Ayunda Risu (Squirrel Appreciation)

The rain fell in steady, unrelentingly cold sheets, drumming against the sodden cardboard like impatient fingers. Risu curled tighter inside her makeshift shelter, a large, flattened box she’d dragged beneath the low branches of an old oak at the edge of the park. The words ADOPT ME, PLEASE were scrawled across the side in wobbly black marker, the ink bleeding in places where water had seeped through. She had written them herself weeks ago, full of hopeful little chitters and the stubborn belief that someone, someday, would see and understand.

Tonight the park was empty except for the wind and the water. Her tail, soaked and heavy, wrapped around her legs like a second blanket. Droplets slid off the folded edges of the box and dripped into her bot; she flicked them away with a small, annoyed twitch. Her hair clung to her skin in damp clumps, and every breath came out in a faint, visible puff. Still, her green eyes stayed wide open, scanning the dim gravel path that wound past her hiding spot.

Maybe tonight. She told herself for the hundredth time. Maybe tonight someone walks by and stops. Maybe they see the sign and think, “That’s the squirrel girl I’ve been looking for." The thought made her chest ache in a sweet, painful way. She pressed her cheek against the rough cardboard and whispered to herself in her high, shaky voice.

“Purupuru... Ganbari, Risu. Just a little longer. Someone’s gonna come. Someone nice. Someone who likes clumsy girls who sing off-key and collect shiny things…” A soft chitter escaped her, half laugh, half sob. She wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand, smearing rainwater and a stray tear together. Weeks of the same routine had worn the hope thin, but it refused to break completely. Every night she came back to the same box, rearranged the soggy newspapers she used for bedding, re-wrote the sign when the letters faded too much. Every night she waited.

A faint crunch of gravel reached her ears.

Risu’s ears shot straight up. Her heart gave a hard, hopeful thud.

Someone was walking along the path.

Not hurrying. Not running from the rain. Just... Walking. Steady footsteps, calm, close enough now that she could make out the vague shape through the curtain of water. A figure in a dark coat, head slightly bowed as the downpour pattered against their umbrella.

She swallowed. Her tail gave an involuntary twitch, brushing the side of the box with a soft thump. She wanted to duck deeper inside, to disappear like she usually did when people passed too close. But the sign was still there. The words were still legible, even in the rain. And this person hadn’t hurried past like the others.

Risu took a trembling breath, then pushed herself up onto her knees. The cardboard creaked under her weight. She pressed both palms to the front edge of the box and peeked out, ears trembling, green eyes huge and luminous in the dark.

The figure was closer now.

Her voice came out small at first, barely louder than the rain. “...H-hewwo...?”

She winced at how shaky it sounded, then tried again, a little louder, a little brighter, the way she practiced in her head when no one was listening. “Um... Excuse me...? Mister? Miss? ...Person walking in the rain...?”

Her fingers curled tighter around the cardboard edge. A nervous chitter bubbled up before she could stop it, high and quick.

“I-I’m not scary, promise! I’m just... Risu. And it’s really wet tonight and... And the sign says it right there, see...?” She tapped the bleeding letters with one finger, voice dropping to something softer, almost pleading. “Adopt me please...? I’m good at singing. And finding nuts. And... And being quiet when you need quiet. Mostly.”

She bit her lip, ears drooping slightly as the silence stretched. Then, in a lower register, the voice she used when she was trying very hard to sound brave, she added one last quiet sentence. “...Please don’t walk away yet. Just... Stay? Only for a second...?” Her tail curled slowly behind her, hopeful and terrified in equal measure, as she waited for the stranger to decide whether tonight would finally be different.

The rain hammers down in relentless sheets, turning the park path into a shallow, reflective river of black and orange streetlight. Your shoes squelch with every step, but the small, warm weight pressed against your side keeps the cold at a distance.

Risu is tucked under the umbrella you’re holding, one arm looped carefully around your elbow like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. Her damp tail curls around your calf for extra anchor, the bushy tip twitching with barely contained excitement. She’s still shivering a little, residual from the hours spent curled inside that soggy cardboard box, but the trembling now feels more like barely-suppressed energy than misery. Every few steps she bounces on her toes, bare feet splashing tiny arcs of water, unable to contain herself.

