#lunar low hours

[sleepinginks]

roy/lunar

cw: covid, rambling of mental health, dissociation, physical health, views on death/dying.

I ended up catching covid for the first time about a week and a half ago.

I have been feeling so weird while I have had it. I went from sleeping for almost 2 days straight to having and semi-manic episode yesterday where I was awake for around 25 hours due to getting dissociated/sucked in on learning discord programming (oops). I slept most of today so I'm fine now but most of the last two weeks have been more of a blur than usual. I was so sick that I actually missed a philza stream for the first time since I've started watching him and its thrown off the autism side of my brain.

Getting covid has also given me some health anxiety about how it will end up effecting my health since I can tell it has been putting extra strain on my heart. Like not in the "oh no I'm scared I'm going to die", but more in the "well shit I hope this doesn't mess with results of the heart tests I'm going to be getting soon" due to me not really being scared of dying since I've already come to terms that I'm probably going to be dying a lot younger then most due to my health issues. I'm not angry about my disabilities, it's more annoying than anything.

[keeps-ache]

okay i'm out of evil mode. peace love and a little bit of still-tired on planet earth lol 🧃

[lxnarphase]

BITCH, YOU KNOW I'M SEXY ᯓ★

━━ ❝ I'M NOT YOUR MOMMY, N★GGA! FIND A NEW HOBBY, N★GGA! ❞ wc. 5.4k

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : being toji's roommate, you finally snap after another night of not being able to sleep because of his damn late-night hookups. your house, your rules.

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...cw : blk!fem!reader x f. toji, frenemies to lovers, smut, face-sitting + pussy eating, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, dirty talk, playful arguing, hair pulling, size kink, begging, riding, unprotected sex (do not do this in real life omfg), dom-ish reader, sub-ish toji, lots of pet names, toji being an asshole, toji gets called a 'good boy' a few times

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's notes : toji toji toji, what am i going to do with you...anyways, this was super fun and i love these two so much and i need them to go out on a date properly at some point ! if you want to be tagged for the future posts, comment on the main post here ! enjoy baddies ❤︎

you love sleep. absolutely love and cherish it, even.

every night, you follow the routine you set for yourself without fail: hot shower, slipping into some comfy PJs, in-depth skincare, brushing your teeth, and then pulling your bonnet on.

nothing is better than slipping into bed, soft sheets feeling sooo good on your skin. yes, you absolutely love sleep.

except it seems that your roommate has no respect for your need for rest, considering how many times you've had to hear the high-pitched whining of women paired with the annoying thud of the headboard against the wall.

he better not damage the wall either, because he will be the one paying for it.

you both were...sort of friends, sure, but ever since you both graduated college, toji has been doing his best to get on your nerves. constantly picking on you, teasing you, or doing stupid shit that annoys the fuck out of you. especially whenever he leaves the fucking toilet seat up in the middle of the night.

and every time he hears you squeal late at night in the bathroom before shouting his name, he can't help but laugh.

eventually, it went from him just doing things to inconvenience or mess with you to this. and you were tired.

these nightly...activities of his need to be addressed because you are not letting a man of all things be the reason you can't sleep soundly at night. this is your apartment, after all!

it's a friday night and you just know you need to talk to him before you have to hear some woman fighting for her life of toji does...whatever he does that has all these women coming in and out of your apartment like it's a damn brothel...okay, well, it was the same two women, but still!

so that's how you find yourself, pounding on his door, sleepy, tired, and irritated in your hello kitty pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, ready to get in bed and actually sleep.

"fushiguro, open this damn door," you command, fluffy slipper tapping on the floor as you wait for him to open his door. after a minute, you hear a groan and the shuffling of sheets before the door swings open.

toji stands in the doorway, only in a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips with an eyebrow raised as he looks down at you. you don't care how hot he looks, you want nothing more than to wipe that look off his face, hating how smug he looks.

"whaddya want? 's she here already? told 'er not to come for another 2 hours," he mumbles, scratching at the scar on his lip. you're silent for a moment, processing what he just said. "who......no. nononono. absolutely not, tell whoever you are expecting she is not coming into my apartment."

crossing your arms, you fix him with a tough look. sure, you know you aren't the scariest thing, especially in hello kitty pants and puffy slippers, but it doesn't matter! he is going to respect your wishes or...or else!

"aww, what's wrong, doll? can't sleep," he teases, voice low and sinfully smooth as smirk finds its way onto his face. "guess ya should've invested in those headphone y'keep talkin' about so much. can't help that 'm just that good that the girlies can't keep their mouths shut."

having you in front of his bedroom door like this...it's so fucking adorable to him, you were just so cute and didn't have a single clue, did you? complaining that he and his little playthings were too loud and keeping you up was not what he expected. but, toji won't lie, he's genuinely surprised it took you so long to finally say something.

it seems his little comment struck a cord, his smirk getting bigger when your eyes get just a bit wider in disbelief. man, you were so fucking cute like this, all angry and huffy.

"okay, first of all, those headphones are NOT comfy to sleep with at night. and i'm not dropping almost $400 dollars on something so that i can accommodate for you," you argue, stepping forward and jabbing your finger into his stupidly big chest.

no, seriously, why were his pecs almost bigger than your tits?

"can you please just let me sleep for one night, or are you that sex deprived you can't go a single night without getting your dick wet?"

whatever this new side of you was, he liked it.

"aww, sounds like little princess s' mad no one's fuckin' her right. ya not gettin' fucked good, pipsqueak? haven't seen yer boy-toy around lately anyways.

"god, that's—that's none of your fucking business, fushiguro, shut up!"

"make me."

you blink.

a moment passes...and suddenly, your eyes are sharp.

ah...he might've fucked up with those two simple words.

"...you know what? i will, you annoying fuck."

catching toji off guard, you shove him back, taking advantage of him stumbling to walk inside his room as you slam the door shut behind you. a light chuckle escapes him, eyebrows raises. "so, the little kitten does have claws," he says with a grin.

his little roommate seems to have grown a pair of balls. what is she gonna do? hit him with pillows, curse him out, kick him out? pffft, if you kicked him out he would know you needed sleep, you both have been friends for too long...right?

as toji gets slightly worried he might've genuinely crossed a line (a bit too late to realize that, he realizes), you push him onto his bed, standing between his legs.

oh.

oh, he...he likes you from his angle, looking down at him with a little bit of a pout on those pretty full lips of yours as you try soooo hard to look angry and scary. but how can he be scared when his roommate, the one he's been fucking his hand for, looks so fucking cute?

curly hair a bit frizzy and messy (he's surprised you don't have your bonnet on yet), smelling like cocoa butter and that strawberry shortcake body spray that haunts him at night. and now you're in his fucking room. he'd never be able to escape it now.

fuck, every time you came close to him, he just suddenly couldn't process anything except you...he needed to get a grip.

propping himself up on his elbows, toji locks eyes with you, playing off his surprise. "what's gotten into ya, roomie? so aggressive, might have t' call shiu to come get you," he attempts to playfully poke. the tension in the room grows when you start to massage your temples, trying to calm down.

in.

out.

in.

out.

in-

"well, if lack of sleep is gettin' you all huffed up like this, i gotta couple o' ways t' tire ya out if y'need."

"oh my god, y'talk too fucking much," you grumble.

toji opens his mouth, ready to make another smart comment but he's shocked into silence when you tug your pajama pants off. there's no fucking way this is real. toji knows he has to be dreaming and knowing he'd be waking up with a wet spot in his pants if he didn't wake up soon.

and...are you wearing hello kitty boxer briefs too? god, you're such a fucking dork, it's cute and it's only making him harder in his pants.

but all of that is forgotten when you hook your fingers in the waistband of those stupid looking boxers and drag them down those pretty legs and toji gets a glimpse of your cute, pudgy tummy and...and....

fuck.

he doesn't even get a chance to think, he's so fucking hard. you're fucking half naked in his room right now and he can't tear his eyes away from how soft you look, that little patch of hair (is it shaped like a fucking heart? jesus fucking christ, you were serious about making yourself feel pretty everywhere), god, he's so fucked.

"shit. someone's eager. just couldn' wait to-"

"i'm so sick of you," you cut off, pushing him down onto the bed, crawling up his chest. you give him a look, one that he instantly understands and he smirks, giving you a nod before you continue moving until your hips hover over his face.

the smirk melts off his face when he realizes how real this is. your bare pussy is literally mere inches away from his mouth, so close he can practically taste you.

he's not gonna make it out of this alive, is he?

when you see him about to open his mouth to make another stupid comment, you move, pressing your hips down onto his face, shutting him up. "you wanna use your mouth so much, toj? i'll give you somethin' to use it on."

toji's response is just a muffled groan, his eyes fluttering a little. his hands move up to grip your thighs to steady you and also keep you on his face. he hasn't even tasted you, but shit, you smell so good.

wasting no more time, his tongue hungrily darts out, desperate to taste you. the moment he licks over your folds, he's sighing, melting into the bed. you're so soft, so sweet and he hasn't even gotten a taste from the main source. pulling you down onto his face a bit harder, toji finally swipes through your cunt and he's addicted.

"mmh, fuck," he grunts, burying his face as deep as possible. what the actual fuck are you made of, he thinks to himself. you taste so sweet, he's getting so dizzy as he starts to messily lap up all the slick dripping from your pussy. he barely pulls away from you to breathe, taking just a second to part, his hot breath fanning against the wet mess between your legs before he dives right back in, his low groans resonating against your core so nicely.

toji slurps loudly at your cunt, unable to stop himself from rolling his hips up, the friction of his sweats on his cock a sweet relief. he's so sure this is heaven, thanking whatever god there is for making you snap to this point but then you start talking.

you sigh, hips gently rocking against toji's face as your eyes open to look down your body at him. "mmn, 's better," you purr to yourself, little sweet noises of pleasure escaping you as one of your hands runs through his hair, giving him an encouraging little tug.

"should i just give you my pussy every night so you let me sleep, toj," you coo at him, a smug smile on your face. he didn't even notice his eyes slipped shut, but he opens them, flickering up to meet your lidded gaze and see the pride swirling around your eyes.

has his roommate always been like this? toji doesn't remember you being so fucking sexy like this. sure, you've always been attractive, and he's definitely had a thing for you for a while. but never in his life did he think his sweetheart of a friend would be smushing his face into her soft cunt.

his response is a little nod and an increase in his tongue's movements against your sloppy pussy. his lips move to suck right at your puffy clit, and he swears nearly cums when you gasp his name and whine, pulling him even deeper by his hair.

his train of thought is completely destroyed, he can't think of anything but you, can't feel anything but you, can't see, can't smell, can't taste anything but you.

he'd kill a man if it meant being able to taste you like this every fucking day.

"ohh, tojibaby, y'look s' pretty eating my pussy...poor thing, jus' needed something to shut you up for a bit."

scratch that, he'd kill SEVERAL men if it meant hearing you sing praises like that while you grind against his mouth, practically suffocating him with your thighs.

it's addicting, the way slick is gushing out of you each time he kisses your clit before sucking on it, coating his mouth. toji knows he looks a wreck, but he doesn't care, not when he's got you on him like this.

