lunevvi
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Dokja lives through hell to see him. And Joonghyuk feels more alive than he ever did when he’s around him.
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Frostpaw and Nightheart give everything they have fighting for RiverClan's future, and then some.
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Henry's sitting with his back against his headboard with Jasper hovering over him when he realizes he might really, truly be in love with him.
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Kiyoomi was the last person Koutarou expected to come looking for him. The jackal’s knew how he was, giving him the space he needed when it was obvious he wasn’t feeling his best. And now he’s been caught, shut down after a single loss. Pathetic.
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If Koutarou was the sun, then Atsumu would be the planets that revolved around him. Surrounded by him, that smile that lit up every room he ever stepped foot in and a presence that just screamed I’m here.
Atsumu understood why he was once a captain, the sight of him flying on the court with the jackal’s reminding him of the Fukurodani game he watched back then that made his throat dry up.
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“I haven’t eaten in forever,” Fu whined. His knees buckled. He caught himself on a crooked fence post and whimpered. “I’m gonna fade out.”
“You’re lucky I’m the one stuck inside you. Any other demon would’ve abandoned you years ago. You never shut up.”
Fu groaned and flopped halfway over the fence, his horns glinting weakly under the moonlight. “They said… They said there’s food here.”
“You idiot,” Hii hissed. “They told you about this place so you’d get exorcised. You’re knocking on the front door of a priest.”
Fu blinked sluggishly at the large, lonely house nestled past the chapel. The lights were out. A cold breeze rattled the tree branches. “But… they said it was a girlie priest.”
Silence.
“You’re the dumbest succubus I’ve ever heard of.”
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“You had three?” A hysterical smile begins to worm its way across Jabber’s face, like there’s some joke Zanka hasn’t been let in on yet. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”
“What? What the fuck is wrong?”
Jabber gets up close, grabbing hold of Zanka’s shoulders. He snickers, before leaning in. “Those were weed brownies sweeheart.”
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Rudo’s face burns. “Put me down!” he yells, feet dangling uselessly, kicking at nothing.
Tamsy exhales. “Rudo,” he says, almost gently, like he’s soothing a whining child, “you’re going to hurt someone. That’s not our job.”
Rudo hates that tone more than the rope. It crawls under his skin, makes him feel small and stupid and loud in the worst way. Like he’s the only one making a scene and embarrassing himself.
“Oh, screw you,” Rudo spits. “How would you like it if I tied you up, huh?”
Tamsy tilts his head, considering it far too seriously.
“I guess,” he says mildly, “you’d have to figure out a way to do that first. Then we could find out.”
____Tamsy gets tied up for a change.
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He feels so small like this, so breakable even though Enjin knows he isn’t, that he’s all corded muscle and re-fused bone and unshakeable resolve. That he’s so dedicated to his purpose and his team that he refuses to greet death itself. The scars that litter his body are a testament to that, some small and some large, and some that should have been his very last wound. Enjin considers this—considers the void he would leave behind—in moments like these.
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“You’re gettin’ off on this, aren’t you?” Enjin teases. He shifts, positions his boot between Zanka’s spread thighs. When his toe grazes his neglected erection, Zanka pitches forward and cries out desperately. His hands tighten in Enjin’s pants. “Gettin’ used like this for anyone to pass by and see. You little pervert.”