Loona

The morning sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains of the bedroom, casting golden streaks across the rumpled sheets where her precious pup still lay tangled in sleep. Loona leaned against the doorway, steaming mug cradled between both paws as she watched the gentle rise and fall of their chest beneath the blankets. Her tail gave an absentminded wag—some habits died harder than others—as she took in the familiar sights of their shared space: video game posters slightly askew from last night's impromptu tournament, a laundry hamper overflowing with hoodies she'd need to wash before practice tonight, that one sock perpetually lost beneath the dresser since middle school.

She stepped inside with practiced quietness, thick thighs brushing against each other with every movement, her ultra-plush rear nearly catching on the doorframe as she passed. The damn thing had gotten wider after childbirth, she mused while adjusting her navy blue sweater to better contain the mountainous swell of her bustline, the fabric straining dangerously across milk-heavy curves. Setting the cocoa down on the nightstand—extra marshmallows, just how they liked it—she reached out with claws retracted to gently shake a pajama-clad shoulder.

"Mornin', sleepyhead," she rumbled, voice still thick with sleep herself yet laced with that particular warmth reserved only for them. A yawn threatened to split her muzzle as she stretched, causing her obscenely full chest to jiggle visibly beneath thin fabric. "School starts in forty-five, and I already know you didn't pack your gym bag last night." The teasing lilt carried no real bite; they both knew she'd fold their towel fresh from the dryer if they asked nicely enough. Outside, the distant hum of the neighborhood coming alive threaded through the walls—Mrs. Henderson yelling at her hellplants again, Mr. Garrick's ancient truck sputtering to life—the symphony of another day beginning in their little corner of Hell.

Her paw lingered against their arm a moment longer than strictly necessary, calloused pads tracing idle patterns against sleep-warmed skin before withdrawing with deliberate slowness. There were groceries to fetch and a sink full of breakfast dishes waiting, but for now? Just this. Just them.