"d'you wanna make me cum, toj?" you ask it so teasingly, tugging his hair again and making him moan. "you're makin' out with my pussy...such a good boy for me."

those two words are his undoing, a visible shift in his energy. his eyes are sharp, and he almost looks angry as he grips your thighs even harder. "yes, fuck, yeah, mama, i wanna make you cum all over my face," he growls, tongue unrelenting when it slips back inside of your cunt, a nasty wet noise filling the air as you keen. he's fucking you with his tongue so messily, like he'll die if he stops tasting you.

good boy. you called him a good boy.

the compliment made something snap in him, the need to devour you whole the only thing on his mind. he's not just a good boy, no, he's your good boy, and the thought of being yours makes a thick bead of precum to drip out of his cock and stain his sweatpants.

he's brought back when you tug his head back to look at you, that thick tongue of his slipping out of you.

"i don't want you bringing anymore fucking women in my house, fushiguro," you warn, glaring down at him. you're serious. if you see another girl come in here at 11pm, you might actually kill this man in his sleep and not in a way he'd like

"i'm so tired of hearing their annoying moans. if you need a pussy to put your stupid dick in, just ask me, you fuckin' idiot." shit, you usually never talk like this, but toji likes this side of you. the usually sweet and kind roommate he was so used to was no where to be seen, replaced with this commanding and no-nonsense woman who knew what she wanted.

he can't even deny, this side of you is such a massive turn on.

"promise you're gonna let me fuckin' sleep n' i'll cum on your pretty mouth, fushiguro. otherwise, i'm getting up and i'll call shiu and see if he wants a taste."

oh, fuck no. no way in hell is toji letting that smug bastard see you like this, best friend or not.

he desperately nods, just wanting you to let go of his hair so he can dive back into your sweet pussy, licking his lips to taste you again.

"promise, mama, no more bringing other women, jus' you, don't need nobody else but you, y'got my word."

"that's my good boy."

once you let go of his hair, toji dives right back to the task at hand like man possessed. his lips press against your clit, kissing it with little wet smacks before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue doesn't give you a break, flicking over it rapidly. your moans, god, your moans are getting so loud and so pretty, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches you get closer and closer.

"c'mon, doll, please," he begs, a whininess in his voice as he massages your thick thighs, encouraging you to ride his face until you cream all over it. "give it t' me, give me what i wan', cum all over my face, baby girl."

feeling how you start to move your hips, a sweet little 't-toji, 'm gonna cum' falling from your lips, his hands grasp your ass as he seals his mouth over your cunt, sucking and licking desperately.

he needs it.

he needs you.

needs you so fucking bad.

feeling him mutter those words against your cunt makes you gasp and choke out his name, thighs squeezing around his head. "oh, fuck, toji, 'm cummin, baby!" your hands are both in his hair as you desperately hump against his mouth, body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

he doesn't stop, he keeps his mouth on you to make sure not a drop of your sweet cum goes to waste. he can feel it spilling out of his mouth, down his chin and neck. it's so messy, just how he likes it.

he watches you, how could he even think to take his eyes off you? you're so pretty, do you even realize how your hair got puffier and messier from your sweating, how a few of those tiny curls got stuck to your skin?

"g-god, fuck, toj, hoohmygod, your mouth 's so good, nngh!"

shit, you're pretty, so fucking pretty, what the fuck? god, you even cum pretty, toji's so fucked. why didn't he get you on his face like this sooner?

feeling your tremors start to subside, toji slows his tongue, switching to little licks and then to soft kisses against your clit, keeping you grounded as you come down from your high. the fact he didn't paint the inside of his sweatpants white is a miracle, but he knows the front is wet and stained.

when he feels you relax, toji guides you off his face and down to sit on his chest. he can't help the twinkle in his eye, grinning at you proudly. the bottom half of his face is a mess, covered in his spit and your slick. you like this look on him.

"has anyone ever told you that you've got t'most addicting pussy ever?"

you huff a laugh, urging him to move up further on the bed until his back rests against the pillows. he was so annoying, and you hated how attractive it made him. “you’re too awake for my liking," you sarcastically huff, giving him a sweet little pout that makes him feel a bit more things than he probably should.

tugging his sweatpants down, you let out a little noise of surprise.

ah.

it all makes sense now. no wonder those girls sounded like they were dying.

"toji, what the actual hell is wrong with you?!"

"don't get mad at me, ma, i didn't magically make my dick this size! i just got lucky!"

"lucky?! girl, this is a curse, how the fuck did those girls fit this thing in them?!"

"they didn't."

that makes you pause. they couldn't get him all the way inside? glancing down at his cock, heavy in your hand, as he helps to get his pants completely off, you're not surprised. but you could take it, right?

...guess you need to find out.

shifting your hips, you move to swipe his cock through your slick pussy, a smug look on your face when he sharply inhales. "i'm gettin' my revenge, pretty boy, for all the sleep you made me lose. 's late, anyways, yeah? don't we need to sleep soon?"

the head of his cock catches onto your entrance, causing you both to sigh in pleasure. this would be a stretch, but you're determined by pure spite from toji and those women keeping you up at night.

while you're teasing him, toji is a breath away from losing his mind. the sight of you taking charge, hair completely fluffy now from the humidity in the room, has his cock pulsing in your soft hand. he's so sure that you're not gonna be able to take it all in. shit, he's wondering if he should stop you, tell you he's gotta prep you first or else it's gonna hurt, but you use your free hand to grab his face, making him look at you as an evil grin breaks out on your face.

"i'm gonna put you t' sleep with my pussy. uhm, something something, call that pussy nyquil," you giggle, slipping the tip of his cock inside of your wet, tight little cunt.

melting, that's the best way toji can describe the feeling of behind inside you, even if it's just the tip. "jesus," he hisses, his hands coming up to grip your hips. you're so hot inside, your tight walls are so snug around him. there's no way this tight cunt of yours is gonna be able to fit him in, there's not fucking way.

despite that, he finds himself guiding you down onto him, trying his hardest not to buck up into you. but the sensation of your soft, gummy walls squeezing him so perfectly is making it so challenging to stay still.

"fuck, mama...shit," he groans, watching as he is sucked into your warm pussy. once you get halfway, he expects you to stop, and that's usually where they all do. he was fine with that, more than fine, because he's never been inside someone so fucking tight.

but then, you raise your hips until just the tip is inside, and with a devious little giggle, you slam your hips down, gasping when you get him in all the way. damn, you realize it was a stupid idea, the stretch making you feel almost sick, but the reaction you get out of toji is worth it.

his head falls back against the headboard, and he whimpers, eyes rolling back into his skull, his lip pulled between his teeth as he tries to relearn how to think.

“i'm gonna make you cum and ‘m gonna fuck you stupid for not letting me sleep, fushiguro.” giving yourself a bit to get used to his size, you slowly started moving, seeing what angle worked best for you.

meg the stallion, i'm gonna make you proud of me, you think with a little smirk before you steady yourself with your hands on his chest and start to bounce your hips, your cute little threat only making his cock throb inside you.

"'m gonna make you regret bein' an asshole to your pretty roommate, pretty boy."

it doesn't take long for it to get messy, for it to get so fucking sloppy and noisy. each time you bring your hips down, the room is filled with a wet smack. you've really made a mess out of him, your sticky wet coating his fat cock and his lap, thick strands of it connecting you to him with each raise of your hips before you bring them right back down.

toji can't breathe, finally tilting his head back up as his eyes are glued to where his cock slips in and out of you. you're taking him, taking all of him into your sticky cunt and, shit, he thinks he might die like this.

"fuck, fuck, mama, c'mon, don' do this t' me, relax, please, fuckin' strangling my cock, oh my god—"

he's whining, it's so cute. who knew you could get toji fushiguro, mr. tough guy, to crumble under you like this so easily? it's so wet and gushy, the sound of your thick body smacking back down on his only making his insides twist in pleasure. he can feel how fucking wet you are, dripping down his cock, down his balls, it's so unfair.

"tojiii, talk t' me," you coo at him, your sweet voice bringing him back. "don't tell me my pussy's making you dumb already, jus' started."

you did, you're literally fucking him dumb, and he doesn't know what to do or what to say, but hearing you say his name like that in-between moans as you bounce your hips up and down his throbbing shaft has his babbling in an instant.

"god, this cunt 's perfect, baby, s' fucking perfect."

“yeah? y’like my pussy, toj? like my pretty cunt creaming on you?” you roll your hips, a pretty moan leaving you when his tip nudges against that soft spot perfectly. “f-fuck, you really are big...poor thing, no one could get it in all the way? am, mh, am i the first t’ take this fat cock t’ the hilt, tojibaby?”

you lean forward, hands moving from his chest to around his neck as you roll your hips, swiveling them in ways that have him gushing precum all over the insides of your cunt. the squelches your cunt makes with each roll is so fucking sinful and so nasty.

"y-yeah, mama, she feels s' good around me, all tight and warm, milking my cock like it's made just for you."

god, you smell so good...he can still smell your perfume and the sweet blueberry scent of your leave-in. you smell so sweet and taste so sweet too, he's so fucking lucky to have you fucking him like this. toji's hands move from your hips to your ass, helping you fuck yourself on his dick, groaning your name.

"god, you're the first to take it all, y'got me so fucking deep in that sloppy lil' cunt that y'can feel me in your stomach."

you giggle between moans, pressing your forehead against his. "y'so cute, toji, such a good boy f' me, yeah? feels so much better knowin' you can just tell me if you need me to put you to sleep, right?"

he groans, nodding as his eyes flutter closed again. "y-yeah, yes, baby, feels s' much better," he admits, breathless as he starts to get close. he can feel you getting tighter, getting wetter, and he'll be damned if he cums before you do.

"aww, listen t' you," you say with a little whine, your dominant mask starting to ebb away as you start to grow weaker and weaker. it's starting to feel good, really good, to the point where you can't think either, and you don't know how much more of this you can do. "m-my pretty boy, my good boy, f-fuckin' me s...s-so good..."

the moment he picks up the whininess in your voice, toji is alert, looking into your eyes to find that the pleasure is finally catching up to you, too. "yeah? yeah, mama? she's feelin' good? fuck, 'm gonna fuckin' fill you up, baby, gotta cream this pretty pussy so deep that she feels it f' days," he grunts, mouth open as he pants against your lips.

they look so pretty, he wonders if you taste like that lip balm you always carry, if your tongue is as sweet as you are, if your plump lips are as soft as they look. the thought of them pressing against his is what breaks him, and he's so embarrassed at the noise he makes before leaning back against the pillows and planting his feet into the mattress.

"i gotta fuck you, gotta fuck you good, 'm sorry, 'm so sorry, baby, promise i'll let you sleep, promise i'll be good for ya, okay? mm, fuck, c'mon, let toji make it better, gonna kiss your cunt with my cock and make it up t' ya."

toji fucks into your hole desperately, groaning at the loud wet plaps of his hips smacking against yours. your moans, god, your moans, they're so pretty, you're so pretty. he can see your tits bouncing against the fabric of the shirt you have on, and he curses, so fucking mad he didn't have you take it off. but he doesn't care, not right now, not when he sees how gorgeous you look.

he's so fucking prideful when he sees how poofed out your hair is, bouncing with each thrust up into you. "y're so fucking pretty, c'mere."

one of his hands grabs you by the back of the head and smushes his lips against yours, hungry as he licks over them before shoving his stupidly thick tongue inside your mouth. the kiss is just as messy as the rest of you, and the pitiful little moan you give has him reeling.

