him in secret than to actually let others know what's going on. he wants you all to himself.

sukuna's always known for having an intense stare, so when his gaze meets the stranger's, it's not a surprise the man almost drops his drink before scuttling off. he tastes blood as he thinks about punching him in the face for even taking a look at you, for having the guts to think about you. his boyfriend, his lover.

a low growl bubbles up from his throat when he feels you lick at his neck and the stranger fades from his mind within a second. you need his attention way more than some random loser. and who's he to deny you of anything? he might be harder than a fucking rock just from having you sit on his lap like a good boy but fuck, does he want to suck you off just about now. to show you how much he cares, how much he's willing to put his own needs aside to focus on yours instead. you are everything to him and he's not afraid to let you know that.