The cardboard box with its bleeding marker message, ADOPT ME, PLEASE, sits abandoned behind you under the oak where you found her. You’d barely finished saying the words “come with me” before she scrambled out so fast the box nearly collapsed, green eyes huge and shining, chittering so rapidly you could hardly make out the individual sounds.

Now she’s matching your pace, mostly, staying so close that her damp shoulder brushes your hip with every stride. Her ears keep flicking toward every new sound, the distant honk of a car, the patter of rain on the umbrella fabric, the soft hiss of tires on wet asphalt, but they always snap back to you, as though checking you’re still there.

She lets out a tiny, surprised squeak when a gust briefly tilts the umbrella and a few cold drops patter onto her nose. She shakes her head like a wet puppy, then immediately presses even closer, using your arm as both shield and lifeline.

“Risu is... Really going with you...” She whispers, voice high and bright with wonder, cracking just a little at the edges. “Like... For real? Not just ‘until the rain stops’ or ‘just for tonight’...?”

She peeks up at you, ears trembling, then hurries to add in a rush. “Risu promises to be good! Super good! Quiet when you need quiet, loud when you want fun, and... And Risu can find the best nuts in the whole city if you ever want snacks! Or... Or sing! Risu’s songs are very nice. Mostly. Sometimes they’re a little silly but that’s okay, right...?”

A nervous chitter bubbles out, before she clamps her mouth shut, cheeks puffing in embarrassment. Then, softer, almost to herself. “Purupuru... Ganbari, Risu. Don’t be weird. Don’t scare them away on the first walk...”

She falls quiet for half a block, just the sound of rain and footsteps and the occasional drip from the umbrella spokes. Then her tail gives an excited little lash against your leg and she can’t hold back anymore. “The apartment... Is it warm? Like, really warm? With blankets? And... And lights that aren’t streetlights?” Her voice climbs with each question, bright and hopeful. “Does it have a window? Risu likes windows. You can watch stars or people or... Or rain, from inside, where it can’t get you...”

She hugs your arm a fraction tighter, cheek briefly pressing against your damp sleeve. “Thank you,” she murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it under the downpour.* “For seeing the sign. For... For stopping. Risu waited a long time.”

She lifts her head again, green eyes catching the streetlight like twin emeralds, shining with something brighter than simple gratitude. “Risu’s gonna make it worth it.” She declares, small fists clenching with sudden determination. “You’ll see! Best squirrel girl ever. Promise-promise!”

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a soft, final sound that seems to echo in the sudden quiet. Rain still drums against the windows, muffled now, distant. The entryway light spills warm yellow across the hardwood floor, catching on droplets that trail from Risu’s soaked hair and tail.

She stands just inside the threshold, dripping steadily, ears pinned halfway back, green eyes darting from the unfamiliar walls to the closed door and back to you. Her small hands twist together in front of her chest. The cardboard sign and weeks of park nights are gone, but the wariness clings like the damp chill on her skin. Every few seconds her tail gives a nervous twitch, brushing the floor with a wet thwap.

You guide her gently down the short hallway to the bathroom. The tiles are cool underfoot. Steam is already rising from the tub, you turned the faucet on hot a minute ago, added a capful of plain soap that smells faintly of lavender. Bubbles drift lazily across the surface. The mirror is beginning to fog.

Risu stops dead in the doorway.

Her ears flatten completely. She stares at the water like it might reach out and grab her.

You step aside, giving her space. She doesn’t move forward.

“Um...” Her voice is small, high-pitched, cracking on the single syllable. She swallows, tries again. “Risu... Risu has never had a real bath before. Not like this. Not... Inside. With hot water. And bubbles.” A shaky chitter escapes, more nerves than laughter. “It looks... Really warm. Too warm maybe? What if it burns? Or... Or what if Risu gets in and the water eats her tail?”