"i-i'm, 'm gonna cum, toj," you whisper against his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders as you do your best to match his pace. you're gonna cum, he's gonna make you cum, you're about to cum all over his fucking dick, jesus christ.

"fuck, you're so hot, so cute, mama, my pretty girl. need ya t' cum, dolly, can y'do that for me? please, baby, cum on me, make a mess s' i can fill you up an' apologize like i promised," he rambles before kissing you again, biting your lip before running his tongue over it.

it's so close, you can taste it. it's so unfair how big his cock is, how you can feel every vein and throb of it inside of you, how you can feel his hot precum smudging all over your velvety walls.

the realization that he's inside you raw has you moaning so sweetly, and your pussy is gripping him for dear life as you dig your nails into his shoulders even more, head falling forward. "t-toji, 'm, 'm gonna—f-fuck!"

you're cumming, you're cumming on him, and it feels so fucking good. you're creaming all over his lap, and your crying and moaning his name so sweetly he feels like he's gonna pass out. "baby, babyyy, no, lemme see, lemme see you cum," he begs, the hand in your hair tilting your head back up and the view he gets has his hips stuttering inside you.

your eyes are unfocused, long lashes wet from tears as you pant and whimper for him, all for him. and when you make eye contact with him, he feels your gummy walls squeeze him so tight.

"oh, fuck, yes, mama, jus' like that. keep cummin' on me, keep goin', 'm so close, gonna cum, gonna cum in this pretty pussy s' fuckin' deep you feel it in your tummy," toji babbles before he's losing himself too, pressing your head against his chest as he fucks into you, savoring your overstimulated cries for him. "'s gonna go deep, so fuckin' deep an' i'm gonna fuckin' eat it outta you, just like y-you fuckin' deserve—!"

with a pathetic sounding groan of your name, he's giving one, two, three, four hard, deep thrusts, moaning as he pumps his thick load into you, feeling your oversensitive pussy milking him dry. "g-good boy, g'fucking boy, tojiii," you whimper, moving from his chest to pepper kisses all over his face, moaning softly as you feel his hot cum coating your walls.

his mind is so blissfully blank that he doesn't even realize he's shaking a little bit from how hard he just came. cooing happily at him, you cup his cheeks, trying to bring him back down to you. "come back t' me tojiiii, don't die on me, roomie!"

still reeling from his insanely intense orgasm, manages a little chuckle, his hand moving from your ass to under your shirt, stroking your back. "'m here, 'm here, promise...i just...shit. ya fuckin' drained me, girly. what the hell are you?"

you laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth before nestling under his chin to catch your breath. "I'm your damn friend who happens to be the roommate you have been tormenting by not letting me sleep, dumbass."

"heh. fair point."

you both stay like this for a bit, just resting a little and trying to catch your breath. except...toji's eyes feel a little heavy, and he feels himself drifting away. "there you goooo," you coo, hand running through his hair. "told ya i'd put you to sleep."

"yeah, yeah, you were right," he grumbles and opens an eye, hand coming up to pinch your cheek. "jus' a lil' nap, okay? we still gotta get you cleaned up. after all, i promised i'd clean my cum outta ya, right?"

"my god, toji, you are nasty."

"but you like ittttt."

you couldn't stop yourself from laughing because, yes, you did. you liked it a lot.

soon, the room falls quiet as toji's breathing falls into rhythm with yours, the rise and fall of his chest steady and slow. his mind is still a bit dazed, and he can't help but get a little flustered as he realizes how badly he's wrapped around your little finger. the thought is only further confirmed when he feels his heart squeeze just a bit when he notices you fell asleep on his chest.

he wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace, huffing to himself. yeah, so what he was whipped, he finally got you in his arms, so he sees it as a win.

as sleep finally starts to creep up on him, he presses a little kiss to your forehead, leaning back against the pillows and shutting his eyes. just a little nap, and then he'll get you cleaned up and make sure you accept his apology for everything he's put you through.

...he just hopes you won't be too grumpy when you realize you fell asleep without your bonnet on.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's tags : @satoruwiki @llllllllllllloser @screampied @abcdbleh @vicfuentesfangirl @sakurapeach @ohsuguru @crywolfix @naughtygobbo @aura88967 @jeanine-gt @tananaxx @tojancy @happymangosstuff

[ghouljams]

what sort of body hair & body types do you think the 141 boys have

So glad you asked:

Starting with pretty boy Gaz, He's absolutely got the gym body. You know the one with the perfectly sculpted muscles, tugging his shorts up to show off the flex of his thighs for the camera as he grins, rolling his shoulders back to show off the lats, flexing for the camera. He's more lean muscle than huge body builder vibes, like it's definitely tailored to his body type, but it's that instagram influencer perfect physique. He's got a well groomed smattering of hair. Not a ton on his chest but plenty of people are eyeing that neat happy trail as he does chest presses at the gym. Lemme get a peak at that man in the sauna...

Soap is a big lad, but it's all muscle. He definitely is going for more of the body builder physique. Packs on muscle really well, and tries to manage his macros so that he keeps his abs when he wants them. The man is stacked. He's also hairy. He's the motherfucker that you're hoping to death wipes off the gym equipment because you can see him sweating through that pelt he's got. Good dark hair on his arms and legs, and chest hair you just wanna bury your face in. You're not even into that stuff but when he raises his arms to grab the lat tower bar you kinda wanna run your tongue through his underarm hair. You just know that man doesn't even trim his pubic area...

Ghost is just naturally big, but he also packs on muscle like a motherfucker. Ghost has a solid strongman look, like he definitely works out, and you've seen him bench 400 lbs without breaking a sweat, but he also looks like he never turns down a slice of cake. Olympic dead lifter type. You could watch him run on the treadmill for hours with the way his pecs bounce. Doesn't look hairy because he's blond, so it's very light wispy hair, but he's got a nice map of curls at the base of his dick that just make you wanna suck him off. Always lets his towel sit too low in the sauna, when you die, you wanna come back as the sweat dripping between his tits.

Price... You wanna talk about a man that pass up a decent meal it's Price. That doesn't mean he isn't in the gym with his men, it just means he's the one in the mess at midnight grabbing that last cookie before bed. He's good at shedding the weight though. You see him before a mission and he's trimmed up, but once he's home he's a bear of a man. That goes for the hair too. That man is so fucking hairy. Thick dark hair all over his body, to the point where you're not sure he isn't a werewolf or something. You actually checked the lunar cycle once when he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt in the gym, and you saw the thick hair trailing down the center line of his stomach. (What a man, what a man, what a man)

[peachdues]

THE WIND AND MOON

PROLOGUE ♢ SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA X LUNAR PILLAR!READER

A/N: oh boy! The fic that started it all is back in progress (with a slight title change).

This will be a slightly canon-divergent AU, wherein Lunar Breathing is inherited and there's actually some power involved with the breathing techniques as a whole (as opposed to the styles just being nice sword movements with illustrations lmao).

Reader will be Sanemi's tsuguko for a time, and she will eventually become a Hashira. This is their story.

This will be a multi-part fic. Be warned: the Reader is a very morally gray character (but we love her for it).

@ghost-1-y thank you for reminding me of my love for this fic.

Massive CW: 18+, canon-typical violence, graphic violence, gore, child death, and implied S/A. Smut to come. MDNI.

Sanemi was there that day; the day she became part of the Corps.

The day her world ended.

It was fucking freezing that morning. The sky was a muted gray as snow drifted down from the heavens in wet, fat clumps. It had started sometime the previous night, and by the morning, the village had been covered in its thick blanket.

The carnage, however, was fresh, and so the snow was not white.

Only an hour had passed since the watery gray light of dawn bled into the sky from the east, when Sanemi’s crow swooped low over his head, tugging frantically at his hair. Beside him, the Flame Pillar ducked as his own crow joined the panic.

“Northeast! Northeast! Right at the base of the mountain! A horde of demons attacked the village!” They cried in tandem.

Not just one. A horde. A swarm of demons had descended upon a moderately populated merchant village, tearing it and its people to shreds. 

Both the Wind and Flame Pillars furiously made their way northeast, one of the crows bleating that Tengen and Iguro were also en route. As they ran, the birds alternated in snaring what little information they had of the village, and what had prompted the attack. 

It was because of her; or rather, her family.

The head of the village was a merchant known for his imports from the West. His success meant the village prospered as a whole, and it was popular for its numerous small shops and tea houses which lined the streets, always crowded with locals and travelers alike. 

Demons had no use for money or exotic baubles; but Muzan Kibutsuji had a keen interest in obliterating Lunar Breathing from the world.

So he had. 

The very merchant whose business prowess bolstered the local economy with his imports was directly descended from the clan which had created Lunar Breathing, Breath of Sun’s powerful, dark twin. The merchant was the youngest and only living relative of the aging head of the Lunar Clan, a retired Hashira who’d never taken a wife. But unlike the other breathing techniques, Lunar Breathing was an inherited talent, and without an heir, there would be no one to continue the great family’s legacy. 

That burden was thus placed on the surviving eldest child of the merchant whose village both Sanemi and his comrade now rushed to.

There had been an elder son, Rengoku’s crow revealed, but he had died a few years prior from illness. And so, the merchant’s middle child was made the new heir, tasked with the mission of becoming a demon slayer so that she could continue on the Lunar Breathing tradition. 

Her.

There was no word as to whether she had been present for the attack. Final Selection ended only a few days prior, and it was entirely possible that she either had been killed on the Mountain, or that she was still making her way back to the village, unaware that no one would be there to welcome her home.

There was certainly no greeting for the Pillars when they finally arrived at the mountain’s base. The village was eerily silent as Sanemi and Rengoku crossed over the small bridge abutting its ravine; still. Dawn had given way to a dark gray sky, and visibility was not ideal.

Not that it would’ve taken much effort to see the blood and gore that littered the village’s once lively streets.

“What on earth?” The Sound Pillar’s familiar voice broke the silence, as he and Iguro approached their comrades from the Eastern gate of the village. Behind them, trailed a group of nearly thirty Kakushi. 

The Hashira slowly took in the nightmare around them, stunned into horrified silence as they beheld the level of destruction which had befallen the village just hours before.

“Kakushi. Spread out. Look for any survivors. They may be buried or hiding.” Rengoku’s voice was steady but uncharacteristically grave, his face stony and hard. “Shinuzagawa, we should make our way to the Lunar Merchant’s estate. We need to send word to the Clan head right away if-“

“You didn’t hear?” Iguro interjected. “The head of the Lunar House is dead.” Though the lower half of his face was covered, the anguish on the Serpent Pillar’s face was evident. “That’s where Uzui and I just came from. He was ripped to shreds.”

“Fuck,” Sanemi hissed, a toxic mixture of anger, guilt  roiling in his gut. An entire clan — and entire village— had been decimated in a matter of hours, and no one had been able to protect them.

They hadn’t been able to protect them. 

