#allhailtheworm

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Ooh I like this one. The range is borderline chaotic and it makes me giddy. There's no order to this, so they're in every direction. Thank you for asking!

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Severus Snape would likely be in the middle of something when you arrive. He doesn't react to the way you hug him from behind, his lidded eyes drawn to the work in front of him. He doesn't flinch when they scoot to his side, but his eyes do narrow when they plop into his lap to disrupt his job. They snake their arms around his neck and cross their legs on his left side. His hand would rest on whichever knee was closest.

"I'm busy." He drawls, trying to nudge them off with a look of distaste.

"Put that down for a moment. Don't bother with that mess. I need you to make one of me." They said, bold as ever with a kiss to his jawline.

He frowns and nudges harder.

"I'm busy-"

"I heard that. Do it anyway. Please"

Their tongue traced along the back of his jaw. He stopped.

Silence reigned in his study, aside from the fire that gently crackled under each beaker, and the occasional wet sound that arose from their lips as they teased him.

But before long, that wanting voice crept through the doubt in his mind, through the sense he prided himself on.

'Damn it all', he thought before reaching for the back of their head.

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Remus Lupin would be down for anything they have to offer him.

Anything.

What he wants is not the opportunity for blissful ruin, but rather the opportunity to prove that he can do something they might consider useful, which would mean they might want to keep him around.

That wasn't to say they ever gave him reason to think they might leave him, but the worry always lingered in his mind, festered within him like an illness for which the only cure was eliminating every conceivable obstacle. He needed to prove himself - to whom, he did not know. But they seemed like a great place to start.

So when they sat down in his lap in Grimmauld Place's dinner table of all places, turning his face as red as the unsightly marks that scarred them, it seemed the perfect chance for him to get them riled up, to risk their feelings for him for a moment of pleasurable respite and praise. He felt bad being excited by the idea of trying to make someone addicted to him - worse, in physical needs alone - and it felt even worse being so audacious as to think someone could need him, could be made to need him in the first place. If they were disappointed and left him after, he could handle that. It was nothing new. But if they didn't..

"I need you to m-"

"Okay," He nodded right away, with a glint in his eyes that told them they were in for a treat.

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Toshinori Yagi is nothing but an absolute delight in any situation. That's a given. But there's always a mix, a twist in whichever response he might give to the advances he receives from his partner.

Will he keep his cool and roll with the romantic punches? Let his All Might mindset close in and keep a calm expression for his lover's enjoyment? Or crumble against the possibilities of what such a question entails? To accept what it says about him willingly falling prey to them like the inexperienced, thoughtful, wanting, devoted man he is at heart?

They never make moves on him in public. There's an unspoken respect for his Pro reputation. If anyone suspects he might have a bias for any one person, they'll lose faith in his resolve - and frankly, he would, too. Who is he if he can't convince the people the He Is There?

They've told him time and time again that when he's with them, he should do what he wants, when he wants, because he wants to do it, and for no other reason. But sometimes what he wants is to see them happy. It's clearly a mutual feeling.

"I want you to make a mess of me," they'd say, straddling the poor, red-faced man's lap with a hand on that notoriously obnoxious belt buckle of his. But when they say it, they don't mean 'Give it to me and make me feel good' because they never have to ask him for that. Every intimate moment between the two of them is pleasurable for them because he makes sure of it. What they mean when they say it is 'Get what you need. Don't worry about me for once. I can take it.'

And it has him straining against his zipper when he realizes the implications, gently trying to get his hands under their backside and lift them to save himself the embarrassment. But let's be honest - they both know they felt that little twitch already.

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Shouta Aizawa has better things to do than entertain those kinds of whims, especially at work. He won't compromise his dignity or theirs by allowing an inappropriate encounter to occur anywhere that might be considered risky.

He likes being with them; that's never been in question, which is precisely why he tends to reel it back when they do things like this.

"Get off me." He says quietly, pushing to set them down beside his desk.

"But I need you to-"

"Whatever it is, it can wait until after work. I have enough to do without you trying to instigate something in a semi-public area." He puts a hand on their shoulder to show he meant no ill will by denying them. He already knows what they're after. The only reason he pushed them off his lap was to avoid giving himself the opportunity to fall into their request too soon. "When we get home." He promises. "Until then, you'll just have to wait."

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Shigaraki Tomura is a bratty little tease, and he'll say whatever he needs to rile them up again and again until they're mad at him for real. There's just no other way around it.

They'll sit down in his lap, already having decided to do all they can to make him want them badly enough to play along at the very least.

"Whaddu you want?" He asks while taking off the face hand to glare them up and down.

"For you to make a mess of me." They reply, slightly grinding their hips to watch his lip curve into a smile - or an impending scoff. They weren't fully sure which.

"Oh, really now?" He grins.

They nod and do it again, rolling their hips over his. He puts his hands to their sides and they still.

All he has to do is put his pinkies down and it's game over, which.. puts them at a stalemate of sorts.

"That's not funny." They say harshly.

"I'm not laughing." He replies with that same shit-eating grin.

He'll give in eventually and do what they've asked of him, but not before he drags it out as long as humanly possible just to get a rise out of them.

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Cicero has been a wild card for a very long time, an ace up the Listener's sleeve whenever they require his.. expertise, and he'll continue to be one for as long as Sithis lets him breathe. Going against all he appears to be, his reputation as both a Master assassin and The Brotherhood's Keeper has confirmed that the silly behavior is little more than his own coping mechanism to rid himself of internal silence.

So it comes as no surprise when his Listener sits down in his lap. They do it quite often, you see. He realized not so long ago that that may have just been a deterrent to his habit of bouncing his leg.. and the bells sewn into his hems with it.

"Hello~, hello!" He claps merrily as they take their place in his lap, his voice high and joyous like a Priestess of Mara at the altar. "What do we have here? A pretty trinket for Cicero?" He beams, his eyes glued to their face like they were all the sunlight he'd ever need (they often compared him to some sort of affectionate opossum - big eyes, a crazy image, and loves to latch onto the Listener whenever they're in the Sanctuary).

"Actually, I was hoping for a favor... if our esteemed Keeper has the time, I'd like him to make a bit of a mess of me. It's far too quiet in these halls." They jingle a bell on his motley collar. Their expression was innocent and mused, but smart Cicero knew much, much better than that. He looked up at them with a grin like the devil and they loved it.

"Oh, but of course!" He exclaims before his voice turns deep, drawled and gravelly. His gaze roves over his dear Listener; they were certain that his hands weren't far behind.

"Humble Cicero lives to serve."