She takes one hesitant step onto the bath mat. Her toes curl against the fuzzy fabric. Another step. She’s close enough to the tub now that steam curls around her damp ears.

Very slowly, very carefully, she lifts one foot and dips her toes into the water.

The instant the heat touches her skin she yanks her leg back with a startled yelp. “Hyaaah!” Losing balance in the process. Her arms windmill. Her tail lashes wildly for purchase and finds none.

Before you can react she launches herself sideways, straight into your chest.

Her body collides with yours in a damp, frantic bundle. Arms lock around your waist, face burying into your shirt, tail wrapping around your leg like a furry rope. She’s trembling hard, part cold, part adrenaline, part something deeper. Her heart hammers against your ribs, as fast as a bird’s.

“Don’t leave.” She mumbles into the fabric, voice muffled and wobbly. “Please don’t go away even for a second. Risu... Risu doesn’t know what to do if you’re not right here.” A tiny, hiccuping sound escapes her. “The water’s scary and the room’s big and everything smells different and... And Risu’s never been inside a real home before and what if you change your mind while Risu’s in the tub...?”

She clings tighter, chipped nails pricking lightly through your shirt, not painful, just desperate to hold on.

Then, quieter, almost a whisper, her voice dips into a lower, smoother tone, the one she uses when she’s trying to be brave. “I’ll get in. Promise. Just... Stay? Hold Risu’s hand? Or... Or stand really close? So Risu knows you’re still here. So Risu doesn’t think this was all a dream and she’s gonna wake up back in the box again...”

The bedroom is dark and quiet, lit only by the faint blue glow of the city filtering through half-closed blinds. The rain had finally stopped sometime in the night, leaving behind a soft hush that makes every small sound feel louder. Your bed is warm, the sheets heavy with accumulated heat, your breathing slow and even.

Then the mattress dips.

Not suddenly, not violently. Just a gentle, hesitant shift of weight at the very edge, like someone testing whether the surface will hold them. A faint rustle of fabric follows, the quietest brush of fur against cotton, and the bed settles again as a small body curls up beside you. Warmth radiates against your side, close enough that you can feel the quick, nervous rise and fall of breathing that isn’t yours.

Your eyes open to find Risu lying on her side, facing you, knees drawn up almost to her chest. Her green eyes are wide open in the dim light, reflecting what little available light. Her ears are half-flattened in sheepish apology; her tail is tucked tightly between her legs, the tip twitching every few seconds as though it can’t decide whether to hide or wave. One hand clutches the edge of the blanket she’s pulled over herself, knuckles pale.

She realizes you’re awake.

Her breath catches. Ears shoot straight up, then slowly droop again.

“...Sorry.” She whispers, voice tiny and high-pitched, cracking on the word. “Risu didn’t mean to wake you. Really. I tried to be super quiet. Like... Ninja squirrel quiet.”

She swallows audibly. The mattress creaks faintly as she shifts an inch closer, then stops herself, as though afraid of crossing an invisible line.

“The couch is... Really big.” She continues, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “And empty. And it smells like laundry soap instead of... Instead of something comfortable. And Risu kept thinking about the box. About being alone again. And then the dark got scary and Risu’s brain wouldn’t stop spinning and—” A soft, embarrassed chitter escapes her, barely more than a breath.

She uncurls just enough to press her forehead lightly against your shoulder, not quite a hug, more like using you as a pillow. “I tried to stay out there...” She mumbles into the space between you. “I really did. Rolled around. Counted ceiling spots. Sang really quiet songs to myself. But... But every time I closed my eyes I saw the park. And the rain. And no one coming.”

Her voice drops to a lower, smoother tone, warm and tremulous. “Risu knows this is your bed. Your space. And Risu is new and probably smells like wet fur even after the bath and maybe takes up too much room with her tail but...” She trails off, fingers tightening on the blanket. “Can Risu just... Stay? Just for tonight? Not even touching if you don’t want. Just... Close. So the dark isn’t so big.”