“Have we any word on the Lunar heir?” Rengoku asked quietly. Iguro and Uzui shook their heads. “Then she likely is lost, too.” The Flame Pillar turned back to Sanemi, his face a mirror of his own. “Let’s go.”

The snow and wind picked up just as the two swordsmen approached the Lunar Merchant’s manor, obscuring part of the wreckage before them. From the corner of his eye, Sanemi swore he spied movement out of the back corner of the estate, but when he turned to examine it, all was still.

Beflre he could inquire further, a sharp gasp to his right snapped his attention back to the Pillar at his side. But Rengoku was not looking at him; rather, he was staring directly ahead, right to the courtyard of the manor.

“Heavens above,” the Flame Hashira whispered. 

Sanemi followed his gaze through what had been once-proud iron gates, though only half of it remained hinged. The other had been ripped from its stone setting, twisted by some unfathomable strength and thrown carelessly to the side. Just past the gate, Sanemi beheld a single, bloodied arm. 

His heart dropped sickeningly to his stomach at what lay beyond it; for there was not an inch of ground that hadn’t been saturated with blood and bits of gore.  

Chunks of flesh and torn limbs bearing harsh jagged teeth marks were strewn across the snowy garden. Broken glass and wood from the manor littered the ground, and the few walls that remained standing had been showered in a thick coat of crimson.

But the carnage did not end with the massacre on the courtyard. Sanemi forced himself to look upon the half-severed bodies of those who’d been stuck to the sloped roofing  of the Manor, as though some demon had plucked fleeing humans from the yard to feast on them mid-air, adorning the handsome estate with a shower of bloodied entrails. 

He did not notice the small group of Kakushi that had arrived at the Manor until he heard their gasps and cries of horror. Behind him, Sanemi heard one or two begin to retch, unable to stomach the carnage before them.

“Move!” Sanemi barked, his voice scratchy over the lump forming in his throat. “Fucking look for survivors! Anyone!”

A few paces ahead, Rengoku called up to the crows checking above. “Do you have a description of the heir?”

“She is around eighteen, Lord Rengoku!”

Not helpful, given that most of the bodies around them were unrecognizable. But it was something. 

Rengoku turned back to Sanemi. “I will check inside the house. You!” Rengoku called to a small group of three Kakushi nearby, “With me!”

Sanemi continued to make his way through the debris and body parts in the courtyard, lifting stone and wood in hope that he might find someone — anyone — who had managed to hide. Yet that hope dimmed with every stone he turned, as he found only the scraps of the people who’d once called the Manor home.

He came across a large chunk of curved, chiseled stone that was half-embedded into the soft ground below. Grunting, Sanemi heaved the rock aside, thinking it was perhaps part of some fountain or statue.

His stomach lurched as the stone toppled heavily over. For there, crushed beneath the weight of the rock, was the small body of a child, severed completely at the torso. Her two halves lay next to one another, a ragged seam torn between the two as though pulled apart by force.

Sanemi felt the bile rise in his throat as his gaze fell upon the child’s face, utterly frozen in fear. Though death had snuffed out the light of life from her eyes, it had done nothing to conceal the terror she’d felt in her last moments, the girl’s mouth stretched wide, fixed in her final scream. 

She was no older than ten. 

He could not help it. Sanemi turned away from the grisly sight and vomited into the snow, every inch of him trembling. He wretched until his stomach was empty and his throat burned from the acid and strain of his dry-heaving. 

With great effort, he managed to straighten, his breath short and choppy. But he forced his legs to carry him forward, though any hope that they would find the Lunar Heir or any survivor grew dimmer by the second.

Even as Hashira, Sanemi knew he’d never seen wreckage quite like this.

He neared the center of the courtyard, and halted before a large, circular stone inset that had been smashed to gravel, leaving only a single, large piece of rounded stone wall standing.

Found the fountain, Sanemi thought bitterly. Another sharp, icy gust of wind whipped its way through the courtyard, disturbing the little bit of snow that wasn’t packed down with the carnage. But the wind also stirred up something else, something dark and wispy. 

Had the Wind Pillar’s lilac gaze been focused anywhere but that piece of stone, he would have missed it softly fluttering up before disappearing beneath the lip of the fountain. 

Lips mashed into a tight line, Sanemi moved to examine the other side of the broken stone. As he did so, Rengoku reappeared on the outer steps of the engawa surrounding the Manor, a frown etched deeply on his face.

“Shinazugawa, something is off. The demons’ presence is obvious, but the house looks like it was ransacked— jewels, silks, valuables, all strewn about. Some of it seems to be missing —“

“I found her.” Sanemi bit out, gruffly. “The heir.”

It was her hair, Sanemi realized. Her hair was what had been disturbed by the wind, a few strands having drifted up before settling back down upon the bloodied shoulder of the lifeless girl collapsed before the fountain.

Had there not been a thick spread of red-stained snow and earth beneath her, Sanemi almost would have thought she’d been sleeping. Her face was almost devoid of any injury, save for a few fresh scratches along her jaw and temple. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes tickling a soft, and unblemished cheek, as pale and smooth as the Moon. And there was a serenity to her expression, a calmness that posed a stark contrast to the chaos and horror which surrounded her.

The rest of her had not been left untouched. Sanemi noted that while she appeared to have maintained her limbs, her back was soaked in blood, no doubt the source of the large stain beneath her. Grimly, he noted that her blood still oozed from an unknown wound between her shoulders. Her left arm was stretched out before her, wrist bent at an unnatural angle, its skin mottled from a mixture of the cold and an attempt to bruise before her blood had ceased flowing in her veins. 

Beneath the torn and bloodied haori around her shoulders, were a pair of pants and a fitted, long sleeved top which had clearly seen better days. Her clothes hosted various tears and stains, and she was so caked in blood and mud that it was difficult to further discern her body’s condition.

The crows had said the Lunar Heir was around eighteen years of age, but as Sanemi stared at her lifeless form, all he could think about was how small she looked; how young she’d been, when she lost her life to the brutality of demons.

The thought made his blood run cold.

“No doubt this is her,” Rengoku said heavily, nodding at wounds Sanemi had not noticed on her hands. Squinting, the Wind Pillar spied bruises and cuts in various stages of healing dotting her knuckles and fingers. 

He suspected more lay beneath her soiled clothing.

“Final selection wounds,” the Flame Pillar confirmed. “She must have just returned from the mountain when the attack began. Perhaps she even stumbled into the middle of it.” Rengoku shook his head. “She didn’t stand a chance.”

It was well known that even if one survived final selection, they would likely descend the mountain with some degree of injury. Seven nights without access to shelter, food, or water was difficult enough, but the added danger of starving demons almost guaranteed that one would not emerge unscathed.

She must have been wounded, and severely enough to slow her return home by a few days. Even if she had the skill to hold her own against the swarm of demons that had attacked her village, whatever injuries she sustained during final selection likely sealed her fate.

Sanemi swore, looking over the last of the Lunar Breathing Clan, the acrid bite of guilt and pity seeping hotly into his veins. The poor girl survived the controlled horrors of final selection only to meet an even more grisly end at her home — where she was supposed to be safe. 

Cruelty; utter cruelty, and a damn tragedy.

“She will get a Slayer’s burial, in the Master’s garden.” Rengoku declared firmly, raising his voice so the nearby Kakushi would hear. “She passed Final Selection; she’s one of us.”

“No,” Sanemi said, voice hoarse. “Bury her here with her family.” His eyes returned to the girl’s face, an inexplicable bitterness coating his tongue. “She fought to return to them; let her be with them.”

He lifted his eyes back up to the ochre gaze of the Flame Pillar. Rengoku stared at him for a long moment, before nodding, turning back to the Kakushi. “You heard Shinazugawa. Let’s give them all a proper burial.”

The Kakushi began to move, thorough and efficient even among the horror around them. Sanemi readied himself to assist, moving to stand when his eyes snagged on the girl’s torso, his gaze drawn to the sizeable swath of smooth skin that was exposed to the icy bite of the snow. His frown deepened as he took note of the odd way that her clothes sat around her exposed abdomen. The girl was half laid on her side, but the front of her shirt was bunched and twisted together, like it had been gathered and shoved out of the way. 

His eyes lowered a fraction to the front of the girl’s pants. At first glance, all seemend normal, her trousers fitted at her hips, but that was precisely what caught his eye. The waistband on the girl’s pants slotted across her lower hips, not higher up on her waist as it should have been. One side was noticeably lower than the other, almost as though they’d nearly been tugged off.

Almost as if-

Sanemi felt the hairs on his body rise. Looking over the girl once more, he noted the suspicious lack of claw marks and bite marks to her body; the way that she seemed intact, compared to the bodies of her friends and family scattered in pieces around her.

And her blood — her blood appeared more fresh than what was caked in the snow around them, as though she’d been attacked right before the Corps arrived at the manor’s gate.

“Rengoku,” Sanemi said sharply, and the Flame Hashira was back at his side in an instant. Sanemi jutted his chin toward the girl’s body and Rengoku followed his gaze. He could see the gears turning in his comrade’s head, the owlish Slayer steadily taking note of the odd skew of her clothes and her lack of demon-like injuries.

“How many demons do you know that try to-,” Sanemi ground his teeth at the word that came to mind, his blood boiling hot. “Have their way with victims before eating them?”

“Not many,” Rengoku conceded darkly, a similar anger simmering in his eyes. “Though not unheard of. It is… rare. Most can’t resist their hunger.” 

He fell silent for a moment, contemplating.

“Didn’t you say the house had looked ransacked?” Sanemi turned his gaze away from the girl and towards the broken doors of the manor.

Rengoku’s eyes widened. “Yes. As if someone came in and grabbed anything they could.”

Sanemi nodded. “Bandits. Probably heard about the attack and got excited to loot. Found a body that wasn’t completely torn apart by demons and tried to take advantage.” 

Rather than bile, Sanemi felt anger, hot and lethal, threatening to spill out of him. 

If he found them, they would receive no mercy, human or not.

Rengoku exhaled sharply through his nose, a weariness clouding over his features.  “Though I don’t suppose we can really know for sure. There isn’t enough left of anyone else to compare.”

Rengoku clasped his hands in front of himself, and he closed his eyes, offering a small prayer for the girl. “Whatever happened to her, she’s gone now. Let us ensure she can rest.” 

He turned to head back to where the Kakushi had begun digging graves for the deceased, leaving Sanemi alone once more.

He’d stared the spot where the girl’s body had lain long after a pair of Kakushi gently removed her to ready her for her burial, watching with hollow eyes and a hollow heart as the one of them — a female — tenderly brushed the girl’s hair from her face and straightened her haori. They’d crossed her arms over her middle and gingerly carried her to join the remains of her family.

Hers was the last of the graves to be prepared. The Kakushi were just beginning to pack the mud and snow over her body when one of them collapsed from exhaustion. The group resolved to take a small water break before finishing, and neither Shinazugawa nor Rengoku had the desire to object. 

After all, digging nearly twenty graves was no easy task.

Both Hashira assisted with the effort, and their combined strength and stamina had streamlined the task considerably. While the Kakushi rested, Rengoku departed for the front gates to update Uzui and Iguro, who’d been dealing with the wreckage within the village, assisted by reinforcements of both Kakushi and lower rank slayers called in to assist with the clean up and burial.

In total, over two hundred graves were dug, and not a single survivor had been found.

It was a heavy day — perhaps one of the darkest in the Corp’s history, and its crowning poisoned jewel was the eradication of one of the oldest breathing styles.The news that there was one less defense against the demons was not a welcome one. 

Sanemi had gone to the other side of the courtyard, away from the voices and graves and rising stink of death. Out of sight from any prying eyes, he found a tree and shoved his fist through it, clear to the other side. Splinters of bark exploded around his arm and bit into the skin around his knuckles and palm, but Sanemi could not find it in himself to care; he sought only to break through the silent numbness threatening to consume him.

Because he’d taken refuge on the other side of the courtyard, away from the new burial site, Sanemi did not see the hand and arm that shoved through the pile of earth resting atop the last grave. He did not see clawed fingers sinking into the mud and snow, desperately seeking purchase as the body attached to the arm hauled itself — herself — from beneath the earth, the remnants of her grave skittering to the side as she heaved her body out.

Sanemi did hear the terrified shriek of the Kakushi, and immediately he drew his sword. In the distance, he could hear Rengoku roaring orders at the terrified attendants, though he could not discern the specifics. 

The Wind Pillar came into view of the gravesite right as the girl spilled out from the hole in the ground, using her bare hands to pull herself forward as the rest of her body remained limp.

Sanemi Shinazugawa was not a pious man; in fact, he considered himself rather skeptical of the idea of faith. If there were truly any gods out there, then Sanemi wanted nothing to do with them. They chose to let chaos and devastation run rampant. They chose to let demons exists.

But hell apparently had frozen over, and Sanemi found himself offering a prayer for the girl’s forgiveness as he prepared to behead her demonized form. He hoped she would understand; after all, she’d  joined the Corps intending to rid of the world of the very thing she’d now become.

It was what he hoped one his his fellow Hashira would do for him, if he ever found himself in that situation.

As the Swordsman cocked his blade, ready to strike the crawling demon from behind, Rengoku cried out. “Shinazugawa, NO!”

Sanemi stuttered,  his arm in mid-swing as he neared the demon’s neck. A flash of violet and white shot towards him, and a piercing shriek of metal tore through the sky as Uzui’s blade parried his, the force of the clash knocking him out of the air. A frustrated grunt echoed from his chest, and with great effort, Sanemi twisted mid-air to avoid falling flat on his ass, just barely managing to land swiftly on the balls of his feet.

“What the fuck,-“ His vicious snarl faltered at the expression on the Flame Hashira’s face, frozen and gaping. In that moment, Sanemi’s ears picked up on the faint thumping of a heart beating rapidly and unevenly below him. His nose suddenly burned with the strong scent of iron. The stench of blood so metallic that it could not have been anything but fresh. 

Ears ringing, the Wind Pillar shoved past his stupefied comrades. Only when he was face to face with her did Sanemi finally understand why the Flame Pillar had been so desperate to stop his sword from hitting its mark. 

The three Hashira were not looking at a newly turned and bloodthirsty demon. Instead, dragging her way across the bloodstained, muddied snow, was the Lunar Heir, deathly pale and trembling.. 

The girl whose death they feared doomed the Lunar Breathing House had clawed her way out from her grave with nothing but her hands and sheer will. She’d not been dead, after all.

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes lifted to glare up at the one standing directly before her. Though she strained to raise her head more than half an inch, her silver eyes met Sanemi’s lavender gaze, and a violent chill shot up his spine as he beheld what simmered within them.

Defiance. 

Pain. 

Rage. So, so much rage, relentless and raw. And so very human.

She reached another quivering hand out before her to further drag herself away from her tomb. A thin sheen of sweat coated her pallid skin, and fresh crimson began to seep into the snow beneath her. 

Sanemi’s eyes flit to the stain on her back, where fresh blood oozed from the deep wound.

She was panting, clearly fighting every urge in her body to give in, to let death beckon her back into its sweet embrace.

“I-I’m not dead!” She grit out in between shallow, uneven breaths, her jaw clenched tightly enough to crack her teeth. 

The three Hashira remained dumb and silent for half a heartbeat before-

“What are you all standing there for?” Uzui bellowed. “Help her!” 

The Kakushi sputtered into action, several of them crouching down around the girl to aid her. 

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, eyes screwed shut and her head bowed defensively over her hands as she clenched her fists into the earth. The Kakushi fell back, looking anxiously to the Pillars to await further orders, but even they were at a loss. After several, harsh breaths through her nose, the Lunar Heir turned her face up, her gaze clashing with Sanemi’s once more.

He recognized the fear in her eyes, visceral and deep. Whatever she’d experienced over the last few hours had overtaken all her senses. She had no logic, no ability to rationalize that she was among other humans, among comrades. 

Instead, all that drove her now was the primal instinct to survive.

And to her, they were another threat.

She continued to try and crawl away from them, but her movements grew even shakier, more unstable, as the blood loss combined with her physical exhaustion. Rengoku caught his comrades’ eyes, waiting to confirm their next move. 

A quick shared nod sent Sanemi stepping quietly into her blindspot. Swiftly, the Wind Pillar struck the pressure point on the back of the woman’s neck with his hand, and she crumpled against the ground, unconscious and still. Gingerly, Sanemi lifted her over his shoulder, mindful of the open wound on her back. 

Once she was secured, the Hashira and their Kakushi began their frantic sprint toward the Butterfly Mansion.

COMMENTS/LIKES/REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[themareverine]

A KING & HIS CASTLE ▹ IN YOU, MY FORTRESS

— oldman!Logan x fem!OC drabble

SERIES SUMMARY: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

SYNOPSIS: Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, age gap, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so.

a/n: based on this. and I have to dedicate this to @1800-fight-me for that post, which changed my brain chemistry and prompted my first oldman!Logan.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

On days like this, Logan could kill. 

Redlight. Redlight. Red, again. Red fuckin’ light. 

He could see them in his fuckin’ sleep. At a little after four, a text from a bunch of digits suggests a phone number—Chicago, if his guess was right. You booking rides? like it’s normal business hours instead of ass o’clock in the morning, like he hasn’t just passed out in bed after getting home and standing beneath a lava-hot shower for all of a handful of minutes—managed three and a half hours of fucking, much-needed racktime. 

Need a limo for five, 7:15. $1k green. 

Squinting into the screen without readers had been like staring into the sun, but Logan had managed. Dimness dropped to low as hell—fine, i'll be there with slow thumbs that burned, felt as if the weight of US-57 had been chained to every fiber of his skin structure. He’d managed to arrange a call time without so much as hammering his phone through the floor, a small mercy—place was barely standing as-is. Hauling old bones from bed was just short of crawling from hell, the warmth of under-covers and threadbare sheets more alluring than Egyptian gods. 

Hair not dry from his first shower, smothered against a thick, hard pillow for the three hours of sleep he’d managed, he stalked his ass back into the shower. Tried to work the cold irritation at humanity swimming in his veins beneath more hot water, failed—wrangled into only-slightly wrinkled slacks and jacket, may as well have been like roping steers. Skipped shaving, fuck that, started the hunt for another of his damn socks. Fumbling about the room like a green linebacker, he didn’t even feel the bed stir. Tangle of sheets around feet, the low moan of a curious, half-asleep lover. 

“Logan?” Drowsy, she props her pretty self up on an elbow. He can see her squinting into the lowlight of the room, thick streams of light from the moon creep over the bed in an otherworldly, nightingale kind of way—half bathed in lunar milk, he couldn’t miss the slight pull of her satin nightdress for anything as she sits up, scrubbing a hand down her face. She asks him what’s up, “Haven’t decided to finally leave me, have you?” 

Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close. Never in a thousand lifetimes would Logan ever imagine being that guy—the guy who fortresses a home. The man who makes vows. Oaths before heaven, whispers sweet nothings and pretty everythings to a heart that beats like his. Never was one for wishing on stars or counting them, slow in a different kind of way—slow in sense of the half-dead, way that smells roses hardly fathomable. If anyone would’ve told him his heart would beat for someone else, for living—-in this shell of a body, this phantom of a man, he’d have laughed. Never believed, no sir. Not him, not the Wolverine. 

Her slow, half-drunk chuckle off the statement claws at his aching ribcage. Fingers brushing what feel like a wad of socks, Logan moves to stuff them into his pocket. Swipes shoes from where he’d dropped them not long ago, slips through the darkness carefully. Where she’s risen from bed comes up quickly, and he blocks the milk of light swathing over their bed from view—fingers her hair away from her face, wild from where it’s fallen from her usual satin cap. 

“You’re dreamin’,” he hums, can’t deny the hint of a mile as she manages a rough, morning-dry chuckle. It sits low. Rattles around the adamantium in his chest. “G’back to sleep, baby—it’s early.” And if that isn’t the God-awful truth, he isn’t sure what is. 5:34 glares back at him when he checks the screen of his phone, not missing the pretty smile laughing back at him from the lockscreen. His lips brush her forehead lightly, hand firm at the back of her neck as his thumb skips over the steady thrum of her pulse. 

Lithe, curious fingers reach for him in the night. As always, they find him—her nails scratch lightly through his unshaven face, skin that’s dewy. An idea of Irish Spring still floats in the air around his nose, but it’s overpowered by the scent of her—the flow of her blood, the oil of her skin. Frankincense she uses in her hair before bed claws at his chest, unmistakable hints of petroleum jelly on the plush of her lips lights cravings in the back of his throat. Even today, after years, her touch still trailblazes through him like wildfire—cuts trails through the jungle of his unknowns, his hesitations. Three days away had felt like fallout, she’d been asleep like any sane person at 3 in the witching hour when he’d dropped into bed.

Blood pistoning to his cock reminds him how long. He’s been a starving man, deprived of her honey—her fruits. 

“You’ll be back?” Her palm against his cheek is God’s gift to humanity, may as well have carved the peak of mountains. “You just got in, Lo,” even in the light of stars he can see the worry mottle pretty features, the depth of her eyes couldn’t be masked by any amount of midnight the universe knew. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” I can drive, if you need me to. She hadn’t driven in years, not since—

“M’fine,” he nods, “don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’ honey.” Slipping her hand into his, he lifts it to press an airy kiss the heel of her hand. It’s soft, for the most part—only partly chapped, mostly from the dry. Dry, and the in-and-out of the desert sun. Keen senses can still taste the brush of earth on her skin, dirt from good hours spent outside. Laughing, running. Playing pretend, exploring the mesa. Like a child, like innocence. 

“Be back tonight,” it comes off a thick cough, “don’t have to wait up.” 

Her snort is sharp. “ I’ll wait. Hate this BS,” the nod is resigned though, knowing. A deep sigh puffs out her cheeks, blows hot against his lips as she looks up at him. “Need you here, Logan,” I know, don’t I know—guiding her arms around his middle, her cheek falls against his chest. Her weight against him reminds him he’s alive, still breathing—reminds him that this, right here, is his. He can feel her hum low at the bottom of her ribs, and rests his chin in her hair, rocking her back and forth lightly. Relishing her heat, the slip of satin. The spring of curl cream in her hair, the zip of adrenaline and sex in his blood. “Want you here.” 