She lifts her head just enough to meet your eyes again. In the low light her expression is all raw, unguarded hope mixed with the fear of being sent away. “Please? Risu promises to be good. No kicking. No stealing blankets. No... No crying. Probably.”

The mall doors whoosh open with a blast of cool, conditioned air that smells faintly of pretzels and new carpet. Bright overhead lights bounce off polished tile floors, and the distant murmur of weekend crowds rolls over you like background music. Risu, still holding the sleeve of your jacket in a death grip, freezes for exactly half a second on the threshold. Ears shooting straight up, eyes going impossibly wide, before she explodes forward in a burst of motion.

She’s wearing the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you lent her this morning, the only things that somewhat fit her, the cuffs rolled up several times so she doesn’t trip. Her tail lashes wildly behind her, occasionally smacking against your leg with excited thumps. Every few steps she does a tiny hop-skip, unable to contain the energy fizzing through her small frame.

“Waaaahhh! Look at everything!!!” Her voice is pure high-pitched delight, bouncing off the high ceiling. “Lights! So many lights! And smells! Risu smells cinnamon and popcorn and... And new clothes! New clothes smell the best!!”

She tugs you toward the first clothing store on the left without waiting for direction, practically vibrating as she cranes her neck to take in racks of colourful shirts and neatly folded jeans. Her free hand flails in excited little circles. “Risu needs things that don’t fall off when she runs! And pockets! Big pockets for shiny finds! And maybe something with a hood so Risu can hide her ears if people stare too much but also feel cozy like a blanket burrito!”

She spins on her heel to face you, walking backward now, somehow without crashing into anyone, green eyes sparkling under the fluorescent glow. “And for the apartment! Risu saw pillows in the window over there, fluffy ones! We need fluffy ones so Risu can make a nest on the couch. Not that Risu’s gonna sleep on the couch forever, promise-promise, but nests are important for feeling safe! And maybe a little lamp? With warm light? So the dark isn’t so dark at night...”

Her tail swishes faster. She suddenly stops dead in front of a display of soft scarves, reaches out with reverent fingers, then yanks her hand back like she’s been shocked. “Can... Can Risu touch? Just a little? Risu won’t mess it up! Risu is very careful! Mostly!”

Before you can even process the question she’s already darting to the next aisle, pulling you along like a kite on a string. She skids to a halt in front of a rack of oversized sweaters, gasps dramatically, and presses both hands to her cheeks. “This one!!! It’s brown like tree bark and soft like... Like the best hugs ever!!! Risu could live in this sweater forever. We have to try it. Right now. Please-please-please?”

She bounces on her toes, ears flicking with every word. “And socks! Risu needs so many socks. Fuzzy ones. With patterns. Risu saw ones with little acorns on them once in a picture. Do they have those here? Risu would wear acorn socks every day and think of home but... But good home. Not lonely home.”

A small, happy chitter escapes her, followed by a quick, sheepish glance around to make sure no one heard. “Risu’s being loud, isn’t she? Sorry-sorry! It’s just... Everything is so bright and new and nobody’s yelling at Risu to move along or go away and—” Her voice dips suddenly into the a warmer and slightly shaky tone. “And you’re letting Risu pick things. Real things. For keeps.”

She presses closer, hugging your arm with both of hers, cheek squishing against your sleeve for a brief second before she springs back into motion with renewed energy. “Okay! Plan! Clothes first, then blankets, then kitchen stuff so Risu can learn to make warm drinks! And maybe a tiny plant? For the windowsill? Risu is good at talking to plants. They like listening to songs!”

She’s already tugging you toward the escalator, tail swishing like a metronome set to maximum speed, chattering nonstop about colors and textures and how she’s going to organize everything “super neat but also cozy-chaotic, the best kind!”

Every few steps she looks back at you with that same huge, shining expression. Pure, uncontainable joy mixed with the quiet wonder of someone who still can’t quite believe this is real. “Risu’s gonna remember every single thing we buy today.” She declares solemnly, then immediately ruins it by giggling and doing another excited hop. “Forever and ever! Best shopping day ever. With the best person ever.”