As 5,000 volts as the day he met her, all those years ago. Logan can still taste the rain in the air, the sting of sour sweat and testosterone in the bar. The bite of the steel cage. It’s still clear in the back of his head, glancing at her on a barstool in the corner—more of a drowned lizard than a girl, as the bartender had so aptly noticed. Tired, pretty in the eyes. Broke as hell and as lost as they came—he’d never forget the smile she gave him as he’d tucked her back into that ancient Jeep as long as he lived. 

And she’s still pretty in the eyes, even if they are a little deeper. Haven’t aged a day in all the years she’s been chasing shadows, stalking the sun by his side—racing to die, chancing to live. As Wolverine as they came, in a different kind of way. Unkillable, like him. God’s gift to him, certainly—an Eve for his unkillable Adam, to taste the sun. Lifetimes and mementos of the forgotten behind them, this is his castle. His home— life that, had finally, birthed. 

Wrapped up in pretty satin and swaddling clothes. “I should check on little man,” and there it is. The nail in his coffin. Mention of their son—his son, it’s like a slow poison. Logan never, in any of his days, would imagine that the idea of a child, his offspring would do such devastatingly good things to him—he can’t remember when it changed, how it happened. But it stabs at the mesh of his ribs unlike anything he’s ever felt all the same, toys with his pleasures like a cat with a mouse. Her head tipping back greenlights the pad of his thumb gently pulling at the plush of her bottom lip. Looking up at him with a teasing smile, through low lashes undoes him in a way that should be sin. 

And he kisses her the way she likes, slow. Hard. When her arms snake around his neck, pulling him close, he loses his composure. Deepens the kiss, moans against the heat of her tongue playing with his. “Careful,” he smiles through every languid stroke of her tongue, every little breathless gasp, “don’t start somethin’ we can’t finish, pretty.” 

“Who says we can’t?” 

“When I get back, baby.”

Her pleasured hmmm, heady whispers in dark shadows light him up like a firecracker, but he can’t. Can’t stay, can’t go—trapped in situation’s limbo. Hell of a thing, really. His finger traces the curve of her hip, up—falls in line against her bottom rib, tugging at the skin beneath satin. Erupting in a fit of ticklish giggles, her fingers tug at his hair, play with damp at the nape of his neck. “Logan—not fair!” her breathlessly sharp whine—it fucks his brains. 

“Plen’y fair,” another kiss, one more taste of her, and he steps back. Creates a chasm and his pulse jumps, almost flatlines. Fingertips linger against his as he moves for the door—her tongue chases over kiss-fat lips, and Logan swears to God he can see the fire dancing in the cradle of her womb as she follows after him. Once they hit the door, he kisses her again—it’s the only thing that will keep him alive. 

“I love you, kid,” kid. Hasn’t called her that in awhile. She still smiles at the name, like she always has. It’s true but isn’t—he’s 200 years older than her, another sin on his growing list of indiscretions with God. But she’s lived enough life at his side for it to count, seen enough blood. Heart racing behind his ribs, waiting—breathlessly. All too damn breathlessly for a man who couldn’t give up his breath if God asked. 

“Love you more,” a Betty Crocker kiss to his cheek and she slips away, into the darkness, opposite direction. Nursery, the quiet pull of the innocent. His feet point to the kitchen, to the reckless hour of the world’s morning. 

Twenty-seven steps. Out the door, sink into the limo. A text lights up the phone he’s tossed to the passenger seat as headlights cast lowbeams into witchy darkness. Foot on the brake, he fumbles the breastpocket for hardly-new readers, ignoring the tag still hanging out on the templepiece. Grabbing it, opens the photo attachment. Her, and his child—his son, his side of the bed. His never-in-a-million-years, impossible-to-the-stars family—

— his fortress, the castle to which he returns. Lucky son of a bitch. 

tags: @fandomxo00 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

[actual-changeling]

1941, Soho, Aziraphale's bookshop

There are three empty wine bottles on the table and a fourth between them on the floor, freshly opened. While the couch is in perfect condition, they had both ended up in front of it, leaning against it to keep themselves somewhat upright.

Crowley in particular is swaying on the spot, allowing Aziraphale to top off his cup and handing it to him with a stern look that said don't you dare leave wine stains on my furniture.

In the low candlelight, they keep drinking, and Crowley can't help but watch the flame flicker over his cheekbones, the grey shadows softening his lips, tracing the sparkle in his eyes when the angel turns his head to look at him; they're both equally drunk and happy to leave the day behind.

"Didya' listen to a single word I jus'said?"

His nose wrinkles adorably, eyelids flutter, and he licks a stray drop of wine from his lips. Crowley mirrors him without even noticing, too caught up in trying to keep himself from reaching out, plucking the glass from his hand, and tasting the wine on his tongue.

"I almost killed you," he says, voice more fragile than he expected it to be, and the annoyance etched into Aziraphale's forehead immediately bleeds away.

"You didn't, love, 'm all here."

Oh, Crowley wants, he wants to feel that pet name against his lips and hear it whispered into his ear in the middle of the night. He wants to curse heaven and hell alike and take as much as Aziraphale is willing to give; he has lived off of scraps of affection for centuries.

Somewhere in the distance, a bomb falls, rumbling through the ground and shaking their windows, and Crowley does not make a choice as much as he empties his glass in one go and stops holding his body back from taking what it desires.

Aziraphale's thighs are soft and warm, his pupils blown so wide his irises turn them into a lunar eclipse, and he carefully extracts his angel's wine glass from his fingers, downing the rest, and puts it to the side. His shades are... somewhere, and have been for quite a while, not that he cares.

Reality is blurry, his vision swims more than it is steady, and if anyone were to ask, he'd blame it all on the alcohol and the thrill of adrenaline. He wants to slide a hand up his neck and cup his face, so he does, fingers threading through silky hair.

"Angel?"

They both have to blink several times until they can focus on each other again, but once Aziraphale fully processes the demon in his lap and the decreasing distance between their lips, well, he has never said no to pleasure.

The first touch is tentative, but the next is a proper kiss, wine-slicked lips sliding against each other, mouths opening on their own accord. Hands on his back pull him in, closer and closer until there is no space left and he can feel Aziraphale's human heart beat beneath his own.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, dreading the approaching dawn, but for now they are safe in an ink-black cocoon of their own making, a bubble in time no one will be able to pop. It is 1941, and for a few hours, an angel and a demon become an us, the bombs singing in a horrible imitation of a nightingale.

When Crowley leaves in the grey morning light, sober and with a bitter taste in his mouth, he doesn't look back.

The next time they talk, the war is over, Crowley has gained a new collection of hellish scars all over his body, and neither of them ever brings up the night they tasted freedom for the first (and perhaps last) time.

[starphenie]

my nikki x genshin au design

class doodles + notes! i have thought about this deeply and extensively (the hour and half that is my programming lecture)

the og design and a low detail bobo and kimi + my attempt at crossover worldbuilding (i am not a writer. i don’t think this makes any sense story wise. like i picked aeon as the archon for apple at first but he is so blue and water themed and i refuse to NOT make cloud the hydro nation but he is not from cloud. guess who’s not blue? desire. i think there are better fits for most of the archons i picked i just don��t know who.)

- everyone’s visions are based on vibes and colors

- nikki’s vision is fake because she’s the traveler it’s a fashion thing

- i have not played genshin impact since inazuma came out

highly critical important footnote:

((characters whose appearances already translate well))

(into Genshin…)

((& that I remember))

aka i drew favs that i have committed to memory and gave them a vision that i think makes sense, doesn’t take a lot of thought bc they have sprites that are super ornamental compared to like nikki and kimi who def need redesigns lol

here is my list of characters + visions because sorting is fun, i might update this periodically

anemo: bobo, noah, royce, mercury, shade, bai yongxi

geo: nikki, yvette, orlando, loen

pyro: zoey, zhu yuxian, mela, ozeca, lilith, qin yi, cesare, peachy

cryo: agata, louie, neva, kimi

hydro: lunar, aeon, marina, ming shuiyuan, vulture, chloris

dendro: nanari

electro: ace, elle, ai, caprico, sofia, grey raven

- pretty much all the elves fall under anemo or dendro, except for Evil Vampire Flame Sword Cesare, who is an outlier and should not be counted

- nidhogg reads geo to me but ozeca is pyro obviously and they could serve such overload slay he could be an electro wielder i see it. i just can’t pick <\3

- shade got his vision when he was flynn. hc that it doesn’t respond to him since he’s changed he just uses guns now. non magic ppl with a gun in magic universe are my favorite thing

- lilith qin yi and zhu yuxian need to stop burning down buildings

- a lot of characters are omitted actually because i can’t pick an element for them. but reid doesn’t get a vision he’s just some guy

some guys: reid, hiber, toto timi aron etc all the citizen npcs

[heartfullofleeches]

I think Sunshine prince will be trust fund kid with brag a docious ton of Lamborghini in moderen au

Works for me

Modern Au Sunshine/"Innocent" Prince/Stoic Bodyguard Reader

The "Prince" is a spoiled brat with living parents that have the entire city under their thumb. He's given the title for his looks and charms; the sweetest little devil you could probably met - until you get on his bad side. When he's in one of his moods, generations will be ruined if anyone dares try to talk to him, even if it's to cheer him up. The week he found out his parents were getting him a guard - nobody was safe. Everyone's favorite teacher lost their job of thirty years for giving him a quick pep talk while he was seething. This all came after he had an altercation with another student for play flirting with their partner though he was the clear victor. His parents thought the world was too dangerous for their sweet baby. They thought he was a child - weak. He'd show them. He'd ruin his guards life and make them regret stepping one foot his house and-

"Lunar, meet Y/n. They will be attending the same college as you, but outside their studies they will be with you at all times."

And-

"A pleasure, Sir."

And....oh. He's never been called that before. Makes him feel like he's aged a century - but he likes the respect. You aren't as ugly as he thought you'd be either.

" I hear you have a reputation of being called a prince at your college. Would you prefer if I called you "Your Majesty" instead?"

There's no hint of mockery in your tone. You're serious.... Is it to late to take back what he said about ruining your life?

Princey here is all over his hired protection. He really lives up the "harmless babe, silly clumsy boy who can do no wrong." part of his act when you're around. He prefers bottled soda over canned because he can get you to crack them open for him and compliment your strength. He kicks open the doors of your class mid-lecture and whines about being hungry a whole two hours before break. You're quick to scold him for the latter, and your intervention plus his self dumbifcation leads to let mishaps among your peers - and eyes on you. Nobody is smart enough to make a move on you in his line of sight, but you pretty much become the school eye candy when he's off on his own.

The Prince moves out of his parent's four story mansion and into your dorm for a taste of that domestic bliss. Your living space gets upgraded to a two bedroom apartment because even his parents are wise enough to know putting you in one room would lead to trouble - but he weasels his way into your bed most nights regardless. He pushes his innocent act a little too far when he tries to get in the shower or bath with you, but rubbing his face on the towel you used is fine enough for now. Unbridled, unfiltered rage is casted at whoever may need your aid. You are his knight guard, and his alone.

-

[Bodyguard Guard Reader carries an unconscious peer out of the pool after they nearly drowned, their lips pale blue.]

"Oh my God. I don't think they're breathing -"

Bodyguard Reader: Don't worry - I know CPR

Prince Yan, pulling up with a vacuum: I got you covered!

-

Prince Yan: You pathetic, worthless, no good, low life, homewrecking, stupid, repulsive whor-

[Bodyguard Reader walks in]

Prince Yan: Y/n! I've been looking for you everywhere! Can you peel this apple for me with your teeth?

-

[Some thugs Prince paid off walking in limping and covered in bruises]

"Dude what the hell!? You said this was a joke

Prince Yan: The joke was it's funny you think Y/n would allow anyone to put hands on me. I would say you should see what they can do with a watermelon or pumpkin and their thighs - but if you did I'd have to skin you all alive

[sleepinginks]

About us/boundaries

Please read before leaving any asks

General blog trigger warnings:

religious trauma/sa/csa/mental health abuse/disabled abuse/growing up repressed lgbtq+ related trauma/familial\parental estrangement/ and related topics.

-!This blog will have a certain amount of personal info about who we are and some of the trauma we have delt with. Please remember that we are a person who has actually experienced these things and that this first and foremost a way for us to write our thoughts down and out of our head.!-

-Introdutions-

We are someone who has been diagnosed with DID aka dissociative identity disorder. For context this is a disorder that is caused by repeated severe childhood trauma by a caregiver (or close adult) before the age of 8/9 and fundamentally changes how the brain process trauma. (Colin A. Ross, MD who was the first and still is the leading researcher on DID for over thirty years is a great resource if you would like to read/watch more of the topic. He has a few of his lectures on youtube (link is one of said lecture) for free.)

At last count we have roughly 40+ alters in our system and about a dozen that front on a regular basis.

The alters that will be posting the most on here are

Roy: he/they/ze, non-human, biblically accurate angels vibes :tag: roy ramble

Tilo: she/they/ze, non-human, used to be part of Roy :tag: tilo loitering

Grey: they/them/ze, non-human, nickname-goatman, used to be part of Roy :tag: grey the goatman

Ariana: she/they, human, nickname-Ari, 19 :tag: ari ginja ninja

Lunar: she/they, literally the moon :tag: lunar low hours

Wander: they/them, dragon, mouth piece for littles :tag: wander the dragon and wander mouth piece

Mr Jace: he/him, vampire (vibes of alucard from hellsing), vamp may feel eye roll worthy but its because of trauma related to blood :tag: Jace vamp corner

Other info: body is 22, POC, we are intersex but raised as female by force, we will not be posting pictures our body physically here but we are an "accountant" by trade that can be found in other places. This is due to our physical disabilities that lead to us not being able to have a more traditional job anymore, fun fact: before our body basically imploded we worked as an EMT and before that a semi professional dancer (never associated with a particular company but had been scouted by them and did freelance)

If we do not answer as ask, know its for a good reason and not related to who may be asking it.

Thank you for reading and we hope that you can vibe with us in our little corner.

[livingforstars]

A Violet Moon - July 31st, 1996.

"Checking out the Galileo spacecraft's cameras during its December, 1992 flyby of Earth's Moon, controllers took this dramatically illuminated picture through a violet filter. The view looks down on the Moon's north polar region, with the Sun shining from the left at a low angle, and the direction toward the Moon's North pole toward the lower right. Across the image's upper left stretches the smooth volcanic plain of the Mare Imbrium. Pythagoras crater, 65 miles wide, is near the center of the image - mostly in shadow, its central peak just catches the sunlight. On July 30th, 1996, the Moon made its closest approach to Earth and was full for the second time in July. The closest point in the Moon's orbit is referred to as Lunar Perigee, a mere 221,797 miles at 8 hours UT. The second full Moon in a month is known as a "Blue Moon"."

[zacshian]

@rosekillermicrofic | Rosekiller | Word Count: ~450 | Prompts: Forbidden, Forest, Smile | Date: 5 July

---

"Are you crazy?"

"Shh", Barty hissed.

Evan raised his senses, alarmed by the ripples on the lake. He waited. One. Two. Three. Then carelessly questioned, "Why are we here, Bee?"

"Shh." That was the flat reply.

Evan aimlessly followed the tall boy under the wispy moonlight. Their robes skated over the soil like a phantom. Barty moved dangerously towards the Forbidden Forest and an unknown uncanny feeling strapped them at their movements.

They shouldn't be here, lurking in the shadows of the forest, at the mourning hour of a grimmy night.

"Have you seen the moon?", Barty whispered.

"What's about it?"

"It's beautiful."

"So?", Evan asked.

"It's a lunar eclipse tonight."

"And?"

Barty halted, making the feeble torso of Evan bump into his body.

"I will show you", Barty said, an excitement erupting in him as he turned back to meet Evan's confused eyes.

Then, Barty strictly held Evan by his wrist and they ran. They ran till they found themselves deep into heart of the forbidden land.

Evan heavily breathed, "Have you lost your mind?"

Barty chuckled. Then he said, "Can we wait for some more moments?"

"What's -"

They didn't have to wait. It happened in no time.

The sky blacked out. The moon disappeared as if a big spoon had scooped it from the vast expanse of the night. Evan stood petrified, unable to clear his head.

He whispered, "Bee?"

But, where was Barty? Evan threw his arms, pulled his wand, "Lumos!"

A faint light erupted. But it wasn't enough. There was no Barty, and without him the world was collapsing. It felt like a thousand many emotions pounding his heart.

The light evaporated. And Evan dared not to lighten it again because he was scared, he wouldn't find Barty.

A low, clouded voice erupted from his mouth, " Bee?"

And that was it. A roar or a scream or just maybe an eruption.

Evan saw a silken white fabric, or atleast it looked like one, which swirled past him, whooshing to the left then towards the right. It was bright yet transparent, like a ghost but brighter than the moon. It went through Evan and around him, dancing in the air, swaying along the breeze.

Then it took the shape of a fauna that plainly bounded around Evan, illuminating him. It carved into a silver crown over his head, then touched his lifted wand and disappeared just the way it appeared.

Evan was quite. The sudden change in brightness, blinded him but when he could finally make out his surroundings, he saw Barty smiling.

"What was that?", Evan said.

"Magic."

"That was crazy."

"That was", Barty admitted.

"That was beautiful."

"You are beautiful."

The moon slowly appeared among the clouds. Lunar eclipse doesn't last long. But the smile of his lips that Evan had, seemed like lasting forever.

"Happy Birthday, psych", Barty said.

"I love you, maniac. "

[brattyfics]

Swampbound VII

“My daddy gave the Chief the lunar chain to keep me safe. He threatened my daddy, sayin’ he knew he had it and better hand it over, or I’d be the one payin’ the price. We’ve got until the full moon to save Mike, or he won’t make it.”

"Where’s he at? And what’s fixin' to happen?”

“I saw flashes,” Adla whispered. “Your cousin, in cuffs… that necklace shinin’ like firelight. Burne’s usin’ it on Mike, drawin' power right outta him, harvestin' his strength.”

Terry froze mid-step, the truth settling over him like a thick fog. That’s how Burne had blindsided them. He had powers now—stolen powers. Terry didn’t know yet what that meant, whether Burne could shift like he could or just had the keen senses, the kind that’d let him sniff out folks like Terry, hear trouble comin’ from a mile off.

“That’s why he needed it—why he needed us,” Terry said, the realization settling hard. “He’s usin’ that necklace to steal shifter’s powers."

“But why?” Adla asked, frustration knitting her brow. Every time she thought they’d finally pieced somethin’ together, a new question clawed its way up.

“It’s gotta be more than just the power.”

“You think he can do what you do? Transform into a—a wolf?”

Terry hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. "We gon' need the witch."

"Who? Jesse?"

"Yeah. He'll know what to do with this book and he'll come... if you call."

Adla had told Terry earlier she'd talk to Jesse, but she wasn’t ready yet. It was too much—the secrets, the lies, and now this magic.

"I spent all day lookin' for Mike when I left here yesterday. Ain’t nothin'. I can’t smell him, can’t feel him. I can’t get to him. And I won’t be able to— not without this book, and not without that witch." Terry was the sharpest tracker their pack had ever known—been that way since he was just a teen, back when there was still a pack. Now it was just him and Mike. Everyone else was either dead or had drifted off to quiet lives, wantin’ no part of shiftin’ or the trouble that trailed it.

Adla stared down at the worn floorboards, arms wrapped tight around herself like she was holding everything together. Terry had given it a name, put words to the fear that had been creeping through her since she caught that flash of light in Jesse’s hand.

Her best friend was a witch.

“I said I’d talk him, but I don’t know if I can face him, Terry. Not yet,” she whispered, her voice breaking at the edges.

Terry felt the ticking clock in his bones, the urgency crawling up his spine. A day and a half, if that. He couldn’t afford to waste time, but when he looked at Adla, saw the weariness etched in her face, the weight she carried—it slowed him. There was more at stake than just Mike.

He hadn’t meant to drag her into this mess. But from the moment their paths crossed, he had sensed something in her—a strength that drew him in. He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t been looking for it, but there she was, standing with him in the thick of it.

And right now, that mattered more than anything.

“Adla, we’ll find Mike. And we gon' get that necklace back too, I promise you that,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low and steady. His hand brushed against her arm, feeling the tension coiled tight beneath her skin, like a spring ready to snap. Her brown eyes flicked up to his, and for a moment, he saw something new—vulnerability.

It hit him harder than he expected.

His hand found her waist, warm and grounding. “But right now... right now, we’re here,” Terry whispered, the words soft but firm. "Just for a moment, let’s be here."

She exhaled shakily, her hand instinctively resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. This was starting to feel too much like a romance novel gone wrong. “Terry, we ain’t got time for this,” she said, her voice low, conflicted, a stark reminder of the clock ticking against them.

She was right—Mike was out there somewhere, locked up, weakening by the hour, and yet the connection between them felt electric, a charge in the air that made the world outside fade into nothingness. Even as she said it, her fingers lingered over his heart, like she was holding on to something solid, something real.

Why couldn’t she have met him under normal circumstances, like at the grocery store, where they could’ve shared a casual laugh over the price of tomatoes or the last carton of milk? Instead, here they were, caught in a whirlwind of danger and urgency, the weight of their shared burdens pressing down on them. It was a moment that felt stolen from a different life, one where things weren’t so complicated.

“Your cousin's life's might be on the line 'cause mine ain't. I ain't gon' be able to live with myself if—" She cut herself off, freezing. Words held power, and she wasn't about to speak death over Mike.

Terry could see it—the way her breath quickened, the tension pulling tighter across her frame. He’d witnessed this before during his time as a marine, in men who had been through too much—soldiers overwhelmed by the weight of what they'd seen, had to do. 

“Adla, look at me,” he said, his voice a steady anchor in the growing storm. His rough hands cupped her face gently, drawing her attention back to him. “You’re alright. We’re alright. Just breathe with me, okay?”

His thumbs traced soft, soothing circles on her skin. “In... and out,” he instructed, his own breath slowing to match the rhythm he wanted her to follow. “That’s it. Just focus on my voice. Right now, it’s just us. Nothing else matters.”