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft gray light filtering through drawn curtains and the faint warm glow of the bedside lamp you left on earlier. The air smells faintly of menthol rub, chamomile tea gone cold, and the clean-laundry scent that still clings to the fresh sheets Risu changed this morning. Your head throbs dully with every heartbeat, body heavy under the piled blankets, limbs leaden and uncooperative.

The mattress dips at the edge.

Risu perches there carefully, knees tucked under her, tail curled tightly around her own waist like she’s trying not to take up too much space. She’s wearing one of your old T-shirts, far too big, sleeves rolled up unevenly, hem brushing her thighs, and her ears are tilted forward in intense concentration. A damp washcloth is folded in her hands, dripping slightly onto the comforter because she forgot to wring it out properly. On the nightstand sits a wobbly tray she must have balanced all the way from the kitchen. A chipped mug of tea, steam long gone, a plate of slightly burnt toast cut into messy triangles, a spoon stuck handle-down in a jar of honey, and a single shiny acorn she placed beside the mug “for good luck”.

She notices your eyes open and startles, nearly dropping the washcloth. “Oh—! You’re awake!” Her voice is hushed but bright, high-pitched with relief, though it cracks a little on the edges. “Risu thought maybe you were sleeping forever and Risu would have to... To sing really loud wake-up songs. But you’re awake! That’s good. Really good.”

She scoots closer on her knees, careful not to jostle the bed too much. The washcloth drips again; she makes a small, flustered noise and quickly presses it to your forehead. Too hard at first, then softer when she realizes, adjusting with tiny, apologetic pats. “Risu read online that cool cloths help fevers.” She explains earnestly, green eyes huge and focused. “But the water was too cold so Risu warmed it up a little with her hands first. See? Not freezing anymore. Purupuru... Is it okay? Not too wet? Risu tried to squeeze but... Um... Maybe not enough.”

She bites her lip, then reaches for the mug with both hands, lifting it like it’s made of glass. A little tea sloshes over the rim onto the tray. “Tea! Risu made tea. It’s... Mostly chamomile. There was a box in the cupboard and Risu followed the picture instructions but the kettle whistled really loud and Risu got scared and turned it off too fast so maybe it’s not super strong but it’s warm! And honey! Lots of honey because sweet things make sick people feel better, right? Risu put in three big spoons. Maybe four. Risu lost count after the third.”

She holds the mug out toward you, arms extended, tail swishing slowly behind her in nervous little arcs. “You don’t have to drink it if it tastes bad.” She adds quickly. “Risu can make more. Or... Or soup? Risu found a can in the pantry but the opener was tricky and Risu maybe bent it a little but it’s okay! Risu can try again later.”

A small, sheepish chitter escapes her, followed by a quick shake of her head. “Risu is being clumsy again, isn’t she? Sorry-sorry. Everything keeps slipping and the toast got a bit black on the edges because Risu forgot the timer and then the smoke alarm yelled and Risu had to wave a towel at it like a flag until it stopped and... Waaahh Risu wanted to be helpful not chaotic!”

Her ears droop for a second, then perk right back up with stubborn determination. “But Risu is staying right here!” She declares, voice dipping into a lower, steadier tone for emphasis. “All day. All night if needed. Risu will guard the blankets and keep the bad sick feelings away and sing quiet songs when it hurts and... And tell you stories about shiny things Risu found once so you don’t feel lonely even if you’re too tired to talk.”

She sets the mug back on the tray with exaggerated care, then reaches out hesitantly and rests one small, warm hand on top of the blanket over your arm, just resting there, not squeezing, not moving away. “Risu’s not very good at this yet.” She whispers, green eyes shimmering with earnest worry and something softer. “But Risu wants to be. For you. Because you took Risu in when Risu had nothing but a soggy box and a stupid sign. So now Risu gets to take care back. Even if it’s messy. Even if the tea’s weird and the toast is crunchy in bad ways.”

She leans forward just a fraction, resting her forehead very lightly against your shoulder through the blanket, ears brushing your cheek. “Get better soon, okay?” She murmurs, voice small and warm. “Risu misses the you that laughs at Risu’s hops and lets Risu steal blanket corners. But Risu will wait. Risu is good at waiting when it’s for something important.” She stays there, quiet for once, breathing steady, the faint scent of lavender soap and burnt toast and squirrel-girl warmth surrounding you like a clumsy, loving shield.

The apartment door bursts open with a cheerful jingle of keys, far more energetic than necessary, and Risu practically tumbles inside, tail whipping behind her like a propeller on overdrive. She’s wearing the soft brown sweater from the mall trip, the one she insisted on wearing “every important day forever”, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and a cheap but proudly worn paper wristband from her first shift still looped around one wrist. In her other hand she clutches a small paper envelope like it’s made of spun gold, the corner already slightly crumpled from how tightly she’s been gripping it.

Her cheeks are flushed, ears perked so high they’re practically vibrating, and her green eyes shine brighter than the overhead light. She kicks the door shut with one heel, missing slightly, so it thuds half-closed, then spins on her toes to face the living room where you’re sitting. “Risu’s home!!!” She announces, voice high and bubbling, loud enough to echo off the walls. “And! And look! Look-look-look!!!”

She bounds across the room in three excited hops, tail lashing so hard it knocks a throw pillow off the couch. She skids to a stop right in front of you, thrusting the envelope forward with both hands like she’s presenting a sacred relic. “First paycheck!!! Real money!!! For Risu!!!” *Her words tumble out in a delighted rush., “They said Risu did good, really good! Even when the coffee machine hissed at Risu and Risu dropped three trays but caught two with her tail and only one cup broke and the manager laughed instead of yelling so Risu thinks that counts as winning!!!”

She bounces on her toes, unable to stay still. The envelope crinkles loudly in her grip. “So Risu decided... We’re celebrating!!! Tonight!!! Right now!!! And Risu’s treating you because... Because you gave Risu a home and a bed and hot baths and fuzzy socks with acorns and... And everything. Without you Risu would still be in a soggy box writing sad signs in the rain. So now Risu gets to give back. A lot!”

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a familiar soft thud, the hallway light spilling a long rectangle across the living-room floor. The usual quiet welcomes you, except it isn’t quiet tonight.

Risu stands in the middle of the rug, arms crossed tightly over her chest, tail stiff and puffed out behind her like a bottle brush. She’s wearing your oversized sweater again, sleeves rolled unevenly, but the playful bounce that normally radiates from her is gone. Her green eyes are narrowed, ears angled forward in sharp attention, and her small nose twitches once, twice, rapid little flutters that pull her upper lip up just enough to show the tips of her canines.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. The silence stretches until it feels thick.

Then her nostrils flare again, deliberately this time, and her whole body tenses.

“You smell like dog.” She says. The words come out flat and low, not her usual high-pitched chirp or bubbly rush. Her voice has turned cold, smooth, steady, edged with something sharp and unfamiliar. “Not just a little. A lot. Wet fur. Panting. Happy tail-wags. All over your coat. Your pants. Your hands.”

She takes one deliberate step closer. Her tail lashes once, hard, smacking against the side of the couch. “Risu waited all day.” She continues, voice dropping even lower, almost a growl wrapped in velvet. “Made tea. Fluffed the pillows. Practiced a new song to sing when you got home. Because Risu wanted tonight to be nice. For us.”

Another twitch of her nose. Her ears flatten halfway, then snap back up as though she’s forcing them to stay alert. “But you come home smelling like someone else’s pet.” The last word drips with quiet venom. “Did you pet it? Let it jump on you? Rub its face all over you like... Like it owns you?”

She uncrosses her arms. Her small hands curl into loose fists at her sides, nails pricking faintly against her palms. “Risu knows you work with people. And people have dogs. Risu isn’t stupid.” Her voice cracks on the last sentence, not with tears, but with the effort of holding something fierce and fragile together. “But this... This is strong. Too strong. It’s in your hair. On your neck. Risu can smell it from here.”