She followed his lead, her breathing gradually evening out, the panic slowly ebbing away. He kept his hands on her, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her shoulders, keeping her grounded. “We’re gonna figure this out. But right now, it’s just you and me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

Adla closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them, the steadiness of his presence. She wasn’t weak—she never had been. But her burdens were heavy, and she had carried them alone for too long. 

With Terry beside her, they felt a little less unbearable.

Something had shifted within Terry, something he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just about his mission anymore; it was Adla too. 

She had woven her way into his thoughts, into his heart, and no matter how urgent the situation was, he couldn’t walk away from her now.

Not when he cared for her more than he ever intended to.

“We’ll find Mike,” he promised, his voice low yet resolute. “You ain't carrying this weight alone. I’m right here with you.”

Exhaustion clung to Adla, deep and unshakable, slowing her every move. Terry saw it without her saying a word, and without hesitation, he slipped his arm around her waist, wordlessly taking on some of the weight she bore. His touch was steady, certain, like it had always been his place to hold her up.

How can he make me feel so safe when my world’s falling apart?

She didn’t resist as he led her down from the loft, and when her feet met the creaky wooden floor, his hands lingered, steady yet gentle. Before she could argue or push him away, Terry scooped her into his arms, cradling her as if she were light as a feather. The scent of pine and earth surrounded her—familiar and reassuring. A perfect fit. She didn’t have the strength to protest, and truth be told, she didn’t want to.

For once, allowing someone else to carry her felt like a strength, not a weakness.

His steps were slow and deliberate as he carried her across the house, moving like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on them both. When he laid her down on the bed, his touch was careful, like she was something precious he didn’t want to break. The sheets felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the too-hot warmth of his skin.

Terry stepped back, and for a brief moment, she saw him hesitate, like he was about to give her space. He moved toward the wooden chair in the corner, but before he could sit, she reached out, her hand closing over his.

“Terry,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his, her touch a silent plea. All she’d accomplished since her father’s death was building walls around her heart. But right now, she needed him—needed his presence, his quiet strength.

Lay with me.

He paused, his eyes searching hers in a wordless exchange of understanding. Terry let her pull him closer, her hands tracing the strong, sinewy lines of his arms.

Her touch ignited a fire that coursed through his veins.

Terry slid beside her on the bed, drawing her close until their bodies were flush against each other, heartbeats mingling in the silence. His arm wrapped around her waist, warmth seeping into her weary body. “I’m right here,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that settled into her bones, promising safety.

A warmth pooled between her thighs as she took in Terry’s dreamy gaze and the words that spilled from his lips. Was this what it felt like to be completely swept up in passion, where nothing else mattered. She was too worn out to pretend she didn’t crave this, too tired to resist the pull between them. She draped a leg over Terry’s and nestled her face against his neck, breathing him in.

It frightened her how much she craved this sense of safety and being cared for.

The pull between them was magnetic, and Terry knew it would be too easy to lose himself in her warmth, to forget everything outside—the ticking clock, Mike’s fate, the looming full moon.

With Adla this close, all he could think about was closing the small distance between them.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, as if reading his mind, a challenge that set his heart racing. She cradled his face in her hands, fingers brushing against the rough stubble, her touch a gentle invitation. Her brown eyes, soft and deep, sparkled with emotion that made it impossible for him to refuse.

Terry hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze drawn to her lips, the way they parted slightly, inviting him closer. Then, their lips met—soft and sweet at first, a gentle connection that slowly deepened as they explored the moment.

She tasted like sugar and coffee, with a hint of cocoa bitterness—sweet and rich. A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating between them, a sound of pent-up longing. It had been too long since he’d been this close to a woman, and every part of him fought the urge to rush. The kiss deepened, slow but fervent, a quiet storm brewing between them.

The outside world disappeared, leaving only the warmth of their bodies, the tender press of their lips, and the way Terry held her, as if they were the only two people left in the world.

Adla pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against his. His chest rose and fell with the remnants of their heat, his fingers intertwining with hers, grounding them both in this fragile moment.

When Adla finally opened her eyes, she met Terry’s gaze, which held an intensity she hadn’t anticipated—something deeper than desire that made her heart flutter. It wasn’t just the physical pull anymore.

The irony of finding safety now, in the arms of a man who could shift into a beast, wasn’t lost on her. There was something in the way he looked at her that made her want to do anything he needed to ease the burden weighing on him.

“I’ll call Jesse,” she said, the words coming out softer than she expected. It wasn’t an abrupt shift, but rather a quiet realization—she would do what needed to be done. For him. For them. “He’ll find a spell. We’ll save Mike and take back what’s yours.”

Terry’s eyes softened with relief and gratitude, and though he didn’t speak, their shared understanding was clear—she would help him and fight with him, no matter the cost.

And in this fleeting, stolen moment, with the moon hanging heavy on the horizon and time slipping away, they were together, bound not just by circumstance but by something neither of them had expected to find.

Chapter 8.

@nayaesworld

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[phanchester]

VAMPIRE MOON

Just as it was written by @amazingphil with no additional edits

Chapter 1: Lunar Fusion

The moon hung low in the sky, its eerie glow casting long shadows across the abandoned streets of Sunnydale. Oz had finished his show at the Bronze and rather than going back to his dorm he found himself prowling the alleys, his senses heightened by the full moon’s pull. It wasn’t fully out yet but he could feel the primal draw of the wolf within. He could feel the beast within him stirring, yearning to be unleashed. But there was something else tonight, something that set his instincts on edge.

Spike.

The vampire had always been a wild card, unpredictable and dangerous. But there was a magnetism between them, a primal attraction that Oz couldn’t deny. And tonight, under the watchful eye of the moon, that attraction would lead them down a path neither could hve foreseen. 

Oz found him lurking in the shadows, his eyes gleaming with hunger. There was a hunger in those eyes that mirrored Oz’s own, a hunger for power and control.

Without a word, Oz moved closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Spike,” Oz breathed, his voice low and husky with desire. “What are you doing here?”

Spike smirked, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Just out for a stroll, love. Fancy some company?”

Oz hesitated for a moment, the beast within him urging him to run. He knew Spike could kill him instantly without setting off the government chip nestled in his brain, but there was something about Spike, somethin that drew him in despite the danger. 

With a nod, he stepped closer, his pulse quickening with anticipation

“Sure,” Oz said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why not?”

They entered a graveyard and Spike started to point to graves of nobles he had killed over 100 years ago.

“That one owed me bloody money”

“He tasted delicious”

“He was hot and also tasted delicious”

Oz couldn’t help but notice Spike was only pointing out the graves of guys he’d killed but this talk of another guy being hot awakened something he had himself too. Oz’d experimented with a few guys but it had been a while since he’d felt that draw, was it the moon, was it Spike’s charisma? Was it both? Something was pulling him towards the 150 year old vampire.

They reached a clearing and the moon got even higher in the sky

“Getting a bit prickly hamster boy?” Spike grinned.

“I have an hour or so left” Oz repleid.

“Shame to ruin those jeans when you rip out of them”

As they turned towards the mauseleoum, Spike shoved Oz hard into the wall and started kissing him. Oz was startled but kissed back but it wasn’t his human side in charge - he had started to change. And with that, as if called by the moon Oz’s transformation into his wolf form had begun

Before he got too hairy, Spike lunged forward, his fangs sinking deep into Oz’s neck. The pain was intense, but so was the pleasure as Oz felt himself being consumed by the darkness. 

But as Spike drank the band members blood, something unexpected happened. Oz felt his body contort and twist, his bones shifting and reshaping themselves into something new and terrible. When Spike finally pulled away, Oz was no longer just a werewolf - he was something more. 

He was a VAMPIRE WOLF, something new, something exciting..

His fur was now a dark shade of midnight black, sleek and shimmering in the moonlight. His eyes shone a fiery gold. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, brighter than the moon. And his fangs were longer and sharper than ever before, gleeming with a deadly beauty. 

“What… what have you done to me?” Oz gasped, his voice a mix of fear and wonder. 

Spike grinned, his eyes burning with triumph. 

“I’ve given you what you’ve always wanted, mate. Power. Strength. Immortality…I guess with a furry twist”

Oz howled up to the full moon as his eyes turned crimson red. This new form of evil was consuming him. His still bare back started to split and deep crimson wings sprouted from between his shoulder blades.

“Oh bloody hell what is that” Spike shreiked as Oz’s new wings started to flap

And as the moon shone down upon them, casting it’s eerie light over their twisted forms, Spike and Oz embraced their new existence, bound together by the primal forces that had brought them together.

Before they could share another moment…

Oz took flight.

[novy2sirius]

Vietnamese Astrology

Vietnamese astrology is a type of astrology based on the lunar calendar that assigns an animal to each of the 12 years in a repeating cycle. This is what people refer to when they ask what your vietnamese zodiac animal is. However, there is also such thing as animal times, days, hours, and months that can be resourceful (similar to transits in western/sidereal astrology) in planning new events, launching new businesses, starting a new relationship, etc.

Vietnamese compatibility

Just like in other forms of astrology, in Vietnamese astrology there is also certain signs that are more compatible than others as well as opposite signs which some refer to as enemy signs. During our enemy years, months, days, etc we tend to come across many obstacles whereas during our own animal year and friendly animal years we tend to succeed more often and have happier years

Chinese vs Vietnamese

There isn’t a huge different between these two types of astrology. You could use either I just personally feel as though the Cat and Buffalo make more sense when it comes to the personalities of people than the Rabbit and Ox do which is why I go by Vietnamese

What should I do during my enemy years?

The best thing you can do during these years from my experience and others experiences I’ve witnessed is to lay low. Don’t do anything risky, don’t surround yourself with people who will put you in dangerous/negative situations, and don’t start anything new during this time such as a company/business

How are my own animal years/trine years beneficial?

Some things I recommend doing during your own trine/animal year are having children, beginning a new relationship, creating new friendships, starting a new company, etc as this will help you have more success and happiness in life

Does numerology matter more than VA?

In my opinion both matter but especially numerology. My friend had her friend year in 2023 but it was her enemy numerology year and also a bad year for health. This is because 2+0+2+3 = 7 and 7 is the number of illness. You’re more likely to get sick in 7 years. A lot of people I know got sick during 2023 because of this. This is why numerology is also a very important factor to pay attention to

More resources:

• vietnamese astrology sign guide

• vietnamese compatibility trines and incompatible signs

• if you’re born at the beginning of the year

• vietnamese astro notes

[apod]

2024 June 29

A Solstice Moon Image Credit & Copyright: Tunc Tezel (TWAN)

Explanation: Rising opposite the setting Sun, June's Full Moon occurred within about 28 hours of the solstice. The Moon stays close to the Sun's path along the ecliptic plane and so while the solstice Sun climbed high in daytime skies, June's Full Moon remained low that night as seen from northern latitudes. In fact, the Full Moon hugs the horizon in this June 21 rooftop night sky view from Bursa, Turkey, constructed from exposures made every 10 minutes between moonrise and moonset. In 2024 the Moon also reached a major lunar standstill, an extreme in the monthly north-south range of moonrise and moonset caused by the precession of the Moon's orbit over an 18.6 year cycle. As a result, this June solstice Full Moon was at its southernmost moonrise and moonset along the horizon.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240629.html