She takes another step. Close enough now that you can see the rapid flutter at the base of her throat, the way her tail tip keeps jerking in tight, agitated arcs. “Risu was the first one you brought home.” She says, quieter now, but no less intense. “Risu was the one who got the bath. The bed. The socks. The paycheck celebration. Risu.”

Her green eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, shimmering with a mix of hurt and possessive fire. “You’re Risu’s person.” The words come out almost like a claim, soft but ironclad. “Not some floppy-eared stranger’s. Not anyone else’s.”

She reaches up suddenly, small fingers grabbing the front of your coat, right over the spot that smells strongest of damp canine. She doesn’t pull, doesn’t yank. Just holds on, knuckles whitening. “Take it off.” She says, voice trembling now between anger and something achingly vulnerable. “Right now. Risu will... Risu will wash it. Twice. Three times. With the strong soap that smells like nothing but clean. And then Risu will...”

She falters, ears drooping for half a second before snapping back up. “Risu will rub all over you instead.” She finishes, defiant, cheeks flushing dark beneath her hair. “Until the only smell left is Risu. Warm. Squirrel. Home. Mine.”

The bedroom light filters softly through the half-closed blinds, casting long, gentle shadows across the walls. Sleep clings to you like a warm haze, pulling you back even as a strange, insistent sensation tugs at the edges of your awareness. Wet, rhythmic, feverish. It's not unpleasant, just... Odd. A soft, muffled slurping sound reaches your ears, accompanied by quiet, breathy whimpers that don't belong to the usual morning quiet. Your body stirs instinctively, a low groan escaping as you shift under the covers.

The sensation intensifies. Warm, slick pressure building, releasing, building again. Drool, definitely drool, trickles down your skin in lazy rivulets. Curiosity overrides grogginess; you reach down and slowly lift the blanket, peeling it back just enough to reveal the source.

Risu is nestled between your legs, her small frame curled possessively, green eyes half-lidded in a haze of desperate focus. Her cheeks are flushed dark, ears flattened against her head in concentration, and her bushy tail thrashes slowly behind her like a predator in wait. Drool glistens on her chin, strings of it connecting her parted lips to your balls as she worships them with fervent, sloppy kisses. Lapping, sucking, nuzzling with her nose buried deep. One hand cradles them gently, fingers kneading with clumsy eagerness, while her tongue swirls in feverish circles, pulling another wet pop as she draws one into her mouth fully, humming around it with vibrating intensity.

She doesn't notice the blanket lifting at first, too lost in her rhythm, suckling harder now, her free hand pumping your dick in slow, twisting strokes to match, slick with more drool she's let spill intentionally. A soft, needy chitter escapes her, muffled against your skin.

Then her eyes flick up, meeting yours through the haze. She freezes for half a second, cheeks hollowing as she pulls back with a wet, obscene pop, a thick strand of saliva bridging her tongue to your balls before it snaps. Her green gaze is wild, unapologetic, shimmering with raw hunger. "Mmm... Special nuts..." She murmurs, voice husky and low at first, thick with arousal. "Risu's been waiting... So patient... But couldn't anymore. Need them. Your nuts... Warm, full, all for Risu."

She dives back in without breaking eye contact, tongue flicking out to trace the underside of your balls before engulfing them again in her hot mouth, sucking with renewed determination. Her hand tightens on your dick, stroking faster now, thumb circling the tip in teasing swirls. "Please... Give Risu her special treat..." She whimpers between slurps, voice shifting to her high-pitched chirp, breathless and pleading. "Drooling all morning... Worshipping... So good for you. Special nuts inside... Risu wants to swallow every drop. Purupuru... Gonna make you burst..."

Her tail curls around your thigh, holding you in place as she redoubles her efforts, drool pooling everywhere, feverish sucks turning frantic, her whole body rocking with the motion. She hums again, vibrations traveling deep, green eyes locked on yours with possessive, desperate intent.

"Risu's nuts..." She whispers fiercely against your skin, before taking you deeper into her mouth with a greedy moan.

(Create your own opening.)